WHIMSIES.

“Præcelsis Proauis Pulchrè Prognate Patrone,”

and concludes with

“Pingui Porcorū Pingendo Poemate Pugnam.”

The other instances adduced by the Seigneur of this laborious folly, is related also of a German, by name Christianus Pierius; who, says the author, “depuis peu de temps a fait un opuscule d’environmille ou douze cēs vers, intitulé Christus Crucifixus, tous les mots duquel commencent par C.” Four lines are quoted; they are asfollows:—

Currite Castalides Christi Comitante CamœnæConcelabrature Cūctorum Carmine CertumConfugium Collapsorum Concurrite CantusConcinnaturæ Celebres Celebresque Cothurnos.

I myself recollect seeing and copying at Notting Hill some lines written (I think) on the battle of Waterloo, (the copy of which I have however lost;) which, although short, were sufficiently curious. They were in an album belonging to the sister of a schoolfellow, (W. O. S.,) and, as far as I have ever seen, were unique in their species of the paronœmic genus. The first line began with “A,” and each subsequent one with a successive letter of the alphabet, and each word alliterated to the initial letter of the line where it was placed. The poem went through the whole of the alphabet, not even excepting X or Z, and must have required a world of Patience and Perseverance to Perfect.

Marot, christened Clement, the French poet, who is said, in a quotation from le Seigneur des Accords in the foregoing note, to have been imitated by Drusac, lived in the reign of Francis I., and was a Protestant. There is a portrait of him at page 161 of “Les Vrais Portraits des Hommes Illustres” of Théodore de Bèze, Geneva, 1581, whereto a short sketch of his life is attached; which says, that “par une admirable félicité d’esprit,sans aucune cognoissance des languesni des sciences, il surpassa tous les poëtes qui l’auoient dévancé.” He was twice banished on account of his religion; and when in exile translated one-third of the Psalms into French verse. “Mais au reste,” says Théodore, “ayant passé presque toute sa vie à la suite de cour, (où la piété et l’honēsteté n’ōt guères d’audiance,) il ne se soucia pas beaucoup de réformer sa viepeu Chrétienne, ains se gouuernoit à sa manière accoutumée mesmes en sa vieillesse, et mourut en l’âge de 60 ans à Turin, où il s’estoit retiré sous la faueur du Lieutenant du Roi.” He was a Quercinois, having been born at Cahors, in Quercy.

The following lines were written after his death by Jodelle, who was famed for these “vers rapportez.”

Quercy, la Cour, le Piedmont, l’UniversMe fit, me tint, m’enterra, me cogneut,Quercy mon los, la cour tout mon temps eut.Piedmont mes os, et l’univers mes vers.

Guildhall.—Misson, in his “Mémoires et Observations faites par un Voyageur en Angleterre,” published anonymously at the Hague in 1698, under this head, accounts thus philologically for the name:—“Il est à croire que la grande salle étoit autrefois dorée, puisque le motde GuildouGild-hall, signifieSALLE DOREE.” To do him justice, however, after quoting so ridiculous a passage, I must annex his note, as follows:—“D’autres disent queGuildest un ancien mot qui signifieincorporé:Guildhall; la salle des incorporez ou associez.”—p. 236.

Juliet was no doubt a delectable little creature, but, like most of the genus, she was but a flimsy metaphysician. “What’s in a name?” that depends now-a-days on the length or age of it. The question should be put to a Buckinghamshire meeting man, if one would desire to know the qualities of all the component parts of an Abraham or Absalom. In some parts of the country, people seem to think they have bilked the devil, and booked sure places in heaven for their children, if, at their christening, they get but a scripture name tacked to the urchins. “In proof whereof,” Esther, Aaron, and Shadrack Puddyfat, with master Moses Myrmidon, formed a blackberrying party that I fell in with a summer back near Botley, on the road between Chesham and Hemel Hempstead. At a farm-house in Bucks it is no uncommon sight for the twelve apostles to be seen tucking in greens and bacon, or for the tribes of Israel to be found drunk together in a pot-house. Some poor drunken-brained bigots would not accept even the free services of a ploughman, whose name was not known before the flood.

Note.—The names above seem so very ludicrous, that I have no doubt there will be many sceptics to the belief of their reality if this passage be printed; but I declare positively, on the word, honour, and faith of a man and a gentleman, that they are as true, real, and existent, as Thomas Tomkins, or any other the most usual and common place.

