LI B RARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 623 
 Isl2b 
 
 V.I 
 
i\ 
 
BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 BY THE 
 
 Rev. JOHN ISABELL, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " COENISH TEMPEBANCE TALES," ETC. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 HLontJoit : 
 SAMPSON LOW, MAESTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON, 
 
 CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET. 
 
 1885. 
 
 [^All rights reserved.'] 
 
LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY GILBEET AND KIVINGTOX, LIMITED, 
 
 ST. John's sqcarb. 
 

 S CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 I 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 FEAST . 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ^THE STORM 1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ^ ILL- WISHED . . . . . . .11 
 
 % CHAPTER III. 
 
 ^ "what will he do with it?" . . .28 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 '•' NAME THIS CHILD " 43 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ^' THE CHRISTENING OF JENIFER . . . .48 
 
 ,K THE CHRISTENING FEAST 58 
 
 A SEAT OF LEARNING . . . . * 70 
 
 ^ CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A Man's school ...... 81 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ^ ^WEDDINGS AND FUNERALS . . . .89 
 
 "^ CHAPTER X. 
 
 t THE FIRST CIGAR 100 
 
 i 
 
lY CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 PAGB 
 ON HEAYEIf 113 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A LITERARY MAN 124 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A PIOUS EOUKDER 140 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE ANTIQUARY . . . . . . 152 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE WILD WAYES ...... 181 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE ARCHITECT OP HIS OWN FORTUNES . .193 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 CONFIRMATION ....... 200 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 " GOING TO CELLAR " 214 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE PRIYY COUNCIL ...... 225 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE CHINA JAR 239 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 SOME OF THE SPICE OF LIFE .... 249 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 " WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE ? " . . . 268 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 UNCLE ANTHONY 283 
 
BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE STOKM. 
 
 The wild wind and the remorseless dash of billows. 
 
 Don Juan. 
 
 The day is Sunday, the time nearly sun- 
 set, the place a small Cornisli fishing 
 town which we will call St. Enodoc. The 
 voices of the pealing bells have died 
 away in the old tower, the aisles of the 
 noble church are thronged by hundreds 
 of worshippers, the prayers are ended, 
 and the petitions of the congregation, 
 couched in the language of Fathers and 
 Bishops and Martyrs, have gone up to 
 VOL. I. B 
 
2 BY THE COR^^ISH SEA. 
 
 the throne of the Almighty. A hymn is 
 given out by the clergyman. It is that 
 grand prayer-hymn beginning, — 
 
 " Eternal Father, strong to save, 
 "Whose arm hath bound the restless wave." 
 
 It has, perhaps, never been sung with 
 more heartiness, for most of those present 
 have some relative on the great deep, or 
 themselves go down to the sea in ships, 
 either as seamen or fishermen. Aud 
 moreover, it can be sung at no more 
 fitting time, for while they are singing a 
 violent September storm is raging outside, 
 beating against the leaded windows of 
 the church, as if determined to force an 
 entrance, and swaying about the great 
 trees which stud the churchyard with a 
 mighty roar, which now and again seems 
 to drown the voice of the organ within. 
 The men present cannot hear the dash 
 of the wild waves in the bay beyond the 
 
THE STORM. ^ 
 
 harbour, but tliej know by bitter ex- 
 perience what they are saying; the out« 
 lines of the cruel rocks, churning the 
 mighty breakers into boiling foam, stand 
 out before their eyes. "Woe to the 
 mariner found on such a shore on such 
 a night as this. 
 
 But listen ! what is that which is heard 
 above the pealing of the organ and the 
 sound of many voices and the roaring of 
 the trees as they clap their bands together ? 
 It may be thunder, for the lightning is flash- 
 ing and flinging its lurid glare into the dim 
 light of the church. Boom ! there it roars 
 again, a sound of terror to the practised ear. 
 What can it mean ? It means that men's 
 lives are at stake, that a gallant ship 
 is struggling with the mad waves on a lee 
 shore. It is a signal of distress — pray 
 God it may not be a funeral knell ! 
 
 The men one by one steal quietly out of 
 B 2 
 
4 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 the churcli, for they know well that strong 
 arms and stout hearts are needed to make 
 a fit response to that cry from the deep. 
 The women would fain follow, but the 
 voice of the vicar restrains them by saying, 
 *' Let the men render what assistance they 
 can ; but you, mothers and • sisters and 
 wives, sing once more that hymn for 
 those in peril on the sea. He who holds 
 the winds in the hollow of His hand is 
 able to answer our prayers." 
 
 The hymn was sung with heartiness 
 before, it is sung with passionate pleading 
 now. The possible perils of their kinsfolk 
 has softened their hearts : the thought of 
 the certain dangers now about to be 
 faced by their nearest and dearest brings 
 Hoods of tears which almost still the 
 music, as the falling rain hushes the voice 
 of the storm. 
 
 It is ended at last, and^ unable to re- 
 
THE STORM. 5 
 
 strain themselves any longer, they rush 
 from the church to find that the life-boat 
 has been placed on its carriage and is 
 being drawn overland to the bay, where 
 the vessel in distress is said to be. A 
 quarter of an hour and life-boat and men 
 are facing the wreck. 
 
 She is a large barque flying the Eng- 
 lish flag. Unable to stand out to sea, 
 she has become embayed on this pitiless 
 coast, and has, after parting her cables, 
 drifted broadside on to a reef of rocks 
 about three hundred yards from the shore. 
 Even while they look a mighty wave 
 dashes her with such force on the rocks 
 that she parts asunder amidships, and 
 her main and mizen-masts go over the 
 side with a mighty crash. Two or three 
 men are clinging to the rigging of the 
 foremast, the rest of the crew have already 
 apparently found a watery grave. If any- 
 
6 BY THE COKNISH SEA. 
 
 thing is done, it must be done at once. 
 But can fhe life-boat be launched in 
 such a surf? Only let it fail to burst 
 through the ring of breakers, and the 
 crew will have to fight hard for their lives. 
 But there are thirteen stout Cornish 
 hearts on board, and when are Cornish- 
 men wont to shrink from adventuring 
 their own lives to save those of drowning 
 sailors ? A long run, a strong pull, and 
 she will dash through the hostile waves, 
 which send ashore their advance-guard of 
 cloud-like spray as if daring them to the 
 contest. A hundred strong hands seize 
 the launching-lines, the crew hold their 
 oars, the coxswains are at their posts. 
 Hearts are beating hard now, for a slight 
 mistake, a trifling error of judgment, 
 may doom to death husbands and brothers 
 and sons. Are you ready ? Now ! With 
 the speed of horses and with the strength 
 
THE STORM. 7 
 
 of lions they dash up the beach, and like 
 a steed panting for the fray, the noble 
 boat leaps at the billows, cuts through 
 them, and, amid a ringing cheer from the 
 spectators, emerges into the comparatively 
 smooth water beyond. Brave boat, brave 
 crew, God speed you on your errand of 
 mercy ! 
 
 But look at that mighty wave bearing 
 down on the battered barque. It curls 
 and curls, and leaps and hisses as it 
 nears its prey. Cling, poor waifs, to 
 the warping cordage — cling for dear life. 
 
 The green waters rise like a huge moun- 
 tain above their heads, and then with a 
 roar fall on board. Only one is left in the 
 rigging now. Three half-dead forms are 
 tossed to and fro for a few moments 
 by the hungry waves, as with feline play- 
 fulness, and then are swallowed up before 
 the life-boat can reach them. 
 
8 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 Strain at your oars, strong fishermen^ 
 tug with might and main, reach the 
 shattered hulk before another dash of 
 waters sweeps away the last poor wretch 
 clinging to the dripping ropes. 
 
 The life-boat surges up under the lee of 
 the barque. Now then, one spring and 
 you are safe. Foolish man ! grasping 
 some prized possession in such a time of 
 peril. Throw away that bundle and jump 
 for your life. 
 
 He leaps at last on to the convex fore- 
 castle, or air-box, of the life-boat, but, 
 hampered by his treasure, misses his foot- 
 hold, and with a cry falls over the side, 
 flinging forward into the boat the bundle 
 which until now he has clung to. He 
 evidently has struck himself in falling, 
 for he sinks like lead under the troubled 
 waters. 
 
 It is all oyer now, their voyages are 
 
THE STORM. ^ 
 
 ended, their labour is done. The poor 
 bodies have become the playthings of the 
 tempest, the spirits have returned unto 
 God who gave them. Keep the boat 
 before the wind and make the harbour 
 by doubling the point; you have failed 
 to save your brothers, but you did your 
 duty well. Toss overboard that fatal 
 bundle, it caused a brave man's death. 
 
 Stay ! What cry is that ? It is an 
 infant's wail, a little life is hidden under 
 those woollen wraps. A tiny babe it is, 
 so frail and fragile, the only survivor of 
 all that ship's company. O precious 
 child ! who can tell thy worth ? A gallant 
 heart was given for thee. brave, strong 
 man ! noble soul ! thou mightest have 
 been saved, but thou didst count the life 
 of another more precious than thine own. 
 Starboard the helm a point, so ; keep her 
 dead before the wind now. How she 
 
10 Br THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 leaps on as she rises on the crests of the 
 waves ! Hard a port ! There ; she glides 
 into smooth water and the danger is 
 past. 
 
 The darkness has fallen, and the gleam 
 of the pier-head lights falls on the life- 
 boat and the crowd assembled to witness 
 the disembarkation. The coxswain leaps 
 out on the quay, and heedless of the eager 
 inquirers who attempt to stop him, hurries 
 home with his treasure- trove — the little 
 babe saved at such a cost — the child of 
 the storm. 
 
11 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ILL-WISHED. 
 
 As the old swain said, she can unlock 
 The clasping charm, and thaw the numbing spell, 
 If she be right invoked. 
 
 Comus. 
 
 ** Theert ill-wished so sure as feeate, 
 Mrs. Treleaven; teeake mj word for it, 
 theert ill- wished.'* 
 
 " Don't be so foolish, Betsy, who would 
 be so wicked as to ill-wish me ? What 
 harm have I done to anybody ? Besides 
 I don't believe in ill- wishing ? " 
 
 " What, my dear ! doant ee believe in 
 ill-wishing ? Why, tes so true as the 
 blessed Bible. I do knaw tes, for I've 
 
12 Br THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 experienced it. There's owld Tommy 
 Roskillj, who died fower eear agone, 
 wodn he ill- wished? He drovved hes 
 dunkey cart wan day ovver wan of Patty 
 Symons's chicks, and he never was a 
 man no more. They do say that Patty 
 fulled a bottle weth eearth and pins 
 and needles, and buried it in the church- 
 yard, and from that time Tommy cudn 
 git no rest, hes flesh was all creepy 
 like, and in two eear he was carr'd to 
 his greeave. The doctor towld Tommy's 
 wife 'twas Titus's deeance, but twodn 
 Titus's deeance 'tall, twas pins and 
 needles and nothin' else that broft the 
 creepy feelins ovver un." 
 
 The speakers were Betsy Polsue, the 
 village nurse, and Mrs. Treleaven, the wife 
 of a coastguardsman stationed at Pen- 
 druthan, on the south side of the county 
 of Cornwall. 
 
ILL- WISHED. 13 
 
 John Treleaven was on duty at the 
 boat-house, and his wife and Betsy Polsue 
 were watching by the bedside of Arthur, 
 the only child of the pair, who had been 
 tossing for many days in the burning 
 pains of a fever, but was now utterly 
 prostrate, hovering on the borders of 
 death, as if uncertain whether to go or 
 stay. The room, a bright one in the 
 daytime, was dimly lighted by one 
 flickering candle, which cast distorted 
 shadows of the mother and the old nurse 
 on the white-washed wall behind. Two 
 or three pictures representing such Scrip- 
 ture subjects as the infant Samael praying, 
 and Christ in the Temple, took off some- 
 what from the blankness of the walls. 
 
 The poor little sick lamb lay pallid and 
 motionless on the white cot, breathing 
 so feebly that at times life seemed ex- 
 tinct, and the nurse prepared to do the 
 
14 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 last sad offices for the little frame. But 
 again the spark of life brightened, and 
 again the two watched on by the bedside. 
 
 Mrs. Treleaven was a fragile-looking 
 woman of about thirty-five years of age. 
 She was the only daughter of Captain 
 Retallack, a master mariner, trading to 
 the East Indies, and had married, seven 
 years before, the coastguardsman John 
 Treleaven, in spite of the bitter opposition 
 of her father. 
 
 Captain Retallack, who was a widower 
 at the time of his daughter's marriage, 
 died a year after without showing any 
 sign that he had forgiven her, and leav- 
 ing all his savings to a distant cousin, 
 with whom, in his lifetime, he had held 
 no intercourse whatever. But Jane Re- 
 tallack had married for love, not for 
 money, and she felt less therefore at the. 
 alienation of her father's possessions than 
 
ILL- WISHED, 15 
 
 at his refusal to see and forgive her before 
 his death. 
 
 John Treleaven had made her a good 
 and affectionate husband, and when, after 
 about two years, a boy was given to her, 
 she felt that no woman in England had 
 more cause to be thankful than she. The 
 fever which laid her boy low cast a black 
 shadow on the brightness of her life. 
 At first her hopes were stronger than her 
 fears, but, as the days went on and the 
 child grew worse instead of better, and 
 the doctor began to shake his head and 
 look very grave, her hopes gradually died 
 away, and an intense dread settled upon 
 her. She was a devout woman, and cries 
 of agony, the agony of a mother praying 
 for her child, went up from that sick 
 room. *' Lord, save my child," she pleaded 
 in a passion of tears ; '' give me back my 
 darling ; I cannot give up ray boy.** 
 
16 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 But the strength of the child ebbed 
 away, and to-night the king of terrors 
 was looking his intended victim full in 
 the face. ' 
 
 Betsy Polsue was old, and withered, 
 and brown. Her hair had long since 
 disappeared, and a wig intended for 
 brown, but with a decided inclination to 
 brick-red, usurped its place. A couple 
 of yellow fangs represented her erewhile 
 ivory teeth ; and when I say that Betsy 
 was the owner of a well-defined squint, 
 and that her ancient wig was usually set 
 on awry, it will be easily understood that 
 her personal appearance would be to few 
 people a powerful recommendation. But 
 notwithstanding her unpleasing aspect, 
 Betsy was an extremely popular member 
 of the community. There was no one in 
 the parish, no, nor in half a dozen parishes 
 round, who could boast of half the know- 
 
ILL-WISHED. ] 7 
 
 ledge of the healing art possessed by 
 Betsy. Her acquaintance with plants, if 
 it did not range from the cedar- tree that 
 is in Lebanon unto the hyssop that 
 springeth out of the wall, certainly em- 
 braced most of the herbs and simples 
 used by amateur practitioners of the heal- 
 ing art, while for nursing she was 
 absolutely without a rival. Whether the 
 malady was a fever, a wound, or even a 
 broken bone, before a word was said about 
 the doctor some one was certain to cry 
 out, '' Send for Betsy Polsue." 
 
 Even when the doctor had come and 
 done his office, his patient often preferred 
 Betsy Polsue's advice to his. 
 
 *' Paw, Paw," Betsy would say in con- 
 tempt, "what do doctors knaw ? All 
 they're good for es to mend booans. 
 You hearken to me, my dears." 
 
 In consequence a chronic warfare was 
 VOL. I. 
 
18 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 waged between the doctor and Betsy. He 
 hinted grimly sometimes that it would 
 give him very great pleasure to perform 
 a post mortem apon her ancient frame ; he 
 suggested to Betsy's patients that she 
 was not over clean, which was certainly 
 true ; and among his own particular 
 friends he described her with strong 
 emphasis as, " that confounded old 
 witch." 
 
 To call Betsy Polsue " a confounded 
 old witch " was scarcely fair to that 
 estimable person, for Betsy's exploits in 
 necromancy consisted only in the use of 
 sundry charms to stop bleeding, and to 
 cure erysipelas and similar diseases. But 
 though she was no professor of the black 
 art, she was a firm believer in those who 
 were, and in season and out of season, 
 more particularly the latter, she never 
 wearied of relating remarkable instances 
 
ILL-WISHED. 19 
 
 of ill-wishing, and of the efficacy of charms 
 and spells. 
 
 While watching the sick child she 
 naturally drifted into her favourite topic, 
 and in spite of Mrs. Treleaven's dis- 
 inclination to pursue the subject, the 
 garrulous old dame rambled on as I 
 have described in the beginning of this 
 chapter. 
 
 " Who would be so wickit as to ill- 
 wish tha?" she continued after a pause. 
 " Aw, my dear ! wickit es it ? Wicketness 
 is plentiful nuff, goodness knaws. People 
 es gitting wiser and wicketer, ses I, wiser 
 and wicketer. Why, there's owld Nancy 
 Furze, cause Zaackle Thomas tookt the 
 teeaty ground what she wanted she ill- 
 wished un, and arter that he was always 
 in diffikittles. Fust hes pig died — he 
 cudn ait no mait, Zaackle said, and then 
 hes chembly failed in and nearly skat un 
 2 
 
20 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 to pieces in hes bed, and then somefin' 
 white banged up agen hes winder wan 
 night, and that frightened uq so that he 
 govved up the teeaty ground to her the 
 next mornin', and heve a been all right 
 sence. I knaw tes true, for Zaackle towld 
 me hisself." 
 
 "But what harm have I ever done to 
 anybody ? " repeated Mrs. Treleaven. 
 
 " No, theest never done no harm to no- 
 body," replied Betsy, " tes your man, my 
 dear, tes your man. Haben ee reed in the 
 Bible that the sins of the feeathers shall 
 be visited 'pon the cheldurn ? Well, 
 your man stopped Peggy Pentruse from 
 earring off some tember that was washed 
 in t'other day, and she've a ill- wished the 
 booy to sarve out his feeather. There edn 
 time to send to the white witch ower to 
 Redruth, but lave me say the charm back- 
 wards, I bleev that'll teeake off the ill-wish 
 
ILL-WISHED. 21 
 
 — the white witch towld me the way when 
 I seed un five eear agone — but tedn no 
 good 'less you do give me your consent. 
 Shall I do et, mistess ? " 
 
 Mrs. Treleaven was a religious woman, 
 but she was imbued with the superstitious 
 feelings of her race, and in her distress 
 was ready to grasp at any straw. " Do as 
 you like,'' she said, " it won't do any harm, 
 I suppose, if it does no good." 
 
 The old crone fortified herself by a good 
 drink of gin-and- water, a beverage kept in 
 the sick-room for her especial delectation, 
 and then retired to a corner to perform 
 her incantations. These consisted of some 
 doggerel verses which she muttered to her- 
 self, making at the same time sundry 
 circles, crosses, and other mystic signs. 
 She had hardly concluded the charm when 
 a gentle knock was heard, and the street 
 door was opened by the doctor, who 
 
22 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 walked upstairs without waiting for Lis 
 knock to be answered. 
 
 Dr. Anderton was a jollj-looking man of 
 about fifty years of age. His practice was 
 a large one, embracing every parish within 
 six or seven miles from Pendruthan. Skil- 
 ful in his profession, a man of some cul- 
 ture, and a thoroughly good and kind- 
 hearted man, he delighted all the old 
 ladies by lending a sympathetic ear to the 
 long tale of their many and complicated 
 ailments. " He's a dear man if ever there 
 was one," was their unanimous verdict. 
 His house was perched on the hill behind 
 the village, among a splendid group of firs 
 known as the " Grove." He had only now 
 returned to it from a long drive, but ran 
 down to look at the sick boy before he 
 went to bed. The first thing which met his 
 eyes as he ascended the stairs was old Betsy 
 performing her sorceries in the corner. 
 
ILL-WISHED. 23 
 
 . " Whatever is tliat old humbug up to 
 now?" he muttered loud enough for the 
 two watchers to hear. 
 
 This uncomplimentary question put 
 Betsy into high dudgeon. " Humbug," 
 she grunted, " there's more humbugs 
 in the world than Betsy Polsue, teeake 
 my word for et. Heeaf the doctor's 
 traade people drink es humbug in my 
 opinion." 
 
 "Hush, Betsy," said Mrs. Treleaven 
 soothingly, " hush, and hold the candle for 
 Dr. Anderton." 
 
 Betsy fiist took an immense pinch of 
 snuff to compose her ruffled feelings and 
 then brought the candle to the bedside. 
 '' The boy is decidedly better," was the 
 verdict ; "lie will probably fall asleep and 
 then he will do well. Keep his lips moist, 
 Mrs. Treleaven, and give him the mixture 
 every three tiours. I will look in again in 
 
24 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 tlie morning. Good-night, Mrs. Treleaven, 
 good-night, Mrs. Polsue." 
 
 *' Dedn I say so ? " said Betsj as the door 
 closed, '' dedn I say so ? The charm have 
 a worked. I knaw the doctor'll ony puff 
 at et, and try to meeake people believe the 
 mixyer, as he do call et, have a oared the 
 booy. * Whas the owld humbug up to 
 now ' ses a ? Why I've a tookt off the 
 ill- wish, thas what I've a done. ' Good 
 night, Mrs. Polsue ! ' I'd Mrs. i Polsue un 
 ef I had my way." | 
 
 Mrs. Treleaven soothed Betsy by 
 another dose of her favourite beverage, 
 and soon the two were joinefl. by John 
 Treleaven, whose watch at the boat-house 
 was ended. He was overjoyed Ibo find that 
 his son was rallying from his Istupor, and 
 
 did not trouble himself much to consider 
 
 j 
 
 whether to Dr. Anderton or tb Betsy be- 
 longed the chief credit of the (ihange. 
 
ILL-WISHED. 25 
 
 '* Thank God, mother," he said, 'Hhe 
 fever is turned. You go and rest yourself, 
 or you'll be knocked up. I'll stay up with 
 Betsy the rest of the night ; 'tis nearly one 
 o'clock now." 
 
 John discouraged Betsy's rambling dis- 
 sertations, and soon a dead silence reigned 
 in the sick- chamber, broken only by the 
 breathing of the two watchers and of 
 the sleeping child. Hour after hour the 
 boy slept on, the darkness gave place to 
 daylight, the clock struck six, seven, and 
 eight, without bringing consciousness. 
 Between eight and nine o'clock the doctor 
 again appeared. Old Betsy had gone home, 
 and only the father and mother were in the 
 room. The slight noise the doctor made 
 in entering aroused Arthur, and he opened 
 his eyes, and, for the first time for many 
 days, recognized his parents, and, stretch- 
 ing out his little wasted arms towards 
 
26 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 them, said, '^Father, motlier, kiss me, kiss 
 Arthur." 
 
 "Thank God," said the doctor, "he will 
 get on now. Take great care of him, Mrs. 
 Treleayen, but I need hardly tell you that. 
 What in the world was old mother Polsue 
 about, as I came in last night ? What ex- 
 traordinary antics was she performing in 
 the corner there ? " 
 
 Mrs. Treleaven, in reply, repeated Betsy's 
 story respecting the cause of the sickness, 
 and of her charm to remove the ill- wish. 
 
 Dr. Anderton could not control his in- 
 dignation. '* She ought to be sent to 
 prison for a rogue and a vagabond," he 
 said, " and I am greatly surprised at a 
 sensible woman like you, Mrs. Treleaven, 
 believing in such rank nonsense. Give 
 God thanks for restoring your child, and 
 don't listen any more to impostors like old 
 Betsy." 
 
ILL- WISHED. 27 
 
 From that time the recovery of Arthur 
 was assured, and it was not long before he 
 won back again all his former health and 
 strength. 
 
 In spite of Dr. Anderton's rebuke to Mrs. 
 Treleaven, Betsy spread far and wide her 
 part in the turning of the fever, and no 
 inconsiderable portion of the community 
 accepted it as a confirmation of their old 
 faith in her as a sick-nurse and attendant 
 worth all the doctors within a circle of 
 fifty miles round. 
 
28 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " WHAT WILL HE DO WITH TT ? '* 
 
 Who was her father 1 
 "Who was her mother ? 
 Had she a sister t 
 Had she a brother ? 
 
 Bridge of Sighs, 
 
 Daniel Trewhella, tlie coxswain of the 
 St. Bnodoc life-boat, burst into his house 
 on the night of the scene described in our 
 first chapter, and, to the astonishment of 
 his wife, who was preparing warm and dry- 
 clothes, placed on the table the bundle 
 saved from the wreck. 
 
 " Here, Rebecca," he said, " teeake this, 
 we haben seeaved nothin' else." 
 
 " Law me, Dan," exclaimed his wife, 
 
**WHAT WILL HE DO WITH IT?" 29 
 
 ** what have ee got there ? Why, seeave 
 us, tes a cheeld. Poor tender dear, tes 
 drippin' weth salt water, and so cowld as 
 a stooane. Where's her mother, Daniel ? " 
 
 *' Dooant ee hear me say that all the 
 other people es drowned and only this 
 cheeld seeaved?" answered the cox- 
 swain. 
 
 *' Aw, the tender dear," said Rebecca, 
 throwing away the black and white plaid 
 shawl which was wound round and round 
 the babe, " what a little beauty it tes to be 
 sure, a regler little angel, edn she, Daniel ?" 
 
 It was indeed a sweet child. Her age 
 might be about ten or twelve months. The 
 features were as regular as if shapen by 
 the hand of a sculptor, and the complexion 
 wa.s like ivory for whiteness. The full black 
 eyes of the child looked up at the kindly 
 matron holding her so tenderly, and the 
 little lips parted into a smile. 
 
30 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 "Lord, love her/' said the kind-hearted 
 woman, " I never seed such a little dar- 
 ling in my life. Hold her a minute, Dan, 
 while I run upstairs and fetch some clothes 
 belonging to my poor little dear thas gone 
 — I never expected to use them no more — 
 they'll be jist the thing for her." 
 
 It was fifteen years since Daniel Tre- 
 whella had held his own child in his arms, 
 but the thought of that dear one, loved 
 and lost, was borne back to him by the 
 waif from the sea, and the hot tears 
 rained down his weather-beaten cheeks as 
 he rocked the child to and fro. Tre- 
 whella had a rough exterior, but a braver, 
 more tender heart never beat than his. 
 He was, indeed, a splendid specimen of 
 the old Cornish race. Standing six feet 
 in his stockings and being broad in pro- 
 portion, Daniel possessed a mighty strength 
 which equalled that of two ordinary men. 
 
"what will he do with it?" 31 
 
 His hair was black as jet, his eyes, which 
 were of the same hue, had that peculiar 
 twinkle so often seen in the Celtish race. 
 He was a skilful fisherman, and a brave 
 and active seaman. While his neighbours 
 often returned from their fishing expedi- 
 tions with light baskets and heavy hearts, 
 Daniel managed to secure good catches. 
 No man in the town could handle a line or 
 manage a seine like him. ''It must be a 
 very crafty fish," the old salts said, " which 
 could outwit Dan." Whenever the life- 
 boat was launched to succour distressed 
 sailors he was always at his post, and many 
 a poor wretch had he helped to snatch from 
 the very jaws of destruction. 
 
 The death of his baby girl had been the 
 great trial of his life. She had become so 
 intertwined with the strong man through 
 his great love, that she could not be torn 
 away without leaving behind a lacerated 
 
32 BY THE COTINTSH SEA. 
 
 heart, out of which all the life seemed to 
 be flowing. For a week his reason seemed 
 to be tottering, and although at last his 
 strong nature asserted itself, he never 
 lost a certain sadness, the result of his be- 
 reavement, nor was he known through 
 all the fifteen years to allude to the child 
 or to his loss, but to his own tried and 
 trusted wife. 
 
 Rebecca came downstairs to find her 
 husband crying like a child. 
 
 " Why, Dan, whas the matter ? " she 
 asked in astonishment. 
 
 He had only time to sob, " Tes the 
 beeaby, Becca, tes the beeaby," when the 
 sound of voices and the confused trampling 
 of a crowd was heard outside. The life- 
 boat crew had told the people assembled 
 at the quay what had been saved from the 
 wreck, and as with one accord they bent 
 their steps towards Daniel Trewhella's 
 
"what will he do with it?'* 33 
 
 house to see, if possible, for themselves 
 the coxswain's prize — the only survivor of 
 all that ship's company. 
 
 " This'll never do, Becca," said Dan, as 
 soon as be became acquainted with the 
 cause of the gathering ; " teeake the cheeld 
 a minute, while I send um about their 
 business." 
 
 This he soon accomplished, telling them 
 that the child was well and was being 
 cared for, and that if they wanted to see her 
 they had better come the next morning. 
 
 When the morning came among the first 
 who appeared was Mr. Carnanton the 
 vicar, a kindly, middle-aged bachelor, who 
 spent his life in trying to alleviate the 
 miseries of the poor and distressed of his 
 parish, and in carrying the message of his 
 Master's love both to the sick and well. 
 He was ever ready to take part in any 
 movement calculated to benefit his people, 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
34 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 and in doing this spared neither strength 
 nor money, although his strength was by 
 no means robust, while his private means 
 were small, and the stipend attached to 
 the living extremely meagre. 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Trewhella," he said as he 
 entered, " what is this I hear ? They tell 
 me that out of that dreadful wreck in Pen- 
 silva Bay last night a little child was 
 saved, and that you have it here. Where 
 is it ? Is it all right ? Has the doctor 
 seen it ? '^ 
 
 *' I should have sent for the doctor to 
 see the cheeld last night, sir," answered 
 Mrs. Trewhella, " but I knawed he was 
 gone into the country, and I dedn like to 
 disturb un when he comed home tired, and 
 this mornin' the little dear doant want no 
 doctor. Here she es, Mr. Carnanton ; edn 
 she a little beauty ? What lovely black 
 eyes, and ded ee ever see such a lovely 
 
35 
 
 skin ? She's like wexwork, edn she, 
 sir?" 
 
 *' If you think the doctor will not be 
 needed no doubt you are right," answered 
 the vicar; ''you know more about babies, 
 Mrs. Trewhella, than a bachelor like me. 
 Yes, she is certainly very pretty, but she 
 looks very pale ; is she quite well, do you 
 think?" 
 
 "Bless ee, sir," said Mrs. Trewhella, 
 " there edn nothin' the matter weth she ; 
 ef you'd seen her aitin' just now you'd ha 
 bin satisfied. I always says there's nothin' 
 the matter weth cheldern ef they can ait." 
 
 " I called at the Castle as T came down," 
 said Mr. Carnanton, " and Mrs. Dunstable 
 asked me to say that if anything is wanted 
 for the child you must send up for it. 
 She will look in during the morning if 
 she can manage it. Oh ! here she is come 
 already." 
 
 D 2 
 
36 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 "Good morning, Rebecca," said Mrs. 
 Dunstable, a stately lady of about forty 
 years of age. 
 
 " Good mornin', ma'am," said Eebecca, 
 curtseying as she spoke. 
 
 " I am come to see about this baby," 
 said Mrs. Dunstable; ''what a sweet child 
 it is. I asked Mr. Carnanton to mention 
 that anything you wanted you might 
 have from the Castle, but on second 
 thoughts it occurred to me that it would 
 be best to send the child up to us ; we 
 could care for it so much more con- 
 veniently than you. Of course it will be 
 only for a short time until inquiries are 
 made and the child's friends found." 
 
 " Thenky, ma'am," said Rebecca, " but 
 if I may be so bowld, I should like to 
 keep the dear cheeld weth me. I'll te^ake 
 ceeare of it, ma'am, you may be sure." 
 
 " Oh, very well, Rebecca, do as you 
 
'^WHAT WILL HE DO WITH IT?" 37 
 
 wish," said Mrs. Dunstable, "but don't 
 forget to send up if you want anything." 
 And the good lady gathered her skirts 
 about her and departed. 
 
