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 A LIFE 
 
 ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER
 
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 fVooJIiurytype. 
 
 ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 
 
 VICAR OF MORWENSTOW 
 
 From (I Photograph hij II. Thorn, Biide.
 
 THE VICAR OF MORWENSTOW 
 
 A LIFE OF 
 ROBERT STEPHEN HA WKER, M.A. 
 
 BY 
 
 S. BARING-GOULD, M.A. 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'the ORIGIN AND DEVELOl'MENT OF KKLIGIOUS BELIEF ' 
 'YORKSHIRE ODDITIES* ETC. 
 
 THIRD EDITION, REVISED 
 
 HENRY S. KING <S^ CO., LONDON 
 1S76
 
 ISAAC FC ~" 
 LIBRARY 
 
 Homme etrange, original et superleur, mais qui, des I'enfance, portait 
 en soi un germe de folie, et qui a la fin devint fou tout a fait ; esprit admirable 
 et mal ^quilibre, en qui les sensations, les emotions et les images etaient trop 
 fortes ; a la fois aveugle et perspicace, veritable poete et poete malade, qui 
 au lieu des choses, voyait ses reves, vivait dans un roman et mourut sous le 
 cauchemar qu'il s'etait forge ; incapable de se maitriser et de se conduire, 
 prenant ses resolutions pour des actes, ses velleites pour des resolutions, et le 
 rule qu'il se donnait pour le caractere qu'il croyait avoir ; en tout dispropor- 
 tionne au train courant du monde, se heurtant, se blessant, se salissant a 
 toutes les bornes du chemin ; ayant commis des extravagances, des injustices, 
 et neanmoins gardant jusqu'au bout la sensibilite delicate et profonde, I'hunia- 
 nite, I'attendrissement, le don des larmes, la faculte d'aimer, la passion de la 
 justice, le sentiment religieux, I'enthousiasme, comme autant de racines vivaces 
 ou fermente toujours la seve genereuse pendant que la tige et les rameaux 
 avortent, se deforment ou se fletrissent sous I'inclemence de I'air.' 
 
 H. Taine. 
 
 ( T/ie ri^/i/s of translation and of reproduction are reserved)
 
 
 //7^ 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Birth of Mr. Hj^wker — Dr. Hawker of Charles Church —The Amended Hymn 
 — Robert S. Hawker runs away from School — Boyish Pranks — At 
 Cheltenham — Publishes his 'Tendrils' — At Oxford — Marries — ^The Stowe 
 Ghost — Robert Hawker and Mr. Jeune at Boscastle — The Mazed Pigs — 
 Nanny Heale and the Potatoes — •' Records of the Western Shore' — The 
 Bude Mermaid — Takes his Degree — Comes with his Wife to Morwen- 
 stow PAGE I 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Ordination — The Black Pig * Gyp ' — Writes to the Bishop — His Father ap- 
 pointed to Stratton — He is given Morwenstow — The Waldron Lanthorn — 
 St. Morwenna — The Children of Brychan — St. Modwenna of Burton-on 
 Trent — The North Cornish Coast — Tintagel — Stowe — Sir Bevil Granville 
 — Mr. Hawker's Discovery of the Granville Letters — Those that remain — 
 Antony Payne the Giant— Letters of Lady Grace— Of Lord Lansdown 
 — Cornish Dramatic Power — Mr. Hicks of Bodmin ... 20 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Description of Morwenstow — The Anerithmongelasma— Source of the Tamar 
 — Tonacombe — Morwenstow Church — Norman Chevron Moulding — Chan- 
 cel — Altar — Shooting Rubbish — The Manning Bed — The Yellow Poncho 
 — The Vicarage — Mr. Tom Knight — The Stag, Robin Hood — Visitors — 
 Silent Tower of Boltreaux — The Pet of Boscastle .... 47
 
 C0i\TEN7S. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Mr. Hawker's Politics — Election of 1857 — His Zeal for the Labourers — ' The 
 Poor Man and his Parish Church ' — Letter to a Landlord — Death of his 
 man, Tape — Kindness to the Poor — Verses over his Door — Reckless 
 Charity — Hospitality — A Break-down — His Eccentric Dress — The Devil 
 and his Barn — His Ecclesiastical Vestments — Dislike of Ritualists — Cere- 
 monial — The Nine Cats — The Church Garden — Kindness to Animals — The 
 Rooks and Jackdaws — The Well of St. John — Letter to a Young Man 
 entering the University ..... ... page 77 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Inhabitants of Morwenstow in 1834— Cruel Coppinger — Whips the Parson 
 of Kilkhampton — Gives Tom Tape a Ride — Tristam Pentire — Parminter 
 and his Dog, Satan— The Ganger's Pocket — Wrecking — The Wrecker 
 and the Ravens — The Loss of the ' Margaret Quail ' — The Wreck of 
 the ' Ben Coolan ' — ' A Croon on Hennacliff ' — Letters concerning Wrecks 
 — The Donkeys and the Copper Ore — The Ship 'Morwenna' — Flotsam 
 and Jetsam — Wrecks on November 14, 1875 — Bodies in Poundstock 
 Church- -The Loss of the ' Caledonia ' — The Wreck of the 'Phoenix,' and 
 of the 'Alonzo' . , 105 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Wellcombe — Mr. Hawker Postman to Wellcombe — The Miss Kitties — Adver- 
 tisement of Roger Giles — Superstitions — The Evil Eye — The Spiritual 
 yEther — The Vicar's Pigs bewitched — Horse killed by a Witch — He finds 
 a lost Hen — A Lecture against Witchcraft — Its Failure — An Encounter with 
 the Pixies — Curious Picture of a Pixie Revel — The Fairy Ring — Antony 
 Cleverdon and the Mermaids ....... 148 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Condition of the Church last Century — Parson Radcliffe — The Death of a 
 Pluralist— Opposition Mr, Hawker met with— The Bryanitcs— Hunting
 
 CONTENTS. vii 
 
 the Devil — Bill Martin's Prayer-meeting — Mr. Pengelly and the Candle-end 
 
 — Cheated by a Tramp — Mr. Hawker and the Dissenters— Mr. B 's 
 
 Pew — A special Providence over the Church — His Prayer when threat- 
 ened with the Loss of St. John's Well — Objection to hysterical Religion — 
 Mr. Vincent's Hat — Regard felt for him by old Pupils — ' He did not ap- 
 preciate me' — Modryb Marya — A Parable — A Carol — Love of Children — 
 Angels — A Sermon, 'Here am I ' . . . . . page i68 
 
 CHAPTER Vin. 
 
 The Vicar of Morwenstow as a Poet — His Epigrams — The ' Carol of the Pruss ' 
 — ' Down with the Church' — The 'Quest of the Sangi-eal' — Editions of his 
 Poems — Ballads — The 'Song of the Western Men' — The 'Cornish Mother's 
 Lament' — ' A Thought ' — Churchyards ...... 204 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Restoration of Morwenstow Church — The Shingle Roof — The first Ruri- 
 decanal Synod — TheWeekly Offertory — Correspondence with Mr. Walter — 
 On Alms — Harvest Thanksgiving — The School — Mr. Hawker belonged to 
 no Party— His Eastern Proclivities — Theological Ideas — Baptism — Ori- 
 ginal Sin— The Eucharist — Intercession of Saints — The Blessed Virgin — 
 His Preaching— Some Sermons ....... 220 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The First Mrs. Hawker — Her Influence over her Husband — Anxiety about 
 her Health — His Fits of Depression — Letter on the Death of Sir Thomas 
 Acland — Reads Novels to his Wife — His Visions — Mysticism — Death of 
 his Wife — Unhappy Condition — Burning of his Papers — Meets with 
 his Second Wife — The Unburied Dead — Birth of his Child — Ruinous 
 Condition of his Church — Goes to London — Resumes Opium-eating — 
 Sickness — Goes to Boscastle — To Plymouth — His Death and Funeral — 
 Conclusion ........... 244
 
 LIFE 
 
 OF 
 
 ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Birth of Mr. Unwkei— Dr. Hawker of Cliarles Cluirch — The Amemlol llvnin 
 — Robert S. Hawker runs away from School — Boyish Pranks— At 
 Cheltenham — Publishes his 'Tendrils' — At Oxford — Marries — The Stowe 
 Ghost — Robert Hawker and Mr. Jeune at Boscastle — The Mazed Pigs — 
 Nanny Heale and the Potatoes — ' Records of tlie Western Shore' — The 
 Bude Mermaid — Takes his Degree — Comes witli his Wife to Morwen- 
 
 StONV. 
 
 Robert Stephen Hawker was born at Stoke Damerel 
 on December 3, 1804, and was baptized there in the parisli 
 churcli. His father, Mr. Jacob Stephen Hawker, was at 
 that time a medical man, practising; at Plymouth. He 
 afterwards was ordained at Altarnun, and spent thirty- 
 years as curate and then vicar of Stratton in Cornwall, 
 where he died in 1845. ^I^'- J- S. Hawker was the son of 
 the famous Dr. Hawker, incumbent of Charles Church, 
 in Plymouth, author of ' Mornins^ and Livening Portions,' a 
 man as remarkable for his abilities as he was for his pietw
 
 2 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [cit. i. 
 
 Young Robert was committed to his grandfather to be 
 educated. The Doctor, after the death of his wife, Hved in 
 Plymouth with his daughter, a widow, Mrs. Hodgson, at 
 whose expense Robert was educated. 
 
 The profuse generosity, the deep rehgiousness, and the 
 eccentricity of the Doctor had their effect on the boy, and 
 traced in his opening mind and forming character deep 
 lines which were never effaced. Dr. Hawker had a heart 
 always open to appeals of poverty, and in his kindness he 
 believed every story of distress which was told him, and 
 hastened to relieve it without inquiring closely whether it 
 were true or not ; nor did he stop to consider whether his 
 own pocket could afford the generosity to which his heart 
 prompted him. His wife, as long as she lived, found it a diffi- 
 cult matter to keep house. In winter, if he came across a poor 
 family without sufficient coverings on their beds, he would 
 run home, pull the blankets off his own bed, and run with 
 them over his arm to the house where they were needed. 
 
 He had an immense following of pious ladies, who were 
 sometimes troublesome to him. ' I see what it is,' said the 
 Doctor, in one of his sermons ; ' you ladies think to reach 
 heaven by hanging on to my coat-tails. I will trounce 
 you all. I will wear a spencer.' 
 
 In Charles Church the evening service always closed 
 with the singing of the hymn, ' Lord, dismiss us with Thy 
 blessing,' composed by Dr. Hawker himself His grand- 
 son did not know the authorship of the hymn ; he came to 
 the Doctor one day with a paper in his hand, and said, 
 ' Grandfather, I don't altogether like that hymn, " Lord, 
 dismiss us with Thy blessing." I think it might be im-
 
 cir. I.] THE AMENDED HYMN. 3 
 
 proved in metre and language, and would be better if made 
 somewhat longer.' 
 
 ' Oh, indeed ! ' said Dr. Hawker, getting red ; ' and 
 pray, Robert, what emendations commend themselves to 
 your precocious wisdom .-" ' 
 
 ' This is my improved version,' said the boy, and read 
 as follows : — 
 
 Lord, dismiss us with Thy blessing, 
 High and low, and rich and poor : 
 May we all, Thy fear possessing, 
 Go in peace and sin no more. 
 
 Lord, requite not as we merit, 
 
 Thy displeasure all must fear ; 
 As of old, so let Thy Spirit 
 
 Still the dove's resemblance bear. 
 
 May that Spirit dwell within us ! 
 
 May its love our refuge be ! 
 So shall no temptation win us 
 
 From the path that leads to Thee. 
 
 So when these our lips shall wither. 
 
 So when fails each earthly tone, 
 May we sing once more together 
 
 H^'mns of glory round Thy throne. 
 
 ' Now listen to the old version, grandfather — - 
 
 Lord, dismiss us with Thy blessing, 
 
 Fill our hearts with joy and peace ; 
 Let us each. Thy love possessing. 
 