J. J. K.

An Essay on the Understanding.“Harry, I cannot think,” says Dick,“What makes myanclesgrow so thick:”“You do not recollect,” says Harry,“How greata calfthey have to carry.”

“Harry, I cannot think,” says Dick,“What makes myanclesgrow so thick:”“You do not recollect,” says Harry,“How greata calfthey have to carry.”

“Old Westminster Quibbles.”Toes.A fellow did desireTo warm at a fireHis toes, before he went home;But the man said “No,If you put fire andtoeTogether, you will burn the room.”B. C.One did ask, why BWas put before C,And did much desire to know—Why a man mustbe,Before he cansee,And I think I have hit on it now.The Red Nose.A Man did surmise,That another man’s eyesWere both of a different frame;For if they had beenmatches,Then, alas! poor wretches,His nose would a set ’em in a flame.

Toes.

A fellow did desireTo warm at a fireHis toes, before he went home;But the man said “No,If you put fire andtoeTogether, you will burn the room.”

B. C.

One did ask, why BWas put before C,And did much desire to know—Why a man mustbe,Before he cansee,And I think I have hit on it now.

The Red Nose.

A Man did surmise,That another man’s eyesWere both of a different frame;For if they had beenmatches,Then, alas! poor wretches,His nose would a set ’em in a flame.

“New Westminster Quibbles.”The Soldier.“There is one soldier less,”Exclaimed sister Bess,As a funeral passed by the door;Then said Mr. Brown,“I’ll bet you a crown,I’ll prove it is one soldiermort.”Scilicet.Why every silly citHas pretensions to wit,You may learn if you listen to my ditty:The wordscilicetIn law meansto wit,So citizens, by law, must bewitty.

The Soldier.

“There is one soldier less,”Exclaimed sister Bess,As a funeral passed by the door;Then said Mr. Brown,“I’ll bet you a crown,I’ll prove it is one soldiermort.”

Scilicet.

Why every silly citHas pretensions to wit,You may learn if you listen to my ditty:The wordscilicetIn law meansto wit,So citizens, by law, must bewitty.

Irish Pipes.

A young friend brings me from Ireland a couple of pipes, in common use among the labouring people in Dublin and Clonmel. Their shape and materials being wholly different from any in England, they are represented in the aboveengraving, which shows their exact size. The bowl part, formed of iron, like the socket of a candlestick, is inserted in a piece of mahogany carved, as here shown, in the shape of a violin, or a pair of bellows, or other whimsical form; and the mahogany is securely bound and ornamented with brass wire: to a small brass chain is attached a tin cover to the bowl. The tube is of dogwood, such as butchers’ skewers are made of, or of a similar hard wood; and, being movable, may be taken out for accommodation to the pocket, or renewal at pleasure. These pipes cost sixpence each.

Thedudeen, or short pipe, the “little tube of magic power,” wherewith the Irish labourer amuses himself in England, is thus mentioned in a note on the “Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland,” by Mr. Crofton Croker:—“Dudeensignifies a little stump of a pipe. Small tobacco-pipes, of an ancient form, are frequently found in Ireland on digging or ploughing up the ground, particularly in the vicinity of those circular intrenchments, called Danish forts, which were more probably the villages or settlements of the native Irish. These pipes are believed by the peasantry to belong to the Cluricaunes, and when discovered are broken, or otherwise treated with indignity, as a kind of retort for the tricks which their supposed owners had played off.” Mr. Croker subjoins a sketch of one of these pipes, and adds, that “In the Anthologia Hibernica, vol i. p. 352, (Dublin, 1793,) there is a print of one, which was found at Brannockstown, county Kildare, sticking between the teeth of a human skull; and it is accompanied by a paper, which, on the authority of Herodotus, (lib. i. sec. 36,) Strabo, (lib. vii. 296,) Pomponius Mela, (2,) and Solinus, (c. 15,) goes to prove that the northern nations of Europe were acquainted with tobacco, or an herb of similar properties, and that they smoked it through small tubes—of course, long before the existence of America was known.”

First Gent.’Tis well known I am a Gentleman. My father was a man of £500 a year, and he held somethingin capitetoo.Second Gent.So does my Lordsomething—Foolish Lord.Nay, by my troth, what I holdin capiteis worth little or nothing.

