In certain of the collections, on the contrary, and most especially and largely in the two Tudor ones so often quoted, we meet with little dramatic scenes, laid here or there, with a fair accompaniment of probability in support of the attribution. I shall take the course of referring those who may care to follow this part of the argument to the _Hundred Merry Tales_,-- No. 29. Of the Welshman, who said that he could get but a little mail. No. 33. Of the priest, who said Our Lady was not so curious a woman. No. 40. Of Master Skelton, who brought the Bishop of Norwich two pheasants. No. 71. Of the priest that would say two gospels for a groat. No. 87. Of Master Whittington’s dream. And to _Merry Tales and Quick Answers_,-- No. 54. Of Master Vavasor and Turpin his man. No. 94. Of the Cheshire man called Evelyn. No. 132. Of him that sold two loads of hay. No. 134. How the image of the Devil was lost and sought. I think that all the articles which I have just indicated manifest a realism of portraiture and complexion which should commend and endear them to the studiers and lovers of the old English life; in the edition of the _Hundred Merry Tales_ which the Royal Library at Göttingen owns, and which I have lately reprinted in facsimile, there is a further item falling within the same category--the highly amusing and doubtless veracious tale of the Maltman of Colebrook, which may be appropriately bracketed with the one “of him that sold two loads of hay.” Both are, in fact, relations of actual events thrown into a readable shape with a modicum of colouring. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER XX. THE SO-CALLED “TALES OF SKELTON”--SPECIMENS OF THEM--SIR THOMAS MORE AND THE LUNATIC--THE FOOLISH DUKE OF NEWCASTLE--PENNANT THE ANTIQUARY--THE “GOTHAMITE TALES”--STORIES CONNECTED WITH WALES AND SCOTLAND. Besides these two repertories, the _Merry Tales of Skelton_ contain a racy and diverting account of a trick played by the poet on a Kendal man, with whom he was riding from Oxford to London. They baited at Uxbridge, and while his companion was out of the room, Skelton took his cap, which he had left behind on the table, inserted some butter inside the lining, and put it back in its place. When the owner returned, he placed it on his head, of which the warmth soon had the anticipated effect. The butter ran down the fellow’s face and neck, and Skelton assured him that he had the sweating sickness. The Kendal man was in great terror of his life, and Skelton advised him to go to bed at once. A little hot water applied to the cap and its proprietor set matters right; the joke was explained and forgiven, and the two rode on to town the next morning. Such practical hoaxes were doubtless frequent enough; and the laureated parson of Diss was never, one is apt to apprehend, so thoroughly at home as when he had something of the kind in hand.