WAT SANNEL'S RIDE TO HIGHWORTH

Colonist, Volume III, Issue 300, 4 September 1860, Page 4

WAT SANNEL'S RIDE TO HIGHWORTH

Si Ecstirtr.of rfje imus af fames tfjc .first.

* Then ye dwou't believe in witches, uaybor ?' queried old George Pinnock, of his friend and gossip, • Samuel Hornblow, as they sat enjoying a jug of ale at the door of the former, in the quiet village of Blunsdon.' •Noa, George, I dwon't,' was the reply. *Id won't believe iv nothin'o'th' zart. It's only a passel o.' old wives' stories, and may do very well to frighten children.' ' Now, there you're wrong, Master Sam'ell, — quite wrong, I do azhure ye. It's very plain there be such people. What was that woman as. Saul went to zee ? And ain't our king his self writ a book about witches and hobgoblins, and all them there zart o' things. I yeard 'em talking about it at High worth last Vriday as ever was.' ' Ay, ay, naybor, that's all very well,' replied the incredulous Master Hornblow. ' Kings can zeo and zay many things that we poor vauk can*.' 'Eez zartingly,' rejoined Pinnock; ' but it ain't the king only ; our curate, Zur Rafe, says a man as dwon't believe in ghosts an witches is ■ worse nor a haythen. Now, I tell ye what, Master Hornblow,' here his voice subsided to a whisper, it's my believe we've got a witch pretty nigh us.' Pie pointed as he spoke to a dilapidated cottage at a short distance from the spot. Master Hornblow, looking furtive'y over his shoulder, set down the jug which he was about to raise to bis lips, and with open mouth and staring eyea gave evidence that his unbelief was not very deeply rooted. fAh!' continued the village demonologist ' There's a witch there, naybor, as zure as my name's George. Young Tom Strainge says the devil often goes to supper wi' Molly Phillips ; and one night when a was gwoin' whoame a yeard a strange naise, and looked in at the winder.' ' Well,; what did a zee ?' interrupted Hornblow, whose curiosity was excited, stariog with all lv's eyes,—' what did a zee ?' ' Why, a martal odd zight. Moll Phillips was a zittin' at a table, wi' her two cats, and a strainge uri as big as,a calf was a zittin' opposite to urn.' ' The Lard zave us! ye dwon't zay zo !' ejaculated Master Hornblow, screwing round his seat, and biinging his back to the wall. ' Eez, they was all a making a strainge mowing and chattering; but Tom cou'du't make out a word on't, and while a was a peering into the place summut made the bwoy sneeze, when, whew ! all was dark inaminnib, and zomebody took T@m by the scruff o' the neck, and pitched 'un auv.er the wall! I warraud he'll never gwo anigh thuek place ageu.' ' Very strainge, uaybor, ver—y strainge,' observed Mastar Hornblow, looking aghast. * If the justice comes to hear on't Moll will be burnt zome day in Highworth market-place for a zart'inty.' 'Whilst! naybor,' said Pinnock, placing 'hisfinger on his nose and- winking significantly. ' The3e sort o' yolk have long ears, and are nation spiteful. Ye wou'd'nt like Moll and her cats to pay ye a visit to-night, would ye ?' ; 'Oh Lard! noa, noa!' cried the convert; * dwon't ye talk on % naybor,—they zay talk o'the owld 'un, and a.'s zure to zhow's tarns!' /it that moment the shadow of something passing before the sun was thrown on the white wall of the cottage. It was caused by the transit of the old raven who built in the huge elms at the entrance of the village ; but Master Hornblow's terror was already excited to the utmost pitch, and never doubting but that it was the shadow of the foul fiend himself, he bellowed like a bull-calf, and overthrowing the table in his fright, clung to his friend for protection. . , ■ : 'Od drattle the stupid body!' cried Pinnock, on seeing the damage that had been done •, 'thee has broken my best jug, and spilt a pint o' good liquor.' :..■■.,■ ' Never mind, naybor,' said Master Samuel, recovering himself, 'thee shalst have a quart for it when thee com'st to my house." 'Why what wast vrightened of, man;?' continued Pinnock, lifting up the table:—'not of a shadow, zhurely, for Zur Xtafe zays the old un has no shadow, nor have they a zell tb.eirzelves; so, when a witch zails by in the air on a moonlightnight, you only zee the shadow of her besom.' ' What's. that you're talking about, Master Pinnock?' cried a young man, who came up at the moment on a bay gelding. It was Wat Sannell, a servant of the Erneley family, then residing at Bury Blunsdon, a ha- ; l'um-scarum, dare-devil young fellow, whose good looks and activity were his sole recommendations, '. " .; , '.What's that,you say,. Gaffers f- cried he, addressing the pair. ' We're talking about witches,' replied Pinnock. ' Then you're a couple of old gawnies/ said the gemtor, laughing.

