winter's night, the lonely labourer returning home may hear King Arthur and his hounds go by along the track. Folk-lore has preserved, perhaps by accident, the location of the old entrance to the Camp at Cadbury, now obliterated by ploughing and undiscernible even to an archaeologist, except by a line of ash trees growing in the now filled hollow-way. The Rector was half facetiously asking an old cottager where the iron gates of the Hollow Hill could be found, and was startled by the instant reply: “Why, doant ee know, zur, up among they ash trees.” The same processes that converted the earlier versions of Arthurian tales into their later romantic and extravagant form are even yet at work locally, for the Cadbury traditions have received poetic expansions as follows: “… the village maiden treads, But knows that far beneath her feet within the caverned hill, King Arthur and his mail-clad knights are soundly sleeping still, With golden lamps reflected in polished marble floors. And ever watchful dragons guarding the golden doors, She knows that they who ne'er have sinned, nor caused a heart to grieve, Whose faith is pure and love is true, who kneel on St. John's Eve And lave their eyes in Arthur's Well, shall see the hill subside And passage open at their feet, the golden gates divide. And Arthur couched amid his knights, each girded with a sword, And by the tranced monarch's head, a priceless jewel hoard.” Arthur's name has sometimes slipped into a more ribald rhyme, as in Upper Hesket in Cumberland, where an itinerant and innfrequenting antiquary heard this rhyme: “When as King Arthur ruled this land, He ruled it like a swine, He bought three pecks of barley meal To make a pudden fine. His pudden it was knodden well And stuffed right full of plums And lumps of suet he put in As big as my two thumbs.” But perhaps this is but an echo of the Scottish propaganda of Hector Boece. Folk-lore, like folk memory, is very unreliable, and is always changing. In many parts of Cornwall there is a succession of legends attached to the same antiquities or site. Dozmary Pool, formerly associated with the devil-ridden Treqeagle, now has Arthurian associations. Against this can be set Bodrugan Head, which in the sixteenth century was associated with Sir Bors de Ganis. Now there