All through the summer days the deep blue waves of the Atlantic are at rest, and sleepily kiss the narrow strand beneath the cliffs, and there is neither voice nor sound beyond gentle murmur, save where they break in idle play upon the rocky islet of the Armed Knight, and dash their silvery spray in a jesting mood over his stalwart head. The granite bulwarks tower above the shore like monstrous lions, who, having conquered their prey and dined comfortably upon them, take their forty winks undisturbedly. But when the fierce storms of winter arise from the angry sea, and the heavens are dark with rain and clouds, and the maddened wind howls in fury, and the great waves roll in with majesty and with sound of unearthly music in their voices, then the Cornish lions arouse from slumber and meet the foe once more; they shake their time-worn granite crests in scornful wrath, and watch and wait to defend the coast as they have done from countless ages. No more the waves humbly kiss their feet, but rush impetuously on to take by storm the stately buttresses, but all in vain, and so they retire again and again, baffled and beaten, or howl despairingly in the caverns they have made their sole spoil in the everlasting fight 'twix land and sea. And yet above the raging elements there seems ever sounding the eternal hymn to the Creator, and like a sublime refrain, "all thy works shall praise thy name is heard in strains that no human music can ever hope to equal or even imitate here upon earth.

So in this strange, solemn place, little Tom Trenance lived and wandered day by day, all round and about, from the Logan Rock to Cape Cornwall, until there was no cave or cranny that he did not know, and all their stories and legends too. In his time the old Cornish fabular lore of fairies and giants was dear to the country people, and could now and then be heard from the lips of the old women and gossips of the neighbourhood, and the boy listened eagerly to all of them. His poor dead father had often told him of the spriggans who inhabited the mines, how they knocked with their tiny picks wherever the lodes of tin were hidden; and how, on Christmas Eve, in former days, they would meet at the bottom of the deepest mines and have a midnight mass; and those who were in the mines would hear voices, melodious beyond all earthly voices, singing their Christmas Carol "Noel! Noel !" and majestic tones like those of a solemn organ would fill the place and shake the very rocks. He knew, too, all about the spectral coach, drawn by headless horses, and driven by old Hornie himself; he could tell you of that phantom barque which in mysterious gloom glided up from Porthcurno Cove and sailed over the land, boding ill to all who saw it; and he knew all about those huge and stupid giants whose favourite expression seemed always to be

Fee, foh and fum

I smell the blood of a British man.

and he knew prettier tales of merry-maids and pixies, of spriggans and knockers, and often wished he could see some of those tiny beings whom the folks called "The little people."

II. THE KING OF THE PIXIES.

"He cometh not," he said

"I am a-weary, a-weary, I would that I were dead."

It was a lovely summer's night; the sun had gone down leaving the heavens rosy with light. Beneath, a faint golden belt stretched across the horizon, to the right projected far away the rugged mass of Cape Cornwall against the sky; below, right out at sea, shone the calm bright lantern of the Longship's Lighthouse, keeping its lookout alike for outward bound mariner, and home-sick voyager longing for the shore. Tom was seated on a stone outside a little cavern he well knew in Sennan Cove, looking with dreamy eyes on the magic scene before him. He had stolen out of the cottage and wandered, as he often did, to have a last peep round before he lay down to sleep his sound and innocent sleep.

"I wonder if I shall ever see the fairies? It's just the night for them to be about dancing on the green," said the boy wistfully to himself. "How I should like to see the King of the Pixies with his queen by his side, and all his courtiers in velvet and gold round him; but I suppose I

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never shall." At that moment there was a faint sound behind him as
though a trumpet were being blown right down under the ground. Tom
trembled and turned round to see what was the noise.
A voice now
cried out in solemn tones. Who calls upon Cleynendellion Egloshayle,
the forty-third king of the Pixies of Sennon, and Lord High Paramount
of all the Domain of the Bolerium Land?" The boy turned round and
saw at the far end of the cavern a curious sight. Upon a kind of raised
seat or throne, reclined in state two small figures, male and female, the
latter still fast asleep but the little man had apparently just awoke.
The king of the Pixies, for it was as you may guess none other, was
dressed in royal robes of blue and gold, rather shabby and time-stained
though they were; on his head was a velvet cap, and in his hand was a
little sceptre which he waved majestically.

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Approach and fear not, young mortal, I would have speech of you, I have been waiting for you for a hundred years."

