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[Illustration: A Flight of Witches.]
POPULAR ROMANCES
OF THE
WEST OF ENGLAND;
OR,
The Drolls, Traditions, and Superstitions of
Old Cornwall.
COLLECTED AND EDITED BY
ROBERT HUNT, F.R.S.
[Illustration]
SECOND SERIES.
LONDON:
JOHN CAMDEN HOTTEN, PICCADILLY.
1865.
[_Right of Translation is reserved._]
“‘Have you any stories like that, gudewife?’
“‘Ah,’ she said; ‘there were plenty of people that could tell those
stories once. I used to hear them telling them over the fire at night;
but people is so changed with pride now, that they care for nothing.’”
CAMPBELL.
LONDON: JOHN CAMDEN HOTTEN, PICCADILLY.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE SAINTS.
1. Legends of the Saints, 3
2. The Crowza Stones, 5
3. The Longstone, 7
4. St Sennen and St Just, 8
5. Legends of St Leven—
The Saint and Johana, 9
The Saint’s Path, 10
The St Leven Stone, 10
The Two Breams, 11
10. St Keyne, 12
11. St Dennis’s Blood, 15
12. St Kea’s Boat, 16
13. St German’s Well, 17
14. How St Piran reached Cornwall, 19
15. St Perran, the Miner’s Saint, 20
16. The Discovery of Tin, 21
17. St Neot, the Pigmy, 22
18. St Neot and the Fox, 23
19. St Neot and the Doe, 23
20. St Neot and the Thieves, 24
21. St Neot and the Fishes, 25
22. Probus and Grace, 26
23. St Nectan’s Kieve and the Lonely Sisters, 27
24. Theodore, King of Cornwall, 33
HOLY WELLS.
25. Well-Worship, 35
26. The Well of St Constantine, 38
27. The Well of St Ludgvan, 39
28. Gulval Well, 43
29. The Well of St Keyne, 45
30. Maddern or Madron Well, 47
31. The Well at Altar-Nun, 50
32. St Gundred’s Well at Roach Rock, 53
33. St Cuthbert’s or Cubert’s Well, 54
34. Rickety Children, 55
35. Chapell Uny, 56
36. Perran Well, 56
37. Redruth Well, 56
38. Holy Well at Little Conan, 56
39. The Preservation of Holy Wells, 57
KING ARTHUR.
40. Arthur Legends, 59
41. The Battle of Vellan-druchar, 62
42. Arthur at the Land’s End, 63
43. Traditions of the Danes in Cornwall, 65
44. King Arthur in the Form of a Chough, 66
45. The Cornish Chough, 68
46. Slaughter Bridge, 68
47. Camelford and King Arthur, 69
48. Dameliock Castle, 71
49. Carlian in Kea, 71
SORCERY AND WITCHCRAFT.
50. The “Cunning Man,” 73
51. Notes on Witchcraft, 76
52. Ill-wishing, 78
53. The “Peller,” 81
54. Bewitched Cattle, 82
55. How to Become a Witch, 83
56. Cornish Sorcerers, 83
57. How Pengerswick Became a Sorcerer, 84
58. The Lord of Pengerswick an Enchanter, 86
59. The Witch of Fraddam and Pengerswick, 90
60. Trewa, the Home of Witches, 92
61. Kenidzhek Witch, 93
62. The Witches of the Logan Stone, 94
63. Madgy Figgy’s Chair, 96
64. Old Madge Figgey and the Pig, 99
65. Madam Noy and Old Joan, 101
66. The Witch of Treva, 102
67. How Mr Lenine Gave Up Courting, 104
68. The Witch and the Toad, 105
69. The Sailor Wizard, 108
THE MINERS.
70. Traditions of Tinners, 111
71. The Tinner of Chyannor, 115
72. Who are the Knockers? 118
73. Miners’ Superstitions, 122
74. Christmas-Eve in the Mines, 123
75. Warnings and “Tokens,” 124
76. The Ghost on Horseback, 125
77. The Black Dogs, 126
78. Pitmen’s Omens and Goblins, 126
79. The Dead Hand, 128
80. Dorcas, the Spirit of Polbreen Mine, 129
81. Hingston Downs, 131
FISHERMEN AND SAILORS.
82. The Pilot’s Ghost Story, 133
83. The Phantom Ship, 135
84. Jack Harry’s Lights, 136
85. The Pirate-Wrecker and the Death Ship, 137
86. The Spectre Ship of Porthcurno, 141
87. The Lady with the Lantern, 143
88. The Drowned “Hailing their Names,” 146
89. The Voice from the Sea, 146
90. The Smuggler’s Token, 147
91. The Hooper of Sennen Cove, 148
92. How to Eat Pilchards, 149
93. Pilchards Crying for More, 149
94. The Pressing-Stones, 149
95. Whipping the Hake, 152
DEATH SUPERSTITIONS.
96. The Death Token of the Vingoes, 155
97. The Death Fetch of William Rufus, 156
98. Sir John Arundell, 157
99. Phantoms of the Dying, 158
100. The White Hare, 162
101. The Hand of a Suicide, 164
102. The North Side of a Church, 164
103. Popular Superstitions, 165
OLD USAGES.