 Mr. Carnanton also went his way. But 
 Mrs. Trewhella was not long left alone, 
 for all through the day old and young 
 came to gratify their curiosity by a good 
 look at the babe, until at last Daniel's 
 patience was exhausted, and he positively 
 refused to let one person more cross his 
 threshold. 
 
 " Anybody would think we keept a 
 penny peep-shaw," he growled; " tes ony 
 a beeaby, weth wan head and two legs 
 and two arms. I should think you've 
 a seed plenty of cheldurn before to-day." 
 
 In the course of the day a part of 
 the wrecked barque was found with the 
 name '' Mary, of Liverpool " painted on it. 
 The owners were at once communicated 
 
38 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 with, and the names of the crew obtained. 
 But no clue could be discovered that 
 would enable those who had undertaken 
 the business to find out the friends of 
 the child. 
 
 The owners could give no information 
 on the subject. ISTo member of the crew 
 had his wife with him when the Mary 
 left Liverpool on the outward voyage to 
 Calcutta, and so far as the officials at the 
 latter port could ascertain, no woman or 
 child had left in the ship. Possibly the 
 poor little waif had with others been 
 rescued from some sinking ship on the 
 voyage home. At all events, nothing 
 could ever be learned of the child's 
 parentage or even of her nationality. 
 
 All this inquiry took up a considerable 
 time, and the child was nearly two years 
 of age before all hope was abandoned, and 
 it was clearly understood by her friends 
 
"what will he do with it?'* 39 
 
 at St. Enodoc that lier future was entirely 
 in their hands. 
 
 What should that future be ? 
 
 '* Put her into the workhouse," said 
 some ; " we can't expect Daniel Trewhella 
 to provide for people he helps to save 
 by the life-boat; it is very well to save 
 them." 
 
 " The ship hailed from Liverpool," said 
 others, " the guardians there had better 
 maintain her ; our rates are heavy enough 
 without being burdened with strangers." 
 
 " Can't some orphan home be found 
 for her ? " inquired a third set. 
 
 Mrs. Dunstable was inclined to favour 
 the last plan, but finding that objections 
 were raised by the Trewhellas to this as 
 well as to the other modes of providing 
 for the child, she, after long conference 
 with her brother, came forward with a 
 scheme of her own. 
 
40 ET THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 *'I want to speak to you very seriously," 
 said she one day to Daniel and his wife. 
 "I have a proposal to make respecting 
 the future of the baby. Mr. Treleigh 
 and I have been considering the matter, 
 and we have come to the conclusion, as 
 we have no children of our own, to adopt 
 the little one ourselves. She will be 
 educated and brought up as if she were 
 our own. Of course you will understand 
 that it will Qot be well for her to come 
 here or into the town very often — I mean, 
 of course, when she is able to take care 
 of herself — but you will be able ta see her 
 now and then at the Castle. When will 
 it be convenient for you to bring her up 
 tons?" 
 
 " You are very kind, ma'am," answered 
 Eebecca, "but I cudn beear to have the 
 little dear tookt away from me almost 
 altogether, after I have had her nearly 
 
" WHAT WILL HE DO WITH IT ? " 41 
 
 twelve montlis — 'twould be nearly so bad 
 to us now as losing our own cheeld. 
 I've bin spakin' to Dan about it, and 
 we've agreed to keep lier ourselves if 
 you've no objection, ma'am." 
 
 " J do not know that I have a riglit to 
 object," said Mrs. Dunstable, " but I think 
 you are very unwise ; you and your hus- 
 band are not very young, and to saddle 
 yourselves with the charge of a child at 
 your time of life is most imprudent. 
 What is to become of her if a.nything 
 happens to your husband ? She would be 
 much better provided for with us ; and 
 beside, we had set our hearts on having 
 her. I am sorry, Rebecca, that you should 
 thwart us in this way." 
 
 " I am sorry too, ma'am," answered 
 Rebecca, ''for you have been very kind, 
 but we cudn part weth her now — we cudn, 
 ma'am. We cudn bear it, could we, Dan ? " 
 
42 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 " No, ma'am/' said Dan, who had re- 
 mained silent during the conversation 
 between Mrs. Dunstable and his wife, 
 " she do come too clooase to us now for 
 us to lose her again. I'm mortal sorry 
 that we ceeant do what you want, ma'am," 
 
 '' Oh, very well," said Mrs. Dunstable, 
 " if your minds are quite made up it is 
 useless to say any more on the subject. 
 But remember, Eebecca, I shall not cease 
 to take an interest in the child, and if 
 help of any kind is needed, come to me 
 at once. Good-morning." 
 
 Thus it came to pass that the ship- 
 wrecked, and probably orphan, child found 
 kind friends and a new father and 
 mother. 
 
43 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 "name this child." 
 
 "What's in a name 1 that which we call a rose 
 By any other name would smell as sweet. 
 
 Borneo and Juliet. 
 
 Since tlie day wlien the friends of Zacha- 
 rias took upon themselves to name Mm 
 whom men called John Baptist, after the 
 name of his father, many a family has 
 debated earnestly and somewhat hotly 
 the important question, " What shall the 
 baby be called ? " 
 
 For it is an important question so far 
 as the child is concerned. Although 
 names do not now, as in the olden time, in- 
 dicate the character or appearance of the 
 owner, yet a ludicrous name, or one of ill- 
 
44 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 repute, undoubtedly influences for evil tlie 
 prospects of the poor unfortunate who 
 bears it. 
 
 Who would choose for himself such a 
 name as Cain, or Judas, or Lazarus ? 
 Who but a Puritan could be comfortable 
 under such a prsenomen as Hew-Agag- 
 in-pieces, or Bind-their-kings-in-chains ? 
 Who would enjoy life knowing that his 
 parents had bestowed upon him the eupho- 
 nius name of Satan, or Philadelphia, or 
 Mahershalal-hash-baz. Yet poor wretches 
 have been thus endowed. Even when 
 the Christian name standing alone is irre- 
 proachable, its combination with an un- 
 pleasant surname turns it to a jest and a 
 byeword. Such names as these, and they 
 are genuine, and Cornish to boot, must 
 have been almost unendurable : Degory 
 Dagge, Degory Doubte, Pentecost Tremble, 
 Bartholomew Slye, and Gentile Fuidge. 
 
"name this child 45 
 
 A Cornisli sailor known to the writer, 
 selects names for his offspring long before 
 they are born, and all the entreaties of 
 wife and friends avail not to change his 
 mind when once it has been made up. 
 But this summary way of settling the 
 matter is not to be commended, aud is 
 one likely to be attended by a consider- 
 able amount of domestic friction. Most 
 mothers like to have their fair share of 
 the preliminary weighing of the names 
 suggested as appropriate to their babes. 
 And one cannot in fairness say that they 
 are unreasonable, for to say the least a 
 moietv of the children is theirs. 
 
 As soon as it was finally decided by the 
 Trewhellas that the little orphan should 
 be adopted by them, the question natu- 
 rally suggested itself, " What shall she be 
 called ? " 
 
 "For," said Daniel, ''we ceeant go on 
 
46 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 calling her Beeaby just as if she was a 
 kitten or a canary bird without a neeame. 
 She must be tookt to church and chris- 
 tened, o' course, like other civilized 
 cheldern." 
 
 This was admitted by all, and it only 
 remained to decide upon some particular 
 name. Mary, the name of the barque 
 which brought her to their coast, was 
 first suggested, but was rejected at once. 
 
 '' We doant want to be always bringing 
 to her mind that bad day, when she 
 graws up," said Daniel. "Mary weeant 
 do." 
 
 Mrs. Dunstable thought Margaret would 
 be suitable, as the child, like a pearl, was 
 plucked from the sea. Mr. Carnanton 
 liked Euth, because like Euth she had 
 come from a far country to dwell among 
 strangers. 
 
 At last Dan spoke and said, — 
 
"name this child." 47 
 
 " I'll tell ee wliy all they neeames 
 weeant do. The beeaby is become to me 
 so dear as my own cheeld Jenifer who 
 was carr'd to her greeave sixteen eear 
 agone, and I want to have her called 
 Jenifer too. P'raps she'll make up to me 
 for the wan thas gone." 
 
 And so it was resolved that the child 
 should be baptized Jenifer — a name lightly 
 esteemed by the ordinary Englishman, 
 but sweet to the Cornish ear, for was it 
 not the name of their own Arthur of 
 Tintagel's peerless queen — the loved, the 
 fallen, the repentant, the pardoned Guine- 
 vere? 
 
48 BY THE COENISH SEA, 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 THE CHEISTENma OF JENIFEE. 
 
 My lord of Canterbury, 
 I have a suit which you must not deny me, 
 That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism ; 
 Tou must be godfather and answer for her. 
 
 I long 
 To have this young one made a Christian. 
 
 Henry VIII 
 
 The ancient town of St. Enodoc looked 
 verj beautiful as one entered it on the 
 afternoon of a bright September day. 
 Fine trees — the graceful ash, the silver 
 beech, and here and there a fir giving a 
 darker tint to the foliage — formed natural 
 arches over the steep hill which led down 
 to the market-place and quays. Over the 
 tops of the houses it was possible to 
 
THE CHRISTENING OF JENIFER. 49 
 
 catcli a glimpse of the sea beyond — a 
 sapphire in a setting of emerald. Above 
 the belt of firs which fringed the opposite 
 shore rose great hills of sand, grey and 
 desolate-looking, but the home of myriads 
 of strange insects and birds, and the 
 favourite sino^inof o^round of the lark. 
 There could be no question that, looked 
 at from the entrance, St. Enodoc was 
 very picturesque. 
 
 But the town itself was not quite so 
 charming. Old houses with antique gables 
 and drooping eaves, dropped seemingly at 
 random along ill-paved pathways, scan- 
 dalized the burgesses of more enlightened 
 towns. They were not streets at all, these 
 scoffers said, but mere rocky bridle-paths. 
 And in truth, with the exception of 
 Church Street, they were not much else. 
 
 These so-called streets were connected 
 by narrow openings, called *' drangs," from 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
60 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 wHich there usually proceeded a compound 
 of scents such as Rimmel in his highest 
 flights would never dream of. The smells 
 were decidedly ancient, but it would be 
 a libel upon the finny tribe to say they 
 were fish-like. 
 
 St. Enodoc was certainly very charming 
 — at the distance of five hundred yards. 
 
 Church Street, as its name implies, was 
 the street which led to the church. The 
 other terminus was the quay, where four 
 or five small vessels engaged in the 
 coasting trade and half a dozen '' drift " 
 boats used in the pilchard fishery were 
 drying their sails after a morning shower. 
 The red-brown sails of the latter were in 
 admirable keeping with the stained and 
 weather-beaten thatch of the antiquated 
 houses which formed the greater part of 
 St. Enodoc. 
 
 The great boast of the inhabitants was 
 
THE CHRISTENING OF JENIFER. 51 
 
 their churcli. Its date was unknown, but 
 was certainly a very ancient one ; so every 
 man, woman, boy, and girl stoutly main- 
 tained. Nothing in the world, however, 
 would induce them to fix upon any particular 
 date — they preferred to leave the matter 
 in the mist of antiquity. '' 'Twas built 
 in the back days," that was quite enough 
 for inquisitive strangers. 
 
 One old gentleman, carried away by his 
 veneration for the old church he loved, 
 was wont to declare his opinion that it 
 was built in '' the forestolic ages." These 
 he placed, it is supposed, some few years 
 after the Flood. 
 
 St. Enodoc Church was a noble buildino^ 
 capable of holding nearly a thousand wor- 
 shippers. The style was early English. 
 The beautiful east window was filled with 
 rich glass, representing in exquisite work- 
 manship the twelve Apostles standing 
 E 2 
 
62 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 round tlieir Master, wlio was calling Laza- 
 rus from his long sleep. The north win- 
 dows were a series of sermons. There was 
 first the old man's window, a venerable 
 patriarch with flowing beard holding a 
 scroll inscribed, " The hoary head is a 
 crown of glory, if it be found in the 
 way of righteousness." Then came the 
 young man's window, a picture of a 
 strong young fisherman with the in- 
 scription, " E/Cmember now thy Creator 
 in the days of thy youth ; " and the 
 child's window, bearing the text, " Suffer 
 little children to come unto Me," over a 
 child kneeling in prayer. Then came the 
 sailor's window, the very scrolls containing 
 the texts bellying out like the topsails 
 of a ship; the soldier's window, with the 
 shield and helmet and breast-plate and 
 sword ; and lastly the farmer's window, 
 with the reaper and his full sheaves, and 
 
THE CHEISTENING OF JENIFER. 53 
 
 the significant text, "The harvest is the 
 end of the world, and the reapers are the 
 angels." 
 
 The inhabitants of St. Enodoc were very 
 proud of these silent preachers, and never 
 failed to point them out to strangers, but 
 there was one portion of the sacred building 
 thej prized even more than the windows 
 — the font was the great glory of their 
 church. And no wonder they loved it, for 
 it was very beautiful. The style was Nor- 
 man, the material the hard iron-grey Cata- 
 cluse stone found in a Cornish quarry. 
 It did not require much knowledge of 
 architecture to tell that the font was very 
 old. The very noses of the twelve 
 Apostles on the four sides, and of the 
 figures at the corners representing the 
 holy Evangelists, were worn quite flat, so 
 that their owners could boast of no profile 
 worth mentioning. It must have taken 
 
54 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 many centuries of rubbing to effect so 
 remarkable a change in tbeir personal 
 appearance. 
 
 But these venerable personages were 
 looking quite gay to-day, if not absolutely 
 juvenile. Beautiful sprays of clematis 
 were wreathed round the four corner pil- 
 lars, while the main support in the centre 
 was hidden quite by a bed of snow-white 
 dahlias and asters. And the panels in 
 which the aforesaid figures had stood for 
 ages were almost covered by wax-like 
 camellias, leaving only the ashen grey faces 
 of the Apostles visible. What was the 
 meaning of the decoration of the font ? 
 All the rest of the Church bore its usual 
 aspect. 
 
 Why, sir, you must be a stranger in 
 these parts — it was the day of the christen- 
 ing of the child rescued from the barque 
 Mary, of Liverpool, and the primitive 
 
THE CHEISTENING OF JENIFEE. 55 
 
 people, touched by tlie strangeness of her 
 advent, and by her beauty, were making 
 it a gala-day. The good, simple-minded 
 vicar had acceded to their wishes, and 
 the font had accordingly been wreathed 
 with spotless flowers, and in a few minutes 
 the children of the Sunday-school would 
 be trooping in to see the ceremony. 
 
 Here they come. Throw open wide the 
 great southern door, and let the long pro- 
 cession in. In they pour, chubby-faced 
 boys and bright-eyed girls, each carrying 
 a white flower, until the nave is full, and 
 they overflow into the north and south 
 aisles. All the old ladies of no particular 
 occupation make their appearance, and as 
 many mothers of families as can escape 
 from their own chubby faces at home, and 
 matrons in futiiro a great company, and a 
 thick sprinkling of the harder sex com- 
 pletes the gathering. No, there is some- 
 
56 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 thing still wanting — the babe] and atten- 
 dant " gossips." The sponsors are, Mrs. 
 Trewhella's great friend Mrs. Craddock, 
 Mrs. Sims, her sister, and Mr. Josiah 
 Toms, postmaster of St. Enodoc, a great 
 admirer of the coxswain of the life-boat. 
 It is to be hoped they will not keep the 
 congregation waiting. No, they appear 
 with wonderful punctuality, before the 
 clock has quite finished striking three. 
 
 The service began with a hymn — " a 
 bairn's hymn " — which affected the suscep- 
 tible Mrs. Craddock so profoundly that 
 that estimable lady shed copious tears. 
 The allusions in the baptismal prayers to 
 Noah and his family in the ark being saved 
 from perishing by water, and to the ark 
 of Christ's Church bearing the child 
 safely through the waves of this trouble- 
 some world, struck many beside Mrs. Crad- 
 dock as being peculiarly appropriate to 
 
THE CHRISTENING OF JENIFER. 57 
 
 one saved by the modern ark, the life- 
 boat. 
 
 Mrs. Trewhella herself carried the child 
 to the font, arrayed in a beautiful chrisom 
 given by Mrs. Dunstable. As it was un- 
 certain whether or not the baby had been 
 already baptized, the vicar used the condi- 
 tional form providedfor such an emergency: 
 " Jenifer, if thou art not already baptized, 
 I baptize thee in the name of the Father, 
 and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. 
 Amen." The cross was traced upon the 
 brow, and the child was " made a Chris- 
 tian." 
 
58 EY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE CHEISTENING FEAST. 
 
 The infant is replaced 
 Among the happy band ; they smilingly, 
 In gay attire, hie to the house of mirth, 
 The poor man's festival — a jubilee day 
 Eemember'd long. 
 
 Graliame. 
 
 The sponsors wended tlieir way, when the 
 service was over, to Daniel Trewhella's 
 house, where a tea, which was, as Mrs. 
 Sims remarked, something like a tea, 
 was prepared in honour of the occasion. 
 It was a rare thing for Mr. Josiah 
 Toms to accept an invitation to take a 
 meal in a friend's house. He was a con- 
 firmed bachelor and resolutely avoided 
 the society of the ladies, with the excep- 
 
THE CHEISTENING FEAST. 50 
 
 tion of bis housekeeper, Mrs. Pinnock, 
 who was old and stone-deaf, and therefore 
 by no means dangerous from Mr. Josiah's 
 point of view. 
 
 The Trewhellas were agreeably as- 
 tonished when he accepted their invitation 
 to become godfather to their adopted 
 child, and still more so when he signi- 
 fied his intention of partaking of the 
 christenino^ tea afterwards. But he was 
 second cousin to Daniel, and so admired 
 the honest courage and sterling worth of 
 his relative's character, that for once he 
 relented upon being pressed to do a 
 friend's office and '' stand " to the child. 
 
 It was in one of his weak moments 
 that he promised to do what Daniel Tre- 
 whella asked, and he soon returned 
 to his normal state, and regretted that 
 he had consented to spend an hour with 
 the beings whom in heart he held in utter 
 
60 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 contempt. " The discourse of old women,'* 
 said he, '' is the thing on earth I most 
 despise. I deserve to be horsewhipped." 
 
 It never occurred to Mr. Josiah to 
 pohtely excuse himself, or to shuffle out of 
 his engagement bj pleading a pressure 
 of business, or rheumatism, or the tooth- 
 ache. 
 
 Whatever his faults he was never known 
 to break his word, and the good people of 
 St. Enodoc firmly held to the belief that if 
 Mr. Josiah made an appointment to meet 
 the hangman at a certain time and place 
 he would be there to the minute, however 
 painful he might imagine the interview 
 would be. 
 
 Few people would have considered Mrs. 
 Trewhella's tea one of the disagreeables 
 of life. The room was cosy, the tea was 
 hot and strong, and the heavy-cake was 
 baked to a turn. The very smell of the 
 
THE CHRISTENING FEAST. 61 
 
 latter was enougli to make one's mouth 
 water. 
 
 As soon as the ladies had divested them- 
 selves of their church-going bonnets and 
 shawls, they settled themselves near the 
 fire — for it was a cold day for September 
 — and began to discuss the ceremony of 
 the baptism, while Mrs. Trewhella gave 
 the finishing touches to the tea-table. 
 
 "Aw, 'twas beautiful, wasn't it?" said 
 Mrs. Craddock ; "the cheldurn singed like 
 little angels. I never heerd anything like 
 it in all my days, It comed ovver me so 
 I could hardly tell what to do. If ever I 
 had good feelings in my life I had um 
 then." 
 
 *'Mrs. Craddock," said Mr. Josiah 
 solemnly, " I quite agree with you, the 
 service was very touching. But I couldn't 
 help saying to myself that human nature 
 is very deceitful, and the world is very evil, 
 
6-2 BY THE CORNESH SEA. 
 
 and that many of those children singing so 
 happily are doomed to misery and poverty 
 and disease. Some, perhaps, will find a 
 prison their home, and some will walk the 
 gloomy path to the gallows. Ah, 'tis a sad 
 world, a sad world, Dan." 
 
 " I doant think this world so very sad," 
 broke in Mrs. Trewhella, good-humouredly, 
 as she took the steaming heavy-cake from 
 the oven, " there's a lot more good in the 
 world than people think. Now look at we 
 this very afternoon, Mr. Josiah ; this heavy- 
 ceeake now, and this good hot tay es very 
 cheering, and everything es comfortable, 
 and here's the cheeld, little Jenifer, for us 
 to love and tend. Bless your heart, there's 
 a lot of joy in this world ef you'll ony look 
 about a bit for it." 
 
 "All superficial, ma'am," said Mr. 
 Josiah, in a more sepulchral tone than 
 ever, " all superficial. We are, as it were, 
 
THE CHRISTENING FEAST. 63 
 
 walking upon a thin sheet of ice ; upon 
 lava, burning, molten, just beneath the 
 surface." 
 
 '' Mercy me, Measter Josiah,*' said Mrs. 
 Craddock, "3^ou are 'nough to frighten 
 a woman out of her wits ; why I sheeant 
 slape be night for draming about it. Dost 
 a think the world es a goin' to be burnt 
 up soon ? Our praicher towld us t'other 
 day that 'twas time for us to git ready 
 for it, and I think so too, ef the fire es 
 got so fur up as that." 
 
 '« My good woman, you misunderstand 
 me," said Mr. Josiah, " I'm using a 
 figure of speech." 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Craddock, '' I doant 
 knaw much about figures — larnin' wodn 
 thought much of when I was young — but 
 my daughter's cheeld she's a good wan 
 at figures, sure 'nough. She can tell the 
 substraction teeable right through, pence 
 
64 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 and sHellens and all — no cheeld in lier class 
 can figury like she." 
 
 "Well, never mind figures," said Mrs. 
 Trewhella, '^draw foath and have your 
 tays. Teeake the arm-cheer, Measter 
 Josiah; you set there, Mrs. Craddock. 
 That'll do, Dan, you needn' rock the 
 creeadle any more, Jenifer'll slape all 
 right now. Kezia, you set here alongside 
 me." 
 
 " Iss, iss, Rebecca, to be sure," sniffed 
 Mrs. Sims, " tedn the fust time I've a sot 
 alongside of you in this here parlour, and 
 glad enough I am to set alongside of any- 
 body, times es so bad — millinery edn what 
 it used to be, I can tell ee, and so many 
 new falderals and fashins do come in that 
 I'm drove to me wit's end. Ah ! this is a 
 good drap of tay, Becca." 
 
 " Like the women, Daniel," said Mr. 
 Josiah, " like the women, always thinking 
 
THE CHEISTENING FEAST. 65 
 
 of externals, ' Wherewithal shall a man be 
 clothed,' et cetera. Mrs. Sims, I'll ask you 
 this question, What was man made for ? " 
 
 ''My greeacious me," answered Mrs. 
 Sims, turning up her eyes until they were 
 as white as the ceiling, " I ceeant tell ee 
 nothin' 'bout that, you'd better ax Mrs. 
 Craddock, she's more of a filly sopher 
 than me. WTiat was man made for, Mrs. 
 Craddock ? " 
 
 " Aw," said that amiable old lady with 
 a grunt, " meeade for ? why to pleeague 
 the wemmin, I spoase, I ceeant tell what 
 else they're meeade for. Ax your pardin, 
 Meeaster Josiah, but I spake of a man as 
 I find un. Now there's my owld man, 
 he's dead and gone, plaise sure, and we 
 mustn't spake no harm of the dead, so 
 the Scriptures do say, but what was he 
 meeade for ? Aw, it do meeake me sweat 
 when I think about it. Grunt, grunt, 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
66 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 growl, growl, alays comin' liome with 
 basely shoes, meeakin' the mats in a 
 sheeape, and worriting my life out weth 
 tobacco smoke and beer. Aw, tes wickit 
 to say so, I knaw, but I doant want to see 
 he no more." 
 
 " Hush, hush, Mrs. Craddock, doant ee 
 talk like that; he's gone, poor man, and I 
 hope to a better pleeace," said Mrs. Tre- 
 whella. " But I always says there's faut 
 boath sides. If Daniel or me have a word 
 or two sometimes, tes generally six of wan 
 and heeaf a dozen of the other, edn it, 
 owld man ? " 
 
 '' I reckon it tes," answered Daniel, 
 "and the sooner we meeake it up the 
 better we're plaised, arn't we, Becca ? I'll 
 tell ee my opinion, Meeaster Josiah. I 
 doant know zackly what the men was 
 meeade for, but T can tell ee to a T what 
 the wemmin is made for— to full a man's 
 
THE OHEISTENING FEAST. ^7 
 
 house weth sunshine, and to draw un 
 towards goodness like a fiftj-horse power 
 injin. Now there's my owld Becca there, 
 I wouldn swop she for the gowld in the 
 Bank of England. I do love her ten 
 times more now than when I went a- 
 courtin'." 
 
 A bashful blush overspread Rebecca's 
 comely face at this open avowal of her 
 husband's love, and she laid down her cup 
 to make a fitting reply, when Mr. Josiah 
 again took up his parable. 
 
 " A wife is very desirable to sew on the 
 buttons to a man's shirt, and to cook his 
 dinner, but she can't minister to the other 
 side of his nature, she can't feed his 
 intellect." 
 
 *' I'm Joan plain," snorted Mrs. Crad- 
 
 dock scornfully, '' and what I says es this 
 
 — when a man wants hes dennar whas the 
 
 good to talk about feeding hes hinterlect ? 
 
 F 2 
 
68 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 Have a Hnterlect got a mouth ? A good 
 turmut pasty es a bra' dale better'n feedin' 
 hinterlects." 
 
 Mr. Josiah went as near smiling at this 
 outburst of Mrs. Craddock as it was 
 possible for that austere philosopher and 
 despiser of women to go, but he drank his 
 tea and munched his heavy-cake in silence 
 — it was beneath his dignity to prolong 
 the discussion with such an illiterate 
 woman. 
 
 Daniel Trewhella, however, felt called 
 to make one other remark, and he responded 
 to the call. 
 
 " Measter Josiah, you weeant be offended 
 weth me, for you do know I wish ee 
 nothin' but good, but I say to ee what 
 I've said a bra' many times aready, doant 
 you be a bachelor no longer, but git a 
 good wife of your awn, and you'll soon 
 be of my opinion, that a wife es the 
 
THE CHRISTENING FEAST. 69 
 
 best piece of furniture you can have in the 
 house." 
 
 "Daniel, my friend," said Mr. Josiah 
 slowly and solemnly, *' I have a great 
 respect for you, and I take what you say 
 in good part, but mark my words, when- 
 ever you hear that Josiah Toms has tied 
 himself to a wife, I give you full permis- 
 sion to call the policeman and give him 
 in charge — he's lost his wits, he's mad, 
 as mad as a hatter." 
 
 After this decisive and energetic de- 
 claration there was nothing more to be 
 said, and as one cannot go on for ever 
 eating heavy- cake and drinking strong 
 tea, the party soon broke up, and Daniel 
 and his wife were left alone with the 
 little Jenifer. 
 
70 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 A SEAT OF LEAENING. 
 
 Infant reason grows apace and calls 
 For the kind hand of an assiduous care. 
 Delightful task ! to rear the tender thought, 
 To teach the young idea how to shoot. 
 
 The Seasons. 
 
 The time was come wlien Arthur Tre- 
 leayen's education must begin. He was 
 now six and a lialf years of age, and strong 
 and healtliy for his years. His father had 
 wished to send him to school as soon as 
 he was completely recovered from the 
 fever which nearly proved fatal to him, 
 but was overruled by the mother. 
 
 " Give him a year's run," she said, '^ he'll 
 be strong by that time, instead of growing 
 
A SEAT OF LEARNING. 71 
 
 up a pale, sickly child tlirough overmuch 
 confinement." 
 
 But the year of grace had expired, and 
 Arthur — " will he, nill he" — began to climb 
 the steep hill of knowledge. There was 
 no discussion in the house of Treleaven 
 to settle what academy should have the 
 honour of educating the heir. Ancient 
 custom had settled that matter. 
 
 " Of course, Mrs. Treleaven, you will 
 send Arthur to Mrs. Warder's school ? " 
 
 '' Oh, of course." 
 
 The man who would begin his child's 
 education at Pendruthan by sending him 
 to any other preceptor than Mrs. Warder, 
 would be set down at once by respectable 
 people as a violent radical — a person who 
 wanted to turn this rightly ordered world 
 of ours the wrong side up. 
 
 John Treleaven was a sober citizen, 
 believing firmly in his Bible and in the 
 
72 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 articles of war, and therefore, as a matter 
 of course, sent Hs son to imbibe the 
 philosophy imparted by the erudite Mrs. 
 Warder. 
 
 Mrs. Warder was a lady of about fifty 
 years of age. Her husband, a master of 
 a small coasting-vessel, had died six years 
 after her marriage, leaving her at thirty 
 totally unprovided for. Mrs. Warder was 
 not one to sit down quietly when there 
 was anything to be got by standing up, 
 and with a promptitude characteristic of 
 her she founded, a month after the decease 
 of the lamented Captain Warder, an esta- 
 blishment for implanting in the minds of 
 juvenile Pendruthan the rudiments of 
 useful knowledge. 
 
 She was favoured in her enterprise by 
 the fact that Mrs. Harris, the recognized 
 youth's instructor at Pendruthan for the 
 last quarter of a century, had recently 
 
A SEAT OF LEAENING. 73 
 
 laid down lier rod, moved thereto by age 
 and feebleness, and had retired into private 
 life on half a crown a week from the 
 parish. Indeed, but for this Mrs. Warder 
 would never have assumed the professorial 
 gown — she was not the one, as she herseK 
 said, to take the bread out of another 
 woman's mouth. Upon the deserted ruins, 
 therefore, of Mrs. Harris's seat of learning, 
 the house of Warder, educationally speak- 
 ing, was built. 
 
 Do not imagine that the school-building 
 itself was an imposiog one. No tall 
 towers threw dark shadows across the 
 street, no massive parables in stone soared 
 aloft and half hid the sky. It was no 
 outward magnificence that gave celebrity 
 to Mrs. Warder's school, but rather the 
 dignity of Mrs. Warder herself, and the 
 facility she possessed of imparting know- 
 ledge to the possibly future bishops and 
 
74 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 senators and their wives entrusted to her 
 care. 
 
 Mrs. Warder, it has already been in- 
 timated, was about fifty years of age. 
 Her education had been somewhat limited, 
 but what she lacked in culture she made 
 up by a natural shrewdness and force of 
 character. Her work would now probably 
 be called prep^atory, for it consisted 
 for the most part in laying first principles. 
 Her pupils, if not exactly babes, were 
 certainly not out of the milk stage of 
 education. 
 
 The interior arrangements of the school- 
 room were of a primitive order. The 
 seats consisted for the most part of 
 planks laid on sections of a tree, each 
 about eight inches long. Desks there 
 were none. As a rule the pupils wrote 
 on slates, and these they held in their 
 hand or rested on their knees, as the 
 
A SEAT OF LEAIiNING. 75 
 
 fancy moved. True, there were two tables, 
 but it was not safe to count on one of 
 these. 
 
 One was an article of a superior order, 
 garnished with foreign shells, relics of 
 the late lamented Mr. Warder, a case of 
 stuffed birds on a base consisting of a 
 so-called family Bible, a few glasses of 
 various shapes and sizes^ l^nd two ancient 
 but well-polished brass candlesticks. It 
 is evident to any well-constituted mind 
 that no youngster not absolutely given 
 over to iniquity would dare to practise 
 his pothooks and hangers on this sacred 
 shrine. 
 
