THOMASINE BONAVENTURE.

In the reign of Henry VI., about the year 1450, in the parish of Week St Mary, on the northern coast of Cornwall, was born of humble parents a girl, to whom the name of Thomasine was given. This child was in no way distinguished from other Cornish children; they ever have been, and still are, remarkable for their healthful beauty, and Thomasine, like others, was beautiful. Her father was a small farmer, and the daughter was usually employed in minding the sheep upon Greenamore, or preventing the geese from straying too far from his dwelling.

Thomasine appears to have received no education beyond that which nature gave her. She grew to womanhood a simple, artless maiden, who knew nothing of the world or its cares beyond the few sorrows which found their way into the moorland country of Week and Temple.

Thomasine was watching her flocks when a mounted traveller, with well-filled saddle-bags, passing over the moors observed her. Struck by the young woman’s beauty, he halted and commenced a conversation with her. “Her discreet answers, suitable to the beauty of her face, much beyond her rank or degree,” says the quaint Hals, “won upon him, and he desired to secure her as a servant in his family.” This traveller, who was a draper from London, sought out the parents of the shepherdess, and proposed to relieve them of this daughter, by taking her to the metropolis, promising her good wages and many privileges; and beyond this he agreed that, in case he should die, seeing she would be so far removed from her friends, she should be carefully provided for.

Having satisfied themselves of the respectability of this merchant traveller, the parents agreed to part with theirdaughter; and Thomasine, full of girlish curiosity to see the city, of which she had heard, was willing to leave her home.

We next find Thomasine in London as a respected servant to this city draper. His wife and family are pleased with the innocent Cornish girl; and by her gentle manners and great goodness of heart, she won upon all with whom she was brought in contact. Years passed away, and the draper’s wife died. In the course of time he proposed to make the faithful Thomasine his wife. The proposal was accepted, and “Thomasine and her master were solemnly married together as man and wife; who then, according to his promise, endowed her with a considerable jointure in case of her survivorship.” Within two years of this marriage the draper died, and Thomasine was left sole executrix. The poor servant, who but a few years previous was minding sheep on the moors, was now a rich widow, courted by the wealthy of the metropolis. With that good sense which appears ever to have distinguished her, she improved her mind; and following the examples by which she had been for some time surrounded, she added to her natural graces many acquired elegances of manner.

The youth and beauty of the widow brought her numerous admirers, but all were rejected except Henry Gale, of whom we know little, save that he was “an eminent and wealthy citizen.” He was accepted, and Thomasine Gale was the most toasted of all city madams. After a few years passed in great happiness, Thomasine became again a widow. Gale left her all his property, and she became, when not yet thirty years of age, one of the wealthiest women in London. So beautiful, so rich, and being yet young, the widow was soon induced to change her state again. She chose now for her companion John Percivall, who was already high in the honours of the corporation.

At the feast of Sir John Collet, who was Lord Mayor in the second year of the reign of Henry VII., in 1487, Percivall was the mayor’s carver, “at which time, according to the custom of that city, Sir John drank to him in a silver cup of wine, in order to make him sheriff thereof for the year ensuing, whereupon he covered his head and sat down at table with the Lord Mayor of London.” John Percivall was elected Lord Mayor himself in 1499, and he was knighted in the same year by Henry VII. Sir John Percivall and Dame Thomasine Percivall lived many years happily together; but he died, leaving all his fortune to his widow.

Lady Percivall was now advanced in years. She had had three husbands, but no children. The extraordinary accession of fortune made no change in her simple honest heart; the flattery of the great, by whom she had been surrounded, kindled no pride in the beautiful shepherdess. The home of her childhood, from which she had been so long separated, was dear to her, and she retired in her mourning to the quiet of that distant home.

She spent her declining years in good works. Roads were made and bridges built at her cost; almshouses for poor maids were erected; she relieved prisoners; fed the hungry, and clothed the naked. In Week St Mary, Thomasine founded a chantry and free school “to pray for the souls of her father and mother, and her husbands and relatives.” To the school she added a library, and a dwelling for the chanters and others, “and endowed the same with £20 lands for ever.” Cholwell, a learned man and great linguist, was master here in Henry VIII.’s time; and here he educated in the “liberal arts and sciences,” says Carew, “many gentlemen’s sons.” Such were a few of the benefits conferred on Week by the girl who once had tended the flocks upon the moors;but who, by great good fortune, and more by the exercise of good sense, became Lady Mayoress.

Dame Thomasine Percivall died, respected by all who knew her, in 1530, having then reached the good old age of eighty years.

It appears probable that the name Bonaventure, by which this remarkable female is usually known, was given to her, likely enough, by the linguist Cholwell, to commemorate her remarkable fortune.

Berry Comb, in Jacobstow, was once the residence of Thomasine, and it was given at her death to the poor of St Mary Week.

Lady Jane, the widow of Sir John Killigrew, sate in one of the windows of Arwenick House, looking out upon the troubled waters of Falmouth Harbour. A severe storm had prevailed for some days, and the Cornish coast was strewn with wrecks. The tempest had abated; the waves were subsiding, though they still beat heavily against the rocks. A light scud was driving over the sky, and a wild and gloomy aspect suffused all things. There was a sudden outcry amongst a group of men, retainers of the Killigrew family, which excited the attention of Lady Jane Killigrew. She was not left long in suspense as to the cause. In a few minutes two Dutch ships were seen coming into the harbour. They had evidently endured the beat of the storm, for they were both considerably disabled; and with the fragments of sail which they carried, they laboured heavily. At length, however, these vessels were brought round within the shelter of Pendennis; their anchors were cast in good anchoring-ground; and they were safe, or at least the crew thought so, in comparatively smooth water.

As was the custom in those days, the boat belonging to the Killigrew family, manned by the group of whom we have already spoken, went off as soon as the ships were anchored and boarded them. They then learnt that they were of the Hanse Towns, laden with valuable merchandise for Spain, and that this was in the charge of two Spanish factors. On the return of the boat’s crew, this was reported to Lady Killigrew; and she being a very wicked and most resolute woman, at once proposed that they should return to the ships, and either rob them of their treasure, or exact from the merchants a large sum of money in compensation. The rude men, to whom wrecking and plundering was but too familiar, were delighted with the prospect of a rare prize; and above all, when Lady Killigrew declared that she would herself accompany them, they were wild with joy.

With great shouting, they gathered together as many men as the largest boat in the harbour would carry, and armed themselves with pikes, swords, and daggers. Lady Jane Killigrew, also armed, placed herself in the stern of the boat after the men had crowded into their places, and with a wild huzza they left the shore, and were soon alongside of the vessel nearest to the shore. A number of the men immediately crowded up the side and on to the deck of this vessel, and at once seized upon the captain and the factor, threatening them with instant death if they dared to make any outcry. Lady Jane Killigrew was now lifted on to the deck of the vessel, and the boat immediately pushed off, and the remainder of the crew boarded the other ship.

The Dutch crew were overpowered by the numbers of Cornishmen, who were armed far more perfectly than they. Taken unawares as they were, at a moment when they thought their troubles were for a season at an end, the Dutchmen were almost powerless.

The Spaniards were brave men, and resisted the demands made to deliver up their treasure. This resistance was, however, fatal to them. At a signal, it is said by some, given by their leader, Lady Jane Killigrew,—although this was denied afterwards,—they were both murdered by the ruffians into whose hands they had fallen, and their bodies cast overboard into the sea.

These wretches ransacked the ships, and appropriated whatsoever they pleased, while Lady Jane took from them “two hogsheads of Spanish pieces of eight, and converted them to her own use.”

As one of the Spanish factors was dying, he lifted his hands to Heaven, prayed to the Lord to receive his soul, and turning to the vile woman to whose villany he owed his death, he said, “My blood will linger with you until my death is avenged upon your own sons.”

This dreadful deed was not allowed to pass without notice even in those lawless times. The Spaniards were then friendly with England, and upon the representation made by the Spanish minister to the existing government, the sheriff of Cornwall was ordered to seize and bring to trial Lady Jane Killigrew and her crew of murderers. A considerable number were arrested with her; and that lady and several of her men were tried at Launceston.

Since the Spaniards were proved to be at the time of the murder “foreigners under the Queen’s protection,” they were all found guilty, and condemned to death.

All the men were executed on the walls of Launceston Castle; but by the interest of Sir John Arundell and Sir Nicholas Hals, Queen Elizabeth was induced to grant a pardon for Lady Jane.

How Lady Jane Killigrew lived, and when she died, arematters on which even tradition, by which the story is preserved, is silent. We know, however, that her immediate descendant, John Killigrew, who married one of the Monks, and his son William Killigrew, who was made a baronet in 1660 by Charles II., were only known for the dissoluteness of character, and the utter regardlessness of every feeling of an exalting character, which they displayed. Sir William Killigrew, by his ill conduct and his extravagant habits, wasted all the basely-gotten treasure, and sold the manor and barton of Arwenick to his younger brother, Sir Peter Killigrew. With the son of this Peter the baronetcy became extinct. The last Sir Peter Killigrew, however, improved his fortune by marrying one of the coheirs of Judge Twisden. Sir Peter and his wife, of whom we know nothing, died, leaving one son, George Killigrew, who connected himself with the St Aubyn family by marriage. This man appears to have inherited many of the vices of his family. He was given to low company, and towards the close of his life was remarkable only for his drunken habits.

He was one evening in a tavern in Penryn, surrounded by his usual companions, and with them was one Walter Vincent, a barrister-at-law. The wine flowed freely; songs and loose conversation were the order of the night. At length all were in a state of great excitement through the extravagance of their libations, and something was said by George Killigrew very insultingly to Walter Vincent.

