Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales
by J. O. Halliwell-Phillipps · English · Gutenberg #35707 · 476,052 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales
Author: J. O. Halliwell-Phillipps
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POPULAR RHYMES AND NURSERY TALES ***
LATELY PUBLISHED,
_Royal 18mo, with 38 Designs by W. B. SCOTT, Director of the
School of Design, Newcastle-on-Tyne, bound in illuminated
cloth, 4s. 6d._
THE NURSERY RHYMES OF ENGLAND, COLLECTED CHIEFLY FROM ORAL TRADITION.
BY JAMES ORCHARD HALLIWELL, ESQ. FOURTH EDITION.
POPULAR RHYMES
AND
NURSERY TALES:
A SEQUEL TO THE
Nursery Rhymes of England.
BY JAMES ORCHARD HALLIWELL, ESQ.
LONDON:
JOHN RUSSELL SMITH,
4, OLD COMPTON STREET, SOHO SQUARE.
MDCCCXLIX.
C. AND J. ADLARD, PRINTERS, BARTHOLOMEW CLOSE.
Tales of my Nursery! shall that still loved spot,
That window corner, ever be forgot,
Where through the woodbine when with upward ray
Gleam'd the last shadow of departing day,
Still did I sit, and with unwearied eye,
Read while I wept, and scarcely paused to sigh!
In that gay drawer, with fairy fictions stored,
When some new tale was added to my hoard,
While o'er each page my eager glance was flung,
'Twas but to learn what female fate was sung;
If no sad maid the castle shut from light,
I heeded not the giant and the knight.
Sweet Cinderella, even before the ball,
How did I love thee—ashes, rags, and all!
What bliss I deem'd it to have stood beside,
On every virgin when thy shoe was tried!
How long'd to see thy shape the slipper suit!
But, dearer than the slipper, loved the foot.
ANON.
PREFACE.
It were greatly to be desired that the instructors of our children could
be persuaded how much is lost by rejecting the venerable relics of
nursery traditional literature, and substituting in their place the
present cold, unimaginative,—I had almost said, unnatural,—prosaic
good-boy stories. "In the latter case," observes Sir Walter Scott,
"their minds are, as it were, put into the stocks, like their feet at
the dancing-school, and the moral always consists in good conduct being
crowned with success. Truth is, I would not give one tear shed over
Little Red Riding Hood for all the benefit to be derived from a hundred
histories of Jemmy Goodchild. I think the selfish tendencies will be
soon enough acquired in this arithmetical age; and that, to make the
higher class of character, our own wild fictions—like our own simple
music—will have more effect in awakening the fancy and elevating the
disposition, than the colder and more elaborate compositions of modern
authors and composers."
Deeply impressed with this truth, and firmly convinced of the
"imagination-nourishing" power of the wild and fanciful lore of the old
nursery, I have spared no labour in collecting the fragments which have
been traditionally preserved in our provinces. The object is not so much
to present to the reader a few literary trifles, though even their
curiosity and value in several important discussions must not be
despised, as to rescue in order to restore; a solemn recompense due from
literature for having driven them away; and to recall the memory to
early associations, in the hope that they who love such recollections
will not suffer the objects of them to disappear with the present
generation.
In arranging the materials gathered for this little volume, I have
followed, in some respects, the plan adopted by Mr. Robert Chambers, in
his elegant work, the Popular Rhymes of Scotland; but our vernacular
anthology will be found to contain so much which does not occur in any
shape in that of the sister country, that the two collections have not
as much similarity as might have been expected. Together, they will
eventually contain nearly all that is worth preserving of what may be
called the natural literature of Great Britain. Mr. Chambers, indeed,
may be said to have already exhausted the subject for his own land in
the last edition of his interesting publication, but no systematic
attempt has yet been made in the same direction for this country; and
although the curiosity and extent of the relics I have been enabled to
collect have far exceeded my expectations, I am fully aware how much
more can yet be accomplished. An additional number of foreign synonymes
could also no doubt be collected; though perhaps more easily by
foreigners, for Continental works which contain notices of traditional
literature are procured with difficulty in England. The following pages,
however, contain sufficient of these to exhibit the striking
similarities between rhymes prevalent over England, and others which
exist in the North of Europe.
The collection of Nursery Tales is not as extensive as could have been
wished, but the difficulty of procuring the brief traditional stories
which were current some century since, now for the most part only
recollected in obscure districts, is so great, that no apology is
necessary for the apparent deficiency of that section. The few which
have been obtained are of considerable curiosity and interest; and I
would venture to suggest to all readers of these pages the great
obligation they would confer by the communication of any additions.
Stories of this kind are undoubtedly to be obtained from oral tradition,
and perhaps some of literary importance may yet be recovered.
The compiler's best thanks are due to Captain Henry Smith for the very
interesting communication of rhymes current in the Isle of Wight; to
Mr. George Stephens for several curious fragments, and valuable
references to Swedish songs; and to many kind correspondents who have
furnished me with rhymes current in the various districts in which they
reside. It is only by a large provincial correspondence that a
collection of this kind can be rendered complete, and the minutest
information on any of our popular tales or rhymes, forwarded to the
address given below, would be most thankfully and carefully
acknowledged.
BRIXTON HILL, SURREY;
_April, 1849._
CONTENTS.
PAGE
NURSERY ANTIQUITIES 1
FIRESIDE NURSERY STORIES 24
GAME-RHYMES 101
ALPHABET-RHYMES 136
RIDDLE-RHYMES 141
NATURE-SONGS 155
PROVERB-RHYMES 181
PLACES AND FAMILIES 188
SUPERSTITION-RHYMES 206
CUSTOM-RHYMES 230
NURSERY-SONGS 258
POPULAR RHYMES AND NURSERY TALES.
I.—NURSERY ANTIQUITIES.
Although the names of Scott and Grimm may be enumerated amongst the
writers who have acknowledged the ethnological and philosophic value of
traditional nursery literature, it is difficult to impress on the public
mind the importance of a subject apparently in the last degree trifling
and insignificant, or to induce an opinion that the jingles and simple
narratives of a garrulous nurse can possess a worth beyond the circle of
their own immediate influence.
But they who despise the humbler sources of literary illustration must
be content to be told, and hereafter to learn, that traces of the
simplest stories and most absurd superstitions are often more effectual
in proving the affinity of different races, and determining other
literary questions, than a host of grander and more imposing monuments.
The history of fiction is continually efficacious in discussions of this
kind, and the identities of puerile sayings frequently answer a similar
purpose. Both, indeed, are of high value. The humble chap-book is found
to be descended not only from medieval romance, but also not
unfrequently from the more ancient mythology, whilst some of our
simplest nursery-rhymes are chanted to this day by the children of
Germany, Denmark, and Sweden, a fact strikingly exhibiting their great
antiquity and remote origin.
The subject, however curious and interesting, is far too diffuse to be
investigated at any length in a work like the present; and, indeed, the
materials are for the most part so scattered and difficult of access,
that it would require the research of many years to accomplish the task
satisfactorily. I shall, then, content myself with indicating a few of
the most striking analogies between the rhymes of foreign countries and
those of our own, for this portion of the inquiry has been scarcely
alluded to by my predecessors. With regard to the tales, a few notices
of their antiquity will be found in the prefaces or notes to the stories
themselves, and few readers will require to be informed that
Whittington's cat realized his price in India, and that Arlotto related
the story long before the Lord Mayor was born; that Jack the
Giant-killer is founded on an Edda; or that the slipper of Cinderella
finds a parallel in the history of the celebrated Rhodope. To enter into
these discussions would be merely to repeat an oft-told tale, and I
prefer offering a few notes which will be found to possess a little more
novelty.
Of the many who must recollect the nursery jingles of their youth, how
few in number are those who have suspected their immense age, or that
they were ever more than unmeaning nonsense; far less that their
creation belongs to a period before that at which the authentic records
of our history commence. Yet there is no exaggeration in such a
statement. We find the same trifles which erewhile lulled or amused the
English infant, are current in slightly varied forms throughout the
North of Europe; we know that they have been sung in the northern
countries for centuries, and that there has been no modern outlet for
their dissemination across the German Ocean. The most natural inference
is to adopt the theory of a Teutonic origin, and thus give to every
genuine child-rhyme, found current in England and Sweden, an immense
antiquity. There is nothing improbable in the supposition, for the
preservation of the relics of primitive literature often bears an
inverse ratio to their importance. Thus, for example, a well-known
English nursery rhyme tells us,—
There was an old man,
And he had a calf,
And that's half;
He took him out of the stall,
And put him on the wall,
And that's all.
A composition apparently of little interest or curiosity; but Arwidsson,
unacquainted with the English rhyme, produces the following as current
in Sweden, Svenska Fornsånger, iii. 488, which bears far too striking a
similarity to the above to have had a different origin,—
Gubben och gumman hade en kalf,
Och nu är visan half!
Och begge så körde de halfven i vall,
Och nu är visan all!
We could not, perhaps, select a better instance of this kind of
similarity in nepial songs as current throughout the great northern
states of Europe than the pretty stanza on the ladybird. Variations of
this familiar song belong to the vernacular literature of England,
Germany, Denmark, and Sweden. The version at present current in the
North of England is as follows:
Lady-cow, lady-cow, fly thy way home,
Thy house is on fire, thy children all gone;
All but one that ligs under a stone,
Fly thee home, lady-cow, ere it be gone![1]
[Footnote 1: In Norfolk the lady-bird is called
_burny-bee_, and the following lines are current:
Burnie bee, burnie bee,
Tell me when your wedding be.
If it be to-morrow day,
Take your wings and fly away.]
These lines are said by children, when they throw the beautiful little
insect into the air, to make it take flight. Two Scottish variations are
given by Mr. Chambers, p. 170. In Germany it is called the Virgin Mary's
chafer, _Marienwürmchen_, or the May-chafer, _Maikäferchen_, or the
gold-bird, _Guldvogel_. In Sweden, gold-hen, gold-cow, or the Virgin
Mary's maid. In Denmark, our Lord's hen, or our Lady's hen. We may first
mention the German song translated by Taylor as frequently alluded to by
writers on this subject. The second verse is the only one preserved in
England.
Lady-bird! lady-bird! pretty one! stay!
Come sit on my finger, so happy and gay;
With me shall no mischief betide thee;
No harm would I do thee, no foeman is near,
I only would gaze on thy beauties so dear,
Those beautiful winglets beside thee.
Lady-bird! lady-bird! fly away home;
Thy house is a-fire, thy children will roam!
List! list! to their cry and bewailing!
The pitiless spider is weaving their doom,
Then, lady-bird! lady-bird! fly away home!
Hark! hark! to thy children's bewailing.
Fly back again, back again, lady-bird dear!
Thy neighbours will merrily welcome thee here;
With them shall no perils attend thee!
They'll guard thee so safely from danger or care,
They'll gaze on thy beautiful winglets so fair,
And comfort, and love, and befriend thee!
In Des Knaben Wunderhorn, Arnim und Brentano, 1808, iii. 82, 83, 90, we
have three German songs relating to the lady-bird. The first two of
these are here given:
_Der Guldvogel._
Guldvogel, flieg aus,
Flieg auf die Stangen,
Käsebrode langen;
Mir eins, dir eins,
Alle gute G'sellen eins.
"Gold-bird, get thee gone, fly to thy perch, bring cheese-cakes, one for
me, one for thee, and one for all good people."
Maikäferchen, Maikäferchen, fliege weg!
Dein Häusgen brennt,
Dein Mütterchen flennt,
Dein Vater sitzt auf der Schwelle,
Flieg in Himmel aus der Hölle.
"May-bird, May-bird, fly away. Thy house burns, thy mother weeps, thy
father stays at his threshold, fly from hell into heaven!"—The third is
not so similar to our version. Another German one is given in Kuhn und
Schwark, Norddeutsche Sagen, 1848, p. 375:
Maikäferchen, fliege,
Dein Vater ist im Kriege,
Dein Mutter ist in Pommerland,
Pommerland ist abgebrannt!
Maikäferchen, fliege.
"May-bird, fly. Thy father is in the war, thy mother is in Pomerania,
Pomerania is burnt! May-bird, fly."—See, also, Erk und Irmer, Die
Deutschen Volkslieder, Berlin, 1839, iv. 7, Das Maikäferlied. For the
two pretty Swedish songs which follow I am indebted to the MS. of Mr.
Stephens. The first is common in the southern parts of that country, the
other in the northern.
Guld-höna, guld-ko!
Flyg öster, flyg vester,
Dit du flyger der bor din älskade!
"Gold-hen, gold-cow! fly east, fly west, you will fly where your
sweetheart is."
Jungfru Marias Nyckelpiga!
Flyg öster, flyg vester,
Flyg dit der min käresta bor![2]
[Footnote 2: This is a very remarkable
coincidence with an English rhyme:
Fly, lady-bird, fly!
North, south, east, or west;
Fly to the pretty girl
That I love best.]
"Fly, our holy Virgin's bower-maid! fly east, fly west, fly where my
loved-one dwelleth." In Denmark they sing (Thiele, iii. 134):
Fly, fly, our Lord's own hen!
To-morrow the weather fair will be,
And eke the next day too.[3]
[Footnote 3: The lady-bird, observes Mr.
Chambers, is always connected with fine weather
in Germany and the north.]
Accumulative tales are of very high antiquity. The original of "the
House that Jack Built" is well known to be an old Hebrew hymn in Sepher
Haggadah. It is also found in Danish, but in a somewhat shorter form;
(See Thiele, Danske Folkesagn, II. iii. 146, _Der har du det Huus som
Jacob bygde_;) and the English version is probably very old, as may be
inferred from the mention of "the priest all shaven and shorn." A
version of the old woman and her sixpence occurs in the same collection,
II. iv. 161, _Konen och Grisen Fick_, the old wife and her piggy
Fick,—"There was once upon a time an old woman who had a little pig
hight Fick, who would never go home late in the evening. So the old
woman said to her stick:
'Stick, beat Fick, I say!
Piggie will not go home to-day!'"
This chant-tale is also common in Sweden. One copy has been printed by
N. Lilja in his Violen en Samling Jullekar, Barnsånger och Sagor, i. 20,
_Gossen och Geten Näppa_, the boy and the goat Neppa,—"There was once a
yeoman who had a goat called Neppa, but Neppa would never go home from
the field. The yeoman was therefore forced to promise his daughter in
marriage to whoever could get Neppa home. Many tried their fortune in
vain, but at last a sharp boy offered to ward the goat. All the next day
he followed Neppa, and when evening came, he said, 'Now will we
homeward go?' but Neppa answered, 'Pluck me a tuft or so,'" &c. The
story is conducted in an exactly similar manner in which the
_dénoûement_ is brought about in the English tale.[4]
[Footnote 4: Two other variations occur in
Arwidsson, Svenska Fornsånger, 1842, iii. 387-8,
and Mr. Stephens tells me he has a MS. Swedish
copy entitled the Schoolboy and the Birch. It is
also well known in Alsace, and is printed in that
dialect in Stöber's Elsassisches Volksbüchlein,
1842, pp. 93-5. Compare, also, Kuhn und Schwark,
Norddeutsche Sagen, Märchen und Gebräuche, 1848,
p. 358, "Die frâ, dos hippel un dos hindel."]
The well-known song of "There was a lady lov'd a swine," is found in an
unpublished play of the time of Charles I. in the Bodleian Library, MS.
Bodl. 30:
There was a lady lov'd a hogge;
Hony, quoth shee,
Woo't thou lie with me to-night?
Ugh, quoth hee.
A similar song is current in Sweden, as we learn from Arwidsson, Svenska
Fornsånger, iii. 482, who gives a version in which an old woman, who had
no children, took a little foal, which she called Longshanks, and rocked
and nursed it as if it had been her own child:[5]
Gumman ville vagga
Och inga barn hade hon;
Då tog hon in
Fölungen sin,
Och lade den i vaggan sin.
Vyssa, vyssa, långskånken min,
Långa ben bar du;
Lefver du till sommaren,
Blir du lik far din.
[Footnote 5: It is still more similar to a pretty
little song in Chambers, p. 188, commencing,
"There was a miller's dochter."]
Another paradoxical song-tale, respecting the old woman who went to
market, and had her petticoats cut off at her knees "by a pedlar whose
name was Stout," is found in some shape or other in most countries in
Europe. A Norwegian version is given by Asbjörnsen og Moe, Norske
Folkeeventyr, 1843, and, if I recollect rightly, it is also found in
Grimm.
The riddle-rhyme of "Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall" is, in one form or
other, a favorite throughout Europe. A curious Danish version is given
by Thiele, iii. 148:
Lille Trille
Laae paa Hylde;
Lille Trille
Faldt ned af Hylde.
Ingen Mand
I hele Land
Lille Trille curere kan.
Which may be thus translated:
Little Trille
Lay on a shelf:
Little Trille
Thence pitch'd himself:
Not all the men
In our land, I ken,
Can put Little Trille right again.
And Mr. Stephens has preserved two copies in his MS. Swedish
collections. The first is from the province of Upland:
Thille Lille
Satt på take';
Thille Lille
Trilla' ner;
Ingen läkare i hela verlden
Thille Lille laga kan.
Thille Lille
On the roof-tree sat;
Thille Lille
Down fell flat;
Never a leech the world can show
That Thille Lille can heal, I trow.
Another from the province of Småland:
Lille Bulle
Trilla' ner å skulle;
Ingen man i detta lan'
Lille Bulle laga kan.
Down on the shed
Lille Bulle rolled;
Never a man in all this land
Lille Bulle helpen can.
It will now only be necessary to refer to the similarities pointed out
in other parts of this work, to convince the reader that, at all events,
a very fair case is made out for the truth of the positions we have
contended for, if, indeed, sufficient evidence of their absolute truth
is not adduced. They who are accustomed to researches of this kind, are
too well aware of the facility with which the most plausible theories
are frequently nullified by subsequent discovery; but there appears in
the present case to be numerous conditions insoluble by any other
supposition than that of a common origin, and we are therefore fully
justified in adopting it as proved.
Turning to the nursery rhymes of our own country, it will tend
materially to strengthen the results to which we have arrived, if we
succeed in proving their antiquity in this island. We shall be enabled
to do so satisfactorily, and to show that they are not the modern
nonsense some folks may pronounce them to be. They illustrate the
history and manners of the people for centuries. Here, for instance, is
a relic in the form of a nursery rhyme, but in reality part of a
political song, referring to the rebellious times of Richard the
Second.[6]
My father he died, I cannot tell how,
But he left me six horses to drive out my plough!
With a wimmy lo! wommy lo! _Jack Straw, blazey-boys!_
Wimmy lo! wommy lo! wob, wob, wob!
[Footnote 6: I am here, and in a few other cases,
quoting from myself. It may be necessary to say
so, for my former collections on this subject
have been appropriated—"convey, the wise it
call"—in a work by a learned Doctor, the preface
to which is an amusing instance of plagiarism.]
An infant of the nineteenth century recalling our recollection to Jack
Straw and his "blazey-boys!" Far better this than teaching history with
notes "suited to the capacity of the youngest." Another refers to Joanna
of Castile, who visited the court of Henry the Seventh in 1506:
I had a little nut-tree, nothing would it bear
But a golden nutmeg and a silver pear;
The King of Spain's daughter came to visit me,
And all for the sake of my little nut-tree.
We have distinct evidence that the well-known rhyme,[7]
The King of France went up the hill,
With twenty thousand men:
The King of France came down the hill,
And ne'er went up again—
was composed before 1588, It occurs in an old tract called Pigges
Corantoe, 1642, where it is entitled "Old Tarlton's Song," referring to
Tarlton the jester, who died in 1588. The following one belongs to the
seventeenth century:
As I was going by Charing Cross,
I saw a black man upon a black horse;
They told me it was King Charles the First;
Oh dear, my heart was ready to burst!
[Footnote 7: An early variation occurs in MS.
Sloane 1489:
The king of France, and four thousand men,
They drew their swords, and put them up again.]
Political nursery-rhymes, or rather political rhymes of a jingling
character, which, losing their original application, are preserved only
in the nursery, were probably common in the seventeenth century. The two
just quoted have evidently an historical application. The manuscript
miscellanies of the time of James I. and Charles I. contain several
copies of literal rhymes not very unlike "A, B, C, tumble-down D." In
the reign of Charles II. political pasquinades constantly partook of
the genuine nursery character. We may select the following example, of
course put into the mouth of that sovereign, preserved in MS. Douce 357,
f. 124, in the Bodleian Library:
See-saw, sack-a-day;
Monmouth is a pretie boy,
Richmond is another,
Grafton is my onely joy,
And why should I these three destroy
To please a pious brother?
"What is the rhyme for porringer?" was written on occasion of the
marriage of Mary, the daughter of James Duke of York, afterwards James
II., with the young Prince of Orange: and the following alludes to
William III. and George Prince of Denmark:
William and Mary, George and Anne,
Four such children had never a man:
They put their father to flight and shame,
And call'd their brother a shocking bad name.
