JACK STOKOE. He was a man of a strange temperament, For something better. and meant BYRON. T HERE is a little house in one of those broken glens, so numerous in the wild uncultivated moors stretching between the North and South Tyne, that has from the time of its rearing been the haunt of smugglers, poachers and others of the free calling. The appearance of the place sufficiently attests its character, or literally speaking, that of its inhabitants.-There is no direct, immediate passage into the dwelling. You first enter an obscure, dirty cowhouse, and proceed through it, at the imminent hazard of dislocating your neck over a ruminating cow or a dozing donkey, not to mention the innumerable piled fragments of heath, bent, wood, tin, &c. left by tinkers and besom-makers for the last dozen years. Through a dusky door-way, you are ushered into the den of the owner. This consists of a large, square, undivided room, in which furniture, utensils, and the inmate's whole wardrobe and patrimony lie at once exposed to the gaze. The floor is of clay-the tenacious mortar-like clay of the fens-not smooth and well laid as such floors commonly are-but disfigured by inequalities, and broken into shapeless holes, which once worn by repeated footsteps in the soft material, have never been considered worth the trouble of being levelled or filled up. This apartment is little better illuminated than the one you have left, the solitary window it boasts, being of scarcely greater dimensions than two ordinary panes, and as if this did not abundantly render "darkness visible" and exclude the cheering beam, a part of it is stuffed up with the tails of a coat, a wisp of hay, a brimless hat, or an endless et cætera of nameless articles enveloped in an old sack! The "loft" above is formed of rough sticks, still bristling with the attempted polish of the hatchet-rudely crossed and interlaced with rods and accumulated rubbish-and on this is "stowed away" a large quan tity of peats, turf, and hay. The means of communication betwixt this depository of stores and the region below, is by a short ladder or stee, as it is styled in those parts, usually occupying a prominent position in the midst of the floor. About seventy years ago, this hovel was occupied by a smuggler yclept Jack Stokoe,* a man of great personal strength and resolute character. He carried on an extensive trade in tea, brandy, and illicit wares, and kept in his employ several followers, entrusted with the charge of a number of those ponies or shelties, which have proved His so well adapted to the purposes of the inland contrabandist. manner of life was viewed favourably by the lower orders, and connived at by the farmers and country gentry-and no exciseman had ever had the hardihood to enter his dwelling, or otherwise molest him. It happened however, that a revenue officer, a stranger in those parts, succeeded to the charge of the district, to whom intimations having been conveyed of the nature of Stokoe's dealings, he was resolved, at the earliest opportunity, to bring him to account. Being furnished with certain intelligence of the arrival of a large cargo of spirit, he decided upon pouncing upon him without hesitation, and applied to a magistrate for a warrant of search. The worthy dispenser of law, who was it seems of the Squire Inglewood school,—strongly advised him against such a measure, assuring him that Stokoe was an extremely dangerous man and disliked very much to have his private affairs too intimately scrutinized—above all by gentlemen of a particular class, and that he regarded the life of a man in a case of that kind, as little as that of a dog. But the officer was not to be swayed from what he considered his duty, by such appeals to the weaker side of his humanity-so after obtaining the warrant, he set forth on his mission,-alone but well armed. On arriving at the house he found Stokoe and a little girl, sole inmates and nowise daunted at the formidable aspect of the former, he disclosed to him his errand unhesitatingly. Stokoe nodded, but neither spoke, nor stirred from his seat in the chimney corner. The gauger then commenced ransacking the house, from the closet bed in the corner, turning all the bed-clothes out upon the floor, to the bulky oatmeal chest behind the door-but without success. He then lifted and tossed over the straw and litter in the cow-house, prying curiously into every hole and aperture-but nothing appeared. The loft filled with hay next attracted notice, and he expressed a desire to explore it also. Stokoe pointed to the ladder, but still preserved It may not be improper to mention that our hero was of the same family as the "Frank Stokoe" of a former communication. See p. 80. his imperturbable silence. The gauger ascended accordingly, highly elated at the gratifying manner in which he had bullied his stalwart host, and no doubt fully satisfied that a bold face will carry a man through any difficulty. Greater part of the hay he tumbled into the room below, but without meeting with any thing like the article sought. Tired and disappointed, he descended the ladder and prepared to depart.