 Table number one was super-mundane, 
 table number two was given over to earth 
 and earthly things. There was no abso- 
 lute prohibition of resting slates, dogs'- 
 eared books, and other school parapher- 
 nalia on its broad top, but who could 
 
76 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 use it with comfort and advantage when 
 it was intended in the economy of the 
 household as a base of operations in 
 preparing leeky pasties; onion and turnip 
 stews, and other greasy dishes, well 
 enough in their way, but entirely out of 
 harmony with the aforesaid pothooks and 
 hangers ? 
 
 Unfortunately the revenue arising from 
 the school pence was not quite equal to 
 the expenses of the household, and Mrs. 
 Warder was driven to some other form 
 of labour to eke out her living. Teach- 
 ing and knitting seemed not altogether 
 incompatible yoke-fellows, therefore to 
 knitting Mrs* Warder turned — her eyes I 
 was going to say, but this would be 
 slightly inaccurate, for only at long in- 
 tervals did her gaze rest on the blue 
 worsted being worked into guernsey 
 frocks for the fishermen of Pendruthan — 
 
A SEAT OF LEARNING. 77 
 
 to knitting, I say, Mrs. Warder turned lier 
 fingers. 
 
 This amalgamation of professions caused 
 her teacliing to become somewhat disjointed. 
 For example, a class are standing round 
 their mistress reading a chapter from the 
 book of Ezra, a favourite book with her, 
 for some inscrutable reason. Mrs. Warder 
 counts her stitches in an undertone while 
 the children read the verses in turn. 
 
 "Now therefore, T-a-t-n-a-i," (with a 
 rising inflection on the last letter). 
 
 " Tatnai," says Mrs. Warder. " Now 
 then. Tommy Watts, I'll give you a cutting 
 if you arn't quiet." 
 
 " Tatnai," repeats the boy, " governor 
 beyond the river, S-h-e-t-h-a-r-b-o-z- 
 n-a-i." 
 
 This is rather a nut even for Mrs. 
 Warder to crack, but she makes the best 
 of it, and calls it " Shetarbozny." 
 
78 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 " Shetarboznj ," repeats the boy, (" Twenty- 
 nine, thirty, thirty-one," counts Mrs. 
 Warder), " and your companions," (" I'll 
 give you the ceeane, Billy, you naughty 
 boy you, I ceeant hear meself spake "), 
 " your companions the A-p-h-a-r-s-a- 
 c-h-i-t-e-s" (" Apharsactites" from Mrs. 
 Warder), " Apharsactifces which are be- 
 yond the river," ('' Doant ee spake so loud," 
 from Mrs. Warder again, ''do ee think 
 I'm deef ?" ), ''be ye far from thence." 
 
 " Forty-one, forby-two," said Mrs. 
 Warder as the boy concluded, " that'll 
 do, sit down and learn your teeables 
 while I meeake a pasty for dennar. 
 Jeeames, you skin the teeaties ; Jessie, you 
 peel they two onions ; Tommy Waters 
 and Freddy Wilton, you wind off they there 
 two hanks of worsted, and mind you 
 doant git it into a tangle." 
 
 And do you really mean to say that 
 
A SEAT OP LEAENING. 79 
 
 Arthur Treleaven was sent to such a 
 school as this ! Verily, reader, I do, 
 and make bold at the same time to affirm 
 that good work was often produced from 
 such unpromising material. A knowledge 
 of the doings of Shetarbozny and the 
 Apharsactites may not perhaps be of any 
 great value commercially speaking, and 
 Mrs. Warder's pronunciation of the last 
 letter of the alphabet as " ampassy " may 
 be called in question, but learning how to 
 avoid tangles and how to peel potatoes 
 economically is by no means to be despised, 
 especially when you have the multipli- 
 cation table up to four times, and pothooks 
 and hangers thrown in. 
 
 Arthur remained .for two years under 
 the care of Mrs. Warder, the monotony 
 of which was varied by the operation 
 known as " breeching," and a slight 
 attack of measles. At the end of that 
 
80 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 time liis lieart was gladdened by a piece 
 of news of inestimable value to a high- 
 spirited boy : he was for ever to throw off 
 the yoke of petticoat government (at least 
 until he took to himself a wife) ; he was 
 going to study away from the distraction 
 of female society ; he was going to " a 
 man's school." 
 
81 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A man's school. 
 
 There in his noisy mansion, skill 'd to rule, 
 The village master taught his little school : 
 A man severe he was, and stern to view ; 
 I knew him well, and every truant knew. 
 
 The Deserted Village. 
 
 Yes, Arthur Treleaven was going to a 
 man's school, that is, not a school for 
 men — he was not jet old enough for the 
 university — but a school kept by a man. 
 
 It was a national school, and supported, 
 as many national schools are, to a large 
 extent by the parson. Thirty-five children 
 at threepence, and twenty at twopence, 
 would only produce the munificent sum 
 of twelve shillings and a penny sterling 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
82 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 per week, supposing everybody brought 
 his pence with the regularity of the sun, 
 a most extravagant supposition. Deduct 
 from this the money required to keep a 
 respectable coat on the master's back 
 and to keep a fair supply of canes in 
 pickle for refractory pupils, and it is 
 evident that the unfortunate individual 
 would become extremely attenuated in a 
 short time were not some liberal hand 
 held out to keep the meat-tub supplied. 
 
 Pendruthan National School was not a 
 very imposing edifice, nor was it fitted up 
 with great elegance, but it inspired great 
 awe in the mind of Arthur Treleaven, 
 accustomed only to the lesser glories of 
 Mrs. Warder's school. Instead of pictures 
 of mediaeval saints, the walls were 
 adorned with maps yellow with age, for 
 they had served their generation at the 
 rectory before they found their way to 
 
A man's school. 83 
 
 the national school. A map of the world 
 in two hemispheres was a puzzle to Arthur 
 for many a day. He could not at all 
 understand how the two sides of the 
 orange-like globe could be got to look one 
 way without presenting flat surfaces at 
 the back. He managed to look behind 
 the map one day when the master was 
 out of the room, but failed to discover 
 anything likely to help him out of his 
 difficulty. 
 
 As a set-off against this it must be 
 confessed that some of his difficulties 
 were solved very summarily. 
 
 For example, he found it hard, after the 
 laxity prevalent at Mrs. Warder's, to imi- 
 tate the Psalmist and to hold his tono^ue 
 and say nothing. But Mr. Potts was 
 something of a martinet, and an application 
 to a tender part oE Arthur's frame taught 
 him that it would be well in future to hold 
 G 2 
 
84 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 iiis peace — yea, even from good words — if 
 lie desired to preserve his skin intact. 
 
 Once he fared badly for not speaking, so 
 perversely does Dame Fortune deal with 
 her minions. The master was giving a 
 reading lesson to the boys in the first class, 
 and, as no education code vexed the soul 
 of Mr. Potts in those primitive times, and 
 no pupil teachers were provided to teach 
 what they themselves did not understand, 
 the class in which Arthur found himself 
 placed was thrown pretty much upon its 
 own resources, and left to acquire a know- 
 ledge of arithmetic by intuition. But soon 
 a hum which sounded quite unlike that of 
 the busy bee proceeded from the idle ac- 
 countants, and Mr. Potts, finding that his 
 cane was being worn out by severe appli- 
 cations to the wooden walls all to no pur- 
 pose, decided to exchange this wooden 
 monitor for one of flesh and blood. 
 
A man's school. 85 
 
 ^' Arthur Treleaven, you sit on tlie seat 
 opposite, and call out any boy you see 
 talking." 
 
 " Yes, sir," answered Arthur, taking the 
 seat of vigilance with fear and trem- 
 bling. 
 
 A dead silence reigned, and Mr. Potts 
 led his flock into the devious paths of 
 science without further distraction. Nitro- 
 gen, hydrogen, and oxygen became in their 
 mouths as household words, much, it is to 
 be hoped, to their edification. Unfortu- 
 nately that bad boy, Jemmy Nash, took it 
 into his head when Mr. Potts was, as he 
 thought, quite absorbed by his scientific 
 researches, to make a few remarks to 
 Richard Hooker, who being evidently not 
 related to the well-known judicious person 
 of the same name, made a few further 
 remarks. 
 
 " If you talk I shall call you out," said 
 
86 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 Arthur to the refractory couple in a stage 
 whisper. 
 
 " If you do," returned Master Nash, 
 "I'll punch you when we get out of 
 school." 
 
 Here was a dilemma, indeed ! Which 
 was better, to be thrashed indoors or 
 punched out? I am sorry to say the 
 moral aspect of the case never presented 
 itself to Arthur. He thought not of his 
 duty, but of the consequences. The 
 thrashing he might avoid, the punching he 
 could depend upon if he called out his 
 friend Nash. Whatever Nash's vices 
 might be, he kept his word — at all events 
 when he had promised to oblige any one 
 with a punching. Unfortunately for all 
 concerned, Mr. Potts drew off his attention 
 from the hydrogen, nitrogen, and oxygen 
 just at the crisis of their naughtiness, and 
 instantly there was an explosion. I mean 
 
A man's school. 87 
 
 that Mr. Potts exploded, not the afore- 
 named gases. 
 
 *' Come here, you three," he shouted in 
 a tone which filled the breasts of the 
 delinquents with terror. They knew well 
 that Mr. Potts never invited any of his 
 flock to meet him without giving them 
 something to keep in remembrance of 
 him. 
 
 " Hold out your hands," said Mr. Potts. 
 
 Three unclean little hands were stretched 
 out. 
 
 " Hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen," said Mr. 
 Potts as he brought down his cane in turn 
 on the three hands. 
 
 *' Now your left." 
 
 Once more the man of science impressed 
 the three odious gases upon their memories, 
 beo:inninor with Arthur this time, instead of 
 Master Nash, 
 
 Surely this is the end ? No. " Right 
 
88 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 again," said tlie stern dominie ; and this 
 time Richard Hooker had the honour of 
 leading off with hydrogen. 
 
 '' My young friends," said Mr. Potts with 
 a sarcastic smile, *' go back and hold your 
 hands if you are not able to hold your 
 tongues. 
 
 After this melancholy incident Arthur 
 Treleayen came to the conclusion that it 
 was not all pleasure even to go to a man's 
 school. 
 
89 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WEDDINGS AND FUNEKALS. 
 
 Thou art a dewdrop, which the morn brings forth, 
 
 111 fitted to sustain unkindly shocks ; 
 
 Or to be trail'd along the soiling earth ! 
 
 A gem that glitters while it lives, 
 
 And no forewarning gives ; 
 
 But at the touch of wrong, without a strife, 
 
 Slips in a moment out of life. 
 
 Wordsicorth. 
 
 *' Now, Jessie, you must be the parson, 
 and marry me and Jenifer. Hold up your 
 head and speak big like Mr. Carnanton. 
 Say, ' Mr. Rundle, will you have Miss 
 Trewhella ? ' and I'll say ' Yes.'" 
 
 '' But I don't want to be married, Mark ; 
 let us play at something else." 
 
 " No, I'm going to play weddings," 
 
90 BY THE COBNISH SEA. 
 
 answered Mark, " and you must do what I 
 say. Women must always do what the 
 men tell them ; I heard Mr. Josiah say so 
 when he was talking to your father." 
 
 Three children were playing in a garden 
 at S^ Enodoc. The girl of ten was Jeni- 
 fer- Jenifer Trewhella as slie was always 
 call 1. It was nine years sinci oar story 
 ope led, and the child had become a girl of 
 ten. She had not lost the beauty which 
 her infancy foretold. Tall and straight, 
 with her pale complexion and lustrous 
 eyes as of old, she bade fair to become 
 possessed of such a wealth of beauty as 
 woman is rarely dowered with. But that 
 the future must unfold. She was now 
 the child of ten — and childish for that age, 
 for at St. Enodoc precocity had little to 
 feed upon, and the faculties ripened at a 
 somewhat late season of the year. 
 
 Mark and Jessie Rundle were the chil- 
 
WEDDINGS AND FUNEEALS. 91. 
 
 dren of neighbours of the Trewhellas, 
 Jeremiah Runclle and Elizabeth, his wife. 
 Jerry Rundle, for nobody dreamt of calling 
 him Jeremiah except his wife when she 
 was in what Jerry called her tanfrums, 
 was a flourishing rope-maker, "carjving 
 on his awn treeade," as his townsmen put 
 it. He had carried it on to such ^ood 
 purpose, and had gone wrong end b^ ore 
 to such an excellent result, that his son, 
 Mark, who was some w^^ at given to boasting, 
 although so youn^ haa whispered to Jeni- 
 fer in confidence that his father had five 
 hundred pounds in the bank — he had heard 
 him tell his mother so. 
 
 Mark and Jessie were the constant com- 
 panions and playmates of Jenifer. The 
 boy, who was just aier supposed age, was 
 a fine little fellow with a bright face, and 
 dark clustering hair. He was quick and 
 clever, and bade fair to turn out well. 
 
92 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 One quality lie had, unpleasant enougli 
 in any, but peculiarly disagreeable in one 
 so young — a habit of boasting. His 
 father's ropes were stronger than the 
 ropes of other people, his boats were 
 faster, his dacks were fatter, the eggs 
 they laid larger, his donkey was a 
 noble animal, equal in fact, to other 
 people's ponies. He could work multi- 
 plication sums better than Tom Clemence 
 could do addition ; if any other boy took 
 six birds' eggs from a nest, that was 
 nothing, he had often taken ten. Billy 
 Chard's father's pig weighed twenty score; 
 what of that ? the pigs belonging to the 
 house of Rundle often pulled down twenty- 
 six score and made nothing of it. 
 
 This sort of thing did not quite suit 
 Mark's schoolfellows, and on one occasion 
 it cost a severe fight to maintain the honour 
 of the Rundle pig, but in his own little 
 
WEDDINGS AND FUNERALS. 93 
 
 circle it was received with respectful acqui- 
 escence, and Jessie and Jenifer, although 
 they disliked boys — most girls do from nine 
 to fifteen — regarded Mark as a person pos- 
 sessed of immeasurable superiority over the 
 ordinary boyish kind. Therefore when 
 Mark insisted that Jenifer should be his 
 bride, and Jessie the parson to tie the 
 knot, the two girls yielded after Jenifer's 
 ineffectual protest. 
 
 " Well, Mark," said Jenifer, '*you must 
 only marry me for ten minutes, I want to 
 play at shows after that." 
 
 *' Very well," said Mark, " but you'll be 
 my wife when I'm big enough to keep a 
 horse and cart of my own, won't you, 
 Jenifer ? " 
 
 " Yes, " answered the bride-elect, " but 
 I don't want to leave Jessie. Can't you 
 marry Jessie, too ? " 
 
 '' No, you foohsh," said Mark, *'but I'll 
 
94 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 tell jou. what — when we're married, Jessie 
 shall come and light the fire, and clean the 
 boots, and wash the clothes." 
 
 Jessie agreed to take this humble posi- 
 tion in the future household of her brother, 
 and Mark went on, — 
 
 "I'm going to have a big house then, with 
 a green door and a knocker ; and when 
 anybody knocks, you must open the door 
 and say, ' Now, then, wipe your dirty shoes, 
 and don't bring the mud in about the 
 house,' just like Mr. Josiah's Mrs. Pin- 
 nock.'' 
 
 " What's that? what's that ? " said Mr. 
 Josiah himself, emerging as he spoke from 
 the back of Trewhella's house ; ''what are 
 you youngsters up to ? " 
 
 '' Oh," answered Mark, '* we're playing at 
 weddings. I'm going to marry Jenifer, 
 and Jessie is to be the parson." 
 
 " Playing at weddings ! " said Mr. Josiah. 
 
WEDDINGS AND FUNERALS. 95 
 
 " What next will you play at ? You had 
 much better play at funerals, they are far 
 better than weddings, if I'm any judge. 
 Dear, dear," he continued, as he retired 
 into the house, shaking his head, '' what 
 are people coming to ? They chatter of 
 marrying from the time they learn to talk 
 until they are ready for their coffin. Wed- 
 ding-rings, cakes, banns, bridesmaids, 
 sweethearts — 'tis dreadful to think of. 
 Better they thought a little about the 
 quarrelling, and the howling babies, and 
 tlie bread and butter needed to stop their 
 mouths. If it o^oes on much lonsfer like 
 this, the world will be past bearing with." 
 
 " What's the matter with Mr. Josiah ? " 
 said Jenifer to Mark as soon as the door 
 was closed ; " doesn't he like us to play at 
 weddings ? " 
 
 *'No," answered Mark, '^ there's some- 
 thing the matter with him. I heard Mrs. 
 
96 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 Craddock say he has got the mollygrubs, 
 but I don't know what that is. Mother 
 says that Mrs. Pinnock is enough to turn 
 any dairy sour : perhaps she makes Mr. 
 Josiah cross. I would as soon play at 
 funerals as weddings, only somebody must 
 die, or you can't have a funeral. Will you 
 die, Jessie, and then we'll dig your grave 
 here under the apple-tree. Lie down and 
 die, and don't be long, 'cause I want to go 
 in and learn my lesson for to-morrow." 
 
 " I won't die on the grass," said Jessie, 
 '' 'tis too wet. Let me lie down and die 
 on your lap, Jenifer." 
 
 Jenifer held her little playmate until she 
 was considered dead enough, while Mark 
 digged a pit for a grave. When all was 
 ready M^ark seized his sister by the shoul- 
 ders, and Jenifer carried her feet. Unfor- 
 tunately Mark, walking backwards towards 
 the grave, tripped over a big stone, and. 
 
WEDDINGS AND FUNERALS. 97 
 
 letting go his hold, his sister's head came 
 with great force upon it, rendering her 
 completely insensible. The screams of 
 Mark and Jenifer brought out Trewhella 
 and his wife and Mr. Josiah, and between 
 them they carried the child to her own 
 house next door. The doctor was sent 
 for. He came at once, but looked very 
 grave when he had examined the child. 
 
 " Concussion of the brain," he said. '' It 
 may be serious, Mrs. Rundle; you must 
 not be surprised if she remains unconscious 
 for some time." 
 
 All through the night they watched 
 without seeing any sign of returning con- 
 sciousness. At twenty minutes past nine 
 o'clock the next morning, they perceived a 
 tremulous movement of the eyelids, and in 
 a little while she was able to recognize her 
 friends. 
 
 They hoped that now the worst was 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
98 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 passed, but in this tliey were sadly mis- 
 taken. It soon became evident to all that 
 she was slowlj sinking, and the doctor, when 
 he came., told them to expect the worst. 
 
 Poor Mark was in bitter distress. It 
 was bad enough to lose his sister, but the 
 thought that it was his own carelessness 
 which was causing her death was almost 
 more than his little heart could bear. 
 
 Jessie did not seem troubled when they 
 told her that she was going away from 
 them. She only said, — 
 
 " I want Jenifer, send for Jenifer.'' 
 As soon as Jenifer came Jessie took her 
 hands, saying, — 
 
 " Jenny, mammy says I'm going away." 
 '* Going, where ? " asked Jenifer, some- 
 what dazed by her grief. 
 
 " I'm going to heaven," answered Jessie 
 gravely ; " won't you come, too, Jenny, as 
 soon as you can?" 
 
WEDDINGS AND FUNERALS. 99 
 
 " You don't want to go, Jessie, and 
 leave poor mammy," said Mrs. Rimdle, 
 through her tears. 
 
 *' Xo," she answered, '' I don't want to 
 leave jou, but I'm tired, and teacher told 
 me that Jesus do carry the little tired 
 children in His arms. Carry me, please, 
 carry me," she continued, looking up and 
 stretching out her arms. 
 
 For a moment or two she remained in 
 this attitude and then her arms sank by 
 her side, her blue eyes closed, and saying 
 softly, "I'm sleepy," she fell asleep, never 
 more to wake in this world of pain and 
 weariness. 
 
 Jenifer had found her first great trouble, 
 and her mimic wedding was turned into a 
 real and sorrowful funeral. 
 
 H 2 
 
100 BY THE OOENISH SKA, 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE FIE ST CIGAE. 
 
 My heart turn'd sick, my brain grew sore, 
 And throbb'd awbile, then beat no more : 
 The skies spun like a mighty wheel ; 
 I saw the trees like drunkards reel. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 It was the duty of Mr, Potts to watcli his 
 flock as well on Sundays as on weekdays. 
 Classes were held in the schoolroom on 
 Sunday mornings to teach the Church 
 catechism in the vulgar tongue, and to in- 
 stil into the minds of young Pendruthan 
 their duty towards God and their neigh- 
 bours. 
 
 About a quarter past ten o'clock, Mr. 
 Potts drew up his pupils in mihtary fashion 
 
THE FIRST CIGAR. 10 i 
 
 and marcbed them off to the parish church, 
 which was a good two miles away. This 
 afforded great dehght to Arthur. The 
 quiet church by the river- side inspired him 
 with great awe and admiration. Its three 
 bells struck him as something sublime, for, 
 poor lad, he had been accustomed only to 
 one. 
 
 The ceiling never failed to interest him, 
 for the bosses of the rafters had been 
 painted by the rector himself with arms 
 and devices, some natural, some gro- 
 tesque, but all impressive. The tomb- 
 stones, too, always afforded matter for 
 rumination, they were so old and moss- 
 covered, and bore such quaint inscriptions, 
 and commemorated such paragons of 
 virtue. 
 
 The service itself, it must be confessed, 
 was not altogether edifying, for na books 
 were provided for the youthful wor- 
 
102 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 shippers, and consequently time some- 
 times liung rather heavily upon their 
 hands. Arthur thought that perhaps 
 this was his own fault, for one old 
 gentleman who was a thatcher on week- 
 days — a very prodigy of erudition — was 
 able to manage the Litany just as well 
 as the parson, without so much as looking 
 into a Prayer-book. 
 
 On Wednesday evenings Arthur and his 
 school-fellows attended service at Pendru- 
 than held by the rector in a chapel of ease. 
 It might possibly be fitly so called, so far 
 as the parish church was concerned, but 
 assuredly the worshippers found little ease 
 in it, for the seats were narrow and 
 straight, and the backs bolt upright, — 
 some, I fancy, with a slight inclination 
 forwards ; the kneeling-s tools had such a 
 decided slope that only a desperate grip 
 saved one from slipping to the floor ; and 
 
THE FIE ST CIGAR. 103 
 
 the building was so draughty that some 
 letters of the alphabet were almost un- 
 heard through the colds in the heads 
 produced thereby. Indeed, it was so 
 uncomfortable that a stout Churchman 
 once declared that only one parson had 
 ever succeeded in sending him to sleep 
 in it, whereas in the parish church the 
 very dullest preacher would soothe him 
 and give him something to dream 
 about. 
 
 To this chapel of ease Arthur went 
 as in duty bound. One Wednesday night, 
 for some mysterious reason, he left the 
 church before the time came when men 
 take their rest in sleep, to find the reason 
 for which it will be necessary to go back a 
 step or two. 
 
 A month before an Austrian barque 
 had, during a storm, found her last 
 resting-place on a rock jutting out from 
 
104 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 one of tlie headlands which bounded the 
 little harbour of Pendruthan, the crew 
 being fortunate enough to reach the beach 
 in their boat without any mishap save a 
 drenching. 
 
 The captain decided to dismantle his 
 ship and to sell whatever they could land, 
 as it was obviously impossible for the 
 derelict vessel ever to float again. One 
 of the cellars used for curing pilchards 
 being empty, the crew made it their home 
 during the time they were employed in 
 destroying the ship. 
 
 These Austrian sailors, fourteen in 
 number, with their strange dress and 
 language afforded great entertainment 
 and some little instruction to the Pen- 
 druthan lads. It must be confessed 
 that the knowledge they imparted could 
 scarcely be classed under the head of 
 useful. Not that they, poor fellows, 
 
THE FIRST CIGAE. 105 
 
 intended to corrupt tlie morals of the art- 
 less youngsters wlio sought their society. 
 They were good-natured, honest, and 
 sober, and conducted themselves generally 
 in such a satisfactory manner that, as 
 Mrs. Betsy Polsue observed, they need not 
 be ashamed to get wrecked again on the 
 same spot. It is possible that Mrs. Pol- 
 sue' s judgment was slightly warped, for, 
 to tell the truth — it will not harm her, she 
 is long since gone from this ill-wishing 
 world — Betsy was fond of a whiff of to- 
 bacco, and the good-natured Austrians 
 in return for some little service she was 
 able to render kept her pipe well supplied. 
 I say this tobacco-smoking may possibly 
 have clouded the judgment of the austere 
 old lady, but whether this were so or 
 not, it certainly proved a means of at- 
 tracting the goodwill of the lads. But 
 why ? 
 
106 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 Whj? Is it nothing for a lad to be 
 able to disport himself with an enormous 
 cigar in his mouth just like any grown 
 person at no expense whatever ? This 
 desirable consummation — to boys — the 
 worthy Austrians placed within their 
 reach. 
 
 True the elementary stages of cigar- 
 smoking are somewhat painful, and — so 
 ribald scoffers say — the advanced stages 
 are of little worth. But what of that? 
 Boys are not, as a rule, in the habit of 
 looking at things from a utilitarian point 
 of view, and as to the inconvenience of 
 any possible course of action, is it not a 
 fact patent to all observers that a boy 
 ^'who is a boy," as old Peter White the 
 miller used to say, makes a point of 
 entering a field across a thorn hedge 
 instead of by the open gateway, and of 
 walking through a deep puddle in pre- 
 
THE FIRST CIGAR. 107 
 
 ference to the uninviting dry part of the 
 path ? 
 
 Arthur Treleaven was not a lad to miss 
 a good thing when it was to be had for 
 the asking, and he was therefore soon 
 initiated into the mysteries of smoking. 
 Like many another novice he discovered 
 that the thing he had longed for was 
 not all his fancy pictured ; nay, he even 
 hated his former love. Inward qualms, 
 not of conscience, superinduced bitter re- 
 morse. 
 
 'This was partly owing to the fact 
 that Arthur had no judicious friend to 
 suggest a proper method of acquiring the 
 difficult art. Instead of beginning with 
 a mild whiff or two, and then going on 
 gradually to perfection, from a smoker's 
 point of view, he procured from one of 
 his Austrian friends an enormous cigar 
 measuring some eight inches, and, seeking 
 
108 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 a quiet nook on the beach., he opened a 
 fresh chapter in his life. 
 
 When, by great pluck and perseverance, 
 he had got half-way through, it occurred to 
 him that perhaps, on the whole, it would 
 be well to reserve the remainder of the 
 cigar for a future day. 
 
 The bell struck out just then for the 
 usual Wednesday service, and at once 
 his mind was made up ; he would spread 
 the pleasure over two days instead of 
 ending it in one. He therefore wended 
 his way in pensive mood to the church. 
 He had heard Mrs. Polsue say that she 
 was a martyr to heart-disease, which 
 disease, by the way, she professed to keep 
 under by strong doses of gin — nothing 
 but gin will touch the heart, said Mrs. 
 Polsue — and it now struck idm for the 
 first time that perhaps it was his fate 
 to endure a like martyrdom, for ** within 
 
THE FIRST CIGAE. 109 
 
 measurable distance " of bis heart a new 
 sensation had arisen whicli foreboded 
 future woe. 
 
 This inward ''pain so increased that 
 Arthur was unable to follow the rector 
 further than the second lesson, and Mr. 
 Potts was devoutly following the reverend 
 gentleman when he was scandalized by 
 the sight of one of his boys darting out 
 of church like an arrow from a bow 
 before his very eyes. Without waiting 
 for the usual " Here endeth the second 
 lesson," the little gentleman started in 
 pursuit. If this sort of thing goes on, 
 he thought, canes had better be abolished 
 by an Act of Parliament. 
 
 When Mr. Potts reached the little 
 yard surrounding the church he found it 
 empty; the boy had disappeared as if 
 on wings. But what was that huddled 
 together on the grass in the corner ? It 
 
110 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 was the truant boy. In a moment the 
 avenging Mr. Potts was glaring down 
 upon his intended victim. 
 
 '' What are you doing here, you young 
 rascal? Get up, and come into church, 
 ril warm you to-morrow for this." 
 
 " Please, sir," moaned Arthur, " I'm 
 bad." 
 
 '^ That's true enough," said Mr. Potts, 
 *' but what's the matter with you ? " 
 
 '' Oh, sir, I'm sick." 
 
 " Well, get up then, and go home ; 
 you'll make yourself worse lying there 
 upon the grass." 
 
 But Arthur's legs seemed unequal to 
 the work of transporting him home, and 
 the relenting Mr. Potts said, — 
 
 '' Wait a minute then, and I'll send 
 some one home with you." 
 
 Unfortunately the boy called out to 
 perform this charitable office was Arthur's 
 
THE FIRST CIGAR. Ill 
 
 evil genius, Master Jemmy Nash, who 
 made matters still more uncomfortable by 
 saying to the master, — 
 
 '* He's been smoking, sir ; I saw him 
 with a whacking grefit cigar." 
 
 " Take him home at once," said Mr. 
 Potts, irate again, '' and tell his father all 
 about it." 
 
 Poor Arthur, crestfallen enough now, 
 was, in obedience to this mandate, 
 dragged by the malicious Nash through 
 the most populous lanes of Pendruthan, 
 a laughing-stock for all the little boys 
 who did not attend church, and at 
 last was safely landed at his father's 
 door. 
 
 Master Nash detailed Arthur's iniquities, 
 with a copious supplement of his own 
 devising, and John Treleaven, who was 
 somewhat of a martinet, in spite of his 
 fondness for his son, gave him a severe 
 
112 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 thrashing and sent him supperless to 
 bed. 
 
 From this chapter it will be gathered 
 that Arthur Treleaven was a very naughty- 
 boy, and that naughtiness usually brings 
 its own punishment. 
 
113 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 ON HEAVEN. 
 
 Alleluia we sing, like the children bright, 
 A'^'ith their harps of gold and their raiment white, 
 As they follow their Shepherd with loving eyes, 
 Through the beautiful valleys of Paradise. 
 
 Hijmn. 
 
 Two years had passed since Jessie Rundle 
 died, but her image was still fresh in 
 Jenifer's memory. Tt was easy for a boy 
 like Mark, thrown more into the society 
 of his school-fellows, as he grew older to 
 forget gradually the one great grief of 
 his life. 
 
 But Jenifer had never made bosom 
 friends of any but Mark and Jessie, and 
 now the one was taken from her, and 
 
 TOL. I. I 
 
114 Br THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 the other saw her less frequently, she 
 was thrown more upon her own resources 
 for amusements, and trained, little by 
 little, to find food for thought in her 
 own memories and speculations. Jessie's 
 death-scene was imprinted indelibly upon 
 her mind, and often, sitting by herself 
 in the little parlour, or silent in the 
 midst of others by the kitchen fire, she 
 formed fancy pictures of Jessie's appear- 
 ance and surroundings and occupations. 
 
 " A penny for your thoughts, Jenny," 
 said Daniel Trewhella to her one winter's 
 evening, as she sat before the fire with 
 some knitting in her hand, pursing her 
 lips and knitting her brows, and staring at 
 the fire of logs, not a spark of which she 
 really saw. 
 