'What! dwon't #c believe in 'em?! cried Master Pinnock. 'Beleeve in 'em!' echoed Wat. 'No; and he's a fool who does. Such thiDgs are but o' fashion now, Gaffer Pinnock.' ' That's as «/ov think, Maester Wat, but we kneow better," said Pinnock. ' Who zets up that girt thistle in the close, there ? and who daanzes round 'un every night ? Cut'un down as often as 'c wull, and he greows dree times thicker, and sponger the next inarnin'!' 'Ha! ha! !' laughed Wat. 'If that's the case, if ought to be as big.as an elmen tree by this time, for I've cut it down a dozen times, and hist night I puHedit up by the roots (for I had on. my hawking-glove), and threw it in at Moll Philips' window. If she be a witcb, 't will serve for a sallad when her master, the devil, comes to ssup with her. 5 • I woud n't a done it for a purse o' Jacobuses,' said Pinnock in a subdued tone. ' Moll's uncommon spiteful, and 'II pay ye off vor it, for a zart'inty.' 'Pish!' exjlaimed Wat, 'We intend to duck her to-morrow. I don't care' for witches; yet, besbrew me, if I couldn't believe Moll was one. I don't know how I came to be tempted ; but this morning as I brought home my master's birdiug-piece, I saw one of her ugly black cats sitting., on the wall, wheu I thought I would have a shot. Well, I let fly, and up sprung the brute as high as the cottage chimney!-it fell down against the door, and brought out her mistress. By, St. Christopher! how the jade swore when she saw her favorite riddled like a colender!' ' Then thee bist a very criiel fellow,' observed Master Samuel Hornblow, who, no longer a sceptic, for some moments had been shuddering in silence,' and Moll will pay thee off vor't.' Wat made no reply, but laughed loudly at the recollection of his feat. Pinnock asked him where he was going. ' I am going to Highworth, Gaffer, for a pair of hawk-bells for Mistress Dorothy, if you must know my business,' said the serving-man ; and giving his horse the spur, he turned the, corner, and was quickly'out of sight. ,'Those young maids, though they be high born, like a smart sarvin' man,' remarked old Pinnock to bi3 friend.