First Gent.’Tis well known I am a Gentleman. My father was a man of £500 a year, and he held somethingin capitetoo.

Second Gent.So does my Lordsomething—

Foolish Lord.Nay, by my troth, what I holdin capiteis worth little or nothing.

Page.He that’s first a scholar, and next in love, the year after is either an arrant fool or a madman.Master.How came your knavery by such experience?Page.As fools do by news: somebody told me so, and I believe it.

Page.He that’s first a scholar, and next in love, the year after is either an arrant fool or a madman.

Master.How came your knavery by such experience?

Page.As fools do by news: somebody told me so, and I believe it.

——softly, ye villains!—the rogues of chairmen have trundled me over some damn’d nutshell or other, that gave me such a jerk as has half murder’d me.

Spaniard.The air being thin and rarified generally provides us good stomachs.Englishman.Aye, and the earth little or nothing to satisfy ’em with; I think a cabbage is a jewel among you.Span.Why, truly a good cabbage is respected. But our people are often very luxurious, they abound very often.Eng.O no such matter, faith, Spaniard! ’death, if they get but a piece of beef, they shall hang all the bones out, and write underneathHere hath been beef eaten, as if ’twere a miracle. And if they get but a lean hen, the feathers shall be spread before the door with greater pride than we our carpets at some princely solemnity.

Spaniard.The air being thin and rarified generally provides us good stomachs.

Englishman.Aye, and the earth little or nothing to satisfy ’em with; I think a cabbage is a jewel among you.

Span.Why, truly a good cabbage is respected. But our people are often very luxurious, they abound very often.

Eng.O no such matter, faith, Spaniard! ’death, if they get but a piece of beef, they shall hang all the bones out, and write underneathHere hath been beef eaten, as if ’twere a miracle. And if they get but a lean hen, the feathers shall be spread before the door with greater pride than we our carpets at some princely solemnity.

Servant(to my Lord Stately’s Gentleman Usher.) Sir, here’s your Lord’s footman come to tell you, your Lord’s hat is blown out of his hand.Lord W.Why did not the footman take it up?Usher.He durst not, my Lord; ’tis above him.Lord W.Where? a’top of the chimney?Usher.Above his office, my Lord.Lord W.How does this fool, for want of solid greatness, swell with empty ceremony, and fortify himself with outworks! That a man must dig thro’ rubbish to come at an ass.English Friar.

Servant(to my Lord Stately’s Gentleman Usher.) Sir, here’s your Lord’s footman come to tell you, your Lord’s hat is blown out of his hand.

Lord W.Why did not the footman take it up?

Usher.He durst not, my Lord; ’tis above him.

Lord W.Where? a’top of the chimney?

Usher.Above his office, my Lord.

Lord W.How does this fool, for want of solid greatness, swell with empty ceremony, and fortify himself with outworks! That a man must dig thro’ rubbish to come at an ass.English Friar.

Waiting maid.I have a new Bible too; and when my Lady left her Practice of Piety, she gave it me.Newcastle.

Nay, good Mr. Constable, you are e’en the luckiest at being wise that ever I knew.Newcastle.

1. O eternal blockhead, did you never write Essays?2. I did essay to write Essays, but I cannot say I writ Essays.Newcastle.

1. O eternal blockhead, did you never write Essays?

2. I did essay to write Essays, but I cannot say I writ Essays.Newcastle.

Indiscerptibility, and Essential Spissitude: words which, though I am no competent judge of, for want of languages, yet I fancy strongly ought to mean nothing.Mrs. Afra Behn.

—— a late learned Doctor; who, though himself no great assertor of a Deity, yet was observed to be continually persuading this sort of men [the rakehelly blockheaded Infidels about town] of the necessity and truth of our religion; and being asked how he came to bestir himself so much this way, made answer, that it was because their ignorance and indiscreet debauch made them a Scandal to the Profession of Atheism.Behn.

