arm above her head." . . . . . . _Frontispiece_

"'Hurl him over!' said the devil within me."

"'What have 'ee got there?' he gasped."

PREFACE

When visiting my native county some time since, I was struck with the
modern, "up-to-date," aspect of men and things. In this respect
Cornwall has much changed even during the twenty years since I left it.
The quiet, old-world feeling which I can remember has gone, and instead
there is a spirit of eagerness, almost amounting to rush. I
discovered, too, that the old stories, dear to me, are forgotten. All
the old superstitions have passed away. I remember asking a man
whether there were any witches or ghosts in his vicinity. "Look," he
said, in reply, pointing at a telegraph post, "they things 'ave
destroyed boath witches and ghoasts." And yet, less than four decades
ago, when I was a child, ghosts, witches, charms, omens, and the like
were firmly believed in. Perhaps the most vivid remembrance I have of
my childhood's days, are those connected with the weird stories of the
supernatural which my mother used to tell us, as I with my brothers and
sisters sat around a roaring fire on winter evenings. I called to
mind, too, the haunted places, which I feared to pass after dark; but
on inquiring of the new generation concerning these same places, I
found an utter ignorance of their old-time reputation. Old Tommy Dain,
the famous wizard, is forgotten, while Betsey Flew, she who could
blight corn, cause milk to turn sour, and ill-wish all but the eldest
son of a family, has no part in the life of the present generation.
And yet I remember wearing, for months, a charm which old Betsey had
prepared for me, with what result I cannot tell, save that I never had
the disease from which the charm was to save me. As for curing warts,
crooked legs, weak backs, and other ailments by the means used in the
good old days--well, they are utterly forgotten. In short, Cornwall,
which even in my boyish days was the very Mecca of Folklore and
superstition, has been completely changed. The spirit of "modernity"
is everywhere, and thus the old West Country has gone, and a new West
Country has taken its place.

Whether this has been an unmixed blessing, or not, I have grave doubts;
anyhow, the Cornwall I love to think about is the Cornwall of my
boyhood, when apparitions from the spirit-land were common, when omens
and charms were firmly believed in, and when the village parson had