lation, and his mouth watering. Amongst the apples Master Cheese had come upon one three parts eaten away by the grubs, and this he benevolently threw to Bob. Bob had disposed of it, and was now vainly longing for more.
“What did Bitterworth’s man want?” inquired Jan of Master Cheese.
“The Missis is took bad again, he says,” responded that gentleman, as distinctly as he could speak for the apples and the plums. “Croup, or something. Not as violent as it was before. Can wait.”
“You had better go up at once,” was Jan’s reply.
Master Cheese was taken aback.
“I go up!” he uttered, pulling a face as long as his arm. “All that way! I had to go to Baker’s and to Flint’s between dinner and tea.”
“And to how many Bakers and Flints do I have to go between dinner and tea?” retorted Jan. “You know what to give Mrs. Bitterworth. So, start.”
Master Cheese felt aggrieved beyond everything. For one thing, it might be dangerous to leave those cherished plums in the leech basin, Bob being within arm’s length of them: for another, Master Cheese liked his ease better than walking. He cast some imploring glances at Jan, but they produced no effect, so he had to get his hat. Vacillating between the toll that might be taken of the plums if he left them, and the damage to his hair if he took them, he finally decided on the latter course. Emptying the plums into his hat, he put it on his head. Jan was looking over what they termed the call-book.
“Miss Deb says you were called out at tea-time,” observed Jan, as Master Cheese was departing. “Who was it?”
“Nobody but old Hook. The girl was worse.”
“What! Alice? Why have you not got it down here?” pointing to the book.
“Oh, they are nobody,” grumbled Master Cheese. “I wonder the paupers are not ashamed to come here to our faces, asking for attendance and physic! They know they’ll never pay.”
“That’s my business,” said Jan. “Did he say she was very ill?”
“Took dangerous, he said,” returned Master Cheese. “Thought she’d not live the night out.”
Indefatigable Jan put on his hat, and went out with Master Cheese. Master Cheese turned leisurely towards Mr. Bitterworth’s; Jan cut across the road at a strapping pace, and took the nearest way to Hook’s cottage. It led him past the retired spot where he and the Reverend Mr. Bourne had found Alice lying that former night.
Barely had Jan gained it when some tall, dark form came pushing through the trees at right angles, and was striding off to the distance. One single moment’s indecision—for Jan was not sure at first in the uncertain light—and then he put his long legs to their utmost speed, bore down, and pinned the intruder.
“Now then!” said Jan. “Ghost or no ghost, who are you?”
He was answered by a laugh, and some joking words:
“Don’t throttle me quite, Jan. Even a ghost can’t stand that.”
The tone of the laugh, the tone of the voice, fell upon Jan Verner’s ears with the most intense astonishment. He peered into the speaker’s face with his keen eyes, and gave vent to an exclamation. In spite of the whiskerless cheeks, the elaborate black mark, in spite of the strange likeness to his brother, Jan recognised the features, not of Frederick, but of John, Massingbird.
WELSH CUSTOMS AND SUPERSTITIONS.
Alas for the old world stories and customs of our country side! They are fast being driven out by railways, steamboats, telegraphs, and such like innovations; so fast, that in a few years the very tradition of them will be gone out, and their place know them no more. Even Wales, so mountainous and difficult of enterprise, is gradually yielding to the pick and shovel of the navvy, while rustics and shepherds in out-of-the-way valleys and moory uplands are becoming cognisant of excursion trains and time-tables, instead of the former once-a-year visit to the nearest town on fair-day. Can nothing be left alone? and must we always be vexing and fretting over experiments and inventions until every spot is changed, every nook and cranny laid open to the world? As yet, however, I know of some charming dells and villages, guarded by hills from the inquisitive eyes of tourists, which have remained stationary for very many years, and will continue to remain so, I imagine, for a few years longer, preserving their ancient usages of dress, their old superstitions, and perhaps their old simple ways, though these are generally the first to go, the more’s the pity. Many Welsh customs and traditions are interesting enough to be worth keeping, and at all events may serve to show my readers to what manner of people they belonged. I think that customs are apt to die out sooner than superstitions or legends, for the reason that they are more dependent on the circumstances of the time for their being performed; a tradition may lie dormant and undisturbed in the minds of people for a long time, but a custom requires a state of action to prevent its lapsing into a thing of the past. A very pretty usage, which eventually died away (although it has been partially revived in some places), was that of the Plygain, which consisted in holding an early service on Christmas morning in the church, illuminated for the occasion. At four o’clock, a.m., the bells rang out merrily, and the singers proceeded to the parsonage to escort the vicar to the church porch, lighting up the road with their torches, and singing carols lustily. Crickhowell, in Breconshire, was noted for its Plygain, though it has been discontinued for some years, the vicar and inhabitants preferring their slumbers to the early service. It is, I believe, carried out as in days of yore in the parish of Llanover, in Monmouthshire, the Welsh character of which village is carefully kept up by Lady Llanover, an enthusiast in nationality and Welsh flannel. My readers who have visited that most charming of watering-