104. Sanding the Step on New Year’s-Day, 169
105. May-Day, 170
106. Shrove Tuesday at St Ives, 171
107. “The Furry,” Helstone, 171
108. Midsummer Superstitious Customs, 172
109. Crying the Neck, 173
110. Drinking to the Apple-Trees on Twelfth Night Eve, 175
111. Allhallows-Eve at St Ives, 177
112. The Twelfth Cake, 177
113. Oxen Pray on Christmas Eve, 178
114. “St George”—The Christmas Plays, 179
115. Geese-Dancing—Plough Monday, 182
116. Christmas at St Ives, 183
117. Lady Lovell’s Courtship, 188
118. The Game of Hurling, 193
119. Sham Mayors—
The Mayor of Mylor, 196
The Mayor of St Germans, 197
The Mayor of Halgaver Moor, 198
120. The Faction Fight at Cury Great Tree, 198
121. Towednack Cuckoo Feast, 200
122. The Duke of Restormel, 200
POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS.
123. Charming, and Prophetic Power, 203
124. Fortune-Telling, Charms, &c., 204
125. The Zennor Charmers, 208
126. J. H., the Conjurer of St Colomb, 209
127. Cures for Warts, 210
128. A Cure for Paralysis, 212
129. A Cure for Rheumatism, 212
130. Sundry Charms, 213
131. Cure for Colic in Towednack, 213
132. For a Scald or Burn, 213
133. Charms for Inflammatory Diseases, 213
134. Charms for the Prick of a Thorn, 213
135. Charms for Stanching of Blood, 214
136. Charm for a Tetter, 214
137. Charm for the Sting of a Nettle, 215
138. Charm for Toothache, 215
139. Charm for Serpents, 215
140. The Cure of Boils, 215
141. Rickets, or a Crick in the Back, 215
142. The Club-Moss, 216
143. Moon Superstitions, 217
144. Cures for Whooping-Cough, 218
145. Cure of Toothache, 219
146. The Convalescent’s Walk, 220
147. Adders, and the Milpreve, 220
148. Snakes Avoid the Ash-Tree, 223
149. To Charm a Snake, 223
150. The Ash-Tree, 224
151. Rhyme on the Even Ash, 225
152. A Test of Innocency, 225
153. The Bonfire Test, 226
154. Lights Seen by the Converted, 226
155. The Migratory Birds, 226
156. Shooting Stars, 227
157. The Sun Never Shines on the Perjured, 228
158. Characteristics, 229
159. The Mutton Feast, 232
160. The Floating Grindstone, 232
161. Celts—Flint Arrow-heads, &c., 233
162. Horns on the Church Tower, 233
163. Tea-Stalks and Smut, 234
164. An Old Cornish Rhyme, 234
165. To Choose a Wife, 234
166. The Robin and the Wren, 235
167. To Secure Good Luck for a Child, 235
168. Innocency, 235
169. Rain at Bridal or Burial, 235
170. Crowing Hens, &c., 236
171. The New Moon, 236
172. Looking-Glasses, 236
173. The Magpie, 236
174. The Month of May Unlucky, 237
175. On the Births of Children, 237
176. On Washing Linen, 237
177. Itching Ears, 237
178. The Spark on the Candle, 238
179. The Blue Vein, 238
180. The Croaking of the Raven, 238
181. Whistling, 239
182. Meeting on the Stairs, 239
183. Treading on Graves, 239
184. A Loose Garter, 240
185. To Cure the Hiccough, 240
186. The Sleeping Foot, 240
187. The Horse-Shoe, 240
188. The Black Cat’s Tail, 240
189. Unlucky Things, 241
190. The Limp Corpse, 241
191. “By Hook or by Crook,” 242
192. Weather Signs, 242
193. Weather at Liskeard, 243
194. The First Butterfly, 243
195. Peculiar Words and Phrases, 244
MISCELLANEOUS STORIES.
196. The Bells of Forrabury Church, 247
197. The Tower of Minster Church, 249
198. Temple Moors, 250
199. The Legend of Tamara, 251
200. The Church and the Barn, 252
201. The Penryn Tragedy, 253
202. Goldsithney Fair and the Glove, 255
203. The Harlyn Pie, 256
204. Packs of Wool the Foundation of the Bridge of Wadebridge, 256
205. The Last Wolf in England, 258
206. Churches Built in Performance of Vows, 258
207. Bolait, the Field of Blood, 259
208. Woeful Moor, and Bodrigan’s Leap, 261
209. Pengerswick Castle, 263
210. The Clerks of Cornwall, 264
211. A Fairy Caught, 265
212. The Lizard People, 267
213. Prussia Cove and Smuggler’s Holes, 267
214. Cornish Teeny-tiny, 268
215. The Spaniard at Penryn, 269
216. Boyer, Mayor of Bodmin, 270
217. Thomasine Bonaventure, 271
218. The Last of the Killigrews, 274
219. Saint Gerennius, 278
220. Cornish Dialogue, 280
APPENDIX.
A. St Piran—Perran Zabuloe, 287
B. The Discoverer of Tin, 288
C. St Neot, 289
D. The Sisters of Glen-Neot, 290
E. Millington of Pengerswick, 291
F. Saracen, 292
ROMANCES AND SUPERSTITIONS OF HISTORIC TIMES.
2D SERIES.
POPULAR ROMANCES AND SUPERSTITIONS OF THE WEST OF ENGLAND.
THE SAINTS.
“With great pretended spiritual motions,
And many fine whimsical notions,
With blind zeal and large devotions.”
SAMUEL BUTLER.
LEGENDS OF THE SAINTS.
“This ilkë monk let olde thingës pace,
And held after the newë world the trace.
He gave not of the text a pulled hen,
That saith, that hunters be not holy men,
Ne that a monk, when he is reckëless,
Is like to a fish that is waterless;
This is to say, a monk out of his cloister,
This ilkë text held he not worth an oyster,
And I say his opinion was good.”
_The Canterbury Tales_—CHAUCER.