'Ay, ay, Gearge,' said Master Hornblow, trying to wink and look knowing: 'in my young day 3 I loved to look, on a fair face, ttiough 't was my master's daughter's.' In the meanwhile, Wat held .on his wajr to Highworfcb, where he soon arrived, and having obtained the hawk-bells from the silversmith of whom they had been ordered, he took a review of the contents of his leathern purse, and found that he was master of some two or three shillings,—a sum in those days amply sufficient for a man to procure wherewithal to fuddle himself effectually ; so, swaggering across the marketplace, he entered the common room of the inn, and called for a pottle of double beer, which he had just discussed, when an old acquaintance entered. Good liquor vanishes apace when friends meet, and in about an hour Wat was jusfc drunk enough to care for nobody.. While these boon companions were hobbing and nobbing, the day was wearing away, and the gathering clouds foretold a tlnmderstorm ; but our serving-man determined to get rid of all his money before he left.; and it was within half an hour of sunset when he quitted the inn, with an empty purse, an unsteady hand, and a flushed face, the hawk-bells being carefully bestowed in his leathern purse. The town was soon left behind him, and the evening breeze cooled his heated brow. The heavens looked lowering, and distant thunder rumbled among the hills. As he held on his way, he espied at some distance before him a female figure seated on a'large stone by the road side. j ' Some love-sick lass come to hold tryst with her swain!' muttered Wat to himself; rayther a threatening evruing for lovers' meeting-' He soon came up with the damsel, and not having the fear of her lover before his eyes, he threw; himself from his horse, and walked towards her. ' My pretty maid,' said he, putting on one of his most insinuating looks, and imitating the language which he had heard employed by his betters, * you must be lonely here without your lover. 5 ■ The maiden averted her head, and drew her wimple closer to her face, as if abashed by his bold address. ' ' Ah,' continued Wat, 'alone and yet so coy; then I must jußjt take a peep at my fair one's face. By your leave, sweet mistress." With these words he stooped to remove the damsel's wimple, when, oh Cupid ! an unseen liand gave him a buffet which knocked his hat over his eyes, and he received at. the same moment such a violent kick behind that it fairly sent him heels over head on to the greensward j by the road-side. . Swearing a bitter oath, Wat scrambled on his legs, and prepared to take vengeance on the person who had assaulted him, very naturally supposing it was the lady's lover; but, to his great surprise, not a soul was to be seen ; even the damsel herself was clean gone. Wat, aghast, looked around him j there was ( not a bush, tree, or ditch within'the distance of an arrow's flight, which could have sheltered his assailant.: .... . ... 'It,.was the devil, and the woman was a witch/ thought-be. This reflection made his flesh creep, and his hair stand ou end, and he remembered the words of old'Pinnock a few hours before; ,so, remounting his horse, which was grazing quietly a few paces off, he proceeded on his way, somewhat sobered by this incident. ■ The sun now went down, red and fiery ; the,, storm came on; the thunder became louder and .louder, and vivid flashes of lightning occasionally Jit. up the landscape. Wat felt his heart tremble within him, and wished himself safe at home. As. he held on his way at a round trot, he passed a cottage on his right, at the door of which he saw in the gloom a figure which he at a glance ;recognised.as the sauie lie had seen sitting by the road"-side. She beckoned to him to enter; but bur servings-man was not to be caught a secoud time. ' Aroint thee, witch !' he cried, and, plying his spurs,'he left the cottage far behind him; He, however, had not proceeded far, when he heard a loud grunt from a hog in the road, and the horse stumbling upon the animal, threw ;Wat over his head.: 'Those who are born to,be hung will never 'be drowned,' says the proverb.' Throw some people from a- church. steeple; and they will light on their legs. Wat was:one of .these, ho fell on his hands and knees, and thereby saved his ueck. His first care on arising wasto catch his horse, which he accomplished with some difficulty, for his bruises had rendered him stiff, and his hands had been torn by the flinty road. But this was ho.t all: on his leaping on

