The water all round the royal barge is full of little old women and red-jacketed hobgoblins in egg-shells and crab-shells; whilst some of the pixies, who have been making a ladder of an iron boat-chain, have missed their footing, and are splashing about in the water. In another part of the picture the sprites appear to be illumining the window of a crumbling tower.
Mr. Hawker had a curious superstition about fairy-rings. There was one on the cliff. Some years ago he was visited by Lady ——, who drove over from Bude. As he walked with her on the sward, they came to the ring in the grass, and she was about to step into it, when he arrested her abruptly, and said: “Beware how you set foot within a fairy-ring: it will bring ill-luck.”
“Oh, nonsense, Mr. Hawker! the circle is made by toadstools. See, here is one: I will pick it.”
“If you do, there will be shortly a death in your house.”
She neglected the warning, and picked one of the fairy champignons.
Within a week a little daughter died.
Another similar coincidence confirmed him in his belief. The curate of Bridgerule and his wife came to see him, and much the same scene took place. The curate, in spite of his warning, kicked over a toadstool in the ring, and handed it to his wife.
Ten days after, Mr. Hawker got a heart-broken letter from the wife, an Irish lady, in which she said: “Oh, why did we neglect your prophecy! why did we give no heed to your word! When we returned to Bridgerule, our little Mary sickened; and now we have just laid her in her grave.”
He was staying with a friend. Suddenly the table gave a crack. Mr. Hawker started, and, laying his hand on the table, said: “Mark my words, there has been a death in my family.”
By next post came news of the death of one of the Miss I’ans.