With a vivid recollection of the keen enjoyment I myself found in the strange and wonderful Romances and Legends of Old Cornwall, now so rapidly being forgotten; with a remembrance too of the numerous long and involved paragraphs—even pages—that I skipped, as being prosy or unintelligible, written as they were in a dialect often untranslatable even by a Cornish child, I have here tried to present a few of these tales in simpler form, to suit not only Cornish children, but those of all parts. M.Q

Long, long ago, when Cornwall was almost a desert land, cold, bleak, and poor, and inhabited only by giants, who had destroyed and eaten all the smaller people, Brutus and Corineus came with a large Trojan army intending to conquer England, or Albion as it was then called, and landed at Plymouth for that purpose. These two valiant chiefs had heard strange tales of the enormous size of the people in that part of the island, so, like wise generals, before venturing inland themselves, they sent par

I am sure most of you have heard of St. Michael's Mount, the strange, beautiful, mountain island, which rises up out of the sea down by Penzance; a mountain island with a grand old castle crowning its summit, and a picturesque group of cottages nestling at its base. If you have not, you must coax your parents to take you down there for your next summer holiday, then you will be able to see the Mount, and visit it too. And when you are on it you must think to yourself, "Now I am standing where th

In the days when fairies, giants, and witches, gnomes and piskies, and dwarfs, and all the other Big People and Little People dwelt on the land or under it, there lived in a huge cavern, deep, deep down in the heart of the earth, two gnomes, husband and wife, busy, practical little people, who spent their lives digging and delving in the very bowels of the earth. They had no cravings for a more beautiful life, no desire to see the sunshine, the flowers, the green grass, or the wide blue sea. The

Cherry Honey, with her father and mother, and a half-score of brothers and sisters, lived in a little hut at Trereen, in the parish of Zennor. They were very poor people, terribly poor, for all they had to live on was what they could get out of a few acres of ground that they owned,—ground as barren as any you could find thereabouts, and that is saying a good deal. For food they lived mostly on fish and potatoes, except on Sundays, when they had pork, and the broth it was boiled in; and twice a

Down by St. Just, not far from Cape Cornwall and the sea, is a small hill,—or a very large mound would, perhaps, be the truer description,— called 'The Gump,' where the Small People used to hold their revels, and where our grandfathers and grandmothers used to be allowed to stand and look on and listen. In those good old times fairies and ordinary people were all good friends together, and it is because they were all such friends and trusted one another so, that our grandfathers and grandmothers

Now I will tell you a story of a very foolish woman, whose curiosity got the better of her, and of how she was punished. The old woman's Christian name was Joan. I will not tell her surname, for it does not make any difference to the story, and there may be some of her descendants left who would not like it to be known. Joan was housekeeper to Squire Lovell. The name of his house shall be kept a secret too, but I will tell you this much, that he lived a few miles out of Penzance. Now one Saturda

One of the greatest feast-days in Cornwall, and the most looked forward to, is St. Picrons' Day, which falls just before Christmas. It is the special day of the tinners and streamers, their greatest holiday in the year, and on it they have a great merry-making. Picrons was the discoverer of tin in Cornwall, so they say, so, of course, it is the bounden duty of those who earn their living by it, to keep up his day with rejoicings. It is not of St. Picrons, though, that I am going to tell you, but

More than two hundred years ago there lived in the parish of St. Teath, a poor labouring man called Jefferies, and this man had one daughter, called Anne. Anne was a sweetly pretty girl, and a very intelligent one, too; but she was a terrible hoyden. She shocked all the old ladies in the village, and all the prim people, dreadfully, and instead of being ashamed, she seemed to glory in it. Everyone wondered how she came to have such a spirit, and whom she took after, for her mother was as quiet a

Perhaps some of you have never heard about the 'Buccas,' or 'Knockers,' as some people call them, the busy little people about the same size as piskies, who are said to be the souls of the Jews who used to work in the tin mines in Cornwall. The Buccas live always in rocks, mines, or wells, and they work incessantly pickaxing, digging, sifting, etc., from one year's end to the other, except on Christmas Day, Easter Day, All Saints' Day, and the Jews' Sabbath. On those days their little tools are

One lovely summer evening many, many years ago, an old man named Lutey was standing on the seashore not far from that beautiful bit of coast called the Lizard. On the edge of the cliff above him stood a small farm, and here he lived, spending his time between farming, fishing, and, we must admit it, smuggling, too, whenever he got a chance. This summer evening he had finished his day's work early, and while waiting for his supper he strolled along the sands a little way, to see if there was any

There was once upon a time a good old Cornish family of the name of Rosewarne. Well-born, well-to-do gentlepeople they were, who had always lived in their own fine old house on their own estate, and never knew what it was to want any comfort or luxury. The family in time, though, grew larger than their income, and their pride and their dignity were greater than either, so that in trying to support the large family according to their larger dignity, the poor little income got quite swallowed up a

This is a sad story,—at least, some will think it sad! It is not about fairies, or giants, or witches, but about two lovers who loved each other above and beyond everything else in the world;—which is uncommon, for most people love themselves in that way first, and someone else next. These two lovers loved each other passionately and devotedly. They used to meet in the Lovers' Cove, or Porthangwartha,—which means the same,— and many a happy meeting they had, and well did everything go until they

Off Cudden Point, in the parish of Perranuthnoe, there lies buried in the sea, treasure enough to make anyone who finds it, one of the wealthiest persons in the whole county. Now and then, during the spring-tides, when the water is very low, small portions of it are found, just enough to keep up the excitement, and cause dozens of children from all the neighbourhood round to gather there in a swarm, to search among the seaweeds, and dig in the sands, and venture out in the sea itself as far as t

One of the most terrific storms ever known was raging on the north coast of Cornwall. The gale, blowing up channel from the southwest, broke with such fury on that bold, unsheltered piece of coast by Morwenstow, that the wreckers, who were gathered on the shore and heights above, had more than enough to do to keep their feet. The rain came down in driving sheets, shutting off the sea from their eager eyes, so that they could see nothing of the prey they were watching for. Beaten down, drenched,

Those of you who know Land's End, and that part of it called Tol-pedn-penwith, cannot fail to have been struck by a huge cliff there, in shape like a ladder, or flight of steps, formed of massive blocks of granite, piled one upon another, and on the top of which there is perched what looks like, and is, a monstrous granite chair. 'Madge Figgy's Chair' is its name, for in it Madge Figgy, who was a wrecker by trade, used to sit and call up the storms, and here, while the rough, cruel Atlantic boil

Madge Figgy, as you already know, spent most of her life in injuring someone. After she had left her cottage by the sea, where she spent so much of her time in robbing the dead, she went to live in St. Buryan, and there she spent her time in robbing the living, and doing any other mischief that came into her head to do. One of her victims here was her near neighbour, Tom Trenoweth, a hard-working, struggling man who spent all his days trying to make both ends meet, and mostly failing, poor fello

Long, long ago, when Arthur was King of England, and King Mark was King of Cornwall,—for there were many petty kings, who held their lands under King Arthur,—there was born in Lyonesse a little boy, a king's son. Instead, though, of there being great joy and rejoicing at the birth of the little heir, sorrow reigned throughout Lyonesse, for his father, King Melodias, had been stolen away by enchantment, no one knew where. Nor could anyone tell how to release him, and the heartbroken queen was dyi