The Ladies of Grace Adieu

On Lickerish Hill

When I was a child I lived at Dr Quince's on the other side of Lickerish Hill. Sometimes in a winters-twilight I have look't out of Dr Quince's windowe and seen Lickerish Hill (where the Pharisees live) like a long brown shippe upon a grey sea and I have seen far-awaie lights like silver starres among the dark trees.

My mother was mayde and cook to Dr Quince, an ancient and learned gentleman (face, very uglie like the picture of a horse not well done; dry, scantie beard; moist, pale eyes). This good old man quickly perceived what waz hid from my mother: that my naturall Genius inclin'd not to sweeping dairies or baking cakes or spinning or anie of the hundred thinges she wish'd me to know, but to Latin, Greeke and the study of Antiquities, and these he taught me. He alwaies meant that I should learne Hebrew, Geometrie, the Mathematiques, and he would have taught me this yeare but Time putt a trick on him and he died last summer.

The day after the pore old doctor died my mother baked five pies. Now malicious persons will open their mouths and lies will flie out and buzz about the World, but the truth is that those pies (which my mother baked) were curiously small and, for certaine pressing and private reasons of my owne – to witt a Great and Sudden Hunger – I ate them all, which was the cause of a quarrel betweene my mother and me. Angrilie shee foretold that terrible Catastrophes would befall me (povertie, marriage to beggars and gypsies, etc., etc.). But, as Mr Aubrey sayz, such Beautie as mine could not long remain undiscover'd, and so it waz that I married Sir John Sowreston and came to Pipers Hall.

Pipers Hall is the loveliest old house – alwaies very smiling in the sunshine. It was built long ago (I thinke in the time of King Solomon). About the house are many lawns where stand ancient trees that overtop the roofs like Gracious and Gigantique Ladies and Gentlemen from more Heroique Times, all robed in dresses of golden sunlight. Its shadie alleys are carpeted with water-mint and thyme and other sweet-smelling Plantes so that in a summers-twilight when Dafney and I walke there and crush them with our feet 'tis as if an Angell caress't you with his Breath.

Sir John Sowreston is two-and-thirty yeares of age; size, middling; eyes, black; legges, handsome. He smiles but rarely and watches other men to see when they laugh and then does the same. Since a boy he haz been afflicted with a Great Sadnesse and Fitts of Black Anger which cause his neighbours, friends and servants to feare him. It is as if some Divinitie, jealous of the Gifts Heav'n haz bestowed on him (Youth, Beautie, Riches, etc., etc.) haz putt an eville Spell on him. There waz a little dogge borne upon our Wedding-daye. At 3 or 4 weeks old it would always goe a little sideways when it walked and would climb upon Sir John's shoulder when he sat after dinner and sleep there, as if it loved him extreamlie. But, being frighted by a horse looking in at the windowe, it fouled a coat belonging to Sir John with its excrements and Sir John putte it in a sack and drowned it in the horse-pond. We called it Puzzle because (Dafney sayd) whatsoever happen'd puzzled it sorely. (I thinke it was puzzled why it died.) Now Sir John haz gott 3 great blacke dogges and his greatest pleasure in all the Worlde is to goe hunting on Lickerish Hill.

Two months after Sir John and I were married we travelled to Cambridge to seek a cure for Sir John's melancholie from Dr Richard Blackswann, a very famose Physician. We took with us a little cristall flask that had some of Sir John's water in it. Dr Blackswann went into a little closet behind a curtain of blacke velvet and prayed upon his knees. The Angell Raphael then appearing in the closet (as commonly happens when ever this doctor prays) peer'd into Sir John's urine. Dr Blackswann told us that the Angell Raphael knew straightway from the colour of it (reddish as if there waz bloude in it) that the cause of Sir John's extreame Want of Spirits was a lack of Learned Conversation. The Angell Raphael said that Sir John muste gather Scholars to his howse to exercise their Braines with Philosophie, Geometrie, Rhetorique, Mechanicks etc., etc., and that hearing of their schemes would divert Sir John and make his thoughts to runne in pleasanter courses.

Sir John waz very much pleased with this Scheme and all the way home we sang Ballads together and were so merry that Sir John's three great black dogges raised their voices with us in praise of learned Dr Blackswann and the Angell Raphael.

On the evening that we came home I waz walking in the garden by myselfe among the Heroique Trees when I met Mrs Sloper (my mother).

