Page:Notes on the folk-lore of the northern counties of England and the borders.djvu/271

 Rh Thus the goodman of the parish of Glendevon left out some clothes one night for the Brownie, and heard him take his departure during the night, saying, in a highly offended tone—

A lady of Scottish extraction, Mrs. M–––, writes thus to me: “It is curious what dislike Brownies have to clothing. There was one in the old peelhouse where I was born. The servants, out of gratitude for his assistance, gave him what they deemed an indispensable portion of man’s attire. Unfortunately it was part of a suit of livery, and he vanished crying—

The story dates from my great grandfather’s time; but the old dark closet where Brownie dwelt still exists, though dark no longer.”

But not the Brownie alone, with his kindred Northern sprites, is driven away by gifts of clothing. Devonshire Pixies are equally sensitive on this point. It is recorded that one of them on receiving a new suit vanished, exclaiming—

Nay, a simple word of praise will drive them away, as we learn from the following tale. A farmer at Washington, in Sussex, who had often been surprised in the morning at the large heaps of corn threshed for him during the night, determined at last to sit up and watch what went on. Creeping at midnight to the barn-door and looking through a little chink in it he saw two little “Piskies” working away with their fairie flails, and only stopping now and then for an instant to say to each other “See how I sweat! see how I sweat!” the very thing that befell the “lubbar fiend” in L’Allegro. The farmer in his delight cried out “Well done, my little men,” on which the sprites uttered a loud cry and vanished, never to work again in that barn.