Appendix 
recognisable to any truly provincial Englishman. 
Others may fail to see it; but a native will feel it 
“in his bones.” 
Characteristic of all these is the tale of Cocker 
Nash (pronounced Naish)—to give the West 
Surrey version. It is told that Cocker Nash, a 
fish-hawker, being the worse for drink, lost his 
way in the woods of Waverley one winter evening ; 
and, growing frightened, began to call out “ Man 
lost! Man lost!”’ Pigeons said ‘‘ Coo-o0, coo- 
oo.” Was itananswer? Again the man cried; 
and again came the supposed answer. And now 
there could be no doubt: it must be some voice 
asking ‘‘ Who? who?” Whereupon, almost 
frantic, the fishmonger screamed out, “‘ Cocker 
Nash, of Farnham.” 
I think no other memory of Cocker Nash 
survives in Farnham, although it may be taken 
for granted that a simpleton of that name once 
lived there. Anyhow, the story is handy. My 
old friend Bettesworth once tried to fasten it on 
to a neighbour whose name must not be told; and 
indeed the narrative is a cap easily fitted. It is 
placed in Wessex by Mr. Hardy; some years 
ago a friend came ‘upon it at Freshwater in the 
Isle of Wight, where the adventure was ascribed 
to a local worthy lost in the Undercliff. There 
is a version of it, again with a local name, at 
Dunstable; finally, I may mention a North- 
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