Mrs Abigail Sloper, widow; person thin and stringy; face the shape of a spoon and the colour of green cheese; cook and nurse to the late Dr Hieronymous Quince; made nervous by Dr Quince's talking Hebrew on purpose to discompose her (she mistook it for incantations) – a cruel Satire on her Ignorance, but I could not gett him to leave off; talkes to herselfe when in a fright; haz two old English Catts (that are white with some blewnesse upon them) – Solomon Grundy (4 yeares old) and Blewskin (10 yeares old) and a Cowe called Polly Diddle (one yeare old); in 1675 she buried a little blew pot of shillings at the bottom of Dr Quince's garden, under some redd-currant bushes, but he dying shortly after and the house being sold very suddenly, she was cast into a Great Perplexitie how to recover her monies which she haz not yet resolved.

"Good Evening, mother, my deare," sayz I. "Come into the howse and have some vittles and drinke."

But she would not answer me and cast her Glances all over the garden, a-twisting and a-twisting of her apron. "Oh!" sayz she (with her eyes fix't upon a Beech-tree, so that she seemes to address it), "my daughter'll be so vex't."

"No, I won't," sayz I, "Why are you in such a pickle? Take time, my deare, and tell me what you're afeard of."

But instead of a Replie she rambled about the Garden, complain'd to a Briar-rose that I am Ungrateful to her, told two little Oringe-trees that I doe not love her.

"Oh, mother!" sayz I, "I doe not wish to be angrie, but you will make me so if you doe not tell me what the matter is."

At this she hid her head in her apron; wept very piteously; then suddenly reviv'd.

"Well!" sayz she (apparently to a monument of Kinge Jupiter that look't downe on her with much contempt), "You remember the day after the pore owd doctor died I baked five pies and my daughter ate 'em all, first and last!"

"Oh! Mother!" sayz I, "Why doe you perpetuate these old quarrels between us? Those old pies waz such tiddly little thinges!"

"No, they warn't," sayz she to Jupiter (as if he contradicted her). "Howsomediver," sayz she, "I were so vex't an' I muddled about an' I told little owd Solomon Grundy and owd Blewskin…" (she meanes her Catts) "… I sayz to 'em, My daughter haz ate five pies today! Five pies! And I lookes up and I sees Sir John Sowreston a-sitting on his hobby-horse – as bewtiful as butter. And he sayz to me, What are you a-saying of, Mrs Sloper? Well!

I knowed Sir John Sowreston waz extreamlie in Love with my daughter an' I knowed he'd come to looke at har through the owd Elder-hedge an' I didn't like to say as how my daughter had ate five pies. So I sayz, right sly like, I sayz My daughter haz spun five skeins o' flax today…"

"Mother!" sayz I, "You never! You never told Sir John such a lie!"

"Well then," sayz she, "I did. An' there ain't nothing but good come to my daughter a'cos of it. Sir John Sowreston lookes at me with his bewtiful Eyes like two dishes o' Chocolate a-poppin' out of his Head and he sayz to me Stars o' mine! I never heerd o' anyone as could do that! Mrs Sloper, I'll marry your daughter on Sunday. – Fair enough, sayz I, an' shall she have all the vittles she likes to eat and all the gowns she likes to get and all the company she likes to have? Oh yes! sayz he, all o' that. But come the last month o' the first year she must spinne five skeins o' flax every day. Or else…"

"Or else what, mother?" sayz I in a Fright.

"Oww!" she cries, "I sayd as how she'd be vex't! I knew she would! I have made her a Grand Ladye with such a bewtiful Husband and all the vittles she likes to eat and all the gowns she likes to get and all the company she likes to have – and her never a bitt grateful. But," she sayz a-tapping herselfe upon the nose and lookinge sly, "No harm will come to my daughter. Sir John Sowreston is still extreamlie in Love an' he haz forgott those owd skeins of flax completely…"

Then, having vindicated her-selfe in the Opinions of all the rose-bushes and Beech-trees and monuments in the garden, my mother went away againe.

Now Sir John Sowreston does not forget anie thinge and as sure as there are Pharisees on Lickerish Hill, come the first daie of the last month of the first yeare of our marriage, he would aske me for those skeins. At first I waz very much tempted to weep oceans of bitter tears but then I thought of the noble and virtuous Roman matrons of whom Dr Quince told me and how they would not weep no matter how great their sufferings; and I thought how I had a very ingeniose head and alwaies a thousand notions flitting about inside it and waz besides as beautiful as an Angell. I dare say, sayz I, there is some verie cunning way to overcome this Fate. And I determined to discouver what it waz very suddenlie.

Sir John went to London to seek out Ingeniose Gentlemen to cure his Melancholic In this he waz shortly successful for nothing is so agreeable to a Scholar than to goe and stay in a rich man's howse and live at his expense. Mr Aubrey and Sir John Sowreston gott acquainted, and Sir John waz very pressing with Mr Aubrey to come to Pipers Hall and Mr Aubrey who waz pressed another way (Great Debts he could not Pay and Danger of Arrests!), was glad to come immediately.

