if he did snatch a doze he suddenly jumped up again with some vague haunting idea on his mind he could not shake off even for the first few minutes of wakefulness. Finding sleep did not suit him he determined to lie awake; by-and-by the flickering of the fire-light upon the old furniture recalled his attention to that—that box! What on earth could be in it? Then he recalled stories of travellers murdered in lonely places on nights like this, and stowed away in chests, till his hair stood on end. Then dismissing these foolish fancies from his mind, he bent his thoughts resolutely on his sweetheart, but in vain! That box haunted him, and opened it must be, “just to relieve his mind.” Getting up cautiously, there fore, he proceeded to light his candle and approach the chest; he found it fastened only by an ordinary clasp; he lifted the heavy lid quietly, and what sight met his eyes?
Horror! The dead body of a man!
Whether Syddall’s blood curdled in his veins or not, I am unable to say; but as this phenomenon almost invariably occurs on like occasions, I should think it must then. However that may be, there is no doubt that Syddall was in a tremendous fright, the immediate prospect of being murdered is calculated to appal any man; after a minute of stupefaction, being, as I have said, a bold man, he began to act, and having ascertained by a glance that there was no egress by the window, he rushed to the door, but alas! there was only a common latch! So placing the two chairs and the fender against it, he sat down upon the end of the bed, and gave himself up for lost. That being the case, he forthwith began deliberately to dress himself, and prepared to meet his doom, determined with the assistance of the poker (fool, and drivelling idiot! had he not left his pistols below with the saddle), to sell his life as dearly as possible.
The house, however, continued noiseless—not a mouse stirred, but there sat Syddall till morning broke, and a weary, fearful watch he had of it. When it was light enough he looked out of window, and surveyed the dreary prospect, now one mass of snow, white and unbroken in all directions. Presently, he saw all the men (looking, it must be confessed, strangely unlike murderers) leave the premises, and overheard them say that they were going to look for lost cattle on the moors, and might not be back till nightfall.
Now was Syddall’s time! He let them get to a safe distance and then summoned the girl. Putting his back against the door to prevent escape, he at once told her that he knew her crime, that denial and dissimulation were vain, and he besought her to endeavour to escape the fate that must follow such a deed by a full confession.
“What is it then? what do y’ mean?”
Syddall was not the man to be baulked or turned aside from his purpose by feigned innocence. He pointed to the box, and was about to speak, when a light seemed to break upon the maiden, and a smile hovered on her mouth. She replied, how ever, with perfect gravity:
“’Tis naught but Vather salted in,” she said; “’a died last week, and us couldn’t car’ un to Lydvur in the snaw, so us salted ’un in.”
THE LORD OF NANN AND THE FAIRY.
(FROM THE BRETON.)
[The “Korrigan” of Breton superstition is found both in Scotland and in Ireland. “Korr” means dwarf, and “gan” or “gwen” is interpreted by M. de Villemarque “genius” or “spirit.” The “Korrigan” is nearly identical with the “elI” of Scandinavian mythology, and Danish ballads may be found in which the “elf” plays exactly the same part to a belated hunter as the Korrigan to the Lord of Nann in the following ballad. As in other cases, I have been careful to follow the metre and divisions into stanzas of the original. The latter is important, as the triplet always indicates considerable antiquity in Cambrian and Armorican rhymed compositions. The old Celtic bardism especially affected “triads,” or division into threes.]
The Lord of Nann and his fair bride,
Were young when wedlock’s knot was tied—
Were young when death did them divide.
But yesterday that lady fair
Two babes as white as snow did bear;
A man~child and a girl they were.
“Now, say what is thy heart’s desire,
For making me a man-child’s sire?
’Tis thine, whnte’er thou may’st requirc.——
“What food soe’er thee lists to take,
Meat of the woodcock from the lake,
Meat of the wild deer from the brake.”
“Oh, the meat of the deer is dainty food !
To eat thereof would do me good,
But I grudge to send thee to the wood.”
The Lord of Nann, when this he heard,
Hath gripp’d his oak spear with never a word ;
His bonny black horse he hath leap’d upon,
And forth to the greenwood he hath gone.
By the skirts of the wood as he did go,
He was ’ware of a hind as white as snow ;
Oh, fast she ran, and fast he rode,
That the earth it shook where his horse-hoofs trode.
Oh, fast he rode, and fast she ran,
That the sweat to drop from his brow began—
That the sweat on his horse’s flanks stood white ;
So he rode and rode till the fall o’ the night.
When he came to a stream that fed a lawn,
Hard by the grot of a Corrigaun.
The grass grew thick by the streamlet’s brink,
And he lighted down off his horse to drink.
The Corrigaun sat by the fountain fair,
A combing her long and yellow hair.
A combing her hair with a comb of gold,
(Not poor, I trow, are those maidens cold).
“Now who’s the bold wight that dares come here
To trouble my fairy fountain clear?
“Either thou straight shalt wed with me,
Or pine for four long years and three ;
Or dead in three days’ space shalt be.”
“I will not wed with thee, I ween,
For wedded man a year I’ve been ;
“Nor yet for seven years will I pine,
Nor die in three days for spell of thine ;
“For spell of thine I will not die,
But when it pleaseth God on high.
“But here, and now, I’d leave my life,
Ere take a Corrigaun to wife.”
