NOTES AND QUERIES:

A MEDIUM OF INTER-COMMUNICATION FOR LITERARY MEN, ARTISTS, ANTIQUARIES, GENEALOGISTS, ETC.

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"When found, make a note of."—Captain Cuttle.

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No. 61. Saturday, December 28. 1850. Price Threepence.
Stamped Edition 4d.

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CONTENTS.

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NOTES.

ILLUSTRATIONS OF SCOTTISH BALLADS.

In the ballad of "Annan Water" (Border Minstrelsy, vol. iii.) is the following verse:—

A very unexpected

effect of sorrow, but one that does not seem to be unprecedented. "A plague of sighing and grief," says Falstaff. "It blows a man up like a bladder."

A remarkable illustration of Falstaff's assertion, and of the Scottish ballad, is to be found in this Saga of Egil Skallagrimson. Bodvar, the son of Egil, was wrecked on the coast of Iceland. His body was thrown up by the waves near Einarsness, where Egil found it, and buried it in the tomb of his father Skallagrim. The Saga continues thus:—

"After that, Egil rode home to Borgar; and when he came there, he went straightway into the locked chamber where he was wont to sleep; and there he laid him down, and shot forth the bolt. No man dared speak a word to him. And thus it is said that Egil was clad when he laid Bodvar in the tomb. His hose were bound fast about his legs, and he had on a red linen kirtle, narrow above, and tied with strings at the sides. And men say that his body swelled so greatly that his kirtle burst from off him, and so did his hose."—P. 602.

It is well known that the subjects of many ballads are common to Scotland, and to the countries of Northern Europe. Thus, the fine old "Douglas Tragedy," the scene of which is pointed out at Blackhouse Tower, on the Yarrow, is equally localised in Denmark:

"Seven large stones," says Sir Walter, "erected upon the neighbouring heights of Blackhouse, are shown as marking the spot where the seven brethren were slain; and the Douglas Burn is avowed to have been the stream at which the lovers stopped to drink; so minute is tradition in ascertaining, the scene of a tragical tale, which, considering, the rude state of former times, had probably foundation in some real event."

The corresponding Danish ballad, however, that of "Ribolt and Guldborg," which has been translated by Mr. Jamieson, is not less minute in pointing out the scene of action. The origin of ballads, which are thus widely spread, must probably be sought in very high antiquity; and we cannot wonder if we find them undergoing considerable change in the passage from one country to another. At least the "Douglas Tragedy" betrays one very singular mark of having lost something of the original.

In "Ribolt and Guldborg," when the lady's brothers have all but overtaken the fugitives, the knight addresses her thus:

Ribolt kills her father and her two eldest brothers, and then Guldborg can no longer restrain herself:

But she has broken her lover's mysterious caution, and he is mortally wounded in consequence:

In the Scottish ballad, no such caution is given; nor is the lady's calling on her lover's name at all alluded to as being the cause of his death. It is so, however, as in the Danish version:

There is no note in the Kæmpe Viser, says Mr. Jamieson, on this subject; nor does he attempt to explain it himself. It has, however, a clear reference to a very curious Northern superstition.

Thorkelin, in the essay on the Berserkir, appended to his edition of the Kristni-Saga, tells us that an old name of the Berserk frenzy was hamremmi, i.e., strength acquired from another or strange body, because it was anciently believed that the persons who were liable to this frenzy were mysteriously endowed, during its accesses, with a strange body of unearthly strength. If, however, the Berserk was called on by his own name, he lost his mysterious form, and his ordinary strength alone remained. Thus it happens in the Svarfdæla Saga:

"Gris called aloud to Klanfi, and said, 'Klanfi, Klanfi! keep a fair measure,' and instantly the strength which Klanfi had got in his rage, failed him; so that now he could not even lift the beam with which he had been fighting."

It is clear, therefore, continues Thorkelin, that the state of men labouring under the Berserk frenzy was held by some, at least, to resemble that of those, who, whilst their own body lay at home apparently dead or asleep, wandered under other forms into distant places and countries. Such wanderings were called hamfarir by the old northmen; and were held to be only capable of performance by those who had attained the very utmost skill in magic.

Richard John King.

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THE RED HAND.—THE HOLT FAMILY.