 Triumph in redeeming grace. 
 O refresh us 
 
 Travelling through this wilderness. 
 
 Thanks we give and adoration 
 
 For the Gospel's joyous sound ; 
 May the founts of Thy salvation 
 
 In our hearts and lives abound. 
 May Thy presence 
 
 With us evermore be found.
 
 4 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. i. 
 
 ' This one is crude and flat, don't you think so, grand- 
 father ? ' 
 
 ' Crude and flat, sir ! Young puppy, it is mine. I wrote 
 that hymn.' 
 
 ' Oh ! I beg your pardon, grandfather, I did not know 
 that ; it is a very nice hymn indeed, but — but — ' and as he 
 went out of the door, ' mine is better.' 
 
 Robert was sent to a boarding-school by his grand- 
 father, where I do not know, nor does it much matter, for 
 he only stayed there one night. He arrived in the evening, 
 and was delivered over by the Doctor to a very godly but 
 close-fisted master. Robert did not approve of being sent 
 supperless to bed, still less did he approve of the bed and 
 bedroom in which he was placed. 
 
 Next morning, the dominie was shaving at his window, 
 when he saw his pupil, with his portmanteau on his back, 
 striding across the lawn, with reckless indifference to the 
 flower-beds, singing at the top of his voice, ' Lord, dismiss 
 us with Thy blessing.' He shouted after him from the 
 window, but Robert was deaf The boy flung his port- 
 manteau over the hedge, jumped after it, and was seen no 
 more at that school. 
 
 He was then put with the Rev, Mr. Lafifer at Liskeard. 
 Mr. Laffer was the son of the squire at Altarnun ; he after- 
 wards became incumbent of St. Gennys. At this time he 
 was head-master of the Liskeard Grammar School. There 
 Robert Hawker was happy. He spent his holidays either 
 with his father at Stratton, or with his grandfather and 
 aunt at Plymouth. At Stratton he was the torment of an 
 old fellow who kept a shop in High Street, where he sold
 
 CH. I.] BOYISH PRANKS. 5 
 
 groceries, crockery, and drapery. One day he slipped into 
 the house when the old man was out, and found a piece of 
 mutton roasting before the fire. Robert took it off the 
 crook, hung it up in the shop, and placed a bundle of dips 
 before the fire to roast in its place. 
 
 He would dive into the shop, catch hold of the end of 
 thread that curled out of the tin in which the shopkeeper 
 kept the ball of twine with which he tied up his parcels, 
 and race with it in his hand down the street, then up a lane 
 and dowai another, till he had uncoiled it all, and laced 
 Stratton in a cobweb of twine, tripping up people as they 
 went along the streets. The old fellow had not the wits to 
 cut the thread, but held on like grim death to the tin, whilst 
 the ball bounced and uncoiled within it, swearing at the 
 plague of a boy, and wishing him ' back to skule again.' 
 
 * I doan't care whether I ring the bells on the King's 
 birthday,' said the parish clerk, another victim of the boy's 
 pranks, ' but if I never touch the ropes again, I'll give a 
 peal when Robert goes to skule, and leaves Stratton folks 
 in peace.' 
 
 As may well be believed, the mischievous, high-spirited 
 boy played tricks on his brothers and sisters. The clerk 
 was accustomed to read in church, ' I am an alien unto my 
 mother's children,' pronouncing alien as ' a lion.' ' Ah ! ' 
 said Mrs. Hawker, ' that means Robert; he is verily a lion 
 unto his mother's children.' 
 
 ' I do not know how it is,' said his brother one day, 
 ' when I go out with Robert nutting, he gets all the nuts ; 
 and when I go out rabbiting, he gets all the rabbits ; and 
 when we go out fishing together, he catches all the fish.'
 
 6 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [cii. i. 
 
 * Come with me fishing to-morrow, Claud,' said Robert, 
 ' and see if you don't have luck,' 
 
 Next day he surreptitiously fastened a red herring to 
 his brother's hook, and when it was drawn out of the water, 
 ' There ! ' exclaimed Robert, ' you are twice as lucky as I 
 am. My fish are all raw, and yours is ready cleaned, 
 smoked, and salted.' 
 
 The old vicarage at Stratton is now pulled down ; it 
 stood at the east end of the chancel, and the garden has 
 been thrown into the burial-ground. 
 
 At Stratton he got one night into the stable of the 
 surgeon, hogged the mane, and painted the coat of his horse 
 like a zebra with white and black oil paint. Then he sent 
 a message to the doctor as if from a great house at a dis- 
 tance requiring his immediate attendance. The doctor was 
 obliged to saddle and gallop ofi" the horse in the condition 
 in which he found it, thinking that there was not time for 
 him to stay till the coat was cleaned of paint. 
 
 His pranks at Plymouth led at last to his grandfather 
 refusing to have him any longer in his house. 
 
 Robert held the good pious ladies, who swarmed round 
 the Doctor, in aversion. It was the time of sedan-chair'^, 
 and trains of old spinsters and dowagers used to fill the 
 street in their boxes between bearers on the occasions of 
 missionary teas, Dorcas meetings, and private expositions 
 of the Word. Robert used to open the house-door, and 
 make a sign to the bearers to stop. A row of a dozen or 
 more sedans were thus arrested in the street. Then the 
 boy would go to the sedans in order, open the window, and 
 thrusting his head in, kiss the fair but venerable occupant,
 
 cii. I.] THE OLD LADIES. 7 
 
 and then start back in mock dismay, e::claiming, *A 
 thousand pardons ! I thought you were my mother. I 
 am sorry. How could I have made such a mistake, you are 
 so much older .'' ' 
 
 Sometimes, with the gravest face, he would tell the 
 bearers that the lady was to be conveyed to the Dockyard, 
 or the Arsenal, or to the Hoe, and she would find herself 
 deposited among anchors and ropes, or cannon-balls, or on 
 the windy height overlooking the bay, instead of at the 
 Doctor's door. 
 
 Two old ladies, spinster sisters, Robert believed were 
 setting their caps at the Doctor, then a widower ; he took 
 an inveterate dislike to them, and their insinuating, oily 
 manner with his grandfather. And he worried them out 
 of Plymouth. 
 
 He did it thus. One day he called on one of the lead- 
 ing physicians in Plymouth, and told him that Miss 
 Hephzibah Jenkins had slipped on a piece of orange-peel, 
 broken her leg, and needed his instant attention. He 
 arrived out of breath with running, very red, and it being 
 known that the Misses Jenkins were intimate friends of 
 Dr. Hawker, the physician went off at once to the lad}', 
 with splints and bandages. 
 
 Next day another medical man was sent to see Miss 
 Sidonia Jenkins. Every day a fresh surgeon or physician 
 arrived to bind up legs and arms and heads, or revive the 
 ladies from extreme prostration, pleurisy, inflammation of 
 the lungs, heart complaint, &c., till every medical man in 
 Plymouth, Stonehouse, and Devonport had been to the 
 house of the spinsters. When they were exhausted, an
 
 8 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. i. 
 
 undertaker was sent to measure the old ladies for their 
 coffins, and next day a hearse drew up at their door to 
 convey them to their graves, which had been dug according 
 to order in the St. Andrew's churchyard. 
 
 This was more than the ladies could bear. They .shut 
 up the house, and left Plymouth. But this was also the 
 end of Robert's stay with his grandfather. The good 
 Doctor had endured a great deal, but he would not put 
 up with this, and Robert was sent to Stratton to his 
 father. 
 
 When the boy left school at Liskeard, he was articled 
 to a lawyer, Mr. Jacobson, at Plymouth, a wealthy man in 
 good practice, first cousin to his mother ; but this sort of 
 profession did not at all approve itself to Robert's taste, 
 and he only remained with Mr. Jacobson a few months. 
 Whether he then turned his thoughts towards going into 
 Holy Orders cannot be told, but he persuaded his aunt, 
 Mrs. Hodgson, to send him to Cheltenham Grammar 
 School. 
 
 The boy had great abilities, and a passionate love of 
 books, but wanted application. He read a great deal, but 
 his reading was desultory. He was, however, a good 
 classic scholar. To mathematics he took a positive dislike, 
 and never could master a proposition in Euclid. At 
 Cheltenham he wrote some poems, and published them 
 in a little book, entitled ' Tendrils, by Reuben.' They 
 appeared in 1821, when he was seventeen years old. 
 
 From Cheltenham, Robert S. Hawker went to Oxford, 
 1823, and entered at Pembroke ; but his father was only a 
 poor curate, and unable to maintain him at the University.
 
 CH. I.] MARRIES. 9 
 
 Robert was determined to finish his course there ; he could 
 not command the purse of his aunt, Mrs. Hodgson, who 
 was dead, and when he retired to Stratton for his long 
 vacation in 1824, his father told him that it was impossible 
 for him to send him back to the University. 
 
 But Robert Hawker had made up his mind that finish 
 his career at College he would. He had recourse to the 
 following expedient. 
 
 There lived at Whitstone, near Holdsworthy, four Miss 
 Fans, daughters of Colonel I'ans. They had been left 
 with an annuity of 200/. apiece, as well as lands and a 
 handsome place. At the time when Mr. Jacob Hawker 
 announced to his son that a return to Oxford was impos- 
 sible, the four ladies were at Efford, near Bude, a farm and 
 house leased from Sir Thomas Acland. Directly that 
 Robert Hawker learnt his father's decision, without waiting 
 to put on his hat, he ran from Stratton to Bude, arrived 
 hot and blown at Efford, and proposed to Miss Charlotte 
 I'ans to become his wife. The lady was then aged forty- 
 one, one year older than his mother ; she was his godmother, 
 and had taught him his letters. 
 
 Miss Charlotte I'ans accepted him, and they were 
 married in November, when he was twenty. Robert S. 
 Hawker and his wife spent their honeymoon at Mor- 
 wenstow, in Combe Cottage. During that time he was 
 visited by Sir William Call and his brother George. They 
 dined with him and told ghost stories. Sir William pro- 
 fessed his utter disbelief in spectral appearances, in spite of 
 the most convincing, properly authenticated cases adduced 
 by Mr, Hawker. It was late when the two gentlemen
 
 10 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. i. 
 
 rose to leave. Their course lay down the steep hill by old 
 Stowe. The moment that they were gone, Robert got a 
 sheet and an old iron spoon, which he had dug up in the 
 garden, and which bore on it the date 1702. He slipped 
 a tinder-box and a bottle of choice brandy, which had 
 belonged to Colonel I'ans, into his pocket, and ran by a 
 short cut to a spot where the road was overshadowed by 
 trees, at the bottom of the Stowe hill, which he knew the 
 two young men must pass. He had time to throw the 
 sheet over himself, strike a light, fill the great iron spoon 
 with salt and brandy and ignite it, before Sir William and 
 his brother came up. 
 
 In the dense darkness of the wood, beside the road, 
 they suddenly saw a ghastly figure, illumined by a lambent 
 blue flame, which danced in the air before it. They stood 
 rooted to the spot, petrified with fear. Slowly the appari- 
 tion stole towards them. They were too frightened to cry 
 out and run. Suddenly, with an unearthly howl, the 
 spectre plunged something metallic into the breast of Sir 
 William Call's yellow nankin waistcoat, the livid flame fell 
 around him in drops, and all vanished. 
 
 When he came to himself. Sir William found an iron 
 .spoon in his bosom. He and his brother, much alarmed, 
 and not knowing what to think of what they had 
 seen, returned to Combe. They knocked at the door. 
 Hawker put his head with nightcap on out of the bedroom 
 window, and asked who were disturbing his rest. They 
 begged to be admitted ; they had something of importance 
 to communicate. He came downstairs in a dressing-gown, 
 and introduced them to his parlour. There the iron spoon
 
 CH. I.] THE VISIT TO BOSCASTLE. n 
 
 was examined, ' It is very ancient,' said Sir William, ' the 
 
 date on it is 1702. Just the time when Stowe was pulled 
 
 down.' 
 
 ' It smells very strong of brandy,' said George Call. 
 Robert Hawker's twinkling e}'e and twitching mouth 
 
 revealed the rest. 
 