Another nursery song on King William is not yet obsolete, but its
application is not generally known. My authority is the title of it in
MS. Harl. 7316:
As I walk'd by myself,
And talked to myself,
Myself said unto me,
Look to thyself,
Take care of thyself,
For nobody cares for thee.
I answer'd myself,
And said to myself
In the self-same repartee,
Look to thyself,
Or not look to thyself,
The self-same thing will be.
To this class of rhymes I may add the following on Dr. Sacheverel,
which was obtained from oral tradition:
Doctor Sacheverel
Did very well,
But Jacky Dawbin
Gave him a warning.
When there are no allusions to guide us, it is only by accident that we
can hope to test the history and antiquity of these kind of scraps, but
we have no doubt whatever that many of them are centuries old. The
following has been traced to the time of Henry VI., a singular doggerel,
the joke of which consists in saying it so quickly that it cannot be
told whether it is English or gibberish:
In fir tar is,
In oak none is,
In mud eel is,
In clay none is,
Goat eat ivy,
Mare eat oats.
"Multiplication is vexation," a painful reality to schoolboys, was found
a few years ago in a manuscript dated 1570; and the memorial lines,
"Thirty days hath September," occur in the Return from Parnassus, an old
play printed in 1606. Our own reminiscences of such matters, and those
of Shakespeare, may thus have been identical! "To market, to market, to
buy a plum-bun," is partially quoted in Florio's New World of Words,
1611, in v. 'Abómba.' The old song of the "Carrion Crow sat on an Oak,"
was discovered by me in MS. Sloane 1489, of the time of Charles I., but
under a different form:
Hic, hoc, the carrion crow,
For I have shot something too low:
I have quite missed my mark,
And shot the poor sow to the heart;
Wife, bring treacle in a spoon,
Or else the poor sow's heart will down.
"Sing a song of sixpence" is quoted by Beaumont and Fletcher. "Buz,
quoth the blue fly," which is printed in the nursery halfpenny books,
belongs to Ben Jonson's Masque of Oberon; the old ditty of "Three Blind
Mice" is found in the curious music book entitled Deuteromelia, or the
Second Part of Musicke's Melodie, 1609; and the song, "When I was a
little girl, I wash'd my mammy's dishes," is given by Aubrey in MS.
Lansd. 231. "A swarm of bees in May," is quoted by Miege, 1687. And so
on of others, fragments of old catches and popular songs being
constantly traced in the apparently unmeaning rhymes of the nursery.
Most of us have heard in time past the school address to a story-teller:
Liar, liar, lick dish,
Turn about the candlestick.
Not very important lines, one would imagine, but they explain a passage
in Chettle's play of the Tragedy of Hoffman, or a Revenge for a Father,
4to. Lond, 1631, which would be partially inexplicable without such
assistance:
_Lor._ By heaven! it seemes hee did, but all was vaine;
The flinty rockes had cut his tender scull,
And the rough water wash't away his braine.
_Luc._ Lyer, lyer, licke dish!
The intention of the last speaker is sufficiently intelligible, but a
future editor, anxious to investigate his author minutely, might search
in vain for an explanation of _licke dish_. Another instance[8] of the
antiquity of children's rhymes I met with lately at Stratford-on-Avon,
in a MS. of the seventeenth century, in the collection of the late
Captain James Saunders, where, amongst common-place memoranda on more
serious subjects, written about the year 1630, occurred a version of
one of our most favorite nursery songs:
I had a little bonny nagg,
His name was Dapple Gray;
And he would bring me to an ale-house
A mile out of my way.
[Footnote 8: A dance called _Hey, diddle,
diddle_, is mentioned in the play of _King
Cambises_, written about 1561, and the several
rhymes commencing with the words may have been
original adaptations to that dance-tune.]
"Three children sliding on the ice" is founded on a metrical tale
published at the end of a translation of Ovid de Arte Amandi, 1662.[9]
The lines,
There was an old woman
Liv'd under a hill,
And if she ben't gone,
She lives there still—
[Footnote 9: See the whole poem in my Nursery
Rhymes of England, ed. 1842, p. 19.]
form part of an old catch, printed in the Academy of Complements, ed.
1714, p. 108. The same volume (p. 140) contains the original words to
another catch, which has been corrupted in its passage to the nursery:
There was an old man had three sons,
Had three sons, had three sons;
There was an old man had three sons,
Jeffery, James, and Jack.
Jeffery was hang'd and James was drown'd,
And Jack was lost, that he could not be found,
And the old man fell into a swoon,
For want of a cup of sack!
It is not improbable that Shakespeare, who has alluded so much and so
intricately to the vernacular rural literature of his day, has more
notices of nursery-rhymes and tales than research has hitherto elicited.
I am only acquainted with one reference to the former, "Pillicock sat on
Pillicock hill," which is quoted by Edgar in King Lear, iii. 4, and is
found in Gammer Gurton's Garland, and in most modern collections of
English nursery-rhymes. The secret meaning is not very delicate, nor is
it necessary to enter into any explanation on the subject. It may,
however, be worthy of remark, that the term _pillicock_ is found in a
manuscript (Harl. 913) in the British Museum of the thirteenth century.
English children accompanied their amusements with trivial verses from a
very early period, but as it is only by accident that any allusions to
them have been made, it is difficult to sustain the fact by many
examples. The Nomenclator or Remembrancer of Adrianus Junius, translated
by Higins, and edited by Fleming, 8vo. 1585, contains a few notices of
this kind; p. 298, "βασιλινδα, the playe called one penie, one
penie, come after me; χυτρινδα, the play called selling of
peares, or how many plums for a penie; p. 299, χοινοφιλινδα,
a kinde of playe called
Clowt, clowt,
To beare about,
or my hen hath layd; ιποστρακισμος, a kind of sport or play
with an oister shell or a stone throwne into the water, and making
circles yer it sinke, &c.; it is called,
A ducke and a drake,
And a halfe penie cake."
This last notice is particularly curious, for similar verses are used by
boys at the present day at the game of water-skimming. The amusement
itself is very ancient, and a description of it may be seen in Minucius
Felix, Lugd. Bat. 1652, p. 3. There cannot be a doubt but that many of
the inexplicable nonsense-rhymes of our nursery belonged to antique
recreations, but it is very seldom their original application can be
recovered. The well-known doggerel respecting the tailor of Bicester may
be mentioned as a remarkable instance of this, for it is one of the most
common nursery-rhymes of the present day, and Aubrey, MS. Lansd. 231,
writing in the latter part of the seventeenth century, preserved it as
part of the formula of a game called _leap-candle_. "The young girls in
and about Oxford have a sport called Leap-Candle, for which they set a
candle in the middle of the room in a candlestick, and then draw up
their coats into the form of breaches, and dance over the candle back
and forth, with these words:
The tailor of Biciter,
He has but one eye,
He cannot cut a pair of green galagaskins,
If he were to die.
This sport in other parts is called _Dancing the Candle Rush_." It may be
necessary to observe that _galagaskins_ were wide loose trousers.
The rhyme of Jack Horner has been stated to be a satire on the
Puritanical aversion to Christmas pies and suchlike abominations. It
forms part of a metrical chap-book history, founded on the same story as
the Friar and the Boy, entitled "The Pleasant History of Jack Horner,
containing his witty tricks, and pleasant pranks, which he played from
his youth to his riper years: right pleasant and delightful for winter
and summer's recreation," embellished with frightful woodcuts, which
have not much connexion with the tale. The pleasant history commences as
follows:
Jack Horner was a pretty lad,
Near London he did dwell,
His father's heart he made full glad,
His mother lov'd him well.
While little Jack was sweet and young,
If he by chance should cry,
His mother pretty sonnets sung,
With a lul-la-ba-by,
With such a dainty curious tone,
As Jack sat on her knee,
So that, e'er he could go alone,
He sung as well as she.
A pretty boy of curious wit,
All people spoke his praise,
And in the corner would he sit
In Christmas holydays.
When friends they did together meet,
To pass away the time—
Why, little Jack, he sure would eat
His Christmas pie in rhyme.
And said, Jack Horner, in the corner,
Eats good Christmas pie,
And with his thumbs pulls out the plumbs,
And said, Good boy am I!
Here we have an important discovery! Who before suspected that the
nursery-rhyme was written by Jack Horner himself?
Few children's rhymes are more common than those relating to Jack Sprat
and his wife, "Jack Sprat could eat no fat," &c.; but it is little
thought they have been current for two centuries. Such, however, is the
fact, and when Howell published his collection of Proverbs in 1659, p.
20, the story related to no less exalted a personage than an archdeacon:
Archdeacon Pratt would eat no fatt,
His wife would eat no lean;
'Twixt Archdeacon Pratt and Joan his wife,
The meat was eat up clean.
On the same page of this collection we find the commencement of the
rigmarole, "A man of words and not of deeds," which in the next century
was converted into a burlesque song on the battle of Culloden![10]
Double Dee Double Day,
Set a garden full of seeds;
When the seeds began to grow,
It's like a garden full of snow.
When the snow began to melt,
Like a ship without a belt.
When the ship began to sail,
Like a bird without a tail.
When the bird began to fly,
Like an eagle in the sky.
When the sky began to roar,
Like a lion at the door.
When the door began to crack,
Like a stick laid o'er my back.
When my back began to smart,
Like a penknife in my heart.
When my heart began to bleed,
Like a needleful of thread.
When the thread began to rot,
Like a turnip in the pot.
When the pot began to boil,
Like a bottle full of oil.
When the oil began to settle,
Like our Geordies bloody battle.
[Footnote 10: The following nursery game, played
by two girls, one personating the mistress and
the other a servant, was obtained from Yorkshire,
and may be interpreted as a dialogue between a
lady and her Jacobite maid:
_Lady._ Jenny, come here! So I hear you have
been to see that man.
_Maid._ What man, madam?
_Lady._ Why, the handsome man.
_Maid._ Why, madam, as I was a-passing by,
Thinking no harm, no not in the least, not I,
I did go in,
But had no ill intention in the thing,
For, as folks say, a cat may look at a king.
_Lady._ A king do you call him? You rebellious slut!
_Maid._ I did not call him so, dear lady, but—
_Lady._ But me none of your buttings, for not another day
Shall any rebel in my service stay;
I owe you twenty shillings—there's a guinea!
Go, pack your clothes, and get about your business,
Jenny.]
The earliest copy of the saying, "A man of words and not of deeds," I
have hitherto met with, occurs in MS. Harl. 1927, of the time of James
I. Another version, written towards the close of the seventeenth
century, but unfitted for publication, is preserved on the last leaf of
MS. Harl. 6580.
Many of the metrical nonsense-riddles of the nursery are of considerable
antiquity. A collection of conundrums formed early in the seventeenth
century by Randle Holmes, the Chester antiquary, and now preserved in
MS. Harl. 1962, contains several which have been traditionally
remembered up to the present day. Thus we find versions of "Little Nancy
Etticoat in a white petticoat," "Two legs sat upon three legs," "As
round as an apple," and others.[11]
[Footnote 11: A vast number of these kind of
rhymes have become obsolete, and old manuscripts
contain many not very intelligible. Take the
following as a specimen:
Ruste duste tarbotell,
Bagpipelorum hybattell.—_MS. Harl._ 7332, xvij. cent.]
During the latter portion of the seventeenth century numerous songs and
games were introduced which were long remembered in the English nursery.
"Questions and Commands" was a common game, played under various systems
of representation. One boy would enact king, and the subjects would give
burlesque answers, e. g.:
_K._ King I am!
_S._ I am your man.
_K._ What service will you do?
_S._ The best and worst, and all I can!
A clever writer in the Gentleman's Magazine for 1738, says this was
played during the Commonwealth in ridicule of sovereignty! He humorously
adds, continually quoting games then current: "During all Oliver's time,
the chief diversion was, 'The parson hath lost his fuddling-cap,' which
needs no explanation. At the Restoration succeeded love-games, as 'I
love my love with an A,' a 'Flower and a lady,' and 'I am a lusty
wooer;' changed in the latter end of this reign, as well as all King
James II.'s, to 'I am come to torment you.' At the Revolution, when all
people recovered their liberty, the children played promiscuously at
what game they liked best. The most favorite one, however, was 'Puss in
the corner.'" The same writer also mentions the game of "I am a Spanish
merchant."
The following nursery-rhyme is quoted in Parkin's Reply to Dr.
Stukeley's second number of the Origines Roystonianæ, 4to. 1748, p. 6,
but I am not aware that it is still current:—
Peter White will ne'er go right,
And would you know the reason why?
He follows his nose where'er he goes,
And that stands all awry.
The tale of "Old Mother Hubbard" is undoubtedly of some antiquity, were
we merely to judge of the rhyme of _laughing_ to _coffin_ in the third
verse.[12] "There was an old woman toss'd up in a blanket" is supposed
to be the original song of "Lilliburlero, or Old Woman, whither so
high?" the tune to which was published in 1678.[13] "Come, drink old ale
with me," a nursery catch, with an improper meaning now lost, is found
in MS. Harl. 7332, of the seventeenth century. "Round about, round
about, magotty-pie," is probably as old, magot-pie being an obsolete
term for a magpie. For a similar reason, the antiquity of "Here am I,
little Jumping Joan," may be inferred. Jumping Joan was the Cant term
for a lady of little reputation.[14] The well-known riddle, "As I was
going to St. Ives," occurs in MS. Harl. 7316, of the early part of the
last century; and the following extract from Poor Robin's Almanack for
1693, may furnish us with the original of the celebrated ballad on Tom
of Islington, though the latter buried his troublesome wife on Sunday:
"How one saw a lady on the Saturday, married her on the Sunday, she was
brought to bed on the Monday, the child christened on the Tuesday, it
died on the Wednesday, was buried on the Thursday, the bride's portion
was paid on the Friday, and the bridegroom ran clear away on the
Saturday!"
[Footnote 12: The first three verses are all the
original. The rest is modern, and was added when
Mother Hubbard was the first of a series of
eighteen-penny books published by Harris.]
[Footnote 13: Chappell's National Airs, p. 89.]
[Footnote 14: Beaumont and Fletcher, ed. Dyce,
viii. 176. The tune of Jumping Joan is mentioned
in MS. Harl. 7316, p. 67.]
The antiquity of a rhyme is not unfrequently determined by the use of
an obsolete expression. Thus it may be safely concluded that the common
nursery address to the white moth is no modern composition, from the use
of the term _dustipoll_, a very old nickname for a miller, which has
long fallen into disuse:
Millery, millery, dustipoll,
How many sacks have you stole?
Four and twenty and a peck:
Hang the miller up by his neck!
The expression is used by Robin Goodfellow in the old play of Grim, the
Collier of Croydon, first printed in 1662, but written considerably
before that period:
Now, miller, miller, dustipole,
I'll clapper-claw your jobbernole![15]
[Footnote 15: "Oh, madam, I will give you the
keys of Canterbury," must be a very ancient song,
as it mentions chopines, or high cork shoes, and
appears, from another passage, to have been
written before the invention of bell-pulls. The
obsolete term _delve_, to dig, exhibits the
antiquity of the rhyme "One, two, buckle my
shoe." _Minikin_ occurs in a rhyme printed in the
Nursery Rhymes of England, p. 145; _coif_, ibid.
p. 150; _snaps_, small fragments, ibid. p. 190;
_moppet_, a little pet, ibid. p. 193, &c.]
A very curious ballad, written about the year 1720, in the possession of
Mr. Crofton Croker, establishes the antiquity of the rhymes of
"Jack-a-Dandy," "Boys and girls come out to play," "Tom Tidler's on the
Friar's ground," "London bridge is broken down," "Who comes here, a
grenadier," and "See, saw, sacradown," besides mentioning others we have
before alluded to. The ballad is entitled, "Namby Pamby, or a Panegyric
on the New Versification, addressed to A. F., Esq."
Nanty Panty, Jack-a-Dandy,
Stole a piece of sugar-candy,
From the grocer's shoppy shop,
And away did hoppy hop.
In the course of the ballad, the writer thus introduces the titles of
the nursery rhymes,—
Namby Pamby's double mild,
Once a man, and twice a child;
To his hanging sleeves restor'd,
Now he fools it like a lord;
Now he pumps his little wits
All by little tiny bits.
Now, methinks, I hear him say,
Boys and girls, come out to play,
Moon do's shine as bright as day:
Now my Namby Pamby's[16] found
Sitting on the Friar's ground,
Picking silver, picking gold,—
Namby Pamby's never old:
Bally-cally they begin,
Namby Pamby still keeps in.
Namby Pamby is no clown—
London Bridge is broken down;
Now he courts the gay ladee,
Dancing o'er the Lady Lee:
Now he sings of Lickspit Liar,
Burning in the brimstone fire;
Lyar, lyar, Lickspit, lick,
Turn about the candlestick.
Now he sings of Jacky Horner,
Sitting in the chimney corner,
Eating of a Christmas pie,
Putting in his thumb, oh! fie!
Putting in, oh! fie, his thumb,
Pulling out, oh! strange, a plumb!
Now he acts the grenadier,
Calling for a pot of beer:
Where's his money? He's forgot—
Get him gone, a drunken sot!
Now on cock-horse does he ride,
And anon on timber stride,
Se and saw, and sack'ry down,
London is a gallant town!
[Footnote 16: Namby Pamby is said to have been a
nickname for Ambrose Phillips. Another ballad,
written about the same time as the above, alludes
to the rhyme of "Goosy Goosy, Gander."]
This ballad is a very important illustration of the history of these
puerile rhymes, for it establishes the fact that some we might aptly
consider modern are at least more than a century old; and who would have
thought such nonsense as,
Who comes here?
A grenadier!
What do you want?
A pot of beer!
Where's your money?
I've forgot!
Get you gone,
You drunken sot!
could have descended in all its purity for several generations, even
although it really may have a deep meaning and an unexceptionable moral?
Having thus, I trust, shown that the nursery has an archæology, the
study of which may eventually lead to important results, the jingles and
songs of our childhood are defended from the imputation of exclusive
frivolity. We may hope that, henceforth, those who have the opportunity
will not consider it a derogatory task to add to these memorials. But
they must hasten to the rescue. The antiquities of the people are
rapidly disappearing before the spread of education; and before many
years have elapsed, they will be lost, or recorded only in the
collections of the antiquary, perhaps requiring evidence that they ever
existed. This is the latest period at which there is a chance of our
arresting their disappearance. If, unfortunately, the most valuable
relics of this kind are wholly lost, many, doubtlessly, remain in the
remote districts sufficiently curious to reward the collector; and it is
to be hoped they will not be allowed to share the fate of Wade and his
boat Guingelot.
II.—FIRESIDE NURSERY STORIES.
The efforts of modern romance are so greatly superior to the best
fictions of a former age, that old wives' tales are not so readily
tolerated as they were in times past. We question whether any one in
these days, save a very grave antiquary, could read two chapters of the
Morte Arthure without a yawn. Let us, then, turn to that simpler class
of narratives which bears the same relation to novels that rural ballads
do to the poem; and ascertain whether the wild interest which, in the
primitive tales erewhile taught by nurse, first awakened our
imagination, can be so reflected as to render their resuscitation
agreeable. We rely a good deal for the success of the experiment on the
power of association; for though these inventions may, in their
character, be suited to the dawn of intellect, they not infrequently
bear the impress of creative fancy, and their imperceptible influence
over the mind does not always evaporate at a later age.
Few persons, indeed, there are, even amongst those who affect to be
insignificantly touched by the imagination, who can be recalled to the
stories and carols that charmed them in their childhood wholly without
emotion. An affectation of indifference in such matters is, of course,
not unusual, for most thoughts springing from early associations, and
those on which so many minds love to dwell, may not be indiscriminately
divulged. It is impossible they should be generally appreciated or
understood. Most of us, however, are liable to be occasionally touched
by allusions breathing of happy days, bearing our memories downward to
behold the shadows of joys that have long passed away like a dream. They
now serve only "to mellow our occasions," like that "old and antique
song" which relieved the passion of the Duke Orsino.
TEENY-TINY.
[This simple tale seldom fails to rivet the attention of children,
especially if well told. The last two words should be said loudly with a
start. It was obtained from oral tradition, and has not, I believe, been
printed.]
Once upon a time there was a teeny-tiny woman lived in a teeny-tiny
house in a teeny-tiny village. Now, one day this teeny-tiny woman put on
her teeny-tiny bonnet, and went out of her teeny-tiny house to take a
teeny-tiny walk. And when this teeny-tiny woman had gone a teeny-tiny
way, she came to a teeny-tiny gate; so the teeny-tiny woman opened the
teeny-tiny gate, and went into a teeny-tiny churchyard. And when this
teeny-tiny woman had got into the teeny-tiny churchyard, she saw a
teeny-tiny bone on a teeny-tiny grave, and the teeny-tiny woman said to
her teeny-tiny self, "This teeny-tiny bone will make me some teeny-tiny
soup for my teeny-tiny supper." So the teeny-tiny woman put the
teeny-tiny bone into her teeny-tiny pocket, and went home to her
teeny-tiny house.