the back of the gelding, the saddle slipped, and he was again precipitated to the ground. Muttering curses between his closed teeth, Wat regained; his feet and proceeded to tighten his saddle-girth. As he did so, he fancied he heard.a stifled chuckling of exultation behind him, but quickly remounting t he urged on his steed. Bewildered by what had occurred, and perplexed by,the which now reigned around him, relieved only at intervals by the lightning,, he took a wrong turning in the road, and had/proceeded about three miles, when a vivid flash showed him that he had strayed from the right path. The object' which the glare of the lightning revealed was a gibbet, on which swung the remains of a malefactor who had been executed on the spot some years previously, Wat knew by this ghastly sign-post that he was several miles from home, and, turning his horse's head, proceeded to retrace his steps: but this was not an easy matter: the thunder resounded like the explosions of heavy pieces of ordnance; the lightning rolled on the ground in sheets of fire, and the rain fell in torrents.. The stout heart of the dare-devil serving-man quailed at ibis fierce war of the elements, and a thousand times he cursed his evil stars, which' had tempted him to tarry drinking at High worth. At length he regained the right road, and almost forgot the kicking, buffeting, and tumbling be had sustained, as he saw some prospect of reaching home without a broken neck. But he was not to reach home so easily. He bad scarcely gone a hundred yards, when a huge^ black cat,'the very image of that he had shot in the morning, leaped from the head of an ancient pollard oak hard by, into the middle of the road, its large eyes glowing like hot coals. The horse shyed as the creature raised itself on its hind-legs, as if to dispute the way. Wat, by the vigorous application of his spurs and ridingstaff, endeavored to urge forward his steed; but the animal refused to stir, and snorted in terror. In vain did he strive to dash onward, and crush the; creature beneath the horse's feet; in vain did he attempt a diversion; the cat advanced, and its gaunt figure seemed to dilate before them to an enormous size, when suddenly it. darted forward, and leaped on the horse's neck. This was ,too much for Wat; his senses forsook him, and he fell to the ground in an agony of terror. .. While this was passing, a little knot of gossips had assembled at the forge of Will Cullum, the village blacksmith. Some had gone thither for shelter from the storm; but there were two who made it their * custom always of an afternoon:'—these were: the worthy clodpoles, Messieurs Pionock and Hornblow. Many sage opinions were adventured on the storm, which was now passing away; and the old men began to indulge in surmises as to what had become of Wat, when on a suddeu the clacter of hoofs was heard, and a horse, bridled and saddled, but'without a rider, dashed through the village. 'Ha!' cried one, running to the door of the smithy, there goes the gelding, but where's Wat?' ' He's got drunk, as usual,' observed another coolly ; 'and the horse is gone home to a warm stable, while his rider prefers a bed on the cold ground.' • His next bod, I trow, will be in the Litten, if he be laying on the ground on such a night as this,' said the smith. ' Who'il go out and look for'n ?' 1 Not I,' said Pinnock. ■ ■ ' 1 Nor I,' muttered Master Hornblow, with a shudder. ' Nor I,' said a third worthy, affecting a cough. ■'I'm. rheumatic, and have forsworn walking after nightfall.' ' Why, you're all afeard ! 3 cried the smith. ' I never met wi' such a pack of gawnies in my life ! out upon ye !' With these words the village Vulcan indiguantly donned his leathern cap, and was about to proceed in search of.Wat, for whom he had a kind of fellow-feeling, knowing his own infirmity if strong drink fell in his way, when a loud shout, or rather a shriek, was heard at a short distance. 'Whose voice was that?' cried Pianock, looking aghast. • It's Wat's,' said the smith. • Hark ! here he comes.' '.Help me! help me!' cried Wafc, rushing frantioly into the smithy, and nearly upsetting some of the gossips,—help me, Will Smith, for the love of God and the saints !' Every eye was turned on the speaker, whose haggard look, bleeding face and hands, mudbespattered clothes, and eyes staring and fixed, like those of a man while walking iv his sleep, were well calculated to strike terror among'the occupiers of the Brnithy. ' What is the matter ?' cried several voices, —" what is the matter ?' 'I'm bewitched!' roared Wat. • I'm bewitched, and driven mad !—help me, Will, and give me thy snaphaunce !' 'Thou art indeed mad!' said the smith; ' and I will not give thee a weapon' irf such a , state.' ."■■'' ' Give it me—give it me !' roared Wat imploringly, 'if ye would not be driven mad like lam ! The witch.waits without to seize me!' ...... He rushed forward as he spoke, and seized the weapon, which was suspended against the wall, and having ascertained that it was loaded, he took from his pouch the hawk-bells which he had brought from Highworth, and in an instant crushed them with convulsive force between his teeth. .■/.■ :-■.■..■'■' 'Now, witch, we shall see who has the mastery!' said he, ramming.home the. hawkbells, which he hadconverted into bullets,' lead, will not kill thee, but silver will send thee to thy master!' ' . . , He rushed from the smithy in the direction of the cottage occupied by Moll Phillips, followed at a distance by the smith and his friends, and shouting vengeance against his persecutors. As he neared the miserable tenement occupied by the aged spinster, he saw through the gloom the eyes of a large cat, which was seated on the dwarf wall. ' Now I have thee!' cried Wat, and fired. But Grimalkin was too quick for him : nimbly dropping from the wall the animal fled away, while the whole charge shivered to fragments the latticed window of the cottage. Wat deemed his purpose effected, as he heard a loud apd piercing scream rise high above the report'of the' piece ; and, wound up to the highest pitch of excitement, the terrified drunkard fell flat .on. his face, where he was found groaning and quivering, as though in a fit. The next morning our serving-man was sufficiently recovered to narrate his adventure, and, though iv a wretched state of bodily .»■ *

