were formerly a prolific source of superstition. There is a valley in Nottinghamshire, where a village is said to have been swallowed up by an earthquake, and it was the custom on Christmas Day morning for the people to assemble in this valley and listen to the fancied ringing of the church bells underground. At Abbot's Morton there is a tradition that the silver bells belonging to the abbot are buried in the site of his old residence there. At Ledbury, a legend relates that St. Katharine had a revelation that she was to travel about, and not rest at any place, till she heard the bells ringing of their own accord. This was done by the Ledbury bells on her approaching that town. When the church at Inkberrow was rebuilt on a new site in ancient days, it was believed that the fairies took umbrage at the change, as they were supposed to be averse to bells; they accordingly endeavoured to obstruct the building, but, as they did not succeed, the following lamentation was occasionally heard by the startled rustics:
"Neither sleep, neither lie,
For Inkbro's ting-tangs hang so nigh."
Many years ago the twelve parish churches in Jersey each possessed a beautiful and valuable peal of bells; but during a long civil war, the states determined on selling these bells to defray the heavy expenses of their army. The bells were accordingly collected and sent to France for that purpose; but, on the passage, the ship foundered, and everything was lost, to show the wrath of Heaven at the sacrilege. Since then, before a storm, these bells ring up from the deep; and to this day the fishermen of St. Ouen's Bay always go to the edge of the water before embarking, to listen if they can hear "the bells upon the wind;" and, if those warning notes are heard, nothing will induce them to leave the shore; if all is quiet they fearlessly set sail. As a gentleman, who has versified the legend, says:
"'Tis an omen of death to the mariner,
Who wearily fights with the sea,
For the foaming surge is his winding sheet,
And his funeral knell are we:
His funeral knell our passing bell,
And his winding sheet the sea."
GOOD FRIDAY
is the occasion of great superstition. It is believed that anything planted on that day will prosper, and that if the seeds of the stock are sown in the evening, as the sun goes down, the flowers will be sure to come double. Hot-cross buns, or other bread made on a Good Friday, are supposed never to grow mouldy, and if kept for twelve months and then grated into some liquor, will prove a great soother of the stomach-ache; acorns dried and grated will have the same effect. The origin of the buns was the consecrated loaf made from the dough, whence the host itself was formerly taken and given by the priests to the people; they were marked with the cross, as our Good Friday buns are. The superstitious frequently preserved Good Friday buns from year to year, from the belief of their efficacy in the cure of diseases. And Poor Robin, in his Almanack for 1753, says:
"Whose virtue is, if you'll believe what's said,
They'll not grow mouldy like the common bread."
The poorer people of Offenham will by no means allow any washing to be about on a Good Friday, which would be considered the forerunner of much ill-luck. At Cutnal Green it is thought that if you do not empty your lie tub on Good Friday, you will have bad luck in the ensuing year.