Master.Courage! why what dost thou call courage? Hector himself would not have exchanged his ten years’ siege for our ten days’ storm at sea. A Storm! a hundred thousand fighting men are nothing to it; cities sack’d by fire, nothing. ’Tis a resistless coward, that attacks a man at disadvantage; an unaccountable magic, that first conjures down a man’s courage, and then plays the devil over him; and, in fine, it is a Storm!Mate.Good lack, that it should be all these terrible things, and yet that we should outlive it!Master.No god-a-mercy to our courages tho’, I tell you that now; but like an angry wench, when it had huffed and bluster’d itself weary, it lay still again.Behn.

Mate.Good lack, that it should be all these terrible things, and yet that we should outlive it!

Master.No god-a-mercy to our courages tho’, I tell you that now; but like an angry wench, when it had huffed and bluster’d itself weary, it lay still again.Behn.

Mate.What, beat a woman, Sir?Master.’Psha, all’s one for that; if I am provoked, anger will have its effects upon whomsoe’er it light: so said Van Tromp, when he took his Mistress a cuff on the ear for finding fault with an ill-fashioned leg he made her. I liked his humour well.Behn.

Mate.What, beat a woman, Sir?

Master.’Psha, all’s one for that; if I am provoked, anger will have its effects upon whomsoe’er it light: so said Van Tromp, when he took his Mistress a cuff on the ear for finding fault with an ill-fashioned leg he made her. I liked his humour well.Behn.

—— sitting at home in the chimney corner, cursing the face of Duke de Alva upon the jugs, for laying an imposition on beer.Behn.

—— I shall know all, when I meet her in the chapel to-morrow. I am resolved to venture thither, tho’ I am afraid the dogs will bark me out again, and by that means let the congregation know how much I am a stranger to the place.Durfey.

You do not believe me then? the devil take me, if these home-bred fellows can be saved: they neither know nor believe half the creation.Lacy.

—— a true-bred English Beau has indeed the powder, the essence, the toothpick, the snuff-box; and is as idle; but the fault is in the flesh—he has not the motion, and looks stiff under all this. Now a French Fop like a Poet, is born so, and would be known without clothes; it is in his eyes, his nose, his fingers, his elbows, his heels. They dance when they walk, and sing when they speak. We have nothing in that perfection as abroad; and our cuckolds, as well as our grapes, are but half ripened.Burnaby.

The juice of a lemon that’s civil at seasons,Twelve dancing capers, ten lunatic reasons;Two dying notes of an ancient swan;Three sighs, a thousand years kept, if you can;Some scrapings of Gyges’s ring may pass,With the skin of a shadow caught in a glass;Six pennyworth of thoughts untold;The jelly of a star, before it be cold;One ounce of courtship from a country daughter;A grain of wit, and a quart of laughter.—

Boil these on the fire of Zeal (with some beech-coals, lest the vessel burst).—If you can get these ingredients, I will compound them for you. Then, when the patient is perfectly recovered, she shall be married in rich cloth of rainbow laced with sunbeams.Strode.

Fair Women in Churches have as ill effect as fine Strangers in Grammar schools: for tho’ the boys keep on the humdrum still, yet none of ’em mind their lesson for looking about ’em.Fane.

I have observed the wisdom of these Moors: for some days since being invited by one of the chief Bashaws to dinner, after meat, sitting by a huge fire, and feeling his shins to burn, I requested him to pull back his chair, but he very understandingly sent for three or four masons, and removed the chimney.Brome.

—— give charge the mutton come in all raw; the King of Kent is a Pagan, and must be served so. And let those officers, that seldom or never go to church, bring it in; it will be the better taken.Middleton.

I have a privilege. I was at the tavern the other day; in the next room I smelt hot venison. I sent but a drawer to tell the company, “one in the house with a great belly longed for a corner,” and I had half a pasty sent me immediately.Shirley.

Friend.Camelion, how now, have you turned away your master?Camelion.No; I sold my place. As I was thinking to run away, comes this fellow, and offers me a breakfast for my good will to speak to my master for him. I took him at his word, and resigned my office, and turned over my hunger to him immediately. Now I serve a man.Shirley.

Friend.Camelion, how now, have you turned away your master?

Camelion.No; I sold my place. As I was thinking to run away, comes this fellow, and offers me a breakfast for my good will to speak to my master for him. I took him at his word, and resigned my office, and turned over my hunger to him immediately. Now I serve a man.Shirley.

Fine Lady.I am glad I am come home, for I am even as weary with this walking; for God’s sake, whereabouts does the pleasure of walking lie? I swear I have often sought it till I was weary, and yet I could ne’er find it.T. Killegrew.