(Vol. ii., pp. 248. 451.)

Your correspondent Este, in allusion to the arms of the Holt family, in a window of the church of Aston-juxta-Birmingham, refers to the tradition that one of the family "murdered his cook, and was afterwards compelled to adopt the red hand in his arms." Este is perfectly correct in his concise but comprehensive particulars. That which, by the illiterate, is termed "the bloody hand," and by them reputed as an abatement of honour, is nothing more than the "Ulster badge" of dignity. The tradition adds, that Sir Thomas Holt murdered the cook in a cellar, at the old family mansion, by "running him through with a spit," and afterwards buried him beneath the spot where the tragedy was enacted. I merely revert to the subject, because, within the last three months, the ancient family residence, where the murder is said to have been committed, has been levelled with the ground; and among persons who from their position in society might be supposed to be better informed, considerable anxiety has been expressed to ascertain whether any portion of the skeleton of the murdered cook has been discovered beneath the flooring of the cellar, which tradition, fomented by illiterate gossip, pointed out as the place of his interment. Your correspondents would confer a heraldic benefit if they would point out other instances—which I believe to exist—where family reputation has been damaged by similar ignorance in heraldic interpretation.

The ancient family residence to which I have referred was situated at Duddeston, a hamlet adjoining Birmingham. Here the Holts resided until May, 1631, when Sir Thomas took up his abode at Ashton Hall, a noble structure in the Elizabethan style of architecture, which, according to a contemporary inscription, was commenced in April, 1618, and completed in 1635. Sir Thomas was a decided royalist, and maintained his allegiance to his sovereign, although the men of Birmingham were notorious for their disaffection, and the neighbouring garrison of Edgbaston was occupied by Parliamentarian troops. When Charles I., of glorious or unhappy memory, was on his way from Shrewsbury to the important battle of Edgehill,

id="page507" class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" /> on the confines of Warwickshire, he remained with Sir Thomas, as his guest, from the 15th to the 17th of October (vide Mauley's Iter Carolinum, Gutch's Collectanea, vol. ii. p. 425.); and a closet is still pointed out to the visitor where he is said to have been concealed. A neighbouring eminence is to the present day called "King's Standing," from the fact of the unhappy monarch having stood thereon whilst addressing his troops. By his acts of loyalty, Sir Thomas Holt acquired the hostility of his rebellious neighbours; and accordingly we learn that on the 18th of December, 1643, he had recourse to Colonel Leveson, who "put forty muskettiers into the house" to avert impending dangers; but eight days afterwards, on the 26th of December, "the rebels, 1,200 strong, assaulted it, and the day following tooke it, kil'd 12, and ye rest made prisoners, though wth losse of 60 of themselves." (Vide Dugdale's Diary, edited by Hamper, 4to. p. 57.) The grand staircase, deservedly so entitled, bears evident marks of the injury occasioned at this period, and an offending cannon-ball is still preserved.

Edward, the son and heir of Sir Thomas, died at Oxford, on the 28th August, 1643, and was buried in Christ Church. He was an ardent supporter of the king. The old baronet was selected as ambassador to Spain by Charles I., but was excused on account of his infirmities. He died A.D. 1654, in the eighty-third year of his age. His excellence and benevolence of character would afford presumptive evidence of the falsehood of the tradition, if it were not totally exploded by the absurdity of the hypothesis upon which it is grounded. Sir Thomas was succeeded in the baronetcy by his grandson, Robert, who in compliance with his will built an almshouse or hospital for five men and five women. It is unnecessary to pursue the family further, excepting to state that nearly at the close of the last century the entail was cut off: the family is now unknown in the neighbourhood, excepting in its collateral branches, and the hall has passed into the possession of strangers. Its last occupant was James Watt, Esq., son of the eminent mechanical philosopher. He died about two years ago, and the venerable mansion remains tenantless.

With reference to the ancient family residence of the Holts, at Duddeston, it will be sufficient to observe, that in the middle of the last century the house and grounds were converted into a tavern and pleasure gardens, under the metropolitan title of Vauxhall: and for a century they continued to afford healthful recreation and scenic amusement to the busy inhabitants of Birmingham. The amazing increase in the size and population of the town has at length demanded this interesting site for building purposes. Within the last three months the house and gardens have been entirely dismantled, a range of building has already been erected, and old Vauxhall is now numbered amongst the things that were.