"I was not born then, you royal majesty," said boldly the astonished boy to the very small potentate with the imposing designation.

"I will explain; in the meantime sit down, as the occasion is urgent the usual royal etiquette need not be observed"; so the little boy sat down on the ground and waited his majesty's good pleasure.

"Eight hundred years ago I, Cleynendellion Egloshayle, the Fortythird, was the greatest monarch of the Cornish fairies, and was above all the kings and princes of the spriggans, and knockers, and browneys, and I had power over all the witches and giants of these parts. The giant Trebiggan, who was so tall that he could stand on the shore and take men out of the passing ships when he wanted a dainty morsel or two for his dinner, was my slave and dependent. I had ships and soldiers, and castles and palaces innumerable. So I became the envy of all my contemporaries, and, until Tregoning, king of the Helston

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Trolls, combined with the other fairy powers, and having gained the help of a powerful magician, overthrew me, I was the greatest of all the forty-three Cleynendellions of my race. My malignant foes surprised my army, attacked me in all directions one fatal night, defeated my troops after a desperate resistance, and burned all my ships but one, which, commanded by my brave captain, the stout Gulvallion, escaped, crowded with fugitive pixies, and sailed away to the island-valley of Avilion, where Arthur lives, and where the best of the fairies all end their days happily."

"And why did you not get away with the others?" asked Tom.

"Alas, the wicked enchanter, by whose aid Tregoning triumphed over me, has bound me by a powerful spell and also my dear queen, to sleep in this dismal cave for ever—once only in a hundred years I awake, and am allowed to be visible to human eyes, but only for a few hours, and if during that time no mortal sees or speaks to me, I return to my slumbers for another century."

"Where is the wicked Tregoning now?" said the boy.

"After the defeat of my people those who did not escape in Gulvallion's ship were turned by enchantment into muryans (ants), but my enemy did not triumph long. Soon he and the magician fell out about sharing the plunder, and it ended in Tregoning and his spriggans being turned into muryans too, and so they have remained until this day."

"Serve them right too," exclaimed Tom, "but is there no way for you to awake up and get to where King Arthur is at Avilion?"

"Only one means is permitted," said King Cleynendellion. "What do you see above my head there ?"

"I see a little bright trumpet hanging up.'

"Well that is what I blew just now; I have the right to blow it three times on my day of liberty to attract attention. When my subjects were turned into muryans, and only Gulvallion escaped, he knew of the spell upon me, and he knows that when the trumpet shall be blown by mortal lips the time has come for me to hope to escape. So every year, upon St. Thomas's Eve he sails round the coast of Cornwall, looking for his imprisoned king in every nook and bay, but only once in a hundred years can he sail right over the country from Porthcurno to St. Just and search the land itself for me.'

"That must be the spectre ship I have heard of,” cried Tom with fear and trembling. "Oh! let me go away home your majesty, they say it bodes no good to man or boy who sees that dreadful sight.' The King of the Pixies looked sorrowfully at the boy. "Would you

be afraid then to look upon this ship, little boy?"

"I would not look upon it for all the world, I should never see mother and baby Jack again if I came across it."

Cleynendellion the Forty-third, and last of his name, sighed deeply then said sadly, "Go and leave me to my fate. I shall never see happy Avilion and my brave Gulvallion again. Perhaps in another century some mortal may pass this way who will not fear idle tales, and will help me, for I am so weary here." And the little king wrapped his faded mantle

round him, threw down his sceptre, descended from his throne, where the poor queen lay always sleeping, sleeping, and paced dejectedly to and fro. It was dark, very dark outside the cavern, and within, a faint light shone upon the little throne and the golden trumpet hanging above.

Then a great pity filled Tom Trenance's heart, and banished all fears, for he remembered how the Pixies were always good and kind to the poor people, and many a tale he had heard of the good deeds they had done to human beings in the past. "Do not weep, King of the Pixies,” for the little fairy was crying at his hard fate, “I will do all you wish me to, if a poor little lad can help a great king. Tell me, please, what to do?" Cleynendellion looked up joyously, and a happy smile stole over his weary, pallid face. "You brave boy, you have saved the King of the Pixies! At last! at last! I shall be free! On the eve of St. Thomas you must come down into this cavern, take the golden trumpet, which will be hanging where it now is, and go up to the top of the cliff and turn towards Porthcurno Cove, and there at midnight you must blow a blast three times, and wait until you see Gulvallion's ship coming; then call out as loud as you can, 'Gulvallion! Gulvallion! your King is ready!' and then you will see the last of the King of the Pixies. Now go home and remember all I have told you, and don't come near this cavern until St. Thomas's Eve. I shall see that you suffer no harm whatever, and be sure that Cleynendellion will not be ungrateful." Then the King went back to his throne, and composed himself for sleep. "Will the queen never wake and speak to me?" said Tom. She will wake upon St. Thomas's Eve. Good night, you good little boy, and say not a word of what you have seen or heard to anyone."

