Devonshire Characters and Strange Events. Baring-Gould Sabine

Robert Wollocombe, Rector of Whitestone, who used to amuse himself with a nursery, put on some heads of this wilding; and in a few years after being in his nursery, about March, a person came to him on some business, and feeling something roll under his feet, took it up, and it proved one of those precious apples, which Mr. Wollocombe receiving from him, finding it perfectly sound after it had lain in the long stragle of the nursery during all the rain, frost, and snow of the foregoing winter, thought it must be a fruit of more than common value; and having tasted it, found the juices, not only in a most perfect soundness and quickness, but such likewise as seemed to promise a body, as well as the roughness and flavour that the wise cyder drinkers in Devon now begin to desire. He observed the graft from which it had fallen, and searching about found some more of the apples, and all of the same soundness; upon which, without hesitation, he resolved to graft a greater quantity of them, which he accordingly did; but waited with impatience for the experiment, which you know must be the work of some years. They came at length, and his just reward was a barrel of the juice, which, though it was small, was of great value for its excellency, and far exceeded all his expectations.

The TYBURN INTERVIEW:A New SONGBy a CYDER MERCHANT, of South-Ham, DevonshireDedicated to JACK KETCHTo the Tune A Cobler there was, &c

      As Sawney from Tweed was a trudging to Town,

      To rest his tir’d Limbs on the Grass he sat down;

      When growsing his Oatmeal, he turn’d up his Eyes,

      And kenn’d a strange Pile on three Pillars arise.

Derry down, &c.

      Amaz’d he starts up, “Thou Thing of odd Form,

      That stand’st here defying each turbulent Storm;

      What art thou? Thy Office declare at my Word,

      Or thou shalt not escape this strong Arm and broad Sword.”

Derry down, &c.

      Quoth the Structure, “Altho’ I’m not known unto thee,

      Thy Countrymens Lives have been shorten’d by me;

      To strike thee at once, know that Tyburn’s my Name,

      In Scotland, no doubt, you have heard of my Fame.

Derry down, &c.

      When arm’d all rebellious, like Vultures you rose,

      A Set of such Shahrags, you frighten’d the Crows;

      To rid the tir’d land of such Vermin as you,

      I groan’d with receiving but barely my Due.

Derry down, &c.

      And still I’m in Hopes of another to come,

      For Tyburn will certain at last be his Home;

      He’ll come from the Summit of Honour’s vast Height,

      With a Star and a Garter to dubb me a Knight.”

Derry down, &c.

      His Passion now Sawney no more could contain,

      “My Sword shall strait prove all thy Hopes are in vain”;

      So saying; he brandish’d it high in the Air,

      When strait a Scotch Voice cry’d out —Sawney forbear!

Derry down, &c.

      The Phantom that spoke now appear’d in a trice,

      And to the fear’d Scotsman thus gave his Advice:

      “Calm thy Breast that now boils with Vexation and Rage,

      And let what I speak thy Attention engage.

Derry down, &c.

      No longer with Fury pursue this old Tree,

      His Back shall bear Vengeance for you and for me;

      For know, my dear Friend, the Time is at Hand,

      When with Englishmen, Tyburn shall thin half the Land.

Derry down, &c.

      The Case is revers’d by a good Friend of ours,

      All Treason is English, and Loyalty yours:

      Posts, Honour, and Profit all Scotsmen await,

      While the Natives shall tremble and curse their hard Fate.

Derry down, &c.

      The War is no more, and each Soldier and Tar,

      The Strength and the Bulwark of England in War,

      Are coming to prove our Friend’s deep Penetration,

      As the first Sacrifice to our Scotch Exaltation.”

Derry down, &c.

      Here ended the Phantom, and sunk in the Ground,

      While the blue Flames of Hell glar’d terrible round;

      When for London young Sawney around turn’d his Eyes,

      Where he march’d for a Place in the new-rais’d EXCISE.

Derry down, &c.

      Ye National Schemers, come tell me, I pray,

      Your Intention in this. To bring more Scotch in play!

      For this must the Tax be enforc’d with all Speed,

      For Thousands are coming between here and Tweed.

Derry down, &c.

      Ah! hapless Old England, no longer be merry,

      Since B — has thus tax’d your Beer, Cyder and Perry;

      Look sullen and sad, for now this is done,

      No doubt in short Time they’ll tax Laughing and Fun.

Derry down, &c.

      Yet let the Proud Laird, who presides at the Helm,

      Extend his Excise to each Thing in the Realm:

      A Tax on Spring-Water I think would be right,

      For Water, ’tis known, is as common as Light.

Derry down, &c.

      Meat, Butter, and Cheese, “By my Saul that will do!

      ’Twill affect all the Land, and bring Money in too;”

      Proceed, my good Laird, and may the H-lt-r or A – e,

      Reward you for saying each infamous T – x.

Derry down, &c.

      “Mr. Wollocombe was not a little pleased with it, and talked of it in all conversations; it created amusement at first, but when time produced an hogshead of it, from raillery it came to seriousness, and every one from laughter fell to admiration. In the meantime he had thought of a name for his British wine, and as it appeared to be in the original tree a fruit not grafted, it retained the name of a Wilding, and as he thought it superior to all other apples, he gave it the title of the Royal Wilding.

      “This was about sixteen years since (i.e. about 1710). The gentlemen of our county are now busy almost everywhere in promoting it, and some of the wiser farmers. But we have not yet enough for sale. I have known five guineas refused for one of our hogsheads of it, though the common cyder sells for twenty shillings, and the South Ham for twenty-five to thirty.

      “I must add, that Mr. Wollocombe hath reserved some of them for hoard; I have tasted the tarts of them, and they come nearer to the quince than any other tart I ever eat of.

      “Wherever it has been tried as yet, the juices are perfectly