Now when the teeny-tiny woman got home to her teeny-tiny house, she was
a teeny-tiny tired; so she went up her teeny-tiny stairs to her
teeny-tiny bed, and put the teeny-tiny bone into a teeny-tiny cupboard.
And when this teeny-tiny woman had been to sleep a teeny-tiny time, she
was awakened by a teeny-tiny voice from the teeny-tiny cupboard, which
said, "Give me my bone!" And this teeny-tiny woman was a teeny-tiny
frightened, so she hid her teeny-tiny head under the teeny-tiny clothes,
and went to sleep again. And when she had been to sleep again a
teeny-tiny time, the teeny-tiny voice again cried out from the
teeny-tiny cupboard a teeny-tiny louder, "Give me my bone!" This made
the teeny-tiny woman a teeny-tiny more frightened, so she hid her
teeny-tiny head a teeny-tiny further under the teeny-tiny clothes. And
when the teeny-tiny woman had been to sleep again a teeny-tiny time,
the teeny-tiny voice from the teeny-tiny cupboard said again a
teeny-tiny louder, "Give me my bone!" And this teeny-tiny woman was a
teeny-tiny bit more frightened, but she put her teeny-tiny head out of
the teeny-tiny clothes, and said in her loudest teeny-tiny voice, "Take
it!"
THE STORY OF MR. VINEGAR.
[This story was obtained from oral tradition in the West of England. It
is undoubtedly a variation of the "Hans im Glück" of Grimm, which is
current in Germany.]
Mr. and Mrs. Vinegar lived in a vinegar bottle. Now one day, when Mr.
Vinegar was from home, Mrs. Vinegar, who was a very good housewife, was
busily sweeping her house, when an unlucky thump of the broom brought
the whole house clitter-clatter, clitter-clatter, about her ears. In a
paroxysm of grief she rushed forth to meet her husband. On seeing him
she exclaimed, "Oh, Mr. Vinegar, Mr. Vinegar, we are ruined, we are
ruined: I have knocked the house down, and it is all to pieces!" Mr.
Vinegar then said, "My dear, let us see what can be done. Here is the
door; I will take it on my back, and we will go forth to seek our
fortune." They walked all that day, and at nightfall entered a thick
forest. They were both excessively tired, and Mr. Vinegar said, "My
love, I will climb up into a tree, drag up the door, and you shall
follow." He accordingly did so, and they both stretched their weary
limbs on the door, and fell fast asleep. In the middle of the night Mr.
Vinegar was disturbed by the sound of voices beneath, and to his
inexpressible dismay perceived that a party of thieves were met to
divide their booty. "Here, Jack," said one, "here's five pounds for you;
here, Bill, here's ten pounds for you; here, Bob, here's three pounds
for you." Mr. Vinegar could listen no longer; his terror was so intense
that he trembled most violently, and shook down the door on their
heads. Away scampered the thieves, but Mr. Vinegar dared not quit his
retreat till broad daylight. He then scrambled out of the tree, and went
to lift up the door. What did he behold but a number of golden guineas!
"Come down, Mrs. Vinegar," he cried, "come down, I say; our fortune's
made, our fortune's made! come down, I say." Mrs. Vinegar got down as
fast as she could, and saw the money with equal delight. "Now, my dear,"
said she, "I'll tell you what you shall do. There is a fair at the
neighbouring town; you shall take these forty guineas and buy a cow. I
can make butter and cheese, which you shall sell at market, and we shall
then be able to live very comfortably." Mr. Vinegar joyfully assents,
takes the money, and goes off to the fair. When he arrived, he walked up
and down, and at length saw a beautiful red cow. It was an excellent
milker, and perfect in every respect. Oh! thought Mr. Vinegar, if I had
but that cow I should be the happiest man alive; so he offers the forty
guineas for the cow, and the owner declaring that, as he was a friend,
he'd oblige him, the bargain was made. Proud of his purchase, he drove
the cow backwards and forwards to show it. By-and-by he saw a man
playing the bagpipes, Tweedle dum, tweedle dee; the children followed
him about, and he appeared to be pocketing money on all sides. Well,
thought Mr. Vinegar, if I had but that beautiful instrument I should be
the happiest man alive—my fortune would be made. So he went up to the
man, "Friend," says he, "what a beautiful instrument that is, and what a
deal of money you must make." "Why, yes," said the man, "I make a great
deal of money, to be sure, and it is a wonderful instrument." "Oh!"
cried Mr. Vinegar, "how I should like to possess it!" "Well," said the
man, "as you are a friend, I don't much mind parting with it; you shall
have it for that red cow." "Done," said the delighted Mr. Vinegar; so
the beautiful red cow was given for the bagpipes. He walked up and down
with his purchase, but in vain he attempted to play a tune, and instead
of pocketing pence, the boys followed him hooting, laughing, and
pelting. Poor Mr. Vinegar, his fingers grew very cold, and, heartily
ashamed and mortified, he was leaving the town, when he met a man with a
fine thick pair of gloves. "Oh, my fingers are so very cold," said Mr.
Vinegar to himself; "if I had but those beautiful gloves I should be the
happiest man alive." He went up to the man, and said to him, "Friend,
you seem to have a capital pair of gloves there." "Yes, truly," cried
the man; "and my hands are as warm as possible this cold November day."
"Well," said Mr. Vinegar, "I should like to have them." "What will you
give?" said the man; "as you are a friend, I don't much mind letting you
have them for those bagpipes." "Done," cried Mr. Vinegar. He put on the
gloves, and felt perfectly happy as he trudged homewards. At last he
grew very tired, when he saw a man coming towards him with a good stout
stick in his hand. "Oh," said Mr. Vinegar, "that I had but that stick! I
should then be the happiest man alive." He accosted the man—"Friend!
what a rare good stick you have got." "Yes," said the man, "I have used
it for many a long mile, and a good friend it has been, but if you have
a fancy for it, as you are a friend, I don't mind giving it to you for
that pair of gloves." Mr. Vinegar's hands were so warm, and his legs so
tired, that he gladly exchanged. As he drew near to the wood where he
had left his wife, he heard a parrot on a tree calling out his
name—"Mr. Vinegar, you foolish man, you blockhead, you simpleton; you
went to the fair, and laid out all your money in buying a cow; not
content with that, you changed it for bagpipes, on which you could not
play, and which were not worth one tenth of the money. You fool,
you—you had no sooner got the bagpipes than you changed them for the
gloves, which were not worth one quarter of the money; and when you had
got the gloves, you changed them for a poor miserable stick; and now for
your forty guineas, cow, bagpipes, and gloves, you have nothing to show
but that poor miserable stick, which you might have cut in any hedge."
On this the bird laughed immoderately, and Mr. Vinegar, falling into a
violent rage, threw the stick at its head. The stick lodged in the tree,
and he returned to his wife without money, cow, bagpipes, gloves, or
stick, and she instantly gave him such a sound cudgelling that she
almost broke every bone in his skin.
THE STORY OF CHICKEN-LICKEN.
[A shorter and very different version of this is given by Mr. Chambers,
p. 211.]
As Chicken-licken went one day to the wood, an acorn fell upon her poor
bald pate, and she thought the sky had fallen. So she said she would go
and tell the king that the sky had fallen. So chicken-licken turned
back, and met Hen-len. "Well, hen-len, where are you going?" And hen-len
said, "I'm going to the wood for some meat." And chicken-licken said,
"Oh! hen-len, don't go, for I was going, and the sky fell upon my poor
bald pate, and I'm going to tell the king." So hen-len turned back with
chicken-licken, and met Cock-lock. "Oh! cock-lock, where are you going?"
And cock-lock said, "I'm going to the wood for some meat." Then hen-len
said, "Oh! cock-lock, don't go, for I was going, and I met
chicken-licken, and chicken-licken had been at the wood, and the sky had
fallen on her poor bald pate, and we are going to tell the king."
So cock-lock turned back, and met Duck-luck. "Well, duck-luck, where are
you going?" And duck-luck said, "I'm going to the wood for some meat."
Then cock-lock said, "Oh! duck-luck, don't go, for I was going, and I
met hen-len, and hen-len met chicken-licken, and chicken-licken had been
at the wood, and the sky had fallen on her poor bald pate, and we are
going to tell the king."
So duck-luck turned back, and met Drake-lake. "Well, drake-lake, where
are you going?" And drake-lake said, "I'm going to the wood for some
meat." Then duck-luck said, "Oh! drake-lake, don't go, for I was going,
and I met cock-lock, and cock-lock met hen-len, and hen-len met
chicken-licken, and chicken-licken had been at the wood, and the sky had
fallen on her poor bald pate, and we are going to tell the king."
So drake-lake turned back, and met Goose-loose. "Well, goose-loose,
where are you going?" And goose-loose said, "I'm going to the wood for
some meat." Then drake-lake said, "Oh! goose-loose, don't go, for I was
going, and I met duck-luck, and duck-luck met cock-lock, and cock-lock
met hen-len, and hen-len met chicken-licken, and chicken-licken had been
at the wood, and the sky had fallen on her poor bald pate, and we are
going to tell the king."
So goose-loose turned back, and met Gander-lander. "Well, gander-lander,
where are you going?" And gander-lander said, "I'm going to the wood for
some meat." Then goose-loose said, "Oh! gander-lander, don't go, for I
was going, and I met drake-lake, and drake-lake met duck-luck, and
duck-luck met cock-lock, and cock-lock met hen-len, and hen-len met
chicken-licken, and chicken-licken had been at the wood, and the sky had
fallen on her poor bald pate, and we are going to tell the king."
So gander-lander turned back, and met Turkey-lurkey. "Well,
turkey-lurkey, where are you going?" And turkey-lurkey said, "I'm going
to the wood for some meat." Then gander-lander said, "Oh! turkey-lurkey,
don't go, for I was going, and I met goose-loose, and goose-loose met
drake-lake, and drake-lake met duck-luck, and duck-luck met cock-lock,
and cock-lock met hen-len, and hen-len met chicken-licken, and
chicken-licken had been at the wood, and the sky had fallen on her poor
bald pate, and we are going to tell the king."
So turkey-lurkey turned back, and walked with gander-lander,
goose-loose, drake-lake, duck-luck, cock-lock, hen-len, and
chicken-licken. And as they were going along, they met Fox-lox. And
fox-lox said, "Where are you going, my pretty maids?" And they said,
"Chicken-licken went to the wood, and the sky fell upon her poor bald
pate, and we are going to tell the king." And fox-lox said, "Come along
with me, and I will show you the way." But fox-lox took them into the
fox's hole, and he and his young ones soon ate up poor chicken-licken,
hen-len, cock-lock, duck-luck, drake-lake, goose-loose, gander-lander,
and turkey-lurkey, and they never saw the king, to tell him that the sky
had fallen!
THE MISER AND HIS WIFE.
["Let us cast away nothing," says Mr. Gifford, "for we know not what use
we may have for it." So will every one admit whose reading has been
sufficiently extensive to enable him to judge of the value of the
simplest traditional tales. The present illustrates a passage in Ben
Jonson in a very remarkable manner,—
——Say we are robb'd,
If any come to borrow a spoon or so;
I will not have Good Fortune or God's Blessing
Let in, while I am busy.]
Once upon a time there was an old miser, who lived with his wife near a
great town, and used to put by every bit of money he could lay his hands
on. His wife was a simple woman, and they lived together without
quarrelling, but she was obliged to put up with very hard fare. Now,
sometimes, when there was a sixpence she thought might be spared for a
comfortable dinner or supper, she used to ask the miser for it, but he
would say, "No, wife, it must be put by for Good Fortune." It was the
same with every penny he could get hold of, and notwithstanding all she
could say, almost every coin that came into the house was put by "for
Good Fortune."
The miser said this so often, that some of his neighbours heard him, and
one of them thought of a trick by which he might get the money. So the
first day that the old chuff was away from home, he dressed himself like
a wayfaring man, and knocked at the door. "Who are you?" said the wife.
He answered, "I am Good Fortune, and I am come for the money which your
husband has laid by for me." So this simple woman, not suspecting any
trickery, readily gave it to him, and, when her good man came home, told
him very pleasantly that Good Fortune had called for the money which had
been kept so long for him.
THE THREE QUESTIONS.
There lived formerly in the county of Cumberland a nobleman who had
three sons, two of whom were comely and clever youths, but the other a
natural fool, named Jack, who was generally dressed in a party-coloured
coat, and a steeple-crowned hat with a tassel, as became his condition.
Now the King of the East Angles had a beautiful daughter, who was
distinguished by her great ingenuity and wit, and he issued a decree
that whoever should answer three questions put to him by the princess
should have her in marriage, and be heir to the crown at his decease.
Shortly after this decree was published, news of it reached the ears of
the nobleman's sons, and the two clever ones determined to have a trial,
but they were sadly at a loss to prevent their idiot brother from going
with them. They could not, by any means, get rid of him, and were
compelled at length to let Jack accompany them. They had not gone far,
before Jack shrieked with laughter, saying, "I've found an egg." "Put it
in your pocket," said the brothers. A little while afterwards, he burst
out into another fit of laughter on finding a crooked hazel stick, which
he also put in his pocket: and a third time, he again laughed
extravagantly because he found a nut. That also was put with his other
treasures.
When they arrived at the palace, they were immediately admitted on
mentioning the nature of their business, and were ushered into a room
where the princess and her suite were sitting. Jack, who never stood on
ceremony, bawled out, "What a troop of fair ladies we've got here!"
"Yes," said the princess, "we are fair ladies, for we carry fire in our
bosoms." "Do you," said Jack, "then roast me an egg," pulling out the
egg from his pocket. "How will you get it out again?" said the princess.
"With a crooked stick," replied Jack, producing the hazel. "Where did
that come from?" said the princess. "From a nut," answered Jack, pulling
out the nut from his pocket. And thus the "fool of the family," having
been the first to answer the questions of the princess, was married to
her the next day, and ultimately succeeded to the throne.
THE CAT AND THE MOUSE.
[This tale has been traced back fifty years, but it is probably
considerably older.]
The cat and the mouse
Play'd in the malt-house:
The cat bit the mouse's tail off. Pray, puss, give me my tail. No, says
the cat, I'll not give you your tail, till you go to the cow, and fetch
me some milk:
First she leapt, and then she ran,
Till she came to the cow, and thus began,—
Pray, Cow, give me milk, that I may give cat milk, that cat may give me
my own tail again. No, said the cow, I will give you no milk, till you
go to the farmer and get me some hay.
First she leapt, and then she ran,
Till she came to the farmer, and thus began,—
Pray, Farmer, give me hay, that I may give cow hay, that cow may give me
milk, that I may give cat milk, that cat may give me my own tail again.
No, says the farmer, I'll give you no hay, till you go to the butcher
and fetch me some meat.
First she leapt, and then she ran,
Till she came to the butcher, and thus began,—
Pray, Butcher, give me meat, that I may give farmer meat, that farmer
may give me hay, that I may give cow hay, that cow may give me milk,
that I may give cat milk, that cat may give me my own tail again. No,
says the butcher, I'll give you no meat, till you go to the baker and
fetch me some bread.
First she leapt, and then she ran,
Till she came to the baker, and thus began,—
Pray, Baker, give me bread, that I may give butcher bread, that butcher
may give me meat, that I may give farmer meat, that farmer may give me
hay, that I may give cow hay, that cow may give me milk, that I may give
cat milk, that cat may give me my own tail again.
Yes, says the baker, I'll give you some bread,
But if you eat my meal, I'll cut off your head.
Then the baker gave mouse bread, and mouse gave butcher bread, and
butcher gave mouse meat, and mouse gave farmer meat, and farmer gave
mouse hay, and mouse gave cow hay, and cow gave mouse milk, and mouse
gave cat milk, and cat gave mouse her own tail again!
THE PRINCESS OF CANTERBURY.
In days of yore, when this country was governed by several sovereigns,
amongst them was the King of Canterbury, who had an only daughter, wise,
fair, and beautiful. She was unmarried, and according to a custom not
unusual in those days, of assigning an arbitrary action for the present
of a lady's hand, the king issued a proclamation that whoever would
watch one night with his daughter, and neither sleep nor doze, should
have her the next day in marriage; but if he did either, he should lose
his head. Many knights attempted to fulfil the condition, and, having
failed in the attempt, forfeited their lives.
Now it happened that a young shepherd, grazing his flock near the road,
said to his master, "Zur,[17] I zee many gentlemen ride to the court at
Canterbury, but I ne'er zee 'em return again." "O, shepherd," said his
master, "I know not how you should, for they attempt to watch with the
king's daughter, according to the decree, and not performing it, they
are all beheaded." "Well," said the shepherd, "I'll try my vorton; zo
now vor a king's daughter, or a headless shepherd!" And taking his
bottle and bag, he trudged to the court. In his way thither, he was
obliged to cross a river, and pulling off his shoes and stockings, while
he was passing over he observed several pretty fish bobbing against his
feet; so he caught some, and put them into his pocket. When he reached
the palace, he knocked at the gate loudly with his crook, and having
mentioned the object of his visit, he was immediately conducted to a
hall, where the king's daughter sat ready prepared to receive her
lovers. He was placed in a luxurious chair, and rich wines and spices
were set before him, and all sorts of delicate meats. The shepherd,
unused to such fare, eat and drank plentifully, so that he was nearly
dozing before midnight. "O shepherd," said the lady, "I have caught you
napping!" "Noa, sweet ally, I was busy a-feeshing." "A-fishing!" said
the princess in the utmost astonishment: "Nay, shepherd, there is no
fish-pond in the hall." "No matter vor that, I have been feeshing in my
pocket, and have just caught one." "Oh me!" said she, "let me see it."
The shepherd slily drew the fish out of his pocket, and pretending to
have caught it, showed it her, and she declared it was the finest she
ever saw. About half an hour afterwards, she said, "Shepherd, do you
think you could get me one more?" He replied, "Mayhap I may, when I have
baited my hook;" and after a little while he brought out another, which
was finer than the first, and the princess was so delighted that she
gave him leave to go to sleep, and promised to excuse him to her father.
[Footnote 17: The present Kentish dialect does
not adopt this form, but anciently some of the
peculiarities of what is now the western dialect
of England extended all over the southern
counties.]
In the morning the princess told the king, to his great astonishment,
that the shepherd must not be beheaded, for he had been fishing in the
hall all night; but when he heard how the shepherd had caught such
beautiful fish out of his pocket, he asked him to catch one in his own.
The shepherd readily undertook the task, and bidding the king lie down,
he pretended to fish in his pocket, having another fish concealed ready
in his hand, and giving him a sly prick with a needle, he held up the
fish, and showed it to the king. His majesty did not much relish the
operation, but he assented to the marvel of it, and the princess and
shepherd were united the same day, and lived for many years in happiness
and prosperity.
LAZY JACK.
[From oral tradition in Yorkshire.]
Once upon a time there was a boy whose name was Jack, and he lived with
his mother on a dreary common. They were very poor, and the old woman
got her living by spinning, but Jack was so lazy that he would do
nothing but bask in the sun in the hot weather, and sit by the corner of
the hearth in the winter time. His mother could not persuade him to do
anything for her, and was obliged at last to tell him that if he did not
begin to work for his porridge, she would turn him out to get his living
as he could.
This threat at length roused Jack, and he went out and hired himself for
the day to a neighbouring farmer for a penny; but as he was coming home,
never having had any money in his possession before, he lost it in
passing over a brook. "You stupid boy," said his mother, "you should
have put it in your pocket." "I'll do so another time," replied Jack.
The next day Jack went out again, and hired himself to a cowkeeper, who
gave him a jar of milk for his day's work. Jack took the jar and put it
into the large pocket of his jacket, spilling it all, long before he got
home. "Dear me!" said the old woman; "you should have carried it on your
head." "I'll do so another time," replied Jack.
The following day Jack hired himself again to a farmer, who agreed to
give him a cream cheese for his services. In the evening, Jack took the
cheese, and went home with it on his head. By the time he got home the
cheese was completely spoilt, part of it being lost, and part matted
with his hair. "You stupid lout," said his mother, "you should have
carried it very carefully in your hands." "I'll do so another time,"
replied Jack.
The day after this Jack again went out, and hired himself to a baker,
who would give him nothing for his work but a large tom-cat. Jack took
the cat, and began carrying it very carefully in his hands, but in a
short time Pussy scratched him so much that he was compelled to let it
go. When he got home, his mother said to him, "You silly fellow, you
should have tied it with a string, and dragged it along after you."
"I'll do so another time," said Jack.
The next day Jack hired himself to a butcher, who rewarded his labours
by the handsome present of a shoulder of mutton. Jack took the mutton,
tied it to a string, and trailed it along after him in the dirt, so that
by the time he had got home the meat was completely spoilt. His mother
was this time quite out of patience with him, for the next day was
Sunday, and she was obliged to content herself with cabbage for her
dinner. "You ninnyhammer," said she to her son, "you should have carried
it on your shoulder." "I'll do so another time," replied Jack.