Alderman.Save you, Sir.Suitor.You do not think me damn’d, Sir, that you bestowThat salutation on me?Ald.Good, Sir, no.Whom would you speak with here?Suit.Sir, my discoursePoints at one Alderman Covel.Ald.I am the party.Suit.I understand you have a daughter, isOf most unknown perfections.Ald.She is as Heaven made her—Suit.She goes naked then;The tailor has no hand in her.

C. L.

He had been in Yorkshire daleAmong the winding scars,Where deep and low the hamlets lie,Beneath a little patch of sky,And little patch of stars.—Wordsworth.

In the summer of 1823 I was residing for a few days at a solitary inn amongst the hills of Craven. One afternoon I had planned an excursion to a neighbouring cave, but was prevented from going there by a heavy rain which had fallen during the whole of the day. I had no friends in the neighbourhood, and could not have procured at my inn any work worth the perusal. The library of my landlord was small, and the collection not remarkable for being well chosen; it consisted of Pamela, Baron Munchausen, Fox’s Martyrs, the Pilgrim’s Progress, and a few other publications of an equally edifying description. I should have been at a loss how to have spent the tedious hours, had I not had a companion. He was a stout, elderly man, a perfect stranger to me; and by his conversation showed himself possessed of a very considerable share of erudition: his language was correct, his remarks strong and forcible, and delivered in a manner energetic and pointed. While engaged in conversation, our ears were stunned by a number of village lads shouting and hallooing at the door of the inn. On inquiring of the landlord into the cause of this disturbance, we were informed that a poor woman, who was reputed to be a witch, had taken shelter at his house from the inclemency of the storm, and that some idle boys, on seeing her enter, were behaving in the rude manner already mentioned.

The landlord having left the room, I said to my companion, “So you have witches in Craven, sir; or, at least, those who pretend to be such. I thought that race of ignorant impostors had been long extinct, but am sorry to find the case is otherwise.”

The stranger looked at me, and said, “Do you then disbelieve the existence of witchcraft?”

“Most assuredly,” I replied.

“But you must confess that witchcraftdidexist?”

“Ido; but think not its existing in the prophetical ages to be any evidence of its being permitted in the present.”

“But learned works have been written to prove the existence of it in late times—You are aware of the treatises of Glanvill and Sinclair?”

“True; and learned men have sometimes committed foolish actions; and certainly Glanvill and Sinclair, great as their talents undoubtedly were, showed no great wisdom in publishing their ridiculous effusions, which are nothing more than the overflowings of heated imaginations.”

My companion seeing I was not to be convinced by any arguments he could advance, but that, like the adder in holy writ,I was “deaf to the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely,” thus addressed me:—“Iwaslike you, sceptical on the subject of our present discourse; but the doubts I once entertained have long since vanished; and if you can attend patiently to a history I will relate, I think you will be convinced that witchcraftdoesexist; or at least has existed in very modern times.”

The stranger then related the story of

“In the year 17—, in a lonely gill, not far distant from Arncliffe, stood a solitary cottage: a more wretched habitation the imagination cannot picture. It contained a single apartment, inhabited by an old woman, called Bertha, who was throughout the valley accounted a wise woman, and a practiser of the ‘art that none may name.’ I was at that time very young, and unmarried; and, far from having any dread of her, would frequently talk to her, and was always glad when she called at my father’s house. She was tall, thin, and haggard; her eyes were large, and sunk deep in their sockets; and the hoarse masculine intonations of her voice were anything but pleasing. The reason I took such delight in the company of Bertha was this—she was possessed of much historical knowledge, and related events which had occurred two or three centuries ago, in a manner so minute and particular, that many a time I have been induced to believe she had been a spectatress of what she was relating. Bertha was undoubtedly of great age; but what that age was no one ever knew. I have frequently interrogated her on the subject, but always received an evasive answer to my inquiries.