 "Pon my word,' said Sir William Call, 'you nearly 
 
 killed me ; and what is more serious, nearly made me 
 
 believe in spirits.' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' added Robert drily, ' you probably would believe 
 
 in them when they ran in a riv^er of flame over your yellow 
 
 nankin waistcoat.' 
 
 The marriage with Charlotte I'ans took place on 
 
 November 6, 1824. On Hawker's return to Oxford with 
 his wife after the Christmas vacation (and he took her 
 there, riding behind him on a pillion), he was obliged, on 
 account of being married, to migrate from Pembroke to 
 Magdalen Hall. About this time he made acquaintance 
 with Jeune and Jacobson, the former aftenvards Bishop 
 of Peterborough, the latter Bishop of Chester. Jeune, 
 and afterwards Jacobson, came down into Cornwall to pay 
 him a visit in the long vacation of 1825, and Mr. Jeune 
 acted as groomsman at the marriage of Miss Hawker to Mr. 
 Kingdon. It was on the occasion of this visit of Mr. Jeune 
 to Robert Hawker that they went over together to Bos- 
 castle, and there performed the prank described in ' Foot- 
 prints of Former Men in Cornwall.' The two young men 
 put up in the little inn of Joan Treworgy, entitled ' The 
 Ship,' — the inn still exists, but it is rebuilt, and has become 
 more magnificent in its accommodation and charges.
 
 12 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. i. 
 
 ' We proceeded to confer about beds for the night, and, 
 not without misgivings, inquired if she could supply a 
 couple of those indispensable places of repose. A demur 
 ensued. All the gentry in the town, she declared, were 
 accustomed to sleep two in a bed, and the officers that 
 travelled the country, and stopped at her house, would 
 mostly do the same ; but, however, if we commanded two 
 beds for only two people, two we must have ; only, although 
 they were both in the same room, we must certainly pay 
 for two, and sixpence apiece was her regular price. We 
 assented, and then went on to entreat that we might dine. 
 She graciously agreed ; but to all questions as to our fare 
 her sole response was, " Meat — meat and taties. Some call 
 *em," she added, in a scornful tone, " purtaties ; but we 
 always says taties here." The specific differences between 
 beef, mutton, veal, &c., seemed to be utterly or artfully 
 ignored, and to every frenzied inquiry her calm inexorable 
 reply was, " Meat — nice wholesome meat and taties." 
 
 ' In due time we sat down in that happy ignorance as 
 to the nature of our viands which a French cook is said to 
 desire ; and although we both made a not unsatisfactory 
 meal, it is a wretched truth that by no effort could we 
 ascertain what it was that was roasted for us that day by 
 widow Treworgy, and which we consumed. Was it a piece 
 of Boscastle baby .'' as I suggested to my companion. The 
 question caused him to rush out to inquire again, but he 
 came back baffled, and shouting, " Meat and taties." 
 There was not a vestige of bone nor any outline that could 
 identify the joint, and the not unsavoury taste was some- 
 thing like tender veal. It was not till years afterwards that
 
 cii. 1.] THE MAZED PIGS. 13 
 
 light was thrown on our mysterious dinner that day by a 
 passage which I accidentally turned up in an ancient history 
 of Cornwall. Therein I read, " that the sillie people of 
 Bouscastle and Boussiney do catch in the summer seas 
 divers young soyles (seals), which, doubtful if they be fish 
 or flesh, conynge housewives will nevertheless roast, and do 
 make thereof savoury meat." ' 
 
 Very early next morning, before anyone else was 
 awake. Hawker and Jeune left the inn, and going to all the 
 pigstyes of the place released their occupants. They then 
 stole back to their beds. 
 
 ' We fastened the door and listened for results. The 
 outcries and yells were fearful. By-and-by human voices 
 began to mingle with the tumult ; there were shouts of 
 inquiry and surprise, then sounds of expostulation and 
 entreaty, and again " a storm of hate and wrath and 
 wakening fear." At last the tumult reached the ears of our 
 hostess, Joan Treworgy. We heard her puff and blow and 
 call for Jim. At last, after waiting a prudent time, we 
 thought it best to call aloud for shaving-water, and to 
 inquire with astonishment into the cause of that horrible 
 disturbance which had roused us from our morning sleep. 
 This brought the widow in hot haste to our door. " Why, 
 they do say, captain," was her doleful response, " that all 
 the pegs up-town have a-rebelled, and they've a-be and let 
 one the wother out, and they be all a-gwain to sea, hug-a- 
 mug, bang ! " ' 
 
 Some years after, when Mr. Jeune was Dean of Mag- 
 dalen Hall, Mr. Hawker went up to take his M.A. degree. 
 The Dean on that occasion was, according to custom,
 
 14 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. t. 
 
 leading a gentleman commoner of the same college, a very 
 corpulent man, to the vice-chancellor, to present him for his 
 degree with a Latin speech. Hawker was waiting his turn. 
 The place was crowded, and the fat gentleman commoner 
 was got with difficulty through the throng to the place. 
 Hawker leaned towards the Dean, as he was leading and 
 endeavouring to guide this unwieldy candidate, who hung 
 back and got hitched in the crowd, and said in a low tone : — 
 
 ' Why your peg's surely mazed, maister.' 
 
 When the crowd gave way, and the Dean reached the 
 vice-chancellor's chair, he was in spasms of uncontrollable 
 laughter. 
 
 At Oxford Mr. Robert Hawker made acquaintance with 
 Macbride, afterwards head of the college, and the friend- 
 ship lasted through life. 
 
 In after years, when Jeune, Jacobson, and Macbride 
 were heads of colleges, Robert S. Hawker went up to 
 Oxford in his cassock and gown. The cassock was then 
 not worn, as it sometimes is now, except by heads of 
 colleges and professors. Mr. Hawker was therefore singular 
 in his cassock. He was outside St. Mary's one day with 
 Drs. Jeune, Jacobson, and Macbride, when a friend, looking 
 at him in his gown and cassock, said, ' Why, Hawker, 
 one would think you wanted to be taken for a head.' 
 
 ' About the last thing I should like to be taken for as 
 heads go,' was his ready reply, with a roguish glance at his 
 three companions. 
 
 Mr. Hawker has related another of his mischievous 
 tricks when an undergraduate. There was a poor old 
 woman named Nanny Heale, who passed for a witch.
 
 CH. I.] iVJAWV HE ALE'S CROCK. 15 
 
 Her cottage was an old decayed hut, roofed with turf. One 
 night Robert Hawker got on the roof, and looking down 
 the chimney saw her crouching over her turf fire, watching 
 with dim eyes an iron crock or round vessel filled with 
 potatoes, that were simmering in the heat. This utensil 
 was suspended by its swing handle to an iron bar that went 
 across the chimney. Hawker let a rope, with an iron hook 
 at the end, slowly and noiselessly down the chimney, and, 
 unnoted by poor Nanny's blinking sight, caught the handle 
 of the cauldron, and it with its mealy contents began to 
 ascend the chimney slowly and majestically. 
 
 Nanny, thoroughly roused by this unnatural proceeding 
 of her old iron vessel, peered despairingly after it, and 
 shouted at the top of her voice : — 
 
 * Massy "pon my sinful soul ! art gawn off — taties and 
 all } ' 
 
 The vessel was quietly grasped, and carried down in hot 
 haste, and planted upright outside the cottage door. A 
 knock, given on purpose, summoned the inmate, who 
 hurried out, and stumbled over, as she afterwards inter- 
 preted the event, her penitent crock. 
 
 ' So then,' was her joyful greeting, ' so then ! theert 
 come back to holt, then ! Ay, 'tis a-cold out o' doors.' 
 
 Good came out of evil : for her story, which she 
 rehearsed again and again with all the energy and per- 
 suasion of truth, reached the ears of the parochial autho- 
 rities, and they, thinking that old Nanny's wits had failed 
 her, gave an additional shilling a week to her allowance. 
 
 His vacations were spent at Whitstone or at Ivy Cottage, 
 near Bude. At Whitstone he built himself a bark shanty in
 
 i6 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. \c\\. i. 
 
 the wood, and set up a life-sized carved wooden figure, which 
 he had procured in Oxford, at the door to keep it. The 
 figure he called 'Moses.' It has long since disappeared, 
 hut the bark house remains. 
 
 In this hut he was wont to read. His meals were 
 brought out there to him. His intervals of work were 
 spent in composing ballads on Cornish legends, afterwards 
 published at Oxford in his ' Records of the Western Shore,' 
 1832. They have all been reprinted in later editions of 
 his poems. One of these, his ' Song of the Western Men,' 
 was adapted to the really ancient burden — 
 
 And shall they scorn Tre, Pol and Pen, 
 
 And shall Trelawny die ? 
 Here's twenty thousand Cornish men 
 
 Will know the reason why ! 
 
 These verses have so much of the antique flavour, that 
 Sir Walter Scott, in one of his prefaces to a later edition 
 of the Border Minstrelsy, refers to them as a ' remarkable 
 example of the lingering of the true ballad spirit in a remote 
 district ; ' and Mr. Hawker possessed a letter from Lord 
 Macaulay in which he admitted that, until undeceived by 
 the writer, he had always supposed the whole song to be of 
 the time of the Bishops' trial. 
 
 At Ivy Cottage he had formed for himself a perch on 
 the edge of the cliff, where he could be alone with his 
 books, his thoughts, and, as he would say with solemnity, 
 ' with God.' 
 
 Perhaps few thought then how deep were the religious 
 impressions in the joyous heart, full of exuberant spirits, 
 of the young Oxford student. All people knew of him
 
 CH. I.] TFIE BUDE MERMAID. 17 
 
 was, that he was remarkable for his beauty, for his bright- 
 ness of manner, his overflowing merriment, and love of 
 playing tricks. But there was a deep undercurrent of 
 religious feeling setting steadily in one direction, which 
 was the main governing stream of his life. Gradually this 
 emerges into sight, and becomes recognised. Then it was 
 known to few except his wife and her sisters. 
 
 At this period of his life, it is chiefly his many jests 
 which have lingered on in the recollection of his friends 
 and relations. 
 
 One absurd hoax that he played on the superstitious 
 people of Bude must not be omitted. 
 
 At full moon in the July of 1825 or 1826, he swam or 
 rowed out to a rock at some little distance from the shore, 
 plaited seaweed into a wig which he threw over his head, 
 so that it hung in lank streamers half way down his back, 
 enveloped his legs in an oilskin wrap, and otherwise naked 
 sat on the rock, flashing the moonbeams about from a 
 hand mirror, and sang and screamed till attention was 
 arrested. Some people passing along the cliff heard and 
 saw him, and ran into Bude, saying that a mermaid with 
 a fish's tail was sitting on a rock combing her hair and 
 singing. 
 
 A number of people ran out on the rocks and along 
 the beach, and listened awe-struck to the singing and dis- 
 consolate wailing of the mermaid. Presently she dived oft" 
 the rock and disappeared. 
 
 Next night crowds of people assembled to look out for 
 the mermaid, and in due time she reappeared, and sent the 
 moon flashing in their faces from her glass. Telescopes 
 
 C
 
 i8 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWK'ER. [cii. i. 
 
 were brought to bear on her, but she sang on unmoved, 
 braiding her tresses, and uttering remarkable sounds 
 unHke the singing of mortal throats which have been 
 practised in Do-re-mi. 
 
 This went on for several nights, the crowd growing 
 greater, people arriving from Stratton, Kilkhampton. and 
 all the villages round, till Robert Hawker got very hoarse 
 with his nightly singing, and rather tired of sitting so long 
 in the cold. He therefore wound up the performance one 
 night with an unmistakable ' God save the King,' then 
 plunged into the waves, and the mermaid never again re- 
 visited the * sounding shores of Bude.' 
 