The process through which a man, who has made himself remarkable to
his ignorant fellow-men, is passed after death—first, into the hero
performing fabulous exploits, and eventually into the giant—is not
difficult to understand.
The remembrance of great deeds, and the memory of virtues,—even in modern
days, when the exaggerations of votaries are subdued by the influence
of education,—ever tends to bring them out in strong contrast with the
surrounding objects. The mass of men form the background, as it were, of
the picture, and the hero or the saint stands forth in all his brightness
of colour in the foreground.
Amidst the uneducated Celtic population who inhabited Old Cornwall, it
was the practice, as with the Celts of other countries, to exalt their
benefactors with all the adornments of that hyperbole which distinguishes
their songs and stories. When the first Christian missionaries dwelt
amongst this people, they impressed them with the daring which they
exhibited by the persecution which they uncomplainingly endured and the
holy lives they led.
Those who were morally so superior to the living men, were represented
as physically so to their children, and every generation adorned the
relation which it had received with the ornaments derived from their own
imaginations, which had been tutored amidst the severer scenes of nature;
and consequently the warrior, or the holy man, was transmuted into the
giant.
If to this we add the desire which was constantly shewn by the earlier
priesthood to persuade the people of their miraculous powers—of the
direct interference of Heaven in their behalf—and of the violent
conflicts which they were occasionally enduring with the enemy of the
human race, there will be no difficulty in marking out the steps by which
the ordinary man has become an extraordinary hero. When we hear of the
saints to whose memories the parish churches are dedicated, being enabled
to hurl rocks of enormous size through the air, to carry them in their
pockets, and indeed to use them as playthings, we perceive that the
traditions of the legitimate giants, have been transferred to, and mixed
up with, the memories of a more recent people.
In addition to legends of the Titanic type, this section will include a
few of the true monastic character. The only purpose I have in giving
these is to preserve, as examples, some curious superstitions which have
not yet entirely lost their hold on the people.
THE CROWZA STONES.
St Just, from his home in Penwith, being weary of having little to do,
except offering prayers for the tinners and fishermen, went on a visit to
the hospitable St Keverne, who had fixed his hermitage in a well-selected
spot, not far from the Lizard headland. The holy brothers rejoiced
together, and in full feeding and deep drinking they pleasantly passed
the time. St Just gloried in the goodly chalice from which he drank the
richest of wines, and envied St Keverne the possession of a cup of such
rare value. Again and again did he pledge St Keverne; their holy bond
of brotherhood was to be for ever; Heaven was to witness the purity
of their friendship, and to the world they were to become patterns of
ecclesiastical love.
The time came when St Just felt he must return to his flock; and
repeating over again his vows, and begging St Keverne to return his
visit, he departed—St Keverne sending many a blessing after his good
brother.
The Saint of the west, had not left his brother of the south, many hours
before the latter missed his cup. Diligent search was made in every
corner of his dwelling, but no cup could be found. At length St Keverne
could not but feel that he had been robbed of his treasure by his western
friend. That one in whom he had placed such confidence—one to whom he
had opened his heart, and to whom he had shewn the most unstinting
hospitality—should have behaved so treacherously, overcame the serenity
of the good man. His rage was excessive. After the first burst was over,
and reason reasserted her power, St Keverne felt that his wisest course
was to pursue the thief, inflict summary punishment on him, and recover
his cup. The thought was followed by a firm resolve, and away St Keverne
started in pursuit of St Just. Passing over Crowza Down, some of the
boulders of “Ironstone” which are scattered over the surface caught his
eye, and presently he whipped a few of these stone pebbles into his
pockets, and hastened onward.
When he drew near Tre-men-keverne he spied St Just. St Keverne worked
himself up into a boiling rage, and toiled with increased speed up the
hill, hallooing to the saintly thief, who pursued his way for some time
in the well-assumed quiet of conscious innocence.
Long and loud did St Keverne call on St Just to stop, but the latter was
deaf to all calls of the kind—on he went, quickening, however, his pace a
little.
At length St Keverne came within a stone’s throw of the dissembling
culprit, and calling him a thief—adding thereto some of the most choice
epithets from his holy vocabulary—taking a stone from his pocket, he let
it fly after St Just.
The stone falling heavily by the side of St Just convinced him that he
had to deal with an awkward enemy, and that he had best make all the
use he could of his legs. He quietly untied the chalice, which he had
fastened to his girdle, and let it fall to the ground. Then, still as if
unconscious of his follower, he set off to run as fast as his ponderous
body would allow his legs to carry him. St Keverne came up to where his
cup glistened in the sunshine. He had recovered his treasure, he should
get no good out of the false friend, and he was sadly jaded with his long
run. Therefore he took, one by one, the stones from his pockets—he hurled
them, fairly aimed, after the retreating culprit, and cursed him as he
went.
There the pebbles remain where they fell,—the peculiarity of the stone
being in all respects unlike anything around, but being clearly the
Crowza stones,—attesting the truth of the legend; and their weights,
each one being several hundred pounds, proving the power of the giant
saint.
Many have been the attempts made to remove these stones. They are carried
away easily enough by day, but they ever return to the spot on which they
now repose, at night.
THE LONGSTONE.
THE GIANT’S HAT AND STAFF.