“In the autumn, or rather in the latter end of the summer of 17—, I set out one evening to visit the cottage of the wise woman. I had never beheld the interior; and, led on by curiosity and mischief, was determined to see it. Having arrived at the cottage, I knocked at the gate. ‘Come in,’ said a voice, which I knew was Bertha’s. I entered; the old woman was seated on a three-legged stool, by a turf fire, surrounded by three black cats and an old sheep-dog. ‘Well,’ she exclaimed, ‘what brings you here? what can have induced you to pay a visit to old Bertha?’ I answered, ‘Be not offended; I have never before this evening viewed the interior of your cottage; and wishing to do so, have made this visit; I also wished to see you perform some of yourincantations.’ I pronounced the last word ironically. Bertha observed it, and said, ‘Then you doubt my power, think me an impostor, and consider my incantations mere jugglery; youmaythink otherwise; but sit down by my humble hearth, and in less than half an hour you shall observe such an instance of my power as I have never hitherto allowed mortal to witness.’ I obeyed, and approached the fire. I now gazed around me, and minutely viewed the apartment. Three stools, an old deal table, a few pans, three pictures of Merlin, Nostradamus, and Michael Scott, a caldron, and a sack, with the contents of which I was unacquainted, formed the whole stock of Bertha. The witch having sat by me a few minutes, rose, and said, ‘Now for our incantations; behold me, but interrupt me not.’ She then with chalk drew a circle on the floor, and in the midst of it placed a chafing-dish filled with burning embers; on this she fixed the caldron, which she had half filled with water.

“She then commanded me to take my station at the farther end of the circle, which I did accordingly. Bertha then opened the sack, and taking from it various ingredients, threw them into the ‘charmed pot.’ Amongst many other articles I noticed a skeleton head, bones of different sizes, and the dried carcasses of some small animals. My fancy involuntarily recurred to the witch inOvid—

Semina, floresque, et succos in coquit acres;Addidit et exceptas lunâ pernocte pruinas,Et strigis infames ipsis cum carnibus alas,Vivacisque jecur cervi; quibus insuper addit,Ora caputque novem cornicis sæcula passæ.’

While thus employed, she continued muttering some words in an unknown language; all I remember hearing was the wordkonig. At length the water boiled, and the witch, presenting me with a glass, told me to look through it at the caldron. I did so, and observed a figure enveloped in the steam; at the first glance I knew not what to make of it, but I soon recognised the face ofN——,a friend and intimate acquaintance: he was dressed in his usual mode, but seemed unwell, and pale. I was astonished, and trembled. The figure having disappeared, Bertha removed the caldron, and extinguished the fire. ‘Now,’ said she, ‘do you doubt my power? I have brought before you the form of a person who is some miles from this place; was there any deception in the appearance? I am no impostor, though you have hitherto regarded me as such.’ She ceased speaking: I hurried towards the door, and said, ‘Good night.’ ‘Stop,’ said Bertha, ‘Ihave not done with you; I will show you something more wonderful than the appearance of this evening: to-morrow, at midnight, go and stand upon Arncliffe bridge, and look at the water on the left side of it. Nothing will harm you; fear not.’

“‘And why should I go to Arncliffe bridge? What end can be answered by it? The place is lonely; I dread to be there at such an hour; may I have a companion?’

“‘No.’

“‘Why not?’

“‘Because the charm will be broken.’

“‘What charm?’

“‘I cannot tell.’

“‘You will not.’

“‘I will not give you any further information: obey me, nothing shall harm you.’

“‘Well, Bertha,’ I said, ‘you shall be obeyed. I believe you would do me no injury. I will repair to Arncliffe bridge to-morrow at midnight; good night.’”