 Miss Fanny I'ans was a late riser. Her brother-in-law, 
 to break her of this bad habit, was wont to throw open 
 her window early in the morning and turn in a troop of 
 setters, whose barking, yelping, and frantic efforts to get 
 out of the room again effectually banished sleep from the 
 eyes of the fair but somewhat aged occupant, 
 
 Efford Farm had been sublet to a farmer, who broke the 
 lease, by ploughing up and growing crops on land which it 
 had been stipulated should be kept in grass. 
 
 Sir Thomas Acland behaved with great generosity in 
 the matter. He might have reclaimed the farm without 
 making compensation to the ladies, but he allowed them 
 300/. a year as long as they lived, took the farm away, and 
 re-leased it to a more trusty tenant. 
 
 Mr. Robert Stephen Hawker obtained the Newdegate 
 in 1827,' he took his degree of B.A. in 1828 ; and then 
 
 ' The poem 'Pompeii' has been reprinted in his 'Echoes of Old Cornwall,' 
 ' Ecclesigi,' &c.
 
 CH. I.] COMES TO MORWENSTOIV. 19 
 
 came with his wife to Morwenstow, a place for which even 
 then he had contracted a pecuUar love, and there read for 
 Holy Orders. 
 
 Welcome, wild rock and lonely shore ! 
 Where round my days dark seas shall roar. 
 And thy gray fane, Morwenna, stand 
 The beacon of the Eternal Land.
 
 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. tr. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Ordination —The Black Pig ' Gyp '—Writes to the Bishop— His Father ap- 
 pointed to Stratton — He is given Morwenstow — The Waldron Lanthorn 
 — St. Morwenna — The Children of Brychan - St. Modwenna of Burton-on- 
 Trent— The North Cornish Coast — Tintagel — Stowe — Sir Bevil Granville 
 
 Mr. Hawker's discovery of the Granville Letters — Those that remain — 
 
 Antony Payne the Giant — Letters of Lady Grace — Of Lord Lansdown — 
 Cornish Dramatic Power— Mr. Hicks of Bodmin. 
 
 Robert Stephen Hawker was ordained deacon in 1829, 
 when he was twenty-five years old, by the Bishop of 
 Exeter, to the curacy of North Tamerton, of which the 
 Rev. Mr. Kingdon was non-resident incumbent. He threw 
 two cottages into one, and added a veranda and rooms, and 
 made himself a comfortable house, which he called Tre- 
 barrow. He was ordained priest in 1 831, by the Bishop 
 of Bath and Wells. He took his M.A. degree in 1836. 
 He had a favourite rough pony which he rode, and a black 
 pig of Berkshire breed, well cared for, washed and curry- 
 combed, which ran beside him when he went out for walks 
 and paid visits. Indeed, the pig followed him into ladies' 
 drawing-rooms, not always to their satisfaction. The 
 pig was called Gyp, and was intelligent and obedient. If 
 Mr. Hawker saw thai- those whom he visited were an-
 
 CH. II.] THE CLOSING HOUR. 21 
 
 noyed at the intrusion of the pig, he would order it 
 out, and the black creature slunk out of the door with its 
 tail out of curl. 
 
 It was whilst Mr. Hawker was at Tamerton that Henry 
 Phillpotts was appointed Bishop of Exeter. There was 
 some unpleasant feeling aroused in the diocese at the mode 
 of his appointment, and the Bishop sent a pastoral letter to 
 his clergy to state his intentions and explain away what 
 caused unpleasantness. Mr. Hawker wrote the Bishop an 
 answer of such a nature that it began a friendship which 
 subsisted between them till the death of Dr. Phillpotts 
 Whilst Mr. Hawker was curate of Tamerton, on one or two 
 occasions the friends of the labouring dead requested that 
 the burial hour might be that on which the deceased was 
 accustomed ' to leave work.' The request touched his 
 poetical instinct, and he wrote the lines : — 
 
 Sunset should be the time, they said, 
 
 To close their brother's narrow bed. 
 
 'Tis at that pleasant hour of day 
 
 The labourer treads his homeward way — 
 
 His work is o'er, his toil is done. 
 
 And therefore at the set of sun. 
 
 To wait the wages of the dead, 
 
 We laid our hireling in his bed. 
 
 In 1834 died the non-resident vicar of Stratton, and 
 the Bishop of Exeter offered to obtain the living for Mr. 
 Robert Stephen Hawker, but he refused it, as his father 
 was curate of Stratton, and he felt how unbecoming it would 
 be for him to assume the position of vicar where his father 
 had been and still was curate. In his letter to the Bishop 
 he urged his father's long service at Stratton, and Dr.
 
 22 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. ii. 
 
 Phillpotts at his request obtained the presentation for Mr. 
 Jacob Stephen Hawker to the vicarage of Stratton. 
 
 The very next piece of preferment that fell vacant was 
 Morwenstow, whose vicar, the Rev. Mr. Young, died in 
 1834. Mr. Young had been non-resident, and had lived 
 at Torrington, the parish being served by a succession of 
 curates, some of them also non-resident. The vicarage house, 
 which stood west of the tower near a gate out of the 
 churchyard, was let to the clerk and inhabited by him and 
 his wnfe. The first curate was Mr. Badcock, who lived at 
 Week St. Mary, some fourteen miles distant. He rode over 
 for Sunday duty. Next came a M. Savant, a Frenchman 
 ordained deacon in the English Church, but never priest. 
 He was a dapper dandy, very careful of his ecclesiastical 
 costume, in knee-breeches and black silk stockings. He 
 lodged at Marsland. Parson Davis of Kilkhampton came 
 over to Morwenstow to celebrate the Holy Communion. 
 The Frenchman was succeeded by Mr. Bryant, who lived 
 at Flexbury, in the parish of Poughill ; the next to him 
 was Mr. Thomas, a man who ingratiated himself with the 
 farmers, a cheery person, fond of a good story, and in- 
 terested in husbandry, ' but not much of the clerical in 
 him,' as an old Morwenstow man describes him. Whilst 
 Mr. Thomas was curate, the vicar. Parson Young, died. A 
 petition from the farmers and householders of Morwenstow 
 to the Bishop was got up, to request him to appoint Mr. 
 Thomas : the curate, so runs the tale, went to Exeter to 
 present the paper with their signatures, and urge his claims 
 in person. 
 
 ' My Lord,' said he, * the Dissenters have all signed the
 
 CH. II.] THE WALDROX LAXTHOR^T. 23 
 
 petition ; they are all in favour of me. Not one has 
 declined to attach his name ; even the Wesleyan minister 
 wishes me well, and to see me vicar of Morvvenstow.' 
 
 ' Then, my good sir,' said Dr. Phillpotts, ' it is very 
 clear that you are not the man for me. I wish you a good 
 morning.' And he wrote off to Robert Stephen Hawker, 
 offering him the incumbency of Morwenstow. 
 
 There was probably not a living in the whole diocese, 
 perhaps not one in England, which could have been more 
 acceptable to Mr. Hawker. As his sister tells me, * Robert 
 always loved Morwenstow ; from a boy he loved it, and 
 when he could, went to live there.' 
 
 He at once accepted the preferment, and went into 
 residence. There had not been a resident vicar since the 
 Rev. Oliver Rose*,' who lived at Eastaway, in the parish. 
 This Rev. Oliver Rose* had a brother-in-law, Mr, Edward 
 Waldron* of Stanbury, and the cronies used to meet and 
 dine alternately at each other's house. As they grew 
 merry over their port, the old gentlemen uproariously ap- 
 plauded any novel joke or story, by rattling their glasses 
 on the table. Having laughed at each other's venerable 
 anecdotes for the last twenty years, the introduction of a 
 new tale or witticism was hailed with the utmost enthu- 
 siasm. This enthusiasm reached such a pitch that in their 
 applause of each other's sallies they occasionally broke 
 their wineglasses. 
 
 The vicar of Morwenstow, when Mr. Waldron snapped 
 off the foot of his glass, would put the foot in his pocket 
 
 ' Throughout this memoir wherever an asterisk accompanies a name it is 
 for the purpose of showing that the real name has not been given, either at the 
 request of descendants, or because relatives are still alive.
 
 24 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [cH. ii. 
 
 and treasure it, for each wineglass broken was to him a 
 testimony to the brilliancy of his jokes, and also a reminder 
 to him of them for future use. 
 
 In time he had accumulated a considerable number of 
 1 Token wineglasses, and he had them fitted together to 
 form an enormous lanthorn ; and thenceforth, when he 
 went to dine at Stanbury, this testimony to his triumphs 
 was borne lighted before him. 
 
 The lanthorn fell into the hands of Mr. Hawker, and he 
 presented it to the lineal descendant of Mr. E, Waldron, 
 as a family relic. It is still in existence, and duly honoured. 
 It is of oak, with the fragments of wineglasses let in with 
 great ingenuity in the patterns of keys, hearts, &c., about 
 the roof, the sides being composed of the circular feet of 
 the glasses. 
 
 On looking at the map of Cornwall, one is surprised to 
 see it studded with the names of saints, of whom one 
 knows nothing, and these names of a peculiarly un- 
 English sound. The fact is, that Cornwall was, like 
 Ireland, a land of saints in the fifth and sixth centuries. 
 These were either native Cornwelsh, or were Welsh saints 
 v/ho migrated thither to seek on the desolate moors or wild 
 uninhabited coasts of Cornwall solitary places, where 
 they might live to God and fight demons, like the hermits 
 of Egypt. Cornwall w^as the Thebaid of the Welsh. 
 
 Little or nothing is known of the vast majority of these 
 saints. They have left their names and their cells and 
 holy-wells behind them, but nothing more. 
 
 They had their lodges in the wilderness, 
 Or built their cells beside the shadowy sea,
 
 CH. II.] ST. MORIVENNA. 25 
 
 And there they dwelt with angels like Pi dream I 
 So they unclosed the volume of the Book, 
 And filled the fields of the Evangelist 
 With thoughts as sweet as flowers ! ^ 
 
 The legends of a few local saints survive, but of very 
 few. Such is that of St. Melor ' with the golden hand,' 
 probably some old British deit-y who has bequeathed his 
 myth to an historical personage. St. Padarn, St. Pieran, 
 St. Cadoc, St. Theilo have their histories well known, as 
 they belong to Wales. But there are other saints, emigrants 
 from Wales, who settled on the north-west coast, of whom 
 but little is known. 
 
 What little can be collected concerning St. Morwenna, 
 who had her cell at Morwenstow, I proceed to give. 
 
 In the fifth century there lived in Brecknock a Welsh 
 prince, Brychan by name, who died in 450. According to 
 Welsh accounts, he had twenty-four sons and twenty-five 
 daughters, in all forty-nine children. Statements, however, 
 vary, of which this is the largest. The smallest number 
 attributed to him is twenty-four, and as his grandchildren 
 may have been included in the longer list, this may account 
 for the discrepancy. He is said to have had three wives — 
 Ewrbrawst, Rhybrawst, and Peresgri — though it is not said 
 that they were living at the same time. He had also 
 several illegitimate children. 
 
 The names of the sons and daughters and grandchil- 
 dren of Brychan are given in the ' Cognacio Brychani,' and 
 by Bonnedd-y-Saint, and a critical examination of the list 
 is given by Dr, Rees in his ' Essay on the Welsh Saints.' 
 
 ' ' The Cornish Fathers,' in Mr. Hawker's ' Echoes of Old Cornwall,' 1846.
 
 26 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. it. 
 
 In the 'Young Women's Window' at St. Neots, near 
 Liskeard, in Cornwall, is fifteenth century glass, which 
 represents Brychan with his offspring, twenty-four in 
 number, all of whom have been confessors or martyrs in 
 Devon and Cornwall. The following are named : i. St. 
 John, or Ive, who gave his name to the church of St. Ives ; 
 2. Endelient, who gave his name to Endelion ; 3. Menfre, 
 to St. Miniver; 4. Teth, to St. Teath ; 5. Mabina, to St. 
 Mabyn ; 6. Merewenna, to Marham Church near Bude ; 
 7. Wenna, to St. Wenna ; 8. Yse, to St. Issey ; 9. Mor- 
 wenna, to Morwenstow ; 10. Cleder, to St. Clether ; 11. 
 Kerie, to Egloskerry ; 12. Helic, to Egloshayle ; 13. Adwen, 
 to Advent ; 14. Lanent, to Lelant. Leland in his * Itine- 
 rary ' adds Nectan, Dilic, Wensenna, Wessen, Juliana,' 
 Wymp, Wenheder, Jona, Kananc, and Kerhender. 
 