 Dan had left work for the day, and 
 was in a quiet, meditative way smoking 
 his evening pipe. Mrs. Trewhella and 
 
ox HEAVEN. 115 
 
 Mrs. Craddock were debating a knotty 
 question concerning the form of a pair 
 of stockings wliicli the former was knit- 
 ting. Mrs. Craddock maintained vigoronslv 
 that it was high time to " abate " the leg, 
 while Mrs. Trewhella as vigorously con- 
 tended that it was necessary to knit 
 sixteen more rounds before that evolution 
 took place. 
 
 *' Sixteen rounds more," said Mrs. Crad- 
 dock, ^' theest meeake a putty stocking 
 of it ; why the leg will be all ceealf . It 
 migflit do for owld mother Trevarton 
 who's got legs like helephants through 
 the dropsy, but I'm sure Daniel Tre- 
 whella' s legs are more ship-shape than 
 that." 
 
 «' Thenky, Mrs. Craddock," said Dan, 
 laughing, '* thenky for your good opinion 
 of my legs, but you needn't be afraid of 
 Beeca, she'll meeake em fit like a skin." 
 I 2 
 
116 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 **Aw, iss," said Mrs. Craddock, "you'll 
 stick up for your wife, but I've knitted a 
 passel more stockings tlian she in my 
 day, and ought to know something about 
 it." 
 
 Jenifer had been silent all through this 
 debate, and noticing her abstraction, 
 Daniel made her the munificent offer above 
 mentioned. 
 
 " A penny for your thoughts, Jenny." 
 
 *'I was thinking about heaven," an- 
 swered Jenifer, rousing herself. 
 
 '' Law, massy me ! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Craddock, '' what things cheldurn do 
 think about nowadays; I'm sure I dedn 
 think of no sich treeade when I was 
 young." 
 
 " No," said Jenifer gravely. " Mr. 
 Carnanton told us the other day that 
 some people never think of heaven." 
 
 "Horty torty," exclaimed Mrs. Crad- 
 
ON HEAVEN. 117 
 
 dock, "what does Mr. Carnanton knaw 
 about what owld wemmin have a got in 
 their heads, tes enough for he to do 
 feeding hinterlects, as Mr. Josiah says. 
 Parsons are very fond of tellin' people 
 what to do, semmin' to me, not that I've 
 got anything to say against Mr. Carnanton, 
 he's a very kind gentleman, and sent some 
 fust-rate soup to my owld man afore he 
 died — not that soup could seeave un. I 
 knawed he was goin', and I says to un 
 when Mr. Carnanton was there, says I, 
 ' You'll never go out of this house, John, 
 afore theert car'd out. Our passon 
 here'll soon have the buryin' of thee.' 
 ' Iss, I believe he will,' he said, and so he 
 ded." 
 
 " But what was you thinking about 
 heaven ? " asked Daniel, checking Mrs. 
 Craddock's loquacious reminiscences. 
 " Oh ! " answered Jenifer, '' I was won- 
 
118 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 dering if Jessie has got wings like tlie 
 angels in our big Bible. Have all the 
 people in heaven got wings, father ? " 
 
 " I'm sure I can't tell," said Daniel, 
 who was somewhat prosaic and not a 
 very deep theologian ; "I spoase the 
 wings are for the little wans ; they that 
 have got strong legs can walk about, I 
 should think, if they want to go any- 
 where." 
 
 " I expect Jessie can fly then," said 
 Jenifer, " for she isn't big enough to walk 
 far. Perhaps she'll have the flowers to 
 weed and water just like she used in her 
 little garden down here. Teacher told me 
 we shall be in a garden again like Adam 
 and Eve, and they used to tend the trees 
 and flowers." 
 
 " I hop' I sheeant be put to tend 
 flowers," said Mrs. Craddock, " I am sure 
 I shall git the rheumatiz wuss than I've a 
 
ON HEAVEN. 119 
 
 got it now. Our praicher says he ceeant 
 tell 'zactly what we shall do up there, 
 whether 'twill be these things, or thicky 
 or t'other, but he do think it'll be some- 
 thin' like a mittin', singin' and like a 
 that." 
 
 " P'raps," said Mrs. Trewhella, " instead 
 of inquiring what they do up to heaven, we 
 had better teeake a little trouble to git 
 there. I'm sure we arn't none of us too 
 good." 
 
 " No, that we arn't," assented Mrs. 
 Craddock, " and other people es a passel 
 wuss. Look at the people who do live 
 boath sides of me, what a set they be. 
 I'm sure I often say like David, ' My sawl 
 es among lions, and their tongues are 
 drawn swords.' A basely owld cat wan 
 of 'em do keep es the pleeague of my life. 
 Yesterday I had the beautifuUest rabbit 
 you ever seed govve to me, and I only left 
 
120 BY TBE CORNISH SEx\. 
 
 it on the teeable five minutes while I went 
 to the pump to fetch a turn of water, and 
 when I come back ef that owld cat hadn 
 a yaffled un up so as a wodn fit to ait. It 
 govve me such a turn that I was ready to 
 cry about it. But as I was goin' to say 
 they have revival sarvices down to our 
 chapel in the winter, though why they 
 doant have 'em in the summer I doant 
 knaw ; do they think God ceeant seeave 
 sawls in the summer ? Mr. Carnanton said 
 to me t'other day, ' How many times have 
 you been converted, Mrs. Craddock ? ' 
 ' Three times, sir,' says I, ' and I am wait- 
 ing for the next revival to be convarted 
 again.' ' Dear, dear,' says he, ' what 
 heathenism, to be sure; you had better 
 turn and serve God at once instead of 
 waiting for the next revival.' I doant 
 know 'zactly what he maint by heathenism, 
 only I could see he wodn very well plaised 
 
ON HEAVEN. 121 
 
 — no more was I for tliat peart. "WTaat 
 harm, I should like to know, es there in 
 being convarted three times. I'm afeard 
 from what the parson said about it he edn 
 a convarted man hisself." 
 
 ''I dunno 'bout that," said Rebecca, 
 "but you'll have to go a long way to 
 match Mr. Carnanton. He's the kindest 
 gentleman that ever I seed, and so loving 
 to the children, and when people are sick 
 he's ready to see 'em and spake to 'em 
 night and day." 
 
 '' Iss, iss," answered Mrs. Craddock, *' I 
 doant conterdick 'ee, but people doant like 
 very well to be called owld haythens. But 
 1 must be goin', my dears. I wish 'ee 
 well, good-night," and so saying Mrs. 
 Craddock took her departure. 
 
 " Well, Jenny," said Daniel to his 
 daughter, who had remained silent during 
 Mrs. Craddock' s harangue, '' do 'ee think 
 
122 BY THE OOENISH SEA. 
 
 Jessie will be always tending flowers ? 
 She'll get rather tired of that, I think.'* 
 
 " She won't play at weddings and fune- 
 rals, I suppose," answered Jenifer, " for 
 Mr. Carnanton told us last Sunday that 
 the people up in heaven don't die, and we 
 read in school yesterday that the people 
 don't have any weddings up there. They'll 
 have to practise a lot, I expect, for the 
 singing, and when they arn't singing Jesus 
 will lead the lambs — that's the children — 
 all about the meadows and by the river's 
 side, teacher says. I should like that, 
 and when He said, ' Jenny, you keep near 
 to Me,' I would go as close as ever I 
 could." 
 
 "Bless your dear little heart," said 
 Mrs. Trewhella, kissing her ; " but come, 
 my love, say good-night to father, 'tis time 
 to go to bed." 
 
 The good-night was said, and in a few 
 
ON HEAVEN. 128 
 
 minutes a little white form was kneeling 
 at the bed-side, with clasped hands, com- 
 mitting herself co the Good Shepherd who 
 loves the lambs of His flock. 
 
124 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 A LITER AEY MAN. 
 
 A man severe he was, and stern to view ; 
 I knew him well, and every truant knew. 
 
 The Deserted -Village. 
 
 When Arthur Treleaven liad been at the 
 national school between two and three 
 years the boys were astounded one morn- 
 ing by the news that Mr. Potts had deter- 
 mined to lay down his rod of ofl&ce. It 
 was not that the worthy man was tired of 
 his work, or that he found the Pendruthan 
 boys unmanageable ; the truth was, the 
 revenue arising from the payments of 
 his pupils, even when supplemented by 
 " voluntary contributions," failed to fur- 
 
A LITERARY MAN. 125 
 
 nish Mr. Potts witli a decent living, and a 
 living for a wife was out of the question. 
 Isow Mr. Potts, like Francis Bacon, had 
 found " a handsome maiden to his liking," 
 and to secure her found it necessary to 
 exchange short commons for Doctors' Com- 
 mons, and the Education Department for 
 the Home Office. 
 
 For a week or two there was an inter- 
 regnum, a state of things not much relished 
 by parents who had to calculate carefully 
 the cost of boots and jackets, but appre- 
 ciated greatly by all the boys, whose 
 naughtiness had been restrained by Mr. 
 Potts. At last another Pharaoh arose 
 who was to appear before the boys on the 
 following Monday. Stimulated by curio- 
 sity the boys took their places with 
 unwonted punctuality on the eventful 
 morning. 
 
 At ten minutes past nine steps were 
 
126 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 heard outside, and the tumult whicli had 
 reigned was hushed. " He's coming," was 
 whispered. The door was knocked, and 
 then opened, and in walked — Master 
 Jemmy Nash. This wily individual had 
 made sure that the new master was not 
 yet arrived, and then practised upon the 
 credulity of his fellows. 
 
 This artifice naturally disgusted the 
 dupes, and half a dozen of the biggest 
 boys, seizing Nash, proceeded to inflict a 
 suitable punishment upon that part of the 
 human frame provided for the purpose, 
 when again the door opened, and in walked 
 the rector, a gentleman in spectacles, and 
 a lady with long drooping curls. 
 
 ''Boys, boys, what's all this?" asked 
 the goodnatured rector. 
 
 Nash was a youth not easily dismayed, 
 and assuming a perpendicular attitude 
 and an air of innocence, he answered, — 
 
A LITERARY MAN. 127 
 
 " Please, sir, tliey threw me down 
 because I told um to be quiet." 
 
 "Did they really?" said the rector, 
 *' that was very wrong; but sit down, 
 James, here's a penny for you, and mind 
 you are always a good boy." 
 
 The boys generally were so astounded 
 at hash's audacity, that they made no 
 remonstrance, and settled down quietly 
 to examine the new master. 
 
 " Boys," said the rector, '' I have 
 brought you a successor to Mr. Potts, and 
 I hope you'll behave as well in the future 
 as you generally did in the past. This is 
 your new teacher, Mrs. Thornlake, and 
 I hope you will obey her and like her." 
 
 "Whew," said Nash in an undertone, 
 *' 'tis a she one." 
 
 " Well, I think I shall like her better 
 than owld spectacles," whispered Richard 
 Hooker. 
 
128 BY THE CORNISH SEA, 
 
 Mrs. Thornlake soon showed that she 
 was able to wield the rod ; for, the very- 
 first afternoon, turning quickly, she saw 
 Nash wdth his thumb to his nose and his 
 fingers pointing straight at her. Nash ex- 
 plained that he was merely scratching his 
 nose, which was inclined to itch sometimes. 
 
 " Very well," said Mrs. Thornlake, 
 " probably your back also is itching and 
 wants scratching, and, as it is difl&cult for 
 you to reach, I will scratch it for you." 
 
 She thereupon scratched the patient's 
 back to such good effect that it cured not 
 only Nash's back, but also his nose, for, 
 so far as could be ascertained, the latter 
 never more itched while he was under Mrs. 
 Thornlake' s care. 
 
 Mr. Thornlake was a literary man, and 
 rarely encroached on his wife's special 
 province. Not that he ever wrote a book 
 or even a magazine article ; he confined 
 
A LITERARY MAN. 129 
 
 himself to distributing at a moderate profit 
 the works of others. It is to be feared 
 that his efforts in his own chosen line were 
 not adequately appreciated at Pendruthan. 
 Mr. Thornlake, who possessed a talent 
 for forming schemes for making large 
 sums of money — which always proved 
 abortive, but not from any fault of his 
 own — bethought him of opening a book- 
 stall on Pendruthan Quay on market days. 
 The public, he felt sure, would recognize 
 his philanthropic design in the most prac- 
 tical way, and bear to their homes the 
 stores of edifying literature, leaving behind 
 in his pocket the current coin of the realm. 
 On the next Friday morning, therefore, 
 Mr. Thornlake, assisted by two lads, placed 
 in a commanding position a large kitchen 
 table (borrowed for the purpose), and on 
 this he arranged sundry copies of the 
 " Pilgrim's Progress," a few first numbers 
 VOL. I. K 
 
130 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 of an illustrated Family Bible, Jolm Wes- 
 ley's " Sermons " — these, Mr. Thornlake 
 thought, would have a rapid sale in such a 
 "Wesleyan community; Baxter's "Saint's 
 Rest," a ''Life of Napoleon Buona- 
 parte," and some miscellaneous story- 
 books. 
 
 Mr. Thornlake opened early, for he 
 purposed to re-order any books which 
 half a day's trial showed to be popular by 
 the afternoon post. At nine o'clock, there- 
 fore, he seabed himself at the table in a 
 green kitchen chair, and waited for custo- 
 mers, having previously procured from his 
 wife several shillings' worth of silver and 
 copper '' to give change." Perhaps it was 
 the cold east wind which kept the cus- 
 tomers away, but, whatever was the reason, 
 noon had passed before a single customer 
 appeared. Several gentlemen of the sea- 
 faring persuasion had inspected Mr. Thorn- 
 
A LITERARY MAN. 131 
 
 lake's stall and the owner thereof much as 
 the J would gaze at the sea-serpent or any 
 other strange animal, but they did not 
 make any offer for Baxter's '' Saint's Rest," 
 or the " Pilgrim's Progress." One man, 
 more irreverent than the rest, observed 
 that " a good pipe of baccy " was more in 
 his line, but most of them contented them- 
 selves with remarking that the wind was 
 sharp, and they hoped he would not get 
 rheumatism. 
 
 At a quarter-past twelve a customer 
 came. At noon Mr. Thornlake's spouse 
 had dismissed her scholars, according to 
 custom, and some of the more enterprising 
 boys, including Arthur and Jemmy ISTash, 
 discovering the forlorn bookseller — perhaps 
 book-keeper would be the more correct 
 word — reading to wile away the time, 
 by the aid of a pair of spectacles and a 
 powerful eyeglass, determined to get some 
 K 2 
 
132 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 fun out of him. Nasli suggested that they 
 should send various innocent-looking boys 
 to inquire for articles which they knew he 
 did not sell. This idea was approved of, 
 and Arthur was selected to be Mr. Thorn- 
 lake's first customer. Mr. Thornlake was 
 immersed in a chapter of the " Saint's 
 Eest" when he was aroused by a knock 
 on the kitchen table, and, looking up, he 
 saw Arthur, whom he had some faint 
 recollection of having seen at the school. 
 
 " Well, my lad, what can I do for you ? " 
 said Mr. Thornlake. 
 
 Business was so slack, that it was well 
 to be civil even to a small boy. 
 
 "Please, sir, for a penn'orth of shoe- 
 maker's wax." 
 
 This was an unfortunate slip of Arthur's. 
 He had been told sealing-wax, but getting 
 nervous in the presence of Mr. Thornlake, 
 had substituted the word " shoemaker's." 
 
A LITBEART MAN. 133 
 
 Mr. Thomlake's temper was not a very- 
 sweet one at the best of times, as his wife 
 knew by experience, but now he waxed 
 furious. 
 
 " You young rascal," he shouted, " to 
 come here insulting me. I'll put my 
 stick about your back if you're not 
 off." 
 
 Arthur took to his heels as soon as he 
 discovered that his fun was likely to 
 involve him in trouble, but Nash and his 
 companions added to the fuel of Mr. 
 Thornlake's ire by shouting from their safe 
 retreat, — 
 
 " Five eyes, owld five eyes." 
 
 The result of this diversion was by nO' 
 means satisfactory, for, to the horror of 
 the dehnquents, Mr. Thornlake appeared 
 at the school in the afternoon, and for- 
 mally arraigned some boys unknown on a 
 charge amounting to high treason, namely. 
 
134 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 for calling liim, Mr. Thornlake, tlie mis- 
 tress's master, " owld five eyes," which 
 derogatory term had doubtless some far- 
 fetched reference to his combination of 
 eyes, spectacles, and magnifying-glass. 
 
 " Did Mr. Thornlake know the boys ? " 
 
 He could not lay claim to that pleasure. 
 There was one boy he thought he could 
 recognize, who came to him with an 
 insulting request for a penn3rworth of shoe- 
 maker's wax. 
 
 "Would Mr. Thornlake endeavour to 
 point him out?" 
 
 He would, with great readiness. 
 
 Accordingly, the aforesaid five eyes were 
 brought to bear upon the rows of faces, 
 much to the amusement of those who had 
 taken no part in the wax incident. Arthur, 
 Jemmy Nash, and their associates failed to 
 see the comic side of this inspection, Arthur 
 expecting a thrashing on being recognized, 
 
A LITEEARY MAN. 135 
 
 and Nash fearing that Arthur would reveal 
 his share in the transaction. At last Mr. 
 Thornlake stopped in front of Arthur, 
 and surveyed him minutely with his five 
 eyes. 
 
 " This is the boy, Mrs. Thornlake," said 
 her aggrieved spouse ; " I am confident that 
 this is the boy." 
 
 " Arthur Treleaven, did you ask Mr. 
 Thornlake for a pennyworth of shoemaker's 
 wax ? " inquired the mistress, 
 
 "Yes," answered Arthur, " but I forgot, 
 I meant sealing-wax." 
 
 " Nonsense," said Mrs. Thornlake, " if 
 you meant sealing-wax you would have 
 said sealing-wax ; you are only making 
 matters worse by telling a lie about it. 
 Who shouted ' five eyes ' ? — tell me." 
 
 Arthur remained silent. 
 
 " Who shouted ' five eyes ' ? " interposed 
 Mr. Thornlake. 
 
136 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 " Mr. Thornlake, please leave the matter 
 to me," said his wife. 
 
 " But I was insulted, and I will ask," 
 exclaimed Mr. Thornlake. 
 
 " Eemember, Mr. Thornlake, that I am 
 the mistress of this school, and do not 
 intend to give up the reins even to you." 
 
 "Yes, you are the mistress," retorted 
 Mr. Thornlake, " and the sooner you teach 
 your pupils how to behave the better." 
 
 " Mr. Thornlake, I will not be lectured 
 by you." 
 
 "And, Mrs. Thornlake, I will not be 
 dictated to by you." 
 
 "If you do not know how to behave, 
 Mr. Thornlake, you had better go and look 
 after your bookstall." 
 
 " Confound you and the bookstall too," 
 exclaimed the enraged Mr. Thornlake, 
 rushing out of the room, and banging the 
 door after him. 
 
A LITERARY MAN. 137 
 
 Mrs. Thornlake did not allow this little 
 altercation to put an end to the judicial 
 proceedings, but saying in a sarcastic 
 tone, — 
 
 ''You must take no notice of what Mr. 
 Thornlake says, he is suffering from a 
 bilious attack," she resumed the cross- 
 examination. 
 
 " Arthur Treleaven, who shouted ' old 
 five eyes ' ? " 
 
 No answer was returned. 
 
 " I will loosen your tongue," said Mrs. 
 Thornlake, fetching the cane. " Hold out 
 your hands." 
 
 Arthur obeyed, and received a stinging 
 blow on each. 
 
 " That is for the shoemaker's wax," said 
 Mrs. Thornlake ; now tell me who shouted 
 * old five eyes,' or I will give you two more 
 cuts." 
 
 Still the culprit refused to answer, and 
 
138 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 the mistress kept her promise by giving 
 him two more blows, which sent the blood 
 tingling up his arm. Again this was 
 repeated without effect. The boy abso- 
 lutely refused to turn informer, and Mrs. 
 Thornlake, seeing that further questioning 
 was useless, gave him three or four sharp 
 blows over the back, and placed him in 
 the corner, with his face to the wall, for 
 the rest of the afternoon. 
 
 Master Nash was struck with admira- 
 tion at this magnanimity, and, when school 
 was dismissed, proposed to the five boys 
 who had joined him in sending Arthur on 
 his unfortunate errand, that they should 
 present him with a testimonial for sparing 
 their hands and backs at the expense of 
 his own. This was carried unanimously, 
 and each of the boys searched his pockets 
 for a suitable offering. Jemmy Nash gave 
 a peg-top slightly damaged, Richard 
 
A LITERARY MAN. 139 
 
 Hooker a stick of slate pencil, Tomray 
 Trebilcock a lead medal, Peter Tonkin a 
 pocket-knife witli one blade gone, and the 
 other rather the worse for wear, and Fred 
 Peters a squirt-ball and half a dozen 
 marbles. 
 
 With these tributes of friendship in his 
 pocket Arthur wended his way home, as 
 much elated as any great general when, 
 after a deadly battle, he receives an in- 
 timation from his sovereign that she 
 intends to confer a peerage upon him, and 
 to recommend Parliament to grant a pen- 
 sion in consideration of his distinguished 
 services. 
 
140 BY THE CORNISH SEA, 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A PIOUS FOUNDER. 
 
 There I was bircli'd ! there I was bred ! 
 There like a little Adam fed 
 
 From learning's useful tree. 
 The weary tasks I used to con ! 
 The hopeless leaves I wept upon ! 
 
 Most fruitless leaves to me ! 
 
 Hood. 
 
 Soon after tlie events recorded in our last 
 chapter, Mrs. Thornlake, for domestic 
 reasons, retired into private life for a few 
 weeks, and Mr. Thornlake gave up bis 
 bookstall, wbich bad failed to justify bis 
 sanguine expectations, to attend to bis 
 wife's duties. 
 
 It is a question wbetber a long vacation 
 
A PIOUS FOUNDER. 141 
 
 would not have been on the whole as 
 profitable for the minds of the boys — 
 it certainly would have been better for 
 their bodies. Mr. Thornlake detested his 
 scholars, and they hated and despised 
 him. Consequently, whipping had to do 
 duty for instruction. Flogging, it has 
 been said, is a good thing in every station 
 of life. This may be true, but a plethora 
 of good things is apt to pall on one, and 
 a month's flogging was quite as much as 
 the boys of Pendruthan cared for. At 
 the end of that time Mrs. Thornlake 
 returned, bringing with her a diminutive 
 copy of her respected husband, to whom 
 she administered at odd minutes the 
 beverage duly provided by nature. 
 
 Mrs. Thornlake soon discovered that 
 the work done in her absence was not of a 
 high order. She therefore carefully col- 
 lected all exercise-books, and selecting 
 
142 BY THE COliNISH SEA. 
 
 the most untidy pages, wrote at the begin- 
 ning, " Mrs. Thornlake left," and at the 
 end, " Mrs. Thornlake returned." Alas ! 
 alas ! for the honour of woman, many of 
 the blots thus fathered upon Mr. Thorn- 
 lake came into existence without the co- 
 operation of that maligned gentleman. 
 
 The Thornlakes found in a short time 
 that residence at Pendruthan was not 
 conducive to obesity, and therefore de- 
 parted to a more generous locality. 
 Another mistress was procured, but she 
 soon followed the Thornlakes. It seemed 
 likely that if some vigorous steps were not 
 taken Mrs. Warder would have all Pen- 
 druthan to find mental food for. 
 
 The church had had its innings : it 
 was the turn of the Bryanites to go to 
 the wickets. Mr. Jonathan Bawden, the 
 leading personage among this sect, a 
 substantial butcher with a family of ten 
 
A PIOUS FOUNDER. 143 
 
 cliildreri, all boys, bethought him of a plan 
 which would conduce to the prosperity of 
 the local Zion while furnishing the young 
 people, including a moiety of the aforesaid 
 boys, with the instruction which they so 
 much needed. 
 
 " Fix some desks with hinges to the 
 seats in the chapel," said he, '' and the 
 thing is done. Turn them up on week- 
 days and you have your school ; turn them 
 down on Sundays and again the building 
 becomes a chapel. Buy some slates and 
 slate-pencils, tell the boys to bring their own 
 copy-books and pens, and you can open 
 school as soon as you like. As for reading- 
 books, there are plenty of Bibles, wanting 
 perhaps part of the book of Genesis and 
 some of the Revelations, but still quite 
 good enough for the purpose." 
 
 There was one thing lacking — a school- 
 master, but Mr. Jonathan Bawden was 
 
144 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 not a man to forget sucli an important 
 factor. He had his eye on a suitable 
 individual, Mr. Simon Beckerleg, a person 
 the shady side of fifty, a widower with one 
 daughter, who would be able to help him 
 in his business. Mr. Simon Beckerleg had 
 passed most of his life in the humble 
 occupation of stone-breaking, but that was 
 nothing to his disadvantage — he was a 
 very erudite stone-breaker, and, besides, his 
 profession would have taught him to wield 
 the birch with good effect, to hit, in fact, 
 the most telling blow in the most fitting 
 place. Mr. Simon Beckerleg therefore, 
 upon an early day, as parliamentary usage 
 puts it, assisted by his daughter Jemima, 
 assumed the function lately performed by 
 the lamented Mrs. Thornlake. 
 
 The building was calculated to inspire 
 a great awe in the minds of all but 
 hardened reprobates like Jemmy Nash. 
 
A PIOUS FOU^'DEK. 145 
 
 A flavour of the previous Sunday's dis- 
 courses seemed to pervade the schoolroom, 
 and boys with a vivid imagination could 
 almost hear the sounding thumps given 
 by some particularly energetic Boanerges 
 on the pulpit Bible. The light was dim, 
 very dim, if not religious, and the back 
 walls presented a pleasing green appear- 
 ance, the result of drainage operations on 
 the higher level at the rear. It must be 
 confessed that the result of the combina- 
 tion of educational advantages with sound 
 Divinity did not answer Mr. Jonathan 
 Bawden's expectations. The lads came 
 readily enough to the day-school, which 
 was nothing extraordinary, seeing there 
 was nowhere else to go, excepting Mrs. 
 Warder's; but the "round preachers" 
 might thump the Bible into shreds and 
 bawl themselves hoarse on Sundays with- 
 out enticing any lads from " the other 
 VOL. I. L 
 
146 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 sexes," as Mrs. Polsue phrased it. Thej 
 were so satiated on weekdays that they 
 preferred other fare on Sundays. At the 
 end of ten months the experiment was 
 given up, and Mr. Simon Beckerleg re- 
 turned to his stone-breaking, varied with 
 an occasional jaunt to sell fresh pilchards. 
 
 The chief event which occurred to 
 Arthur during his stay at Mr. Beckerleg' s 
 school was his first stand-up fight. It 
 was very wicked to fight, I know, but 
 truth compels me to give a plain, unvar- 
 nished tale, and to relate Arthur's vices 
 as well as his virtues. It happened in 
 this wise. Several boys were playing in a 
 disused sawpit one evening, Jemmy Nash, 
 Arthur Treleaven, and Peter Chard being 
 of the number, when a quarrel arose 
 through Peter Chard making a rude 
 remark about John Treleaven. 
 
 " Your father," said he, "stole a piece 
 
A PIOUS POUNDER. 147 
 
 of timber and two oars from old Dick 
 Bastard." 
 
 " He did not," said Arthur; " he took 
 the timber and oars from Dick just after 
 they washed in, and carried them to the 
 watch-house." 
 
 " My father said he saw your father cut- 
 ting it up for firewood," persisted Peter. 
 
 " Then your father told a lie," said 
 Arthur hotly. 
 
 " And your father is a thief," retorted 
 Peter. 
 
 " I'll hit you if you say that again." 
 
 " Your father is a thief," repeated Peter 
 deliberately. 
 
 Arthur's blood boiled at this aspersion 
 upon his father, whom he looked upon as 
 a personification of bravery and goodness, 
 and without considering Peter's extra four 
 inches of stature, he struck him a blow in 
 the breast with all his might. 
 L 2 
 
148 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 Jemmy ISTasli slapped his knees in great 
 glee, for a figlit afforded him immense 
 enjoyment, and he felt that nothing but a 
 real hard combat would meet the require- 
 ments of this particular case. 
 
 " You back up Chard,' ' he whispered to 
 Richard Hooker; "I'll look after Tre- 
 leaven. '' You'll fight, I suppose ? " he 
 said aloud to Chard. 
 
 " Yes," answered Peter, ''I'm ready for 
 him at any time." 
 
 " Will you fight ? " ISTash inquired of 
 Arthur. 
 
 " I don't want to fight," was the answer, 
 " but I will unless he says that my father 
 did not steal the oars. Will you say that, 
 Chard?" 
 
 " No, I won't ; he did steal them, and I 
 would have punched you before now if 
 Nash hadn't interfered." 
 
 *' Come at it, then," said Arthur. 
 
A PIOPS FOUNBEii. 149 
 
 '' Take off your jackets," said Nash ; 
 "let's have it all fair — put your toes 
 together and wait till I give the word to 
 begin." 
 
 The two stood facing each other. 
 
 " Now," said Nash, '' at it you go." 
 
 Chard's style of warfare was not at all to 
 Nash's taste. Planting his head about the 
 middle of his adversary's stomach, Peter 
 struck out wildly, without doing any parti- 
 cular damage ; while Arthur, coached by 
 Nash, aimed his strokes as best he could 
 at his opponent's concealed features. 
 
 Several rounds were fought in this way 
 without any definite result. Then, at 
 Nash's suggestion, a little variety was 
 introduced. Up to this point each round 
 had been opened by Chard, the next was 
 begun by Arthur. While Master Peter 
 was debating how to begin, Arthur dealt 
 him a sharp blow on the nose with his left 
 
160 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 hand, which at once put an end to the 
 battle. It must have given Chard some 
 unpleasant sensations, for he burst into 
 tears, saying, — 
 
 " You struck me unawares, you struck 
 me unawares ! " 
 
 " Get along," said Nash, " 'twas fair 
 fighting, and you were licked. Did you 
 want Treleaven to stand waiting for you 
 all night? Well done, Arthur," he con- 
 tinued, patting the victor over the back. 
 " Whenever you fight, my boy, always hit 
 'em as hard as you can across the nose, 
 it makes 'em see blazes in quick time." 
 
 Arthur's explanation of his dishevelled 
 appearance to his father and mother when 
 he reached home was received in different 
 ways. 
 
 " Don't go fighting, my dear," said the 
 mother, "'tis very wrong, and you'll get 
 hurt by great rough boys." 
 
A PIOUS FOUNDER. 151 
 
 " That's a good boy to stand up for 
 father," said John Treleaven, with secret 
 pride in his son's loyalty and prowess ; 
 '' but don't fight unless you are struck 
 first, and don't take any notice of what 
 that young rascal Peter Chard says, he's 
 like his father, given to evil-speaking, 
 lying, and slandering." 
 
152 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 THE ANTIQUARY. 
 
 Sometimes he angers me 
 With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant, 
 Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies, 
 And of a dragon and a finless fish, 
 A clip-wing'd griffin and a monlten raven, 
 A couching lion and a ramping cat, 
 And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff 
 As puts me from my faith. 
 
 Henry IV., Pt. 1. 
 
 A LADY and two gentlemen were seated 
 at breakfast in the dining-room at St. 
 Enodoc Castle. The lady was Mrs. 
 Dunstable. Twelve summers had come 
 and gone since we first made her acquain- 
 tance, but they had treated her kindly, and 
 she was still as stately and good as ever. 
 