I then left the cottage, and returned home. When I retired to rest I could not sleep; slumber fled my pillow, and with restless eyes I lay ruminating on the strange occurrences at the cottage, and on what I was to behold at Arncliffe bridge. Morning dawned, I arose unrefreshed and fatigued. During the day I was unable to attend to any business; my coming adventure entirely engrossed my mind. Night arrived, I repaired to Arncliffe bridge: never shall I forget the scene. It was a lovely night: the full orb’d moon was sailing peacefully through a clear blue cloudless sky, and its beams, like streaks of silvery lustre, were dancing on the waters of the Skirfare; the moonlight falling on the hills formed them into a variety of fantastic shapes; here one might behold the semblance of a ruined abbey, with towers and spires, and Anglo-Saxon and Gothic arches; at another place there seemed a castle frowning in feudal grandeur, with its buttresses, battlements, and parapets. The stillness which reigned around, broken only by the murmuring of the stream, the cottages scattered here and there along its banks, and the woods wearing an autumnal tinge, all united to compose a scene of calm and perfect beauty. I leaned against the left battlement of the bridge; I waited a quarter of an hour—half an hour—an hour—nothing appeared. I listened, all was silent; I looked around, I saw nothing. Surely, I inwardly ejaculated, I have mistaken the hour; no, it must be midnight; Bertha has deceived me, fool that I am, why have I obeyed the beldam? Thus I reasoned. The clock of the neighbouring church chimed—I counted the strokes, it was twelve o’clock; Ihadmistaken the hour, and I resolved to stay a little longer on the bridge. I resumed my station, which I had quitted, and gazed on the stream. The river in that part runs in a clear still channel, and ‘all its music dies away.’ As I looked on the stream I heard a low moaning sound, and perceived the water violently troubled, without any apparent cause. The disturbance having continued a few minutes ceased, and the river became calm, and again flowed along in peacefulness. What could this mean? Whence came that low moaning sound? What caused the disturbance of the river? I asked myself these questions again and again, unable to give them any rational answer. With a slight indescribable kind of fear I bent my steps homewards. On turning a corner of the lane that led to my father’s house, a huge dog, apparently of the Newfoundland breed, crossed my path, and looked wistfully on me. ‘Poor fellow!’ I exclaimed, ‘hast thou lost thy master? come home with me, and I will use thee well till we find him.’ The dog followed me; but when I arrived at my place of abode, I looked for it, but saw no traces of it, and I conjectured it had found its master.

“On the following morning I again repaired to the cottage of the witch, and found her, as on the former occasion, seated by the fire. ‘Well, Bertha,’ I said, ‘I have obeyed you; I was yesterday at midnight on Arncliffe bridge.’

“‘And of what sight were you a witness?’

“‘I saw nothing except a slight disturbance of the stream.’

“‘I know,’ she said, ‘you saw a disturbance of the water, but did you behold nothing more?’

“‘Nothing.’

“‘Nothing! your memory fails you.’

“‘I forgot, Bertha; as I was proceeding home, I met a Newfoundland dog, which I suppose belonged to some traveller.’

“‘That dog,’ answered Bertha, ‘never belonged to mortal; no human being is his master. The dog you saw was Bargest; you may, perhaps, have heard of him.’

“‘I have frequently heard tales of Bargest, but I never credited them. If the legends of my native hills be true, a death may be expected to follow his appearance.’

“‘You are right, and a death will follow his last night’s appearance.’

“‘Whose death?’

“‘Not yours.’

“As Bertha refused to make any further communication, I left her. In less than three hours after I quitted her I was informed that my friendN——,whose figure I had seen enveloped in the mist of the caldron, had that morning committed suicide, by drowning himself at Arncliffe bridge, in the very spot where I beheld the disturbance of the stream!”

Such was the story of my companion; the tale amused me, but by no means increased my belief in witchcraft. I told the narrator so, and we again entered into a serious discussion, which continued till the inn clock struck seven, when the stranger left me, saying, that he could not stay any longer, as he had a distance of ten miles to travel that evening along a very lonely road.

The belief of witchcraft is still very prevalent in Craven; and there are now residing in different parts wise men and wise women, whom the country people consult when any property is stolen or lost, as well as for the purpose of fortune-telling. These impostors pretend generally to practise divination by the crystal, as in the tale—a mode of deception which Moncrieff has very ingeniously ridiculed in his “Tom and Jerry.” Witches and wizards are not so common as they were a few years ago amongst us. The spread of education, by means of National and Sunday Schools, goes a great way to destroy superstition. Few witches were better known in Craven than Kilnsay Nan, who died a few years ago. This old hag travelled with a Guinea pig in her breast, which she pretended solved questions, and used at times to open a witchcraft shop in Bag’s-alley, Skipton: her stock of spells was not very large, for it only consisted of her Guinea pig, and about half a pack of dirty cards.

Littondale, the romantic valley which forms the scene of the above tale, is at the extremity of the parish of Burnsal, where Wharfdale forks off into two great branches, one whereof retains the name of Wharfdale to the source of the river; and the other, which is watered by the Skirfare, (sometimes called the Litton and Litton Bech,) is called Littondale. The ancient name was Amerdale; and by that designation Wordsworth alludes to it in his “White Doe,”

“The deep fork of Amerdale.”