 A few, but not many, of these can be identified with 
 those attributed to Brychan by the Welsh genealogists. 
 Morwenna is most probably the Welsh Mwynen, in Latin 
 Monyina, daughter of Brynach Wyddel by Corth, one of 
 the daughters of Brychan ; and her sisters Gwennan and 
 Gwenlliu are probably the Wenna and Wenheder of the 
 St. Neots window. 
 
 St. Morwenna was, therefore, apparently the grand- 
 daughter of Brychan. Her father, Brynach Wyddel, lived 
 in Carmarthen and Pembroke. She had a brother named 
 Gerwyn, who is admitted by Welsh authorities to have 
 settled in Cornwall, and been slain on the isle of Gerwyn. 
 He does not appear in Leland's list. That list is evidently 
 
 ' St. Juliot, who has left her name near Boscastle.
 
 CH. II.] FAMILY OF BRYCHAN. 27 
 
 inaccurate ; the same person recurs under two forms of his 
 name. Thus John (Ive) and Jona are the same, so also 
 probably are Merewenna of Marham Church and Mor- 
 wenna of Morwenstow. Kananc is St. Caian, venerated on 
 September 5, a grandson of Brychan, and perhaps, there- 
 fore, a son of Corth or Cymorth, and brother of St. Mor- 
 wenna. St. Clcder is St. Cledog, who was buried in 
 Herefordshire, at Clodock ; he was martyred by the pagan 
 Saxons about A.D. 492, and is commemorated on August 
 19. He also was a grandson of Brychan, but is said by 
 the ' Cognacio ' to have been the son of St. Clydwyn, son 
 of Brychan. He is said to have had a sister, St. Pedita, and a 
 brother, St. Dedyn, who may be the Cornish Adwen. The 
 St. Tedda, said to be a sister of St. Morwenna in the list, 
 is no doubt St. Tydie, a daughter or granddaughter of 
 Brychan. St. Endelient may be the same as St. Elined, 
 the Almedha of Giraldus Cambrensis, who says that she 
 suffered martyrdom upon a hill called Penginger, near 
 Brecknock. She is venerated on August i. 
 
 In Cornwall, as in Wales, churches were called after 
 the saints who founded cells there. Morwenna, we may 
 safely conclude, like so many of her brothers, sisters, cousins, 
 uncles, and aunts, migrated to Cornwall. St. Nectan, who 
 may have been her brother, and who certainly was a near 
 relation, established himself, we may conjecture, at St.Neigh- 
 ton's Kieve, at which time probably Morwenna had her cell 
 at Marham Church. St, Nectan afterwards established him- 
 self on Hartland Point ; and perhaps at the same time Mor- 
 wenna erected her cell on the cliff above the Atlantic which 
 has since borne her name, and from which in clear weather,
 
 28 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. ii. 
 
 and before a storm, the distant coast of her native Wales 
 was visible. There she died. Leland, in his Collectanea, 
 quoting an ancient MS. book of places where the bodies 
 of saints rest, says that St. Morwenna lies at Monvenstow : 
 ' in villa, quae Modwenstow dicitur, S. Mudwenna quiescit.' 
 It will be seen from this extract that Leland confounded 
 Morwenna with Modwenna, and Mr. Hawker, following 
 Leland and Butler, did the same. In the year before he 
 died I had a correspondence with him on this point, and 
 convinced him of the error into which he had fallen in his 
 ' Footsteps of Former Men in Cornwall.' 
 
 There exists a late life of St. Modwenna by one 
 Concubran, an Irish writer of the end of the thirteenth and 
 beginning of the fourteenth century. There is also an 
 Irish life of a Monynna of Newry, in Ireland, who received 
 the veil from the hands of St. Patrick, and died about A.D. 
 518. 
 
 Concubran had this life, and knowing of the fame of the 
 saintly abbess Modwenna of Burton-on-Trent, he supposed 
 the two saints were the same, and wove the Irish legend of 
 Monynna with the English life of Modwenna, and made 
 out of them a life which is a tissue of anachronisms. He 
 represents St. Modwenna as contemporary with Pope 
 Coelestine I. (423-432), St. Patrick (died 465), St. Ibar 
 (died 500), St. Columba (died 597), St. Kevin (died 618), 
 and King Alfrid of Northumbria (died 705). 
 
 St. Modwenna, or Movenna, founded a convent at 
 Fochard Brighde, near Faugher, in the county of Louth, 
 about the year 630; and 150 virgins placed themselves 
 under her rule. But one night an uproarious wedding
 
 CH. II.] ST. MODIVEN.YA OF BURTON. 29 
 
 having disturbed the rest and fluttered the hearts of her 
 nuns, and threatened to turn their heads, Modwenna 
 deemed it prudent to remove the excitable damsels to 
 some more remote spot, where no weddings took place 
 nor convivial songs were heard ; and she pitched upon Kill- 
 slc\e-Cuilin, in the county of Armagh, where she erected 
 a monastery-. One of her maidens was named Athea, 
 another Orbile. She had a brother, a holy abbot, named 
 Ronan. 
 
 In Concubran's ' Life of St. Modwenna,' we are told 
 that about this time Alfrid, son of the king of England, 
 came to Ireland. This is certainly Alfrid, the illegitimate 
 son of Oswy. who, on the accession of Egfrid (A.D. 670), 
 fled to Ireland, and remained there studying, as Bede tells 
 us, for some while. The Irish king, according to Con- 
 cubran, was Conall. But this is a mistake. Conall, 
 nephew of Donald II., reigned from 642 to 658. Seach- 
 nasch was king in 670, but was killed the following year, 
 and was succeeded by Finnachta, who reigned till 695. 
 When Alfrid was about to return to Northumbria, the Irish 
 king wanted to make him a present, but having nothing in 
 his treasury, bade a kinsman go and rob some church or 
 convent, and give the spoils to the Northumbrian prince. 
 The noble fell on the lands of the convent of Modwenna, 
 and pillaged them and the church. Then the saint, with 
 great boldness, took ship, crossed over to England, came 
 to Northumbria, and found the Prince Alfrid at Whitby 
 (A.D. 685), and demanded redress. The king — for Alfrid 
 was now on the throne — promised to repay all, and placed 
 Modwenna in the famous double monastery of Whitby
 
 30 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [en. ii. 
 
 founded by St. Hilda in 658. His own sister, Elfleda, was 
 there, and he committed her to St. Modwenna, to be 
 instructed by her in the way of life. Elfleda was then 
 aged thirty-one. Three years after, she succeeded to the 
 place of St. Hilda, and was second abbess of Whitby. 
 Then St. Modwenna returned to Ireland, and visited her 
 foundations there. After awhile she made a pilgrimage 
 to Rome, and in passing through England founded a 
 religious house at Burton-on-Trent, and left in it some of 
 her nuns. I need not follow her history further. 
 
 Concubran tells some odd stories of St. Modwenna. 
 One day she and her nuns went to visit St. Bridget — regard- 
 less, be it remembered, of the gap of two centuries which 
 intervened. A girl in the company took an onion away 
 with her, lest she should be hungry on the road. On reach- 
 ing the Liff*ey, the river was found to be too swollen to 
 be crossed. * There is something wrong,' said Modwenna, 
 ' let us examine our consciences, and cast away the ac- 
 cursed thing.' 
 
 * The accursed thing is this onion,' said the maiden, pro- 
 ducing the bulb. 
 
 ■' Take it back to Bridget,' said Modwenna ; and when 
 the onion had been restored the Liffey subsided. 
 
 Bridget sent a silver chalice to Modwenna. She threw 
 it into the river, and the waves washed it to its destination. 
 
 One night Modwenna said to her assembled nuns, ' My 
 sisters, we must all cleanse our consciences, for our prayers 
 stick in the roof of the chapel, and cannot break out.' 
 
 Then one of the nuns said, ' It is my fault. I com- 
 plained to a knight of my acquaintance of the cold I felt,
 
 CH. 11.] ST. MODIVEXXA OF BfA'JO.V. 31 
 
 and he told me I was too scantily clothed. He was moved 
 to such pity of me that he gave me some warm lambs'-wool 
 underclothing, and I have that on now.' The garment was 
 removed and destroyed, and the prayers got out of the roof 
 and flew to heaven. • 
 
 One night, shortly before her death, before the grey 
 dawn broke, two lay sisters came to her cell. As they 
 approached they saw two silver swans rise in the air and 
 sail away. They immediately concluded that these were 
 angels come to bear off the soul of the abbess. 
 
 Her body was laid at Burton-on-Trent, and was long 
 an object of pilgrimage. But the fact that for a short 
 while St. Modwenna instructed the sister of Alfrid, ' son of 
 the king of England,' has led some writers into strange 
 mistakes. Capgrave supposes him to be Alfred the Great, 
 son of Ethelwolf, and that the sister was Edith of Poles- 
 worth, who died in 954. And Dugdale followed Capgrave. 
 Mr. Hawker, following Alban Butler, who accepted the 
 account of Dugdale and Capgrave, made the blunder 
 greater by fusing St. Morwenna of Cornwall, who, as has 
 been shown, lived in the fifth century, with Modwenna, 
 who lived at the end of the seventh century, and made her 
 the instructress of St. Edith of Polesworth, who died in the 
 tenth century, in the year 954. And Modwenna, as has 
 been stated, was confounded by Concubran with Monynna 
 of Newry, who died at the beginning of the sixth century. 
 
 On unravelling this tangle in 1874, when writing my 
 
 ' ' Di.xit S. Movenna : Melius, ut illi siibtulares imponantur in profundis- 
 simum branum (? barathrum) pro quibus nunc absentiam sentimu.s Angelorum ! 
 Vocata itaque una ex sororibus Brigna et aliis cum ea ex sororibus, dixit eis : 
 Ite ! iilos subtulares in aliquo profundo abscondite.'
 
 32 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. ii. 
 
 July volumes of ' Lives of the Saints,' I wrote to Mr. Hawker 
 of Morwenstow, and told him that the east window of his 
 church represented Morwenna of Cornwall teaching Edith 
 of Polesworth, and that it was an anachronism and mistake 
 altogether, as it v.as not Edith who was educated by the 
 saintly Modwenna, and the abbess Modwenna was not the 
 virgin Morwenna. I told him also that St. Modwenna was 
 buried at Burton-on-Trent. 
 
 I received this answer : — 
 
 ' V\'hat ! Morwenna not lie in the holy place at Mor- 
 wenstow ! Of that you will never persuade me — no, never. 
 1 know that she lies there. I have seen her, and she has 
 told me as nmch, and at her feet ere long I hope to lay ni}' 
 old bones.' 
 
 I wrote at once to assure him that St. Morwenna did lie, 
 as Leland says, at Morwenstow, and that St. Modwenna did 
 lie where she died, at Burton-on-Trent. I asked him some 
 particulars about his vision of St. Morwenna. He thought 
 I meant to obtain them for publication. ' No,' he w^ote, ' I 
 might tell you what I saw, but never shall such a revelation 
 be given to the unbelieving public. Give not that which is 
 holy unto dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before swine.' 
 
 In the little glen of Morwenstow, 350 feet above the 
 Atlantic, St. Morwenna had her cell, and gave origin to the 
 church and parish of Morwenstow. As she lay a-dying, 
 says the legend, her brother Nectan came to her from 
 Hartland. 
 
 ' Raise me in thy arms, brother,' she said, * that ni)- 
 eyes may rest on my native Wales.' And so she died on 
 Morwenstow cliff, looking out across the Severn Sea to the
 
 CH. II.] THE NORTH-WEST COAST. 33 
 
 faint blue line of the Welsh mountains. St. Nectan had a 
 cell probably at Wellcombe, and afterwards at Hartland, 
 for both of these churches bear his name. 
 