Some say it was St Roach, others refer it to St Austell; but all agree
in one thing, that the Longstone was once the staff of some holy man,
and that its present state is owing to the malignant persecution of the
demon of darkness. It happened after this manner. The good saint who
had been engaged in some mission was returning to his cell across St
Austell Downs. The night had been fine, the clearness of the sky and the
brightness of the stars conduced to religious thoughts, and those of the
saint fled heavenwards. The devil was wandering abroad that night, and
maliciously he resolved to play a trick upon his enemy. The saint was
wrapt in thought. The devil was working his dire spells. The sky became
black, the stars disappeared, and suddenly a terrific rush of wind seized
the saint, whirled him round and round, and at last blew his hat high
into the air. The hat went ricocheting over the moor and the saint after
it, the devil enjoying the sport. The long stick which the saint carried
impeded his progress in the storm, and he stuck it into the ground. On
went the hat, speedily followed the saint over and round the moor, until
thoroughly wearied out, he at length gave up the chase. He, now exposed
to the beat of the tempest bareheaded, endeavoured to find his way to
his cell, and thought to pick up his staff on the way. No staff could be
found in the darkness, and his hat was, he thought, gone irrecoverably.
At length the saint reached his cell, he quieted his spirit by prayer,
and sought the forgetfulness of sleep, safe under the protection of the
holy cross, from all the tricks of the devil. The evil one, however, was
at work on the wild moor, and by his incantations he changed the hat and
the staff into two rocks. Morning came, the saint went abroad seeking for
his lost covering and support. He found them both—one a huge circular
boulder, and the other a long stone which remains to this day.[1]
The Saint’s, or, as it was often called, the Giant’s Hat was removed
in 1798 by a regiment of soldiers who were encamped near it. They felt
satisfied that this mysterious stone was the cause of the wet season
which rendered their camp unpleasant, and consequently they resolved to
remove the evil spell by destroying it.
ST SENNEN AND ST JUST.
These saints held rule over adjoining parishes; but, like neighbours, not
unfrequently, they quarrelled. We know not the cause which made their
angry passions rise; but no doubt the saints were occasionally exposed
to the influences of the evil principle, which appears to be one of
the ruling powers of the world. It is not often that we have instances
of excess of passion in man or woman without some evidence of the evil
resulting from it. Every tempest in the physical world leaves its mark
on the face of the earth. Every tempest in the moral world, in a similar
manner, leaves some scar to tell of its ravages on the soul. A most
enduring monument in granite tells us of the rage to which those two
holy men were the victims. As we have said, there is no record of the
origin of the duel which was fought between St Just and St Sennen; but,
in the fury of their rage, they tore each a rock from the granite mass,
and hurled it onwards to destroy his brother. They were so well aimed
that both saints must have perished had the rocks been allowed to travel
as intended. A merciful hand guided them, though in opposite directions,
in precisely the same path. The huge rocks came together; so severe was
the blow of impact that they became one mass, and fell to the ground, to
remain a monument of the impotent rage of two giants.
LEGENDS OF ST LEVEN.
I.—THE SAINT AND JOHANA.
The walls of what are supposed to be the hut of St Leven are still to
be seen at Bodellen. If you walk from Bodellen to St Leven Church, on
passing near the stile in Rospletha you will see a three-cornered garden.
This belonged to a woman who is only known to us as Johana. Johana’s
Garden is still the name of the place. One Sunday morning St Leven was
passing over the stile to go as usual to his fishing-place below the
church, to catch his dinner. Johana was in the garden picking pot-herbs
at the time, and she lectured the holy man for fishing on a Sunday. They
came to high words, and St Leven told Johana that there was no more sin
in taking his dinner from the sea than she herself committed in taking
hers from the garden. The saint called her foolish Johana, and said if
another of her name was christened in his well she should be a bigger
fool than Johana herself. From that day to this no child called Johana
has been christened in St Leven. All parents who desire to give that
name to their daughters, dreading St Leven’s curse, take the children to
Sennen.
II.—THE SAINT’S PATH.
The path along which St Leven was accustomed to walk from Bodellen, by
Rospletha, on to St Leven’s Rocks, as they are still called, may be yet
seen; the grass grows greener wherever the good priest trod than in any
other part of the fields through which the footpath passes.
III.—THE ST LEVEN STONE.
On the south side of the church, to the east of the porch, is a rock
known by the above name. It is broken in two, and the fissure is filled
in with ferns and wild flowers, while the grass grows rank around it. On
this rock St Leven often sat to rest after the fatigue of fishing; and
desiring to leave some enduring memento of himself in connexion with this
his rude but favourite seat, he one day gave it a blow with his fist and
cracked it through. He prayed over the rock, and uttered the following
prophecy:—
“When, with panniers astride,
A packhorse one can ride
Through St Leven’s Stone,
The world will be done.”
This stone must have been venerated for the saint’s sake when the church
was built, or it would certainly have been employed for the building. It
is more than fifty years since I first made acquaintance, as a child,
with the St Leven Stone, and it may be a satisfaction to many to know
that the progress of separation is an exceedingly slow one. I cannot
detect the slightest difference in the width of the fissure now and then.
At the present slow rate of opening, the packhorse and panniers will not
be able to pass through the rock for many thousands of years to come. We
need not, therefore, place much reliance on those prophecies which give
but a limited duration to this planet.[2]
IV.—THE TWO BREAMS.
Although in common with many of the churches in the remote districts of
Cornwall, “decay’s effacing fingers” have been allowed to do their work
in St Leven Church, yet there still remains some of the ornamental work
which once adorned it. Much of the carving is irremediably gone; but
still the inquirer will find that it once told the story of important
events in the life of the good St Leven. Two fishes on the same hook form
the device, which appears at one time to have prevailed in this church.