Mr Aubrey is writing downe all that he can remember of the customes of former times. He smells of brandy and chalke and is finely spotted all over with Inke. He haz pieces of paper in all his pockets on which he is writing his Histories. He is a Member of the Royal Society. He is my deare Friend. He is putting down all the lives of Great and Ingeniose men so that their Genius may not be forgot. Mr Aubrey sayz that he is like a man plucking out spars and relicks from the Shipwreck of Time and tossing them upon the sand. But, sayz Mr Aubrey, the Waters of Oblivion have the best of it.

For severall years Mr Aubrey haz wish'd to come into this Countie which is stuff't with Ancient Persons who, as Mr Aubrey sayz, may suddenly die and cheat Posterity of their Remembrances, if some Publick-spirited and Ingeniose man does not come and sett them downe; and Mr Aubrey wish'd very much to carry out this Design but was prevented, having no money and no friends residing in this part of the Countrey whom he could suddenly delight by arriving for a good long visit. Mr Aubrey was once a very rich man with lands; estates; pleasant farmes; cowes; sheepe, etc., etc., and (I thinke) great boxes of silver and gold. But he haz lost it all through Law-suites, Misfortunes and the Unkindnesse of his Relations. Mr Aubrey sayz that nothing so distracts a Scholar or drawes so many teares from a Scholar's head as Law-suites. But, sayz Mr Aubrey, I am now very merry, Miranda, my Troubles are at an end. And he asked me to lend him three pounds.

The other noble Scholars arrived shortly afterwards. They are all very memorablie famose. Mr Meldreth, a sweet, shy gentleman the colour of dust, is for Insects and haz 237 dead ones in a box. Mr Shepreth haz discovered the date upon which the Citie of London waz first built. This, being like to its Birthe-daye, haz enabled him to caste its horoscope: he knowes all its Future. Dr Foxton haz shewne by Irrefutable Arguments that Cornishmen are a kind of Fishe. His beard curies naturallie – a certaine sign of witt.

All winter the Learned Conversation of the Scholars delighted Sir John extreamlie. But it is part of Sir John's Affliction that whatever pleases him best at first, he most detests at last. In spring he began privately to calle them Raskall-Jacks, Rumble-Guts, Drunke, Ungrateful; complain'd that they ate too much, despis'd their Learning and frowned very blacke upon them at dinner until the poore Scholars had scarcelie anie Appetite to eate so much as a bit of Breade and all satt with a kinde of Lownesse on their Spirits. Summer came againe and it waz almost a yeare since Sir John and I were married. I tried very hard to conjure a cunning Scheme out of my Head but could think of nothing until the verie last daie.

Upon that daie the Scholars and I were sitting together beneathe the great Beeche-tree which stands before the dore of Pipers Hall.

Mr Meldreth sighed. "Gentlemen," he sayz, "We are very poor physick. Poor Sir John is as unhappy as ever he waz."

"True," sayz Mr Shepreth, "but we have made Lady Sowreston…" (he meant me) "… very merry. She loves to heare our Learned Conversation."

"There is no merit in that," sayz Mr Aubrey, "Miranda is alwaies merry."

"Mr Aubrey," sayz I.

"Yes, Miranda?" sayz he.

"'Tis a very curious thinge, Mr Aubrey," sayz I. "I have lived all my life neare Lickerish Hill, but I never once sawe a Pharisee."

"A Pharisee?" sayz Mr Aubrey, "What doe you meane, child?"

"They live on Lickerish Hill," sayz I, "Or under it. I doe not know which. They pinche dairymaides blacke and blewe. Other times they sweepe the floor, drinke the creame and leave silver pennies in shoes. They putte on white cappes, crie Horse and Hattock, flie through the aire on Bitts of Strawe – generally to the Kinge of France's wine-cellar where they drinke the wine out of silver cups and then off to see a wicked man hanged – which person they may save if they have a minde to it."

"Oh!" sayz Dr Foxton, "'Tis Fairies she meanes."

"Yes," sayz I. "That is what I sayd. Pharisees. I have never seen one. Dr Quince haz told me that they are not so common as once they were. Dr Quince haz told me that the Pharisees are leaving and will never more be seen in England. For my-selfe I never sawe one. But many Ancient Persons worthy of Belief have seen them on Lickerish Hill, trooping out of the World on Ragged Ponies, their heads bowed downe with Sadnesse, descending into dark hollows and blewe shadowes betwixt the trees. My Opinion is," sayz I, "that there can be no better taske for an Antiquarie than to discouver all he can of the Pharisees and I thinke there can be no better place in all the World to look for Pharisees than Pipers Hall under Lickerish Hill, for that is where they live. Mr Aubrey," sayz I, "Doe you know anie Spells to conjure Pharisees?"