Walter Vincent does not appear to have been naturally a depraved man, but of violent passions. Irritated by Killigrew, he made some remarks on the great-grandmother being sentenced to be hanged. Swords were instantly drawn by the drunken men. They lunged at each other. Vincent’s sword passed directly through Killigrew’s body, and he felldead in the midst of his revelries, at the very moment when he was defending the character of her who had brought dishonour upon them.

This Walter Vincent was tried for the murder of George Killigrew, but acquitted. We are told by the Cornish historian, “Yet this Mr Vincent, through anguish and horror at this accident, (as it was said,) within two years after, wasted of an extreme atrophy of his flesh and spirits; that, at length, at the table whereby he was sitting, in the Bishop of Exeter’s palace, in the presence of divers gentlemen, he instantly fell back against the wall and died.”

George Killigrew left one daughter; but of her progress in life we know nothing. Thus the Cornish Killigrews ceased to be a name in the land.

Such a tale as this does not, of course, exist without many remarkable additions. Ghosts and devils of various kinds are spoken of as frequenting Arwenick House, and the woods around it. Those spectral and demoniacal visitations have not, however, any special interest. They are only, indeed, repetitions of oft-told tales.

This reached me at too late a period to be included with the legends of the saints:—

“The beacon at Veryan stands on the highest ground in Roseland, at a short distance from the cliff which overlooks Pendower and Gerrans Bay. Dr Whitaker, in his ‘Cathedral of Cornwall,’ states it to be one of the largest tumuli in the kingdom. Its present height above the level of the field in which it stands is about twenty-eight feet, and its circumference at the base three hundred and fifty feet; but it must have been originally much larger, as a considerable portionon one side has been removed, its summit being now about eighty feet from the base on the south side, and only fifty feet on the north, whilst the top of the cairn which was discovered in it, and which was, no doubt, placed exactly in the original centre of the mound, is at least ten feet still further north than the present summit.

“A tradition has been preserved in the neighbourhood, that Gerennius, an old Cornish saint and king, whose palace stood on the other side of Gerrans Bay, between Trewithian and the sea, was buried in this mound many centuries ago, and that a golden boat with silver oars were used in conveying his corpse across the bay, and were interred with him. Part of this tradition receives confirmation from an account incidentally given of King Gerennius, in an old book called the ‘Register of Llandaff.’ It is there stated that,A.D.588, Teliau, bishop of Landaff, with some of his suffragan bishops, and many of his followers, fled from Wales, to escape an epidemic called the yellow plague, and migrated to Dole in Brittany, to visit Sampson, the archbishop of that place, who was a countryman and friend of Teliau’s. ‘On his way thither,’ says the old record, ‘he came first to the region of Cornwall, and was well received by Gerennius, the king of that country, who treated him and his people with all honour. From thence he proceeded to Armorica, and remained there seven years and seven months; when, hearing that the plague had ceased in Britain, he collected his followers, caused a large bark to be prepared, and returned to Wales.’ ‘In this,’ the record proceeds, ‘they all arrived at the port called Din-Gerein, king Gerennius lying in the last extreme of life, who, when he had received the body of the Lord from the hand of St Teliau, departed in joy to the Lord.’ ‘Probably,’ says Whitaker, in his remarks on this quotation, ‘the royal remains were brought in great pomp by water from Din-Gerein,on the western shore of the port, to Carne, about two miles off on the northern; the barge with the royal body was plated, perhaps, with gold in places; perhaps, too, rowed with oars having equally plates of silver upon them; and the pomp of the procession has mixed confusedly with the interment of the body in the memory of tradition.’”

As the Cornish dialogue peculiarly illustrates a description of literary composition which has no resemblance to that of any other county, I think it advisable to give one specimen:—

DIALOGUE BETWEEN MAL TRELOARE AND SAUNDRY KEMP.’Twas Kendle teening, when jung Mal TreloareTrudg’d hum from Bal, a bucken copper ore;Her clathing hard and ruff, black was her eye,Her face and arms like stuff from Cairn Kye.Full butt she mit jung Saundry Kemp, who longShe had been token’d to, come from Ding Dong;Hes jacket wet, his faace rud like his beard,And through his squarded hat hes hair appeared.She said, “Oh, Kemp, I thoft of thee well leer,Thees naw that daay we wor to Bougheehere,That daay with ale and cakes, at three o’clock,Thees stuff’d me so, I jist neen crack’d me dock:Jue said to me, ‘Thee mayst depend thee life,I love thee, Mal, and thee shust be ma wife.’And to ma semmen, tes good to lem ma nawWhether the words were aal in jest or no.”Saundry.Why, truly, Mal, I like a thing did zay,That I wud have thee next Chewiden daay.But zence that time I like a think ded hearThees went wi’ some one down, ‘I naw where;’Now es that fitty, Mal? What dost think?Mal.Od rot tha body, Saundry, who said so?Now, faath and traath, I’ll naw afore I go;Do lem me naw the Gossenbary dog.Saundry.Why, then, Crull said jue wor down to Wheal BogWith he and Tabban, and ded make some tricksBy dabben clay at jungsters making bricks;Aand that from there jue went to Aafe-waye house,Aand drink’t some leeker. Mal, now there’s down souse.Aand jue to he, like a thing ded zay,Jue wed have he, and I mait go away.Mal.I tell the lubber so! I to Wheal Bog!I’ll scatt his chacks, the emprent, saucy dog.Now hire me, Saundry Kemp, now down and full,Ef thee arten hastes, thee shust hire the whole.Fust jue must naw, tes true as thee art there,Aant Blanch and I went to Golsinny feer.Who overtookt us in the doosty road,In common hum but Crull, the cloppen toad.Zes he to Aant, “What cheer? Aant Blanch, what cheer?Jue makes good coose, suppose jue been to feer.”“Why, hiss,” zes Aant, “ben there a pewer spur.I wedn’t a gone ef nawed ed been so fur.I bawft a pair of shods for Sarah’s cheeld.”By this time, lock! we cum jist to the field.We went to clemmer up the temberen style.(Haw kept his eye upon me all the while.)Zes hem to Aant, “Then whos es thees braa maide?Come tha wayst long, dasent be afraid.”Then mov’d my side, like a thing,Aand pull’d my mantle, and just touch’d my ching,“How arry, jung woman?” zes haw. “How dost do?”,Zes I, “Jue saucy dog, what’s that to jue?Keep off, jung lad, else thees have a slap.”Then haw fooch’d some great big doat figs in me lap.So I thoft, as haw had been so kind,Haw might go by Aant Blanch, ef haw had a mind.Aand so haw ded, aand tookt Aant Blanch’s arm.“Araeh!” zes haw, “I dednt mane no harm.”So then Aant Blanch and he ded talk and jestBout dabbing clay and bricks at Petran feast.Saundry.Ahah then, Mal, ’twas there they dabbed the clay?Mal.Plaase Father, Kemp, tes true wot I do saay.And hire me now, pla-sure, haw dedent budgeFrom Aanty’s arm till jest this side Long Brudge.Aand then zes he to Aant, “Shall we go inTo Aafe-way house, and have a dram of ginAnd trickle mixt? Depend ol do es good,Taake up the sweat, and set to rights the blud.”So Aant did saay, “Such things she dedn’t chuse,”And squeezed my hand, aand loike a thing refuse.So when we pass’d along by Wheal Bog moor,Haw jumpt behind, and pok’t es in the door.Haw caal’d for gin, aand brandy too, I think.He clunk’d the brandy, we the gin did drink.So when haw wish’d good night, as es the caase,Haw kiss’t Aant Blanch, and jist neen touched my face.Now, Saundry Kemp, there’s nothing shure in this,To my moinde, then, that thee shust take amiss.Saundry.No, fath, then Mal, ef this is all aand true,I had a done the same ef I was jue.Mal.Next time in any house I see or near am,I’ll down upon the plancheon, rat am, tear am,Aand I will so poaw am.Saundry.Our Kappen’s there, just by thickey bush.Hush! now Mally, hush!Aand as hes here, so close upon the way,I wedent wish haw nawed what we did zay,And jett I dedent care, now fath and soul,Ef so be our Kappen wor to hire the whole.How arry Kappen? Where be going so fast?Jure goin’ hum, suppose, jure in sich haste.Kappen.Who’s that than? Saundry, arten thee ashamedTo coosy so again? Thee wust be blamedEf thees stay here all night to prate wi’ Mal!When tes thy cour, thee wusten come to Bal.Aand thee art a Cobbe, I tell thee so.I’ll tell the owners ef thee dosent go.Saundry.Why, harkee, Kappen, doant skoal poor I.Touch pipe a crum, jue’ll naw the reason why.Cozen Mal aand I ben courtain bout afe a year.Hould up tha head, Mal; don’t be ashamed, dost hire?Aand Crull one day made grief ’tween I and she;But he shall smart for it now, I swear by G——.Haw told me lies, as round as any cup.Now Mal and I have mit, we’ve made it up;So, Kappen, that’s the way I stopt, I vow.Kappen.Ahah! I dedent giss the case jist now.But what dost think of that last batch of ore?Saundry.Why pewer and keenly gossen, Kappen, shureI bleeve that day, ef Frankey’s pair wornt drunk,We shud had pewer stuff too from the sump.But there, tes all good time, as people saay,The flooken now, aint throw’d es far away;So hope to have bra tummells soon to grass.How did laast batch down to Jandower pass?Kappen.Why, hang thy body, Saundry, speed, I saay,Thees keep thy clacker going till tes day.Go speak to Mally now, jue foolish toad.I wish both well, I’ll keep my road.Saundry.Good nightie, Kappen, then I wishee well.Where artee, Mally? Dusten haw hire me, Mal?Dusent go away, why jue must think of this,Before we part, shure we must have a kiss.She wiped her muzzle from the mundic stuff,And he rubb’d his, a little stain’d with snuff.Now then, there, good night Mal, there’s good night;But, stop a crum.Mally.Good night.Kappen.Good night.