These are to commemorate a remarkable incident in St Leven’s life. One
lovely evening about sunset, St Leven was on his rocks fishing. There was
a heavy pull upon his line, and drawing it in, he found two breams on the
same hook. The good saint, anxious to serve both alike, to avoid, indeed,
even the appearance of partiality, took both the fishes off the hook,
and cast them back into the sea. Again they came to the hook, and again
were they returned to their native elements. The line was no sooner cast
a third time than the same two fishes hooked themselves once more. St
Leven thought there must be some reason unknown to him for this strange
occurrence, so he took both the fishes home with him. When the saint
reached Bodellen, he found his sister, St Breage,[3] had come to visit
him with two children. Then he thought he saw the hand of Providence at
work in guiding the fish to his hook.
Even saints are blind when they attempt to fathom the ways of the Unseen.
The fish were, of course, cooked for supper; and the saint having asked
a blessing upon their savoury meal, all sat down to partake of it. The
children had walked far, and they were ravenously hungry. They ate their
suppers with rapidity, and, not taking time to pick out the bones of the
fish, they were both choked. The apparent blessing was thus transformed
into a curse, and the bream has from that day forward ever gone by the
name, amongst fishermen, of “choke children.”
There are many disputes as to the fish concerned in this legend. Some of
the fishermen of St Leven parish have insisted upon their being “chad,”
(the shad, _clupeida alosa_;) while others, with the strong evidence
afforded by the bony structure of the fish, will have it to have been the
bream, (_cyprinus brama_.) My young readers warned by the name, should be
equally careful in eating either of those fish.
SAINT KEYNE.
Braghan, or Brechan, was a king in Wales, and the builder of the town
of Brecknock. This worthy old king and saint was the happy father of
twenty-six children, or, as some say, twenty-four. Of these, fourteen
or fifteen were sainted for their holiness, and their portraits are
preserved within a fold of the kingly robe of the saint, their father, in
the window at St Neot’s Church, bearing the inscription, “Sante Brechane,
cum omnibus sanctis, ora pro nobis,” and known as the young women’s
window.
Of the holy children settled in Cornwall, we learn that the following
gave their names to Cornish churches:—
1. John, giving name to the Church of St Ive.
2. Endellient, ” ” Endellion.
3. Menfre, ” ” St Minver.
4. Tethe, ” ” St Teath.
5. Mabena, ” ” St Mabyn.
6. Merewenna, ” ” Marham.
7. Wenna, ” ” St Wenn.
8. KEYNE, ” ” ST KEYNE.
9. Yse, ” ” St Issey.
10. Morwenna, ” ” Morwinstow.
11. Cleder, ” ” St Clether.
12. Keri, ” ” Egloskerry.
13. Helie, ” ” Egloshayle.
14. Adwent, ” ” Advent.
15. Lanent, ” ” Lelant.[4]
Of this remarkable family St Keyne stands out as the brightest star.
Lovely beyond measure, she wandered over the country safe, even in
lawless times, from insult, by “the strength of her purity.”
We find this virtuous woman performing miracles wherever she went. The
district now known by the name of Keynsham, in Somersetshire, was in
those days infested with serpents. St Keyne, rivaling St Hilda of the
Northern Isle, changed them all into coils of stone, and there they are
in the quarries at the present time to attest the truth of the legend.
Geologists, with more learning than poetry, term them Ammonites,
deriving their name from the horn of Jupiter Ammon, as if the Egyptian
Jupiter was likely to have charmed serpents in England. We are satisfied
to leave the question for the consideration of our readers. After a life
spent in the conversion of sinners, the building of churches, and the
performance of miracles, this good woman retired into Cornwall, and in
one of its most picturesque valleys, she sought and found that quiet
which was conducive to a happy termination of a well-spent life. She
desired, above all things, “peace on earth;” and she hoped to benefit
the world, by giving to woman a chance of being equal to her lord and
master. A beautiful well of water was near the home of the saint, and she
planted, with her blessing, four trees around it—the withy, the oak, the
elm, and the ash. When the hour of her death was drawing near, St Keyne
caused herself to be borne on a litter to the shade which she had formed,
and soothed by the influence of the murmur of the flowing fountain, she
blessed the waters, and gave them their wondrous power, thus quaintly
described by Carew:—“Next, I will relate to you, another of the Cornish
natural wonders—viz., St Keyne’s Well; but lest you make wonder, first at
the sainte, before you notice the well, you must understand that this was
not Kayne the Manqueller, but one of a gentler spirit and milder sex—to
wit, a woman. He who caused the spring to be pictured, added this rhyme
for an explanation:—
‘In name, in shape, in quality,
This well is very quaint;
The name to lot of Kayne befell,
No over-holy saint.
The shape, four trees of divers kind,
Withy, oak, elm, and ash,
Make with their roots an arched roof,
Whose floor this spring does wash.
The quality, that man or wife,
Whose chance or choice attains,
First of this sacred stream to drink,
Thereby the mastery gains.’”[5]
ST DENNIS’S BLOOD.
The patron saint of the parish church of St Dennis was born in the city
of Athens, in the reign of Tiberius. His name and fame have full record
in the “History of the Saints of the Church of Rome.” How his name was
connected with this remote parish is not clearly made out. We learn,
however, that the good man was beheaded at Montmartre, and that he
walked after his execution, with his head under his arm, to the place in
Paris which still bears his name. At the very time when the decapitation
took place in Paris, _blood fell on the stones of this churchyard_ in
Cornwall. Previously to the breaking out of the plague in London, the
stains of the blood of St Dennis were again seen; and during our wars
with the Dutch, the defeat of the English fleet was foretold by the
rain of gore in this remote and sequestered place. Hals, the Cornish
historian, with much gravity, informs us that he had seen some of the
stones with blood upon them. Whenever this phenomenon occurs again we may
expect some sad calamity to be near.