 The coast from Tintagel to Hartland is almost un- 
 rivalled for grandeur. The restless Atlantic is ever thun- 
 dering on this iron-walled coast. The roar can be heard 
 ten miles inland ; flakes of foam are picked up after a storm 
 at Holsworthy. To me, when staying three miles inland, 
 it has seemed the roar of a hungry caged beast, ravening at 
 its bars for food. 
 
 The swell comes unbroken from Labrador, to hurl itself 
 against this coast, and be .shivered into foam on its iron 
 cuirass. 
 
 ' Twice ' — said a friend who dwelt near this coast — 
 'twice in the sixteen years that I have spent here has the 
 sea been calm enough to reflect a passing sail.' 
 
 This Atlantic has none of the tameness of the German 
 Ocean, that plays on the low flat shores of Essex; none of 
 the witchery of the green crystal that breaks over the white 
 sands of Babbicombe and Torquay ; it is emphatically 'the 
 cruel sea,' fierce, insatiate, hungering for human lives and 
 stately vessels, that it may cast them up mumbled and 
 mangled after having robbed them of life and treasure. 
 
 It is a rainy coast. It is said in Devon, and the same 
 is true here : — 
 
 The West wind comes and brings us rain. 
 The East wind blows it back again ; 
 The South wind brings us rainy weather. 
 The North wind cold and rain together. 
 When the sun in red doth set. 
 The next day surely will be wet ;
 
 34 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. ii. 
 
 But if the sun should set in grey, 
 The next will be a rainy day ! 
 When buds the ash before the oak, 
 Then, that year, there'll be a soak ; 
 But should the oak precede the ash, 
 Then expect a rainy splash ! 
 
 The moist air from the ocean condenses over the land 
 and envelops it in fine fog or rain. But when the sky is 
 clear, with only floating clouds drifting along it, the sun- 
 light and shadows that fall over the landscape through the 
 vaporous air are exquisite in their delicacy of colour ; the 
 sun-gleams soft as primrose, the shadows pure cobalt ; 
 tenderly laid on as the bloom on the cheek of a plum. 
 
 As the tall cliffs on this wild coast lose themselves in 
 mist, so does history which attaches itself to many a spot 
 along it stand indistinct and weird in its veil of legend. 
 Kings and saints of whom little authentic is known, whose 
 very dates are uncertain, have given their names to castle 
 and crag and church. 
 
 Tintagel rock is crowned with the ruins of the strong- 
 hold of King Marke, whose wife became the mother of the 
 renowned Arthur, by Uther Pendragon. We have the tale 
 in Geoffrey of Monmouth. There, in the home of the shriek- 
 ing sea-mews, Arthur uttered his first feeble cries. It is a 
 scene well suited to be the cradle of the hero of British 
 myth. A tremendous crag standing out of the sea, which 
 has bored a tunnel through it, and races in and clashes in 
 subterranean passages under the crumbling walls which 
 .sheltered Arthur. 
 
 The crag is cut off from the mainland by a chasm once 
 spanned by a drawbridge, but now widened by storm so as 
 to threaten to convert Tintagel into an island.
 
 CH. u.] THE GATE SONG OF STOWE. 35 
 
 Near Boscastle rises Pentargon, ' Arthur's Head," a noble 
 black sheer precipice, forming one horn of a Httle bay into 
 which a waterfall plunges from a green combe. 
 
 But there are other names besides those of Arthur, 
 Uther Pendragon, Morwenna, Juliot, and Nectan, which 
 are associated with this coast. 
 
 At Stowe, in the parish of Kilkhampton, adjoining 
 Morvvenstow, lived Sir Bevil Granville, the Bayard of old 
 Cornwall, ' sans peur et sans reproche,' who fought and 
 conquered at Stratton, and fell at Lansdown. Sir Bevil 
 nearly ruined himself for the cause of his king, Charles I. 
 
 One of Mr. Hawker's most spirited ballads is — 
 
 THE GATE SONG OF STOWE. 
 
 Arise ! and away ! for the King and the law ; 
 
 Farewell to the couch and the pillow ; 
 With spear in the rest, and with rein in the hand, 
 
 Let us rush on the foe like a billow. 
 
 Call the hind from the plough, and the herd from the fold, 
 
 Bid the wassailer cease from his revel ; 
 And ride for old Stowe when the banner's unfurled 
 
 For the cause of King Charles and Sir Bevil. 
 
 Trevanion is up, and Godolphin is nigh, 
 
 And Harris of Hayne's o'er the river; 
 From Lundy to Looe, ' One and all ! ' is the cry, 
 
 And ' The King and Sir Bevil for ever ! ' 
 
 Aye ! by Tre, Pol, and Pen, ye may know Cornishmen 
 ' " .' 'Mid the names and the nobles of Devon ; 
 But if truth to the King be a signal, why then 
 Ye can find out the Granville in heaven. 
 
 Ride ! ride with red spear ! there is death in delay, 
 
 'Tis a race for dear life with the devil ! 
 If dark Cromwell prevail, and the King must give wa)-, 
 
 This earth is no place for Sir Bevil. 
 D 2
 
 -6 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. ii. 
 
 So at Stamford he fought, and at Lansdown he fell, 
 
 But vain were the visions he cherished. 
 For the great Cornish heart that the King loved so well, 
 
 In the grave of the Granville it perished. 
 
 One day, if indeed we may trust the story, Mrs. Hawker, 
 the first wife of the vicar of Morwenstow, when lunching at 
 Stowe in the farmhouse, noticed that a letter in old hand- 
 writing was wrapped round the mutton bone that was 
 brought on the table. Moved by curiosity, she took the 
 paper off, and showed it to Mr. Hawker. On examination 
 it was found that the letter bore the signature of Sir Bevil 
 Granville. Mr. Hawker at once instituted inquiries, and 
 found a large chest full of letters of different members of 
 the Granville family in the sixteenth and seventeenth 
 centuries. He at once communicated with Lord Carteret, 
 owner of Stowe, and the papers were removed, but by 
 some unfortunate accident they were lost. The only ones 
 saved were a packet removed from the chest by Mr. Davies, 
 rector of Kilkhampton, previous to their being sent away 
 from Stowe. These were copied by Miss Manning of East- 
 away, in Morwenstow, and her transcript, together with 
 some of the originals — I fear not all — is now in the posses- 
 sion of Ezekiel Rous, Esq., of Bideford.' 
 
 In his ' Footprints of Former Men,' Mr. Hawker has 
 given a letter from Antony Payne, the gigantic serving- 
 man of Sir Bevil, written after the battle of Lansdown, to 
 Lady Grace Granville, giving an account of the death of 
 lier husband. This was probably one of the letters in the 
 collection found by Mr. Hawker, and so sadly lost. 
 
 ' See Appendix A.
 
 CH. II.] ANTONY PAYNE. 37 
 
 This Antony Payne was a remarkable man. He 
 measured seven feet two inches without his shoes when 
 aged twenty-one, when he was taken into the establishment 
 at Stowe. He afterwards added two inches to his height. It 
 is said that one Christmas Eve the fire languished in the 
 hall at Stowe. A boy with an ass had been sent to the 
 woods for logs, but had loitered on his way. Lady Grace 
 lost patience. Then Antony started in quest of the dila- 
 tory lad, and re-entered the hall shortly after, bearing the 
 loaded animal on his back. He threw down his burden at 
 the hearth side, shouting, *Ass and fardel! Ass and fardel 
 for my lady's Yule ! ' 
 
 On another occasion he rode into Stratton with Sir 
 Bevil. An uproar proceeded from the little inn-yard, and 
 Sir Bevil bade his giant find out what was the cause of the 
 disturbance. Antony speedily returned with a man under 
 each arm whom he had arrested in the act of fighting. 
 
 ' Here are the kittens,' said the giant, and he held them 
 under his arms whilst his master chastised them with his 
 riding-whip. 
 
 After the battle of Stamford Hill, Sir Bevil returned 
 for the night to Stowe, but his giant remained with some 
 other soldiers to bury the dead. He had caused trenches 
 to be dug to hold ten bodies side by side, and in these 
 trenches he and his followers deposited the slain. On one 
 occasion they had laid nine corpses in their places, and 
 Payne was bringing another, tucked under his arm, like 
 one of the ' kittens,' when all at once the supposed dead 
 man began to kick, and plead for life. ' Surely you won't 
 bury me, Mr. Payne, before I am dead .■• ' 'I tell thee, man,'
 
 38 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [cir. ii. 
 
 was the grim reply, ' our trench was dug for ten, and there's 
 nine in it already ; thou must take thy place.' ' But I 
 bean't dead, I say ; I haven't done living yet ; be massy- 
 ful, Mr. Payne ; don't ye hurry a poor fellow into the earth 
 before his time.' ' I won't hurry thee, thou canst die at 
 thy leisure.' Payne's purpose was, however, kinder than 
 his speech. He carried the suppliant to his own cottage, 
 and left him to the care of his wife. The man lived, and 
 his descendants are among the principal inhabitants of 
 Stratton at this day. 
 
 I make no apology for transcribing from the original 
 letters a very few of the most interesting and touching, 
 some for whose escape we cannot feel too thankful. The 
 following beautiful letter is from Lady Grace Granville to 
 her husband. 
 
 The superscription is : — 
 
 For my best Friend, Sir Bevill Grenvile. 
 
 My ever Dearest, — I have received yours from Salisbury, 
 and am glad to hear you came so farr well, with poore Jack. Ye 
 .shall be sure of my prairs, which is the best service I can doe you. 
 I canott perceave whither you had receaved mine by Tom, or no, 
 hut I believe by this time you have mett that and another since 
 by the post Truly I have been out of frame ever since you 
 went, not with a cough, but in another kinde, much indisposd. 
 However, I have striven with it, and was at Church last Sunday, 
 hut not the former. I have been vexed with diverse demands 
 made of money than I could satisfie, but I instantly paid what 
 you sent, and have intreated Mr. Rous his patience a while longer, 
 as you directed. It grieves me to think how chargeable your 
 family is, considering your occasion. It hath this many yeares 
 troubled me to think to what passe it must come at last, if it run 
 on after this course. How many times what hath appeared hope-
 
 CH. u.] LETTER OF LADY GRACE GRANVILLE. 39 
 
 full, and yet proved contrary in the conclusion, hath befalen us, 
 I am loth to urge, because tis farr from my desire to disturbe youi 
 thoughts ; but this sore is not to be curd with silence, or patience 
 either, and while you are loth to discourse or thinke of that you 
 can take little comfort to see how bad it is, and I was unwilling to 
 strike on that string which sounds harsh in your eare (the matter 
 still grows worse, though). I can ne. er putt it out of my thoughts, 
 and that makes me often times seeme dreaming to }'ou, when you 
 expect I should sometimes observe more complement with my 
 frends, or be more active in matters of curiousity in our House, 
 which doubtlesse you would have been better pleasd with had I 
 been capable to have performd it, and I believe though I had 
 a naturall dullnes in me, it would never so much have appeard 
 to my prejudice, but twas increasd by a continuance of sundry 
 disasters, which I still mett with, yet never till this yeare, but I 
 had some .strength to encounter them, and truly now I am soe 
 cleane overcome, as tis in vaine to deny a truth. It seems to me 
 now tis high time to be sensible that God is displeasd, having had 
 many sad remembrances in our estate and childrene late, yet God 
 spard us in our children long, and when I strive to follow your 
 advice in moderating my grieffe (which I praise God) I have thus 
 farr been able to doe as not to repine at God's will, though I have 
 a tender sence of griefe which hangs on me still, and I think it 
 as dangerous and improper to forgett it, for I cannott but think it 
 was a neer touched correction, sent from God to check me for my 
 many neglects of my duty to God. It was the tenth and last 
 plague God smote the Egyptians with, the death of their first borne, 
 before he utterly destroyed them, they persisting in their dis- 
 obedience notwithstanding all their former punishments. This 
 apprehension makes me both tremble and humbly beseech Him 
 to withdraw His punishments from us, and to give us grace to 
 know and amend whatever is amisse. Now I have powrd out 
 my sad thoughts which in your absence doth most oppresse me, 
 and tis my weakness hardly to be able to say thus much unto 
 you, how brimfull soever my heart be, though oftentimes I heartely 
 wish I could open my heart truly unto you when tis overchargd.
 