1 and mental prostration, his friends crowded round'his bed to hear the recital from his own lips. Moll Phillips had been found in her cottage, slain by gun-shot wounds,,the cat mewing piteously over tho remains of its mistress! "Many and sage were the remarks of the good people of Bluusdon. Some few were disposes to consider the whole slory Wat had told a the creation of a drunkard's brain; but the majority were decidedly of opinion that Mol Phillips was a witch ;' while Sir Ralfe, the curate, determined to take the whole particulars up to London, and lay them before his Sacred Majesty, as an addendum to the work of the modern Solomon on Witches and • Apparitions. — Wiltshire Tales, by John Yonge Akerman.

Authors.—Oh ! would they but devote themselves honestly to the noble art of being useful I If their indomitable vanity would compound with itself, and sacrifice fame to dignity ! If, instead of vilifying one another, and tearing one another in pieces, and mutually destroying their influence, they would combine their exertions and their labours to overthrow the ambitious who usurps, the impostor who deceives, the base who sells himself. .. If, ■ scorning- the vile vocation of literary gladiators, they banded themselves, like true brethren, in arms against prejudice, falsehood, quackery, tyranny of whatever description, in less than a century the whole face of the earth would >be changed \—Mirabeau. Editors.-—A good editor, a competent newspaper conductor, is, like a general or poet, born, not made. Exercise and experience give facility, but the qualification is innate, or it is never manifested.^ On the London daily papers all the great historians, novelists, poets, have tried, and nearly all have failed. We might say all; for after a display of brilliancy, brief but grand, they died out literally. /,The resources were exhausted; ' I can,' said the late editor of the Times to Moore, * find any number of men of genius to write for me, but very seldom one man of common sense.' The 'thunderers ' in the Times therefore have, so far as we know, been men of common sense. Nearly all successful editors have been of this description. Campbell, Oarlyle, Bulwer, and Disraeli failed ; Burnes, Sterling, and Phillips succeeded. A good editor seldom writes for his paper; he reads', judges, selects, dictates, directs, alters, and combines; and to do all this well he has but little time for composition. To write for a paper is one thing; to edit it, another. Duty.—ln public affairs, as in matters eternal, the path of prosperity is the broad way, and that of duty the strait gate, and few there be that enter therein. I shall have been half a century in the World if I am spared another month, and I end iv opinion where I began—Principles alone are worth living lov.—Eavelock Victor Emmanuel.—Firm like my ancestors in the Catholic faith, and in the respect due to the supreme head of. religion, if the ecclesiastical authority shall adopt spiritual arms on behalf of ■temporal interests, I, with a safe conscience, and following the traditions of my ancestors, will find strength to maintain intact both civil liberty and my authorit}'-, concerning which I owe account to God alone, and to my people.