Some years since a Cornish gentleman was cruelly murdered, and his body
thrown into a brook. I have been very lately shewn stones taken from this
brook with bright red spots of some vegetable growth on them. It is said
that ever since the murder the stones in this brook are spotted with
gore, whereas they never were so previously to this dreadful deed.
ST KEA’S BOAT.
St Kea, a young Irish saint, stood on the southern shores of Ireland and
saw the Christian missionaries departing to carry the blessed Word to
the heathens of Western England. He watched their barks fade beneath the
horizon, and he felt that he was left to a solitude which was not fitted
to one in the full energy of young life, and burning with zeal.
The saint knelt on a boulder of granite lying on the shore, and he prayed
with fervour that Heaven would order it so that he might diffuse his
religious fervour amongst the barbarians of Cornwall. He prayed on for
some time, not observing the rising of the tide. When he had poured out
his full soul, he awoke to the fact, not only that the waves were washing
around the stone on which he knelt, but that the stone was actually
floating on the water. Impressed with the miracle, St Kea sprang to his
feet, and looking towards the setting sun, with his cross uplifted, he
exclaimed, “To Thee, and only to Thee, my God, do I trust my soul!”
Onward floated the granite, rendered buoyant by supernatural power.
Floated hither and thither by the tides, it swam on; blown sometimes in
one direction, and sometimes in another, by the varying winds, days and
nights were spent upon the waters. The faith of St Kea failed not; three
times a day he knelt in prayer to God. At all other times he stood gazing
on the heavens. At length the faith of the saint being fairly tried, the
moorstone boat floated steadily up the river, and landed at St Kea, which
place he soon Christianised, and there stands to this day this monument
of St Kea’s sincere belief.
ST GERMAN’S WELL.
The good St German was, it would appear, sent into Cornwall in the reign
of the Emperor Valentinian, mainly to suppress the Pelagian heresy. The
inhabitants of the shores of the Tamar had long been schooled into the
belief in original sin, and they would not endure its denial from the
lips of a stranger. In this they were supported by the monks, who had
already a firm footing in the land, and who taught the people implicit
obedience to their religious instructors, faith in election, and that
all human efforts were unavailing, unless supported by priestly aid. St
German was a man with vast powers of endurance. He preached his doctrines
of freewill, and of the value of good works, notwithstanding the outcry
raised against him. His miracles were of the most remarkable character,
and sufficiently impressive to convince a large body of the Cornish
people that he was an inspired priest. St German raised a beautiful
church, and built a monastic house for the relief of poor people. Yet
notwithstanding the example of the pure life of the saint, and his
unceasing study to do good, a large section of the priests and the people
never ceased to persecute him. To all human endurance there is a limit,
and even that of the saint weakened eventually, before the never-ceasing
annoyances by which he was hemmed in.
One Sabbath morning the priest attended as usual to his Christian duties,
when he was interrupted by a brawl amongst the outrageous people, who had
come in from all parts of the country with a determination to drive him
from the place of his adoption. The holy man prayed for his persecutors,
and he entreated them to calm their angry passions and listen to his
healing words. But no words could convey any healing balm to their stormy
hearts. At length his brethren, fearing that his life was in danger,
begged him to fly, and eventually he left the church by a small door
near the altar, while some of the monks endeavoured to tranquillise the
people. St German went, a sad man, to the cliffs at the Rame head, and
there alone he wept in agony at the failure of his labours. So intense
was the soul-suffering of this holy man, that the rocks felt the power
of spirit-struggling, and wept with him. The eyes of man, a spiritual
creation, dry after the outburst of sorrow, but when the gross forms of
matter are compelled to sympathise with spiritual sorrow, they remain
for ever under the influence; and from that day the tears of the cliffs
have continued to fall, and the Well of St German attests to this day of
the saint’s agony. The saint was not allowed to remain in concealment
long. The crowd of opposing priests and the peasantry were on his track.
Hundreds were on the hill, and arming themselves with stones, they
descended with shouts, determined to destroy him. St German prayed to
God for deliverance, and immediately a rush, as of thunder, was heard
upon the hills—a chariot surrounded by flames, and flashing light in all
directions, was seen rapidly approaching. The crowd paused, fell back,
and the flaming car passed on to where St German knelt. There were two
bright angels in the chariot; they lifted the persecuted saint from the
ground, and placing him between them, ascended into the air.
“Curse your persecutors,” said the angels. The saint cursed them; and
from that time all holiness left the church he had built. The saint was
borne to other lands, and lived to effect great good. On the rocks the
burnt tracks of the chariot wheels were long to be seen, and the Well of
Tears still flows.
HOW ST PIRAN REACHED CORNWALL.
Good men are frequently persecuted by those whom they have benefited the
most. The righteous Piran had, by virtue of his sanctity, been enabled to
feed ten Irish kings and their armies for ten days together with three
cows. He brought to life by his prayers the dogs which had been killed
while hunting the elk and the boar, and even restored to existence many
of the warriors who had fallen on the battlefield. Notwithstanding this,
and his incomparable goodness, some of these kings condemned him to be
cast off a precipice into the sea, with a millstone around his neck.
On a boisterous day, a crowd of the lawless Irish assembled on the brow
of a beetling cliff, with Piran in chains. By great labour they had
rolled a huge millstone to the top of the hill, and Piran was chained
to it. At a signal from one of the kings, the stone and the saint were
rolled to the edge of, and suddenly over, the cliff into the Atlantic.