J. Goodwin.

Birmingham.

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"Bloody Hands at Stoke d'Abernon, Surrey.—The legends of Sir Richard Baker (Vol. ii., pp. 67. 244.) and of a member of the Holt family (Vol. ii., p. 451.) recall to my mind one somewhat similar, connected with a monument in the church of Stoke d'Abernon, Surrey, the appearance of a "bloody hand" upon which was thus accounted for to me:—

"Two young brothers of the family of Vincent, the elder of whom had just come into possession of the estate, were out shooting on Fairmile Common, about two miles from the village; they had put up several birds, but had not been able to get a single shot, when the elder swore with an oath that he would fire at whatever they next met with. They had not gone much further before the miller of a mill near at hand (and which is still standing) passed them, and made some trifling remark. As soon as he had got by, the younger brother jokingly reminded the elder of his oath, whereupon the latter immediately fired at the miller, who fell dead upon the spot. Young Vincent escaped to his home, and by the influence of his family, backed by large sums of money, no effective steps were taken to apprehend him, and he was concealed in the 'Nunnery' on his estate for some years, when death put a period to the insupportable anguish of his mind. To commemorate his rash act and his untimely death, this 'bloody hand' was placed on his monument."

So runs the story as far as I remember; the date I cannot recollect. The legend was told me after I had left the church, and I had paid no particular attention to the monument; but I thought at the time that the hand might be only the Ulster badge. I shall be obliged to any of your readers who will throw further light upon this matter. A pilgrimage to Stoke d'Abernon, whose church contains the earliest known brass in England, would not be uninteresting even at this season of the year.

Arun.

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VONDEL'S LUCIFER.

I have to complain of injustice done by a correspondent of "Notes AND Queries ," to the Dutch poet Vondel. To the question mooted by F. (Vol. i. p. 142.), whether my countryman's Lucifer has ever been translated into English, Hermes answers by a passage taken from the Foreign Quarterly Review for April, 1829; and subjoins a list of the dramatis personæ "given from the original Dutch before him. The tragedy itself is condensed by your correspondent into a simple "&c." Now, if Hermes, instead of referring to a stale review for a comparison between Vondel's tragedy and the Paradise Lost, without showing by any proof that Milton's justly renowned epic is indeed superior to this, one of the Dutch poet's masterpiece—if Hermes, being, as I conclude from his own words, conversant with the language of our Shakspeare, had taken pains to read Lucifer, he would not have repeated a statement unfavourable to Vondel's poetical genius. I, for my part, will not hazard a judgment on poems so different and yet so alike, I will not sneer at Milton's demon-gods of Olympus, nor laugh at "their artillery discharged in the daylight of heaven;" for such instances of bad taste are to be considered as clouds setting off the glories of the whole; but this I will say, that Vondel wrote his Lucifer in 1654, the sixty-seventh of his life, while Milton's Paradise Lost was composed four years later. The honour of precedence, in time, at least, belongs to my countryman. All the odds were against the British poet's competitor, if one who wrote before him may be so called; for, while Milton enjoyed every privilege of a sound classical education, Vondel had still to begin a course of study when more than twenty-six years of age; and, while the Dutch poet told the price of homely stockings to prosaic burghers, the writer of Paradise Lost was speaking the language of Torquato Tasso in the country enraptured by the first sight of la divina comedia.

I am no friend of polemical writing, and I believe the less we see of it in your friendly periodical, the better it is; but still I must protest against such copying of partially-written judgments, when good information can be got. I say not by stretching out a hand, for the book was already opened by your correspondent—but alone by using one's eyes and turning over a leaf or two. Else, why did Hermes learn the Dutch language? I ask your subscribers if the following verses are weak, and if they would not have done honour to the English Vondel?

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"Who sits above heaven's heights sublime,

Yet fills the grave's profoundest place,

Beyond eternity, or time,

Or the vast round of viewless space:

Who on Himself alone depends—

Immortal—glorious—but unseen—

And in his mighty being blends

What rolls around or flows within.

Of all we know not—all we know—

Prime source and origin—a sea,

Whose waters pour'd on earth below

Wake blessing's brightest radiancy.