"Oh, severall!" sayz Mr Aubrey, "Mr Ashmole (who is a noble Antiquary and haz made the Collection at Oxford) haz putt them downe in his Papers."

"Mr Aubrey," sayz I.

"Yes, Miranda?" sayz he.

"Will you shew me the Spells, Mr Aubrey?"

But before he could answer me Mr Meldreth ask'd with a Frowne if they worked?

"I doe not knowe," sayz Mr Aubrey.

"Who shall we conjure first?" askes Dr Foxton.

"Titania," sayz Mr Shepreth.

"A common Pharisee," sayz I.

"Why, Miranda?" askes Mr Shepreth.

"Oh!" sayz I, "they can doe a hundred clever thinges. Bake cakes, gather in flockes of sheepe, churne butter, spinne flax…"

All the Scholars laugh't very much at this.

"So can your mayde, Miranda," sayz Mr Shepreth. "No, 'tis fairie politics we chiefly wish to learn. And for this purpose the Queen is best. Besides," sayz Mr Shepreth, "she may give us presents."

"Tut," sayz Mr Meldreth, "'Tis onlie young men with handsome faces that she woos with presents."

"We are handsome enough," sayz Mr Shepreth.

Dr Foxton sayd that it waz one of the many inconveniences of discoursing with Fairies, that they may at anie moment disappear and so the gentlemen agreed to draw up a list of questions – so that when they discouvered a Fairie willing to speak to them all pertinent questions should be convenient to hand.

Quaere: if the Faeries have anie Religion among them?

Oh! sayd Dr Foxton, there waz a Fairie-woman in Cornwall who heard a Reverend gentleman saying his prayers. She asked him if there were salvation and eternal life for such as shee? No sayd the Reverend gentleman. With a cry of despair she instantly threw herself over a cliff and into the foaming sea. This, sayd Dr Foxton, he gott from a very Pious person who all his life abhorred Lying. Dr Foxton sayd he would not believe it else and Mr Meldreth, who is of a sweet and gentle nature, wept a little to think on't.

Quaere: if they have anie marrying among them?

Mr Shepreth sayd he believed they did not live together like Christians and turtle-doves, but had all their ladyes in common. Tut! sayz Mr Meldreth. Ha! cried Mr Aubrey and wrote it down very fast.

Quaere: if it is true (as some people say) that they are a much-decayed people and not so strong as they used to be?

Quaere: their system of Gouvernment: if a Monarchie or a Commonwealthe?

Quaere: if a Monarchie then whether it is true (as we have heard tell) that the Queen and King of the Pharisees have quarrelled?

Quaere: if it is true that the Queen cannot in one thinge gouverne herselfe?

This went on until the Scholars all fell a-quarrelling, having now gott fortie-two questions to ask the poor Pharisee when would trie to reduce the number.

"Here is Sir John Sowreston!" whispers Dr Foxton. "Mr Aubrey!" sayz I. "Yes, Miranda?" sayz he.

But I had no time to aske him what I wished because Sir John hurried me into the howse.

"Oh, my deare," sayz I to Sir John, "What is the matter? Do not let the noble Scholars see you looke so Melancholie! They still hope to chear you."

"Where are we going, Sir John?" sayz I. "I never sawe this little staircase before. Is it some secret place that you discouvered when you played here as a boye? Is that what you wishe to shew me?"

"I never saw this room before," sayz I, "And here are your three goode dogges, fighting with each other for some bones. Sir John, doe such great big dogges like to be shutt up in such a little room? And what is this little spinning wheele for?"

"Miranda," sayz Sir John, "You are very younge and for that reason I have often gouverned my-selfe when I should be angrie. Your lookes are often insolent. Your speech is full of Conceit and not womanly."

"Oh no, my deare!" sayz I, "You mistake. Those are lovinge lookes I give you."

"Perhaps," sayz he. "I doe not know. Sometimes, Miranda, I half-believe… But then againe, all men lye – and all women too. They drinke in Lyes with their mother's milke. As little children they delight to bear false witness one against the other. The Lyes and deceits that are practised on me every day by the common sort of people…" (He meant our Servants, Neighbours, Lawyers, Relations, etc., etc.) "… pricke my flesh like the stinges of bees and mosquitos. I scarcelie regard them. But a Lye from you, Miranda, will be a long, sharp sworde that slippes between my bones and cuttes my Heart. You swore when you married me that you could spinne five skeins of flax every daye for a month…"

"Spinne five skeins of flax in a daye… Oh, Sir John! I never heard of anie one that could doe that!"