DIALOGUE BETWEEN MAL TRELOARE AND SAUNDRY KEMP.

’Twas Kendle teening, when jung Mal TreloareTrudg’d hum from Bal, a bucken copper ore;Her clathing hard and ruff, black was her eye,Her face and arms like stuff from Cairn Kye.Full butt she mit jung Saundry Kemp, who longShe had been token’d to, come from Ding Dong;Hes jacket wet, his faace rud like his beard,And through his squarded hat hes hair appeared.She said, “Oh, Kemp, I thoft of thee well leer,Thees naw that daay we wor to Bougheehere,That daay with ale and cakes, at three o’clock,Thees stuff’d me so, I jist neen crack’d me dock:Jue said to me, ‘Thee mayst depend thee life,I love thee, Mal, and thee shust be ma wife.’And to ma semmen, tes good to lem ma nawWhether the words were aal in jest or no.”Saundry.Why, truly, Mal, I like a thing did zay,That I wud have thee next Chewiden daay.But zence that time I like a think ded hearThees went wi’ some one down, ‘I naw where;’Now es that fitty, Mal? What dost think?Mal.Od rot tha body, Saundry, who said so?Now, faath and traath, I’ll naw afore I go;Do lem me naw the Gossenbary dog.Saundry.Why, then, Crull said jue wor down to Wheal BogWith he and Tabban, and ded make some tricksBy dabben clay at jungsters making bricks;Aand that from there jue went to Aafe-waye house,Aand drink’t some leeker. Mal, now there’s down souse.Aand jue to he, like a thing ded zay,Jue wed have he, and I mait go away.Mal.I tell the lubber so! I to Wheal Bog!I’ll scatt his chacks, the emprent, saucy dog.Now hire me, Saundry Kemp, now down and full,Ef thee arten hastes, thee shust hire the whole.Fust jue must naw, tes true as thee art there,Aant Blanch and I went to Golsinny feer.Who overtookt us in the doosty road,In common hum but Crull, the cloppen toad.Zes he to Aant, “What cheer? Aant Blanch, what cheer?Jue makes good coose, suppose jue been to feer.”“Why, hiss,” zes Aant, “ben there a pewer spur.I wedn’t a gone ef nawed ed been so fur.I bawft a pair of shods for Sarah’s cheeld.”By this time, lock! we cum jist to the field.We went to clemmer up the temberen style.(Haw kept his eye upon me all the while.)Zes hem to Aant, “Then whos es thees braa maide?Come tha wayst long, dasent be afraid.”Then mov’d my side, like a thing,Aand pull’d my mantle, and just touch’d my ching,“How arry, jung woman?” zes haw. “How dost do?”,Zes I, “Jue saucy dog, what’s that to jue?Keep off, jung lad, else thees have a slap.”Then haw fooch’d some great big doat figs in me lap.So I thoft, as haw had been so kind,Haw might go by Aant Blanch, ef haw had a mind.Aand so haw ded, aand tookt Aant Blanch’s arm.“Araeh!” zes haw, “I dednt mane no harm.”So then Aant Blanch and he ded talk and jestBout dabbing clay and bricks at Petran feast.Saundry.Ahah then, Mal, ’twas there they dabbed the clay?Mal.Plaase Father, Kemp, tes true wot I do saay.And hire me now, pla-sure, haw dedent budgeFrom Aanty’s arm till jest this side Long Brudge.Aand then zes he to Aant, “Shall we go inTo Aafe-way house, and have a dram of ginAnd trickle mixt? Depend ol do es good,Taake up the sweat, and set to rights the blud.”So Aant did saay, “Such things she dedn’t chuse,”And squeezed my hand, aand loike a thing refuse.So when we pass’d along by Wheal Bog moor,Haw jumpt behind, and pok’t es in the door.Haw caal’d for gin, aand brandy too, I think.He clunk’d the brandy, we the gin did drink.So when haw wish’d good night, as es the caase,Haw kiss’t Aant Blanch, and jist neen touched my face.Now, Saundry Kemp, there’s nothing shure in this,To my moinde, then, that thee shust take amiss.Saundry.No, fath, then Mal, ef this is all aand true,I had a done the same ef I was jue.Mal.Next time in any house I see or near am,I’ll down upon the plancheon, rat am, tear am,Aand I will so poaw am.Saundry.Our Kappen’s there, just by thickey bush.Hush! now Mally, hush!Aand as hes here, so close upon the way,I wedent wish haw nawed what we did zay,And jett I dedent care, now fath and soul,Ef so be our Kappen wor to hire the whole.How arry Kappen? Where be going so fast?Jure goin’ hum, suppose, jure in sich haste.Kappen.Who’s that than? Saundry, arten thee ashamedTo coosy so again? Thee wust be blamedEf thees stay here all night to prate wi’ Mal!When tes thy cour, thee wusten come to Bal.Aand thee art a Cobbe, I tell thee so.I’ll tell the owners ef thee dosent go.Saundry.Why, harkee, Kappen, doant skoal poor I.Touch pipe a crum, jue’ll naw the reason why.Cozen Mal aand I ben courtain bout afe a year.Hould up tha head, Mal; don’t be ashamed, dost hire?Aand Crull one day made grief ’tween I and she;But he shall smart for it now, I swear by G——.Haw told me lies, as round as any cup.Now Mal and I have mit, we’ve made it up;So, Kappen, that’s the way I stopt, I vow.Kappen.Ahah! I dedent giss the case jist now.But what dost think of that last batch of ore?Saundry.Why pewer and keenly gossen, Kappen, shureI bleeve that day, ef Frankey’s pair wornt drunk,We shud had pewer stuff too from the sump.But there, tes all good time, as people saay,The flooken now, aint throw’d es far away;So hope to have bra tummells soon to grass.How did laast batch down to Jandower pass?Kappen.Why, hang thy body, Saundry, speed, I saay,Thees keep thy clacker going till tes day.Go speak to Mally now, jue foolish toad.I wish both well, I’ll keep my road.Saundry.Good nightie, Kappen, then I wishee well.Where artee, Mally? Dusten haw hire me, Mal?Dusent go away, why jue must think of this,Before we part, shure we must have a kiss.She wiped her muzzle from the mundic stuff,And he rubb’d his, a little stain’d with snuff.Now then, there, good night Mal, there’s good night;But, stop a crum.Mally.Good night.Kappen.Good night.

’Twas Kendle teening, when jung Mal Treloare

Trudg’d hum from Bal, a bucken copper ore;

Her clathing hard and ruff, black was her eye,

Her face and arms like stuff from Cairn Kye.

Full butt she mit jung Saundry Kemp, who long

She had been token’d to, come from Ding Dong;

Hes jacket wet, his faace rud like his beard,

And through his squarded hat hes hair appeared.

She said, “Oh, Kemp, I thoft of thee well leer,

Thees naw that daay we wor to Bougheehere,

That daay with ale and cakes, at three o’clock,

Thees stuff’d me so, I jist neen crack’d me dock:

Jue said to me, ‘Thee mayst depend thee life,

I love thee, Mal, and thee shust be ma wife.’

And to ma semmen, tes good to lem ma naw

Whether the words were aal in jest or no.”

Saundry.Why, truly, Mal, I like a thing did zay,

That I wud have thee next Chewiden daay.

But zence that time I like a think ded hear

Thees went wi’ some one down, ‘I naw where;’

Now es that fitty, Mal? What dost think?

Mal.Od rot tha body, Saundry, who said so?

Now, faath and traath, I’ll naw afore I go;

Do lem me naw the Gossenbary dog.

Saundry.Why, then, Crull said jue wor down to Wheal Bog

With he and Tabban, and ded make some tricks

By dabben clay at jungsters making bricks;

Aand that from there jue went to Aafe-waye house,

Aand drink’t some leeker. Mal, now there’s down souse.

Aand jue to he, like a thing ded zay,

Jue wed have he, and I mait go away.

Mal.I tell the lubber so! I to Wheal Bog!

I’ll scatt his chacks, the emprent, saucy dog.

Now hire me, Saundry Kemp, now down and full,

Ef thee arten hastes, thee shust hire the whole.

Fust jue must naw, tes true as thee art there,

Aant Blanch and I went to Golsinny feer.

Who overtookt us in the doosty road,

In common hum but Crull, the cloppen toad.

Zes he to Aant, “What cheer? Aant Blanch, what cheer?

Jue makes good coose, suppose jue been to feer.”

“Why, hiss,” zes Aant, “ben there a pewer spur.

I wedn’t a gone ef nawed ed been so fur.

I bawft a pair of shods for Sarah’s cheeld.”

By this time, lock! we cum jist to the field.

We went to clemmer up the temberen style.

(Haw kept his eye upon me all the while.)

Zes hem to Aant, “Then whos es thees braa maide?

Come tha wayst long, dasent be afraid.”

Then mov’d my side, like a thing,

Aand pull’d my mantle, and just touch’d my ching,

“How arry, jung woman?” zes haw. “How dost do?”,

Zes I, “Jue saucy dog, what’s that to jue?

Keep off, jung lad, else thees have a slap.”

Then haw fooch’d some great big doat figs in me lap.

So I thoft, as haw had been so kind,

Haw might go by Aant Blanch, ef haw had a mind.

Aand so haw ded, aand tookt Aant Blanch’s arm.

“Araeh!” zes haw, “I dednt mane no harm.”