On the Monday Jack went once more, and hired himself to a cattle-keeper,
who gave him a donkey for his trouble. Although Jack was very strong, he
found some difficulty in hoisting the donkey on his shoulders, but at
last he accomplished it, and began walking slowly home with his prize.
Now it happened that in the course of his journey there lived a rich man
with his only daughter, a beautiful girl, but unfortunately deaf and
dumb; she had never laughed in her life, and the doctors said she would
never recover till somebody made her laugh.[18] Many tried without
success, and at last the father, in despair, offered her in marriage to
the first man who could make her laugh. This young lady happened to be
looking out of the window when Jack was passing with the donkey on his
shoulders, the legs sticking up in the air, and the sight was so comical
and strange, that she burst out into a great fit of laughter, and
immediately recovered her speech and hearing. Her father was overjoyed,
and fulfilled his promise by marrying her to Jack, who was thus made a
rich gentleman. They lived in a large house, and Jack's mother lived
with them in great happiness until she died.
[Footnote 18: An incident analogous to this
occurs in Grimm, Die Goldene Gans. See Edgar
Taylor's Gammer Grethel, 1839, p. 5.]
THE THREE HEADS OF THE WELL.
[This story is abridged from the old chap-book of the Three Kings of
Colchester. The incident of the heads rising out of the well is very
similar to one introduced in Peele's Old Wives Tale, 1595, and the verse
is also of a similar character.]
Long before Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, there reigned in
the eastern part of England a king who kept his court at Colchester. He
was witty, strong, and valiant, by which means he subdued his enemies
abroad, and secured peace among his subjects at home. Nevertheless, in
the midst of his glory, his queen died, leaving behind her an only
daughter, about fifteen years of age. This lady, from her courtly
carriage, beauty, and affability, was the wonder of all that knew her;
but, as covetousness is said to be the root of all evil, so it happened
in this instance. The king hearing of a lady who had likewise an only
daughter, for the sake of her riches had a mind to marry; though she was
old, ugly, hook-nosed, and humpbacked, yet all this could not deter him
from marrying her. Her daughter, also, was a yellow dowdy, full of envy
and ill-nature; and, in short, was much of the same mould as her mother.
This signified nothing, for in a few weeks the king, attended by the
nobility and gentry, brought his intended bride to his palace, where the
marriage rites were performed. They had not been long in the court
before they set the king against his own beautiful daughter, which was
done by false reports and accusations. The young princess, having lost
her father's love, grew weary of the court, and one day meeting with
her father in the garden, she desired him, with tears in her eyes, to
give her a small subsistence, and she would go and seek her fortune; to
which the king consented, and ordered her mother-in-law to make up a
small sum according to her discretion. She went to the queen, who gave
her a canvass bag of brown bread and hard cheese, with a bottle of beer;
though this was but a very pitiful dowry for a king's daughter. She took
it, returned thanks, and proceeded on her journey, passing through
groves, woods, and valleys, till at length she saw an old man sitting on
a stone at the mouth of a cave, who said, "Good morrow, fair maiden,
whither away so fast?" "Aged father," says she, "I am going to seek my
fortune." "What has thou in thy bag and bottle?" "In my bag I have got
bread and cheese, and in my bottle good small beer; will you please to
partake of either?" "Yes," said he, "with all my heart." With that the
lady pulled out her provisions, and bid him eat and welcome. He did so,
and gave her many thanks, saying thus: "There is a thick thorny hedge
before you, which will appear impassable, but take this wand in your
hand, strike three times, and say, 'Pray, hedge, let me come through,'
and it will open immediately; then, a little further, you will find a
well; sit down on the brink of it, and there will come up three golden
heads, which will speak: pray do whatever they require." Promising she
would follow his directions, she took her leave of him. Arriving at the
hedge, and pursuing the old man's directions, it divided, and gave her a
passage; then, going to the well, she had no sooner sat down than a
golden head came up singing—
Wash me, and comb me,
And lay me down softly,
And lay me on a bank to dry,
That I may look pretty,
When somebody comes by.
"Yes," said she, and putting forth her hand, with a silver comb
performed the office, placing it upon a primrose bank. Then came up a
second and a third head, making the same request, which she complied
with. She then pulled out her provisions and ate her dinner. Then said
the heads one to another, "What shall we do for this lady who hath used
us so kindly?" The first said, "I will cause such addition to her beauty
as shall charm the most powerful prince in the world." The second said,
"I will endow her with such perfume, both in body and breath, as shall
far exceed the sweetest flowers." The third said, "My gift shall be none
of the least, for, as she is a king's daughter, I'll make her so
fortunate that she shall become queen to the greatest prince that
reigns." This done, at their request she let them down into the well
again, and so proceeded on her journey. She had not travelled long
before she saw a king hunting in the park with his nobles; she would
have avoided him, but the king having caught a sight of her, approached,
and what with her beauty and perfumed breath, was so powerfully smitten,
that he was not able to subdue his passion, but commenced his courtship
immediately, and was so successful that he gained her love, and,
conducting her to his palace, he caused her to be clothed in the most
magnificent manner.
This being ended, and the king finding that she was the king of
Colchester's daughter, ordered some chariots to be got ready, that he
might pay the king a visit. The chariot in which the king and queen rode
was adorned with rich ornamental gems of gold. The king, her father, was
at first astonished that his daughter had been so fortunate as she was,
till the young king made him sensible of all that happened. Great was
the joy at court amongst all, with the exception of the queen and her
club-footed daughter, who were ready to burst with malice, and envied
her happiness; and the greater was their madness because she was now
above them all. Great rejoicings, with feasting and dancing, continued
many days. Then at length, with the dowry her father gave her they
returned home.
The deformed daughter perceiving that her sister had been so happy in
seeking her fortune, would needs do the same; so disclosing her mind to
her mother, all preparations were made, and she was furnished not only
with rich apparel, but sweetmeats, sugar, almonds, &c., in great
quantities, and a large bottle of Malaga sack. Thus provided, she went
the same road as her sister, and coming near the cave, the old man said,
"Young woman, whither so fast?" "What is that to you," said she. "Then,"
said he, "what have you in your bag and bottle?" She answered, "Good
things, which you shall not be troubled with." "Won't you give me some?"
said he. "No, not a bit, nor a drop, unless it would choke you." The old
man frowned, saying, "Evil fortune attend thee." Going on, she came to
the hedge, through which she espied a gap, and thought to pass through
it, but, going in, the hedge closed, and the thorns run into her flesh,
so that it was with great difficulty that she got out. Being now in a
painful condition, she searched for water to wash herself, and, looking
round, she saw the well; she sat down on the brink of it, and one of the
heads came up, saying, "Wash me, comb me, and lay me down softly, &c."
but she banged it with her bottle, saying, "Take this for your washing."
So the second and third heads came up, and met with no better treatment
than the first; whereupon the heads consulted among themselves what
evils to plague her with for such usage. The first said, "Let her be
struck with leprosy in her face." The second, "Let an additional smell
be added to her breath." The third bestowed on her a husband, though but
a poor country cobler. This done, she goes on till she came to a town,
and it being market day, the people looked at her, and seeing such an
evil face fled out of her sight, all but a poor cobler (who not long
before had mended the shoes of an old hermit, who having no money, gave
him a box of ointment for the cure of the leprosy, and a bottle of
spirits for a stinking breath). Now the cobler having a mind to do an
act of charity, was induced to go up to her and ask her who she was. "I
am," said she, "the king of Colchester's daughter-in-law." "Well," said
the cobler, "if I restore you to your natural complexion, and make a
sound cure both in face and breath, will you in reward take me for a
husband?" "Yes, friend," replied she, "with all my heart." With this the
cobler applied the remedies, and they worked the effect in a few weeks,
and then they were married, and after a few days they set forward for
the court at Colchester. When the queen understood she had married a
poor cobler, she fell into distraction, and hanged herself for vexation.
The death of the queen was not a source of sorrow to the king, who had
only married her for her fortune, and bore her no affection; and shortly
afterwards he gave the cobler a hundred pounds to take the daughter to a
remote part of the kingdom, where he lived many years mending shoes,
while his wife assisted the housekeeping by spinning, and selling the
results of her labours at the country market.
THE MAIDEN AND THE FROG.
[This tale of the frog-lover is known in every part of Germany, and is
alluded to by several old writers of that country. It is the tale "Der
Froschkönig, oder der Eiserne Heinrich," in Grimm. "These enchanted
frogs," says Sir W. Scott, "have migrated from afar, and we suspect that
they were originally crocodiles; we trace them in a tale forming part of
a series of stories entitled the Relations of Ssidi Kur, extant amongst
the Calmuck Tartars." Mr. Chambers has given a Scotch version of the
tale, under the title of "The well o' the warld's end," in his Popular
Rhymes, p. 236. The rhymes in the copy given above were obtained from
the North of England, without, however, any reference to the story to
which they evidently belong. The application, however, is so obvious to
any one acquainted with the German and Scotch tale, that the framework I
have ventured to give them cannot be considered incongruous; although I
need not add how very desirable it would be to procure the traditional
tale as related by the English peasantry. Perhaps some of our readers
may be enabled to supply it.]
Many years ago there lived on the brow of a mountain, in the North of
England, an old woman and her daughter. They were very poor, and
obliged to work very hard for their living, and the old woman's temper
was not very good, so that the maiden, who was very beautiful, led but
an ill life with her. The girl, indeed, was compelled to do the hardest
work, for her mother got their principal means of subsistence by
travelling to places in the neighbourhood with small articles for sale,
and when she came home in the afternoon she was not able to do much more
work. Nearly the whole domestic labour of the cottage devolved therefore
on the daughter, the most wearisome part of which consisted in the
necessity of fetching all the water they required from a well on the
other side of the hill, there being no river or spring near their own
cottage.
It happened one morning that the daughter had the misfortune, in going
to the well, to break the only pitcher they possessed, and having no
other utensil she could use for the purpose, she was obliged to go home
without bringing any water. When her mother returned, she was
unfortunately troubled with excessive thirst, and the girl, though
trembling for the consequences of her misfortune, told her exactly the
circumstance that had occurred. The old woman was furiously angry, and
so far from making any allowances for her daughter, pointed to a sieve
which happened to be on the table, and told her to go at once to the
well and bring her some water in that, or never venture to appear again
in her sight.
The young maiden, frightened almost out of her wits by her mother's
fury, speedily took the sieve, and though she considered the task a
hopeless one to accomplish, almost unconsciously hastened to the well.
When she arrived there, beginning to reflect on the painful situation in
which she was placed, and the utter impossibility of her obtaining a
living by herself, she threw herself down on the brink of the well in an
agony of despair. Whilst she was in this condition, a large frog came up
to the top of the water, and asked her for what she was crying so
bitterly. She was somewhat surprised at this, but not being the least
frightened, told him the whole story, and that she was crying because
she could not carry away water in the sieve. "Is that all?" said the
frog; "cheer up, my hinny! for if you will only let me sleep with you
for two nights, and then chop off my head, I will tell you how to do
it." The maiden thought the frog could not be in earnest, but she was
too impatient to consider much about it, and at once made the required
promise. The frog then instructed her in the following words,—
Stop with fog (_moss_),
And daub with clay;
And that will carry
The water away.
Having said this, he dived immediately under the water, and the girl,
having followed his advice, got the sieve full of water, and returned
home with it, not thinking much of her promise to the frog. By the time
she reached home the old woman's wrath was appeased, but as they were
eating their frugal supper very quietly, what should they hear but the
splashing and croaking of a frog near the door, and shortly afterwards
the daughter recognised the voice of the frog of the well saying,—
Open the door, my hinny, my heart,
Open the door, my own darling;
Remember the words you spoke to me,
In the meadow by the well-spring.
She was now dreadfully frightened, and hurriedly explained the matter to
her mother, who was also so much alarmed at the circumstance, that she
dared not refuse admittance to the frog, who, when the door was opened,
leapt into the room, exclaiming:
Go wi' me to bed, my hinny, my heart,
Go wi' me to bed, my own darling;
Remember the words you spoke to me,
In the meadow by the well-spring.
This command was also obeyed, although, as may be readily supposed, she
did not much relish such a bedfellow. The next day, the frog was very
quiet, and evidently enjoyed the fare they placed before him,—the
purest milk and the finest bread they could procure. In fact, neither
the old woman nor her daughter spared any pains to render the frog
comfortable. That night, immediately supper was finished, the frog again
exclaimed:
Go wi' me to bed, my hinny, my heart,
Go wi' me to bed, my own darling;
Remember the words you spoke to me,
In the meadow by the well-spring.
She again allowed the frog to share her couch, and in the morning, as
soon as she was dressed, he jumped towards her, saying:
Chop off my head, my hinny, my heart,
Chop off my head, my own darling;
Remember the words you spoke to me,
In the meadow by the well-spring.
The maiden had no sooner accomplished this last request, than in the
stead of the frog there stood by her side the handsomest prince in the
world, who had long been transformed by a magician, and who could never
have recovered his natural shape until a beautiful virgin had consented,
of her own accord, to make him her bedfellow for two nights. The joy of
all parties was complete; the girl and the prince were shortly
afterwards married, and lived for many years in the enjoyment of every
happiness.
THE STORY OF MR. FOX.
[A simple, but very curious tale, of considerable antiquity. It is
alluded to by Shakespeare, and was contributed to the variorum edition
by Blakeway. Part of this story will recall to the reader's memory the
enchanted chamber of Britomart.]
Once upon a time there was a young lady called Lady Mary, who had two
brothers. One summer they all three went to a country seat of theirs
which they had not before visited. Among the other gentry in the
neighbourhood who came to see them was a Mr. Fox, a bachelor, with whom
they, particularly the young lady, were much pleased. He used often to
dine with them, and frequently invited Lady Mary to come and see his
house. One day, when her brothers were absent elsewhere, and she had
nothing better to do, she determined to go thither, and accordingly set
out unattended. When she arrived at the house and knocked at the door,
no one answered. At length she opened it and went in, and over the
portal of the door was written:
Be bold, be bold, but not too bold.
She advanced, and found the same inscription over the staircase; again
at the entrance of a gallery; and lastly, at the door of a chamber, with
the addition of a line:
Be bold, be bold, but not too bold,
Lest that your heart's blood should run cold!
She opened it, and what was her terror and astonishment to find the
floor covered with bones and blood. She retreated in haste, and coming
down stairs, she saw from a window Mr. Fox advancing towards the house
with a drawn sword in one hand, while with the other he dragged along a
young lady by the hair of her head. Lady Mary had just time to slip
down, and hide herself under the stairs, before Mr. Fox and his victim
arrived at the foot of them. As he pulled the young lady upstairs, she
caught hold of one of the bannisters with her hand, on which was a rich
bracelet. Mr. Fox cut it off with his sword: the hand and bracelet fell
into Lady Mary's lap, who then contrived to escape unobserved, and got
safe home to her brothers' house.
A few days afterwards, Mr. Fox came to dine with them as usual. After
dinner, the guests began to amuse each other with extraordinary
anecdotes, and Lady Mary said she would relate to them a remarkable
dream she had lately had. I dreamt, said she, that as you, Mr. Fox, had
often invited me to your house, I would go there one morning. When I
came to the house, I knocked at the door, but no one answered. When I
opened the door, over the hall I saw written, "Be bold, be bold, but not
too bold." But, said she, turning to Mr. Fox, and smiling, "It is not
so, nor it was not so." Then she pursued the rest of the story,
concluding at every turn with, "It is not so, nor it was not so," till
she came to the discovery of the room full of bones, when Mr. Fox took
up the burden of the tale, and said:
It is not so, nor it was not so,
And God forbid it should be so!
which he continued to repeat at every subsequent turn of the dreadful
story, till she came to the circumstance of his cutting off the young
lady's hand, when, upon his saying, as usual,
It is not so, nor it was not so,
And God forbid it should be so!
Lady Mary retorts by saying,
But it is so, and it was so,
And here the hand I have to show!
at the same moment producing the hand and bracelet from her lap.
Whereupon the guests drew their swords, and instantly cut Mr. Fox into a
thousand pieces.
THE OXFORD STUDENT.
[Obtained in Oxfordshire from tradition.]
Many years ago there lived at the University of Oxford a young student,
who, having seduced the daughter of a tradesman, sought to conceal his
crime by committing the more heinous one of murder. With this view, he
made an appointment to meet her one evening in a secluded field. She was
at the rendezvous considerably before the time agreed upon for their
meeting, and hid herself in a tree. The student arrived on the spot
shortly afterwards, but what was the astonishment of the girl to observe
that he commenced digging a grave. Her fears and suspicions were
aroused, and she did not leave her place of concealment till the
student, despairing of her arrival, returned to his college. The next
day, when she was at the door of her father's house, he passed and
saluted her as usual. She returned his greeting by repeating the
following lines:
One moonshiny night, as I sat high,
Waiting for one to come by,
The boughs did bend; my heart did ache
To see what hole the fox did make.
Astounded by her unexpected knowledge of his base design, in a moment of
fury he stabbed her to the heart. This murder occasioned a violent
conflict between the tradespeople and the students, the latter taking
part with the murderer, and so fierce was the skirmish, that Brewer's
Lane, it is said, ran down with blood. The place of appointment was
adjoining the Divinity Walk, which was in time past far more secluded
than at the present day, and she is said to have been buried in the
grave made for her by her paramour.
According to another version of the tale, the name of the student was
Fox, and a fellow-student went with him to assist in digging the grave.
The verses in this account differ somewhat from the above.
As I went out in a moonlight night,
I set my back against the moon,
I looked for one, and saw two come:
The boughs did bend, the leaves did shake,
I saw the hole the Fox did make.
JACK HORNBY.
[This little tale was most likely copied from the commencement of the
original edition of Jack the Giant-killer, where similar incidents are
related of that renowned hero.]
In the reign of King Arthur there lived near the Land's End, in
Cornwall, a wealthy farmer, who had an only son, commonly called Jack
Hornby. He was of a brisk and ready wit, and he was never known to be
outwitted in any transaction.
One day, when he was no more than seven years of age, his father sent
him into the field to look after his oxen. While he was attending to
them, the lord of the manor came across the field, and as Jack was known
to be a clever boy, he began asking him questions. His first was, "How
many commandments are there?" Jack told him there were nine. The lord
corrected him, saying there were ten. "Nay," quoth Jack, "you are wrong
there: it is true there were ten, but you broke one of them when you
stole my father's cow for your rent." The lord of the manor was so
struck by this answer, that he promised to return the poor man's cow.
"Now," quoth Jack, "it is my turn to ask a question. Can you tell me how
many sticks go to build a crow's nest?" "Yes," said he, "there are as
many go as are sufficient for the size of the nest." "Oh!" quoth Jack,
"you are out again; there are none go, for they are all carried!"
Jack Hornby was never more troubled with questions by the lord of the
manor.
MALLY DIXON AND KNURRE-MURRE.
Stories of fairies appearing in the shape of cats are common in the
North of England. Mr. Longstaffe relates that a farmer of Staindrop, in
Durham, was one night crossing a bridge, when a cat jumped out, stood
before him, and looking him full in the face, said:
Johnny Reed! Johnny Reed!
Tell Madam Momfort
That Mally Dixon's dead.
The farmer returned home, and in mickle wonder recited this awfu' stanza
to his wife, when up started their black cat, saying, "Is she?" and
disappeared for ever. It was supposed she was a fairy in disguise, who
thus went to attend a sister's funeral, for in the North fairies do die,
and green shady spots are pointed out by the country folks as the
cemeteries of the tiny people. An analogous story is found in the
people-literature of Denmark. Near a town called Lyng is the hill of
Brondhoë, inhabited by the trold-folk, or imps. Amongst these trolds was
an old sickly devil, peevish and ill-tempered, because he was married to
a young wife. This unhappy trold often set the rest by the ears, so they
nicknamed him Knurre-Murre, or Rumble-Grumble. Now it came to pass, that
Knurre-Murre discovered that his young wife was inclined to honour him
with a supplemental pair of horns; and the object of his jealousy, to
avoid his vengeance, was compelled to fly for his life from the cavern,
and take refuge, in the shape of a tortoise-shell cat, in the house of
Goodman Platt, who harboured him with much hospitality, let him lie on
the great wicker chair, and fed him twice a day with bread and milk out
of a red earthenware pipkin. One evening the goodman came home, at a
late hour, full of wonderment. "Goody," exclaimed he to his wife, "as I
was passing by Brondhoë, there came out a trold, who spake to me,
saying,
Hör du Plat,
Süg til din cat
At Knurre-Murre er död.
Hear thou, Platt,
Say to thy cat
That Knurre-Murre is dead."
The tortoise-shell cat was lying on the great wicker chair, and eating
his supper of bread and milk out of the red earthenware pipkin, when the
goodman came in; but as soon as the message was delivered, he jumped
bolt upright upon his two hind legs, for all the world like a Christian,
and kicking the red earthenware pipkin and the rest of the bread and
milk before him, he whisked through the cottage door, mewing, "What! is
Knurre-Murre dead? then I may go home again!"[19]
[Footnote 19: This analysis of the Danish tale is
taken from an article in the Quarterly Review,
xxi. 98.]
