There he found three stones of iron,
Weighing each a quarter ton,
Put them quickly in his pocket,
And began again to run.
Near St. Germoe’s ancient chapel
He o’ertook his crafty foe;
Then commenced a fearful battle,
Each saint dealing blow for blow.
Who knows how the fight had ended
Had St. Keverne been unarm’d?
But at sight of his huge missiles
Crafty Just became alarm’d.
So, for want of ammunition,
He, at length, was forced to yield;
Throwing down the stolen booty,
Quickly fled he from the field.
Then, rejoicing at the combat,
Mighty, brave, and good St Keverne,
Left the stones where still we find them,
Call’d the stones of Tremenheverne.
If, perchance, a thoughtless farmer
Tries to take those stones from thence,
Wanting to complete some hedge-row,
Or to mend some broken fence;
Useless is such toil and labour—
Not a day will they remain;
Put them where you will, the morrow
Finds them in their place again.
THE TALE HE TOLD THE MARINES.
Now mind, I will not guarantee the truth of this. I can only tell it you as he told it us. It sounds improbable, certainly, but no one can say it is impossible. What is there to prevent a lady, if she is so inclined, from? But that would spoil the story. And there is no law of nature, I suppose, to restrain a man who is so devoid of gentlemanly feeling as he is. But that would tell you what is coming. It is no good saying he was intoxicated, because I defy you to get drunk on sherry and soda-water; and to lay it to the heat of the season is absurd, for it was a remarkably cool evening for August. No! Jenkyns is a man who has had some strange experiences, and this was not the least strange among them. Still, mind, I will not guarantee the truth of this; though, by the way, you don’t often find a man tell the same tale twice in exactly the same way if it is not true, and I have heard him tell this twice. The first time was at a dinner at Lord Well! it does not matter where. It is sometimes advisable not to mention proper names. I don’t think mentioning this would do any harm, though—at a dinner at Lord’s cricket-ground, and the second time was on the occasion of which I am speaking, when I found him drinking sherry and soda-water and smoking cheroots with three officers of Marines, one of whom, with five gloves (lady’s six-and-a-half) and a withered rose before him, was telling how—“after leading me on in this way, after gaining my young affections in this treacherous manner, by Jove! sir, she throws me over and marries Blubber.”
“It’s like the sex,” said the second Marine.
“It’s woman that sejuices all mankind,” said the third Marine.
“It reminds me of what once happened to myself,” said Jenkyns; “you know the story,” he continued, turning to me. “So just order yourself some sherry and soda-water; ah! and while you are about it order some for me too, and you can pay for them both when they come; then I sha’nt be put out. Paying for anything always puts me out. Thank you! I’ll try one of your cigars. Well! gentlemen,” turning to the Marines, “Some time ago I was staying with Sir George P, P House, Pshire. Great number of people there—all kinds of amusements going on. Driving, riding, fishing, shooting, everything in fact. Sir George’s daughter, Fanny, was often my companion in these expeditions, and I was considerably struck with her. For she was a girl to whom the epithet ‘stunning’ applies better than any other that I am acquainted with. She could ride like Nimrod, she could drive like Jehu, she could row like Charon, she could dance like Terpsichore, she could run like Diana, she walked like Juno, and she looked like Venus. I’ve even seen her smoke.”
“One good point in her character, at any rate,” said the third Marine.
“Just like the sex!” said the second Marine.
“Ah! she was a stunner,” continued Jenkyns, “you should have heard that girl whistle, and laughyou should have heard her laugh. She was truly a delightful companion. We rode together, drove together, fished together, walked together, danced together, sang together; I called her Fanny, and she called me Tom. All this could have but one termination, you know. I fell in love with her, and determined to take the first opportunity of proposing. So one day, when we were out together fishing on the lake, I went down on my knees amongst the gudgeons, seized her hand, pressed it to my waistcoat, and in burning accents entreated her to become my wife.
“‘Don’t be a fool!’ she said. ‘Now drop it, do! and put me a fresh worm on.’
“‘Oh! Fanny,’ I exclaimed; ‘don’t talk about worms when marriage is in question. Only say’
“‘I tell you what it is, now,’ she replied, angrily, ‘if you don’t drop it I’ll pitch you out of the boat.’
“Gentlemen,” said Jenkyns, with strong emotion, “I did not drop it; and I give you my word of honour, with a sudden shove she sent me flying into the water; then seizing the sculls, with a stroke or two she put several yards between us, and burst into a fit of laughter that fortunately prevented her from going any further. I swam up and climbed into the boat. ‘Jenkyns!’ said I to myself, ‘Revenge! revenge!’ I disguised my feelings. I laughed—hideous mockery of mirth—I laughed. Pulled to the bank, went to the house, and changed my clothes. When I appeared at the dinner-table, I perceived that everyone had been informed of my ducking—universal laughter greeted me. During dinner Fanny repeatedly whispered to her neighbour, and glanced at me. Smothered laughter invariably followed. ‘Jenkyns!’ said I, ‘Revenge!’ The opportunity