So then Aant Blanch and he ded talk and jest

Bout dabbing clay and bricks at Petran feast.

Saundry.Ahah then, Mal, ’twas there they dabbed the clay?

Mal.Plaase Father, Kemp, tes true wot I do saay.

And hire me now, pla-sure, haw dedent budge

From Aanty’s arm till jest this side Long Brudge.

Aand then zes he to Aant, “Shall we go in

To Aafe-way house, and have a dram of gin

And trickle mixt? Depend ol do es good,

Taake up the sweat, and set to rights the blud.”

So Aant did saay, “Such things she dedn’t chuse,”

And squeezed my hand, aand loike a thing refuse.

So when we pass’d along by Wheal Bog moor,

Haw jumpt behind, and pok’t es in the door.

Haw caal’d for gin, aand brandy too, I think.

He clunk’d the brandy, we the gin did drink.

So when haw wish’d good night, as es the caase,

Haw kiss’t Aant Blanch, and jist neen touched my face.

Now, Saundry Kemp, there’s nothing shure in this,

To my moinde, then, that thee shust take amiss.

Saundry.No, fath, then Mal, ef this is all aand true,

I had a done the same ef I was jue.

Mal.Next time in any house I see or near am,

I’ll down upon the plancheon, rat am, tear am,

Aand I will so poaw am.

Saundry.Our Kappen’s there, just by thickey bush.

Hush! now Mally, hush!

Aand as hes here, so close upon the way,

I wedent wish haw nawed what we did zay,

And jett I dedent care, now fath and soul,

Ef so be our Kappen wor to hire the whole.

How arry Kappen? Where be going so fast?

Jure goin’ hum, suppose, jure in sich haste.

Kappen.Who’s that than? Saundry, arten thee ashamed

To coosy so again? Thee wust be blamed

Ef thees stay here all night to prate wi’ Mal!

When tes thy cour, thee wusten come to Bal.

Aand thee art a Cobbe, I tell thee so.

I’ll tell the owners ef thee dosent go.

Saundry.Why, harkee, Kappen, doant skoal poor I.

Touch pipe a crum, jue’ll naw the reason why.

Cozen Mal aand I ben courtain bout afe a year.

Hould up tha head, Mal; don’t be ashamed, dost hire?

Aand Crull one day made grief ’tween I and she;

But he shall smart for it now, I swear by G——.

Haw told me lies, as round as any cup.

Now Mal and I have mit, we’ve made it up;

So, Kappen, that’s the way I stopt, I vow.

Kappen.Ahah! I dedent giss the case jist now.

But what dost think of that last batch of ore?

Saundry.Why pewer and keenly gossen, Kappen, shure

I bleeve that day, ef Frankey’s pair wornt drunk,

We shud had pewer stuff too from the sump.

But there, tes all good time, as people saay,

The flooken now, aint throw’d es far away;

So hope to have bra tummells soon to grass.

How did laast batch down to Jandower pass?

Kappen.Why, hang thy body, Saundry, speed, I saay,

Thees keep thy clacker going till tes day.

Go speak to Mally now, jue foolish toad.

I wish both well, I’ll keep my road.

Saundry.Good nightie, Kappen, then I wishee well.

Where artee, Mally? Dusten haw hire me, Mal?

Dusent go away, why jue must think of this,

Before we part, shure we must have a kiss.

She wiped her muzzle from the mundic stuff,And he rubb’d his, a little stain’d with snuff.

She wiped her muzzle from the mundic stuff,

And he rubb’d his, a little stain’d with snuff.

Now then, there, good night Mal, there’s good night;But, stop a crum.Mally.Good night.Kappen.Good night.

Now then, there, good night Mal, there’s good night;

But, stop a crum.

Mally.Good night.

Kappen.Good night.

Keendle teening, candle lighting.

Squarded hat, broken or cracked hat.

Lem ma naw, let me know, tell me.

Wheal Bog, wheal, or, correctly spelt, huel, is old Cornish, and signifies a mine or work.

Doat figs, broad figs.

A cobbe, a cobbler, a bungler.

Bra tummills, brave heaps, large piles of ore.