"I hope, Miranda, that you have not lyed. A wife, Miranda, haz her husband's conscience in her keeping and muste so order her actions that they tempt not her husband to sinne. It is a wicked thinge to tempt others to sinne. To kille someone in anger is a sinne."

He wept a little to thinke on't, but it waz not for me he wept but for his owne Unhappy Spirit, thinking that when he murdered me 'twould be all his owne Misfortune and none of mine.

"Oh!" sayz I chearfully, "Doe not be afraid, my deare. I shall spinne you thread so soft and fine. And Dafney and I shall make you shirts of the thread I spinne and at every touch of those shirts you will thinke I kisse you."

But he shutt the doore upon me and lock't it and went awaie.

From the windowe I sawe the Scholars sitting beneath the Beech-tree. They were all very merry now that Sir John waz gone. As the twilight deepen'd they dranke each others healthes and sang a ballad of their youth about a shepherdesse that some gentlemen liked. Then all joined armes and sang againe and off to bed together.

The kitchen door opened and let out a little firelight upon the lavender bushes. Dafney look't out. (Dafney Babraham: mayde to Lady Miranda Sowreston that is my-selfe; yellow haire; smelles of rosemary and other good thinges; haz two gownes, a blew and a redd.) She called faintly, "Madam, Madam." She came along the path; cast her lookes this way and that; seemed quite distracted from not knowing where to finde me. She feared Sir John had alreadie drowned me in the horse-pond.

"Oh!" she cries, spying me, "What are you a-doing up there? Where did that little windowe come from? I'll come to you directly, my deare!"

"No," sayz I, "Go to bed. I shall sleepe in this little room tonight. 'Tis my fancy."

"I heare terrible fierce noyses," she sayz.

"'Tis onlie some dogges that keepe me safe," sayz I, "Goodnight my deare. God blesse you. I am not a bitt afraid."

But all through the night the three dogges growled and twitched as if in their sleepe they hunted me on Lickerish Hill.

In the morning Sir John brought me flax and vittles. Then he went awaie againe. Outside my windowe a silvery mist like a Cloude cover'd Pipers Hall. Everything in the world (scilicet Trees, Hedges, Fountains, Monuments, Dwellings of Men, Cattle, Hens, Bees, Horses etc., etc.) waz grey and faint in the silver Aire. There waz a golden glory all around Lickerish Hill but the Sunne did not yet peepe above the brow of the hill. All the birds sang and all the grey roses hung downe their heads with heavie dew.

Four grey figures in long robes approached the Beech-tree that stood before the doore. One grey figure sneezed and complained of the freshnesse and sharpnesse of the Aire that, he sayd, was not wholesome for Men. Another grey figure regretted eating too much cheese and pickled herring the night before. And a third waz fearful that the Pharisees might steale him awaie.

Dr Foxton had gott a magickal hatt that (he thinkes) once belonged to the old, wicked magician, Simon Forman. He putt it on. The Sunne peep'd over Lickerish Hill. Mr Aubrey beganne to read the Spelle in a clear voice. It waz stuff't as full of magic words as a puddinge is of plumms.

"I, John Aubrey, call thee, Queen Titania, in the name of…"

And I listened very carefully and repeated the words after him – but where he sayd "Queen Titania" I sayd "Pharisee Vulgaris."

"… conjure and straightly charge and command thee by Tetragrammaton, Alpha and Omega and by all other high and reverent…"

The miste that cover'd Pipers Hall turned to rose and blew and silver. I heard a noyse in the orchard. But it waz onlie three birds that rose into the Aire.

"… meekely and mildely to my true and perfect sight and truly without fraud, Dissymulation or deceite, resolve and satisfye me in and of all manner of such questions and commands and demandes as I shall either aske, require…"

The miste that cover'd Pipers Hall turned to golde. I heard a noyse by the hen-houses. But it waz onlie a foxe that ranne home to the woods.

"… quickly, quickly, quickly, quickly, come, come, come. Fiat, Fiat, Fiat. Amen, Amen, Amen…" Mr Aubrey paused. "Etcetera," he sayz with a Flourishe.

The miste that cover'd Pipers Hall turned to little droppes of water. I heard a noyse beneathe the windowe but I could not tell what it waz.

There waz a long silence.

Then Dr Foxton sighed. "'Tis well known that the Queen of the Fairies is not to be trusted. Shee is capricious," he sayz.

"Perhaps," sayz Mr Shepreth (meaning to be Satirical), "Shee did not like your hatt."

Suddenly the 3 dogges beganne to howle and runne and leape in a manner very strange to see as if they had fallen into a kinde of Extascie. It waz so violent and continued for so long that I hid my-selfe in a corner.

"Woman," sayz a Voice, "What are you a-crying for?"

"Oh!" sayz I. "Are you the Pharisee?"