-" Lassie," cried the smuggler in a stern voice, speaking for the first time since the gauger entered his house,— "Lassie, bring me Brown Janet." The girl disappeared for an instant behind the bed, and returned with a large oak sapling, enough to have felled an ox. "Now you rascal," cried the smuggler, taking the stick and stepping between his visitor and the door-"if ye have license to turn an honest man's house upside down-ye mun leave it as ye fand it." "What do you mean," exclaimed the astounded gauger, now beginning for the first time to think that he had met with an ugly customer. "Mean!" roared Stokoe, in a furious voice, flourishing his ponderous cudgel above his head, "why I mean you must stow that hay away to its place, or," uttering a tremendous oath, "I'll break every bone in your skin!" The gauger stepped back and drew a pistol from his pocket, but ere he could present it, a blow from Brown Janet, sent it whirling to the other side of the house, where it harmlessly exploded, and in another second, the cudgel was close to his face, whilst a glare of savage fury fired the eyes of his antagonist, and the scowl of wrath ruffled his ferocious features. The terrified gauger supplicated aloud for mercy, promising to replace every thing, and never to trouble him more Stokoe after taking the remaining pistol from him-commanded him to "fall to "-and he fell to accordingly-toiling and carrying the hay in small bundles up the rickety ladder, at the utmost bodily peril. For four hours did he labour, and during the whole of that time, did his taskmaster stand by him, cudgel in hand, without uttering a word. When he had finished, Stokoe told him to be seated, and as this request could not only not be gainsayed, but was also very acceptable, he obeyed. His host then disappeared behind the bed, and returned with a Brown Janet of a different description, to wit, a huge bottle or "gray-hen" of brandy, or, as the poet otherwise expresses it, of "moonlight run when moon was none." He filled up a measure of the raw, and handing it to his guest, desired him to drink. The latter did not hesitate to comply, but drained the cup with a relish that furnished abundant proof, that the non-payment of custom-house tribute had deprived the liquor of none of its genuine properties. "Now," said Stokoe, "you can go-you are the first that ever searched my house-and in consideration of your being a stranger, I forgive you but mind, if you come a second time-get measured for your coffin before ye leave hame."-Communicated by Wm. Pattison. Adages, Proverbs, &c. CONTINUED FROM PAGE 216. PART V. PRIL with his hack and his bill On the 3rd April Comes in the cuckoo and nightingale. One swallow does not make a summer.* When April blows his horn, It's good both for hay and corn. April and May are the keys of the year. A cold April the barn will fill. The cuckoo has picked up the dirt. He that hath not a palm in his hand on Palm Sunday, must have his hand cut off. When the cuckoo comes to the bare thorn, Sell your cow and buy your corn; But when she comes to the full bit, Sell your corn and buy your sheep. In April, the cuckoo shews his bill. In May, he sings both night and day. In June, he altereth his tune. In July, away he'll fly. In August, go he must! day." The 15th of April is, in some parts of England, known by the name of "Swallow PART VI. ILL St. James's day* be come and gone, You may have hops, or you may have none. You must look for grass on the top of the oak tree. May-day is come and gone, Thou art a gosling and I am none. As welcome as flowers in May. He who bathes in May Will soon be laid in clay. A cold May and a windy, Makes a fat barn and a findy. A hot May makes a fat church-yard. A swarm of bees in May Is worth a load of hay. Is worth a silver spune. A May flood-never did good. If you look at the same in June, You'll come home in another tune. When the oak puts on his gosling gray, 'Tis time to sow barley, night and day. Cast not a clout till May be out. When the elder is white, brew and bake a peck; When the elder is black, brew and bake a sack. • 1st May. |