FOOTNOTES[1]Another tradition affirms that one of the sons of Cyrus lies buried beneath the Longstone.[2]See 1st Series, p. 198.[3]St Breock or Briock, a bishop of a diocese in Armorica, is said to have been the patron saint of St Breage. But there is a Cornish distich, “Germow Mathern, Breaga Lavethas.” Germoe was a king, Breaga a midwife, which rather favours the statement that St Breage was a sister of St Leven. Breage and Germoe are adjoining parishes, having the shores of the Mount’s Bay for their southern boundaries. When the uncultivated inhabitants of this remote region regarded a wreck as a “God-send,” and plundered without hesitation every body, living or dead, thrown upon the shore, these parishes acquired a melancholy notoriety. The sailors’ popular prayer being,“God keep us from rocks and shelving sands,And save us from Breage and Germoe men’s lands.”Happily those days are almost forgotten. The ameliorating influences of the Christian faith, which was let in upon a most benighted people by John Wesley, like a sunbeam, dispelled those evil principles, and gave birth to pure and simple virtues.[4]Leland, cited by William of Worcester from the Cornish Calendar at St Michael’s Mount. Michell’s “Parochial History of Saint Neot’s.”[5]Carew’s Survey, Lord Dedunstanville’s edition, p. 305. See “The Well of St Keyne,” by Robert Southey, in his “Ballads and Metrical Tales,” vol. i.; or of Southey’s collected works, vol. vi.St Keyne, or St Kenna, is said to have visited St Michael’s Mount, and imparted this peculiar virtue to a stone chair on the tower.[6]See Gilbert, vol. iii. p. 329. See Appendix A. The name of this saint is written Piran, Peran, and Perran.[7]SeePerran-Zabuloe, with an Account of the Past and Present State of the Oratory of St Piran in the Sands, and Remarks on its Antiquity. By the Rev. Wm. Haslam, B.A., and by the Rev. Collins Trelawney.St Kieran, the favourite Celtic saint, reached Scotland from Ireland, the precursor of St Columba, (565A.D.) “The cave of St Kieran is still shewn in Kintyre, where the first Christian teacher of the Western Highlands is believed to have made his abode.”—Wilson’s Prehistoric Annals.There is a curious resemblance between the deeds and the names of those two saints.[8]See Appendix B.[9]See Appendix C.[10]Tintagelis the usual name. Gilbert, in his “Parochial History,” has it, “Dundagell,aliasDyndagell,aliasBosithney;” in “Doomsday-book” it is called “Dunecheine.” Tonkin writes “Dindagel or Daundagel,” and sometimesDungiogel. “A King Nectan, or St Nectan, is said to have built numerous churches in several parts of Scotland, as well as in other parts of the kingdom of the Northern Picts.”—Wilson’s Prehistoric Annals of Scotland.[11]It is called indifferently Nectan, Nathan, Nighton, or Knighton’s Kieve.[12]Rambles beyond Railways. By Wilkie Collins. Mr Collins was curiously misled by those who told him the tradition. The building which these strange solitary women inhabited was St Nectan’s, or, as he and many others write it, St Nighton’s, Chapel, and not a cottage. They died, as Mr Collins describes it; but either he, or those from whom he learned the tale, has filled in the picture from imagination. I perceive, on referring to Mr Walter White’s admirable little book, “A Londoner’s Walk to the Land’s End,” that he has made the same mistake about the cottage.[13]Appendix D.[14]Parochial History, vol. iii. p. 423.[15]It is curious that the farm over which some of this water flows is called “Collurian” to this day.[16]See another story of this wretched woman in the section devoted to Demons and Spectres. 1st Series.[17]Hals, speaking of Gulval Well, thus describes it and its virtues:—“In Fosses Moor, part of this manor of Lanesly, in this parish, is that well-known fountain called Gulval Well. To which place great numbers of people, time out of mind, have resorted for pleasure and profit of their health, as the credulous country people do in these days, not only to drink the waters thereof, but to inquire after the life or death of their absent friends; where, being arrived, they demanded the question at the well whether such a person by name be living, in health, sick, or dead. If the party be living and in health, the still quiet water of the well-pit, as soon as the question is demanded, will instantly bubble or boil up as a pot, clear crystalline water; if sick, foul and puddle waters; if the party be dead, it will neither bubble, boil up, nor alter its colour or still motion. However, I can speak nothing of the truth of those supernatural facts from my own sight or experience, but write from the mouths of those who told me they had seen and proved the veracity thereof. Finally, it is a strong and courageous fountain of water, kept neat and clean by an old woman of the vicinity, to accommodate strangers, for her own advantage, by blazing the virtues and divine qualities of those waters.”—Hals, quoted by Gilbert,Parochial History of Cornwall, vol. ii. p. 121.[18]“Tales of the West,” by the author of “Letters from the East.”[19]The tale of “The Legend of Pacorra.”[20]“Popular Tales of the West Highlands,” by J. F. Campbell. (See page 134, vol. ii.)[21]Notes and Queries.[22]Gilbert, vol. i. p. 291.[23]Carew.[24]“Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales,” by James O. Halliwell.[25]See “Thomas of the Thumb, orTómas na h’ordaig,” Tale lxix. “Popular Tales of the West Highlands,” by J. F. Campbell.[26]“Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales,” by James O. Halliwell.[27]Camden’s “Britannica,” by Gough, vol. i., p. 139. From this author we do not learn much. Indeed he says—“As to that Constantine, whom Gildas calls ‘that tyrannical whelp of the impure Danmonian lioness,’ and of the disforesting of the whole country under King John, before whose time it was all forest, let historians tell—it is not to my purpose.” vol. i. p. 8.[28]Milton’s “History of Britain,” edit. 1678, p. 155.[29]Vellan (mill), druchar (wheel.)[30]Carew says, “a promontory, (byPomp. Mela, called Bolerium; byDiodorus, Velerium; byVolaterane, Helenium; by the Cornish, Pedn an laaz; and by the English, the Land’s-End.)”—Survey of Cornwall.[31]Penꞃiðꞅꞇeoꞃꞇ.—The name of the Land’s-End in the Saxon map; in the text, Camden prints Penꞃihꞇꞅꞇeoꞃꞇ.[32]“Castell-an-Dinas.—In the parish of St Colomb Major stands a castle of this name. Near this castle, by the highway, stands the Coyt, a stony tumulus so called, of which sort there are many in Wales and Wiltshire, as is mentioned in the ‘Additions to Camden’s Britannia’ in these places, commonly called the Devil’s Coyts. It consists of four long stones of great bigness, perpendicularly pitched in the earth contiguous with each other, leaving only a small vacancy downwards, but meeting together at the top; over all which is laid a flat stone of prodigious bulk and magnitude, bending towards the east in way of adoration, (as Mr Lhuyd concludes of all those Coyts elsewhere,) as the person therein under it interred did when in the land of the living; but how or by what art this prodigious flat stone should be placed on the top of the others, amazeth the wisest mathematicians, engineers, or architects to tell or conjecture. Colt, in Belgic-British, is a cave, vault, or cott-house, of which coyt might possibly be a corruption.”—Gilbert’s Parochial History.[33]In the Manor of Lambourn is an ancient barrow, called Creeg Mear, the Great Barrow, which was cut open by a labourer in search of stones to build a hedge. He came upon a small hollow, in which he found nine urns filled with ashes; the man broke them, supposing they were only old pitchers, good for nothing; but Tonkin, who saw them, believes them to have been Danish, containing the ashes of some chief commanders slain in battle; and, says he, on a small hill just under this barrow is a Danish encampment, called Castle Caer Dane, vulgo Castle Caer Don,—i.e., the Danes’ Camp,—consisting of three entrenchments finished, and another begun, with an intent to surround the inner three, but not completed; and opposite to this, about a bowshot, the river only running between, on another hill is another camp or castle, called Castle Kaerkief, castrum simile, from Kyfel similis, alike alluding to Castle Caer Dane. But this is but just begun, and not finished in any part, from which I guess there were two different parties, the one attacking the other before the entrenchments were finished.[34]C. S. Gilbert’s Historical Survey.[35]Gilbert.[36]See Popular Tales from the Norse. By George Webbe Dasent, D.C.L. Legends of Iceland, collected by Jón Arnason. Translated by George E. J. Powell and Eirékur Magnússon.[37]Notes and Queries, vol. viii. p. 618.[38]“I shall offer a conjecture touching the name of this place, which I will not say is right, but only probable.Tinis the same asDin,Dinas, andDixeth, deceit; so thatTindixel, turned, for easier pronunciation, toTintagel,Dindagel, orDaundagel, signifiesCastle of Deceit, which name might be aptly given to it from the famous deceit practised here by Uter Pendragon by the help of Merlin’s enchantment.”—Tonkin.“Mr Hals says this place is calledDonechenivin ‘Domesday Survey.’Dunechinewould mean the fortress of the chasm, corresponding precisely with its situation.”—Davies Gilbert.[39]Gilbert, vol. ii. p. 402,et seq.[40]Gruter’s Collection of Ancient Inscriptions, quoted by J. C. Pritchard.[41]The Parson’s.[42]The Beacon.[43]See Appendix E.[44]See Appendix F, “Saracen.”[45]“They maintaine these works to have been verie auncient, and first wrought by theJeweswith Pickaxes of Holme-Boxe and Hartshorne. They prove this by the name of those places yet enduring, to wit,Attall Sarazin, in English, theJewes Offcast, and by those tooles daily found amongst the rubble of such workes.”—Survey of Cornwall. Carew.(Appendix F.)[46]Is this supported by the statement of Dr Stillingfleet, Bishop of Worcester, who says, “The Christian religion was planted in the Island of Great Britain during the time of the apostles, and probably by St Paul”?[47]“Some are sent, like the spirit Gathon in Cornwall, to work the will of his master in the mines.”—Mrs Bray’s Traditions of Devonshire.Who was the spirit Gathon?“The miner starts as he hears the mischievous Gathon answering blow for blow the stroke of his pickaxe, or deluding him with false fires, noises, and flames.”—A Guide to the Coasts of Devon and Cornwall. Mackenzie Walcott, M.A.Carne, in his “Tales of the West,” alludes to this:—“The miners have their full share of the superstitious feelings of the country, and often hear with alarm the noises, as it were, of other miners at work deep underground, and at no great distance. The rolling of the barrows, the sound of the pickaxes, and the fall of the earth and stones, are distinctly heard through the night,—often, no doubt, the echo of their own labours; but sometimes continued long after that labour has ceased, and occasionally voices seem to mingle with them. Gilbert believed that he was peculiarly exposed to these visitations; he had an instinctive shrinking from the place where the accident had happened; and, when left alone there, it was in vain that he plied his toil with desperate energy to divert his thoughts. Another person appeared to work very near him: he stayed the lifted pick and listened. The blow of the other fell distinctly, and the rich ore followed it in a loud rolling; he checked the loaded barrow that he was wheeling; still that of the unknown workman went on, and came nearer and nearer, and then there followed a loud, faint cry, that thrilled through every nerve of the lonely man, for it seemed like the voice of his brother. These sounds all ceased on a sudden, and those which his own toil caused were the only ones heard, till, after an interval, without any warning, they began again, at times more near, and again passing away to a distance.”—The Tale of the Miner.[48]“Now well! now well! the angel did sayTo certain poor shepherds in the fields who layLate in the night, folding their sheep;A winter’s night, both cold and deep.Now well! now well! now well!Born is the King of Israel!”[49]A tributer is a man who agrees with the adventurers in a mine to receive a certain share of the profits on the ore raised by him in lieu of wages. This account is settled monthly or bi-monthly, which will explain the phrase a “poor month.”[50]“The man has still a good thick head of hair.—C. F. S.”[51]I am informed that there are no less than four of these cliff chapels between St Leven and St Loy, which was a larger building, where mass was probably celebrated.[52]Pilchards are calledpar excellence“fish.”[53]Heva is shouted from the hills, upon which a watch is kept for the approach of pilchards by the “huer,” who telegraphs to the boats by means of bushes covered with white cloth, or, in modern days, with wire frames so covered. These signals are well understood, and the men in the seine and the other boats act according to the huer’s directions. The following song contains all the terms employed in this fishery; many of them, especiallyCould Roos, do not appear to have any definite meaning attached to them.The song is by the late C. Taylor Stevens of St Ives, who was for some time the rural postman to Zennor. I employed Mr Taylor Stevens for some time collecting all that remains of legendary tales and superstitions in Zennor and Morva. The net is spelled sometimes Seine at others Sean.“MERRY SEAN LADS.“With a cold north wind and a cockled sea,Or an autumn’s cloudless day,At the huer’s bid, to stem we row,Or upon our paddles play.All the signs, ‘East, West, and Quiet,Could Roos,’ too well we know;We can bend a stop, secure a cross,For brave sean lads are we!Chorus—We can bend a stop, secure a cross,For brave sean lads are we!“If we have first stem when heva comes,We’ll the huer’s bushes watch;We will row right off or quiet lie,Flying summer sculls to catch.And when he winds the towboat round,We will all ready be,When he gives Could Roos, we’ll shout hurrah!Merry sean lads are we!Chorus—When he gives Could Roos, we’ll shout hurrah!Merry sean lads are we!“When the sean we’ve shot, upon the tow,We will heave with all our might,With a heave! heave O! and rouse! rouse O!Till the huer cries, ‘All right.’Then on the bunt place kegs and weights,And next to tuck go we.We’ll dip, and trip, with a ‘Hip hurrah!’Merry sean lads are we!Chorus—We’ll dip, and trip, with a ‘Hip hurrah!’Merry sean lads are we!”[54]Hone’s “Every-Day Book.”[55]Spinning-wheel.[56]Every-Day Book.[57]On the Diseases of Cornish Miners. By William Wale Tayler, F.R.C.S.[58]When cattle or human beings have been bewitched, it was very commonly thought that if a bottle of urine from the diseased beast or person was obtained, then corked very tight and buried mouth downwards, that the witch would be afflicted with strangury, and in her suffering confess her crime and beg forgiveness.[59]Throb.[60]The invocation of the “Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,” invariably accompanies every form of charm.[61]Borlase’s Observations on the Ancient and Present State of the Island of Scilly.—“Notes and Queries,” vol. x. p. 181. 1854.[62]The Survey of Cornwall. By Richard Carew.[63]Draw and Hitchin’s Cornwall.[64]See also p. 216.[65]In Hugh Miller’s “Scenes and Legends of the North of Scotland,” edit. 1858, pp. 256, 257, will be found some stories of the flight of the “herring drove” from the coast of Cromarty, which are analogous to this.[66]See “Death Tokens.”[67]“There appeared in the north-east the frustrum of a large rainbow; all the colours were lively and distinct, and it was three times as wide as the arch of an ordinary complete rainbow, but no higher than it was wide. They call it here, in Cornwall,a weather dog; but in the Cornish language,Lagas-auel,—that is, the weather’s eye,—and pronounce it a certain sign of hard rain.”—Borlase’s Natural History of Cornwall.[68]Hone’s Table-Book.[69]In pul; meaning in mud.[70]Davies Gilbert’s “Cornwall.”[71]Vol. iii. p. 309.[72]Letter from William Peter, Esq. of Harlyn, to Davies Gilbert, vol. iii. p. 178.[73]See Keighton’s “Tales and Popular Fictions,” p. 247.[74]“Traditions, Legends, Superstitions, and Sketches of Devonshire,” by Mrs Bray, who gives a letter of her husband’s, for some time vicar of Tavistock.[75]See Gilbert, vol. iii., p. 293, and Bond’s account of the Trelawnys in Bond’s Looe.[76]Hone’s Table-Book.