'Tis power, love, wisdom, first exalted

And waken'd from oblivion's birth;

Yon starry arch—yon palace, vaulted—

Yon heaven of heavens, to smile on earth.

From his resplendent majesty

We shade us 'neath our sheltering wings,

While awe-inspired, and tremblingly

We praise the glorious King of Kings,

With sight and sense confused and dim;

O name—describe the Lord of Lords,

The seraph's praise shall hallow Him;—

Or is the theme too vast for words?"

Dr. Bowring's version,—though a good one, if the difficulty be considered of giving back a piece of poetry, whose every word is a poem in itself, and by whose rhyme and accentuation a feeling of indescribable awe is instilled into the most fastidious reader's mind,—Dr. Bowring's version is but a feeble reverberation of the holy fire pervading our Dutch poet's anthem. But still there rests enough in his copy to give one a high idea of the original. I borrow the same Englishman's words when I add:—

"The criticism that instructs, even though it instructs severely, is most salutary and most valuable. It is of the criticism that insults, and while it insults, informs not, that we have a right to complain."—Batavian Anthology, p. 6.

Janus Dousa.

Manpadt House.

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A MYTH OF MIDRIDGE;

Or, A Story anent a witless Wight's Adventures with the Midridge Fairies in the Bishoprick of Durham; now more than two Centuries ago.

Talking about fairies the other day to a nearly Octogenarian female neighbour, I asked, had she ever seen one in her youthful days. Her answer was in the negative; "but," quoth she, "I've heard my grandmother tell a story, that Midridge (near Auckland) was a great place for fairies when she was a child, and for many long years after that." A rather lofty hill, only a short distance from the village, was their chief place of resort, and around it they used to dance, not by dozens, but by hundreds, when the gloaming began to show itself of the summer nights. Occasionally a villager used to visit the scene of their gambols in order to catch if it were but a passing glance of the tiny folks, dressed in their vestments of green, as delicate as the thread of the gossamer: for well knew the lass so favoured, that ere the current year had disappeared, she would have become the happy wife of the object of her only love; and also, as well ken'd the lucky lad that he too would get a weel tochered lassie, long afore his brow became wrinkled with age, or the snow-white blossoms had begun to bud forth upon his pate. Woe to those, however, who dared to come by twos or by threes, with inquisitive and curious eye, within the bounds of their domain; for if caught, or only the eye of a fairy fell upon them, ill was sure to betide them through life. Still more awful, however, was the result if any were so rash as to address them, either in plain prose or rustic rhyme. The last instance of their being spoken to, is thus still handed down by tradition:—''Twas on a beautifully clear evening in the month of August, when the last sheaf had crowned the last stack in their master's hagyard, and after calling the "harvest home," the daytale-men and household servants were enjoying themselves over massive pewter quarts foaming over with strong beer, that the subject of the evening's conversation at last turned upon the fairies of the neighbouring hill, and each related his oft-told tale which he had learned by rote from the lips of some parish grandame. At last the senior of the mirthful party proposed to a youthful mate of his, who had dared to doubt even the existence of such creatures, that he durst not go to the hill, mounted on his master's best palfrey, and call aloud, at the full extent of his voice, the following rhymes:

Tam o' Shanter-like, elated with the contents of the pewter vessels, he nothing either feared or doubted, and off went the lad to the fairy hill; so, being arrived at the base, he was nothing loth to extend his voice to its utmost powers in giving utterance to the above invitatory verses. Scarcely had the last words escaped his lips ere he was nearly surrounded by many hundreds of the little folks, who are ever ready to revenge, with the infliction of the most dreadful punishment, every attempt at insult. The most robust of the fairies, who I take to have been Oberon, their king, wielding an enormous javelin, thus, also in rhymes equally rough, rude, and rustic, addressed the witless wight:

Well was it for Willy that his home was not far distant, and that part light was still remaining in the sky. Horrified beyond measure, he struck his spurs into the sides of his beast, who, equally alarmed, darted off as quick as lightning towards the mansion of its owner. Luckily it was one of those houses

of olden time, which would admit of an equestrian and his horse within its portals without danger; lucky, also, was it that at the moment they arrived the door was standing wide open: so, considering the house a safer sanctuary from the belligerous fairies than the stable, he galloped direct into the hall, to the no small amazement of all beholders, when the door was instantly closed upon his pursuing foes! As soon as Willy was able to draw his breath, and had in part overcome the effects of his fear, he related to his comrades a full and particular account of his adventures with the fairies; but from that time forward, never more could any one, either for love or money, prevail upon Willy to give the fairies of the hill an invitation to take an evening walk with him as far as the village of Midridge!

