The exclamation “Sa!” which is frequently heard in the country, and sometimes in town, is probably the old Cornish word sa, “stand!” It has continued in use, though its meaning has been forgotten. It is employed instead of “stand still!” “hold!” “avast!” “enough!” and such-like words, uttered in haste to arrest speech or action. Its usage, however, will be best shown by a few familiar examples.

In all parts of the country hereabouts, it is spoken to a restless cow to bid her be still whilst milked,—“Sa! Molly! sa!” Very likely most words used to cattle and poultry are ancient Cornish, and had meanings, now lost. “Sa, sa! eat petats, let the crust for supper!” is a saying often addressed to persons who want to enjoy all their good things at once. It is suggested by the well-known potato-pie with its substantial roll of crust and the custom of reserving a good portion of the latter, to serve, instead of cake for supper.

A short time ago, a butcher belonging to a western town had a horse of an uncertain age and no remarkable qualities; yet the owner was always “cracking it up” as the best beast in town, of its size—equally good for saddle and harness; sure-footed, staunch to collar, and so on. He also gave his fellow tradesmen to understand that anyone who coveted this choice animal must pay a good sum to tempt him to part with it. For a few days, butchers in surrounding stalls, to their surprise, heard no mention of the famous horse; then they learnt that it had changed owners, and for a lower price than it was expected the seller would have accepted. Butchers in general are much given to banter, and those of the town in question, liking this pastime very much, renewed their jibes by telling the seller of Dobbin that if he had at first only asked a fair price for his horse he would have got much more for it. One of them remarked that what he had stated in favour of the beast was as near the truth as could be expected from a jockey, and nearer than the owner knew of. Another, who was two or three stalls off, bellowed, “Aye by golls!1 He [186]nearly told the truth, for a wonder, but all through’s ign’rance.” In short, they tried to persuade the seller that he had made a bad bargain, though they knew the horse had fetched its full value, or more. The jockey-butcher sat listening to the others’ jeers with good humour, or returning them in the same vein, till, becoming tired of their long harping on the same string he sprang up, and shouted, “Sa! sa! lev’n go, es dry eatan” (let him go, he is dry eating), “as the old man said for the hare.”

The (native?) fable, or story from which our jolly butcher took his apt reply, runs thus:—

An old couple lived all alone in a little old house “out by night” (an out-of-the-way place). The old woman was constantly in a bad temper, because a hare got into their garden and ate the cabbages; she scolded and tormented her old man all day long because he didn’t build the garden hedges higher, or do something else to keep the hare out. To all her aggravating “jaw,” he would only reply, “Sa, sa, dear, when that hare es fat enow we’ll have a good pie.” One Saturday night, accordingly, he set a jin among the cabbages. On Sunday morning he got up by break o’ day, and ran out to see if the hare were “come to trap.” There it was, a fine one, caught by a fore leg. The old man, overjoyed by his good luck, without stopping to take up the hare, ran in, calling to his wife all the way, “come ’e along out, my dear; be quick; and see what a capital pie we shall have for dinner to-day.” She tore out in great “stroath” (confused haste), slipped on her clogs, crossed the garden, and got to the trap before her old man; but all she saw of the hare was a fore foot in the jin, and the white of its tail passing through a hole in the hedge, as it scampered off. The hare, on hearing the old woman’s clogs coming clap-a-clap among the cabbages, gave a twist, severed a bit of skin, which alone held it; the trap in closing had broken the bone. “That’s like thee, thee old buffle-head,” screamed she, “not to take up the hare at once and bring am in, instead of hobblan away to bring me out, draglan through the dew to catch my death this cold mornan, all undressed as I am; and that while, the hare, twistan and turnan, broke’s leg and es gone.”

“Sa! sa!” said the old man, “lev’n go, es dry eatan.”

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