[1]Another tradition affirms that one of the sons of Cyrus lies buried beneath the Longstone.

[2]See 1st Series, p. 198.

[3]St Breock or Briock, a bishop of a diocese in Armorica, is said to have been the patron saint of St Breage. But there is a Cornish distich, “Germow Mathern, Breaga Lavethas.” Germoe was a king, Breaga a midwife, which rather favours the statement that St Breage was a sister of St Leven. Breage and Germoe are adjoining parishes, having the shores of the Mount’s Bay for their southern boundaries. When the uncultivated inhabitants of this remote region regarded a wreck as a “God-send,” and plundered without hesitation every body, living or dead, thrown upon the shore, these parishes acquired a melancholy notoriety. The sailors’ popular prayer being,“God keep us from rocks and shelving sands,And save us from Breage and Germoe men’s lands.”Happily those days are almost forgotten. The ameliorating influences of the Christian faith, which was let in upon a most benighted people by John Wesley, like a sunbeam, dispelled those evil principles, and gave birth to pure and simple virtues.

“God keep us from rocks and shelving sands,And save us from Breage and Germoe men’s lands.”

“God keep us from rocks and shelving sands,

And save us from Breage and Germoe men’s lands.”

Happily those days are almost forgotten. The ameliorating influences of the Christian faith, which was let in upon a most benighted people by John Wesley, like a sunbeam, dispelled those evil principles, and gave birth to pure and simple virtues.

[4]Leland, cited by William of Worcester from the Cornish Calendar at St Michael’s Mount. Michell’s “Parochial History of Saint Neot’s.”

[5]Carew’s Survey, Lord Dedunstanville’s edition, p. 305. See “The Well of St Keyne,” by Robert Southey, in his “Ballads and Metrical Tales,” vol. i.; or of Southey’s collected works, vol. vi.St Keyne, or St Kenna, is said to have visited St Michael’s Mount, and imparted this peculiar virtue to a stone chair on the tower.

St Keyne, or St Kenna, is said to have visited St Michael’s Mount, and imparted this peculiar virtue to a stone chair on the tower.

[6]See Gilbert, vol. iii. p. 329. See Appendix A. The name of this saint is written Piran, Peran, and Perran.

[7]SeePerran-Zabuloe, with an Account of the Past and Present State of the Oratory of St Piran in the Sands, and Remarks on its Antiquity. By the Rev. Wm. Haslam, B.A., and by the Rev. Collins Trelawney.St Kieran, the favourite Celtic saint, reached Scotland from Ireland, the precursor of St Columba, (565A.D.) “The cave of St Kieran is still shewn in Kintyre, where the first Christian teacher of the Western Highlands is believed to have made his abode.”—Wilson’s Prehistoric Annals.There is a curious resemblance between the deeds and the names of those two saints.

St Kieran, the favourite Celtic saint, reached Scotland from Ireland, the precursor of St Columba, (565A.D.) “The cave of St Kieran is still shewn in Kintyre, where the first Christian teacher of the Western Highlands is believed to have made his abode.”—Wilson’s Prehistoric Annals.

There is a curious resemblance between the deeds and the names of those two saints.

[8]See Appendix B.

[9]See Appendix C.

[10]Tintagelis the usual name. Gilbert, in his “Parochial History,” has it, “Dundagell,aliasDyndagell,aliasBosithney;” in “Doomsday-book” it is called “Dunecheine.” Tonkin writes “Dindagel or Daundagel,” and sometimesDungiogel. “A King Nectan, or St Nectan, is said to have built numerous churches in several parts of Scotland, as well as in other parts of the kingdom of the Northern Picts.”—Wilson’s Prehistoric Annals of Scotland.

[11]It is called indifferently Nectan, Nathan, Nighton, or Knighton’s Kieve.

[12]Rambles beyond Railways. By Wilkie Collins. Mr Collins was curiously misled by those who told him the tradition. The building which these strange solitary women inhabited was St Nectan’s, or, as he and many others write it, St Nighton’s, Chapel, and not a cottage. They died, as Mr Collins describes it; but either he, or those from whom he learned the tale, has filled in the picture from imagination. I perceive, on referring to Mr Walter White’s admirable little book, “A Londoner’s Walk to the Land’s End,” that he has made the same mistake about the cottage.

[13]Appendix D.

[14]Parochial History, vol. iii. p. 423.

[15]It is curious that the farm over which some of this water flows is called “Collurian” to this day.

[16]See another story of this wretched woman in the section devoted to Demons and Spectres. 1st Series.

[17]Hals, speaking of Gulval Well, thus describes it and its virtues:—“In Fosses Moor, part of this manor of Lanesly, in this parish, is that well-known fountain called Gulval Well. To which place great numbers of people, time out of mind, have resorted for pleasure and profit of their health, as the credulous country people do in these days, not only to drink the waters thereof, but to inquire after the life or death of their absent friends; where, being arrived, they demanded the question at the well whether such a person by name be living, in health, sick, or dead. If the party be living and in health, the still quiet water of the well-pit, as soon as the question is demanded, will instantly bubble or boil up as a pot, clear crystalline water; if sick, foul and puddle waters; if the party be dead, it will neither bubble, boil up, nor alter its colour or still motion. However, I can speak nothing of the truth of those supernatural facts from my own sight or experience, but write from the mouths of those who told me they had seen and proved the veracity thereof. Finally, it is a strong and courageous fountain of water, kept neat and clean by an old woman of the vicinity, to accommodate strangers, for her own advantage, by blazing the virtues and divine qualities of those waters.”—Hals, quoted by Gilbert,Parochial History of Cornwall, vol. ii. p. 121.

[18]“Tales of the West,” by the author of “Letters from the East.”

[19]The tale of “The Legend of Pacorra.”

[20]“Popular Tales of the West Highlands,” by J. F. Campbell. (See page 134, vol. ii.)

[21]Notes and Queries.

[22]Gilbert, vol. i. p. 291.

[23]Carew.

[24]“Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales,” by James O. Halliwell.

[25]See “Thomas of the Thumb, orTómas na h’ordaig,” Tale lxix. “Popular Tales of the West Highlands,” by J. F. Campbell.

[26]“Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales,” by James O. Halliwell.

[27]Camden’s “Britannica,” by Gough, vol. i., p. 139. From this author we do not learn much. Indeed he says—“As to that Constantine, whom Gildas calls ‘that tyrannical whelp of the impure Danmonian lioness,’ and of the disforesting of the whole country under King John, before whose time it was all forest, let historians tell—it is not to my purpose.” vol. i. p. 8.

[28]Milton’s “History of Britain,” edit. 1678, p. 155.

[29]Vellan (mill), druchar (wheel.)

[30]Carew says, “a promontory, (byPomp. Mela, called Bolerium; byDiodorus, Velerium; byVolaterane, Helenium; by the Cornish, Pedn an laaz; and by the English, the Land’s-End.)”—Survey of Cornwall.

[31]Penꞃiðꞅꞇeoꞃꞇ.—The name of the Land’s-End in the Saxon map; in the text, Camden prints Penꞃihꞇꞅꞇeoꞃꞇ.

[32]“Castell-an-Dinas.—In the parish of St Colomb Major stands a castle of this name. Near this castle, by the highway, stands the Coyt, a stony tumulus so called, of which sort there are many in Wales and Wiltshire, as is mentioned in the ‘Additions to Camden’s Britannia’ in these places, commonly called the Devil’s Coyts. It consists of four long stones of great bigness, perpendicularly pitched in the earth contiguous with each other, leaving only a small vacancy downwards, but meeting together at the top; over all which is laid a flat stone of prodigious bulk and magnitude, bending towards the east in way of adoration, (as Mr Lhuyd concludes of all those Coyts elsewhere,) as the person therein under it interred did when in the land of the living; but how or by what art this prodigious flat stone should be placed on the top of the others, amazeth the wisest mathematicians, engineers, or architects to tell or conjecture. Colt, in Belgic-British, is a cave, vault, or cott-house, of which coyt might possibly be a corruption.”—Gilbert’s Parochial History.

[33]In the Manor of Lambourn is an ancient barrow, called Creeg Mear, the Great Barrow, which was cut open by a labourer in search of stones to build a hedge. He came upon a small hollow, in which he found nine urns filled with ashes; the man broke them, supposing they were only old pitchers, good for nothing; but Tonkin, who saw them, believes them to have been Danish, containing the ashes of some chief commanders slain in battle; and, says he, on a small hill just under this barrow is a Danish encampment, called Castle Caer Dane, vulgo Castle Caer Don,—i.e., the Danes’ Camp,—consisting of three entrenchments finished, and another begun, with an intent to surround the inner three, but not completed; and opposite to this, about a bowshot, the river only running between, on another hill is another camp or castle, called Castle Kaerkief, castrum simile, from Kyfel similis, alike alluding to Castle Caer Dane. But this is but just begun, and not finished in any part, from which I guess there were two different parties, the one attacking the other before the entrenchments were finished.

[34]C. S. Gilbert’s Historical Survey.

[35]Gilbert.

[36]See Popular Tales from the Norse. By George Webbe Dasent, D.C.L. Legends of Iceland, collected by Jón Arnason. Translated by George E. J. Powell and Eirékur Magnússon.

[37]Notes and Queries, vol. viii. p. 618.

