Page:The Folk-Lore Journal Volume 5 1887.djvu/101

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CORNISH FOLK-LORE.
93

and was in the days of Carew and Norden arched over by four trees, which grew so closely together that they seemed but one trunk. Both writers say the trees were withy, oak, elm, and ash (by withy I suppose willow was meant). They were all blown down by a storm, and about 150 years ago, Mr. Rashleigh, of Menabilly, replaced them with two oaks, two elms, and one ash. I do not know if they are living, but Mr. J. T. Blight in 1858, in his book on Cornish Crosses, speaks of one of the oaks being at that time so decayed that it had to be propped. The reputed virtue of the water of St. Keyne's well is, as almost all know, that after marriage "whether husband or wife come first to drink thereof they get the mastery thereby."—Fuller.

Southey makes a discomfited husband tell the story who ends thus:

"I hasten' d as soon as the wedding was done,
And left my wife in the porch;
But i'faith she had been wiser than me,
For she took a bottle to church."

St. Keyne not only thus endowed her well but during her stay at St. Michael's Mount she gave the same virtue to St. Michael's chair. This chair is the remains of an old lantern on the south-west angle of the tower at a height of upwards of 250 feet from low water. It is fabled to have been a favourite seat of St. Michael's. Whittaker, in his supplement to Polwhele's History of Cornwall, says, "It was for such pilgrims as had stronger heads and bolder spirits to complete their devotions at the Mount by sitting in this St. Michael's chair and showing themselves as pilgrims to the country round;" but it most probably served as a beacon for ships at sea. To get into it you must climb on to the parapet, and you sit with your feet dangling over, a sheer descent of at least seventy feet; but it is much more difficult to get out of it, as the sitter is obliged to turn round in the seat. Notwithstanding this, and the danger of a fall through giddiness, which, of course, would be certain death, for there is not the slightest protection, I have seen ladies perform the feat. Curiously enough Southey has also written a ballad on St. Michael's chair, but it is not as popular as the one before quoted; it is about "Richard Penlake and Rebecca his wife," "a terrible shrew was she." In pursuance of