THE BULL OF NORROWAY
[This is a modern version, taken down from recitation, of the very old
tale of the _Black Bull of Norroway_, mentioned in the Complaynt of
Scotland, 1548. It is here taken, by the author's kind permission, from
the Popular Rhymes of Scotland, by Mr. Robert Chambers, the most
delightful book of the kind ever published.]
To wilder measures next they turn:
The black black bull of Norroway!
Sudden the tapers cease to burn,
The minstrels cease to play!
Once upon a time there lived a king who had three daughters; the two
eldest were proud and ugly, but the youngest was the gentlest and most
beautiful creature ever seen, and the pride not only of her father and
mother, but of all in the land. As it fell out, the three princesses
were talking one night of whom they would marry. "I will have no one
lower than a king," said the eldest princess; the second would take a
prince, or a great duke even. "Pho, pho," said the youngest, laughing,
"you are both so proud; now, I would be content with the Red Bull o'
Norroway." Well, they thought no more of the matter till the next
morning, when, as they sat at breakfast, they heard the most dreadful
bellowing at the door, and what should it be but the Red Bull come for
his bride. You may be sure they were all terribly frightened at this,
for the Red Bull was one of the most horrible creatures ever seen in the
world. And the king and queen did not know how to save their daughter.
At last they determined to send him off with the old henwife. So they
put her on his back, and away he went with her till he came to a great
black forest, when, throwing her down, he returned, roaring louder and
more frightfully than ever. They then sent, one by one, all the
servants, then the two eldest princesses; but not one of them met with
any better treatment than the old henwife, and at last they were forced
to send their youngest and favorite child.
On travelled the lady and the bull through many dreadful forests and
lonely wastes, till they came at last to a noble castle, where a large
company was assembled. The lord of the castle pressed them to stay,
though much he wondered at the lovely princess and her strange
companion. When they went in among the company, the princess espied a
pin sticking in the bull's hide, which she pulled out, and, to the
surprise of all, there appeared not a frightful wild beast, but one of
the most beautiful princes ever beheld. You may believe how delighted
the princess was to see him fall at her feet, and thank her for breaking
his cruel enchantment. There were great rejoicings in the castle at
this; but, alas! at that moment he suddenly disappeared, and though
every place was sought, he was nowhere to be found. The princess,
however, determined to seek through all the world for him, and many
weary ways she went, but nothing could she hear of her lover. Travelling
once through a dark wood, she lost her way, and as night was coming on,
she thought she must now certainly die of cold and hunger; but seeing a
light through the trees, she went on till she came to a little hut,
where an old woman lived, who took her in, and gave her both food and
shelter. In the morning, the old wifie gave her three nuts, that she was
not to break till her heart was "like to break, and owre again like to
break;" so, showing her the way, she bade God speed her, and the
princess once more set out on her wearisome journey.
She had not gone far till a company of lords and ladies rode past her,
all talking merrily of the fine doings they expected at the Duke o'
Norroway's wedding. Then she came up to a number of people carrying all
sorts of fine things, and they, too, were going to the duke's wedding.
At last she came to a castle, where nothing was to be seen but cooks and
bakers, some running one way, and some another, and all so busy that
they did not know what to do first. Whilst she was looking at all this,
she heard a noise of hunters behind her, and some one cried out, "Make
way for the Duke o' Norroway!" and who should ride past but the prince
and a beautiful lady! You may be sure her heart was now "like to break,
and owre again like to break," at this sad sight; so she broke one of
the nuts, and out came a wee wifie carding. The princess then went into
the castle, and asked to see the lady, who no sooner saw the wee wifie
so hard at work, than she offered the princess anything in her castle
for it. "I will give it to you," said she, "only on condition that you
put off for one day your marriage with the Duke o' Norroway, and that I
may go into his room alone to-night." So anxious was the lady for the
nut, that she consented. And when dark night was come, and the duke fast
asleep, the princess was put alone into his chamber. Sitting down by
his bedside, she began singing:
Far hae I sought ye, near am I brought to ye;
Dear Duke of Norroway, will ye no turn and speak to me?
Though she sang this over and over again, the duke never wakened, and in
the morning the princess had to leave him, without his knowing she had
ever been there. She then broke the second nut, and out came a wee wifie
spinning, which so delighted the lady, that she readily agreed to put
off her marriage another day for it; but the princess came no better
speed the second night than the first, and, almost in despair, she broke
the last nut, which contained a wee wifie reeling; and on the same
condition as before, the lady got possession of it. When the duke was
dressing in the morning, his man asked him what the strange singing and
moaning that had been heard in his room for two nights meant. "I heard
nothing," said the duke; "it could only have been your fancy." "Take no
sleeping-draught to night, and be sure to lay aside your pillow of
heaviness," said the man, "and you also will hear what for two nights
has kept me awake." The duke did so, and the princess coming in, sat
down sighing at his bedside, thinking this the last time she might ever
see him. The duke started up when he heard the voice of his dearly-loved
princess; and with many endearing expressions of surprise and joy,
explained to her that he had long been in the power of an enchantress,
whose spells over him were now happily ended by their once again
meeting. The princess, happy to be the instrument of his second
deliverance, consented to marry him, and the enchantress, who fled that
country, afraid of the duke's anger, has never since been heard of. All
was hurry and preparation in the castle, and the marriage which now took
place at once ended the adventures of the Red Bull o' Norroway and the
wanderings of the king's daughter.
PUSS IN BOOTS.
[One of the tales of Perrault, 1697. The plot was taken from the first
novel of the eleventh night of Straparola. Its moral is that talents are
equivalent to fortune. We have inserted this in our collection, although
generally remembered, as a specimen of the simple tales founded by
Perrault on older stories, and which soon became popular in this
country. The others, as Blue Beard, and Little Riding Hood, are
vanishing from the nursery, but are so universally known that reprints
of them would be superfluous.]
There was a miller, who left no more estate to his three sons than his
mill, his ass, and his cat. The partition was soon made, neither
scrivener nor attorney being sent for. They would soon have eaten up all
the patrimony. The eldest had the mill, the second the ass, and the
youngest nothing but the cat.
The poor young fellow was quite downcast at so poor a lot. "My
brothers," said he, "may get their living handsomely enough by joining
their stocks together, but for my part, when I have eaten up my cat, and
made me a muff of his skin, I must die with hunger." The cat, who heard
all this, yet made as if he did not, said to him, with a grave and
serious air, "Do not thus afflict yourself, my good master; you have
nothing else to do but give me a bag, and get a pair of boots made for
me, that I may scamper through the dirt and the brambles, and you shall
see that you have not so bad a portion as you imagine." Though he did
not build very much upon what the cat said, he had however often seen
him play a great many cunning tricks to catch rats and mice: as when he
used to hang by the heels, or hide himself in the meal, and make as if
he were dead; so that he did not altogether despair of his affording him
some help in his miserable condition. When the cat had what he asked
for, he booted himself very gallantly; and putting the bag about his
neck, held the strings of it in his two fore paws, and went into a
warren where there was a great abundance of rabbits. He put bran and
sow-thistles into the bag, and stretching himself out at length, as if
he had been dead, he waited for some young rabbits not yet acquainted
with the deceits of the world, to come and rummage his bag for what he
had put into it.
Scarce was he laid down, but he had what he wanted; a rash and foolish
young rabbit jumped into his bag, and Monsieur Puss immediately drawing
the strings close, took and killed him without pity. Proud of his prey,
he went with it into the palace, and asked to speak with his majesty. He
was shown upstairs into the king's apartment, and, making a low
reverence, said to him, "I have brought you, Sire, a rabbit of the
warren, which my noble lord, the Marquis of Carabas (for that was the
title which Puss was pleased to give his master), has commanded me to
present to your majesty from him." "Tell thy master," said the king,
"that I thank him, and he does me a great deal of pleasure."
Another time he went and hid himself amongst some standing corn, holding
his bag open; and when a brace of partridges ran into it, he drew the
strings, and so caught them both. He went and made a present of these to
the king, as he had done before of the rabbit. The king received the
partridges with great pleasure, and ordered him some money for drink.
The cat continued, for two or three months, to carry game to his
majesty. One day in particular, when he knew that the king was to take
the air along the river side, with his daughter, the most beautiful
princess in the world, he said to his master, "If you will follow my
advice, your fortune is made; you have nothing else to do, but go and
wash yourself in the river, in that part I shall show you, and leave the
rest to me." The Marquis of Carabas did what the cat advised, without
knowing why or wherefore.
While he was washing, the king passed by, and the cat began to cry out,
as loud as he could, "Help, help! my Lord Marquis of Carabas is going to
be drowned!" At this noise the king put his head out of the
coach-window, and finding it was the cat who had so often brought him
such good game, he commanded the guards to run immediately to the
assistance of his lordship, the Marquis of Carabas.
While they were drawing the poor marquis out of the river, the cat came
up to the coach and told the king, that, while his master was washing,
there came by some rogues who went off with his clothes, though he had
cried out, "Thieves! thieves!" several times, as loud as he could. This
cunning cat had hidden them under a great stone. The king immediately
commanded the officers of his wardrobe to run and fetch one of his best
suits for the Lord Marquis of Carabas.
The king caressed him after a very extraordinary manner, and as the fine
clothes he had given him extremely set off his good mien (for he was
well-made and very handsome in his person), the king's daughter took a
secret inclination to him, and the Marquis of Carabas had no sooner cast
two or three respectful and tender glances, but she fell in love with
him to distraction; and the king would have him come into his coach. The
cat, overjoyed to see his project begin to succeed, marched on before,
and meeting with some countrymen who were mowing a meadow, he said to
them, "Good people, if you do not tell the king that the meadow you mow
belongs to the Marquis of Carabas, you shall be chopped as small as
herbs for the pot."
The king did not fail to ask the mowers to whom the meadow they were
mowing belonged. "To my Lord Marquis of Carabas," answered they all
together; for the cat's threats had made them terribly afraid. "You see,
sir," said the marquis, "this is a meadow that never fails to yield a
plentiful harvest every year." The cat, who still went on before, met
with some reapers, and said to them, "Good people, you who are reaping,
if you do not tell the king that all this corn belongs to the Marquis
of Carabas, you shall be chopped as small as herbs for the pot." The
king, who passed by a moment after, would needs know to whom all that
corn did belong. "To my Lord Marquis of Carabas," replied the reapers;
and the king was very well pleased with it, as well as the marquis, whom
he congratulated thereupon. The master cat went always before, saying
the same words to all he met; and the king was astonished at the vast
estates of my Lord Marquis of Carabas. Monsieur Puss came at last to a
stately castle, the master of which was an ogre, the richest that had
ever been known; for all the lands the king had then gone over belonged
to him; the cat, having taken care to inform himself who this ogre was,
and what he could do, asked to speak to him, saying, "He could not pass
so near his castle, without having the honour of paying his respects to
him."
The ogre received him as civilly as an ogre could do, and made him sit
down. "I have been assured," said the cat, "that you have the gift of
being able to change yourself into all sorts of creatures you have a
mind to; you can, for example, transform yourself into a lion or
elephant, and the like." "This is true," answered the ogre, very briskly,
"and to convince you, you shall see me now become a lion." Puss was so
sadly terrified at the sight of a lion so near him, that he immediately
got into the gutter, not without great trouble and danger, because of
his boots, which were of no use at all to him in walking upon the tiles.
A little while after, when Puss saw that the ogre had resumed his
natural form, he came down, and owned that he had been very much
frightened.
"I have been moreover informed," said the cat, "but I know not how to
believe it, that you have also the power to take upon you the smallest
animals, for example, to change yourself into a rat or a mouse, but I
must own to you, I take this to be impossible." "Impossible!" cried the
ogre, "you shall see that presently;" and at the same time changed
himself into a mouse, and began to run about the floor. Puss no sooner
perceived this, but he fell upon him, and eat him up.
Meanwhile the king, who saw as he passed this fine castle of the ogre's,
had a mind to go into it. Puss, who heard the noise of his majesty's
coach running over the drawbridge, ran out, and said to the king, "Your
majesty is welcome to this castle of the Lord Marquis of Carabas."
"What! my lord marquis," cried the king, "and does this castle also
belong to you? there can be nothing finer than this court, and all the
stately buildings which surround it: let us go into it, if you please."
The king went up first, the marquis, handing the princess, following;
they passed into a spacious hall, where they found a magnificent
collation the ogre had prepared for his friends, who dared not enter,
knowing the king was there. His majesty was perfectly charmed with the
good qualities of the marquis, and his daughter was violently in love
with him. The king, after having drank five or six glasses, said to him,
"My lord marquis, you will be only to blame, if you are not my
son-in-law." The marquis, making several low bows, accepted the honour
his majesty conferred upon him, and forthwith the very same day married
the princess.
Puss became a great lord, and never ran after mice any more but only for
his diversion.
JACK AND THE GIANTS.
[The present copy of this tale is taken, with a few necessary
alterations, from the original editions, which differ very considerably
from the modern versions; and it is worthy of preservation in its
antique costume, for the story is undoubtedly of Teutonic origin. "Jack,
commonly called the Giant Killer," says Sir W. Scott, "and Thomas Thumb
landed in England from the very same keels and war-ships which conveyed
Hengist and Horsa, and Ebba the Saxon." One incident in the romance
exactly corresponds to a device played by the giant Skrimner, when he
and Thor travelled to Utgard Castle, related in the Edda of Snorro.
Skrimner placed an immense rock on the leafy couch where Thor supposed
he was sleeping, and when the latter, desiring to rid himself of his
companion, heard the giant snore, he struck the rock with his tremendous
hammer, thinking it was the monster's head. "Hath a leaf fallen upon me
from the tree?" exclaimed the awakened giant. He went to sleep again,
and snoring louder than ever, Thor gave a blow which he thought must
have cracked his skull. "What is the matter?" quoth Skrimner, "hath an
acorn fallen on my head?" A third time the snore was heard, and a third
time the hammer fell with redoubled force, insomuch that Thor weened the
iron had buried itself in Skrimner's temples. "Methinks," quoth the
giant, rubbing his cheek, "some moss hath fallen on my face!" Jack's
invisible coat, his magic sword, and his shoes of swiftness, are also
undoubtedly borrowed from Northern romance.[20]
[Footnote 20: The last is also found in the
second relation of Ssidi Kur, a Calmuck romance.]
An incident very similar to the blows with the rat's tail occurs in the
story of the Brave Little Tailor, in Grimm; who outwits a giant in
several ingenious ways, one of which may be described. On one occasion
the giant wished to try the strength of the tailor, by challenging him
to carry a tree. The latter said, "Very well, you carry the butt-end,
while I will carry all the branches, by far the heaviest part of the
tree." So the giant lifted the tree up on his shoulders, and the tailor
very coolly sat on the branches while the giant carried the tree. At
length he was so tired with his load, he was obliged to drop it, and the
tailor, nimbly jumping off, made belief as if he had been carrying the
branches all the time, and said: "A pretty fellow you are, that can't
carry a tree!"
The edition of Jack the Giant-killer here used was printed at
Newcastle-on-Tyne in 1711. The earliest in the British Museum is dated
1809, nor does the Bodleian, I believe, contain a copy of a more ancient
type.
Jack and the Bean-stalk may be added to the series of English
nursery-tales derived from the Teutonic. The bean-stalk is a descendant
of the wonderful ash in the Edda. The distich put into the mouth of the
giant,
Snouk but, snouk ben,
I find the smell of earthly men;
is, says Scott, scarcely inferior to the keen-scented anthropophaginian
in Jack the Giant-killer.]
In the reign of King Arthur, and in the county of Cornwall, near to the
Land's End of England, there lived a wealthy farmer, who had an only son
named Jack. He was brisk, and of a lively ready wit, so that whatever he
could not perform by force and strength, he accomplished by ingenious
wit and policy. Never was any person heard of that could worst him, and
he very often even baffled the learned by his sharp and ready
inventions.
In those days the Mount of Cornwall was kept by a huge and monstrous
giant of eighteen feet in height, and about three yards in compass, of a
fierce and grim countenance, the terror of all the neighbouring towns
and villages. He inhabited a cave in the middle of the mount, and he was
such a selfish monster that he would not suffer any one to live near
him. He fed on other men's cattle, which often became his prey, for
whensoever he wanted food, he would wade over to the main land, where he
would furnish himself with whatever came in his way. The inhabitants, at
his approach, forsook their habitations, while he seized on their
cattle, making nothing of carrying half-a-dozen oxen on his back at a
time; and as for their sheep and hogs, he would tie them round his waist
like a bunch of bandoleers.[21] This course he had followed for many
years, so that a great part of the county was impoverished by his
depredations.
[Footnote 21: _Bandoleers_ were little wooden
cases covered with leather, each of them
containing the charge of powder for a musket, and
fastened to a broad band of leather, which the
person who was to use them put round his neck.]
This was the state of affairs, when Jack, happening one day to be
present at the town-hall when the authorities were consulting about the
giant, had the curiosity to ask what reward would be given to the person
who destroyed him. The giant's treasure was declared as the recompense,
and Jack at once undertook the task.
In order to accomplish his purpose, he furnished himself with a horn,
shovel, and pickaxe, and went over to the Mount in the beginning of a
dark winter's evening, when he fell to work, and before morning had dug
a pit twenty-two feet deep, and nearly as broad, covering it over with
long sticks and straw. Then strewing a little mould upon it, it appeared
like plain ground. This accomplished, Jack placed himself on the side of
the pit which was furthest from the giant's lodging, and, just at the
break of day, he put the horn to his mouth, and blew with all his might,
Although Jack was a little fellow, and the powers of his voice are not
described as being very great, he managed to make noise enough to arouse
the giant, and excite his indignation. The monster accordingly rushed
from his cave, exclaiming, "You incorrigible villain, are you come here
to disturb my rest? you shall pay dearly for this. Satisfaction I will
have, for I will take you whole and broil you for breakfast." He had no
sooner uttered this cruel threat, than tumbling into the pit, he made
the very foundations of the Mount ring again. "Oh, giant," said Jack,
"where are you now? Oh faith, you are gotten now into Lob's Pound,[22]
where I will surely plague you for your threatening words: what do you
think now of broiling me for your breakfast? will no other diet serve
you but poor Jack?" Thus did little Jack tantalize the big giant, as a
cat does a mouse when she knows it cannot escape, and when he had tired
of that amusement, he gave him a heavy blow with his pickaxe on the very
crown of his head, which "tumbled him down," and killed him on the spot.
When Jack saw he was dead, he filled up the pit with earth, and went to
search the cave, which he found contained much treasure. The
magistrates, in the exuberance of their joy, did not add to Jack's gains
from their own, but after the best and cheapest mode of payment, made a
declaration he should henceforth be termed _Jack the Giant-killer_, and
presented him with a sword and embroidered belt, on the latter of which
were inscribed these words in letters of gold:
Here's the right valiant Cornish man,
Who slew the giant Cormelian.
[Footnote 22: An old jocular term for a prison,
or any place of confinement.]
The news of Jack's victory, as might be expected, soon spread over all
the West of England, so that another giant, named Thunderbore, hearing
of it, and entertaining a partiality for his race, vowed to be revenged
on the little hero, if ever it was his fortune to light on him. This
giant was the lord of an enchanted castle, situated in the midst of a
lonely wood. Now Jack, about four months after his last exploit, walking
near this castle in his journey towards Wales, being weary, seated
himself near a pleasant fountain in the wood, "o'ercanopied with
luscious woodbine," and presently fell asleep. While he was enjoying his
repose, the giant, coming to the fountain for water, of course
discovered him, and recognised the hated individual by the lines written
on the belt. He immediately took Jack on his shoulders, and carried him
towards his enchanted castle. Now, as they passed through a thicket, the
rustling of the boughs awakened Jack, who was uncomfortably surprised to
find himself in the clutches of the giant. His terror was not diminished
when, on entering the castle, he saw the court-yard strewed with human
bones, the giant maliciously telling him his own would ere long increase
the hateful pile. After this assurance, the cannibal locked poor Jack in
an upper chamber, leaving him there while he went to fetch another giant
living in the same wood to keep him company in the anticipated
destruction of their enemy. While he was gone, dreadful shrieks and
lamentations affrighted Jack, especially a voice which continually
cried,—
Do what you can to get away,
Or you'll become the giant's prey;
He's gone to fetch his brother, who
Will kill, and likewise torture you.
