for I have repeatedly, though in vain, urged Mr. Winterblossom to undertake the task. But he said that he had once spent many years and infinite labour in preparing a work of deep erudition for the press. The public was ungrateful, and the work still remains unsold. Printer's ink he would never meddle with again; and then, added he with emphasis, taking me by the arm, "the printer will be paid, whether the work sells or not."

Should, however, the public act with greater indulgence in the present instance, it is my intention, if life and health be preserved to me, to offer a second volume to its notice in the due course of time. One difficulty presents itself. Being a stranger to the island, during the short time I may be able to bestow upon a visit next summer, I may perhaps overlook many things that ought to be recorded with care. I should therefore feel under obligation to any one who will call my attention to any antiquity,

tale, or tradition connected with the island;directing their communication to A. Elder, Esq., author of "Tales and Legends of the Isle of Wight," under cover to his publishers, Messrs. Simpkin, Marshall, and Co., or to Mr. French, bookseller, Newport.

TALES AND LEGENDS

OF THE

ISLE OF WIGHT.

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.

"What is't, a spirit ?-Lord, how it looks about!"

TEMPEST.

SOME apology is due to the public for presenting another book about the Isle of Wight to its notice. Its hills, its chines, and its undercliffs, the Needle Rocks, and Alum Bay, its "hanging woods" and "purling streams," and all its other "ineffable beauties," have been again and again described, by pens far more romantic and sentimental

B

than mine. Yet still there remains a path as yet untrodden. No one has hitherto attempted to collect into a volume the ancient tales and traditions of the island; that is to say, no one has done the thing. For an attempt certainly was made, not long ago, by a friend of mine, which failed from a very singular accident-so singular, indeed, that an account of it may not be unacceptable to my readers.

Mr. Samuel Rhino, a gentleman of considerable literary acquirements, started from London by the "Rocket" Portsmouth coach, to pay a visit to the Isle of Wight. His intention was to make a complete tour of the island, and while he recruited his health by the sea breezes, to write a journal of his travels as he went along, as is the custom with literary men.

He arrived at Ryde late in the evening, but so great was his desire to visit the wonders of the island, and to search out its legendary tales, that he determined to commence his tour that very evening.

He would take a car to St. Helen's, and

cross the ferry to the hotel at Bembridge, and then on to Shanklin in the morning. Nothing worth mentioning occurred until he arrived at Bembridge ferry.

As he was walking down to the boat, he was joined by a tall gentleman in black, who walked by his side, without, however, entering into conversation. The tall gentleman bowed to Mr. Rhino to enter the boat first; Mr. Rhino, to show his breeding, bowed to the tall gentleman. The tall gentleman, after making another bow, stepped in and took his seat. Mr. Rhino sat himself by him, and the boat pushed off. For some time he amused himself by admiring the water, and the hills, and the red sky in the west; he then turned to his tall neighbour, just to tell him how beautiful the scene was, and, perhaps, make an observation or two about the weather, when, to his dismay, he saw the seat next to him unoccupied. There was nobody in the boat but himself,

ryman tugging at his oar.

and the fer

"What has become of the tall man that