 40 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. il. 
 
 But the least thought it may not be pleasing to you will at all 
 times restraine me. Consider me rightly, I beseech you, and 
 excuse, I pray, the liberty I take with my pen in this kinde. 
 And now at last I must thanke you for wishing me to lay aside 
 all feare, and depend on the Almighty, who can only helpe us ; for 
 his mercy I daily pray, and your welfare, and our poore boys ; 
 so I conclude, and am ever your faithfully and only 
 
 Grace Grenvile. 
 Stow, Nov. 23, 1 64 1. 
 
 I sent yours to Mr. Prust, but this from him came after mine 
 was gone last weeke. Ching is gone to Cheddar. I looke for 
 Bawden, but as yet is not come. Sir Rob. Bassett is dead. 
 
 I heard from my cosen Grace Weekes, who writes that Mr. 
 Luttrell says if you and he could meete the hking between the 
 young people, he will not stand for money you shall finde. Parson 
 Weekes wishes you would call with him, and that he might entice 
 you to take the castle in your way downe. She sayes they enquire 
 in the most courteous maner that can be imagind. Deare love, 
 thinke how to farther this what you can. 
 
 The following is an earlier letter by many years, written 
 when Grace was a wife of six years' standing. 
 
 Sweet Mr. Grenvile, — I cannott let Mr. Oliver passe without 
 a line, though it be only to give you thankes for yours, which I 
 have receaved. I will in all things observe your directions as neer 
 as I can, and because I have not time to say much now I will 
 write againe to-morrow ( . . . . something torn away), and think 
 you shall receave advertizment concerning us much as you 
 desyre. I can not say I am well, neither have I bin so since I 
 saw you, but, however, I will pray for your health, and good suc- 
 cesse in all businesses, and pray be so kinde as to love her 
 who takes no comfort in anything but you, and will remayne yours 
 ever and only 
 
 Grace Grenvile. 
 Fry day night, Nov. 13, 1629.
 
 CH. II.] THE GRANVILLE LETTERS. 41 
 
 The superscription of this letter is : — 
 
 To my ever dearest and best Friend, Mr. Bevill Grenvile, at the 
 Rainbow, in Fleet Street. 
 
 Lady Grace was the daughter of Sir George Smith of 
 Exeter, Kt. ; she was born in 1598, and married Sir Bevil 
 Granville in £620. He died in 1643, on the battle-field of 
 Lansdown, near Bath, and she followed him to the grave 
 in 1647. Her portrait is at Haynes, ' aetatis suae 36, 
 1634.' One of Sir Bevil is in the possession of Lord John 
 Thynne ; another with date 1636, 'aetatis suae 40,' is in the 
 possession of Rev. W. W. Martyn of Tonacombe, in Mor- 
 wenstow. 
 
 There are other letters of the Granvilles in the bundle 
 from which I have selected these. One from John Gran- 
 ville to his brother, giving a curious picture of London life 
 in the seventeenth century, narrating how he quarrelled 
 with a certain barber Wells, and came very nigh to pulling 
 of noses ;• one from Jane, wife of John Granville, Earl of Bath, 
 to her husband ' for thy deare selfe,' beginning, ' My deare 
 Heart,' and telling how— 
 
 I am now without any man in the house, my father being gone, 
 and Jacke is drunk all day and leyes out of nights, and if I do 
 but tell him of it he will be gone presantly ; therefore, for God's 
 sake, make haste up, for J am so parpetually ill that I am not 
 tit to bee anny longgar left in this condission. My poore motther 
 hath now so much bisnese that I do not knowe how long 
 she will be abble to tary with mee, and if that should happen, 
 which God forbid it should at any time, much more now, what 
 dost thou ihinke I should do ? I want the things thou prommysed 
 to send me very much, which, being to long to put in a lettar, I 
 ' To Beville Grenville, Esq., dated July 18, 1621.
 
 42 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. ii. 
 
 have geven my brother a not of. My deare, consider how nere I 
 am my time, and many women comming this yeare before thar 
 time .... Thou mayst now thinke how impassiontly I am till I 
 see thee agane, thinking every day a hondared yeare ; my affeck- 
 sion being so gret that I wounder how I have stayd till the out- 
 moust time. I will saye no more now, hopping to see thee every 
 day, but that I am, and ever will bee, thy most affectionate and 
 faithful wife and sarvant, 
 
 Jane Grenvile. 
 Thy babe bayrs thy blessing. 
 
 This letter is dated only June 17, without year. It is 
 always pleasant to meet with the beating of a warm 
 human heart, A third letter I venture to transcribe here, 
 from George Lord Lansdown,' grandson of Sir Bevil, to his 
 nephew Bevil Granville. 
 
 Dear Nephew, — I approve very well of your resolution of 
 dedicating yourself to the service of God. You could not chuse 
 a better master, provided you have so sufficiently searched your 
 heart and examined your reins, as to be persuaded you can serve 
 Him well. In so doing you may secure to yourself many blessings 
 in this world, as well as sure hope in the next. 
 
 There is one thing which I perceive you have not yet 
 throughly purged yourself from, which is, flattery. You have 
 bestowed so much of it upon me in your last letter that I hope 
 you have no more left, and that you meant it only to take your 
 leave of such flights, which, however well meant, oftener put a 
 man out of countenance than oblige him. You are now to be a 
 searcher after truth, and I shall hereafter take it more kindly to be 
 justly reproved by you than to be undeservedly complimented. 
 
 ' George Lord Lansdown was son of Bernard Granville, son of Sir Bevil. 
 Bernard, who died 1 701, had three sons, Bevil, George, and Barnard; and 
 Barnard had two sons, Barnard and Bevil, and Mary a daughter, who married 
 Dr. Delany. Bevil, the son of Barnard, is the nephew to whom this letter is 
 addressed.
 
 CH. II. 1 LETTER OE LORD LAiXSDOlVX. 43 
 
 I would not have you misunderstand me as if I recommended 
 to you a sour Presbyterian severity. That is yet more to be 
 avoided; advice, like physick, must be so sweetned and prepared as 
 to be made palatable, or Nature may be apt to revolt against it. 
 
 Be always sincere, but at the same time be always polite. Be 
 humble without descending from your character, and reprove and 
 correct without ofending good manners. To be a Cynick is as 
 bad as to be a Sycophant ; you are not to lay aside the gentleman 
 with the sword, nor put on the gown to hide your birth and good 
 breeding, but to adorn it. 
 
 Such has been the malice of the wicked, that pride, avarice, 
 and ambition have been charged upon the Clergy in all ages, in 
 all countrys, and equally in all religions. What they are most 
 obliged to combat against in the pulpits they are most accused of 
 encouraging in their conduct. Let your example confirm your 
 doctrine, and let no man ever have it in his power to reproach you 
 with practising contrary to what you preach. 
 
 You had an unckle, the late Dean of Durham,^ whose memory 
 I shall ever revere. Make him your example. Sanctity sat so 
 easy, so unaffected, and so gracefull upon him. that in him we 
 beheld the very beauty of Holiness. He was as chearful, as 
 familiar, as condescending in his conversation, as he was stnct, 
 regular, and exemplary in his piety ; as well bred and accom- 
 I)lished as a courtier, and as reverend and venerable as an Apostle ; 
 he was indeed Apostolical in everything, for he left all to follow 
 his Lord and Master. May you resemble him ; may he revive in 
 you ; may his spirit descend upon you, as Elijah's on Elisha ; and 
 may the great God of heaven, in guiding, directing, and strengthen- 
 ing your pious resolutions, pour down the choicest of His blessings 
 upon you. 
 
 Lansdown. 
 
 The old house at Stowe was pulled down, and a new 
 
 • Denys Granville, Dean of Durham (bom February, 1636), was son of Sir 
 Bevil. He was a nonjuror, and so lost his deanery ; he retired to Rouen in 
 Normandy, and there died greatly respected.
 
 44 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. II. 
 
 red brick mansion, square, containing a court in the middle, 
 was built in 1660 by John, Earl of Bath. He died in 1701, 
 and his son, Charles, shot himself accidentally when coming 
 from London to Kilkhampton to his father's funeral, leaving 
 a son, William Henry, third Earl of Bath, seven years ot 
 age when his father died. Thus, as was said, at the same 
 time there were three Earls of Bath above ground. 
 William Henry died at the age of seventeen, in 171 1, and 
 then the Granville property was divided between the sisters 
 of Charles, second Earl of Bath, — Jane, who married Sir 
 William Gower, ancestor of the Dukes of Sutherland ; and 
 Grace, who at the age of eight married George, afterwards 
 first Lord Carteret, then aged eleven. 
 
 The letters of this little pair to one another, when the 
 husband was at school and she at Haynes, exist in the pos- 
 session of Lord John Thynne. 
 
 Stowe house was pulled down. Within the memory of 
 one man grass grew and was mown in the meadow where 
 sprang up Stowe house, and grew and was mown in the 
 meadow where Stowe had been. 
 
 A few crumbling walls only mark the site of the old 
 home of the Granvilles.' 
 
 The Cornish people in former days were passionately 
 fond of theatrical performances. In numerous parts of 
 Cornwall there exist green dells or depressions in the surface 
 of the ground, situated generally on a moor. These depres- 
 sions have been assisted by the hand of man to form rude 
 theatres ; the slopes were terraced for seats, and on fine 
 
 ' A picture of old Stowe is in the possession of Lord John Thynne ; another 
 in that of Mrs. Martyn of Harleston, Torquay.
 
 ,cu. II.] CORNISH DRAMATIC INSTINCT. 45 
 
 summer days at the ' Revels ' of the locality were occupied 
 b)' crowds of spectators, whilst village actors performed on 
 the turf stage.' Originally the pieces acted were sacred, 
 curious mysteries of which specimens remain, relating to 
 the Creation, or the legendary History of St. Mary, or the 
 Passion of the Saviour, the prototypes of the Ammergau 
 Passions-spiel. These in later times gave way to secular 
 pieces, not always very choice in subject, and with the 
 broadest of jokes in the speeches of the performers, not 
 worse, however, than are to be found in Shakspeare, and 
 which were tolerated in the days of Elizabeth. These 
 dramatical performances were in full vigour when Wesley 
 preached in Cornwall. He seized on these rude green 
 theatres, and preached the Gospel from their turfy platforms 
 to wondering and agitated crowds which thronged the 
 grassy slopes. 
 
 The Cornish people became Methodists, and playgoing 
 became sinful. The doom of these dramas was sealed when 
 the place of their performances was turned into an arena 
 for revivals. The camp-meeting supplanted the drama. 
 
 But though these plays are things of the past, the 
 dramatic instinct survives among the Cornish people. 
 There is scarce a parish in which some are not to be found 
 who are actors by nature. For telling a story, with power 
 of speech, expression and gesture, they have not their 
 equals in England among unprofessionals. 
 
 One of the most brilliant ' raconteurs ' of our times was 
 Mr. Hicks, mayor of Bodmin. 
 
 ' There is one such not far from Morwenstow, in the parish of Killc- 
 
 hainpl'jii
 
 46 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. ii. 
 
 Some years ago, a member sauntering into the 
 Cosmopolitan Club would find a ring of listeners gathered 
 about a chair. In that ring he would recognise the faces of 
 Thackeray, Dickens, and other literary celebrities, wiping 
 away the tears which streamed from their eyes between 
 each explosion of laughter. He would ask in surprise, 
 What was the attraction } 
 
 ' Only the httle fat Cornishman from Bodmin telling 
 a story.' ' 
 
 His tales were works of art, wrought out with admir- 
 able skill, every point sharpened, every detail considered, 
 and the whole told with such expression and action as 
 could not be surpassed. His 'Rabbit and Onions' has 
 been essayed by many since his voice has been hushed, 
 but the copies are pale and the outlines blurred. 
 
