A Beautiful Berryin'.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 466, 26 April 1890, Page 3

A Beautiful Berryin'.

Our London correspondent draws attention to the following eminently characteristic Cornish story cut from an article by “Q.” (Mr Couch) in the “Speaker” of February Bth : “ In the west parts of Cornvyall, during the winter season, swallows are found sitting in old deep tynne works and holes in the sea cliffes ; but touching their lurkingplaces,' Olaus Magnus maketh a far stranger report. For he saith that in the north parts of the. world, as snmmer weareth;aut,. they clap mouth to mouth, wing to wing, and legge to legge, and'So, after a sweet singing, fall downe into certain lakes and pools amongst the caves, from whence at the • next spring they receive a new resurrection.” 1 The coomb, still growing narrower and more tortuous,, here takes a sudden jtwist and brings into'sight a low grey farmhouse set half-way up the slope to the left. The trees mount up to it, and shut it in ; and, as if not secure enough in his seclusion, some owner has planted a high wall round its curtilage—-not so high, however, but that you may see, above the tree-tops of the coomb, the tan sails of the fishing-boats moving in the bay. It is not for this, though, that you are invited to mount to the building, but to learn what sort of being the countryman often is—the simplest, most crooked, tenderest, meanesc, most baffling creature that walks. Come round to the pig-stye. It is hedged round with tall upright slabs of slate ; and one of these slabs is worth your consideration. Stoop a little, and tell me what you decipher under the filth that encrusts it.

“In Ever Loving Memory of ” Stop; and listen first to the story. The last owner of the farm was called Abram Yarcoe, a hard-fisted yeoman, yet full of the simplest beliefs. He said to me once of a man who had cast him in a law-suit, “See that fellow, movin’ abovit wi’ his grey forsaken face. Ah! the sun’s not for he.” “Why?” I asked. “ Dostn’ thee know,” he answei'ed solemnly, “ the sun niver shines ’pon a false swearer ?” . This Abram had two children —a daughter who died early, and a son whom he “ brought to a Passon.” He was a good son, this Nicholas Varcoe, and an exemplary churchman; but overread himself at Cambridge, and, falling into consumption soon after he took Orders, came home to die. One warm June afternoon, as he lay in the parlour-window yonder, his father came in from market and began thus : “ Nick, I reckon there’s no mistake, eh You’m bound to die?”

“ Ye 3, father ; I’m.dying.” “Well, I reckon’d .you must go.” (A pause.) “ You see, Nick,, I’ve a-truckled away a brave whack o’mdney, fust an’ last, ’pon your bringin’-up; an’l didn’ begrudge it, thinkin’ ’twas all lent to the Lord in a manner. .You. remember The, hemp, NiclP?— "" ’ ‘ . ... „ YY- ■

- -Whativeri Lord,.us lends to tfiea. ... KepaidarthoP'san’ J fc>M’ll'be.-‘.' . . But here you be in a decline, ari’ ’bes fair t'o stop the loss. Now old Congdon o’ Fore Street, the fun’ral outfitter, .went scat a while back, as you knaw ; an’ to-day I turn’d into .the shop, where the bankroutstock was goi.n’.. dirt-cheap. There was mourner’s gloves at.one-an’-three the pair, an T West-of-England broad-cloth at next to nowt per yard. So I says, ‘ ’Tis my starin’ duty, tho’ forebodin’ be so bad as witch-crafan’ I’ve a-bought your fun’ral outfit, Nick,, at who’sel prices. Don’t-ee look so down-da’nted, my son for Nick was gulping down something in his throat as he stared but on the lilacs, then in .flower—“ Hear, up, soce ! You’m bound to go as the sparks fly uppards, bub you’ll be finely interred, and shall hev a grave-sbun wi’ B. A. carved on eb, an’ all the world’s scholarship pub i’ the letterin’.” Nick died before the corn fell that year, and the old man was as good as his word. He had a “ beautiful berryin’,” and ordered an elaborate gravestone. This he carried off to the churcb-yard in a hay-waggon, and went in to see the Yicar about the price for erecting the stone. The Rector asked a guinea, for the spot chosen was the choicest. Abram offered ten-and-sixpence. “No,” said the Rector; “you can well afford to pay the full price.” Abram flung out in a rage. ‘ Take et off to the belfry.” he thundered at his men, who stood ready with the stone. It lay in the rubbish of the belfry for years, as neither Abram nor the Rector : would give way. At length the Rector died, and the new clergyman, anxious to restore his church, desired Abram either to erect the stone at the customary price or remove it from the belfry. The half guinea stood in the way, and it was carried to the smithy outside the churchyard. Then Abram died, and left his money, some £1,500, to strangers. And as a curse comes home to roost, the monumental slab has returned to the farm-house. Now stoop and read ; you see the letters are still gilded— IN EVER LOVIW3 MEMORY OF The Rev. Nicholas Varcoe, 8.A., Sometime Curate of Lesnewtb, . Who died Aug. 2nd. 1874. * • • •• Blessed are the Dead who die m the Lord. .