A small black thinge. Hairie. Legges like jug-handles. Face – not a bitt handsome. It had a long, blacke taile – at which 1 waz much surprized. Irishmen have tailes neare a quarter of a yard longe (as I thinke is commonly known) but I never hearde before that Pharisees have them.

"Are you a good Pharisee or a bad?" sayz I.

The Pharisee, a-twirling and a-twirling of his long, black taile, seemed to consider my inquiry. "Never you minde," it sayz at last. It cock't its head in the direction of the windowe. "There be four peevish old men a-standin' in your meadow, wi' queer old hatts on their heads, all jammerin' together."

"Oh!" sayz I, "They are disappointed in their Spelle which haz had No Success. Whereas mine haz summoned you promptlie to the proper place."

"I don't take no notice o' frimmickin' old Spelles an' such like," sayz the little black thinge, picking his teeth with a bit of old rabbit-bone, "But I waz extreamlie kewrious to know what you waz a-crying for."

So I told him my historie, beginning with the pies (which were so curiouslie small) and ending with the five skeines of flax. "For the truth is, Pharisee," sayz I, "that that my naturall Genius inclines not at all to brewing or baking cakes or spinning or anie of those thinges, but to Latin, Greeke and the study of Antiquities and I can no more spinne than flie."

The Pharisee consider'd my Dilemma. "This is what I'll doe," it sayz at last. "I'll come to your windowe ev'ry morning an' take the flax an' bring it back spun at night."

"Oh, a hundred thousand thankes!" sayz I. "'Tis a very generous turne you doe me. But then, you know, I have alwaies heard that Pharisees doe wonderful kind thinges and never ask for pay of anie sorte or anie thinge in returne."

"You heerd that, did you?" sayz the little black thinge, a-scritch-scritch-scratching of his armpit. "Well, woman, you heerd wrong." "Oh!" sayz I.

The Pharisee look't at me out of the corners of its little blacke eyes and sayz, "I'll give you three guesses ev'ry night to guess my name an' if you ain't guessed it afore the month's up, Woman, you shall be mine!"

"Well then", sayz I, "I thinke I shall discover it in a month."

"You thinke so, doe you?" sayz the Pharisee and laugh't and twirl'd its taile. "What be the names o' they old dogges?"

"Oh!" sayz I, "That I doe know. Those dogges are called Plato, Socrates and Euclid. Sir John told me."

"Noo, they ain't," sayz the Pharisee, "One on 'em's called Wicked. The other un's Worse an' the third's Worst-of-all. They told me theerselves."

"Oh!" sayz I.

"Happen," sayz the Pharisee with great satisfaction, "you don't know yer own name."

"'Tis Miranda Sloper," sayz I. "… I meane Sowreston."

"Woman," sayz the Pharisee laughing, "You shall be mine."

And he took the flax and flew awaie.

All daye long there waz a kind of twilight in the little room made by the shadowes of leaves that fell over its white walls.

When the twilight in the room waz match't by a twilight in the World outside the Pharisee return'd.

"Good evening, Pharisee," sayz I, "How doe you fare?"

The little blacke thinge sighed. "Kind o' middlin' like. My old ears is queer an' I have a doddy little ache in my foot."

"Tut," sayz I.

"I have brung the skeins," it sayz. "Now, woman, what's my name?

"Is it Richard?" sayz I.

"Noo, it ain't," sayz the little blacke thinge and it twirl'd its taile.

"Well, is it George?" sayz I.

"Noo, it ain't," sayz the little blacke thinge and it twirl'd its taile.

"Is it Nicodemus?" sayz I.

"Noo, it ain't," sayz the little blacke thinge and flew awaie.

Strange to say I did not heare Sir John enter. I did not know he waz there until I spied his long shadowe among the shifting shadowes on the wall. He waz entirelie astonished to see the five skeins of thread.

Every morning he brought me flax and vittles, and whenever he appear'd the blacke dogges seemed full of joy to see him there, but that waz nothing to their Frenzie when the Pharisee came. Then they leap't in great delight and smelled him extremlie as if he were the sweetest rose. I satt thinking of all the names I ever heard, but never did I chuse the right one. Every night the Pharisee brought the spun flax and every night it came closer and closer and twirl'd its taile faster in its Delight. "Woman," it sayz, "You shall be mine." And every night Sir John came and fetched the thread and every night he waz greatly puzzled, for he knew that the three fierce dogges that guarded me obeyed no man but him-selfe.

One daye, towards the end of the month I look't out of my windowe and waz entirelie astonished to see a great many people with sorrowful faces trudging out of Pipers Hall and Dafney's yellow head among them, bent in Teares. Beneathe the great Beech-tree the four Scholars were equally amazed.