The winds were blowing tempestuously, the heavens were dark with clouds,
and the waves white with crested foam. No sooner was Piran and the
millstone launched into space, than the sun shone out brightly, casting
the full lustre of its beams on the holy man, who sat tranquilly on
the descending stone. The winds died away, and the waves became smooth
as a mirror. The moment the millstone touched the water, hundreds were
converted to Christianity who saw this miracle. St Piran floated on
safely to Cornwall; he landed on the 5th of March on the sands which bear
his name. He lived amongst the Cornish men until he attained the age of
206 years.[6]
ST PERRAN, THE MINERS’ SAINT.
St Piran, or St Perran, has sometimes gained the credit of discovering
tin in Cornwall; yet Usher places the date of his birth about the year
352; and the merchants of Tyre are said to have traded with Cornwall for
tin as early as the days of King Solomon.
There are three places in Cornwall to which the name of Perran is given:—
Perran-Aworthall—_i.e._, _Perran on the noted River_.
Perran-Uthno—_i.e._, _Perran the Little_.
Perran-Zabuloe—_i.e._, _Perran in the Sands_.
This sufficiently proves that the saint, or some one bearing that name,
was eminently popular amongst the people; and in St Perran we have an
example—of which several instances are given—of the manner in which a
very ancient event is shifted forward, as it were, for the purpose of
investing some popular hero with additional reasons for securing the
devotion of the people, and of drawing them to his shrine.[7]
Picrous, or Piecras, is another name which has been floated by tradition,
down the stream of time, in connexion with the discovery of tin; and in
the eastern portion of Cornwall, Picrous-day, the second Thursday before
Christmas-day, is kept as the tinners’ holiday.
The popular story of the discovery of tin is, however, given, with all
its anachronisms.
THE DISCOVERY OF TIN.
St Piran, or St Perran, leading his lonely life on the plains which
now bear his name, devoted himself to the study of the objects which
presented themselves to his notice. The good saint decorated the altar
in his church with the choicest flowers, and his cell was adorned with
the crystals which he could collect from the neighbouring rocks. In
his wanderings on the sea-shore, St Perran could not but observe the
numerous mineral veins running through the slate rocks forming the
beautiful cliffs on this coast. Examples of every kind he collected; and
on one occasion, when preparing his humble meal, a heavy black stone was
employed to form a part of the fireplace. The fire was more intense than
usual, and a stream of beautiful white metal flowed out of the fire.
Great was the joy of the saint; he perceived that God, in His goodness,
had discovered to him something which would be useful to man. St Perran
communicated his discovery to St Chiwidden. They examined the shores
together, and Chiwidden, who was learned in the learning of the East,
soon devised a process for producing this metal in large quantities.
The two saints called the Cornish men together. They told them of their
treasures, and they taught them how to dig the ore from the earth, and
how, by the agency of fire, to obtain the metal. Great was the joy in
Cornwall, and many days of feasting followed the announcement. Mead and
metheglin, with other drinks, flowed in abundance; and vile rumour says
the saints and their people were rendered equally unstable thereby.
“Drunk as a Perraner,” has certainly passed into a proverb from that day.
The riot of joy at length came to an end, and steadily, seriously, the
tribes of Perran and St Agnes set to work. They soon accumulated a vast
quantity of this precious metal; and when they carried it to the southern
coasts, the merchants from Gaul eagerly purchased it of them. The noise
of the discovery, even in those days, rapidly extended itself; and even
the cities of Tyre learned that a metal precious to them, was to be
obtained in a country far to the west. The Phœnician navigators were not
long in finding out the Tin Islands; and great was the alarm amidst the
Cornish Britons lest the source of their treasure should be discovered.
Then it was they intrenched the whole of St Agnes beacon; then it was
they built the numerous hill castles, which have puzzled the antiquarian;
then it was that they constructed the Rounds,—amongst which the Perran
Round remains as a remarkable example,—all of them to protect their tin
ground. So resolved were the whole of the population of the district
to preserve the tin workings, that they prevented any foreigner from
landing on the mainland, and they established tin markets on the islands
on the coast. On these islands were hoisted the standard of Cornwall, a
white cross on a black ground, which was the device of St Perran and St
Chiwidden, symbolising the black tin ore and the white metal.[8]
ST NEOT, THE PIGMY.
Whence came the saint, or hermit, who has given his name to two churches
in England, is not known.
Tradition, however, informs us that he was remarkably small in stature,
though exquisitely formed. He could not, according to all accounts, have
been more than fifteen inches high. Yet, though so diminutive a man,
he possessed a soul which was giant-like in the power of his faith.
The Church of St Neot, which has been built on the ancient site of the
hermit’s cell, is situated in a secluded valley, watered by a branch of
the river Fowey. The surrounding country is, even now, but very partially
cultivated, and it must have been, a few centuries since, a desert waste;
but the valley is, and no doubt ever has been, beautifully wooded. Not
far from the church is the holy well, in which the pious anchorite would
stand immersed to his neck, whilst he repeated the whole Book of Psalms.
Great was the reward for such an exercise of devotion and faith. Out
of numerous miracles we select only a few, which have some especial
character about them.
ST NEOT AND THE FOX.
One day the holy hermit was standing in his bath chanting the Psalms,
when he heard the sound of huntsmen approaching. Whether the saint feared
ridicule or ill-treatment, we know not; but certainly he left some psalms
unsung that day, and hastily gathering up his clothes, he fled to his
cell.
In his haste the goodman lost his shoe, and a hungry fox having escaped
the hunters, came to the spring to drink. Having quenched the fever of
thirst, and being hungry, he spied the saint’s shoe, and presently ate
it. The hermit despatched his servant to look for his shoe; and, lo, he
found the fox cast into a deep sleep, and the thongs of the shoe hanging
out of his vile mouth. Of course the shoe was pulled out of his stomach,
and restored to the saint.