This warning, and the hideous tone in which it was delivered, almost
distracted poor Jack, who going to the window, and opening a casement,
beheld afar off the two giants approaching towards the castle. "Now,"
quoth Jack to himself, "my death or my deliverance is at hand." The
event proved that his anticipations were well founded, for the giants of
those days, however powerful, were at best very stupid fellows, and
readily conquered by stratagem, were it of the humblest kind. There
happened to be strong cords in the room in which Jack was confined, two
of which he took, and made a strong noose at the end of each; and while
the giant was unlocking the iron gate of the castle, he threw the ropes
over each of their heads, and then, before the giants knew what he was
about, he drew the other ends across a beam, and, pulling with all his
might, throttled them till they were black in the face. Then, sliding
down the rope, he came to their heads, and as they could not defend
themselves, easily despatched them with his sword. This business so
adroitly accomplished, Jack released the fair prisoners in the castle,
delivered the keys to them, and, like a true knight-errant, continued
his journey without condescending to improve the condition of his purse.
This plan, however honorable, was not without its disadvantages, and
owing to his slender stock of money, he was obliged to make the best of
his way by travelling as hard as he could. At length, losing his road,
he was belated, and could not get to any place of entertainment until,
coming to a lonesome valley, he found a large house, and by reason of
his present necessity, took courage to knock at the gate. But what was
his astonishment, when there came forth a monstrous giant with two
heads; yet he did not appear so fiery as the others were, for he was a
Welsh giant, and what he did was by private and secret malice under the
false show of friendship. Jack having unfolded his condition to the
giant, was shown into a bedroom, where, in the dead of night, he heard
his host in another apartment uttering these formidable words:
Though here you lodge with me this night,
You shall not see the morning light:
My club shall dash your brains out quite!
"Say'st thou so," quoth Jack; "that is like one of your Welsh tricks,
yet I hope to be cunning enough for you." He immediately got out of bed,
and, feeling about in the dark, found a thick billet of wood, which he
laid in the bed in his stead, and hid himself in a dark corner of the
room. Shortly after he had done so, in came the Welsh giant, who
thoroughly pummelled the billet with his club, thinking, naturally
enough, he had broken every bone in Jack's skin. The next morning,
however, to the inexpressible surprise of the giant, Jack came down
stairs as if nothing had happened, and gave him thanks for his night's
lodging. "How have you rested," quoth the giant; "did you not feel
anything in the night?" Jack provokingly replied, "No, nothing but a rat
which gave me two or three flaps with her tail." This reply was totally
incomprehensible to the giant, who of course saw anything but a joke in
it. However, concealing his amazement as well as he could, he took Jack
in to breakfast, assigning to each a bowl containing four gallons of
hasty pudding. One would have thought that the greater portion of so
extravagant an allowance would have been declined by our hero, but he
was unwilling the giant should imagine his incapability to eat it, and
accordingly placed a large leather bag under his loose coat, in such a
position that he could convey the pudding into it without the deception
being perceived. Breakfast at length being finished, Jack excited the
giant's curiosity by offering to show him an extraordinary sleight of
hand; so taking a knife, he ripped the leather bag, and out of course
descended on the ground all the hasty pudding. The giant had not the
slightest suspicion of the trick, veritably believing the pudding came
from its natural receptacle; and having the same antipathy to being
beaten, exclaimed in true Welsh, "Odds splutters, hur can do that trick
hurself." The sequel may be readily guessed. The monster took the knife,
and thinking to follow Jack's example with impunity, killed himself on
the spot.[23]
[Footnote 23: The foregoing portion of this
wonderful history is that most generally known;
but the incidents now become more complicated,
and after the introduction of Arthur's son upon
the scene, we arrive at particulars which have
long been banished from the nursery library.]
King Arthur's only son requested his father to furnish him with a large
sum of money, in order that he might go and seek his fortune in the
principality of Wales, where lived a beautiful lady possessed with seven
evil spirits. The king tried all he could do to persuade him to alter
his determination, but it was all in vain, so at last he granted his
request, and the prince set out with two horses, one loaded with money,
the other for himself to ride upon. Now, after several days' travel, he
came to a market-town in Wales, where he beheld a vast concourse of
people gathered together. The prince demanded the reason of it, and was
told that they had arrested a corpse for several large sums of money
which the deceased owed when he died. The prince replied that it was a
pity creditors should be so cruel, and said, "Go bury the dead, and let
his creditors come to my lodging, and there their debts shall be
discharged." They accordingly came, but in such great numbers, that
before night he had almost left himself penniless.
Now Jack the Giant-killer happened to be in the town while these
transactions took place, and he was so pleased with the generosity
exhibited by the prince, that he offered to become his servant, an offer
which was immediately accepted. The next morning they set forward on
their journey, when, as they were just leaving the town, an old woman
called after the prince, saying, "He has owed me twopence these seven
years; pray pay me as well as the rest." So reasonable and urgent a
demand could not be resisted, and the prince immediately discharged the
debt, but it took the last penny he had to accomplish it. This event,
though generally ridiculed by heroes, was one by no means overlooked by
the prince, who required all Jack's assuring eloquence to console him.
Jack himself, indeed, had a very poor exchequer, and after their day's
refreshment, they were entirely without money. When night drew on, the
prince was anxious to secure a lodging, but as they had no means to hire
one, Jack said, "Never mind, master, we shall do well enough, for I have
an uncle lives within two miles of this place; he is a huge and
monstrous giant with three heads; he'll fight five hundred men in
armour, and make them flee before him." "Alas!" quoth the prince, "what
shall we do there? He'll certainly chop us up at a mouthful. Nay, we are
scarce enough to fill his hollow tooth!" "It is no matter for that,"
quoth Jack; "I myself will go before, and prepare the way for you;
therefore tarry and wait till I return." Jack then rides off full speed,
and coming to the gate of the castle, he knocked so loud that the
neighbouring hills resounded like thunder. The giant, terribly vexed
with the liberty taken by Jack, roared out, "Who's there?" He was
answered, "None but your poor cousin Jack." Quoth he, "What news with my
poor cousin Jack?" He replied, "Dear uncle, heavy news." "God wot,"
quoth the giant, "prithee what heavy news can come to me? I am a giant
with three heads, and besides thou knowest I can fight five hundred men
in armour, and make them fly like chaff before the wind." "Oh, but,"
quoth Jack, "here's the prince a-coming with a thousand men in armour to
kill you, and destroy all that you have!" "Oh, cousin Jack," said the
giant, "this is heavy news indeed! I will immediately run and hide
myself, and thou shalt lock, bolt, and bar me in, and keep the keys till
the prince is gone." Jack joyfully complied with the giant's request,
and fetching his master, they feasted and made themselves merry whilst
the poor giant laid trembling in a vault under ground.
In the morning, Jack furnished the prince with a fresh supply of gold
and silver, and then sent him three miles forward on his journey,
concluding, according to the story-book, "he was then pretty well out of
the smell of the giant." Jack afterwards returned, and liberated the
giant from the vault, who asked what he should give him for preserving
the castle from destruction. "Why," quoth Jack, "I desire nothing but
the old coat and cap, together with the old rusty sword and slippers
which are at your bed's head." Quoth the giant, "Thou shalt have them,
and pray keep them for my sake, for they are things of excellent use;
the coat will keep you invisible, the cap will furnish you with
knowledge, the sword cuts asunder whatever you strike, and the shoes are
of extraordinary swiftness. These may be serviceable to you: therefore
take them with all my heart."
Jack was delighted with these useful presents, and having overtaken his
master, they quickly arrived at the lady's house, who, finding the
prince to be a suitor, prepared a splendid banquet for him. After the
repast was concluded, she wiped his mouth with a handkerchief, and then
concealed it in her dress, saying, "You must show me that handkerchief
to-morrow morning, or else you will lose your head." The prince went to
bed in great sorrow at this hard condition, but fortunately Jack's cap
of knowledge instructed him how it was to be fulfilled. In the middle of
the night she called upon her familiar[24] to carry her to the evil
spirit. Jack immediately put on his coat of darkness, and his shoes of
swiftness, and was there before her, his coat rendering him invisible.
When she entered the lower regions, she gave the handkerchief to the
spirit, who laid it upon a shelf, whence Jack took it, and brought it to
his master, who showed it to the lady the next day, and so saved his
life. The next evening at supper she saluted the prince, telling him he
must show her the lips tomorrow morning that she kissed last this night,
or lose his head. He replied, "If you kiss none but mine, I will." "That
is neither here nor there," said she, "if you do not, death is your
portion!" At midnight she went below as before, and was angry with the
spirit for letting the handkerchief go: "But now," quoth she, "I will be
too hard for the prince, for I will kiss thee, and he is to show me thy
lips." She did so, and Jack, who was standing by, cut off the spirit's
head, and brought it under his invisible coat to his master, who
produced it triumphantly the next morning before the lady. This feat
destroyed the enchantment, the evil spirits immediately forsook her, and
she appeared still more sweet and lovely, beautiful as she was before.
They were married the next morning, and shortly afterwards went to the
court of King Arthur, where Jack, for his eminent services, was created
one of the knights of the Round Table.
[Footnote 24: An attendant spirit.]
Our hero, having been successful in all his undertakings, and resolving
not to remain idle, but to perform what services he could for the honour
of his country, humbly besought his majesty to fit him out with a horse
and money to enable him to travel in search of new adventures; for, said
he, "there are many giants yet living in the remote part of Wales, to
the unspeakable damage of your majesty's subjects; wherefore may it
please you to encourage me, I do not doubt but in a short time to cut
them off root and branch, and so rid all the realm of those giants and
monsters in human shape." We need scarcely say that Jack's generous
offer was at once accepted. The king furnished him with the necessary
accoutrements, and Jack set out with his magical cap, sword, and shoes,
the better to perform the dangerous enterprises which now lay before
him.
After travelling over several hills and mountains, the country through
which he passed offering many impediments to travellers, on the third
day he arrived at a very large wood, which he had no sooner entered than
his ears were assailed with piercing shrieks. Advancing softly towards
the place where the cries appeared to proceed from, he was horror-struck
at perceiving a huge giant dragging along a fair lady, and a knight her
husband, by the hair of their heads, "with as much ease," says the
original narrative, "as if they had been a pair of gloves." Jack shed
tears of pity on the fate of this hapless couple, but not suffering his
feelings to render him neglectful of action, he put on his invisible
coat, and taking with him his infallible sword, succeeded, after
considerable trouble, and many cuts, to despatch the monster, whose
dying groans were so terrible, that they made the whole wood ring again.
The courteous knight and his fair lady were overpowered with gratitude,
and, after returning Jack their best thanks, they invited him to their
residence, there to recruit his strength after the frightful encounter,
and receive more substantial demonstrations of their obligations to him.
Jack, however, declared that he would not rest until he had found out
the giant's habitation. The knight, on hearing this determination, was
very sorrowful, and replied, "Noble stranger, it is too much to run a
second hazard: this monster lived in a den under yonder mountain, with a
brother more fierce and cruel than himself. Therefore, if you should go
thither, and perish in the attempt, it would be a heart-breaking to me
and my lady: let me persuade you to go with us, and desist from any
further pursuit." The knight's reasoning had the very opposite effect
that was intended, for Jack, hearing of another giant, eagerly embraced
the opportunity of displaying his skill, promising, however, to return
to the knight when he had accomplished his second labour.
He had not ridden more than a mile and a half, when the cave mentioned
by the knight appeared to view, near the entrance of which he beheld the
giant, sitting upon a block of timber, with a knotted iron club by his
side, waiting, as he supposed, for his brother's return with his
barbarous prey. This giant is described as having "goggle eyes like
flames of fire, a countenance grim and ugly, cheeks like a couple of
large flitches of bacon, the bristles of his beard resembling rods of
iron wire, and locks that hung down upon his brawny shoulders like
curled snakes or hissing adders." Jack alighted from his horse, and
putting on the invisible coat, approached near the giant, and said
softly, "Oh! are you there? it will not be long ere I shall take you
fast by the beard." The giant all this while could not see him, on
account of his invisible coat, so that Jack, coming up close to the
monster, struck a blow with his sword at his head, but unfortunately
missing his aim, he cut off the nose instead. The giant, as we may
suppose, "roared like claps of thunder," and began to lay about him in
all directions with his iron club so desperately, that even Jack was
frightened, but exercising his usual ingenuity, he soon despatched him.
After this, Jack cut off the giant's head, and sent it, together with
that of his brother, to King Arthur, by a waggoner he hired for that
purpose, who gave an account of all his wonderful proceedings.
The redoubtable Jack next proceeded to search the giant's cave in search
of his treasure, and passing along through a great many winding
passages, he came at length to a large room paved with freestone, at the
upper end of which was a boiling caldron, and on the right hand a large
table, at which the giants usually dined. After passing this
dining-room, he came to a large and well-secured den filled with human
captives, who were fattened and taken at intervals for food, as we do
poultry. Jack set the poor prisoners at liberty, and, to compensate them
for their sufferings and dreadful anticipations, shared the giant's
treasure equally amongst them, and sent them to their homes overjoyed at
their unexpected deliverance.
It was about sunrise when Jack, after the conclusion of this adventure,
having had a good night's rest, mounted his horse to proceed on his
journey, and, by the help of directions, reached the knight's house
about noon. He was received with the most extraordinary demonstrations
of joy, and his kind host, out of respect to Jack, prepared a feast
which lasted many days, all the nobility and gentry in the neighbourhood
being invited to it. The knight related the hero's adventures to his
assembled guests, and presented him with a beautiful ring, on which was
engraved a representation of the giant dragging the distressed knight
and his lady, with this motto:
We were in sad distress you see,
Under the giant's fierce command,
But gain'd our lives and liberty
By valiant Jack's victorious hand.
But earthly happiness is not generally of long duration, and so in some
respects it proved on the present occasion, for in the midst of the
festivities arrived a messenger with the dismal intelligence that one
Thunderdell, a giant with two heads, having heard of the death of his
two kinsmen, came from the north to be revenged on Jack, and was already
within a mile of the knight's house, the country people flying before
him in all directions. The intelligence had no effect on the dauntless
Jack, who immediately said, "Let him come! I have a tool to pick his
teeth;" and with this elegant assertion, he invited the guests to
witness his performance from a high terrace in the garden of the castle.
It is now necessary to inform the reader that the knight's house or
castle was situated in an island encompassed with a moat thirty feet
deep, and twenty feet wide, passable by a drawbridge. Now Jack,
intending to accomplish his purpose by a clever stratagem, employed men
to cut through this drawbridge on both sides nearly to the middle; and
then, dressing himself in his invisible coat, he marched against the
giant with his well-tried sword. As he approached his adversary,
although invisible, the giant, being, as it appears, an epicure in such
matters, was aware of his approach, and exclaimed, in a fearful tone of
voice—
Fi, fee, fo, fum![25]
I smell the blood of an English man!
Be he alive or be he dead,
I'll grind his bones to make me bread!
[Footnote 25: These lines are quoted by Edgar in
the tragedy of King Lear.]
"Say you so," said Jack; "then you are a monstrous miller indeed." The
giant, deeply incensed, replied, "Art thou that villain who killed my
kinsman? then I will tear thee with my teeth, and grind thy bones to
powder." "But," says Jack, still provoking him, "you must catch me
first, if you please:" so putting aside his invisible coat, so that the
giant might see him, and putting on his wonderful shoes, he enticed him
into a chase by just approaching near enough to give him an apparent
chance of capture. The giant, we are told, "followed like a walking
castle, so that the very foundations of the earth seemed to shake at
every step." Jack led him a good distance, in order that the wondering
guests at the castle might see him to advantage, but at last, to end the
matter, he ran over the drawbridge, the giant pursuing him with his
club; but coming to the place where the bridge was cut, the giant's
great weight burst it asunder, and he was precipitated into the moat,
where he rolled about, says the author, "like a vast whale." While the
monster was in this condition, Jack sadly bantered him about the boast
he had made of grinding his bones to powder, but at length, having
teased him sufficiently, a cart-rope was cast over the two heads of the
giant, and he was drawn ashore by a team of horses, where Jack served
him as he had done his relatives, cut off his heads, and sent them to
King Arthur.
It would seem that the giant-killer rested a short time after this
adventure, but he was soon tired of inactivity, and again went in search
of another giant, the last whose head he was destined to chop off. After
passing a long distance, he came at length to a large mountain, at the
foot of which was a very lonely house. Knocking at the door, it was
opened by "an ancient[26] man, with a head as white as snow," who
received Jack very courteously, and at once consented to his request for
a lodging. Whilst they were at supper, the old man, who appears to have
known more than was suspected, thus addressed the hero: "Son, I am
sensible you are a conqueror of giants, and I therefore inform you that
on the top of this mountain is an enchanted castle, maintained by a
giant named Galligantus, who, by the help of a conjuror, gets many
knights into his castle, where they are transformed into sundry shapes
and forms: but, above all, I especially lament a duke's daughter, whom
they took from her father's garden, bringing her through the air in a
chariot drawn by fiery dragons, and securing her within the castle
walls, transformed her into the shape of a hind. Now, though a great
many knights have endeavoured to break the enchantment, and work her
deliverance, yet no one has been able to accomplish it, on account of
two fiery griffins which are placed at the gate, and which destroyed
them at their approach; but you, my son, being furnished with an
invisible coat, may pass by them undiscovered, and on the gates of the
castle you will find engraven in large characters by what means the
enchantment may be broken." The undaunted Jack at once accepted the
commission, and pledged his faith to the old man to proceed early in the
morning on this new adventure.
[Footnote 26: An old man.]
In the morning, as soon as it was daylight, Jack put on his invisible
coat, and prepared himself for the enterprise. When he had reached the
top of the mountain, he discovered the two fiery griffins, but, being
invisible, he passed them without the slightest danger. When he had
reached the gate of the castle, he noticed a golden trumpet attached to
it, under which were written in large characters the following lines:
Whoever doth this trumpet blow,[27]
Shall soon the giant overthrow,
And break the black enchantment straight,
So all shall be in happy state.
[Footnote 27: Variations of this incident are
found in romances of all nations.]
Jack at once accepted the challenge, and putting the trumpet to his
mouth, gave a blast that made the hills re-echo. The castle trembled to
its foundations, and the giant and conjuror were overstricken with fear,
knowing that the reign of their enchantments was at an end. The former
was speedily slain by Jack, but the conjuror, mounting up into the air,
was carried away in a whirlwind, and never heard of more. The
enchantments were immediately broken, and all the lords and ladies, who
had so long been cruelly transformed, were standing on the native earth
in their natural shapes, the castle having vanished with the conjuror.
The only relic of the giant which was left was the head, which Jack cut
off in the first instance, and which we must suppose rolled away from
the influence of the enchanted castle, or it would have "vanished into
thin air" with the body. It was fortunate that it did so, for it proved
an inestimable trophy at the court of King Arthur, where Jack the
Giant-killer was shortly afterwards united to the duke's daughter whom
he had freed from enchantment, "not only to the joy of the court, but of
all the kingdom." To complete his happiness, he was endowed with a noble
house and estates, and his _penchant_ for giant-killing having subsided,
or, what is more probable, no more monsters appearing to interrupt his
tranquillity, he accomplished the usual conclusion to these romantic
narratives, by passing the remainder of his life in the enjoyment of
every domestic felicity.
[I have alluded to the quotation from this primitive romance made by
Shakespeare in King Lear, but if the story of Rowland, published by Mr.
Jamieson, is to be trusted, it would seem that the great dramatist was
indebted to a ballad of the time. This position would, however, compel
us to adopt the belief that the words of the giant are also taken from
the ballad; a supposition to which I am most unwilling to assent. In
fact, I believe that Edgar quotes from two different compositions, the
first line from a ballad on Rowland, the second from Jack and the
Giants. "And Rowland into the castle came" is a line in the second
ballad of Rosmer Hafmand, or the Merman Rosmer, in the Danish _Koempe
Viser_, p. 165. The story alluded to above may be briefly given as
follows.
The sons of King Arthur were playing at ball in the merry town of
Carlisle, and their sister, "Burd[28] Ellen" was in the midst of them.
Now it happened that Child Rowland gave the ball such a powerful kick
with his foot that "o'er the kirk he gar'd it flee." Burd Ellen went
round about in search of the ball, but what was the consternation of her
brothers when they found that she did not return, although "they bade
lang and ay langer,"—
[Footnote 28: It is almost unnecessary to observe
that _burd_ was an ancient term for _lady_.]
They sought her east, they sought her west,
They sought her up and down;
And wae were the hearts in merry Carlisle,
For she was nae gait found.
At last her eldest brother went to the Warlock or Wizard Merlin, and
asked him if he knew where his sister, the fair Burd Ellen, was. "The
fair Burd Ellen," said the Warlock Merlin, "is carried away by the
fairies, and is now in the castle of the King of Elfland; and it were
too bold an undertaking for the stoutest knight in Christendom to bring
her back." The brother, however, insisted upon undertaking the
enterprise, and after receiving proper instructions from Merlin, which
he failed in observing, he set out on his perilous expedition, and was
never more seen.