[38]“I shall offer a conjecture touching the name of this place, which I will not say is right, but only probable.Tinis the same asDin,Dinas, andDixeth, deceit; so thatTindixel, turned, for easier pronunciation, toTintagel,Dindagel, orDaundagel, signifiesCastle of Deceit, which name might be aptly given to it from the famous deceit practised here by Uter Pendragon by the help of Merlin’s enchantment.”—Tonkin.“Mr Hals says this place is calledDonechenivin ‘Domesday Survey.’Dunechinewould mean the fortress of the chasm, corresponding precisely with its situation.”—Davies Gilbert.

“Mr Hals says this place is calledDonechenivin ‘Domesday Survey.’Dunechinewould mean the fortress of the chasm, corresponding precisely with its situation.”—Davies Gilbert.

[39]Gilbert, vol. ii. p. 402,et seq.

[40]Gruter’s Collection of Ancient Inscriptions, quoted by J. C. Pritchard.

[41]The Parson’s.

[42]The Beacon.

[43]See Appendix E.

[44]See Appendix F, “Saracen.”

[45]“They maintaine these works to have been verie auncient, and first wrought by theJeweswith Pickaxes of Holme-Boxe and Hartshorne. They prove this by the name of those places yet enduring, to wit,Attall Sarazin, in English, theJewes Offcast, and by those tooles daily found amongst the rubble of such workes.”—Survey of Cornwall. Carew.(Appendix F.)

[46]Is this supported by the statement of Dr Stillingfleet, Bishop of Worcester, who says, “The Christian religion was planted in the Island of Great Britain during the time of the apostles, and probably by St Paul”?

[47]“Some are sent, like the spirit Gathon in Cornwall, to work the will of his master in the mines.”—Mrs Bray’s Traditions of Devonshire.Who was the spirit Gathon?“The miner starts as he hears the mischievous Gathon answering blow for blow the stroke of his pickaxe, or deluding him with false fires, noises, and flames.”—A Guide to the Coasts of Devon and Cornwall. Mackenzie Walcott, M.A.Carne, in his “Tales of the West,” alludes to this:—“The miners have their full share of the superstitious feelings of the country, and often hear with alarm the noises, as it were, of other miners at work deep underground, and at no great distance. The rolling of the barrows, the sound of the pickaxes, and the fall of the earth and stones, are distinctly heard through the night,—often, no doubt, the echo of their own labours; but sometimes continued long after that labour has ceased, and occasionally voices seem to mingle with them. Gilbert believed that he was peculiarly exposed to these visitations; he had an instinctive shrinking from the place where the accident had happened; and, when left alone there, it was in vain that he plied his toil with desperate energy to divert his thoughts. Another person appeared to work very near him: he stayed the lifted pick and listened. The blow of the other fell distinctly, and the rich ore followed it in a loud rolling; he checked the loaded barrow that he was wheeling; still that of the unknown workman went on, and came nearer and nearer, and then there followed a loud, faint cry, that thrilled through every nerve of the lonely man, for it seemed like the voice of his brother. These sounds all ceased on a sudden, and those which his own toil caused were the only ones heard, till, after an interval, without any warning, they began again, at times more near, and again passing away to a distance.”—The Tale of the Miner.

[47]“Some are sent, like the spirit Gathon in Cornwall, to work the will of his master in the mines.”—Mrs Bray’s Traditions of Devonshire.

Who was the spirit Gathon?

“The miner starts as he hears the mischievous Gathon answering blow for blow the stroke of his pickaxe, or deluding him with false fires, noises, and flames.”—A Guide to the Coasts of Devon and Cornwall. Mackenzie Walcott, M.A.

Carne, in his “Tales of the West,” alludes to this:—“The miners have their full share of the superstitious feelings of the country, and often hear with alarm the noises, as it were, of other miners at work deep underground, and at no great distance. The rolling of the barrows, the sound of the pickaxes, and the fall of the earth and stones, are distinctly heard through the night,—often, no doubt, the echo of their own labours; but sometimes continued long after that labour has ceased, and occasionally voices seem to mingle with them. Gilbert believed that he was peculiarly exposed to these visitations; he had an instinctive shrinking from the place where the accident had happened; and, when left alone there, it was in vain that he plied his toil with desperate energy to divert his thoughts. Another person appeared to work very near him: he stayed the lifted pick and listened. The blow of the other fell distinctly, and the rich ore followed it in a loud rolling; he checked the loaded barrow that he was wheeling; still that of the unknown workman went on, and came nearer and nearer, and then there followed a loud, faint cry, that thrilled through every nerve of the lonely man, for it seemed like the voice of his brother. These sounds all ceased on a sudden, and those which his own toil caused were the only ones heard, till, after an interval, without any warning, they began again, at times more near, and again passing away to a distance.”—The Tale of the Miner.

[48]“Now well! now well! the angel did sayTo certain poor shepherds in the fields who layLate in the night, folding their sheep;A winter’s night, both cold and deep.Now well! now well! now well!Born is the King of Israel!”

[48]

“Now well! now well! the angel did sayTo certain poor shepherds in the fields who layLate in the night, folding their sheep;A winter’s night, both cold and deep.Now well! now well! now well!Born is the King of Israel!”

“Now well! now well! the angel did say

To certain poor shepherds in the fields who lay

Late in the night, folding their sheep;

A winter’s night, both cold and deep.

Now well! now well! now well!

Born is the King of Israel!”

[49]A tributer is a man who agrees with the adventurers in a mine to receive a certain share of the profits on the ore raised by him in lieu of wages. This account is settled monthly or bi-monthly, which will explain the phrase a “poor month.”

[50]“The man has still a good thick head of hair.—C. F. S.”

[51]I am informed that there are no less than four of these cliff chapels between St Leven and St Loy, which was a larger building, where mass was probably celebrated.

[52]Pilchards are calledpar excellence“fish.”

[53]Heva is shouted from the hills, upon which a watch is kept for the approach of pilchards by the “huer,” who telegraphs to the boats by means of bushes covered with white cloth, or, in modern days, with wire frames so covered. These signals are well understood, and the men in the seine and the other boats act according to the huer’s directions. The following song contains all the terms employed in this fishery; many of them, especiallyCould Roos, do not appear to have any definite meaning attached to them.The song is by the late C. Taylor Stevens of St Ives, who was for some time the rural postman to Zennor. I employed Mr Taylor Stevens for some time collecting all that remains of legendary tales and superstitions in Zennor and Morva. The net is spelled sometimes Seine at others Sean.“MERRY SEAN LADS.“With a cold north wind and a cockled sea,Or an autumn’s cloudless day,At the huer’s bid, to stem we row,Or upon our paddles play.All the signs, ‘East, West, and Quiet,Could Roos,’ too well we know;We can bend a stop, secure a cross,For brave sean lads are we!Chorus—We can bend a stop, secure a cross,For brave sean lads are we!“If we have first stem when heva comes,We’ll the huer’s bushes watch;We will row right off or quiet lie,Flying summer sculls to catch.And when he winds the towboat round,We will all ready be,When he gives Could Roos, we’ll shout hurrah!Merry sean lads are we!Chorus—When he gives Could Roos, we’ll shout hurrah!Merry sean lads are we!“When the sean we’ve shot, upon the tow,We will heave with all our might,With a heave! heave O! and rouse! rouse O!Till the huer cries, ‘All right.’Then on the bunt place kegs and weights,And next to tuck go we.We’ll dip, and trip, with a ‘Hip hurrah!’Merry sean lads are we!Chorus—We’ll dip, and trip, with a ‘Hip hurrah!’Merry sean lads are we!”

The song is by the late C. Taylor Stevens of St Ives, who was for some time the rural postman to Zennor. I employed Mr Taylor Stevens for some time collecting all that remains of legendary tales and superstitions in Zennor and Morva. The net is spelled sometimes Seine at others Sean.

“MERRY SEAN LADS.“With a cold north wind and a cockled sea,Or an autumn’s cloudless day,At the huer’s bid, to stem we row,Or upon our paddles play.All the signs, ‘East, West, and Quiet,Could Roos,’ too well we know;We can bend a stop, secure a cross,For brave sean lads are we!Chorus—We can bend a stop, secure a cross,For brave sean lads are we!“If we have first stem when heva comes,We’ll the huer’s bushes watch;We will row right off or quiet lie,Flying summer sculls to catch.And when he winds the towboat round,We will all ready be,When he gives Could Roos, we’ll shout hurrah!Merry sean lads are we!Chorus—When he gives Could Roos, we’ll shout hurrah!Merry sean lads are we!“When the sean we’ve shot, upon the tow,We will heave with all our might,With a heave! heave O! and rouse! rouse O!Till the huer cries, ‘All right.’Then on the bunt place kegs and weights,And next to tuck go we.We’ll dip, and trip, with a ‘Hip hurrah!’Merry sean lads are we!Chorus—We’ll dip, and trip, with a ‘Hip hurrah!’Merry sean lads are we!”

“MERRY SEAN LADS.

“With a cold north wind and a cockled sea,Or an autumn’s cloudless day,At the huer’s bid, to stem we row,Or upon our paddles play.All the signs, ‘East, West, and Quiet,Could Roos,’ too well we know;We can bend a stop, secure a cross,For brave sean lads are we!Chorus—We can bend a stop, secure a cross,For brave sean lads are we!“If we have first stem when heva comes,We’ll the huer’s bushes watch;We will row right off or quiet lie,Flying summer sculls to catch.And when he winds the towboat round,We will all ready be,When he gives Could Roos, we’ll shout hurrah!Merry sean lads are we!Chorus—When he gives Could Roos, we’ll shout hurrah!Merry sean lads are we!“When the sean we’ve shot, upon the tow,We will heave with all our might,With a heave! heave O! and rouse! rouse O!Till the huer cries, ‘All right.’Then on the bunt place kegs and weights,And next to tuck go we.We’ll dip, and trip, with a ‘Hip hurrah!’Merry sean lads are we!Chorus—We’ll dip, and trip, with a ‘Hip hurrah!’Merry sean lads are we!”