"Sir John, Sir John!" cries Mr Aubrey, "Where are all the servants going? Who will take care of Lady Sowreston?" (Sir John had told them I waz sicke.)

Sir John bent low and sayz something to them which I did not heare, and which seem'd to them a great Surprize.

"No, indeed!" sayz Mr Shepreth. Mr Aubrey shook his head.

Dr Foxton sayz gravely, "We are Scholars and Gentlemen, Sir John, we doe not Spinne."

"Truly," sayz Mr Meldreth, "I cannot spinne, but I can make a pie. I read it in a booke. I believe I could doe it. You take flour, cleane Water, some raisins, whatsoever meate you like best and, I thinke, some Egges and then…"

Dr Foxton (who waz once a teacher in a grammar-schoole) hit Mr Meldreth on the head to make him quiet.

After Sir John had gone the Scholars told each other that Pipers Hall had gott very dismal and queer. Perhaps, sayz Mr Shepreth, it is time to goe and take their chances in the wider World againe. But all agreed to wait until Lady Sowreston waz well and all spoke very sweetly of my kindnesse to them. Then Mr Meldreth look't up. "Why!" he sayz, "There is Lady Sowreston at that little window among the leaves!"

"Miranda!" crie the Scholars.

Dr Foxton waved his hatt. Mr Shepreth kiss't his hand to me twenty times, Mr Meldreth putte his hands upon his Heart to shew his devotion and Mr Aubrey smiled chearfully to see my face.

"Good morning, deare Scholars!" I crie, "Have you discouvered the Queen of the Pharisees yet?"

"No," sayz Dr Foxton, "But we have got eightie-four more questions to aske her when she does appeare."

"Are you better, Miranda?" askes Mr Aubrey.

"My Opinion is," sayz I, "that I shall be cured by the end of the month. Meanwhile, deare Scholars, I have had a strange dream which I muste tell you. I dreamt that if a Scholar onlie knew a Pharisee's true name then he could conjure it quite easily."

"Well, Miranda," sayz Mr Aubrey, "many Fairies have secret names."

"Yes but doe you know anie of them?" sayz I.

The Scholars putte their Heads together for Grave Debate. Then they all nodded together.

"No," sayz Mr Aubrey, "We doe not."

Today waz the last daie. Earlie in the morning I look't out of the windowe and sawe a shower of cool rain upon Lickerish Hill that stirr'd all the leaves of the trees. When Sir John brought me flax and vittles I told him what I have seen.

"There are Deer upon Lickerish Hill," sayz Sir John thoughtfully.

'Yes," sayz I, "and many other thinges besides. I remember how when you and I were first married, you used to say that you had no greater pleasure in the world than to goe hunt some wild creature on Lickerish Hill and kille it and then come home and kisse your owne Miranda. And my Opinion is that you should take these goode dogges and let them know againe how grasse smelles. Take your learned guests, Sir John, and goe hunting on Lickerish Hill."

Then Sir John frown'd, thinking that the dogges should still remaine in this little room, for the month waz not yet over. But the breeze that came in through the windowe carried with it the sweet scent of the woods on Lickerish Hill.

In the shelter of the Beech-tree I heard Mr Shepreth tell Mr Aubrey that he waz glad Sir John had so far mended his quarrel with the Scholars that he invited them to goe hunting with him. Dr Foxton haz gott a special Hatt for hunting. He putte it on. Then Sir John and the Scholars and all the grooms gott on their horses and rode out of Pipers Hall with Wicked, Worse and Worst-of-all running on before smelling every thinge.

The rain fell all daie. All daie the new servants that Sir John haz hired muddled their work from not having anie good ancient servant set in authoritie over them to instruct them what to doe. The bread did not rise. The butter did not come in the churne. Knives and sickles were blunted from wrong use. Gates were opened that should be shutt. Cowes and horses gott into the wrong fields; broke fences; trampl'd crops. Some wicked boyes I never sawe before climb'd over the orchard wall and ate the apples, then went home with white sicke faces. All through the house I heard the new servants quarrelling with each other.

It is time for the Pharisee to come and bringe me the spun thread. But he does not come.

Grey rabbits bob and looke about them in the summers-twilight, then creepe into the kitchen-garden to eate our sallade-herbes. Owls hoot in the darkening woods and foxes bark. The last of the light is upon Lickerish Hill. It is time for Sir John to come and kille me. But he does not come.

"Miranda!"

"Good evening, deare Scholares. What have you killed?"