ST NEOT AND THE DOE.
Again, on another day, when the hermit was in his fountain, a lovely doe,
flying from the huntsmen, fell down on the edge of the well, imploring,
with tearful eyes and anxious pantings, the aid of St Neot. The dogs
followed in full chase, ready to pounce on the trembling doe, and eager
to tear her in pieces. They saw the saint, and one look from his holy
eyes sent them flying back into the woods, more speedily, if possible,
than they rushed out of it.
The huntsman too came on, ready to discharge his arrow into the heart
of the doe; but, impressed with the sight he saw, he fell on his knees,
cast away his quiver, and became from that day a follower of the saint’s,
giving him his horn to hang, as a memorial, in the church, where it was
long to be seen. The huntsman became eventually one of the monks of the
neighbouring house of St Petroch.
ST NEOT AND THE THIEVES.
When St Neot was abbot, some thieves came by night and stole the
oxen belonging to the farm of the monastery. The weather was most
uncertain,—the seed-time was passing away,—and a fine morning rendered
it imperative that the ploughs should be quickly employed. There were no
oxen. Great was the difficulty, and earnest were the abbot’s prayers.
In answer to them, the wild stags came in from the forests, and tamely
offered their necks to the yoke. When unyoked in the evening, they
resorted to their favourite pastures, but voluntarily returned each
morning to their work. The report of this event reached the ears of the
thieves. They became penitent, and restored the oxen to the monastery.
Not only so, but they consecrated their days to devotional exercises. The
oxen being restored, the stags were dismissed; but they bore for ever a
white ring, like a yoke, about their necks, and they held a charmed life,
safe from the shafts of the hunters.
ST NEOT AND THE FISHES.
On one occasion, when the saint was at his devotions, an angel appeared
unto him, and shewing him three fishes in the well, he said, “These are
for thee; take one each day for thy daily food, and the number shall
never grow less: the choice of one of three fishes shall be thine all
the days of thy life.” Long time passed by, and daily a fish was taken
from the well, and three awaited his coming every morning. At length the
saint, who shared in human suffering notwithstanding his piety, fell
ill; and being confined to his bed, St Neot sent his servant Barius to
fetch him a fish for his dinner. Barius being desirous of pleasing, if
possible, the sick man’s taste, went to the well and caught two fishes.
One of these he broiled, and the other he boiled. Nicely cooked, Barius
took them on a dish to his master’s bedside, who started up alarmed
for the consequences of the act of his servant, in disobedience to the
injunctions of the angel. So good a man could not allow wrath to get
the mastery of him; so he sat up in his bed, and, instead of eating, he
prayed with great earnestness over the cooked fish. At last the spirit of
holiness exerted its full power. St Neot commanded Barius to return at
once and cast the fish into the well. Barius went and did as his master
had told him to do; and, lo, the moment the fishes fell into the water
they recovered life, and swam away with the third fish, as if nothing had
happened to them.
All these things and more are recorded in the windows of St Neot’s
Church.[9]
PROBUS AND GRACE.
Every one is acquainted with the beautiful tower of Probus Church. If
they are not, they should lose no time in visiting it. Various are the
stories in connexion with those two saints, who are curiously connected
with the church, and one of the fairs held in the church-town. A safe
tradition tells us that St Probus built the church, and failing in the
means of adding a tower to his building, he petitioned St Grace to
aid him. Grace was a wealthy lady, and she resolved at her own cost
to build a tower, the like of which should not be seen in the “West
Countrie.” Regardless of the expense, sculptured stone was worked by
the most skilful masons, and the whole put together in the happiest of
proportions. When the tower was finished, St Probus opened his church
with every becoming solemnity, and took to himself all the praise which
was lavished on the tower, although he had built only a plain church.
When, however, the praise of Probus was at the highest, a voice was heard
slowly and distinctly exclaiming,
“Saint Probus and Grace,
Not the first, but the last;”
and thus for ever have Probus and Grace been united as patron saints of
this church.
Mr Davies Gilbert remarks, however, in his “Parochial History:” “Few
gentlemen’s houses in the west of Cornwall were without the honour of
receiving Prince Charles during his residence in the county about the
middle part of the civil wars; and he is said to have remained for a time
longer than usual with Mr Williams, who, after the Restoration, waited on
the king with congratulations from the parish; and, on being complimented
by him with the question whether he could do anything for his friends,
answered that the parish would esteem themselves highly honoured and
distinguished by the grant of a fair, which was accordingly done for
the 17th September. This fair coming the last in succession after three
others, has acquired for itself a curious appellation, derived from
the two patron saints, and from the peculiar pronunciation in that
neighbourhood of the word last, somewhat like laest,—
‘Saint Probus and Grace,
Not the first, but the last,’—
and from this distinction it is usually called Probus and Grace Fair.” We
are obliged, therefore, to lean on the original tradition for the true
meaning of this couplet.
ST NECTAN’S KIEVE AND THE LONELY SISTERS.
Far up the deep and rocky vale of Trevillet, in the parish of
Tintagel,[10] stands on a pile of rocks the little chapel of the good
St Nectan. No holy man ever selected a more secluded, or a more lovely
spot in which to pass a religious life. From the chapel rock you look
over the deep valley full of trees. You see here and there the lovely
trout-stream, running rapidly towards the sea; and, opening in the
distance, there rolls the mighty ocean itself. Although this oratory is
shut in amongst the woods, so as to be invisible to any one approaching
it by land, until they are close upon it, it is plainly seen by the
fishermen or by the sailor far off at sea; and in olden time the prayers
of St Nectan were sought by all whose business was in the “deep waters.”