Tom went out of the cave, and as he turned to look once more upon the King, behold! all was dark, and the golden trumpet was no longer visible ! so he returned home to bed, pondering, as he undressed, over all he had seen that evening. "A great king, smaller than baby Jack, and with what a long name, too! I must never tread on the muryans any more, or I shall hurt, perhaps, a little Pixy"—and he fell asleep and dreamed of the golden trumpet until morning.

III. THE SPECTRE SHIP OF PORTHCURNO.

"And the barge with oar and sail

Moved from the brink like some full-breasted swan
That, fluting a wild carol ere her death,

Ruffles her pure cold plume and takes the flood
With swarthy webs."

It was a wild bleak night-that of St. Thomas's Eve, and, as Tom slipped out of the cottage, after kissing his mother and baby Jack, he thought perhaps it might be for the last time, and he listened till he was sure they were both fast asleep. He fought his way with difficulty against the buffeting of the wind to the entrance of the cavern, but all was dark inside; "suppose it should be only a dream," he thought.

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Now and then he fancied he heard cries and shrieks sounding loud above the roar of wind and wave, and he felt almost inclined to run home and creep into his snug bed again, but then he remembered the poor weary king who had trusted him, and who was very tired of waiting so long, so he felt his way into the cave, where all appeared dark. Presently Tom saw a faint glimmer of light, just enough to see the trumpet hanging up, and to know the king had told him the truth. He reached his hand out and grasped the precious thing, and was out again and up the cliff almost as soon as you could say "Jack Robinson.” When he got to the top of the rocks the fearful noise grew louder even than the surging waves, which beat against the shore, and the poor boy fancied he could see ugly creatures with fiery eyes rushing round and about him, and once a voice hissed in his ear, "go home, while there is yet time." But though Tom's little heart beat wildly as though it would burst, he meant to stand firmly, like the hero he was, until his task should be done, so he waited bravely, with the golden trumpet hugged close under his jacket, until St. Sennan's clock should proclaim the midnight hour. Then, as the first note struck, the fierce wild spirits-which were hovering round at the wicked magician's bidding to frighten the boy from his purpose-flew away in the air over the Land's End, pitifully moaning like beaten hounds, for their power to do mischief was gone on St. Thomas's day. Now Tom pulled out the trumpet, and blew a rather quavering blast-once, twice, thrice; and then called out boldly, as he had been bidden by Cleynendellion, "Gulvallion! Gulvallion! your king is ready." And now the poor shivering boy's legs would not support him any longer, and he had to sit down from fear and cold combined. Presently he saw a dark object coming slowly and steadily towards him, and from the direction indicated-Porthcurno Cove; on it glided in solemn silence, the spectral ship, which so long had haunted that Cornish coast, and all around a great mist seemed to arise so that he could not see very plainly, and half hid the proportions of the vessel. Onward it came, nearer and nearer, still in silence, not a sailor seemed on deck, nor any captain, or officers, till it was so close that the lad could see the masts and rigging. All at once the ship ceased to move, the sails were furled by invisible hands, and a figure, clad in armour of ancient date, leaped up and stood on the bulwark, and cried out aloud, "My king, Gulvallion is here." And as he spake there was a great sound of many tiny voices, shouting gleefully, "Gulvallion is come, Gulvallion is come," and in a moment thousands of happy little fairies awoke from their long, long, enchantment; and those turned into muryans were Pixies once more. Up from the rocks, out of the ground, from under great stones, they came tumbling over each other in their hurry to get away to the spectre ship and to embark with Gulvallion.

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Presently there was a far-off sound of trumpets and fifes and drums, and Tom knew that Cleynendellion was coming the sound drew nearer and nearer, and then two royal litters appeared, on which were placed the long-imprisoned king and queen. As they passed they smiled and bowed to Tom but did not speak a word; so they, and all the fairy host,