"Why, nothing, Miranda," sayz Mr Meldreth in great excitement. "We have had a strange adventure as we must tell you. From the moment that we reached Lickerish Hill, Plato, Socrates and Euclid…" (He meanes the dogges that the Pharisee calles Wicked, Worse and Worst-of-all) "… ranne as if their dearest Friend waited on Lickerish Hill to embrace them and our horses raced after and we could not halt them. They tooke us to a part of Lickerish Hill which none of us had ever seen before. A great Stagge with droppes of rain upon his speckled flanks stepp't out before us and look't at us as if he waz the Lord of All Creation and not us Men at all. Foxes cross't our path and watch't us pass. Little grey hares look't up from their cradles of stones with fearless faces. But we had no time to be astonished for Plato, Socrates and Euclid ranne on ahead and our horses followed…"

"Yes, indeed!" sayz Mr Shepreth, "And one dark sulkie fellow among us cried out that we must have fallen by mistake into some Fairie-kingdome under the ground where Beastes revenge them-selves upon Men for the harms done to them on Earth; and Dr Foxton began to speak of wild rides that go on for all Eternity and enchanted riders who cannot jumpe downe for feare of crumbling to duste when they touch the earth. But Mr Aubrey bid us all trust in God and have no feare…"

"We stopp't suddenlie in a little green meadow in the dark woods. The meadow waz full of flowers and the sulkie man sayd that such flowers had never before been seen anie-where. But Sir John sayd he waz a fool and Sir John sayd he knew the names of the flowers as well as his own – they were Shepherds' Sun-dialls, Milkmaydes' Buttons and Dodmans' Combs. In the middle of the meadow waz a little chalke pit. This old pit waz mostly hidden by tall grasses and the flowers that Sir John had named. And out of the pit came a noyse of humming. The men held back the dogges – to their very Great Distresse – and we went very quiet to the pit and look't down. And what doe you thinke we sawe there?"

"I doe not know, Dr Foxton."

"A Fairye, Miranda! And what doe you thinke it waz doing?" "I cannot guess, Dr Foxton."

"Well!" sayz Mr Aubrey, "It had a little spinning wheele and it waz spinning wonderfully fast and twirling its long, blacke taile. Quick! cries Mr Shepreth, Say your Spelle, Mr Aubrey! and he leapt into the pit and we all leapt after him."

"I am entirelie astonished," sayz I. "But what did you learne? What did the Pharisee tell you?"

"Nothing," sayz Dr Foxton crossly. "We asked it our hundred and fortie-seaven questions – which is the reason of our staying so long on Lickerish Hill and coming home so late to dinner – but 'twas the most ignorant Pharisee."

We are all silent a moment.

"But it listened to all your questions," sayz I, "That is strange. It would not so much as come when you summoned it before."

"Quite, Miranda," sayz Mr Aubrey, "And the reason is that we had not gott its name before. The wordes of the Spell and its owne true name held it fast. It waz obliged to hear us out – though it yearn'd to goe on with its worke – it had gott a fearful great pile of flax to spinne. We gott the name by chance. For, as we peep't over the edge of the pit, it waz singing its name over and over againe. We were not at all enchanted by its song. An Ingeniose Spinner, Miranda, but no Poet. Fairies love to sing, but their Inventions are weak. They can get no further than a line or two until some kind Friend teaches them a new one."

We are all silent againe.

"And what did it sing?" sayz I.

"It sang: 'Nimmy, Nimmy Not; My name's Tom Tit Tot.'" sayz Mr Aubrey.

"Well!" sayz I, "I am very glad, deare Scholars, to heare that you have seen a Pharisee, but I am happier still that you have gott safe home againe. Goe to your dinner but I feare it will be a poore one."

Now comes the Pharisee creeping through the evening mist with the skeins of spun flax upon his arme. First I shall guess Solomon then I shall guess Zebedee. But then I must tell him his name and poore Tom Tit Tot must goe howling awaie to his cold and lonelie hole.

Now comes Sir John, all Frowne and Shadowe, on a horse as blacke as a tempest, with Wicked, Worse and Worst-of-all beside him. And when he haz seen the spun flax then he and I shall goe downe together to eate and drinke with the happy Scholars who even now are composing a chearfull song about four gentlemen who once sawe a Pharisee. And all our good Servants shall come home and each shall have sixpence to drinke Sir John's healthe.

"I am writing my historie," sayz I, "Where doe I begin?"

"Oh!" sayz Mr Aubrey, "begin where you chuse, Miranda, but putte it downe very quick while it is fresh and sprightly in your Braine. For remembrances are like butterflies and just as you thinke you have them flie out of the window. If all the thinges I have forgott, Miranda, were putte into His Majesties Navy, 'twould sink the fleet."

Among the many sources she drew upon for this story the author would particularly like to acknowledge folklorist Edward Clodd's wondeful 1898 rendition of Tom Tit Tot in Suffolk dialect.