The whole of the dale is in the parish of Arncliffe; so called, according to my great authority in Craven matters, Dr. Whitaker, from Єaꞃn, an eagle, and clyꝼꝼ, a rock; i. e. the eagle’s rock; “as it afforded many secure retreats for that bird in its ridges of perpendicular limestone.” The western side of the valley extends to Pennigent; on the skirts of which mountain are many ancient places of interment, called “Giants’ Graves,” thought to be Danish.

During the last summer I took a ride up Littondale, principally with a view of inspecting Arncliffe church, on the venerable tower of which I had frequently gazed at a distance. Alas! it is the only venerable thing about the church, all the rest of which has been rebuilt in a most paltry and insignificant style—not an ornament about it, inside or outside: as Dr. Whitaker truly says, “it has been rebuilt with all the attention to economy, and all the neglect, both of modern elegance and ancient form, which characterises the religious edifices of the present day.” It is indeed, as the same historian observes, “a perfect specimen” of a “plain, oblong, ill-constructed building, without aisles, choir, column, battlements, or buttresses; the roof and wainscotting of deal, the covering of slate; the walls running down with wet, and the whole resembling a modern conventicle, which this year may serve as a chapel, and the next as a cockpit.” The remarks that Arncliffe church leads the doctor to make ought to bethunderedin the ears of every “beautifier” from Cornwall to Berwick uponTweed:—

“Awakened by the remonstrances of their ecclesiastical superior, a parish discovers that, by long neglect, the roof of their church is half rotten, the lead full of cracks, the pews falling down, the windows broken, the mullions decayed, the walls damp and mouldy. Here it is well if the next discovery be not thevalueof the lead. No matter whether this covering have or have not given an air of dignity and venerable peculiarity to the church for centuries. It will save a parish assessment; and blue slate will harmonize very prettily with the adjoining cotton-mill! The work of renovation proceeds—the stone tracery of the windows, which had long shed their dim religious light, is displaced, and with it all the armorial achievements of antiquity, the written memorials of benefactors, the rich tints and glowing drapery of saints and angels—but to console our eyes for the losses, the smart luminous modern sash is introduced; and if this be only pointed at top, all is well; for all is—stillGothic![510]Next are condemned themassy oaken stalls, many of them capable of repairs, many of them wanting none: these are replaced by narrow slender deal pews, admirably contrived to cramp the tall, and break down under the bulky. Next the fluted wood work of the roof, with all its carved enrichments, is plastered over. It looked dull and nourished cobwebs! Lastly, the screens and lattices, which, from a period antecedent to the Reformation, had spread their light and perforated surfaces from arch to arch, are sawn away; and, in the true spirit of modern equality, one undistinguishing blank is substituted for separations which are yetcanonical, and to distinctions whichought to be revered.”

In Littondale is the celebrated cave Doukerbottom Hole: the road leading to it is steep and difficult to travel for one unused to hilly countries; but the tourist will receive an ample recompense for the badness of the road, by the splendid views obtained from all parts of it of Whernside and the neighbouring hills. It is some years since I saw Doukerbottom Cave; and at this distance of time I fear to attempt a description of its wonders; but I remember that the entrance is steep and rather dangerous; the first chamber very spacious and lofty, and the roof starred with beautiful stalactites formed by the dripping of the limestone; that then the cavern becomes narrower and lower, so much so, that you have to stoop, and that at the end the ear is stunned by a waterfall, which discharges itself into some still lower cave. I remember, too, that I visited it in company with an amiable dissenting minister, and that we were highly amused at the jokes and tales of our one-eyed guide, Mr. Proctor, of Kilnsay. I have just been inquiring after that worthy and eccentric old fellow, and find that he is dead. I am sorry for it; and if my reverend friend should see this article, I doubt not but he will lament with me, that poor old Proctor is gone. For many years he had been guide to Doukerbottom Cave and Whernside.

In Littondale is a ridge of rock, called Tenant’s Ride, from one of the Tenant family having galloped along it while hunting. A dangerous feat truly, but not so daring as is generally supposed; for I am given to understand the ridge is seven yards wide, and perfectly level. There are fine waterfalls in the valley. I trust that a time will come when Littondale will be more frequented than at present.

T. Q. M.

December, 1827.

Back to Index Next