The other brothers took the same course, and shared a similar fate, till
it came to the turn of Child Rowland, who with great difficulty obtained
the consent of his mother, for Queen Guinever began to be afraid of
losing all her children. Rowland, having received her blessing, girt on
his father's celebrated sword Excaliber, that never struck in vain, and
repaired to Merlin's cave. The wizard gave him all necessary
instructions for his journey and conduct, the most important of which
were that he should kill every person he met with after entering the
land of Faerie, and should neither eat nor drink of what was offered him
in that country, whatever his hunger or thirst might be; for if he
tasted or touched in Elfland, he must remain in the power of the elves,
and never see middle-earth again.
Child Rowland faithfully promised to observe the instructions of Merlin,
and he accordingly went to Elfland, where he found, as the wizard had
foretold, the king's horseherd feeding his horses. "Canst thou tell me,"
said Rowland, "where the castle of the king of Elfland is?" "I cannot,"
replied the horseherd, "but go a little further, and thou wilt come to a
cowherd, and perhaps he will know." When he had made this answer,
Rowland, remembering his instructions, took his good sword, and cut off
the head of the horseherd. He then went a little further, and met with a
cowherd, to whom he repeated the same question, and obtained the same
answer. Child Rowland then cut off the cowherd's head, and having
pursued exactly the same course with a shepherd, goatherd, and a
swineherd, he is referred by the last to a hen-wife, who, in reply to
his question, said, "Go on yet a little farther till you come to a round
green hill, surrounded with terraces from the bottom to the top: go
round it three times widershins,[29] and every time say, "Open door,
open door, and let me come in!' and the third time the door will open,
and you may go in." Child Rowland immediately cut off the hen-wife's
head in return for her intelligence, and following her directions, a
door in the hill opened, and he went in. As soon as he entered, the door
closed behind him, and he traversed a long passage, which was dimly but
pleasantly lighted by crystallized rock, till he came to two wide and
lofty folding-doors, which stood ajar. He opened them, and entered an
immense hall, which seemed nearly as big as the hill itself. It was the
most magnificent apartment in all the land of Faerie, for the pillars
were of gold and silver, and the keystones ornamented with clusters of
diamonds. A gold chain hung from the middle of the roof, supporting an
enormous lamp composed of one hollowed transparent pearl, in the midst
of which was a large magical carbuncle that beautifully illumined the
whole of the hall.
[Footnote 29: The contrary way to the course of
the sun.]
At the upper end of the hall, seated on a splendid sofa, under a rich
canopy, was his sister the Burd Ellen, "kembing her yellow hair wi' a
silver kemb," who immediately perceiving him, was sorrow-struck at the
anticipation of his being destroyed by the king of Elfland,—
And hear ye this, my youngest brither,
Why badena ye not at hame?
Had ye a hunder and thousand lives,
Ye canna brook ane o' them.
And she informs him that he will certainly lose his life if the king
finds him in the hall. A long conversation then takes place, and Rowland
tells her all his adventures, concluding his narrative with the
observation that, after his long journey, he is _very hungry_.
On this the Burd Ellen shook her head, and looked sorrowfully at him;
but, impelled by her enchantment, she rose up, and procured him a golden
bowl full of bread and milk. It was then that the Child Rowland
remembered the instructions of the Warlock Merlin, and he passionately
exclaimed, "Burd Ellen, I will neither eat nor drink till I set thee
free!" Immediately this speech was uttered, the folding-doors of the
hall burst open with tremendous violence, and in came the king of
Elfland,—
With, Fe, fi, fo, fum,
I smell the blood of a Christian man!
Be he dead, be he living, wi' my brand
I'll clash his harns frae his harn-pan![30]
[Footnote 30: Literally, "I will dash his brains
from his skull with my sword."]
"Strike, then, Bogle, if thou darest," exclaimed the undaunted Child
Rowland, and a furious combat ensued, but Rowland, by the help of his
good sword, conquered the elf-king, sparing his life on condition that
he would restore to him his two brothers and sister. The king joyfully
consented, and having disenchanted them by the anointment of a bright
red liquor, they all four returned in triumph to merry Carlisle.]
TOM HICKATHRIFT.
[Tom Hickathrift belongs to the same series as Jack the Giant-killer,
one of the popular corruptions of old northern romances. It seems to
allude to some of the insurrections in the Isle of Ely, such as that of
Hereward, described in Wright's Essays, ii. 91. Spelman, however,
describes a tradition, which he says was credited by the inhabitants of
Tylney, in which Hickifric appears as the assertor of the rights of
their ancestors, and the means he employed on the occasion correspond
with incidents in the following tale. The entire passage is worth
transcription. "In Marslandia sitæ sunt Walsoka, Waltona, et Walpola. In
viciniis jacent Terrington et St. Maries—adjacet Tylney veteris utique
Tylneiorum familiæ radix. Hic se expandit insignis area quæ a planicie
nuncupatur _Tylney Smeeth_, pinguis adeo et luxurians ut Paduana pascua
videatur superasse. Tuentur eam indigenæ velut aras et focos,
fabellamque recitant longa petitam vetustate de Hickifrico (nescio quo)
Haii illius instar in Scotorum Chronicis qui civium suorum dedignatus
fuga, aratrum quod agebat solvit; arreptoque temone furibundus insiliit
in hostes victoriamque ademit exultantibus. Sic cum de agri istius
possessione acriter olim dimicatum esset, inter fundi dominum et
villarum incolas, nec valerent hi adversus eum consistere, redeuntibus
occurrit Hickifrickus, _axemque excutiens a curru quem agebat, eo vice
gladii usus_; _rota, clypei_; invasores repulit ad ipsos quibus nunc
funguntur terminos. Ostendunt in coemeterio Tilniensi sepulchrum sui
pugilis, axem cum rota insculptum exhibens."—Icenia, Descriptio
Norfolciæ, p. 138. Hearne mentions this gravestone, and perhaps some
Norfolk topographer will tell us if it now exists.]
The author of the renowned History of Tom Hickathrift prefaces his
narrative with the following consolatory exordium:—
And if thou dost buy this book,
Be sure that you do on it look,
And read it o'er, then thou wilt say
Thy money is not thrown away.
In the reign before William the Conqueror, I have read in ancient
history that there dwelt a man in the parish of the Isle of Ely, in the
county of Cambridge, named Thomas Hickathrift, a poor labouring man, but
so strong that he was able to do in one day the ordinary work of two. He
had an only son, whom he christened Thomas, after his own name. The old
man put his son "to good learning," but he would take none, for he was,
as we call them in this age, none of the wisest, but something soft, and
had no docility at all in him. God calling this good man, the father, to
his rest, his mother, being tender of him, maintained him by her hard
labour as well as she could; but this was no easy matter, for Tom would
sit all day in the chimney-corner, instead of doing anything to assist
her, and although at the period we are speaking of, he was only ten
years old, he would eat more than four or five ordinary men, and was
five feet and a half in height, and two feet and a half broad. His hand
was more like a shoulder of mutton than a boy's hand, and he was
altogether like a little monster, "but yet his great strength was not
known."
Tom's strength came to be known in this manner. His mother, it appears,
as well as himself, for they lived in the primitive days of merry old
England, slept upon straw. This was in character with the wretched mud
hovels then occupied by the labouring population, not half so good as
many pigsties are now-a-days. Now being a tidy old creature, she must
every now and then replenish her homely couch, and one day, having been
promised a "bottle" of straw by a neighbouring farmer, after
considerable entreaty, she prevailed on her son to go to fetch it. Tom,
however, made her borrow a cart-rope first, before he would budge a
step, without condescending to enter into any explanation respecting the
use he intended it for; and the poor woman, too glad to obtain his
assistance on any terms, readily complied with his singular request.
Tom, swinging the rope round his shoulders, went to the farmer's, and
found him with two men, thrashing in a barn. Having mentioned the object
of his visit, the farmer somewhat inconsiderately told him he might take
as much straw as he could carry. Tom immediately took him at his word,
and, placing the rope in a right position, rapidly made up a bundle
containing at least a cartload, the men jeering him on the absurdity of
raising a pile they imagined no man could carry, and maliciously asking
him if his rope was long enough. Their merriment, however, was not of
long duration, for Tom flung the enormous bundle over his shoulders, and
walked away with it without any apparent exertion, much to the
astonishment and dismay of the master and his men.
After this exploit, Tom was no longer suffered to enjoy his idle
humours. Every one was endeavouring to secure his services, and we are
told many remarkable tales of his extraordinary strength, still more
wonderful than the one just related. On one occasion, having been
offered as great a bundle of firewood as he could carry, he marched off
with one of the largest trees in the forest! Tom was also extremely fond
of attending fairs; and in cudgelling, wrestling, or throwing the
hammer, there was no one who could compete with him. He thought nothing
of flinging a huge hammer into the middle of a river a mile off, and in
fact performed such extraordinary feats, that it was currently reported
throughout the country he had dealings with the Evil One.
Tom Hickathrift, too, was a very care-for-nothing fellow, and there were
very few persons in all the Isle of Ely who dared to give him an ill
word. Those who did paid very dearly for their impertinence, and Tom
was, in fact, paramount over his companions. His great strength,
however, caused him to be much sought after by those who were in want of
efficient labour, and at length a brewer at Lynn, who required a strong,
lusty fellow to carry his beer to the Marsh and to Wisbech, after much
persuasion, and promising him a new suit of clothes, and as much as he
liked to eat and drink, secured Tom for this purpose. The distance he
daily travelled with the beer was upwards of twenty miles, for although
there was a shorter cut through the Marsh, no one durst go that way for
fear of a monstrous giant, who was lord of a portion of the district,
and who killed or made slaves of every one he could lay his hands upon.
Now in the course of time, Tom was thoroughly tired of going such a
roundabout way, and without communicating his purpose to any one, he was
resolved to pass through the giant's domain, or lose his life in the
attempt. This was a bold undertaking, but good living had so increased
Tom's strength and courage, that, venturesome as he was before, his
hardiness was so much increased that he would have faced a still greater
danger. He accordingly drove his cart in the forbidden direction,
flinging the gates wide open, as if for the purpose of making his daring
more conspicuous. At length he was espied by the giant, who was
indignant at his boldness, but consoled himself with the reflection that
Tom and the beer would soon become his prey. "Sirrah," said the monster,
"who gave you permission to come this way? Do you not know how I make
all stand in fear of me? and you, like an impudent rogue, must come and
fling my gates open at your pleasure! How dare you presume to do so? Are
you careless of your life? Do not you care what you do? But I will make
you an example for all rogues under the sun! Dost thou not see how many
thousand heads hang upon yonder tree, heads of those who have offended
against my laws; but thy head shall hang higher than all the rest for an
example!" But Tom made him this impudent answer, "A dishclout in your
teeth for your news, for you shall not find me to be one of them!" "No!"
said the giant, in astonishment and indignation; "and what a fool you
must be if you come to fight with such a one as I am, and bring never a
weapon to defend yourself!" Quoth Tom, "I have a weapon here will make
you know you are a traitorly rogue." This impertinent speech highly
incensed the giant, who immediately ran to his cave for his club,
intending to dash out Tom's brains at one blow. Tom was now much
distressed for a weapon, that necessary accoutrement in his expedition
having by some means escaped his memory, and he began to reflect how
very little his whip would avail him against a monster twelve feet in
height, and six feet round the waist, small dimensions certainly for a
giant, but sufficient to be formidable. But while the giant was gone for
his club, Tom bethought himself, and turning his cart upside down,
adroitly takes out the axletree, which would serve him for a staff, and
removing a wheel, adapts it to his arm in lieu of a shield; very good
weapons indeed in time of trouble, and worthy of Tom's ingenuity. When
the monster returned with his club, he was amazed to see the weapons
with which Tom had armed himself, but uttering a word of defiance, he
bore down upon the poor fellow with such heavy strokes, that it was as
much as Tom could do to defend himself with his wheel. Tom, however, at
length managed to give the giant[31] a heavy blow with the axletree on
the side of his head, that he nearly reeled over. "What!" said Tom, "are
you tipsy with my strong beer already?" This inquiry did not, as we may
suppose, mollify the giant, who laid on his blows so sharply and heavily
that Tom was obliged to act on the defensive. By and by, not making any
impression on the wheel, he got almost tired out, and was obliged to ask
Tom if he would let him drink a little, and then he would fight again.
"No," said Tom, "my mother did not teach me that wit; who would be fool
then?" The sequel may readily be imagined, and Tom having beaten the
giant, and, disregarding his supplications for mercy, cut off his head,
entered the cave, which he found completely filled with gold and silver.
[Footnote 31: In the original it is _lent the
giant_, the term _lent_ being old English or
Saxon for _gave_. The expression sufficiently
proves the antiquity of the version.]
The news of this celebrated victory rapidly spread throughout the
country, for the giant had been a common enemy to the inhabitants. They
made bonfires for joy, and testified their respect to Tom by every means
in their power. A few days afterwards, Tom took possession of the cave
and all the giant's treasure. He pulled down the former, and built a
magnificent house on the spot; but with respect to the land forcibly
obtained by the giant, part of it he gave to the poor for their common,
merely reserving enough to maintain himself and his good old mother,
Jane Hickathrift. His treasure, we may suppose, notwithstanding this
great liberality, enabled him to maintain a noble establishment, for he
is represented as having numbers of servants, and a magnificent park of
deer. He also built a famous church, which was called St. James's,
because it was on that saint's day that he had killed the giant. And
what was as good and better than all this, he was no longer called Tom
Hickathrift by the people, but "Mr. Hickathrift," a title then implying
a greater advancement in social position that can now scarcely be
imagined.
Like many other persons who have become suddenly possessed of great
wealth, Tom was sadly at a loss to know what to do with his money; nor
does this sage history condescend to inform us in what manner he
expended it. He seems, however, to have amused himself rarely, attending
every sport he could hear of for miles round, cracking skulls at
cudgel-playing, bear-baiting, and all the gentlemanly recreations
current in those days. At football he could scarcely have been a welcome
addition to the company, for one kick from his foot, if he caught it in
the middle, was sure to send the ball so great a distance over hedges
and trees that it was never seen again. Tom was, also, one evening
attacked by four robbers; but they sadly mistook the person they had to
deal with, for he quickly killed two of them, made the others sue for
mercy, and carried off their booty, which amounted to the large sum of
two hundred pounds. One would have thought the Hickathrifts were wealthy
enough before, but this addition to their store was, somehow or other, a
source of great delight and merriment to Tom's aged mother.
Tom was a long time before he found any one that could match him; but,
one day, going through his woods, he met with a lusty tinker, who had a
great staff on his shoulder, and a large dog to carry his bag and tools.
Tom was not particularly courteous; it may readily be supposed that his
unvarying successes had made him rather overbearing; and he somewhat
rudely asked the tinker what was his business there. But the tinker was
no man to succumb, and as rudely answered, "What's that to you? Fools
must needs be meddling!" A quarrel was soon raised, and the two laid on
in good earnest, blow for blow, till the wood re-echoed with their
strokes. The issue of the contest was long doubtful, but, the tinker was
so persevering, that Tom confessed he was fairly vanquished; and they
then went home together, and were sworn brothers in arms ever
afterwards. It happened, from the events that followed, to be a
fortunate occurrence.
In and about the Isle of Ely, many disaffected persons, to the number of
ten thousand and upwards, drew themselves up in a body, presuming to
contend for their ancient rights and liberties, insomuch that the gentry
and civil magistrates of the county were in great danger. The danger was
so great, that the sheriff was obliged to come to Tom Hickathrift, under
cover of the night, for shelter and protection, and gave him a full
account of the rebellion. The tinker and Tom immediately promised their
assistance, and they went out as soon as it was day, armed with their
clubs, the sheriff conducting them to the rendezvous of the rebels. When
they arrived there, Tom and the tinker marched up to the leaders of the
multitude, and asked them the reason of their disturbing the government.
To this they answered loudly, "Our will is our law, and by that alone
will we be governed." "Nay," quoth Tom, "if it be so, these trusty clubs
are our weapons, and by them alone you shall be chastised." These words
were no sooner uttered, than they madly rushed on the immense multitude,
bearing all before them, laying twenty or thirty sprawling with every
blow. It is also related, as something rather remarkable, that the
tinker struck a tall man on the nape of the neck with such immense force
that his head flew off, and was carried forty feet from the body with
such violence that it knocked down one of the chief ringleaders, killing
him on the spot. The feats of Tom were no less wonderful; for, after
having slain hundreds, and at length broke his club, he seized upon "a
lusty rawboned miller" as a substitute, and made use of him as a weapon,
till he had quite cleared the field.
The king of course received intelligence of these extraordinary
exploits, and sent for the two heroes to his palace, where a royal
banquet was prepared for their honour and entertainment, most of the
nobility being present. Now after the banquet was over, the king made a
speech, neither too short nor too long, but having the extraordinary
merit of being much to the purpose. We cannot omit so remarkable a
specimen of royal eloquence. "These, my guests," said the king, "are my
trusty and well-beloved subjects, men of approved courage and valour;
they are the men that overcame and conquered ten thousand rebels who
were combined for the purpose of disturbing the peace of my realm.
According to the character I have received of Thomas Hickathrift and
Henry Nonsuch, my two worthy guests here present, they cannot be matched
in any other kingdom in the world. Were it possible to have an army of
twenty thousand such as these, I dare venture to assert I would act the
part of Alexander the Great over again. In the meanwhile, as a proof of
my royal favour, kneel down, Thomas Hickathrift, and receive the ancient
order of knighthood. And with respect to Henry Nonsuch, I will settle
upon him, as a reward for his great services, the sum of forty shillings
a year for life." After the delivery of this excellent address, the king
retired, and Tom and Henry shortly afterwards took their departure,
attended for many miles by a portion of the court.
When Sir Thomas Hickathrift returned home, he found, to his great
sorrow, that his mother had died during his stay at the court. It can
scarcely be said that he was inconsolable for her loss, but being "left
alone in a large and spacious house, he found himself strange and
uncouth." He therefore began to consider whether it would not be
advisable to seek out for a wife, and hearing of a wealthy young widow
not far from Cambridge, he went and paid his addresses to her. At his
first coming, she appeared to favour his suit, but, before he paid her a
second visit, her fancy had been attracted by a more elegant wooer, and
Sir Thomas actually found him at her feet. The young spark, relying on
the lady's favour, was vehemently abusive to the knight, calling him a
great lubberly whelp, a brewer's servant, and a person altogether
unfitted to make love to a lady. Sir Thomas was not a likely man to
allow such an affront to go unpunished, so going out in the courtyard
with the dandy to settle the matter, he gave him a kick which sent him
over the tops of the houses into a pond some distance off, where he
would have been drowned, had not a poor shepherd, passing by, pulled him
out with his crook.
The gallant studied every means of being revenged upon the knight, and
for this purpose engaged two troopers to lie in ambush for him. Tom,
however, according to the story, "crushed them like cucumbers."[32] Even
when he was going to church with his bride to be married, he was set
upon by one-and-twenty ruffians in armour; but, borrowing a back-sword
from one of the company, he laid about him with such dexterity, that,
purposely desiring not to kill any one, at every blow he chopped off a
leg or an arm, the ground being strewed with the relics, "as it is with
tiles from the tops of the houses after a dreadful storm." His intended
and friends were mightily amused at all this, and the fair one jokingly
observed, "What a splendid lot of cripples he has made in the twinkling
of an eye!" Sir Thomas only received a slight scratch, and he consoled
himself for the trifling misfortune by the conviction he had only lost a
drop of blood for every limb he had chopped off.
[Footnote 32: The author is not very particular
in his similes, but this appears to be quite
peculiar to this history.]
The marriage ceremony took place without any further adventure, and Sir
Thomas gave a great feast on the occasion, to which all the poor widows
for miles round were invited in honour of his deceased mother, and it
lasted for four days, in memory of the four last victories he had
obtained. The only occurrence at this feast worth mentioning was the
theft of a silver cup, which was traced to the possession of an old
woman of the name of Stumbelup,[33] and the others were so disgusted at
her ingratitude to their kind host, that she would have been hanged on
the spot, had not Sir Thomas interfered, and undertook the appointment
of the punishment. Nor was it otherwise than comical, for she was
condemned to be drawn through all the streets and lanes of Cambridge on
a wheelbarrow, holding a placard in her hands, which informed the
public,—
I am the naughty Stumbelup,
Who tried to steal the silver cup.
[Footnote 33: This incident has been slightly
altered, the original narrative being of a nature
that will not bear an exact transcription.]
The news of Tom's wedding soon reached the court, and the king,
remembering his eminent services, immediately invited him and his lady,
who visited their sovereign immediately, and were received by him most
affectionately. While they were on this visit, intelligence arrived that
an extraordinary invasion had taken place in the county of Kent. A huge
giant riding on a dragon, and accompanied with a large number of bears
and lions, had landed on the coast of that unfortunate county, and was
ravaging it in all directions. The king, says the history, was "a little
startled," and well he might be, at such a visitation; but, taking
advantage of the opportune presence of Tom Hickathrift, he solved the
difficulty by creating him governor of the Isle of Thanet,[34] and thus
making him responsible for the protection of the inhabitants from this
terrible monster.