THE ANTIQUARY. 153 
 
 One of the gentlemen was her brother, 
 Mr. Treleigh. He was nearer the winter 
 of old age than his sister, and had conse- 
 quently suffered more at the hands of 
 time. Mr. BurHngton, who completed the 
 trio, was a cousin to the late Mr. Dun- 
 stable, and had, after much pressing, 
 accepted Mr. Treleigh's invitation to spend 
 a few weeks in Cornwall. In appearance 
 he presented a marked contrast to his 
 host. Mr. Treleigh with his seventy years 
 was a fine fresh-looking old gentleman. 
 His hair and beard were white as snow, 
 but his massive frame was as erect and 
 his eye as keen as ever. In his younger 
 days he had been noted as a daring horse- 
 man, but for some years he had resigned 
 that exercise to others, — more, it must be 
 confessed, from necessity than choice, for 
 gout had completely mastered his organs 
 of locomotion and totally incapacitated 
 
154 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 Mm from even tlie shortest walk unaided. 
 This state of things could not be laid to 
 the charge of the fine old port in the 
 Castle cellars, for Mr. Treleigh had through 
 life been abstemious. If he suflfered for 
 anybody's sins it must have been for the 
 sins of some ancestor, who, unfortunately, 
 strictly entailed the gout as well as his 
 broad acres. Mr. Treleigh was a well-in- 
 formed man with a taste for poetry, a keen 
 politician, a straightforward and fearless 
 magistrate, a liberal landlord, and a good 
 master. To say that he was universally 
 loved in St. Enodoc would be an exaggera- 
 tion, for ill-disposed persons are always 
 to be found ready to grumble at perfec- 
 tion itself; but all St. Enodoc, whose 
 opinion was worth having, declared that 
 there was not a better nor a kinder man 
 than Mr. Treleigh in the county of Corn- 
 wall. 
 
THE ANTIQUARY. 155 
 
 Mr. Burlington was an antiquary — irre- 
 verent people said a fossil. His long 
 straight coat with immense pockets had 
 an antediluvian appearance, and might 
 have been worn by Methuselah in his 
 declining years. The body which it 
 covered was lean and long, and was sur- 
 mounted when out of doors with an ex- 
 tremely tall hat, which had, apparently by 
 natural selection, assumed the shape most 
 in keeping with the substructure it was 
 intended to crown. 
 
 '* A charming county, charming county," 
 said Mr. Burlington, '' so wild and 
 romantic, and so full of interest to the 
 antiquary. Why, I'll be bound, Mr. 
 Treleigh, that in this very parish I shall 
 find objects of interest to employ my time 
 for the whole fortnight I am with you ; such 
 things as old crosses — I understand you 
 have a number of them in Cornwall — and 
 
156 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 remains of ancient religious buildings and 
 the like." 
 
 " Yes," answered Mr. Treleigh, " jou 
 can find plenty to do in that way ; but, my 
 good sir, you don't mean to mope over 
 old crosses all the time, do you ? Marian 
 must take you to see some of our notable 
 places ; I only wish my legs permitted me 
 to accompany you. You must see the 
 Land's End, of course, and the Logan 
 Rock, and Mount's Bay, and the Lizard, 
 and Tintagel, and when you are tired of 
 sightseeing you can pass the time fairly 
 well in my library. I flatter myself that 
 my collection of the English poets is 
 unique." 
 
 '* Perhaps Mr. Burlington is not fond of 
 poetry," said Mrs. Dunstable ; '' you know, 
 George, you are quite an enthusiast on the 
 subject." 
 
 ''No," said Mr. Burlington, ^' I care 
 
THE ANTIQUARY. 157 
 
 very little for poetry, it is too dry for 
 me : give me a well-written book, now, on 
 the fossil fisli of the red sandstone, or 
 on the reconstruction of Grothic buildings 
 from typical fragments, and I should not 
 consider my time wasted in its perusal." 
 
 '' Well, well," said Mr. Treleigh, laugh- 
 ing, " please yourself, you know ; we want 
 you to do just what is most agreeable to 
 yourself. Of course, Mr. Burlington, you 
 know Milton's beautiful reference to an- 
 tique pillars and storied windows in ' II 
 Penseroso ' ? " 
 
 " I do not remember it," was the 
 answer, " but I have read with very great 
 interest a work by a friend of mine, Mr. 
 Tedyas, on the same subject, containing 
 six hundred and thirty-seven pages quarto ; 
 a most interesting volume I can assure 
 you. As you feel an interest in such 
 matters, Mr. Treleigh, perhaps you would 
 
158 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 like to read the work. I can easily send 
 it down to you." 
 
 " Oh, thank you very much," said Mr. 
 Treleigh hastily, " but please don't trouble, 
 my time is so taken up by one thing and 
 another, that I am afraid I could hardly 
 manage to read it in any reasonable period. 
 'Tis very kind of you to offer to send it 
 me." 
 
 " "Would you care for it ? " asked Mr. 
 Burlington, turning to the hostess. 
 
 " No, thank you," that lady replied. '' As 
 for poetry, I leave that to George ; and with 
 respect to arches and pillars, I think when 
 they fall down the simplest thing is to 
 replace them by new. I'm not at all sen- 
 timental in the matter." 
 
 " A great pity," said Mr. Burlington, 
 shaking his head ; " these important studies 
 should be introduced into the school curri- 
 culum, and not left to be acquired at 
 
. THE ANTIQUARY. 159 
 
 random as at present. I tliink I shall 
 write to my old friend at Oxford, tlie 
 present head of Oriel, to suggest that he 
 might use his influence to effect the 
 desirable change. But I must not linger 
 or it will not be worth my while to go out 
 before luncheon." 
 
 " Where would you like to go first ? " 
 asked Mrs. Dunstable. '' Shall I take you 
 to see some of our cliff scenery, or would 
 you like to inspect the church ? " 
 
 " Thank you very much," was the 
 answer, ^' but I could not think of trou- 
 bling you ; and indeed you would find it 
 extremely dull, I fear, to wait about while 
 I am pursuing ray researches. I like best 
 to wander about just as the fancy takes 
 me, with only a lad as guide. Could you 
 procure a sharp lad for me ? I iiave the 
 list of the farms in your parish which you 
 made out for me last nig-ht." 
 
160 BY THE COKNISH SEA. 
 
 " You had better have one of the men," 
 said Mrs. Dunstable. "I suppose Parker 
 can be spared, George ? " 
 
 "Oh, by all means," answered Mr. 
 Treleigh. 
 
 " Thank jou," said Mr. Burlington, 
 " but I much prefer a sharp boj. As a 
 rule men have opinions of their own, and 
 will maintain, in the face of the clearest 
 evidence, that stones of whose antiquity 
 and value you are convinced, are nothing 
 but ordinary door-steps or pigs' troughs, 
 or some such rubbish, whereas an intelli- 
 gent boy takes it for granted that you 
 know more about the matter than he, 
 and holds his tongue. I have found some 
 valuable relics with no companions but 
 cow-boys and scarecrows.'* 
 
 " We can get you as many boys as you 
 please," said Mrs. Dunstable. " I should 
 think Bundle's sun would suit, George, he 
 
THE ANTIQUARY. 161 
 
 is a sharp lad, and is not at school now, 
 nor working, for the Rundles haven't quite 
 made up their minds what to do with 
 him : he's hardly fourteen ; do you think 
 he's old enough for you, Mr. Burling- 
 ton ? " 
 
 *' Quite," was the answer. 
 
 " Then I'll send for him,^' said Mrs. 
 Dunstable, ringing the bell. '' Spry," she 
 continued, to the man who entered, '^send 
 to Rundle the ropemaker and say I want 
 him to send up his boy Mark at once, if 
 he's at home." 
 
 In about a quarter of an hour Mark 
 arrived, and after some explanation was 
 installed as guide to Mr. Burlington. 
 
 They made their way first, at Mr. 
 Treleigh's suggestion, to Tremadoc Farm, 
 for near the house were the remains of an 
 ancient monastic building overlooking a 
 large pond, which might, perhaps, have 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
162 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 furnislied the monks witli fish in pre- Re- 
 formation times, but which now contained 
 nothing but a layer of mud two or three 
 feet thick. The ruins disappointed Mr. 
 Burlington, for the stones were so much 
 decomposed by atmospheric influences and 
 age, that almost nothing remained to indi- 
 cate their original architectural features. 
 
 The occupant of the farm, Mr. Docton, 
 who on hearing Mr. Burlington's errand, 
 had volunteered to show him the ruins, 
 now informed him that some carved stones 
 were supposed to be lying at the bottom 
 of the pond ; he had never seen any him- 
 self, even when the water was low in the 
 summer, but possibly they were imbedded 
 in the mud. 
 
 " Ahem," said Mr. Burlington, '^ excuse 
 me, but would it inconvenience you to put 
 your men to drain out the pond for me ? I 
 think it would quite repay the labour." 
 
THE ANTIQUARY. 1G3 
 
 ''I don't know about that,'* said Mr. 
 Docton, '-but mj men are busy preparing 
 the ground for turnips ; I couldn't call 
 them away from that to search for old 
 broken stones. You are quite at liberty, 
 though, to do what you like with the 
 pond." 
 
 " Perhaps I might find out something 
 about the stones if I took off my boots 
 and stockings and waded in," suggested 
 Mr. Burlington. " What depth of water 
 is there do you think?" 
 
 *' Oh, there isn't much water," answered 
 Mr. Docton: ''perhaps a foot in the 
 deepest part." 
 
 " I bathed here once with two or three 
 boys belonging to our school," interposed 
 Mark, '' and we got covered with mud, 
 but didn't feel any stones except a round 
 one in the middle of the pond, three 
 times as big as your head." 
 M 2 
 
164 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 *'Ah, the stones are there," said Mr. 
 Burlington to the farmer ; " of course, boys 
 wouldn't examine such things very closely. 
 It is a good deal to ask of you, Mr. — a — 
 Docton, hut perhaps you would not mind 
 wading in on the opposite side while I go 
 in here, and you, my boy — you are called 
 Mark I think — you go in at the lower 
 corner." 
 
 ''I must ask you to excuse me," said 
 Mr. Docton ; "but — but — the fact is, I've 
 been suffering a good deal from rheumatism 
 lately, and perhaps it mightn't agree with 
 me." 
 
 '' Oh, perhaps not, perhaps not ; you go 
 in on the opposite side then, Mark, instead 
 of Mr. Docton." 
 
 The two explorers divested themselves 
 of their lower garments and entered the 
 pond. Mark, knowing by experience the 
 nature of the bottom, did not show any 
 
THE ANTIQUARY. 165 
 
 great eagerness in the enterprise, but Mr. 
 Burlington made up in zeal what he lacked 
 in knowledge, and went boldly in. Un- 
 fortunately a sunken branch lay across 
 his path, and catching his foot in this he 
 went floundering into the black greasy 
 mud. Mark bravely rushed to the assis- 
 tance of his patron, who, despite his mis- 
 hap — nay, in consequence of it, was clinging 
 to a large boulder which he had struck in 
 his fall. 
 
 It is a matter for regret that Mr. 
 Docton's antiquarian bump was so poorly 
 developed, but the truth must be told that, 
 instead of assisting the over-eager Mr. 
 Burlington out of his difficulty, he re- 
 mained standing on the edge of the pond, 
 while a broad grin spread over his face — 
 perhaps this was the result of a twinge of 
 the rheumatism ! 
 
 When the stone had been deposited on 
 
166 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 tlie bank and examined, Mr. Burlington 
 had to confess that, at any rate so far as 
 that particular stone was concerned, Mark 
 was right ; it was only a common felspar 
 boulder. 
 
 Mr. Burlington had, in consequence of 
 his misliap, to return to the Castle for dry 
 clothing. Mr. Treleigh and his sister 
 hoped, when they heard the tale, that this 
 disaster would cause the abandonment of 
 the antiquarian pursuits for a day or 
 two, but they were undeceived when, at 
 luncheon, Mr. Burlington declared his in- 
 tention of spending the afternoon in walk- 
 ing about St. Enodoc, examining the most 
 ancient buildings, and looking into the 
 gardens. 
 
 " I have often found valuable pieces of 
 carving," said he, "in back-yards and in 
 use as borders for flower-beds." 
 
 During the next few days, therefore, 
 
THE ANTIQUARY. 1G7 
 
 Mr. Burlington astonished the inhabitants 
 of the httle town by peering into their 
 gardens and back premises, and by exa- 
 mining intently sundry gate-posts and 
 door- steps. The result of this was that 
 stones which formerly were valued by 
 their owners at the smallest coin of the 
 realm, now were worth, if Mr. Burlington 
 cared to buy them, " a good round sum," 
 and others which aforetime were counted 
 mere rubbish now had their market 
 value. 
 
 Mr. Burlington's chief discovery during 
 his fortnight's sojourn at St. Enodoc was 
 an enormous granite cross, the largest, he 
 said, in the county of Cornwall. The base 
 with about four feet of the shaft had been 
 found a few years before in digging a 
 grave, some five feet below the surface. 
 It bore the marks of chisels as if it had been 
 wantonly broken during the reign of the 
 
168 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 Puritans. With great labour it had been 
 raised from its grave and placed in a 
 corner of the churchyard. Mr. Burling- 
 ton chanced to espy this weather-beaten 
 fragment, and at once set himself to dis- 
 cover the missing portion of the cross, 
 which, he felt convinced, must be lying 
 about somewhere in the neighbourhood. 
 
 " Do you know of any crosses in the 
 parish ? " said he to Mark. 
 
 " There is one in Mr. Carnanton's 
 garden," was the answer, " but it is not so 
 thick as this." 
 
 " No, no, certainly not ; it oughtn't to 
 be if it belongs to this. I will go and see 
 it at once." 
 
 Mr. Carnanton met the explorers and, 
 on learning their errand, turned back with 
 them. The cross, he said, was in the 
 Vicarage grounds when he came to the 
 parish, but he doubted whether it stood 
 
THE ANTIQUARY. 169 
 
 on its original site. Indeed there was a 
 tradition that it had once stood in the 
 churchyard. 
 
 "But there it is," he continued as they 
 reached the Yicarage gate, " you can 
 examine it at your leisure." 
 
 It consisted of a shaft set in the earth, 
 measuring about seven feet in height, 
 surmounted by a beautiful Greek cross. 
 Mr. Burlington was enraptured. He went 
 round and round it, scrutinizing tlie tracery 
 and admiring the proportions, and ended 
 by taking careful measurements of its 
 length and breadth and depth and 
 height. 
 
 '' If this belongs to that fragment in the 
 churchyard," he said, " the cross as it 
 stood complete must have been an enor- 
 mous one. If you will kindly wait a minute 
 or two I will work out the figures," Mr. 
 Burlington continued, seating himself on 
 
170 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 the grass regardless of ulterior conse- 
 quences, and pulling out his note-book. 
 *' The bevel appears to be the same," he 
 said, after a page or two had been covered 
 with his calculations, " but it would take 
 ten or twelve feet more to complete the 
 cross unless I am mistaken. I should not 
 be surprised — people are such Yandals — if 
 the missing piece is in use somewhere as 
 a gate-post, if indeed it has not been 
 broken up by profane hands and put to 
 still baser uses. Do you know, Mr. Carnan- 
 ton, of any old gate-posts which might 
 perhaps be what we are looking for?" 
 
 " There is an old granite gate-post on 
 the way to a farm called Tregulls ; you 
 know it, Mark, I am sure. Mr. Hobarts 
 will give you any assistance you might 
 want in examining it." 
 
 " Then Til go there at once." 
 
 " I must say good-morning," said Mr. 
 
THE ANTIQUARY. 171 
 
 Carnanton, *' as I have some business in 
 the town, but Mark knows where to take 
 
 you." 
 
 " Good-morning ; I am extremely obliged 
 to you for your help. Now then, Mark, we 
 will set out for Tre — what do you call it ? 
 Tregulls." 
 
 The post was well worn, but Mr. 
 Burlington detected, or fancied that he 
 detected, some carving which corre- 
 sponded with that of the cross in the 
 Vicarage garden. 
 
 " It is possible," he remarked, '' that the 
 stone below the surface is not so much 
 weathered; let us ask Mr. What's-his- 
 name, the farmer, for assistance." 
 
 Unfortunately Mr. What's-his-name, the 
 farmer, was from home, and the antiquary 
 had to fall back upon his own resources. 
 He was far too eager in the quest to wait 
 until the next day. Perhaps some one could 
 
172 Br THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 be procured to dig around tlie post. Could 
 Mark suggest anybody ? 
 
 Mark thought the grave-digger would 
 undertake the work if asked. 
 
 " The very man," said Mr. Burlington; 
 '' go and fetch him at once." 
 
 Mark ran off to seek this auxiliary 
 while his patron lighted his favourite pipe 
 to while away the time until his return. 
 In about half an hour Mark reappeared 
 escorting the sexton, an elderly, grizzled, 
 wiry man without a spice of romance in 
 his composition, who regarded his clients, 
 not as departed human beings with hus- 
 bands or wives, parents or children, but 
 simply as so many " jobs." 
 
 " Look here, my man," said Mr. Burling- 
 ton, " will you dig away the earth from 
 the side of this post ? you are accustomed 
 to digging I understand. I want to 
 examine the bottom of it." 
 
THE ANTIQUARY. 173 
 
 " I'ss sure, sir," was the answer, " I'll 
 dig it for 'ee. I beeant perticler whether 
 tes pertaties or greeaves or geeate-postes 
 I'm diggin' so long as tes a job. Are I 
 'customed to diggin, ded 'ee ax, sir ? Iss, 
 I reckon I be. I've a buried a purty 
 many people in our churchyard in my day, 
 sir, and I hope to bury a passel more yet. 
 Nobody ceeant say as I wornt never ready 
 to bury 'em. Do 'ee want un digged up 
 altogether, sir, or what ? '* 
 
 '^ No, not altogether, 'twill be sufficient 
 to clear away the earth this side so that I 
 may see what I think was the front of the 
 
 cross." 
 
 After the sexton had expended much 
 time and strength, for the ground was 
 extremely hard, Mr. Burlington was able 
 by going down on his knees to see the 
 whole length of the post. His inspection 
 did not result in the discovery of any 
 
174 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 carving, but lie accounted for this by 
 remarking that evidently it had been 
 obliterated. More measurements were 
 taken and more calculations gone through, 
 and at length the antiquary announced to 
 his assistants that this was evidently a 
 portion of a great cross twenty-five feet in 
 height, the finest in the county of Corn- 
 wall, that it was once joined to the pieces 
 in the churchyard and in Mr. Carnanton's 
 garden, and that a piece of granite about 
 six feet long was wanting to restore the 
 cross to its original state. 
 
 " It is getting late," he added, " we had 
 better stop for the day. Run into the 
 farm, Mark, and ask Mrs. Hobart to tell 
 her husband that we will come to-morrow 
 at three to make the post secure, and that 
 I shall be very glad to see Mr. Hobart 
 then if he is at home. What have I to pay 
 you, my man ? '' (turning to the sexton). 
 
THE ANTIQUARY. 175 
 
 " "Well, sir, spoase we do saj the seearae 
 price as I do charge for digging a greeave. 
 I'd sooner dig a greeave than a geeat-post, 
 the ground is more freer a bra' dale." 
 
 " Very good, what do you charge for 
 making a grave ? " 
 
 " Three and six ; and tedn a farden too 
 much : though there be some people to 
 grumble at the odd sixpence." 
 
 " Do they ? I suppose you charge the 
 extra sixpence on account of the melan- 
 choly associations connected with your 
 calling ? " 
 
 " Melancholy 'sociations, sir ? I doant 
 see no melancholy 'sociations in havin' a 
 job to do ; the moast melancholiest 'socia- 
 tions, seemin to me, es when nobody weeant 
 die for a month at a stretch. Thank the 
 Lord, that edn very often." 
 
 '' Ah, that's a new way of looking at it ; 
 but here we are at the Castle gate. Good 
 
176 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 evening, my friend, good evening ; don't 
 forget to meet me here to-morrow at 
 three." 
 
 On the following day, Mr. Carnanton, 
 taking a walk to Tregulls, was somewhat 
 surprised to see Mr. Hobarts beating down 
 the rubbish at the foot of the gate-post 
 with a large iron bar. 
 
 "What are you doing?" he inquired. 
 
 " Oh," answered Mr. Hobarts, " I'm 
 filling this pit which that strange man 
 who is staying at the Castle made here 
 yesterday. He sent word that he would 
 be here at three o'clock, and now it is after 
 four. I'm afraid that unless the pit is 
 filled, the post will fall and kill somebody. 
 I might have got a couple of my men to 
 do it, but I relied upon Mr. Hurlington, or 
 whatever his name is, keeping his promise, 
 and sent them all away with teams to 
 Pontiford for manure." 
 
THE ANTIQUARY. 177 
 
 '' An odd man, I imagine," said Mr. 
 Carnanton. " I am afraid I liave caused 
 you this trouble by suggesting the post to 
 him, but I never dreamt that he would 
 dig a pit like this, and then leave it for 
 you to fill. I am going in to see Mrs. 
 Hobarts, and dare say I shall see you 
 again before I go back." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Hobarts, *' I dare say 
 I shall finish this in about twenty minutes, 
 when I will come in." 
 
 Before Mr. Carnanton had been seated 
 in the farm parlour a quarter of an hour, 
 Mr. Hobarts appeared, limping painfully; 
 for the heavy ironbar had fallen upon his leg 
 and severely bruised it. This accident had 
 not inspired him with any friendly feeling 
 towards the antiquary, indeed he was 
 disposed to anathematize him and all his 
 works. 
 
 "What a nuisance that man is," he 
 VOL. I. N 
 
178 BY THE OOENISH SEA. 
 
 exclaimed, *' to give me all this trouble, 
 and nearly break my leg in the bargain ; 
 the sooner he leaves the parish, the better 
 I shall be pleased." 
 
 " I am sorry he gave you all this trou- 
 ble," said the vicar, " but I dare say he 
 forgot his appointment. People of that 
 kind are apt to be forgetful. I am going 
 into the town, and if I see him I will jog 
 his memory." 
 
 Mr. Carnanton found Mr. Burlington 
 sooner than he expected, for when he 
 reached the post which had caused all the 
 trouble, there was that worthy standing 
 in the middle of the road, with an enor- 
 mous pipe in his mouth, gazing blandly 
 through his goggles at the grave-digger, 
 who was busily engaged in making a second 
 pit on the other side of the post. 
 
 "Well," said the vicar, ''you are still 
 working at the post, are you ? Mr. Hobarts 
 
THE ANTIQUAET. 179 
 
 was disappointed to find that jou did not 
 come at three, and, in trying to fill the pit 
 himself, has injured his leg by striking it 
 with the iron bar he was ramming down 
 the rubbish with." 
 
 " Dear me, dear me," said Mr. Burling- 
 ton, *' how very clumsy some people are ; 
 lie should have left it for my friend here, 
 he would have done it beautifully. If the 
 skin is broken, he had better apply a fig 
 to the wound — a most excellent thing, I 
 assure you." 
 
 The vicar went on his way, wondering 
 what would be the state of Mr. Hobart's 
 feelings when he became aware of the fresh 
 attack upon the foundation of his gate- 
 post. 
 
 The following day he met him, and was 
 not surprised to find that he was still more 
 incensed. 
 
 '* That man," he exclaimed indignantly, 
 N 2 
 
180 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 " undermined tlie foundation of that post 
 so that it fell in the night, bringing down 
 the gate with it. I, with two of my men, 
 have had three hours' hard work to-day 
 placiDg it in position again. I hear he's 
 going away this afternoon, and I hope he 
 won't come this way again, to pester people 
 to death in this style." 
 
 This report proved to be correct, and 
 Mr. Burlington, leaving his explorations 
 in an unfinished state, hied him to fresh 
 woods and pastures new. 
 
181 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE WILD WAVES. 
 
 Listening now to the tide in its broad-flung ship- 
 wrecking roar, 
 
 Xow to the scream of a madden'd beach dragged 
 down by the wave. 
 
 Maud. 
 
 " I HAVE beeu all round the island," said 
 an old Welsh skipper, " and I have never 
 seen a place I like so well as Pendru- 
 than." 
 
 There was warrant for this partiality. 
 The little village-town, nestling nnder the 
 hill by the sea-side, looked so clean and 
 peaceful and beautiful, that strangers fell 
 in love with it at first sight. Many of the 
 houses stood in gardens bright and scented, 
 
182 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 except in the cold days of winter, and they 
 were not many in that sheltered situation ; 
 for it was not only the hill behind which 
 shielded it from the nipping blasts — the 
 water which washed its shores was only a 
 mile wide, and the land opposite was high 
 and wooded. Beyond this natural break- 
 water, and overlapping it, but at the dis- 
 tance of eight miles, the land stretched out 
 making yet another shelter — from the west 
 this, as the other from the south and east. 
 The land immediately opposite Pendruthan 
 was covered in nearly its whole extent 
 with firs, whose blue-green foliage, varie- 
 gated by a few elms and dwarf oaks, 
 made a soft framework for a mansion 
 and an adjoiniug ancient and beautiful 
 little church. 
 
 The distant western land, with its one 
 steeple-crowned church, presented no 
 distinct picture, except when a coming 
 
THE WILD WAVES. 183 
 
 tempest brought it near and revealed, as 
 if by a telescope, its green fields and fallow 
 lands, and dotted homesteads. The rocks 
 which formed its limit seawards were hard 
 and rugged, as many a shipwrecked sailor 
 had found to his cost, despite the bell-buoy 
 which rose and fell with the waves within 
 a cable's length. 
 
 Within this long sweep of land lay, to 
 the west and north of Pendruthan, the 
 magnificent harbour of Penmaen, of which 
 Pendruthan was only a creek, capable of 
 furnishing anchorage-ground for, not a 
 fleet merely, but a navy, and that at all 
 times of the tide. Two ancient castles, 
 like grim sentinels, stood guarding the 
 entrance, Penmaen the one, Pendruthan 
 the other. In the centre of the harbour's 
 mouth was a dangerous reef of rocks, 
 called the Greenways, marked by a lofty 
 granite beacon surmounted by an iron cage, 
 
184 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 dangerous not so mucli to ships entering 
 tlie harbour, as to those which might 
 happen to be caught by a storm when riding 
 at anchor to windward of them. But Pen- 
 maen and Pendruthan were so sheltered, 
 that only when exceptionally severe storms 
 blew was the shipping in danger. At long 
 intervals, however, havoc had been wrought 
 among the forest of masts and costly hulls, 
 and cargoes brought from the four quarters 
 of the globe, by fierce blasts which no 
 cables nor timbers could resist, and to 
 guard against this a life-boat had been 
 stationed at Pendruthan by the noble 
 institution which is one of the glories of 
 our land. 
 
 On one Wednesday in February — a black 
 day for Pendruthan — this life-boat was sent 
 on her errand of mercy. An unfortunate 
 schooner had drifted on to the Greenways 
 in a fierce hurricane from the south, and, 
 
THE WILD WAVES. 185 
 
 unless help soon arrived, was certain to 
 prove a cofl&n for her crew. The cry, 
 " Man the life-boat," was raised in Pendru- 
 than as soon as the critical state of the 
 schooner was perceived. One of the crew, 
 a young fisherman with a widowed mother, 
 had only just recovered from an attack of 
 pleurisy, but he took his place in the boat 
 with the rest. John Treleaven, who did 
 not belong to the regular crew, seeing the 
 brave fellow's pale face, offered to take his 
 place. 
 
 '' You arn't strong enough," he said, 
 "you'll die with the cold; let me go 
 instead." 
 
 " No," was the answer, '^ I'll go, I feel 
 quite strong again now." 
 
 '' No, no," shouted the bystanders, ''let 
 Treleaven go ; jump aboard, John." 
 
 Treleaven solved the difficulty by 
 springing over the side and lifting the 
 
186 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 weak but spirited fellow clean out of the 
 boat. 
 
 " Tell motlier to cheer up, we'll be back 
 again soon, and tell her I said ' Grod bless 
 her,' " shouted John to his son Arthur, as 
 the boat took the water. 
 
 There was no possibility of reaching the 
 schooner on the leeward side, as the reef 
 of rocks stretched away inside her for 
 thirty yards or more. The only chance of 
 saving the men was to row to windward, 
 and then drop down upon her. It was a 
 most hazardous undertaking, but the crew 
 of the life-boat were brave men who had 
 looked death in the face more than once 
 without flinching. Shielded by the penin- 
 sula opposite Pendruthan, they rowed out 
 somewhat to windward of the Greenways 
 before they felt the force of the tempest, 
 but as soon as they left this friendly 
 shelter and made for the wreck, the storm 
 
THE WILD WAVES. 187 
 
 burst upon them. One oar after another 
 Was snapped off short as if they had been 
 reeds, until it became apparent that they 
 would never reach the schooner, and that 
 they must run up the harbour before the 
 wind and waves, or they were not likely to 
 save their own lives ; for the mouth of 
 the harbour was now one mass of foam, in 
 which scarcely any boat could hope to live. 
 The " drogue," a canvas cone so towed 
 behind as to act like a drag, had been cast 
 out to keep the boat steady. If the rope 
 held, they would doubtless reach the land 
 in safety ; if the strain proved greater than 
 its strands could bear, they must probably 
 battle with the weaves for dear life. The 
 rope was composed of the very best mate- 
 rial, and had been subjected to a severe 
 test before being put on board the life-boat, 
 so that there was every hope of its proving 
 true. But no gale like this had tried it. 
 
1 88 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 The boat was lifted on every wave, and 
 sent forward with a rush which made the 
 strong rope quiver. At last a mighty- 
 billow gave her such an impetus that 
 the strands of the rope broke asunder like 
 tow, and, with nothing to keep her steady, 
 she became the sport of the waves. 
 These were so furious that before the men 
 could realize their peril the stern was 
 buried, and the boat not merely capsized, 
 but flung end over end, and the crew tossed 
 out to struggle for their lives. 
 
 The men wore cork jackets, but even 
 with these it was doubtful whether many 
 of them would ever reach the land. Three 
 of them never rose again, having probably 
 been struck by the boat when she was 
 thrown over; another soon succumbed and 
 sank: the other nine, among whom was 
 John Treleaven, drifted slowly up the 
 harbour. The water was smoother further 
 
THE WILD WAVES. 189 
 
 in, and if only they could hold out for a 
 little while, the boats which put off from 
 the shore when the accident was seen would 
 save them. When the boats were not more 
 than two hundred yards from the inside 
 man, another poor fellow showed signs of 
 yielding to the cold and exposure. John 
 Treleaven saw this, and, forgetting himself, 
 supported his comrade until a boat ap- 
 proached. 
 
 "Pull in Tom first," he shouted, *'he's 
 nearly done for." 
 
 Two men seized Tom, and dragged him 
 over the side, but before they could per- 
 form the same kind office for John Tre- 
 leaven, a wave dashed him against the side 
 of the boat, breaking with the blow the 
 straps which bound his cork jacket around 
 him. He must have been stunned, for he 
 sank like a stone before a hand could be 
 stretched out to save him. The remaining 
 
190 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 seven were, after some difficulty, secured 
 and brought to land. 
 
 But what of the stranded schooner ? 
 The waves were mighty enough to break 
 her into fragments, even were she built of 
 steel, and soon her timbers were shattered 
 and borne up the harbour. Five men 
 formed the crew, and three of them 
 perished. The others were thrown against 
 the granite beacon, and managed to cling 
 to the iron clamps fastened to its side, and 
 to ascend, bruised and bleeding, to the 
 iron cage which surmounted it. There 
 they remained until the morning, when, 
 the gale having ceased, they were rescued, 
 frost-bitten and almost dead, after having 
 been exposed for sixteen hours in that 
 hazardous situation. 
 