To conclude, when the fairies had departed, and it was considered safe to unbar the door, to give egress to Willy and his filly, it was found, to the amazement of all beholders, that the identical iron javelin of the fairy king had pierced through the thick oaken door, which for service as well as safety was strongly plated with iron, where it still stuck, and actually required the strength of the stoutest fellow in the company, with the aid of a smith's great fore-hammer, to drive it forth. This singular relic of fairy-land was preserved for many generations, till passing eventually into the hands of one who cared for none of those things, it was lost, to the no small regret of all lovers of legendary lore!

M.A.D.

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FOLK LORE.

St. Thomas's Day.—A Guernsey charm pour ve ki ke sera son amant—

"Into a golden pippin stick eighteen new pins, nine in the eye, and nine in the stem, tie round it the left garter, and place it under the pillow. Get into bed backwards, saying,

Viator.

NOV. 6. 1850.

Black Doll at Old Store-shops (Vol. i., p. 27.).—Is it not probable that the black doll was an image of the Virgin, sold at the Reformation with a lot of church vestments, and other "rags of Popery," as the Puritans called the surplice, and first hung up by some Puritan or Hebrew dealer.

Images of the black Virgin are not uncommon in Roman Catholic churches. Has the colour an Egyptian origin, or whence is it?

A. Holt White.

Gladwins, Harlow.

Snake Charming.—Two or three summers ago, I was told a curious story of snake charming by a lady of undoubted veracity, in whose neighbourhood (about a dozen miles from Totnes) the occurrence had taken place. Two coast-guard men in crossing a field fell in with a snake: one of them, an Irishman, threw his jacket over the animal, and immediately uttered or muttered a charm over it. On taking up the garment, after a few seconds had passed, the snake was dead.

When I heard this story, and understood that the operator was an Irishman, I bethought me of how Rosalind says, "I was never so be-rhymed since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat," and accounted satisfactorily for the fact that, "as touching snakes, there are no snakes in Ireland:" for, as the song voucheth, "the snakes committed suicide to save themselves from slaughter," i.e. they were charmed to death by St. Patrick.

I fear it would now be impossible to recover the charm made use of by the coast-guard man; but I will have inquiry made, and if I can obtain any further particulars, I will forward them to you.

J.M.B.

Mice as a Medicine (Vol. ii., pp. 397. 435.).—The remedy of the roast mouse recommended in The Pathway to Health (which I find is in the British Museum), is also prescribed in Most Excellent and Approved Remedies, 1652:—"Make it in powder," says the author, "and drink it off at one draught, and it will presently help you, especially if you use it three mornings together." The following is "an excellent remedy to stanch bleeding:"—

"Take a toad and dry him very well in the sun, then put him in a linen bag, and hang him with a string about the neck of the party that bleedeth, and let it hang so low that it may touch the breast on the left side near unto the heart; and this will certainly stay all manner of bleeding at the mouth, nose," &c.

Sage leaves, yarrow, and ale, are recommended for a "gnawing at the heart;" which I think should be "made a note of" for the benefit of poor poets and disappointed authors.

Wedsecnarf.

Mice as a Medicine (Vol. ii., pp. 397. 435.).—I was stopping about three years ago in the house of a gentleman whose cook had been in the service of a quondam Canon of Ch. Ch., who averred that she roasted mice to cure her master's children of the hooping cough. She said it had the effect of so doing.

Chas. Paslam.

A common saying hereabouts, meaning that if hazel-nuts, haws, hips, &c., are plentiful, many deaths will occur. But whether the deaths are to be occasioned by nut-devouring or by seasonal influence, I cannot ascertain. In many places, an abundant crop of hips and haws is supposed to betoken a severe winter.

Chas. Paslam.