[Footnote 34: In the heading of the chapter in
the original it is _East Angles, now called the
Isle of Thanet_, an error which favours the
supposition of the story having been adapted from
a much older original.]
There was a castle in the island, from which the country was visible for
miles round, and this was the governor's abode. He had not been there
long before he caught a view of the giant, who is described as "mounted
upon a dreadful dragon, with an iron club upon his shoulders, having but
one eye, the which was placed in his forehead; this eye was larger in
compass than a barber's bason, and appeared like a flame of fire; his
visage was dreadful to behold, grim and tawny; the hair of his head hung
down his back and shoulders like snakes of an enormous length; and the
bristles of his beard were like rusty wire!" It is difficult to imagine
a being more terrible than this, but Tom was only surprised, not
frightened, when he saw one day the giant making his way to the castle
on his formidable dragon. After he had well viewed the edifice with his
glaring eye, he tied the dragon up to a tree, and went up to the castle
as if he had intended to thrust it down with his shoulder. But somehow
or other he managed to slip down, so that he could not extricate
himself, and Tom, advancing with his two-handed sword, cut off the
giant's head at one blow, and the dragon's at four, and sent them up in
a "waggon" to the court of his sovereign.
The news of Tom's victories reached the ears of his old companion, the
tinker, who became desirous of sharing in his glory, and accordingly
joined him at his castle. After mutual congratulations, Tom informed
him of his wish to destroy, without delay, the beasts of prey that
infested the island. They started for this purpose in company, Tom armed
with his two-handed sword, and the tinker with his long pikestaff. After
they had travelled about four or five hours, it was their fortune to
meet with the whole knot of wild beasts together, being in number
fourteen, six bears and eight lions. The two heroes waited for them with
their backs against a tree, and whenever they came "within cutting
distance" they cut their heads off, and in this manner killed all but
one lion, who, unfortunately, by an inconsiderate movement on the part
of Tom, crushed the poor tinker to death. The animal was, however,
ultimately slain by Sir Thomas.
Sir Thomas Hickathrift had killed the giants, dragon, and lions, and he
had conquered the rebels, but his happiness was by no means completed,
for he was inconsolate for the loss of his friend. He, however, returned
home to his lady, and made a grand feast in commemoration of his
important victories. The history terminates with the following brilliant
metrical speech he made on this festive occasion:
My friends, while I have strength to stand,
Most manfully I will pursue
All dangers, till I clear this land
Of lions, bears, and tigers, too.
This you'll find true, or I'm to blame,
Let it remain upon record,—
Tom Hickathrift's most glorious fame,
Who never yet has broke his word!
TOM THUMB.
[Thumb stories are common in German and Danish, and the English tale
comprises much that is found in the Northern versions. A writer in the
Quarterly Review, xxi. 100, enters into some speculations respecting the
mythological origin of Tom Thumb, and records his persuasion, in which
we agree, that several of our common nursery tales are remnants of
ancient μυθοι. Sir W. Scott mentions the Danish popular
history of Svend Tomling, analysed by Nierup, "a man no bigger than a
thumb, who would be married to a woman three ells and three quarters
long." This personage is probably commemorated in the nursery rhyme,
I had a little husband
No bigger than my thumb:
I put him in a pint-pot,
And there I bid him drum.
According to popular tradition, Tom Thumb died at Lincoln, and a little
blue flagstone in the pavement of the cathedral used to be pointed out
as his monument.
"It was my good fortune," says Dr. Wagstaffe, "some time ago, to have
the library of a schoolboy committed to my charge, where, among other
undiscovered valuable authors, I pitched upon Tom Thumb and Tom
Hickathrift, authors indeed more proper to adorn the shelves of Bodley
or the Vatican, than to be confined to the retirement and obscurity of a
private study. I have perused the first of these with an infinite
pleasure, and a more than ordinary application, and have made some
observations on it, which may not, I hope, prove unacceptable to the
public, and however it may have been ridiculed and looked upon as an
entertainment only for children and those of younger years, may be found
perhaps a performance not unworthy the perusal of the judicious, and the
model superior to either of those incomparable poems of Chevy Chase or
the Children in the Wood. The design was undoubtedly to recommend
virtue, and to show that however any one may labour under the
disadvantages of stature and deformity, or the meanness of parentage,
yet if his mind and actions are above the ordinary level, those very
disadvantages that seem to depress him add a lustre to his
character."—_A Comment upon the History of Tom Thumb_, 1711, p. 4.]
In the merry days of good King Arthur, there lived in one of the
counties of England a ploughman and his wife. They were poor, but as the
husband was a strong workman, and his partner an able assistant in all
matters pertaining to the farmhouse, the dairy, and poultry, they
managed to make a very good living, and would have been contented and
happy, had Nature blessed them with any offspring. But although they had
been married several years, no olive branch had yet appeared, and the
worthy couple sadly lamented their hard lot.
There lived at this period, at the court of Arthur, a celebrated
conjuror and magician, whose name was Merlin, the astonishment of the
whole world, for he knew the past, present, and future, and nothing
appeared impossible to him. Persons of all classes solicited his
assistance and advice, and he was perfectly accessible to the humblest
applicant. Aware of this, the ploughman, after a long consultation with
his "better half," determined to consult him, and, for this purpose,
travelled to the court, and, with tears in his eyes, beseeched Merlin
that he might have a child, "even though it should be no bigger than his
thumb."
Now Merlin had a strange knack of taking people exactly at their words,
and without waiting for any more explicit declaration of the ploughman's
wishes, at once granted his request. What was the poor countryman's
astonishment to find, when he reached home, that his wife had given
birth to a gentleman so diminutive, that it required a strong exercise
of the vision to see him. His growth was equally wonderful, for—
In four minutes he grew so fast,
That he became as tall
As was the ploughman's thumb in length,
And so she did him call.
The christening of this little fellow was a matter of much ceremony, for
the fairy queen, attended by all her company of elves, was present at
the rite, and he formally received the name of Tom Thumb. Her majesty
and attendants attired him with their choicest weeds, and his costume is
worth a brief notice. His hat was made of a beautiful oak leaf; his
shirt was composed of a fine spider's web, and his hose and doublet of
thistle-down. His stockings were made with the rind of a delicate green
apple, and the garters were two of the finest little hairs one can
imagine, plucked from his mother's eyebrows. Shoes made of the skin of a
little mouse, "and tanned most curiously," completed his fairy-like
accoutrement.
It may easily be imagined that Tom was an object of astonishment and
ridicule amongst the other children of the village, but they soon
discovered that, notwithstanding his diminutive size, he was more than a
match for them. It was a matter of very little consequence to Tom
whether he lost or won, for if he found his stock of counters or
cherrystones run low, he soon crept into the pockets of his companions,
and replenished his store. It happened, on one occasion, that he was
detected, and the aggrieved party punished Tom by shutting him up in a
pin-box. The fairy boy was sadly annoyed at his imprisonment, but the
next day he amply revenged himself; for hanging a row of glasses on a
sunbeam, his companions thought they would follow his example, and, not
possessing Tom's fairy gifts, broke the glasses, and were severely
whipped, whilst the little imp was overjoyed at their misfortune,
standing by, and laughing till the tears run down his face.
The boys were so irritated with the trick that had been played upon
them, that Tom's mother was afraid to trust him any longer in their
company. She accordingly kept him at home, and made him assist her in
any light work suitable for so small a child. One day, while she was
making a batter-pudding, Tom stood on the edge of the bowl, with a
lighted candle in his hand, so that she might see it was properly made.
Unfortunately, however, when her back was turned, Tom accidentally fell
in the bowl, and his mother not missing him, stirred him up in the
pudding "instead of minced fat," and put the pudding in the kettle with
Tom in it. The poor woman paid dearly for her mistake, for Tom had no
sooner felt the warm water, than he danced about like mad, and the
pudding jumped about till she was nearly frightened out of her wits, and
was glad to give it to a tinker who happened to be passing that way. He
was thankful for a present so acceptable, and anticipated the pleasure
of eating a better dinner than he had enjoyed for many a long day. But
his joy was of short duration, for as he was getting over a stile, he
happened to sneeze very hard, and Tom, who had hitherto remained silent,
cried out, "Hollo, Pickens!" which so terrified the tinker, that he
threw the pudding into the field, and scampered away as fast as ever he
could go. The pudding tumbled to pieces with the fall, and Tom, creeping
out, went home to his mother, who had been in great affliction on
account of his absence.
A few days after this adventure, Tom accompanied his mother when she
went into the fields to milk the cows, and for fear he should be blown
away by the wind, she tied him to a thistle with a small piece of
thread. While in this position, a cow came by, and swallowed him up:
But, being missed, his mother went,
Calling him everywhere:
Where art thou, Tom? where art thou, Tom?
Quoth he, Here, mother, here!
Within the red cow's stomach, here
Your son is swallowed up;
All which within her fearful heart
Much woful dolour put.
The cow, however, was soon tired of her subject, for Tom kicked and
scratched till the poor animal was nearly mad, and at length tumbled him
out of her mouth, when he was caught by his mother, and carried safely
home.
A succession of untoward accidents followed. One day, Tom's father took
him to the fields a-ploughing, and gave him "a whip made of a barley
straw" to drive the oxen with, but the dwarf was soon lost in a furrow.
While he was there, a great raven came and carried him an immense
distance to the top of a giant's castle. The giant soon swallowed him
up, but he made such a disturbance when he got inside, that the monster
was soon glad to get rid of him, and threw the mischievous little imp
full three miles into the sea. But he was not drowned, for he had
scarcely reached the water before he was swallowed by a huge fish, which
was shortly after captured, and sent to King Arthur by the fisherman for
a new-year's gift. Tom was now discovered, and at once adopted by the
king as his dwarf;
Long time he liv'd in jollity,
Belov'd of the court,
And none like Tom was so esteem'd
Amongst the better sort.
The queen was delighted with the little dwarf, and made him dance a
galliard on her left hand. His performance was so satisfactory, that
King Arthur gave him a ring which he wore about his middle like a
girdle; and he literally "crept up the royal sleeve," requesting leave
to visit his parents, and take them as much money as he could carry:
And so away goes lusty Tom
With threepence at his back,
A heavy burthen, which did make
His very bones to crack.
Tom remained three days with the old couple, and feasted upon a
hazel-nut so extravagantly that he grew ill. His indisposition was not
of long continuance, and Arthur was so anxious for the return of his
dwarf, that his mother took a birding-trunk, and blew him to the court.
He was received by the king with every demonstration of affection and
delight, and tournaments were immediately proclaimed:
Thus he at tilt and tournament
Was entertained so,
That all the rest of Arthur's knights
Did him much pleasure show.
And good Sir Launcelot du Lake,
Sir Tristram and Sir Guy,
Yet none compar'd to brave Tom Thumb
In acts of chivalry.
Tom, however, paid dearly for his victories, for the exertions he made
upon this celebrated occasion threw him into an illness which ultimately
occasioned his death. But the hero was carried away by his godmother,
the fairy queen, into the land of Faerie, and after the lapse of two
centuries, he was suffered to return to earth, and again amuse men by
his comical adventures. On one occasion, after his return from
fairy-land, he jumped down a miller's throat, and played all manner of
pranks on the poor fellow, telling him of all his misdeeds, for millers
in former days were the greatest rogues, as everybody knows, that ever
lived. A short time afterwards, Tom a second time is swallowed by a
fish, which is caught, and set for sale at the town of Rye, where a
steward haggles for it,—
Amongst the rest the steward came,
Who would the salmon buy,
And other fish that he did name,
But he would not comply.
The steward said, You are so stout,
If so, I'll not buy any.
So then bespoke Tom Thumb aloud,
"Sir, give the other penny!"
At this they began to stare,
To hear this sudden joke:
Nay, some were frighted to the heart,
And thought the dead fish spoke.
So the steward made no more ado,
But bid a penny more;
Because, he said, I never heard
A fish to speak before.
The remainder of the history, which details Tom's adventures with the
queen, his coach drawn by six beautiful white mice, his escaping on the
back of a butterfly, and his death in a spider's web, is undoubtedly a
later addition to the original, and may therefore be omitted in this
analysis. It is, in fact, a very poor imitation of the first part of the
tale.
III.—GAME-RHYMES.
The most obvious method of arranging the rhymes employed in the
amusements of children is to commence with the simple lines used by the
nurse in the infantine toe, finger, and face-games, then proceeding to
bo-peep, and concluding with the more complicated games, many of the
latter possessing a dramatic character.
TOE-GAMES
Harry Whistle, Tommy Thistle,
Harry Whible, Tommy Thible,
And little Oker-bell.
A game with the five toes, each toe being touched in succession as these
names are cried. "This song affords a proof of the connexion between the
English and Scandinavian rhymes. The last line, as it now stands,
appears to mean nothing. The word _oker_, however, is the A.-S. æcer,
Icel. akr, Dan. ager, and Swed. åker, pronounced _oker_, a field, and
the flower is the field-bell."—Mr. Stephens's MS. The following lines
are also used in a play with the toes:
Shoe the colt, shoe!
Shoe the wild mare!
Put a sack on her back,
See if she'll bear.
If she'll bear,
We'll give her some grains;
If she won't bear,
We'll dash out her brains.
There are many various versions of this song in English, and it also
exists in Danish (Thiele, iii. 133).
Skoe min best!
Hvem kan bedst?
Det kan vor Præst!
Nei mæn kan ban ej!
For det kan vor smed,
Som boer ved Leed.
Shoe my horse!
Who can best?
Why, our priest!
Not he, indeed!
But our smith can,
He lives at Leed.
Perhaps, however, this will be considered more like the common rhyme,
"Robert Barnes, Fellow fine," printed in the 'Nursery Rhymes of
England,' p. 166. An analogous verse is found in the nursery anthology
of Berlin (Kuhn, Kinderlieder, 229), and in that of Sweden (Lilja, p.
14),—
Sko, sko min lille häst,
I morgon frosten blir' vår gäst,
Då bli' hästskorna dyra,
Två styfver för fyra.
Shoe, shoe my little horse,
To-morrow it will be frosty:
Then will horse-shoes be dear,
Two will cost a stiver.
English nurses use the following lines, when a child's shoe is tight,
and they pat the foot to induce him to allow it to be tried on:
Cobbler, cobbler, mend my shoe,
Give it a stitch and that will do.
Here's a nail, and there's a prod,
And now my shoe is well shod.
Or, occasionally, these lines,—
This pig went to market,
Squeak, mouse, mouse, mousey;
Shoe, shoe, shoe the wild colt,
And here's my own doll dowsy.
The following lines are said by the nurse when moving the child's foot
up and down,—
The dog of the kill,[35]
He went to the mill
To lick mill-dust:
The miller he came
With a stick on his back,—
Home, dog, home!
The foot behind,
The foot before:
When he came to a style,
Thus he jumped o'er.
[Footnote 35: A north-country term for _kiln_.]
THE FIVE FINGERS.
I do not recollect to have seen anywhere noticed the somewhat singular
fact, that our ancestors had distinct names for each of the five
fingers—the thumb being generally called a finger in old works. Yet
such was the case; and it may not displease the reader to have these
cognominations duly set forth in order, viz. _thumb_, _toucher_,
_longman_, _leche-man_, _little-man_. This information is derived from a
very curious MS. quoted in my Dictionary of Archaisms, p. 357; and the
reasons for the names are thus set forth:—The first finger was called
_toucher_ because "therewith men touch i-wis;" the second finger
_longman_, "for longest finger it is," (this, I beg to say, is intended
for rhyme). The third finger was called _leche-man_, because a leche or
doctor tasted everything by means of it. This is very curious; though we
find elsewhere another reason for this appellation, on account of the
pulsation in it, which was at one time supposed to communicate directly
with the heart. The other finger was, of course, called _littleman_
because it was the least of all. It is rather curious that some of these
names should have survived the wrecks of time, and be still preserved
in a nursery-rhyme; yet such is the fact; for one thus commences, the
fingers being kept in corresponding movements:
Dance, thumbkin, dance,
Dance, thumbkin, dance;
Dance, ye merry men all around:
But thumbkin he can dance alone;
But thumbkin he can dance alone.
Dance, foreman, dance,
Dance foreman, dance;
Dance, ye merry men all around:
But thumbkin he can dance alone;
But thumbkin he can dance alone.
And so on, substituting in succession _middleone_, _longman_, or
_middleman_, _ringman_, and _littleman_, and each verse terminating with
"thumbkin he can dance alone." In some instances the original name for
the third finger, _lecheman_, is preserved in the rhyme, but _ringman_
is most generally adopted.
It is worthy of remark too, that there is, even at the present day,
amongst many of the old women of the Peak of Derbyshire, a strong belief
in the superiority of _lecheman_ over _foreman_ in all matters of taste.
They say that the forefinger is _venomous_, and that the superiority of
the third is to be ascribed to its being possessed of a _nerve_; and as
they appear to pay a most superstitious reverence to a nerve, whether in
the finger, the tooth, or the ear, they do not fail to impress upon
their daughters the importance of tasting anything of consequence with
the third finger.
The names given to the fingers vary considerably in the different
counties. In Essex they call them
Tom Thumbkin,
Bess Bumpkin,
Bill Wilkin,
Long Linkin,
And little Dick!
And in some parts of Yorkshire,
Tom Thumbkins,
Bill Wilkins,
Long Daniel,
Bessy Bobtail,
And little Dick.
Similar appellations for the fingers are common in Denmark. Thus,
Thiele, iii. 136,—
Tommeltot,
Slikkepot,
Langemand,
Guldbrand,
Lille Peer Spilleman.
"Little Peer Spilleman" is "little Peter the fiddler," not a bad name
for the little finger. A slight variation of this is current in
Sweden,—
Tomme tott,
Slicke pott;
Långe man,
Hjertlig hand;
Lille, lille, lille, gullvive!
The following song for the four fingers is obtained from Lancashire:
This broke the barn,
This stole the corn,
This got none:
This went pinky-winky
All the way home!
FACE-SONGS.
Bo Peeper,
Nose dreeper,
Chin chopper,
White lopper,
Red rag,
And little gap.
These lines are said to a very young child, touching successively for
each line the eye, nose, chin, tooth, tongue, and mouth. Sometimes the
following version is used:
Brow brinky,
Eye winky,
Chin choppy,
Nose noppy,
Cheek cherry,
Mouth merry.
The most pleasing amusement of this kind is the game of "face-tapping,"
the nurse tapping each feature as she sings these lines,—
Here sits the lord mayor (_forehead_),
Here sit his two men (_eyes_);
Here sits the cock (_right cheek_),
Here sits the hen (_left cheek_).
Here sit the little chickens (_tip of nose_),
Here they run in (_mouth_);
Chinchopper, chinchopper,
Chinchopper, chin (_chucking the chin_)!
Similar songs are common in the North of Europe. A Danish one is given
by Thiele, iii. 130:
Pandebeen,
Oisteen,
Næsebeen,
Mundelip,
Hagetip,
Dikke, dikke, dik.
Brow-bone,
Eye-stone,
Nose-bone,
Mouth-lip,
Chin-tip,
Dikke, dikke, dik!
The nurse, while repeating the last line, tickles the child under the
chin. A German version, now common at Berlin, is printed by M. Kuhn, in
his article on Kinderlieder, p. 237:
Kinnewippchen,
Rothlippchen,
Nasendrippchen,
Augenthränechen,
Ziep ziep Maränechen.
The following lines are repeated by the nurse when sliding her hand down
the child's face:
My mother and your mother
Went over the way;
Said my mother to your mother,
It's chop-a-nose day!
KNEE-SONGS.
This is the way the ladies ride;
Tri, tre, tre, tree,
Tri, tre, tre, tree!
This is the way the ladies ride,
Tri, tre, tre, tri-tre-tre-tree!
This is the way the gentlemen ride;
Gallop-a-trot,
Gallop-a-trot!
This is the way the gentlemen ride,
Gallop-a gallop-a-trot!
This is the way the farmers ride,
Hobbledy-hoy,
Hobbledy-hoy!
This is the way the farmers ride,
Hobbledy hobbledy-hoy!
This is a famous song for a young child, the nurse dancing it on her
knee, and gradually increasing the ascent of the foot. Similar songs,
but differing considerably from the above, are given in the Swedish
nursery ballads of Arwidsson, iii. 489-91; the Danish of Thiele, iii.
130-2, iv. 176-7; and the German Wunderhorn, iii. 60-1. The following
pretty Swedish version is given from Mr. Stephens's MS. collections:
Hvem är det som rider?
Det är en fröken som rider:
Det går i sakta traf,
I sakta traf!
Hvem är det som rider?
Det är en Herre som rider:
Det går jo i galopp,
I galopp!
Hvem är det som rider?
Det är en Bonde som rider:
Det går så lunka på,
Lunka på!
And pray, who now is riding?
A lady it is that's riding:
And she goes with a gentle trot,
A gentle trot!
And pray, who now is riding?
A gentleman it is that's riding:
And he goes with a gallop-away,
A gallop-away!
And pray, who now is riding?
A farmer it is that's ridin
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