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 254 EARLY REMINISCENCES been a scene of much activity, for in it had been established a manganese floor, where the pounded metal was trampled on and washed, by girls of from fifteen upwards, with bare feet and knees. The manganese working and washing had been given up in my grandfather's time, and the changing-house—so called because in it the miners shifted their clothing—had been turned into a cottage, occupied by a poor and very ignorant family of the name of Mounce. All at once the neighbourhood was excited with the tidings that the cottage was haunted, or, was troubled with a spirit akin to the German Poltergeist, who threw crockery, cans and candlesticks about the room. Our worthy neighbour, Mr. John Perry of Alder, a well-to-do yeoman, visited the Mounces' cottage, when a tin canister that was on the chimney-piece sprang at him and knocked off his hat. My father thereupon investigated the matter. He speedily discovered that the cause of the jumps and flight of utensils was traceable to the elder girl of the family, and that she contrived these tricks by means of horsehair fastened to the articles she purposed to make active. A little cobbler's wax attached the horsehairs to various articles that were to be endowed with locomotion. I cannot recall whether it was due to this trickery, done to obtain money from those who crowded to see the cottage and observe the phenomena, or whether it was due to some theft, but finally the girl was confined in gaol for a few months. When she left, she was in no way abashed; of Exeter gaol she said : " It were a grand place. Nowhere else had she been treated as a lady. She'd like to be confined there again." In one of his Essays, Montaigne said : " As things come into my head, I heap them one on top of another, which sometimes advance in whole bodies, at other times in single files." If anyone should care to look over some of my chapters, he will see that I have acted very much like Montaigne, and that my wrork is much like a jumble sale. My dear wife kept what she called her rag-bag, into which she thrust whatever she could lay hands on, that she considered worthless. Nevertheless, occasionally I missed articles that were of interest if not of value to me. Thereupon I explored the rag-bag and not infrequently drew out of an incredible amount of discarded rubbish those articles which I had cherished and did cherish still. The rag-bag when choked