Swans hatched during Thunder.—The fable of the singing of swans at death is well known; but I recently heard a bit of "folk lore" as to the birth of swans quite as poetical, and probably equally true. It is this: that swans are always hatched during a thunderstorm. I was told this by an old man in Hampshire, who had been connected with the care of swans all his life. He, however, knew nothing about their singing at death.

Is this opinion as to the birth of swans common? If so, probably some of your numerous correspondents will detail the form in which such belief is expressed.

Robert Rawlinson.

Snakes (Vol. ii., p. 164.).—Several years ago, in returning from an excursion from Clevedon, in Somerset, to Cadbury Camp, I saw a viper on the down, which I pointed out to the old woman in charge of the donkeys, who assailed it with a stout stick, and nearly killed it. I expressed surprise at her leaving it with some remains of life; but she said that, whatever she did to it, it would "live till sun-down, and as soon as the sun was set it would die." The same superstition prevails in Cornwall, and also in Devon.

H.G.T.

Pixies or Piskies.—At Chudleigh Rocks I was told, a few weeks ago, by the old man who acts as guide to the caves, of a recent instance of a man's being pixy-led. In going home, full of strong drink, across the hill above the cavern called the "Pixies' Hole," on a moonlit night, he heard sweet music, and was led into the whirling dance by the "good folk," who kept on spinning him without mercy, till he fell down "in a swoon."

On "coming to himself," he got up and found his way home, where he "took to his bed, and never left it again, but died a little while after," the victim (I suppose) of delirium tremens, or some such disorder, the incipient symptoms of which his haunted fancy turned into the sweet music in the night wind

and the fairy revel on the heath. In the tale I have above given he persisted (said the old man), when the medical attendant who was called in inquired of him the symptoms of his illness. This occurrence happened, I understood, very recently, and was told to me in perfect good faith.

I have just been told of a man who several years ago lost his way on Whitchurch Down, near Tavistock. The farther he went the farther he had to go; but happily calling to mind the antidote "in such case made and provided," he turned his coat inside out, after which he had no difficulty in finding his way. "He was supposed," adds my informant, "to be pisky-led."

About ten miles from Launceston, on the Bodmin road (or at least in that direction) is a large piece of water called Dosmere (pronounced Dosmery) Pool. A tradition of the neighbourhood says that on the shores of this lonely mere the ghosts of bad men are ever employed in binding the sand "in bundles with beams of the same" (a local word meaning bands, in Devonshire called beans; as hay-beans, and in this neighbourhood hay-beams, for hay-bands). These ghosts, or some of them, were driven out (they say "horsewhipped out," at any rate exorcised in some sort) "by the parson" from Launceston.

H.G.T.

Launceston.

Straw Necklaces (Vol. i., p. 104).—Perhaps these straw necklaces were anciently worn to preserve their possessors against witchcraft; for, till the thirteenth century, straw was spread on the floors to defend a house from the same evil agencies. Cf. Le Grand d'Aussi Vie des Anciens Francs, tom. iii. pp. 132. 134; "Notes AND Queries" pp. 245. 294.

Janus Dousa.

Breaking Judas' Bones.—On Good Friday eve the children at Boppart, on the Rhine, in Germany, have the custom of making a most horrid noise with rattles. They call it breaking the bones of Judas. Cf. "Notes AND Queries," Vol. i., p. 357.

Janus Dousa.

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LOCAL RHYMES AND PROVERBS OF DEVONSHIRE.

It is said that a year never passes without the drowning of one person, at least, in the Dart. The river has but few fords, and, like all mountain streams, it is liable to sudden risings, when the water comes down with great strength and violence. Compare Chambers' Popular Rhymes, p. 8., "Tweed said to Till," &c. See also Olaus Wormius, Monumenta Danica, p. 17.

The moormen never say "the Dart," but always " Dart." "Dart came down last night—he is very full this morning." The cry of the river is the name given to that louder sound which rises toward nightfall. Cranmere Pool, the source of the Dart, is a place of punishment for unhappy spirits. They may frequently be heard wailing in the morasses there. Compare Leyden Scenes of Infancy, pp. 315, 316., &c.

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Wescote (View of Devonshire: Exeter, 1845 (reprint), p. 348.) has a curious story of the Tamar and Torridge. It is worth comparing with a local rhyme given by Chambers, p. 26.: "Annan, Tweed, and Clyde," &c.

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