“With a cold north wind and a cockled sea,

Or an autumn’s cloudless day,

At the huer’s bid, to stem we row,

Or upon our paddles play.

All the signs, ‘East, West, and Quiet,

Could Roos,’ too well we know;

We can bend a stop, secure a cross,

For brave sean lads are we!

Chorus—We can bend a stop, secure a cross,

For brave sean lads are we!

“If we have first stem when heva comes,We’ll the huer’s bushes watch;We will row right off or quiet lie,Flying summer sculls to catch.And when he winds the towboat round,We will all ready be,When he gives Could Roos, we’ll shout hurrah!Merry sean lads are we!Chorus—When he gives Could Roos, we’ll shout hurrah!Merry sean lads are we!

“If we have first stem when heva comes,

We’ll the huer’s bushes watch;

We will row right off or quiet lie,

Flying summer sculls to catch.

And when he winds the towboat round,

We will all ready be,

When he gives Could Roos, we’ll shout hurrah!

Merry sean lads are we!

Chorus—When he gives Could Roos, we’ll shout hurrah!

Merry sean lads are we!

“When the sean we’ve shot, upon the tow,We will heave with all our might,With a heave! heave O! and rouse! rouse O!Till the huer cries, ‘All right.’Then on the bunt place kegs and weights,And next to tuck go we.We’ll dip, and trip, with a ‘Hip hurrah!’Merry sean lads are we!Chorus—We’ll dip, and trip, with a ‘Hip hurrah!’Merry sean lads are we!”

“When the sean we’ve shot, upon the tow,

We will heave with all our might,

With a heave! heave O! and rouse! rouse O!

Till the huer cries, ‘All right.’

Then on the bunt place kegs and weights,

And next to tuck go we.

We’ll dip, and trip, with a ‘Hip hurrah!’

Merry sean lads are we!

Chorus—We’ll dip, and trip, with a ‘Hip hurrah!’

Merry sean lads are we!”

[54]Hone’s “Every-Day Book.”

[55]Spinning-wheel.

[56]Every-Day Book.

[57]On the Diseases of Cornish Miners. By William Wale Tayler, F.R.C.S.

[58]When cattle or human beings have been bewitched, it was very commonly thought that if a bottle of urine from the diseased beast or person was obtained, then corked very tight and buried mouth downwards, that the witch would be afflicted with strangury, and in her suffering confess her crime and beg forgiveness.

[59]Throb.

[60]The invocation of the “Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,” invariably accompanies every form of charm.

[61]Borlase’s Observations on the Ancient and Present State of the Island of Scilly.—“Notes and Queries,” vol. x. p. 181. 1854.

[62]The Survey of Cornwall. By Richard Carew.

[63]Draw and Hitchin’s Cornwall.

[64]See also p. 216.

[65]In Hugh Miller’s “Scenes and Legends of the North of Scotland,” edit. 1858, pp. 256, 257, will be found some stories of the flight of the “herring drove” from the coast of Cromarty, which are analogous to this.

[66]See “Death Tokens.”

[67]“There appeared in the north-east the frustrum of a large rainbow; all the colours were lively and distinct, and it was three times as wide as the arch of an ordinary complete rainbow, but no higher than it was wide. They call it here, in Cornwall,a weather dog; but in the Cornish language,Lagas-auel,—that is, the weather’s eye,—and pronounce it a certain sign of hard rain.”—Borlase’s Natural History of Cornwall.

[68]Hone’s Table-Book.

[69]In pul; meaning in mud.

[70]Davies Gilbert’s “Cornwall.”

[71]Vol. iii. p. 309.

[72]Letter from William Peter, Esq. of Harlyn, to Davies Gilbert, vol. iii. p. 178.

[73]See Keighton’s “Tales and Popular Fictions,” p. 247.

[74]“Traditions, Legends, Superstitions, and Sketches of Devonshire,” by Mrs Bray, who gives a letter of her husband’s, for some time vicar of Tavistock.

[75]See Gilbert, vol. iii., p. 293, and Bond’s account of the Trelawnys in Bond’s Looe.

[76]Hone’s Table-Book.

“It is rather a curious circumstance,” says Davies Gilbert, “that the wordZabuloeadded to Perran, for the distinction of this parish, is not Celtic, but through the Frenchsable, fromsabulum, a word frequently used by Pliny, as indicative of sand or gravel.

“The encroachments of the sand have caused no less than three churches to be built, after considerable intervals of time, in this parish. The last was commenced in 1804; and in this year, (1835,) a building has been discovered more ancient than the first of these churches, and not improbably the oratory of St Perran himself. The length of this chapel within the walls is 25 feet, without, 30 feet; the breadth within, 12½ feet; and the height of the walls the same.

“At the eastern end is a neat altar of stone covered with lime, 4 feet long, by 2½ feet wide, and 3 feet high. Eight inches above the centre of the altar is a recess in the wall, where probably stood a crucifix; and on the north side of the altar is a small doorway, through which the priest may have entered. Out of the whole length, the chancel extended exactly 6 feet. In the centre of what may be termed the nave, in the south wall, occurs a round arched doorway, highly ornamented. The building is, however, without any trace of window; and there is only one small opening, apparently for the admission of air.

“The discovery has excited much curiosity throughout the neighbourhood; which has, unfortunately, manifested itself by the demolition of everything curious in this little oratory, to be borne away as relics.”—Gilbert.

“Very little is known concerning the saint who has given his name to the three Perrans. He is, however, held in great veneration, and esteemed the patron of all Cornwall, or, at least, of the mining district.”—Hals.

By an anachronism of fifteen hundred years or more, St Perran was considered as the person who first found tin; and this conviction induced the miners to celebrate his day, the 5th of March, with so much hilarity, that any one unable to guide himself along the road has received the appellation of a Perraner; and that, again, has been most unjustly reflected as a habit on the saint.

“It may here be worthy of remark, that, as the miners impute the discovery of tin to St Perran, so they ascribe its reduction from the ore, in a large way, to an imaginary person, St Chiwidden; butchi-waddenis white house, and must, therefore, mean a smelting or blowing house, where the black ore of tin is converted into a white metal.

“A white cross on a black ground was formerly the banner of St Perran, and the standard of Cornwall; probably with some allusion to the black ore and the white metal of tin.”—Gilbert.

A college, dedicated to St Perran, once stood in the parish of St Kevern, (Dugdale’s “Monasticon,” vol. vi., p. 1449.) This probably had some connexion with Perran Uthnoe. The shrine of St Perran was in that parish, which is said to have contained his head, and other relics.

Lysons quotes a deed in the registry of Exeter, shewing the great resort of pilgrims hither in 1485.

In the will of Sir John Arundell, 1433, occurs this bequest:—“Item, lego ad usum parochie S’c’i’ Pyerani inZabulo, ad clandendum capud S. Pierani honorificè et meliori modo quo sciunt xls.”—Collectanea Topogr. et Geneal., vol. iii p. 392.

For a full examination of the question, Did the Phœnicians trade with Britain for tin? the following works should be consulted:—“History of Maritime and Inland Discovery,” by W. D. Cooley; “Historical Survey of the Astronomy of the Ancients,” by Sir George Cornewall Lewis; “Commerce and Navigation of the Ancients,” by W. Vincent, D.D.; “Phœnicia,” by John Kenrick, M.A.; “The Cassiterides: an Inquiry into the Commercial Operations of the Phœnicians in Western Europe, with particular Reference to the British Tin Trade,” by George Smith, LL.D., F.A.S.

The following account of this celebrated saint, as given by Mr Davies Gilbert, will not be without interest:—

“Multitudes flocked to him from all parts. He founded a monastery, and repaired to Rome for a confirmation, and for blessing at the hands of the Pope; these were readily obtained. He returned to his monastery, where frequent visits were made to him by King Alfred, on which occasions he admonished and instructed the great founder of English liberty; and finally quitted this mortal life on the 31st of July, about the year 883, in the odour of sanctity so unequivocal that travellers all over Cornwall were solaced by its fragrance. Nor did the exertions of our saint terminate with his existence on earth; he frequently appeared to King Alfred, and sometimes led his armies in the field. But, if the tales of these times are deserving of any confidence, the nation is really and truly indebted to St Neot for one of the greatest blessings ever bestowed on it. To his advice, and even to his personal assistance as a teacher, we owe the foundation by Alfred of the University at Oxford.

“The relics of St Neot remained at his monastery in Cornwall till about the year 974, when Earl Alric, and his wifeEthelfleda, having founded a religious house at Eynesbury, in Huntingdonshire, and being at a loss for some patron saint, adopted the expedient of stealing the body of St Neot; which was accordingly done, and the town retains his name, thus feloniously obtained, up to this time. The monastery in Cornwall continued feebly to exist, after this disaster, through the Saxon times; but, having lost its palladium, it felt the ruiner’s hand; and, almost immediately after the Norman Conquest, it was finally suppressed. Yet the memory of the local saint is still cherished by the inhabitants of the parish and of the neighbourhood—endeared, perhaps, by the tradition of his diminutive stature, reduced, in their imagination, to fifteen inches of height; and to these feelings we, in all probability, owe the preservation of the painted glass, the great decoration of this church, and one of the principal works of art to be seen in Cornwall.”—Gilbert’s Hist Corn., vol. iii. p. 262.

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