 Mrs. Treleaven was preparing supper 
 for her husband, when the door was 
 opened and her old friend Captain Pen- 
 
THE WILD WAVES. 191 
 
 bole walked in. He looked paler than 
 usual, but that she attributed to the severe 
 cold. 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Treleaven,'* he said, "I 
 hope you are very well." 
 
 "Yes," she answered; "but you are 
 looking white, captain, I'm afraid the cold 
 weather doesn't agree with you." 
 
 " Perhaps not ; but IVe come from 
 watching the life-boat — she's had a rough 
 time of it." 
 
 " Has she ? it doesn't seem to be blowing 
 very hard." 
 
 "No, we are sheltered here, but the 
 wind is very strong in the harbour ; the 
 boat shipped some heavy seas, and I'm 
 afraid some of the cr^w are hurt; but 
 don't be frightened, Mrs. Treleaven." 
 
 " Frightened ! " she exclaimed, begin- 
 ning to see from tlie captain's uneasy 
 manner that something was wrong. 
 
192 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 " What is the matter, Captain Penbole ? 
 is my husband hurt ? " 
 
 " Well, I am afraid he is, rather seri- 
 ously ; the fact is, the life-boat has been up- 
 set, and some of the men have gone down." 
 
 " Is my husband one of them ? " inquired 
 Mrs. Treleaven, calm now by reason of her 
 great agony of suspense. 
 
 "Yes, I'm afraid he is," answered the 
 captain; " the men saw it from the point : 
 they were watching with their glasses, and 
 they knew John because he was the only 
 one who hadn't a red cap on, and the boat 
 that picked up some of the men brought 
 the news that five are drowned altogether. 
 Try to bear it, Mrs. Treleaven, try to bear 
 it," continued the honest old tar, not 
 knowing what better to say. 
 
 "0 God! God!" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Treleaven, wringing her hands, " then I am 
 a widow, and my poor boy is fatherless." 
 
193 
 
 CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 THE ARCHITECT OF HIS OWN FOETUNES. 
 
 Cloud-towers by ghostly masons wrought, 
 A gulf that ever shuts and gapes, 
 A hand that points, and palled shapes, 
 
 In shadowy thoroughfares of thought, 
 
 In Memoriam. 
 
 Aethur Teeleaven left Mr. Simon Becker- 
 leg's school some little time before its 
 dissolution. Educational matters in Pen- 
 druthan seemed, like the familiar toast, to 
 descend by easy stages from the bishops 
 and clergy to the ministers of all denomi- 
 nations. The Church had responded, the 
 Bryanites (otherwise Bible Christians) had 
 said a few words ; it was now the turn of 
 the TVesleyans to come forward. Not 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
194 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 caring to turn fclieir gaily-painted chapel 
 into a school for children, who would be 
 pretty sure to leave their private marks 
 wherever they could reach, they had first to 
 erect a suitable building. This, with com- 
 mendable enterprise, they set about doing. 
 The contract was secured by Arthur Tre- 
 leaven the elder, a brother of the deceased 
 coastguardsman, who, needing a boy to 
 assist him, suggested to his sister-in-law 
 that Arthur might give up school while 
 the building operations were going on, and 
 when the new school was opened, he himself 
 would defray the cost of another year's edu- 
 cation. Mrs. Treleaven, now her husband 
 was gone, was unable to resist this proposal. 
 Her son's earnings, small as they would be, 
 were not to be despised, and perhaps by the 
 time the prospective year's schooling was 
 ended, something might present itself which 
 would mark out Arthur's future course. 
 
THE AECHITECT OF HIS OWN FORTUNES. 195 
 
 Mrs. Treleaven proposed to earn a liveli- 
 hood for herself by her needle. In her 
 younger days she was thought to possess 
 quite a talent for lace-work, and this talent 
 she hoped would stand her in good stead. 
 The only fear she had was that her health 
 would suffer from the confinement, for she 
 had never been very strong, and her 
 husband's tragic death had shaken her 
 terribly. 
 
 In accordance with these plans Arthur 
 left Mr. Simon Beckerleg's school, and 
 began to earn his bread in the sweat of 
 his brow. His work was to wheel the 
 bricks used in the erection of the school 
 buildings from the roadside, where they 
 were deposited by carts, to the site itself, 
 a distance of thirty yards. This was a 
 new experience to Arthur, and not alto- 
 gether a pleasant one. In the first place, 
 undeterred by his father's fate, he hankered 
 2 
 
196 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 after a seafaring life, and in tlie second 
 place the bricks were not pleasant things 
 to handle. Arthur's hands were as jet 
 somewhat tender, and the rough bricks 
 had a tendency to remove the skin in a 
 decidedly disagreeable fashion. Mrs. Tre- 
 leaven's tender heart and affection for her 
 boy prompted her to suggest, when he 
 came home at the close of the day with 
 bleeding hands, that the work did not suit 
 him. But Arthur was a boy of spirit, and 
 made light ol such matters. 
 
 "My dear," she said, "your hands are 
 quite raw. I don't think you ought to go 
 to-morrow; I'm sure your poor father 
 would grieve to see his boy doing work 
 like this. I'm sorry now I agreed to Uncle 
 Arthur's proposal." 
 
 " Oh ! this is nothing, mother," replied 
 Arthur sturdily ; " my hands don't smart 
 much, and uncle told me that the skin will 
 
THE ARCHITECT OF HIS OWN FORTUNES. 197 
 
 get hard in a week or two, and won't rub 
 off." 
 
 " I'm sure your father wouldn't like it," 
 sobbed Mrs. Treleaven, rockiug herself to 
 and fro. '* Oh ! that he should be washed 
 about by the cruel waves and his poor boy 
 have to work like this." 
 
 "Don't mind me, mother, I shall get 
 big soon, and then you won't have to work 
 so hard, and I know father would be 
 pleased to see me doing what I can for 
 
 you." 
 
 " Bless your heart," said the mother, 
 kissing him, " I know you'll be a good boy ; 
 you are your father's own son. He was a 
 dear, good father, Arthur; try to be like 
 him for your mother's sake." 
 
 A-rthur went on bravely with his brick- 
 wheeling, bearing all the hard knocks and 
 rubs for the sake of his mother. In a few 
 months the school was finished, and Arthur, 
 
198 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 whose proud boast it was that he had 
 handled every brick in the building, had 
 his name enrolled as the first scholar. He 
 had always been a diligent reader, and, in 
 spite of the smallness of the home library, 
 had acquired a fair stock of general know- 
 ledge. There were lads who excelled him 
 in penmanship and in arithmetic, but his 
 superior ability in " answering questions," 
 as one of the boys put it, enabled him 
 to hold his own with the best of them. 
 At the first annual examination he was 
 bracketted, with two others, above all his 
 fellow- scholars, and carried home, to the 
 delight of his proud mother, a beautifully- 
 bound copy of Milton as a prize. This 
 precious volume was ever regarded as too 
 sacred to be touched by profane hands. 
 Arthur himself only read it on special 
 occasions, but it awakened in the lad his 
 first love for poetry, and, for that reason. 
 
THE AECHITECT OF HIS OWN FOETUNES. 199 
 
 was always regarded by liim with more 
 than ordinary respect, and was given a 
 prominent place in his modest library. 
 
 As some thoughts were entertained of 
 obtaining a situation for Arthur as clerk 
 in a mercantile office, it was judged expe- 
 dient that he should acquire the French 
 language, and a kind-hearted sea-captain, 
 on the retired list, undertook to give him 
 the necessary lessons. Unfortunately, for 
 reasons which will be hereafter given, 
 Arthur's school-days came to an abrupt 
 end, and all the French retained as a 
 reminiscence of his explorations in that 
 language was the interesting fact, which 
 had been carefully impressed upon him, 
 that non was represented vocally by nong, 
 pronounced through the nose, instead of 
 through the ordinary organ of speech. 
 
200 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 CONPIEMATION. 
 
 Strongest sinews fail, 
 And many a blooming, many a lovely cheek, 
 Under the holy fear of God turns pale. 
 While on each head His lawn-robed servant lays 
 An apostolic hand, and with prayer seals 
 The covenant. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 " Are you going to be confirmed, Jenifer ? 
 The bishop is coming next month, so Mr. 
 Carnanton told mother." 
 
 "I don't know if Tm old enough — I 
 think I should like to be." 
 
 " How old are jou ? I was fifteen last 
 January." 
 
 " I don't know exactly — you know why, 
 Esther, but mother says she calls the day 
 
CONFIEMATION. 201 
 
 on wliich I was saved from tlie wreck my 
 first birthday ; that would make me four- 
 teen the 21st of last September. Do you 
 intend to be confirmed ? " 
 
 " No, not I ; what's the use of being 
 confirmed? Aunt Craddock says it is 
 only a form ; you can be good without 
 having the bishop's hands put upon your 
 head." 
 
 "I don't know, I'm sure," said Jenifer, 
 ''I find it hard enough sometimes to do 
 what's right, try as much as I will." 
 
 " Pooh ! I don't try, I do just what I 
 mind to. Of course you're very pious — 
 you say your prayers, I've no doubt, as a 
 good little girl should ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Jenifer, '' I never miss ; 
 but don't you say your prayers, Esther ? " 
 
 "Prayers ! not I. What's the good of 
 saying prayers ? — can you sew any better 
 for them ? — does Miss Jink fiod it any 
 
202 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 easier to teach you dressmaking than she 
 does me ? — are you better tempered for it ? 
 I'm sure you looked black enough when 
 Miss Jink made you rip out all the stitches 
 in the sleeve of that black French merino 
 dress." 
 
 '* Yes, I know I did, but that was my 
 fault, not the fault of the prayers. I 
 stitched it badly, and then I was vexed to 
 have to do it over again when ] wanted to 
 get home early. But I shan't be per- 
 suaded to give up my prayers, although I 
 nearly did when I was staying at Liskeard 
 last summer with uncle Wilton. Ada and 
 Annie, my two cousins, you know, used 
 to laugh at me every night when I knelt 
 down, and sometimes they would pull my 
 hair and throw the pillows at me ; but I 
 promised mother before I went that I 
 would always say them, and so I did, 
 although very often I felt ashamed." 
 
CONFIRMATION. 203 
 
 '* I sliouldn't have said mine at all," 
 said Esther; " but if anybody threw things 
 at me, like that, I should see what boxing 
 her ears would do, that is, if I was big 
 enough; nobody ever served me a trick 
 without being well served out for it. Miss 
 Jink made me stitch a dress a second time 
 a little while before you came, but I 
 managed to serve her out by spoiling a 
 whole width of alpaca — not on purpose, of 
 course, oh no, quite by accident. You 
 should have seen what a state the old thing 
 got in, I believe she was almost provoked 
 enough to knock me down. And once I 
 upset a bottle of ink by accident over some 
 velvet she made a fuss about. She thinks 
 twice now before she bothers me. Here 
 we are at the school door. I wish we had 
 some other teacher than Miss Summer- 
 court, she's too particular — you mustn't 
 talk, and you mustn't laugh, and you 
 
204 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 mustn't look around. I wisli slie*d get 
 married, and give up teacliing. As mother 
 says, she's old enough to be married, for 
 she's not far short of fifty. JSTow, Jenifer, 
 in you go." 
 
 Esther was the daughter of Job Mansell, 
 the St. Enodoc blacksmith. Job was a 
 very good workman, but was far too fond 
 of the " Eed Lion " to prosper in his busi- 
 ness. Mrs. Mansell, a younger sister of 
 Mrs. Craddock, was a somewhat slatternly 
 matron of forty-five or thereabouts, much 
 given to finding fault with her neighbours. 
 Mention any name you like to her, and 
 she would undertake to point out a blot 
 upon it. As, for example, — 
 
 "Mrs. Polglaze is a kind-hearted 
 woman." 
 
 ''Perhaps so; but she carried off her 
 mother's silver spoons before the breath 
 was well out of the old lady's body." 
 
CONFIRMATION. 205 
 
 " Nick Penrose is a good workman." 
 
 " I have nothing to say against him, but 
 I should Hke to knaw whose corn it es that 
 meeakes hes pigs so fat." 
 
 "Mrs. Simcox is very reasonable in her 
 charges for groceries." 
 
 '' She ought to be, for she well waters 
 her try cle ; and as for her vinegar, ' tes so 
 sour as grab." 
 
 With home influences such as these it is 
 no wonder that Esther Mansell grew up 
 ill-natured and without the slightest in- 
 clination to choose the right for its own 
 sake. It was a question of expediency — 
 if it were more profitable to do right than 
 wrong, or to tell the truth rather than to 
 lie, why, then by all means do good and 
 eschew evil. But could not the Sunday- 
 school teach her better things ? It could 
 and did, but when two hours on the 
 Sunday are counteracted by, say thirty- six 
 
206 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 in the week, it is eighteen to one against 
 the Sunday-school. 
 
 Esther's theory of a Sunday-school was 
 that it was a divinely ordained worrying- 
 place for teachers. If Miss Summer court 
 passed a pleasant afternoon there that was 
 no fault of Esther's. Bibles had a ten- 
 dency to fall on the floor — the law of 
 gravitation managed that matter. Forms 
 were inclined to upset, but that was 
 clearly owing to their narrow base. The 
 class were often set a-giggling by some 
 cause unknown to Miss Summercourt, but 
 giggling is a complaint to which girls jare 
 unfortunately subject. Esther never gig- 
 gled when Miss Summercourt's eyes were 
 lifted from her book, she confined herself 
 to making grimaces so as to set the class 
 in a titter, and assumed an injured ex- 
 pression when the teacher mildly inquired 
 the cause of the merriment. 
 
CONFIRMATION. 207 
 
 " What are you laughing at, girls ? " 
 " Esther Mansell is making faces." 
 " Oh, jou story-teller, lam not; 'tis the 
 wind in my stomach. Miss Summer- 
 court." 
 
 '' Girls, girls, 'tis very wrong of you to 
 laugh if Esther is not well," said that 
 good lady. *' I must say she behaves very 
 well; better than most of you." 
 
 When prayers were being said on the 
 afternoon in which the conversation at 
 the beginning of this chapter took place, 
 Esther, instead of closing her eyes like 
 the rest, was engaged in inserting some- 
 thing with a pencil inside the cover of 
 Jenifer Trewhella's Bible. Wliatever it 
 was, it was finished before the Amen was 
 said, and the Bible restored to its place. 
 As soon as Jenifer opened her book to 
 find the lesson for the afternoon her eyes 
 lighted upon Esther's handiwork, and her 
 
20S BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 surprise drew the attention of her neigh- 
 bours, and their scrutiny of the Bible 
 caused Miss Summercourt to inquire the 
 cause of their smiles and whispers. 
 
 " Jenifer Trewhella has been drawing 
 you in her Bible," said Kate Tremain, 
 somewhat officiously. 
 
 "I haven't," said Jenifer. 
 
 " Well," retorted Kate, " there it is in 
 your Bible. I don't suppose anybody else 
 put it there." 
 
 ''I saw her looking in her Bible at 
 prayer time," interposed Esther. 
 
 " Oh, how can you say so ? " said Jenifer 
 in astonishment ; '' I had my eyes closed 
 all the time, and never saw the drawing 
 until I was going to find the lesson." 
 
 " Hand the book to me," said Miss 
 Summercourt. 
 
 The Bible was passed on, and the 
 astonished teacher saw a caricature of 
 
CONFIRMATION. 209 
 
 herself with an inscription beneath, 
 " What a beauty to be sure." To tell the 
 truth, Miss Summercourt was not particu- 
 larly handsome, but her nose was cer- 
 tainly not so long and crooked as the 
 picture indicated, nor was her mouth quite 
 so capacious. She felt therefore that she 
 did well to be angry. 
 
 ''You wicked girl," she exclaimed to 
 Jenifer, " to put this into your Bible ; I 
 shall tell Mr. Carnanton." 
 
 " But I didn't do it," protested Jenifer. 
 
 '' Hold your tongue," said the teacher, 
 " you are making matters worse by telling 
 a lie." 
 
 Jenifer's tears began to fall at this, and 
 she sobbed, " I didn't, indeed I didn't, 
 Miss Summercourt. I wouldn't do it for 
 the world. How could you be so wicked, 
 Esther, as to say you saw me with my 
 book open during prayers ? " 
 
 VOL. I. P 
 
210 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 "Hold your tongue, and take up your 
 book and go liome," said Miss Summer- 
 court, quite losing lier temper. " I sliall 
 see your mother and Mr. Carnanton, and 
 tell them both of your bad conduct." 
 
 Jenifer arose and went home sobbing, 
 and told her mother all the story. 
 
 "Never mind," said Mrs. Trewhella 
 consolingly, " I believe you, Jenny ; don't 
 cry about it, it'll all come right soon, I 
 hope." '^; 
 
 But it did not come right for a consider- 
 able time. Mr. Carnanton saw the girls, 
 but they all adhered to their story, and 
 the good vicar could only let the matter 
 drop, knowing that there had been hard 
 lying somewhere. 
 
 " Neither Jenifer Trewhella nor Esther 
 Mansell," he said, "even if they wished it, 
 must think of confirmation until it was 
 shown which of the two was the culprit." 
 
CONFIRMATION. 211 
 
 The yicar was inclined to believe 
 Jenifer, but could not get over tlie fact 
 that, apart from other testimony, the 
 caricature was found in her book. 
 
 About a month after this incident 
 occurred, Esther was attacked by fever and 
 seemed at the point of death. One day, 
 fearing that her end was near, she sent 
 to Mr. Carnantou, begging that he would 
 come at once and see her. He had already 
 visited her two or three times, but had 
 derived little satisfaction from his visits. 
 Esther listened to his remarks, but made 
 no response. But now she was eager to 
 speak. 
 
 " I want to tell you, sir," she said, 
 '' about that drawing in Jenifer Tre- 
 whella's Bible ; she didn't do it at all. I 
 did it when her eyes were closed in the 
 prayer, and put the book again by her side." 
 
 " How could you be so wicked as to 
 p 2 
 
212 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 insult Miss Summercourt, and then to tell 
 such untruths about Jenifer Trewhella ? '^ 
 asked Mr. Carnanton, 
 
 " Because I wanted to serve her out." 
 
 " Serve her out, what for ? " 
 
 " Because Miss Jink makes more of her 
 than she does of me. I only did it for 
 fun at first, but when Miss Summercourt 
 saw it, I thought I would throw the blame 
 on Jenifer. I know I'm very wicked, but 
 I always feel that I must serve people out." 
 
 "Dear, dear," said Mr. Carnanton in 
 astonishment, " this is a dreadful state of 
 things : a young girl like you so spiteful 
 and malicious." 
 
 " Do you think God will forgive me, 
 sir?" 
 
 " Forgive you ? yes, of course He will, if 
 you ask Him ; but you must not harbour 
 malice in this wicked fashion, and if you 
 recover you must try hard to keep our 
 
CONJFIEMATION. 213 
 
 Lord's last commandmeiit, 'Little children, 
 love one anotlier.' " 
 
 Mr. Carnanton, after a little more talk, 
 knelt at Esther's bedside and prayed for 
 her earnestly and simply, and then went 
 his way to minister to his other sick 
 parishioners. 
 
 Esther did not die as she anticipated, 
 but in a few weeks was able to go to her 
 work again. It is to be feared that her 
 contrition was not very deep, for she soon 
 displayed as evident a liking for serving 
 people out as heretofore. 
 
 The Confirmation was held before 
 Esther was strong enough to go out of 
 doors, and there was therefore no ques- 
 tion raised as to her becoming a candidate ; 
 but Jenifer, now her character was cleared, 
 received Mr. Carnanton' s most willing 
 permission to present herself to the bishop 
 for the imposition of hands. 
 
214 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 "going to cellar." 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Shall we send that foolish carrion, 
 Mistress Quickly, to him 1 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 " M0THEE5" said Arthur, rusliing in one 
 day after scliool, " the seines are ' shut/ 
 and they say they have caught a lot of 
 fish ; shall I go to cellar to-morrow ? 
 I dare say they'll give me eighteenpence a 
 day." 
 
 " Gro to cellar ! " exclaimed Mrs. Tre- 
 leaven, " of 'course not ; your uncle will be 
 put out if you come away from school 
 now you are getting on so nicely." 
 
 " But I have seen uncle, mother, and he 
 
" GOING TO CELLAR.'* 215 
 
 '^ 
 says tliat lie lias no objection to my going. 
 
 I must please myself about it." 
 
 " Well, my dear, I can't say but that a 
 few sliillings would be very bandy. I 
 haven't been well enough to do much 
 lately, and there's that bill to pay for boots ; 
 but I'd rather work my fingers to the 
 bone than you should do such dirty work 
 against your will." 
 
 "But mother, I want to go ; it won't be 
 worse for me than for the others, and I 
 know that bill is troubling you." 
 
 So it was decided that Arthur should 
 " go to cellar," and on the following morn- 
 ing he commenced his work. That work 
 was to carry pilchards from the paved open 
 sheds, where they were deposited when 
 landed from the seines, to the inner cellars 
 where they were " bulked," the said " bulk- 
 ing " consisting in arranging them in 
 layers one above the other, beginning 
 
216 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 on the ground, until the bulk was too 
 higli for the workers. Another ''bulk" 
 was then begun outside, and, when high 
 enough, was used as a platform to get at 
 the first. In this way, step by step, the 
 *' bulk " was built until the ceiling put 
 an end to extension upward. Between 
 every two layers of pilchards was strewn a 
 thick layer of coarse salt. The pilchard 
 curing was done, for the most part, by 
 the wives, mothers, and daughters of the 
 fishermen, but usually a place was found 
 for everybody who was not absolutely 
 disabled, or too proud to go to cellar, or 
 too fastidious to handle fish not over clean, 
 and sometimes, when labour was scarcer 
 than pilchards, not over savoury. 
 
 The actual ''bulking" was done by the 
 ancient fishwives, who were kept supplied 
 with the raw materials for their edifice by 
 the younger generations of both sexes. 
 
" GOING TO CELLAR." 217 
 
 Arthur was employed as an attendant on 
 the "bulkers " for a fortnight, when the last 
 fish was put under salt, and had the satis- 
 faction of carrying home to his mother 
 twenty-five shillings, the odd shihing of 
 which was a present from the osvner of 
 the seine for his good conduct. It is to be 
 hoped that this amount more than sufficed 
 to propitiate Mr. Sammy Webb, the Pen- 
 druthan shoemaker. 
 
 On the last day but one of the work in 
 the fish cellar a stranger came in to see the 
 pilchard curing. There was nothing singu- 
 lar in this — few visitors failed to see the 
 curious sight ; but there was a good deal 
 of singularity in the appearance of the 
 gentleman. He was very tall and very 
 thin, and wore a coat of more than ordi- 
 nary length, furnished with enormous 
 pockets. Green spectacles, large and ugly, 
 assisted his visual organs, but undoubtedly 
 
218 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 detracted from his personal appearance. 
 It was none other than Mr. Burhngton, who 
 was on a second visit to Cornwall, and, after 
 spending a week at St. Enodoc Castle, was 
 exploring the southern part of the county 
 unaided, and in his own peculiar fashion. 
 
 " Are there any crosses in this neigh- 
 bourhood ? " he asked his landlord that 
 morning. 
 
 " Crosses ? no, sir ; we arn't Eoman 
 Catholics here," was the answer, '^ If you 
 want to worship crosses you'll have to go 
 over to Penmaen, there's a Homan Catho- 
 lic Chapel ovver there. The owld priest 
 do come ovver sometimes to see two of 
 our coastguards." 
 
 "My good man," said Mr. Burlington, 
 " you misunderstand me ; I don't want 
 crosses to worship. I only want to know if 
 there are any ancient granite crosses by the 
 wayside anywhere in the neighbourhood." 
 
" GOING TO CELLAE." 219 
 
 " I ax your pardon, sir, I thought from 
 the look of your coat you was vsomo sort 
 of a furriner. All furriners are Roman 
 Catholics, arn't they ? But I see what 
 you do mane now, owld stoanes sticked 
 up by the side of the rooad. There was 
 wan, sir, when I was a booy, up by a pleeace 
 they call ' Blaw the cowld winds,' but 
 owld Jerry Parsons knacked he to bits 
 years ago to build up his pig's house." 
 
 "How dreadful !" exclaimed Mr. Bur- 
 lington, '' to destroy a relic of antiquity in 
 that barbarous fashion; the Government 
 ought really to preserve these priceless 
 treasures." 
 
 '' Jerry dedn ceeare much for relics," 
 said the landlord, *' but he took a powerful 
 dale of trouble with his pigs. I dooant 
 'zactly knaw what you do mane about 
 Aunt Hickity, he hadn no such relation 
 that I knaw of. If it belonged to any 
 
220 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 aunt, it must ha' been my owld Aunt 
 Mainwaring, for lier little piece of teeaty 
 ground was just inside." 
 
 '' I see I have made a mistake in coming 
 here," said the antiquary; ''they were 
 blessed with one valuable relic, and that 
 they wantonly destroyed. But is there 
 nothing else worth looking at ? " 
 
 " Aw, iss, sir, there's plenty to look at. 
 There's the say, and the rocks, and the 
 ships, and the castle — ould King Harry, 
 what had a bra' many wives, he built he, 
 so they say — and there's the pilchards. If 
 I was you, sir, I should go to the fish- 
 cellars to see um ' bulking ' fish ; everybody 
 amoast do go." 
 
 " Oh, very well, then I'll run down, and 
 be back again in time for lunch — say half- 
 past one." 
 
 When Mr. Burlington arrived at the fish- 
 cellar, he addressed himself to Arthur 
 
" GOING TO CELLAR." 221 
 
 Treleaven, wlio happened to be standing 
 near the door. 
 
 '* Is this the place where they are curing 
 the fisb, my lad ? May I come in ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir," answered Arthur, **you can 
 walk about where yon like." 
 
 " But will you tell me what is going 
 on? What are these fish lying on the 
 ground ? " 
 
 ''They are pilchards just landed." 
 
 "And these boys and girls, what are 
 they doing?" 
 
 " Carrying salt and fish for the ^bulkers,' 
 and the women you see on the fish are the 
 ' bulkers.' " 
 
 Before Mr. Burlington had time to 
 inquire the meaning of the word ' bulkers,' 
 the oldest and most unsavoury of the ladies 
 so designated approached him, and, taking 
 a dry corner of her capacious apron in her 
 hand, knelt down before him. This curious 
 
222 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 proceeding astonislied and scandalized Mr. 
 Burlington. 
 
 "What are you doing, my good woman?" 
 he asked, drawing back. 
 
 " I want to wipe your boots," was the 
 answer. 
 
 " Wipe my boots ! thank you very much, 
 but they are quite clean now." 
 
 " But they must be wiped," persisted 
 the fishwife. 
 
 " But I would rather not," urged Mr. 
 Burlington. 
 
 " I tell 'ee what it tes, sir ; I intend to 
 wipe they there shoes before you go out of 
 this cellar." 
 
 " Dear me," said the antiquary, " this is 
 very unpleasant. Is the woman mad ? " 
 he whispered to Arthur. 
 
 Before Arthur had time to explain that 
 this ceremony of wiping the boots was only 
 an expression of the desire of the old ladies 
 
" GOING TO CELLAR." 223 
 
 to drink Mr. Burlington's health, the 
 '' bulker " deputed to perform the time- 
 honoured custom rushed at the antiquary's 
 boots, and he, in doubt as to her intentions, 
 incontinently turned and fled. There was 
 an unwritten law by which persons refusing 
 to pay toll for the boot-cleaning received 
 condign punishment, and this punishment 
 Mr. Burlington was not fortunate enough 
 to escape. It consisted in being pelted 
 from the cellar with volleys of pilchards 
 accidentally crushed and trodden upon, 
 known as " mun." Sad to say, Arthur 
 fired the first shot. A well-aimed pilchard 
 thrown with all his might, knocked off Mr. 
 Burlington's tall hat, and while the hat 
 was being rescued, strong reinforcements 
 arrived, who straightway commenced be- 
 labouring the frightened gentleman with 
 volleys of " mun," and only ceased firing 
 when he w^as out of range. Mr. Burling- 
 
224 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 ton's liat and coat were sights to see wlien 
 lie presented himself to the landlord. 
 " Mun " is exceedingly useful in its place, 
 but it certainly does not improve good 
 broadcloth, nor does it impart to those 
 upon whom it is bestowed a pleasing 
 fragrance. The landlord tried to soothe 
 the unfortunate victim by assuring him 
 that there was no harm intended : they 
 only meant to protest against his hasty 
 retreat, but the injured gentleman insisted 
 on having his bill at once. He was deter- 
 mined for the future to confine his 
 attentions to antiquity, and leave the 
 modern inhabitants of Cornwall to their 
 own barbarous pursuits and unmannerly 
 customs. 
 
225 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE PRIVY COUNCIL. 
 
 It is a business of some heat : the galleys 
 
 Have sent a dozen sequent messengers 
 
 This very night at one another's heels, 
 
 And many of the consuls, raised and met, 
 
 Are at the duke's already. 
 
 Othello. 
 
 The council liad been summoned, and the 
 councillors were seated round the table. 
 It was neither a council of war, nor a 
 council of state. It could hardly be called 
 a general council : it might possibly be 
 described, without doing violence to the 
 language, as a privy council. At all events, 
 it was a council, a private council, called 
 to discuss a definite subject, and the coun- 
 cillors were all in their places. 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
226 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 The council- chamber was Jeremiah 
 bundle's parlour, and a nice, comfortable 
 apartment it was. The low, open grate 
 was piled up with immense logs, which 
 crackled and sparkled and bade defiance 
 to the keen December atmosphere. The 
 large mahogany table, which had just been 
 relieved of its burden of Christmas cake 
 and strong, steaming tea, and jellies, and 
 preserves, by the combined efforts of the 
 councillors, and Sally, the little maid-of-all- 
 work, was still in a decidedly inflamed 
 condition. Several glasses were giving out 
 a spirituous odour, and Jeremiah was, with 
 the assistance of a long clay pipe, offering 
 incense to the spirit. Sundry pictures of 
 clipper schooners, some painted, some 
 worked in wool, gave a nautical air to the 
 walls. The perspective, it is true, was 
 somewhat at fault. At all events, it was 
 unlikely that a schooner's masts would be 
 
THE PEIVY COUNCIL. 227 
 
 mucli taller tlian Vesuvius, but a trifle of 
 tliat kind did not trouble Jeremiab. More- 
 over, Vesuvius was " furrin,'' and Jeremiab 
 was not tbe man to stand up for "furriners,'* 
 or *' furrin " tbings. 
 
 In tbe most comfortable arm-cbair was 
 seated Robert Rundle, an old patriarcb of 
 eigbty-five, bald and wrinkled, babited in 
 a swallow-tailed coat of a greenisb -black 
 bue, and wearing at bis watcb-cbain an 
 enormous buncb of seals. A wbite neck- 
 tie imparted a somewbat clerical appear- 
 ance to tbe old gentleman, but Robert, 
 tbougb of a decidedly ecclesiastical turn of 
 mind, bad never attained to tbe dignity of 
 a local preacber, mucb less tbat of a 
 " rounder." He was a good specimen of 
 tbe older generation of Metbodists, de- 
 ligbting mucb in relating anecdotes of tbe 
 sayings and doings of tbe Popes and 
 Fatbers be bad been fortunate enougb to 
 Q 2 
 
228 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 meet at missionary meetings and sucli-like 
 gatherings. He was not able to read much 
 now, for his eyes were dim with age, but 
 there was still one book beside the Bible 
 which he delighted to pore over, and that 
 was the " Minutes of the Conference.'* It 
 was to Eobert Rundle his Shakespeare 
 and his daily newspaper rolled into 
 one. 
 
