In reply to C.'s inquiry (Vol. ii., p. 89.) as to a comic story about one Sir Gammer Vans, I have pleasure in communicating what little information I have on the subject. Some years ago, when I was quite a boy, the story was told me by an Irish clergyman, since deceased. He spoke of it as an old Irish tradition, but did not give his authority for saying so. The story, as he gave it, contained no allusion to an "aunt" or "mother." I do not know whether it will be worthy of publication: but here it is, and you can make what use of it you like:—
"Last Sunday morning at six o'clock in the evening, as I was sailing over the tops of the mountains in my little boat, I met two men on horseback riding on one mare: so I asked them 'Could they tell me whether the little old woman was dead yet, who was hanged last Saturday week for drowning herself in a shower of feathers?' They said they could not positively inform me, but if I went to Sir Gammar Vans he could tell me all about it. 'But how am I to know the house?' said I. 'Ho, 'tis easy enough,' said they, 'for it's a brick house, built entirely of flints, standing alone by itself in the middle of sixty or seventy others just like it.' 'Oh, nothing in the world is easier,' said I. 'Nothing can be easier,' said they: so I went on my way. Now this Sir G. Vans was a giant, and bottlemaker. And as all giants, who are bottlemakers, usually pop out of a little thumb bottle from behind the door, so did Sir G. Vans. 'How d'ye do?' says he. 'Very well, thank you,' says I. 'Have some breakfast with me?' 'With all my heart,' says I. So he gave me a slice of beer, and a cup of cold veal; and there was a little dog under the table that picked up all the crumbs. 'Hang him,' says I. 'No, don't hang him,' says he; 'for he killed a hare yesterday. And if you don't believe me, I'll show you the hare alive in a basket.' So he took me into his garden to show me the curiosities. In one corner there was a fox hatching eagle's eggs; in another there was an iron apple tree, entirely covered with pears and lead; in the third there was the hare which the dog killed yesterday alive in the basket; and in the fourth there were twenty-four hipper switches threshing tobacco, and at the sight of me they threshed so hard that they drove the plug through the wall, and through a little dog that was passing by on the other side. I, hearing the dog howl, jumped over the wall; and turned it as neatly inside out as possible, when it ran away as if it had not an hour to live. Then he took me into the park to show me his deer: and I remembered that I had a warrant in my pocket to shoot venison for his majesty's dinner. So I set fire to my bow, poised my arrow, and shot amongst them. I broke seventeen ribs on one side, and twenty-one and a half on the other: but my arrow passed clean through without ever touching it, and the worst was I lost my arrow; however, I found it again in the hollow of a tree. I felt it: it felt clammy. I smelt it; it smelt honey. 'Oh, ho!' said I, 'here's a bee's nest,' when out sprung a covey of partridges. I shot at them; some say I killed eighteen, but I am sure I killed thirty-six, besides a dead salmon which was flying over the bridge, of which I made the best apple pie I ever tasted."
Such is the story: I can answer for its general accuracy. I am quite at sea as to the meaning and orthography of "hipper switches,"—having heard, not seen, the story.
S.G.
Corpus Christi College, Cambridge.
THE COLLAR OF SS.
(Vol. ii., pp. 89. 194. 248.)
The Collar of SS. "is to this day a mystery to the most learned and indefatigable antiquaries," according to Mr. Planché, in his valuable little work on The History of British Costume: what has appeared in "NOTES AND QUERIES" certainly has not cleared away the obscurity. ARMIGER tells us (Vol. ii., p. 195.): "As to the derivation of the name of the collar from Soverayne; from St. Simplicius; from the martyrs of Soissons (viz. St. Crespin and St. Crespinian, upon whose anniversary the battle of Agincourt was fought); from the Countess of Salisbury; from the word Souvenez; and, lastly, from Seneschallus or Steward, (which latter is MR. NICHOLS' notion)—they may be regarded as mere monkish (?) or heraldic gossip." If the monastic writers had spoken anything on the matter, a doubt never would have existed: but none of them has even hinted at it. Never having seen the articles in the Gentleman's Magazine, I do not know MR. NICHOLS' reasons for supposing "Seneschallus or Steward" could have furnished an origin of the SS.; but I am at loss to think of any grounds upon which such a guess could rest. From the searches I have made upon this question, it seems to me that these SS. are taken as a short way of expressing the "SANCTUS, SANCTUS, SANCTUS" of the Salisbury liturgy and ritual. I hope soon to be able to lay before the public the documents out of which I draw this opinion, in a note to the third and forthcoming volume of The Church of our Fathers.
D. ROCK.