Subsequently that night five or six distinct voices were heard, and next
morning the water in the tank was as black as ink, and not alone that,
but the bread and butter in the pantry were streaked with the marks of
sooty fingers.

A clergyman in the locality, having heard of the doings of Corney, called
to investigate the matter. He was advised by Mrs. A---- to keep quiet,
and not to reveal his identity, as being the best chance of hearing
Corney speak. He waited a long time, and as the capricious Corney
remained silent, he left at length. The servants asked, "Corney, why did
you not speak?" and he replied, "I could not speak while that good man
was in the house." The servants sometimes used to ask him where he was.
He would reply, "The Great God would not permit me to tell you. I was a
bad man, and I died the death." He named the room in the house in which
he died.

Corney constantly joined in any conversation carried on by the people of
the house. One could never tell when a voice from the coal-cellar would
erupt into the dialogue. He had his likes and dislikes: he appeared to
dislike anyone that was not afraid of him, and would not talk to them.
Mrs. C.'s mother, however, used to get good of him by coaxing. An uncle,
having failed to get him to speak one night, took the kitchen poker, and
hammered at the door of the coal-cellar, saying, "I'll make you speak";
but Corney wouldn't. Next morning the poker was found broken in two. This
uncle used to wear spectacles, and Corney used to call him derisively,
"Four-eyes." An uncle named Richard came to sleep one night, and
complained in the morning that the clothes were pulled off him. Corney
told the servants in great glee, "I slept on Master Richard's feet all
night."