from all parts of the county to see it. It
remained under the care of the chosen dairy-
woman until it was pronounced sufficiently firm
to be moved; the price of admission for each
visitor, in the mean time, being fixed at a
shilling. At this point, one of the donors kindly
offered to give up his parlour, a large and
convenient room, to ripen it in, and this offer being
accepted, it was removed to its new quarters,
carefully bound up in its former mahogany
casing to secure it from injury. The weight
and size of the giant rendered it impossible to
"turn" it without the aid of machinery, and
an apparatus was constructed which brought
this very necessary operation in cheese-making
within the power of one person. Notwithstanding
this invention, the rest of the farmers could
not trust the handling of so valuable a prize to
one man, and they assembled nearly every afternoon
at the house of the keeper to watch the
development of their property. As a want of
hospitality is not a West Pennard failing, the
host was very liberal with his best cider, and by
the time the process of "ripening" was
considered complete (a period of several months), the
whole of his previous year's making of cider—-
from twenty to thirty hogsheads—- had thoroughly
disappeared. The number of nights on which
late sounds of conviviality were heard roaring
round this giant cheese are tenaciously remembered
by many goodwives in West Pennard.

The cheese being now fit for presentation to
her Majesty, a great meeting of shareholders
was held, and a deputation chosen, consisting of
three of the principal proprietors. To give this
deputation greater importance, the parish factotum
was elected to accompany it. That nothing
might be wanting to render it worthy of the
occasion, the four delegates were arrayed in new
suits of clothes, made under general advice by a
fashionable tailor.

The Leviathan Cheese, duly launched, was
taken to London by this imposing guard of
honour, and laid at the feet of her gracious
Majesty. Its reception by royalty was everything
that West Pennard could have wished, the
only objection to the giant being its extreme
youth. As it was not considered old enough to
cut, her Majesty requested the delegates to take
it back, and present it again at a more mature
age, when she promised a donation of one
hundred pounds to the poor of the giant's parish.

When the delegates returned to West
Pennard, they gave a highly glowing account—- in
fact, many highly glowing accounts—- of their
reception at the palace. They spoke particularly
of his Royal Highness Prince Albert in
terms of the warmest admiration, and remarked,
almost familiarly, that " they had never met
a nicer fellow." So much did they dwell upon
this portion of their narrative, that the original
curiosity of their listeners and fellow-
shareholders soon changed to jealousy. Knighthood
was the least honour expected to follow
such a reception; a prospect not at all pleasing
to the general body of contributors. This feeling
grew at last into open rebellion, and
attempts were made to get possession of the
Leviathan Cheese. A considerable reward was
even offered to any one who would cut or
damage it, and its trustees became so alarmed,
that, at the cost of twelve pounds, they had a
strong iron cage constructed for its safe-keeping,
with a brilliant crown upon the top, to warn
of all treasonable enemies. Net feeling secure
even with this stronghold, and this emblem of
authority, they caused heavy iron bars to be
affixed to the windows of the room in which
the caged giant was deposited; also to the
mantelpiece, as some daring, disloyal chimney-
sweep from Bath had undertaken to get down the
chimney at night and basely earn the reward.

The three members of the deputation, omitting
the factotum, resided at Sticklings, Woodlands,
and East-street, and the united parish, fearing
that, from the excitement and ill-feeling, the
honour which seemed likely to fall upon it might
be lost for ever, very wisely took the power of
conferring the expected patents of nobility into
its own hands; and the three farmers, under the
action of the parochial will, became respectively
the Marquis of Sticklings, the Duke of
Woodlands, and Lord East-street. This proceeding
rather increased the jealousy and activity of the
opposition; and, by some means, they obtained
possession of the mahogany vat and follower.
Making a plaster of Paris imitation of the
Leviathan Cheese, they started an exhibition in
London, and kept it open for some months with
considerable success. Upon this the Marquis
of Sticklings, the Duke of Woodlands, and Lord
East-street, having asked and gained the
permission of her gracious Majesty to exhibit the
real, original giant, they took a room, as all
passing exhibitors used to do some ten years
ago, at the Egyptian Hall. It was now the turn
of the plaster of Paris party to make another
move, and flying to Chancery, they obtained an
injunction prohibiting the exhibition, in London,
of the original Leviathan. Driven from
the metropolis, the giant and its trustees went
to the country, and pitched their tents, to some
purpose, in several of the largest towns in
Somersetshire. If the Marquis of Sticklings,
the Duke of Woodlands, and Lord East-street
had been ordinary showmen, with no recently
acquired and extraordinary dignity to maintain
a fair amount might have been realised by the
exhibition of the giant; but, as they were very
careful not to disgrace their titles by any display
of meanness or economy, they spent all the
money they received, neglected their farms, and
were several hundred pounds out of pocket
besides. The plaster of Paris party were also losers
by the contest, their law and other expenses
amounting to a nearly equal sum.

The Leviathan Cheese was ultimately taken to
its old abode, the residence of the Marquis of
Sticklings, where it remained until the death of
that esteemed nobleman. It was then removed
to the house of the Duke of Woodlands, where
it rested, an unfortunate, worn-out, neglected
giant, until his grace gave up farming, and took
upon himself the management of the Old Down