 His son Jeremiah was a close-fisted, 
 pushing man of business, whose chubby, 
 good-natured visage strangely belied his 
 character. His generous opinions and 
 wishes were charming to listen to, but try 
 to borrow half-a- sovereign, and business 
 would become so bad and a heavy bill so 
 pressing, that you must see for yourself 
 that it would be quite impossible to lend 
 it. " One must be just before being gene- 
 rous, you know ; another time I shall be 
 most happy to oblige a friend like you," 
 
THE PEIVY COUNCIL. 229 
 
 and the friend was left to digest his chaff 
 as best he could. 
 
 Jeremiah's wife, Maria, was good-natured 
 in her way, but in all matters of finance 
 was under the absolute domination of her 
 husband. Only where one person was 
 concerned did she ever venture to assume 
 an antagonistic attitude. On behalf of her 
 son Mark she was ready to do battle with 
 all comers, Jeremiah included. In so far 
 as Mrs. Rundle possessed any practical 
 religion at all, Mark was her presiding 
 deity. 
 
 Daniel Trewhella, who sat next to the 
 master of the house, was smoking a pipe 
 which appeared to be twin brother to Jere- 
 miah's long clay, and had before him a 
 glass of the above-mentioned beverage, 
 which derived its aromatic odour from 
 some Hollands gin, which Jeremiah, albeit 
 very partial to, only permitted himself and 
 
230 By THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 friends to indulge in on state occasions 
 like these. Rebecca Trewhella had also a 
 steaming glass before her, but showed, by 
 her shrugs and small sips, that she was 
 only an amateur. 
 
 Aunt Charity, the only other adult 
 present, was Mrs. Rundle's sister, an old 
 maid, but, like most old maids, a most 
 invaluable personage. It was she who 
 was called upon in any emergency, sickness, 
 or trouble, or death, and she never failed to 
 respond to the call. She was always ready 
 to advise or to work, to love or to suffer. 
 People might sometimes suggest that she 
 was not over- wise, but nobody ever accused 
 Aunt Chatty of an unkind heart. 
 
 '* Well," said Jeremiah, clearing his 
 throat, " you all know what we've a meet 
 for to-night — to put our heads together to 
 see if we can't settle what's the best thing 
 we can do with Mark. He's too old to go 
 
THE PRIVY COUNCIL. 231 
 
 to scliool — I don't believe in putting too 
 many tilings into a boy's head ; and he's 
 too old to be lopping about the streets, 
 and 'tis time for him to be aiming his own 
 living. Times is very bad, and rope- 
 making isn't all profit. Now, father, you 
 are the oldest, what's your opinion on the 
 subject? " 
 
 "My opinion ? " said the old man, rousing 
 himself from a reverie ; " I'm an owld man, 
 my dears, and my opinion edn wuth much, 
 the youngsters knaw more than the owld 
 people nowadays ; but ef you ax my 
 opinion, I should say, ' Jerry, my son, 
 meeake the booy a local praicher.' " 
 
 " The poor owld man is getting tooat- 
 lish," whispered Aunt Chatty to her sister. 
 
 " Tedn a job for Sundays we're thinking 
 of, father," said Jeremiah ; " we want to 
 talk about what we can put Mark to, to 
 airn his own living. Local praichen' es 
 
232 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 more work than pay, I'm thinking ; 'tes all 
 very well to be invited to dennar by the 
 good payers, but there must be a lot of 
 shoe-leather weared out traapsing about the 
 country. I want to put the boy to some- 
 thing what'U pay." 
 
 " Jeremiah,'* said the old man solemnly, 
 " I'm often carr'd away, I knaw, by my 
 thoughts, and sometimes I do see strange 
 sights, and feel that I am like the Apostle 
 on the island, looking at beautiful sights of 
 angels, and hearing lovely singing, and 
 harpers harping with their harps, but when 
 I come to myself I find I'm still on airth, 
 and that I'm getting blind and deef, and 
 the world is nothing to me. I'm tired, and 
 I want to get home to rest, so p'raps I 
 ceeant tell much about what you are axing ; 
 but I still say what I said first, ' Jeremiah, 
 my son, meeake the booy a local praicher, 
 meeake un a local praicher.' Maria, 
 
THE PEIVY COUNCIL. 233 
 
 give me my candle, I think I'll go to 
 bed." 
 
 Mrs. Rundle tenderly led old Eobert to 
 his bedroom, and then returned to the 
 parlour, saying, with a shake of her head, 
 as she entered, — 
 
 "I'm afraid poor father is breaking up ; 
 he edn long for this world." 
 
 The company, who had remained silent, 
 sipping the grog, and puffing out the 
 tobacco, gave a melancholy assent to this 
 expression of opinion. 
 
 "Well," said Jeremiah, "we must get 
 along, or we shan't be no wiser for having 
 put our heads together. What do you 
 think about it. Chatty ? " 
 
 " I think," was the answer, " that, as I 
 used to read when I went to school, ' there's 
 nothing like leather.' Why, there's owld 
 Pender Williams have aimed a fortune 
 by shoemaking, and have got now a nice 
 
234 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 little farm, and a plenty of yaws and lambs 
 heVe a turned out this spring, to be sure." 
 
 " Thank you. Aunt Chatty," interposed 
 Mark, looking up from his drawing-book, 
 which he was showing to Jenifer at a side 
 table, " but I don't intend to be a shoe- 
 maker. I would rather work in the rope- 
 walk with father." 
 
 " Shoemaking won't do," said Jeremiah 
 decidedly. " I dedn send Mark to school 
 so long, and larn un vulgar fractures and 
 things of that kind, so as he might cobble 
 old shoes. I want un to do some- 
 thing so as he can wear a black coat and 
 look respectable, and yet pick up money. 
 But he'll do that, I'll be bound ; there was 
 never a Rundle yet but what was sharp 
 enough to look after number one." 
 
 " Why doant 'ee put un in the Consul's 
 office ? " asked Daniel Trewhella ; " I hear 
 that Captain Shortridge's clerk is going to 
 
THE PRIVY COUNCIL. 235 
 
 lave for a better sitivation in Cardiff next 
 month. They don't git much wages when 
 they are larning, but they meeake a lot of 
 money afterwards, I hear." 
 
 " I thought of that," answered Jeremiah, 
 '' but it won't do ; Mark can't pally voo, 
 and a boy who can't pally voo edn no use 
 where so many furriners come to do busi- 
 ness." 
 
 " Meeake un a draper," suggested 
 Rebecca Trewhella, " and after a little 
 while, Mr. Rundle, you can set un up in 
 business." 
 
 "No," said Aunt Chatty, ''whatever 
 you do, doant 'ee meeake un a draper. 
 Tom Paddy's son, who is just come from 
 London, told me that the lies drapers do 
 tell is wisht, sure 'nough ; but he says, says 
 he, ' all the lies we do tell in business is 
 put down to the governor,' but that, seem- 
 ing to me, is a poor way of doing things. 
 
236 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 Lies is lies, and clieating is cheating, and 
 everybody will have to answer for his own 
 wickedness." 
 
 " You're a little bit too particular, 
 Chatty," said Jeremiah, "you've got to be 
 pretty sharp in business nowadays to make 
 both ends meet. Not that I would advo- 
 cate cheating ; but if a man hasn't sense 
 enough to hold his own, why, that's his 
 look-out." 
 
 *' I don't think we ought to take advan- 
 tage of people with weak interlects," said 
 Aunt Chatty warmly; " do what's right is 
 my motto; it'll pay best in the long 
 
 run." 
 
 " Well, well. Chatty," said Jeremiah, 
 " we're running away from the subject. I 
 don't suppose every draper is dishonest, 
 more'n every ropemaker." 
 
 *' I should think," said Dan, " that a 
 sharp youngster like Mark would do very 
 
THE PEIVY COUNCIL. 237 
 
 well in tlie post-office ; there's no pally 
 vooing wanted for that. Mr. Josiah told 
 me last night that young Judson has got 
 notice to lave ; there' ve been several com- 
 plaints lately for his being oncivil. Mark 
 might do wuss than that, for Mr. Josiah 
 says a clerk who goes away from here with 
 a good character is sure of a good sitiva- 
 tion." 
 
 This suggestion met with general 
 approval, and Mark declared that he 
 thought he should like it very much. 
 
 "There's one difficulty, though," sug- 
 gested Jeremiah ; "we haven't been very 
 friendly since my dog Ponto killed that old 
 tom-cat of his. P'raps you wouldn't mind 
 sounding the old gentleman, Dan; I'm 
 afraid he'll bite my nose off if I ask any 
 favour from him." 
 
 " Aw, iss," answered Dan, " I'll spake 
 to un if you like. I'll do it to wance. 
 
238 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 Hand me my "hat, 'Becca ; I'll be back again 
 in five minutes." 
 
 Daniel's interview witli Mr. Josiali was 
 a satisfactory one. Mark was already 
 somewhat in favour with the postmaster, 
 and it could be arranged for him to begin 
 work in a fortnight, if his parents wished. 
 
 This important point being settled, the 
 company abandoned themselves to the 
 enjoyment of grog, tobacco, and mild 
 scandal. 
 
239 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 TBE CHINA JAR. 
 
 I did not come to curse thee, Guinevere, 
 
 The sin is sinn'd, and I, 
 Lo ! I forgive thee, as eternal God 
 Forgives : do thou for thine own soul the rest. 
 
 Idylls of the King. 
 
 "Why, Jenifer, what's the matter?" 
 asked Mr. Carnanton, as lie entered Daniel 
 Trewhella's house, and found Jenifer look- 
 ing ruefully at the fragments of a jar 
 lying on the floor, while a pungent odour 
 filled the room. 
 
 The jar was a beautiful one, and was 
 held in high honour by the Trewhellas. 
 Daniel had brought it in his younger days, 
 before he had settled down to fishing, from 
 
240 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 Canton. It ostensibly contained Cayenne 
 pepper. No proof of this pretension had 
 been sought — Cayenne pepper was not 
 mucli in Daniel's line — and the jar re- 
 mained sealed, the central ornament of the 
 mantelshelf. It was evident now, how- 
 ever, that it had contained Cayenne pepper, 
 pure and unadulterated, for the pungent 
 condiment set Mr. Carnanton and Jenifer 
 coughing and sneezing with a vigour 
 which the most powerful " cough-no- 
 more" lozenges would have had some 
 difficulty in coping with. 
 
 "Whatever — aticha — aticha — is the mat- 
 ter ? — aticha," asked the vicar. 
 
 " 'Tis father's china jar," answered 
 Jenifer as best she could through her 
 sneezing; " the timber-waggon going down 
 the street shook the shelf, and the jar 
 fell, striking the fender, and smashing all 
 to pieces." 
 
THE CHINA JAR. 241 
 
 " It must have been very near the edge, 
 I should think, to fall over with such a 
 shake as that; it is thick and heavy." 
 
 As he said this Mrs. Trewhella entered. 
 She had been doing her weekly market- 
 ing, and Jenifer, as her mother was not 
 very well, had been allowed by Miss Jink 
 to remain at home to help her. 
 
 " Why, Jenny ! " she exclaimed, " you 
 doant mane to say you've broke father's 
 chiney jar ? he'll be in a fine way." 
 
 " She says the waggon shook the shelf 
 and the jar fell on the fender," said Mr. 
 Camanton ; "it must have been near the 
 edge, I should think." 
 
 "You've been dusting the mantelshelf," 
 said Mrs. Trewhella to Jenifer ; " you dedn 
 knock it over, ded 'ee ? " 
 
 " No mother, I didn't," was the an- 
 swer. 
 
 " Did 'ee put it near the edge ? " 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
242 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 Jenifer, blusliing deeply, replied, " I 
 niight have put it further out than it 
 was before, but I don't remember doing 
 so." 
 
 ''What are you crying for then?" 
 inquired the mother. 
 
 ''Oh, as for that matter, I'm crying 
 too," said Mr. Carnanton; "when I 
 entered, the house was almost unbearable 
 from the pepper, or whatever was in the 
 jar. It set me sneezing so that I could 
 hardly stop. I came to inquire for you, 
 Mrs. Trewhella ; I heard that you were 
 not very well. I'm glad to see that you 
 are not confined to the house." 
 
 " Oh, 1 hope 'tes nothing serious," was 
 the reply ; " the doctor says he will soon 
 bring me round again." 
 
 " Well," said the vicar, " 'tis Saturday, 
 and you are busy ; I will not stop now, but 
 will call next week to see you. Good-morn- 
 
THE CHINA JAR. 243 
 
 ing. I hope Daniel will not be put out 
 at the loss of his jar, though I know he 
 valued it very highly." 
 
 Daniel came home to dinner in about an 
 hour, and was shown the broken pieces of 
 the jar. 
 
 " The sooner we git it over with father 
 the better," Mrs. Trewhella had said to 
 Jenifer. 
 
 Daniel's equanimity was not nearly so 
 much disturbed as they had feared. 
 
 *' 'Tes a poor job," said he ; "I wouldn't 
 ha' lost that jar for a bra' many shillings, 
 but a haccident is a haccident. Never 
 mind, Jenny, if you ded put un too near 
 the edge, it'll tach 'ee to be more care- 
 ful next time; tedn like as ef you was 
 meddlin' where you had no business to 
 be" 
 
 Jenifer hung down her head and made 
 no reply to this consoling speech, and all 
 E 2 
 
244 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 tlirougli the dinner slie spoke only in answer 
 to questions, and then in monosyllables. 
 
 " What's the matter with Jenny ? " asked 
 Daniel of his wife, when their daughter had 
 left the room. 
 
 " I ceeant meeake out," Rebecca an- 
 swered ; " seemin' to me she's more 
 troubled about the chiny jar than she 
 need be ef the waggon shaked it down. 
 Why should she turn red and peeale and 
 hang down her head ? Ef she dedn allays 
 tell the truth I should think she brokke 
 it herself." 
 
 " Jenny spake false ! " said Daniel 
 warmly, " not she. I'd back she against 
 anybody for tellin' the truth. P'raps she 
 edn very well." 
 
 " Shell I spake to her about it ? " asked 
 Eebecca. 
 
 " No, laye her alooane, she'll come to, 
 ef there's anything wrong." 
 
THE CHINA JAE. 245 
 
 Jenifer came in at this juncture, and 
 the conversation was dropped. All the 
 day she continued ill at ease and pre- 
 occupied, and even the night failed to 
 bring her its wonted rest. As soon as 
 Daniel left in the early morning to look 
 to one of his boats, Jenifer entered her 
 mother's room, and crept into her bed, 
 and threw her arms about her neck, 
 sobbing all the time as if her heart would 
 break. 
 
 " Kiss me, mother, kiss me," she said. 
 
 Eebecca kissed the troubled girl, and 
 soothed her as best she could. 
 
 " Tell mother what the trouble es all 
 about, my dear," she said soothingly. 
 
 With face hidden in Rebecca's kindly 
 bosom she sobbed out, — 
 
 *' Oh, mother, I told a lie, I told a lie. 
 It was not the waggon that broke the 
 jar at all, I broke it myself." 
 
246 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 " Poor dear/' said Eebecca, sobbing too, 
 " I was afraid tliere was something wrong 
 about it, but I dedn believe mj Jenny- 
 would tell a lie," and hugging one an- 
 other the two went on crying together 
 for some minutes. 
 
 Then Jenifer prayed in broken sentences 
 that her grievous fault might be forgiven, 
 and Rebecca in her simple, motherly way 
 prayed that her daughter might be what 
 they had always thought her, and had 
 been so proud of, a truth -teller and a lover 
 of truth. 
 
 '' Tell me all about it," said Rebecca 
 after a while. 
 
 " I was dusting the mantelshelf," said 
 Jenifer, "and when I came to the jar I 
 thought I should like to see what was in- 
 side, and after a lot of trouble I managed 
 to unfasten the stopper. I thought I 
 could put it right again with sealing-wax. 
 
THE CHINA JAR. 247 
 
 Well, just as the stopper came out, the jar 
 slipped out of my hands and fell on the 
 edge of the fender, and was broken to 
 pieces. Before I had time to think, Mr. 
 Carnanton came in, and I said the waggon 
 shook the shelf, and then when you came 
 home from market I was ashamed to say 
 I had told a lie. Oh, mother, forgive me, 
 forgive me," she continued, bursting into 
 tears again. 
 
 «« Forgive 'ee, my love ? " said Eebecca. 
 " Yes, I'll forgive 'ee, and God will for- 
 give 'ee too, if you're sorry for it, but you 
 must go to Mr. Carnanton after breakfast, 
 and tell un all about it." 
 
 '' Oh, I can't do that, mother; I should 
 not be able to speak to him for shame." 
 
 " But I think you ought to go, Mr. 
 Carnanton has been so good to 'ee, and I'm 
 sure you ceeant go to the Communion 
 again unless you tell un all about it." 
 
248 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 "But can't you tell him?" asked 
 Jenifer. 
 
 " Iss, I could, but you told lie tlie lie 
 first, and I tliink it ud only be fitty to 
 let un knaw tlie rights of it yourself. You 
 did wrong, my dear, and you must expect 
 to suffer for it. Sin and suffer, sin and 
 suffer, my owld mother used to say, and 
 I'm sure she was right." 
 
 Jenifer at last gave way and agreed 
 that the vicar should hear the story that 
 morning from her own lips. 
 
 Mr, Carnanton was deeply grieved to 
 hear such a revelation from his most pro- 
 mising girl pupil, but glad at the same 
 time that she had the moral courage to 
 confess her fault. He did not expect to 
 find human nature perfect ; it was enough 
 for him to know that it aimed at per- 
 fection. 
 
249 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 SOME OF THE SPICE OF LIFE. 
 
 And will he steal out of his wholesome bed 
 To dare the vile contagion of the night 
 And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air 1 
 
 Julius Ccesar. 
 
 The next two or three years of Arthur 
 Treleaven's hfe were chiefly distinguished 
 by the variety of the occupations he turned 
 his hand to. Mrs. Treleaven would have 
 been glad if her son could find something 
 less hazardous than the life of a fisherman, 
 but her poverty was more pressing than 
 her pride, and bread must be obtained, and 
 obtained honestly. Arthur himself had no 
 particular objection to become a fisherman. 
 It was, he felt, much more alluring than 
 
250 UY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 wheeling bricks. There was the fascina- 
 tion of finding and capturing the fish, there 
 was the peril of wind and wave and rock 
 and darkness, there was the free life and 
 the utter absence of monotony. He would 
 have preferred a sailor's life if he could 
 have had his choice, but as his mother 
 shrank with dread from any long absence, 
 he settled down contentedly to work, which, 
 he hoped, would enable him to maintain his 
 mother and himself without depriving her 
 of his company. 
 
 His uncle at certain seasons of the year 
 gave up his building operations for a time 
 to act as watchman over some oyster-beds. 
 The pay was good, and there were no bad 
 debts ; this latter consideration especially 
 making the post and pay of watcher 
 extremely desirable. 
 
 Just before the oysters, which had been 
 lying in mud beds to grow and fatten, 
 
SOME OF THE SPICE OF LIFE. 251 
 
 were transferred in vessels known as 
 " smacks " to the oyster-beds in Kent, 
 they were gathered up by their respective 
 owners, the fishermen who had previously 
 dredged them ap in Penmaen Harbour, 
 and sold at the current price per ^' tub " of 
 about a thousand oysters. As the mer- 
 chant bought them he placed them on a 
 hard beach in long piles, called "parks," 
 until a cargo was completed, when the 
 " smack " grounded, and was loaded 
 between the going out and the coming in 
 of the tide. It was when the oysters were 
 lying in these parks that the watchman 
 was needed. Oysters were valuable, and 
 the parks were a mile from any human 
 habitation. What could be easier than 
 to " convey " a *' tub " or two of oysters on 
 a dark night so as to have the pleasure of 
 selling them over again on the following 
 day ? To prevent any enterprising persons 
 
252 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 from carrying out any projects of this kind, 
 Mr. Sammy Short, the merchant, employed 
 Arthur Treleaven the elder, at 20s. per 
 week, to keep his eye on the oysters when 
 the tide permitted him, and to discharge 
 the contents of an ancient blunderbuss into 
 the bodies of any of her Majesty's liege 
 subjects who attempted, in defiance of 
 Mr. Sammy Short's rights, to carry them 
 
 ofe. 
 
 The watching was somewhat dreary work 
 when the nights were dark, and Arthur 
 Treleaven was glad to have the company 
 of his nephew whenever he felt inclined to 
 stay up with him. Arthur enjoyed this 
 immensely on the whole. It was so 
 pleasant to boil the kettle, and make a little 
 meal off broiled bacon, in the very middle 
 of the night, when other people were 
 wrapped in slumber. Then the blunder- 
 buss was a never-failing amusement. It 
 
SOME OF THE SPICE OF LIFE. 253 
 
 made a report when jSred as if it were a 
 piece of ordnance, and when fired in the 
 dead of night over the river where the 
 oysters were laid, it raised such echoes, 
 that it seemed as if five or six guns were 
 answering each other from hill to hill. 
 No robbers ever appeared to disturb the 
 watcher's repose. This may have been 
 because the blunderbuss was fired off about 
 every third night to indicate that there 
 was a warm reception awaiting them if 
 they came. I say, advisedly, no robbers 
 appeared to disturb the watcher's repose, 
 for Uncle Arthur made a point of stretching 
 himself on his couch of old nets in the 
 shed allotted to the watcher, to take a 
 comfortable nap, whenever his nephew kept 
 him company. 
 
 Arthur, although a big lad, like most 
 of his race was a firm believer in ghosts 
 and other unearthly personages. Oonse- 
 
254 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 quentlj his blood curdled every now and 
 again as lie paced the lonely beach in the 
 darkness. A noise like a footstep, the hoot 
 of an owl, something white, apparently 
 moving, suflS.ced to raise his superstitious 
 feelings. He did not mind so long as he 
 had a substantial wall at his back, but to 
 feel that while standing out in the open or 
 under the lee of a boat, a ghostly hand 
 might seize you by the nape of the neck, 
 was decidedly unpleasant. From what 
 Arthur had heard, even a blunderbuss was 
 no protection from a ghost. But on moon- 
 light nights the oyster beach was still 
 more weird. Crafts of all states and sizes, 
 from an abandoned schooner to a tiny 
 punt, cast dark shadows. The sighing of 
 the wind in the rigging, the tapping and 
 creaking of the swaying ropes, brought to 
 Arthur's mind all the thrilling ghost stories 
 he had heard or read. It was no wonder 
 
SOME OF THE SPICE OF LIFE. 255 
 
 if Polvarth beach were well- stocked with 
 ghosts, there were so many lurking-places 
 ready to their hand. The very buildings 
 were ghostly, being dark cellars used for 
 storing nets, and tenanted by lawless 
 lodgers in the shape of rats. But even all 
 these horrors failed often to keep Arthur 
 from falling asleep at his post. Nature 
 would assert her sway, and, as he could 
 not venture to stretch out for a minute or 
 two in a boat, not knowing when he would 
 wake again, but was compelled to maintain 
 an upright attitude, sent him to sleep as 
 he stood. 
 
 But worse than the watching was the 
 going home. Uncle Arthur insisted that 
 his assistant should stay up with him half 
 the night only, and then go home to bed. 
 Half the way lay through a narrow lane, 
 and the other half through some fields. 
 The latter part Arthur did not mind so 
 
256 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 much, but the former was a severe trial to 
 his nerves. About the middle of the lane 
 was a farmyard, with a ba;rn and cattle- 
 house, but no dwelling. To pass this was 
 an ordeal indeed. Familiarity is supposed 
 to breed contempt, but it certainly failed 
 to do so in this case. It was quite as un- 
 pleasant on the last night of watching as 
 on the first. There was the anticipatory 
 dread on approaching the gloomy buildings, 
 there was the feeling that you were in the 
 very territory of the ghosts, and then who 
 could tell what they would be up to when 
 one's back was turned ? Somehow Arthur 
 never dreamed of running, but walked 
 deliberately past, with his hands in his 
 pockets, as if human flesh was peculiarly 
 irritating to the disembodied spirits, and 
 with his eyes fixed upon the place from 
 which they were likely to emerge. His 
 head turned slowly as he passed, and only 
 
SOME OF THE SPICE OF LIFE. 257 
 
 when lie was quite out of reacli of tlieir 
 malice did lie look straight before him 
 again : even then he cast a glance behind 
 him now and again to make sure no sprite 
 of more than ordinary wickedness was 
 following him. 
 
 One night he received a severe fright. 
 It was pitch dark, and he was following 
 the path through the first field as best 
 he could, and congratulating himself 
 that the ghosts were far in his rear, 
 when he became conscious of some pre- 
 sence near. A thundering sound seemed 
 to shake the earth beneath him. He 
 turned cold for a moment, and then the 
 very roots of his hair seemed od fire. 
 Had the ghosts come at last? To his 
 great relief he found that the noise pro- 
 ceeded from no supernatural enemies, but 
 from a number of horses, which in the 
 darkness he had not perceived, and which 
 
 VOL. I. s 
 
258 HY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 from sudden panic went off simultaneously 
 at a gallop. 
 
 Towards the end of the oyster season he 
 had a change of occupation. 
 
 " A plenty of mackerel have been seen 
 in the bay," said Mrs. Treleaven to her 
 son one forenoon, as he came downstairs 
 from his bed, where he had lain later than 
 usual to make up for his vigil the night 
 before. " Captain Vingoe has been here 
 to say that the seine is going out after 
 dinner, and he wants you to go." 
 
 Arthur was delighted to hear this. 
 Mackerel-fishing Tvas new to him, and the 
 price of mackerel was high, so that a 
 good catch would be very profitable. 
 In the afternoon the seine Good Hope 
 started for the fishing- ground. It con- 
 sisted of three boats — a large boat manned 
 by seven fishermen, containing the seine 
 proper, a smaller boat with a crew of four 
 
SOME OF THE SPICE OF LIFE. 259 
 
 men, with a seine called the '^ stop seine," 
 and a smaller boat still, containing Captain 
 Vingoe, the master seiner, and two others. 
 Arthur, with his old schoolfellow. Jemmy 
 Nash, were selected to accompany the 
 captain. 
 
 After an hour's pull at the oars they 
 reached the bay, and soon were fortunate 
 enough to see a shoal of mackerel darting 
 through the water. 
 
 " Shut away ! shut away ! " shouted 
 Captain Vingoe in high excitement. 
 
 Tarpaulins were thrown off the nets in 
 both boats, and in a few minutes the two 
 nets were in the water. The boats rowed 
 in opposite directions, the two making, but 
 in unequal proportions, a complete circle, 
 for only in this way could the swift-swim- 
 ming mackerel be enclosed. As soon as 
 the seine was shot it was the business of 
 those in the smallest of the three boats to 
 s 2 
 
260 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 pull the two ends of tlie larger net toge- 
 ther, while the open space was guarded by 
 the smaller. This operation was termed 
 " stopping" the seine. Arthur found that 
 stopping a seine under the supervision of 
 Captain Yingoe was a somewhat trying 
 performance. The captain was irascible 
 at the best of times, and, when excited, 
 would have had considerable difficulty in 
 deciding whether his head or his heels were 
 uppermost. 
 
 '' Pull ! " he shouted to Arthur and N'ash, 
 " pull for your lives, or we shall lose every 
 mackerel." 
 
 They pulled with all their might and 
 main, but the two ends of the seine were 
 far apart, and could not be brought to- 
 gether in a moment. 
 
 "Drop the rope, Treleaven, and beat 
 down ! " screamed the captain. 
 
 Arthur took the " minnace," a stone ball, 
 
SOME OF THE SPICE OF LIFE. 261 
 
 weighing six or seven pounds, at the end 
 of a rope, and threw it into the sea re- 
 peatedly to frighten the fish back from the 
 opening. 
 
 '' Pull again ! " yelled Captain Vingoe ; 
 "Jemmy, you arn't half pulling." 
 
 '' What a poor-tempered old chap he is," 
 whispered Nash to Arthur. 
 
 Unfortunately this remark reached the 
 captain's ear, and threw him into quite a 
 paroxysm of rage. 
 
 " Poor-tempered owld chap am I?" he 
 roared. " You young rascal you, if you 
 give me any of your impidence I'll thraw 
 'ee ovverbooard, that I will. You two are 
 enough to meeake Job poor-tempered. I 
 never seed sach a lazy pair in my life." 
 
 In his rage the captain quite forgot the 
 business in hand, and was only brought to 
 himself by an admonishing shout from one 
 of the other boats. 
 
262 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 *' Now then, what are 'ee knocking up all 
 that capperouse about? You are 'nough 
 to frighten every mackerel in the say. 
 While you're jawing, the mouth of the seine 
 es wide abroad." 
 
 '' Aw," groaned Captain Yingoe as he 
 threw his hat into the bottom of the boat, 
 " I'm plagued with the wishtest crew that 
 ever was ; but there's no time to argy 
 'bout it now. Pull, booy, pull with all your 
 might." 
 
 At last the stopping was completed, and 
 the work of pulling in the seine was begun. 
 Captain Yingoe and his crew watched 
 eagerly and anxiously to see if any 
 mackerel came up entangled in the meshes, 
 as this would give some indication of the 
 presence of fish in the " cod," or baggy 
 part of the seine, where they always were 
 compelled to retreat, and which came up 
 last. But not a gHmmer gladdened their 
 
SOME OF THE SPICE OF LIFE. 263 
 
 eyes, and tlieir hopes died away as yard 
 after yard of the dripping net came np 
 empty. Just as the " cod " was reached, 
 their hopes were raised for an instant, to 
 be again destroyed. Something white 
 showed itself, but it was not the gleam of 
 mackerel. For an hour fourteen men and 
 boys had been toiling, and all the result 
 was a large skate and a spider-crab. 
 
 " I kDawed how 'twould be,*' said Cap- 
 tain Yingoe ; "all the fish went out while 
 Treleaven and Nash was fiddling about. 
 I doant knaw what the young fellahs are 
 like nowadays : they're like as if they 
 was driving snails to market." 
 
 " 'Twodn their faut," said one of the 
 crew. '' I doant believe we ever headed em 
 at all; but wha's the good of grumbling? 
 Lev' us overhaul the seine and look out for 
 another school." 
 
 This practical advice commended itself 
 
264 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 to all but Captain Yingoe, and, leaving 
 him to grumble and mutter like a volcano 
 in pain, they soon placed their nets in 
 position for shooting again. 
 
 " There they go," exclaimed Arthur 
 almost before the work was completed, as 
 a shoal of mackerel went rastling through 
 the water just ahead of the boats. 
 
 " Iss, there they go, sure 'nough," said 
 the captain. '' Shut away boys, we shall 
 have 'em yet." 
 
 This time the seiners were more fortu- 
 nate, for when the net was being taken up 
 the meshes were seen to be studded with 
 glittering, quivering mackerel, foretelling 
 a rich harvest in the '' cod " of the seine. 
 Nor was the prophecy unfulhlled, for no 
 less than six thousand mackerel were 
 Secured by this one haul. 
 
 Captain Yingoe forgot all his former 
 vexation when he saw the beautiful fish 
 
SOME OF THE SPICE OF LIFE. 265 
 
 with their blue and green and yellow backs 
 and silvery sides taking up so much room 
 in the seine-boats. 
 
