Cornish Meat and 'Taties.

Otago Witness, Issue 2389, 14 December 1899, Page 63

Cornish Meat and 'Taties.

lifting obligation. I rose up spiritually stronger and refreshed. "I carried that watermelon back —what was left of it —and restored it to the farmer, and made him. give me a- ripe one in its place. Now you see • that this constant impact of crime upon crime protects you against further commission. It builds you up. "A man can't become morally perfect by stealing,one or a thousand green watermelons; but every little helps.

Robert Stephen Hawker, tho famous Vicar of Monvenstow, known far beyond his little Cornish parish for his wit, his verses, his eccentricities, and his kindners of heart, was, as a young man, extremely fond of practical jokes. While -an undergraduate at Oxford ho mounted one night the cottage roof of Nanny Heale, an old woman commonly reputed to be a witch, and peering down her chimney flue, saw her crouched before the fire, watching an -iron kettle full of potatoes. Very quietly .the mischievous student lowered a rone with a' hook) at the end, hooked tho kettle, and drew- it slowly up—up—up, and out of her sight. Poor', near-sighted Nanny, when she saw her trusted utensil vanishing thus mysteriously, peered after it in blinking bewilderment, crying out in despair at the top of her voice: ' "Massy, 'pon my sinful soul! Art gawn "* off—'taties and all?" A moment later there was a knock at the door. Young Hawker had returned the kettle, and hidden himself near enough to tear her joyful exclamation a3 she nearly stumbled over the repentant wanderer. "So, then," she cried, "theei-'t come back to holt! Ay, 'tis a-cald out o' doors !" Oddly enough, the student's jest directly feenofited his victim, for when she xrenk about

the next day telling her tale, the authorities supposed that the poor old creature's wits were leaving her, and compassionately increased her weekly allowance from, the town.

If he puzzled old Nanny about her queerly behaving 'taties, however, another old woman, Joan Treworgy, of the tiny Cornish seaport of Boseastle, once puzzled him and a friend of his nearly a3 much. They stopped, very hungry, at her little inn, the Ship, and inquired what fare was to be had. "Meat and 'taties," said Joan, adding scornfully, "some call 'em purtaties, but we always says 'taties here." The guests inquired wTiat kind of meat — veal, lamb, beef, or mutton-r-she would provide. "Meat," she responded; "nice) wholesome meat and -"taties," and no more would she say. -<- The meal was at length served. The 'taties were good, and the meat was not bad, but it was peculiar. They could not "place" it. It was tender and not unsavoury, but it had no familiar outline or. joint or bone about it. The hungry youths ate, but felt a trifle squeamish, and when Hawker suggested that it ' might be a "pisce« of Boscastle baby." his friend dashed hastily to the kitchen to make further inquiries — in vain. Old Joan still stuck serenely to her "meat and 'taties," and with that they had to be content. ' Not till year 3 afterwards did they learn that the meat which had been served, to them was a viand known to Boseastle kitchens alone in all England — it was roast young seal !