 ''Aw, the beauties!" he exclaimed; 
 ''they're putty in the water, but they're 
 twice as putty in the boats. Now, me 
 sons, look sharp and teeake 'em across to 
 Penmaen before it 'comes dark, and doant 
 'ee sill a single mackerel under three ha' 
 pence." 
 
 This last piece of advice was found 
 impracticable ; some of the mackerel were 
 small and clearlv not worth " three ha'- 
 pence," and some buyers, ladies of course, 
 were so " pleasant spoken " that the sus- 
 ceptible young fishermen could not resist 
 their blandishments; nevertheless, most 
 of the fish were sold at the captain's own 
 price. 
 
 The money was shared on the following 
 day, and Arthur, who was appraised at 
 
266 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 two-thirds of a man's value, received for 
 his afternoon's work, in current coin of 
 the realm, one pound, ten shillings, and. 
 sevenpence halfpenny. The odd seven - 
 pence halfpenny Arthur laid out in snuff 
 for Mrs. Betty Polsue, who, although, 
 nearly ninety, was still able to enjoy a 
 pinch. 
 
 "It's so refreshing, my dear," she was 
 wont to say ; " it's so refreshing as washing 
 your feeace, not that mine is washed very 
 often, thenk the Lord ; it doant want it. 
 There's onlj wan thing more refreshing 
 than a pinch of snuff, and that's a drap of 
 gin." " Thenky, my dear," she said when 
 Arthur made his offering; '* thenky, my 
 dear. I allays said there's no such cheeld 
 as thee in Pendruthan, and I'll stick to it. 
 Why the very fust time I had thee in my 
 arms I said to Mistess Treleaven, says I, 
 ' What a lovely beeaby 'tes, plaise sure ; 
 
SOME OF THE SPICE OF LIFE. 267 
 
 and goodness guide me if he haben got a 
 tootli afore he's born. Ef theest keep 'un 
 from being ill- wished he'll graw up a 
 regler bender of a booj,' and plaise sure, 
 my son, you're grawing every day. I 
 sheeant see 'ee graw much more, for I 
 ceeant continny long, I ceeant continny. 
 Will 'ee have a pinch of snuff, Arter ? " 
 
 *' I don't like snuff ; use it all yourself, 
 Betsy. But I must be running home to 
 mother, she'll be glad to have the money 
 to go to the shop with." 
 
 And Mrs. Polsue was left with her 
 snuff. 
 
268 BY THE CORNISH SEA, 
 
 CHAPTEH XXII. 
 
 " WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE ? " 
 
 Lassie, say thou lo'es me ;^ 
 Or if thou wilt na' be my ain, 
 Say na' thou'lt refuse me. 
 
 Burns. 
 
 " I'm glad I met you, I want you to go 
 fisliing with me/' said Mark Eundle as he 
 met Jenifer in Church Street in the month 
 of August. "George Hoskilly and his 
 sisters were out last night and caught 
 eighty-five chads. They've come into the 
 bay with this spring tide, George says. 
 Will you go, Jenny ? " 
 
 '' I hardly think I can manage it," 
 answered Jenifer; "we are rather busy 
 
"wilt thou be my deaeie?" 269 
 
 at Miss Jink's now, and have to work 
 late." 
 
 " But surely you might manage to get 
 away for once just to please me ; I don't 
 know when I shall have the chance to go 
 again, for I shall have to start for Bristol 
 to-morrow morning." 
 
 '' Start for Bristol to-morrow ! " ex- 
 claimed Jenifer ; " why I thought it was 
 settled that you should go about the 
 middle of next month." 
 
 " So it was, but a letter came this morn- 
 ing saying that the arrangements had been 
 altered, and that I must be at the post- 
 ofl&ce by ten o'clock on Thursday morn- 
 ing. Well, will you go chadding with me 
 or not ? " 
 
 " I don't care much for fishing," 
 answered Jenifer, " but if it will be any 
 pleasure to you Mark, I'll go, that is, if 
 Miss Jink will spare me." 
 
270 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 "Then that's settled," said Mark ;*' mind 
 you're not late. We had better start 
 about six, so that we may have a good 
 two hours' fish, and be in again before 
 dark." 
 
 Jenifer looked so charming in her light 
 print gown and wide-brimmed straw hat 
 shading her fair face from the hot sun, 
 that it was not to be wondered at that 
 Mark followed her with his eyes, down the 
 whole length of the street, until she 
 turned the corner to enter Miss Jink's 
 house. 
 
 Mark was eighteen now, tall and straight, 
 with good features and thick clustering 
 black hair. Jeremiah Eundle was ex- 
 ceedingly proud of his handsome son, 
 more especially as he possessed, in an 
 eminent degree, the Bundle propensity for 
 looking after number one. 
 
 " He'll get on," Jeremiah was wont to 
 
** WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE ? " 271 
 
 say, " and'll marry somebody with a little 
 heap of what our parson do call filthy 
 lucre. Mark won't throw hisself away 
 for love, I'll be bound ; he's a Rundle." 
 
 Jeremiah would have had his faith in 
 the Rundle instinct rudely shaken if he 
 had seen his sod stare down the street 
 after Jenifer. At any rate, Mark's friend, 
 George Roskilly, who had, unobserved, 
 been watching him for some time, said 
 in a stage whisper as Jenifer disap- 
 peared, — 
 
 " Hullo ! Mark, my boy, what are you 
 staring at in that moonstruck fashion ? " 
 
 " Staring at ? " said Mark, recovering 
 himself ; '' what do you mean ? " 
 
 *' Oh, come now," remonstrated George, 
 " you needn't pretend that you've been 
 having a nap, or been dreaming, or any- 
 thing of that kind ; you're in love, my 
 dear fellow, that's your complaint, it 
 
272 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 doesn't take a very powerful pair of spec- 
 tacles to perceive that." 
 
 '' In love, nonsense/' returned Mark ; 
 '' do talk rationally, that's a good 
 fellow." 
 
 ''So I will, when you act rationally. 
 If I may be so bold, may I ask what kept 
 you gazing so long down Church Street ? 
 Was it the tower you were admiring ? Or 
 were you thinking how nicely Miss Jink 
 brings on her pupils, as evidenced by the 
 exquisite set of Miss Treleaven's print 
 dress ? " 
 
 '' I can't stay listening to stuff like this," 
 said Mark; '' I must run down to the quay 
 at once, I'm wanted there." 
 
 " Grood-bye then, my love-sick friend," 
 shouted G-eorge after him as he strode 
 off. 
 
 Punctually at six Jenifer appeared on 
 the beach, but, to Mark's evident annoy- 
 
" WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE ? *' 273 
 
 ance, Esther Mansell accompanied her. 
 Jenifer had raised various objections when 
 Esther proposed that she too should go 
 a-fishing with Mark, but Esther had 
 made up her mind to go as soon as 
 she heard Jenifer asking Miss Jink for 
 leave, and, therefore, overruled them all. 
 Esther managed to leave her work earlier 
 than Jenifer ; '* her tooth," she said, " was 
 so painful, that she could scarcely hold up 
 her head ; might she go home ? " 
 
 " By all means," said the good natured 
 mistress, '' and I hope you'll be better by 
 the morning." 
 
 Mark had planned to take no one with 
 him on this expedition but Jenifer, and he 
 determined to get rid of Esther by fair 
 means or foul. 
 
 " Well, Mark," said Esther, '' I think 
 you might have asked me to go, but as you 
 didn't, I've asked myself." 
 
 VOL. I. T 
 
274 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 " I should be very pleased to take you," 
 said Mark, his looks belying his words, 
 " but I'm going to take the small boat, 
 and she'll hardly be safe with three." 
 
 '' She was safe for four last week," 
 retorted Esther, '' when you and George 
 Eoskilly and his two friends went up 
 the river. Has she gone smaller since ? " 
 
 " No," answered Mark, '' but the bay is 
 rougher than the river." 
 
 "Come now," said Esther, "I'm too 
 good a sailor for you to make me believe 
 in such an excuse as that. Why there's not 
 a breath of wind stirring, and the sea is as 
 calm as a millpool." 
 
 " But there are only lines enough for 
 two," pleaded Mark in despair, as his 
 excuses broke down ; '' I'll take you another 
 time, Esther." 
 
 '' But I want to go to-night. Just wait 
 a minute and I'll run home for a line. 
 
"wilt thou be my dearie?'* 275 
 
 Mind you don't start before I come back, 
 Jenifer." 
 
 As soon as Esther had disappeared, 
 Mark said, — 
 
 " Come Jenny, I'm going to start at 
 once." 
 
 " No, Mark," she remonstrated, " per- 
 haps you had better wait ; she'll be dread- 
 fully put out if you don't." 
 
 " Well, let her be put out," answered 
 Mark wrathfuUy. '' I'm determined that 
 she shan't go fishing with me to-night." 
 
 " But haven't we as good as pro- 
 mised ? " 
 
 " Promised ? no : she only said, ' Don't 
 start before I come back.' Jump aboard, 
 Jenny, I won't wait another minute." 
 
 Jenifer did as she was bidden, and 
 
 Mark, putting out the oars, pulled away 
 
 for the bay as if he were rowing against 
 
 time and were somewhat doubtful of the 
 
 T 2 
 
276 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 result. Before the boat had left the land 
 a hundred yards behind, they heard loud 
 shouts, and looking, saw Esther waving 
 her fishing-line for them to stop. 
 
 " Esther's come," said Jenifer to Mark, 
 " won't you go back for her ? " 
 
 Mark had seen her before Jenifer, but 
 continued rowing all the same. He now 
 shut his eyes, saying, — 
 
 " She may wave that line as long as 
 she likes, I can't see her. She must pester 
 somebody else if she goes fishing to- 
 night." 
 
 In about half an hour they came to a 
 little group of boats moored abreast of 
 the lighthouse, whose occupants, young 
 men and maidens for the most part, were 
 busily engaged in pulling in the chads, 
 which came to their hooks as soon as 
 the lines were thrown overboard. Mark 
 moored his boat, and when she had swung 
 
" WILT THOU BE MY DEAEIE ? " 277 
 
 around with the tide, prepared and baited 
 a line each for Jenifer and himself. In a 
 short time the bottom of the boat was all 
 alive with leaping chads. Mark had little 
 to say to Jenifer, and she rallied him upon 
 his absent-mindedness, when, after unhook- 
 ing a fine fish, he threw the hook into the 
 boat and the chad into the sea. 
 
 '' Why, whatever is the matter with you, 
 Mark ? are you fretting because you left 
 Esther behind ? " 
 
 *' Not I," was the answer; '' I wanted 
 you, and nobody but you to come with 
 me. You've got a fine fish to your line 
 this time." 
 
 Jenifer lifted the fish over the gunwale 
 of the boat and endeavoured to take it off 
 the hook, but handling it awkwardly, 
 the sharp back spines entered her hand, 
 causing her considerable pain. Her little 
 scream brought Mark to the rescue. In a 
 
278 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 second lie removed the hook from tlie 
 chad and seized Jenifer's liand to 
 examine the wound. It was not serious, 
 though the poisonous spines made the 
 hand- smart for the time, but Mark's 
 examination was a very prolonged one. 
 
 "That'll do, Mark," said Jenifer when 
 he had minutely looked at every puncture 
 made by the spikes ; " that'll do, 'tis 
 nothing of consequence; let go my 
 hand." 
 
 "I should like to look at that prick 
 in your forefinger again; the spikes are 
 poisonous, you know." 
 
 "Don't be foolish, Mark," remonstrated 
 Jenifer. " I won't be held like this ; the 
 people in the other boats will see you." 
 
 At this Mark reluctantly brought his 
 examination to a close. But he was, as 
 his father said, a Bundle, and soon in- 
 vented a scheme which would enable him, 
 
"wilt thou be my deaeie?" 279 
 
 if so disposed, to pursue his surgical 
 studies unopposed and unmolested. 
 
 " I should like to catch a bass or two 
 before we go in," said he. " I think, Jenny, 
 ril row the boat a little nearer the light- 
 house ; they come in over the rocks there 
 about this time of the tide." 
 
 Jenifer had no desire to move from the 
 chadding-ground, but she raised no objec- 
 tion to Mark's proposal. Without further 
 remark he pulled up the anchor and moved 
 the boat three hundred yards away, where 
 they were practically unseen and unheard. 
 Mark seemed to have forgotten the object 
 of his coming to this new station, and did 
 not attempt to attract the aforesaid bass. 
 He cleared his throat twice as if he had 
 some idea of making a speech. 
 
 '' Oh ! " said Jenifer, when she found that 
 Mark remained silent, " have you forgotten 
 your text?" 
 o 
 
280 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 "You seem inclined to poke fun at me," 
 said Mark, rather irritably, ''but I want 
 to speak seriously to you, if only you'll 
 listen for a minute." 
 
 " What do you mean by seriously ? Is 
 it really a sermon you are going to 
 deliver ? '' 
 
 "]^ow be quiet a moment, do, Jenny," 
 pleaded Mark. " What I want to say is 
 this — I'm going away to-morrow from St. 
 Enodoc, and before I go I want to be sure 
 of one thing. When we were little we 
 used to call one another husband and wife, 
 and since we have grown older we have 
 been fond of one another — I think I may 
 say that — and lately you must have seen, 
 Jenny, that I cared more for you than for 
 anybody else. Will you promise me that 
 when [ am out of sight in Bristol you 
 won't forget me, and that when we are old 
 enough to marry you will be my wife ?" 
 
"wilt thou be my dearie?" 281 
 
 *' But that's an engagement," said Jeni- 
 fer ; ''we had better wait awhile; you 
 might change your mind, you know." 
 
 "No, I shan't," he protested; "but 
 do you love me enough to wait, Jenny ? " 
 
 " I don't know. I like you, of course, 
 but—" 
 
 " I shall have a good situation in the 
 post-ofl5ce by that time — I know Mr. 
 Josiah thinks me well up in my work." 
 
 " I wasn't thinking of that, but — " 
 
 " It isn't that you like George Roskilly 
 better, is it?" asked Mark suspiciously, as 
 the remembrance of his friend's attention 
 to Jenifer at a tea-party a week or two 
 before darted across his mind. 
 
 " George Roskilly, no," answered Jeni- 
 fer; "I don't care for George Roskilly; 
 but I don't think I love you well enough 
 to become engaged. We had better go 
 on as friends, 'twill be time enough to 
 
282 BY THE COENISH SEA. 
 
 think about it wlien you come home from 
 Bristol for your holiday. I suppose that 
 will be at the end of a year or so ?" 
 
 " Won't you say any more than that ? " 
 asked Mark dejectedly. 
 
 "No, I had better not." 
 
 " Give me one kiss, Jenny dear," pleaded 
 Mark, " only one." 
 
 " They will see you from the other boats," 
 remonstrated Jenifer. 
 
 "No, they won't," said Mark, "they're 
 too far away, and the light is going. Will 
 you, Jenny?" 
 
 " Yes, if you wish," said Jenifer, lifting 
 up her beautiful face to her young lover. 
 The kiss was given and taken, with passion 
 on his part, with sweet sisterly affection on 
 hers, and then in silence the anchor was 
 weighed and the boat rowed slowly to 
 land. 
 
283 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 UNCLE ANTHONY. 
 
 Boatswain. Heigh, my hearts ! cheerly, cheerly, my 
 
 hearts ! yare, yare ! Take in the topsail. Tend to the 
 
 master's whistle. 
 
 The Tempest. 
 
 '' Heee's a funny letter I've got for you," 
 said Arthur Treleaven to his mother as he 
 entered the house; ''Mr. Frost gave it oO 
 me as I passed the post-office. Just look 
 at the address : ' Mistess Treleaven, 
 widow woman, Pendruthan. N.B. — If 
 she's gone, send it to her.' Whoever can 
 it be from ? " 
 
 " I don't know the writing," answered 
 his mother. " The postmark is St. Enodoc. 
 I don't know anybody there. Oh, yes, 
 
284 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 there's uncle and aunt Barker, but I 
 haven't heard from them but once since 
 your poor father was drowned. I don't 
 know if they're dead or alive. I wonder if 
 it's from them." 
 
 " Perhaps you had better open it and 
 see," said Arthur. 
 
 Mrs. Treleaven agreed to this, and the 
 curious-looking epistle was unfolded and 
 read. It was as follows : — 
 " St. Enodoc, 
 
 " Fehury 19, 18—. 
 
 "My dear Nece and grandnevy, — I set 
 down to Rite these fu lines, hopping to 
 fine you all well, as it leves me at Present, 
 thank God for it, Amen. Your poor Ant 
 is dropped of. She died last Nite weak, 
 and was buried the day before yesterday. 
 She sufred from the brown Titus, and the 
 Doctor couldn do nothing for her, so she 
 died. And what I wants to kna' es this : 
 
UNCLE ANTHONY. 285 
 
 I am seventy 4 come next Mikelmas day, 
 and I'm very lonsome, and IV a got no- 
 body to look after me and do my little 
 chores, and will you come? There's the 
 house, there's not no rent to pay 'cause I'v 
 a got a least on He, and when I drops of 
 He drops of, so there's not no rent to pay. 
 My little pinching from gove^ment is not 
 much, 30 pound a 'ear, that's what it do 
 raich to, but I'v a got a bit of money put 
 by, and if you'l come, when T drop of 'tes 
 yours, and so will you come ? My Nevy 
 he can go fishing, for Sent Enodoc is very 
 good for pilcherin'. And if so be as you'l 
 come, when will you come ? Please excuse 
 all Miss takes, for I'm no Scholard, and I 
 can't see very well ; my hornin' spertakls 
 es broke. And please leve me knaw as soon 
 as you can, and I hop' you are all well. 
 " From your unkle, 
 
 "Anthony Baeker." 
 
286 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 "I say, mother," said Arthur, "you 
 won't go, will you ? " 
 
 ''I don't know," answered Mrs. Tre- 
 leaven, " we must think it over ; I've not 
 got much to keep me here, the lace-making 
 isn't very profitable. But there's you to 
 think of, and what shall we do with the 
 furniture ? " 
 
 " Had we better ask him to come and 
 live with us ? " asked Arthur. 
 
 '' I'm afraid he wouldn't come; he's old, 
 you know, and old people don't care to 
 leave a place where they have lived a long 
 time. Uncle Barker has lived at St. 
 Enodoc ever since he left the man-of-war 
 and joined the coastguard, and that's thirty 
 years ago if 'tis a day. Besides, there's his 
 little house, he can't very well leave that. 
 To be sure he might find a tenant for it." 
 
 " Suppose we write and ask him before 
 we decide ? " suggested Arthur. 
 
UNCLE ANTHONI. 287 
 
 This suggestion was adopted, and 
 Arthur wrote a letter by return of post, 
 asking Uncle Anthony whether it could not 
 be arranged for him to come to Pendru- 
 than, and promising that if he came they 
 would receive him gladly, and give him a 
 comfortable home. 
 
 In little more than a week another letter 
 came, addressed to Mrs. Treleaven, " widow 
 woman," to this effect: — 
 
 '' Sent Enodoc, 
 
 ''Febury 28, 18—. 
 
 "My dear Nece, — I've received a letter 
 from my grandnevy Arthur, and I'm glad 
 He's such a scholard, 'tes like a book Mrs. 
 Craddock says — she's the woman what have 
 a lookt arter me since my poor old woman 
 dropped of ; and I'm glad you are well, as 
 I'm the same. You says, says you, will 
 you come down to Pendruthan to live with 
 we? My dear, I'm to owld to go galli- 
 
288 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 vanting round tlae country, and besides, 
 I can't take my house with me as if He 
 was a gipses' van, and he's on a least, and 
 must stay where he is, and I should like 
 to end my days in He, so I says again, 
 says I, come if you can. JS'ever mind bring- 
 ing your furnitur', my poor dear woman 
 keept the Howse well suplide. Have a 
 survey of your things — I suppos' you do 
 call it a Hokshon down along with you — 
 and the sooner you can come the better for 
 Mistess Craddock — that's the owld woman 
 — she isn't very good-tempered, and do 
 take things as a trouble; and so wishing 
 you well, 
 
 " I sine myself, 
 
 " Your unkle, 
 
 " Anthony Baekee." 
 
 " Well, mother, what do you think about 
 it?" asked Arthur. 
 
tINCLE ANTHONY. 289 
 
 ** If I had only myself to think about," 
 answered Mrs. Treleaven, " I should cer- 
 tainly go. I don't like the thought of the 
 poor old man being there with nobody to 
 care for him but strangers; and then, 
 while he lived there would be no rent to 
 pay, and with uncle's pension, and what 
 we could earn besides, we might get along 
 very comfortably. But it is you I'm 
 thinking about. I couldn't think of going 
 for one moment if you would rather stay 
 at Pendruthan." 
 
 " Oh ! as to that," said Arthur, " I would 
 as soon go to St. Enodoc as stay here : 
 there is very little doing, and if we wait 
 for fish we are likely to starve, unless we 
 run into debt, and I would just as soon 
 starve as do that." 
 
 "I am so glad to hear you say that," 
 said his mother ; "I was afraid you would 
 not be willing to go. Shall we take 
 
 VOL. I. U 
 
290 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 uncle's advice then, and sell our few things 
 by auction ? *T would cost too much to 
 carry them to St. Enodoc, and if we carried 
 them, uncle would never be able to find 
 room for them. We can take out any little 
 thing we might Hke to keep." 
 
 These plans were carried out, and in 
 about three weeks from the receipt of the 
 second letter Mrs. Treleaven and her son 
 were welcomed by Uncle Anthony to their 
 new home. Arthur, who had never seen 
 his uncle, was curious to know what the 
 old gentleman was like. He, now and 
 again, as they descended the steep hill 
 which led down to St. Enodoc, thrust his 
 head out of the van to see if he could catch 
 a glimpse of the ancient pensioner. But 
 he failed to see anybody resembling the 
 picture which he had framed in his mind 
 of the writer of the two letters. 
 
 " We can't be far off," he was saying to 
 
UNCLE ANTHONY. 291 
 
 his motlier as they reached the bottom of 
 the hill, when a loud shout of " Heave her 
 to, mate, and let go the anchor," caused 
 him to turn quickly round. 
 
 A little, old, shrivelled man, with piercing 
 eyes under bushy eyebrows, was standing 
 in the gateway of a small well-kept garden, 
 which fronted a cottage covered to the 
 very tops of the chimneys with ivy. It 
 was Anthony Barker. He was, so to 
 speak, in court uniform to receive his dis- 
 tinguished visitors. His blue coat with 
 brass buttons, which usually saw the light 
 only on the Queen's birthday, and one or 
 two other great festivals, surmounted by his 
 glazed naval hat, gave a decidedly digni- 
 fied and official air to the little antiquated 
 representative of '^ the service." 
 
 *^Are the passengers aboard?" he 
 shouted again to the driver, who was pull- 
 ing in his horses. 
 
 u 2 
 
292 BY THE COENISH SKA. 
 
 " Yes/' was tlie answer. 
 
 '' Clew up the sails then, and get the 
 cargo out," said Uncle Anthony, going to 
 the door of the van. " Glad to see 'ee, 
 glad to see 'ee," continued he, shaking 
 hands with his niece and nephew. " Why, 
 Jane, how white you're looking, 'tes too 
 close here in the hold of the van, you ought 
 to have travelled on deck. Well, Arter, 
 my boy, how are 'ee ? — I s'poase 'tes Arter, 
 Jane ? Why, I 'spected from his potty graph 
 he'd be a booy, but he's a man for size ; but 
 then I've had the pottygraph eight or ten 
 years or so, so I have. Go along in, Jane ; 
 me and Arter will bring the things in." 
 
 A sumptuous meal had been spread for 
 the travellers, under the direction of Mrs. 
 Oraddock An enormous Cornish pasty 
 graced the head of the table, flanked by 
 cold beef and boiled eggs, while at the 
 other end a fine dish of fried whiting, 
 cooked to a turn, tempted the hungry 
 
UNCLE ANTHONY. 29^3 
 
 palate. Mrs. Craddock, althougli some- 
 what caustic in her words and cynical in 
 her temper, was not, on the whole, a bad- 
 natured dame, and had spared no pains to 
 welcome Mrs. Treleaven and her son in a 
 becoming manner. Arthur cunningly won 
 her favour at once by taking a paper from 
 his pocket and inviting her to take a pinch 
 of snuff. 
 
 *'What a nice chap he es," said Mrs. 
 Craddock to Mrs. Trewhella, when de- 
 scribing the new-comers in the evening at 
 her friend's house, " what a nice chap he 
 es, why a'mooast the fust words he said 
 was, ' Why, Mrs. Craddock, how d'ye do ; 
 will 'ee oblige me by teeaking a pinch of 
 snufE?' He had my neeame so pat as 
 you plaise, and he said he brought the 
 snuff all the way from Pendruthan a 
 purpose to give me.'' 
 
 All this was true, but Arthur did not 
 think it necessary to explain that it was 
 
294 J3Y THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 bought for Betsy Polsue, who happened to 
 die before it could be presented to her, and 
 that he brought it to poke fun at Mrs. 
 Craddock, more than from any affection 
 for that estimable lady. 
 
 " Kow fall to," said Uncle Anthony when 
 the luggage had been all brought into the 
 house, " fall to, my dears, you must be 
 hungry, sure 'nough, after such a long 
 journey ; and when youVe finished your tay 
 I'll teeake Arter down upon the quay for 
 a turn, and will shaw nn to Oapen Short- 
 ridge." 
 
 "Show me to Captain Shortridge ! what 
 for ? " asked Arthur. 
 
 '* Aw, to survey 'ee," said Uncle Anthony, 
 laughing; "he's Lloyd's surveyor, you 
 knaw, and as you're a new ship, you must 
 be ovverhauled. Doant 'ee be frightened, 
 Jane, I'm only joking. Capen Shortridge 
 es the head of the fishing company here, 
 and when I was spaking to un wan day 
 
UNCLE ANTHONY. 295 
 
 'bout your coming, lie axed me to bring un 
 down when he comed, and said he would 
 give un a job to look after the boats and 
 nets when 'tes out of saison, and that's 
 half the year, and he can go a-fishing when 
 the nets are put aboard in the latter peart 
 of the summer. Five shellen es the pay 
 to look arter the things, but then it weeant 
 teeake up much time, and Arter can go 
 fishing all the seeame." 
 
 " How very kind of you, uncle, to interest 
 yourself about Arthur in this way," said 
 Mrs. Treleaven. 
 
 **Aw, that's no consekence," replied 
 Uncle Anthony; " Capen Shortridge es very 
 friendly, 'cause I keep a heye to his office 
 when he's out and his clerk edn there. 
 Tedn 'zactly a gove'ment office, but he's 
 the Counsel, and wan thing and t'other, so 
 o' course as I belong to the service, why, 
 when I'm about I'm on duty, and must 
 keep a heye to things. Doant 'ee hurry, 
 
296 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 Arter ; ait so mucli as you can, my son, 
 'twas all cooked for 'ee to ait. Would 
 'ee like a glass of grog to warm 'ee up 
 nicely?" 
 
 "No, tliank you," said Arthur, "Tra a 
 teetotaler." 
 
 " Aw, are 'ee ? There wodn many of 
 they .when I was young, but they're gitting 
 putty plentiful. I'm so good as a tee- 
 totaler myself. I only drink a glass of 
 grog wance a week, and that I drink on 
 Sunday nights arter I come from church 
 in honour of the day. Iss, my dears, I'm 
 so good as a teetotaler. Are 'ee ready? 
 We'll start, then. You'd better lie down 
 a bit on the sofy, Jane, to rest yourself. 
 Mrs. Craddock here will look arter 'ee." 
 
 " The owld gentleman es failin','' said 
 Mrs. Craddock mournfully, as soon as 
 Uncle Anthony and Arthur were out of 
 sight; 'Hhe owld woman's death have a 
 finely shook un, but there, we ceeant 
 
UNCLE ANTHONY. 297 
 
 expect to live for ever — I'm sure I doant^ 
 Mrs. Treleaven." 
 
 "No, I expect not," was tlie answer; 
 '' but you're pretty well, arn't you, Mrs. 
 Craddock ? " 
 
 " I look putty well, but I'm railly a poor 
 wisbt woman so fur as strength is con- 
 sarned, and my life es a burden to me; 
 I've got such a wisht lot of neighbours. 
 I say sometimes to Mistess Trewhella — 
 she married a second cousin to my poor 
 owld man's fust wife's brother — I says to 
 her, says I, 'Mrs. Trewhella, we've all 
 a diviated from the path of rectitude, but 
 my neighbours ! aw, my dear ! their teeth 
 are set on fire and their tongues are sharp 
 swords.' " 
 
 ''But why do they molest you ? " 
 
 '^Molest me? why, out of wicket- 
 ness, I s'poase, not for nothin' else. 
 There's the owld man who do live next 
 door to me, awnly yesterday he rapped 
 
298 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 out a ooath to some clielclern who was 
 playin' round hes door, and when I says, 
 'Aw, my dear man, where do 'ee think 
 you're goin' to ? ' he says, says he, ' Hould 
 tha tongue, I'm a mile furder off from hell 
 than you are.' He meeade my blud run 
 cowld, iss a ded, and I was forced to say 
 to un, ' Doant 'ee booast yourself of your 
 wicketness, for you're awnly a poor vain 
 man like me.' " 
 
 "But there's nothing wrong with your 
 health, is there?" inquired Mrs. Tre- 
 leaven. 
 
 " That's what the people do ginerally 
 ax me," replied Mrs. Craddock, "and it 
 do worrit me to hear it. Tha's cause I've 
 got a rosy complexion, my dear ; nobody 
 weeant believe there's anything the matter 
 weth me, no, not if I'm dyin' off my legs. 
 But I do knaw from my own feelins that the 
 seeds of mortality es sowed so strong in 
 me that I ceeant last long." 
 
UNCLE ANTHONY. 299 
 
 " "Why don't you move to another house/* 
 suggested Mrs. Treleaven. 
 
 " What's the good, my dear, somebody '11 
 be sure to pester me to death wherever I 
 go. I've a lived in six houses sence my 
 owld man died, and wan es so bad as an- 
 other. I'm a tried corner-stone, my dear, 
 I'm a tried corner-stone." 
 
 " Have you any children ? " 
 
 *' I have, and I haven't," answered Mrs. 
 Craddock. *' There's a married woman in 
 this town who do call me mother, but she 
 might as well call anybody else mother 
 as me, for all the comfort she es to me." 
 
 " I should have thought you would Hve 
 with her." 
 
 " Well, she axed me to come weth her, 
 but wha's the good ? We're of two minds, 
 my dear, we are of two minds, and a cat- 
 and-dog life weeant suit me. I said to 
 her the other day, * Susan,' says I, *thee'rt 
 like tha feeather of tha, and he was, as 
 
300 BY THE CORNISH SEA. 
 
 the Scripyur says, a % in my pat of oint- 
 ment.' " 
 
 "I hope," said Mrs. Treleaven, rather 
 alarmed at Mrs. Craddock's description of 
 the nnamiable tempers of the people of St. 
 Enodoc, ''I hope our new neighbours are 
 not so difl&cult to get on with as yours 
 appear to be." 
 
 " Neighbours ! " snorted Mrs. Craddock, 
 ''neighbours! there's no neighbours now- 
 adays, there's awnly liver s-by, and that 
 you'll find when you knaw um so well as 
 I do." 
 
 With this parting sting Mrs. Craddock 
 assumed her rusty widow's bonnet, and 
 repaired to her home, where, if she were 
 to be believed, the wicked never ceased 
 from troubling and the weary were never 
 at rest. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 GILBERT AJJD EIVINGTOlf, LIMITED, ST. JOHW's SQUABE, LONDON.