 The subject of this memoir had inherited the Cornish 
 love of story-telling, and the power of telling stories with 
 dramatic force. But he had not the skill of Mr. Hicks of 
 telling a long story, and keeping his hearers thrilling 
 throughout the recital, breathless, lest they should lose a 
 word, Mr. Hawker contented himself with brief anecdotes, 
 but those he told to perfection. 
 
 I shall, in the course of my narrative, give a specimen 
 or two of stories told by common Cornish peasants. Alas ! 
 that I cannot reproduce the twinkling eye, the droll work- 
 ing countenances, and the agitated hands, all assistants in 
 the story-telling. 
 
 ' He was formerly governor of the lunatic asylum at Bodmin, and afterwards 
 clerk of the Board of Guardians, and in turn mayor of Bodmin. Being 
 very fat, he had himself once announced at dinner as ' The Corporation of 
 Bodmin.'
 
 47 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Description of Morwenstow — The Anerithmon gelasma — Source of the Tamar 
 — Tonacombe — Morwenstow Church — Norman chevron Moulding — Chan- 
 cel — Altar — Shooting Rubbish — The Manning Bed — The Yellow Poncho — 
 The Vicarage — Mr. Tom Knight — The Stag, Robin Hood — Visitors —The 
 Silent Tower of Bottreaux — The Pet of Boscastle. 
 
 A WRITER in the ' Standard ' gives this description of 
 Morwenstow : — ' No railway has as yet come near Morwen- 
 stow, and none will probably ever approach it nearer than 
 Bude. The coast is iron-bound. Strangely contorted 
 schists and sandstones stretch away northward in an almost 
 unbroken line of rocky wall to the point of Hartland ; 
 and to the south-west a bulwark of cliffs, of very similar 
 character, extends to and beyond Tintagel, whose rude 
 walls are sometimes seen projected against the sunset 
 in the far distance. The coast scenery is of the grandest 
 description, with its spires of splintered rock, its ledges of 
 green turf, inaccessible, but tempting from the rare plants 
 which nestle in the crevices, its seal-haunted caverns, its 
 wild birds (among which the red-legged chough can hardly 
 be reckoned any longer, so much has it of late years 
 lessened in numbers),' the miles of sparkling blue sea over 
 
 ' This is inaccurate. There is scarce a cliff along this coast which has not 
 its pair of choughs building in it. On the day on which this was written I went 
 out on Morwenstow cliff, and saw two red-legged choughs flying above me. 
 A friend tells nie he has counted six or seven together on Bude .sands.
 
 48 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. iii. 
 
 which the eye ranges from the summits, ablaze and frag- 
 rant with furze and heather ; and here and there the little 
 coves of yellow sand, bound in by towering blackened 
 walls, haunts which seem specially designed for the sea- 
 elves, 
 
 Who chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him 
 
 When he comes back. 
 
 ' Even in bright weather, and in summer, in spite of 
 the beauty and quiet of the scene, and in spite, too, of the 
 long, deep valleys, filled with wood, which, in the parish 
 of Morwenstow especially, descend quite to the sea, and 
 giv^e an impression of extreme stillness and seclusion, no 
 one can wander along the summit of the cliffs without a 
 consciousness that he is looking on a giant, at rest indeed 
 for a time, but more full of strength and more really 
 terrible than any of the Cormorans or the Goemagots who 
 have left their footprints and their strongholds on the hills 
 of Cornwall. The sea and the coast here are in truth 
 pitiless ; and before the construction of the haven at Bude, 
 a vessel had no chance whatever of escape which ap- 
 proached within a certain distance of the rocks. Such a 
 shipwreck as is described in Gait's story of the " Entail," 
 — when persons standing on the cliff, without the smallest 
 power to help, could see the vessel driven onward, could 
 watch every motion on its deck, and at last see it dashed 
 to pieces close under their feet, — has more than once been 
 observed from the coast of Morwenstow by Mr. Hawker 
 himself. No winter passes without much loss of life. The 
 little churchyards along the coast are filled with sad records ; 
 and in that of Morwenstow the crews of many a tall vessel
 
 CH. III.] FIRST SIGHT OF MORJVENSTOIV. 49 
 
 have been laid to rest by the care of the vicar himself, who 
 organised a special band of searchers for employment after 
 a great storm.' ^ 
 
 The road to Morwenstow from civilisation passes be- 
 tween narrow hedges, every bush in which is bent from 
 the sea. Not a tree is visible. The whole country doubt- 
 less a century ago was moor and fen. At Chapel is a 
 plantation, but every tree crouches shrivelled, and turns its 
 arms imploringly inland. The leaves are burnt and sear 
 soon after they have expanded. 
 
 The glorious blue Atlantic is before one, with only 
 Lundy isle breaking the continuity of the horizon line. 
 In very clear weather, and before a storm, far away in 
 faintest blue, the Welsh coast can be seen to the north- 
 west. 
 
 Suddenly the road dips down a combe, and Morwen- 
 stow tower, grey-stoned, pinnacled, stands up against the 
 blue ocean, with a grove of stunted sycamores on the north 
 of the church. Some way below, deep down in the glen, 
 are seen the roofs and fantastic chimneys of the vicarage. 
 The quaint lyche-gate and ruined cottage beside it, the 
 venerable church, the steep slopes of the hills blazing with 
 gorse or red with heather, and the background of sparkling 
 blue sea half-way up the sky — from such a height above 
 the shore is it looked upon — form a picture once seen 
 never to be forgotten. 
 
 The bottom of the glen is filled with wood, stunted 
 indeed, but pleasant to see after the treeless desolation of 
 the high land around. 
 
 ' ' Standard,' September I, 1875. 
 E
 
 50 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. iii. 
 
 A path leads from church and vicarage upon Mor- 
 wenstow cHffs. On the other side of the combe rises 
 Hennachfife — the Eagles' Crag — ' to the height of 450 feet 
 above the sea, a magnificent face of splintered and contorted 
 schist, with alternating friable slaty beds. 
 
 Half-way down Morwenstow cliff, only to be reached 
 by a narrow and scarcely distinguishable path, is the well 
 of St. Morwenna. Mr. Hawker repaired it ; but about 
 twenty years ago the spring worked itself away through 
 another stratum of slate, and sprang out of the sheer cliff 
 some feet lower down, and falls in a miniature cascade, a 
 silver thread of water over a ledge of schist into the sea. 
 
 On a green spot, across which now run cart-tracks, in 
 the side of the glen, stood originally, according to Mr. 
 Hawker, a chapel to St. Morwenna, visited by those who 
 sought her sacred well. The green patch forms a rough 
 parallelogram, and bears faint traces of having been 
 levelled out of the slope. No stone remains on another of 
 the ancient chapel. 
 
 From the cliff an unrivalled view can be had of the 
 Atlantic from Lundy isle to Padstowe point. Tintagel 
 rock with its ancient castle stands out boldly as the horn 
 of a vast sweep against glittering water, lit by a passing 
 gleam behind. Gulls, rooks, choughs wheel and scream 
 around the crag, now fluttering a little way above the head, 
 and then diving down towards the sea, which roars and 
 foams several hundreds of feet below. 
 
 ' Ernecliff, aspirated, the r softened into an «, and the usual West country 
 ending a added to Ern. Thus, Whitway becomes Whitaway, Blackbrook — 
 Blackabrook, Tidncombe — Tiduacombe.
 
 CH. III.] THE ANERITIIMON GELASAfA. 
 
 5» 
 
 The beach is inaccessible save at one point, where a 
 path has been cut down the side of a steep gorse-covered 
 slope, and through slides of ruined slate rock, to a bay. 
 into which the Tonacombe brook precipitates itself in a 
 broken fall of foam. 
 
 The little coves with blue-grey floors wreathed \\ith 
 sea-foam ; the splintered and contorted rock, the curved 
 strata, which here bend over like exposed ribs of a mighty 
 mammoth, the sharp skerries that run out into the sea to 
 torment it into eddies of froth and spray, are of rare wild- 
 ness and beauty. 
 
 It is impossible to stand on these cliffs and not cite 
 the um^pid^Qv 'ysXaaixa, Tra/j^/xPnop rs yrj, of the poet. 
 
 If this were quoted in the ears of the vicar of Morwen- 
 Etow, he would stop, lay his hand on one's arm, and say : — 
 ' How do you translate that .'' ' 
 ' The many-twinkling smile of ocean.' 
 ' I thought so. So does everyone else. But it is wrong,' 
 with emphasis, ' utterly wrong. Listen to me. Prome- 
 theus is bound, held backwards, with brazen fetters binding 
 him to the rock. He cannot see the waters, cannot note 
 their smiles. He gazes up into the sky above him. But 
 he hears. Notice how ^schylus describes the sounds that 
 reach his ears, not the sights. Above, indeed, is the 
 "divine aether;" he is looking into that, and he hears the 
 fanning of the " swift-winged breezes," and the murmur 
 and splash of the " fountains of rivers ; " and then comes 
 the passage, which I translate, " The loud laugh of ocean 
 waves." ' 
 
 A little way down the side of the hill that descends in 
 
 E 2
 
 52 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. iii. 
 
 gorse banks and broken rock and clean precipice to one of 
 the largest and grandest of the caves, is a hut made of 
 fragments of wrecked ships thrown up on this shore. The 
 sides are formed of curved ribs of vessels, and the entrance 
 ornamented with carved work from a figurehead. This 
 hut was made by Mr. Hawker himself, and in it he would 
 sit sheltered from storm, and look forth over the wild sea 
 dreaming, composing poetry, or watching ships scudding 
 before the gale dangerously near the coast. 
 
 It was in this hut that most of his great poem, the 
 ' Quest of the Sangreal,' was composed. 
 
 A friend says, ' I often visited him whilst this poem was 
 
 in process of composition, and sat with him in this hut as 
 
 he recited it. I shall never forget one wild evening, when 
 
 the sun had gone down before our eyes as a ball of red-hot 
 
 iron into the deep. He had completed the ' Quest of the 
 
 Sangreal,' and he repeated it from memory to me. He had 
 
 a marvellous power of recitation, and with his voice, action, 
 
 and pathos threw a life into the words which vanish in 
 
 print. I cannot forget the close of the poem, with the 
 
 throbbing sea before me, and Tintagel looming out of the 
 
 water to the south : 
 
 He ceased, and all around was dreamy night ; 
 There stood Dundagel, throned ; and the great sea 
 Lay, a strong vassal at his master's gate, 
 And, like a drunken giant, sobbed in sleep.' 
 
 On a rushy knoll, in a moor in the parish of Morwen- 
 stow, rises the Tamar,' and from the same mount flows the 
 Torridge. 
 
 ' Tamar in Cornish is Taw-mawr, the great water ; Tavy is Tawvechan, 
 the lesser water.
 
 CH. 111.] SOURCE OF THE TAMAR. 53 
 
 Fount of a rushing river ! wild flowers wreathe 
 The home where thy first waters sunhght claim ; 
 
 The lark sits hushed beside thee while I breathe, 
 Sweet Tamar spring ! the music of thy name. 
 
 On through thy goodly channel, on ! to the sea ! 
 
 Pass amid heathery vale, tall rock, fair bough ; 
 But never more with footstep pure and free, 
 
 Or face so meek with happiness as now. 
 
 Fair is the future scenery of thy days, 
 
 Thy course domestic, and thy paths of pride : 
 
 Depths that give back the soft-eyed violet's gaze, 
 Shores where tall navies march to meet the tide. 
 
 Yet false the vision, and untrue the dream, 
 
 That lures thee from thy native wilds to stray ; 
 
 A thousand griefs will mingle with thy stream, 
 Unnumbered hearts will sigh these waves away. 
 
 Scenes fierce with men thy seaward current laves ; 
 
 Harsh multitudes will throng thy gentle brink ; 
 Back with the grieving concourse of thy waves, 
 
 Home to the waters of thy childhood shrink. 
 
 Thou heedest not ! thy dream is of the shore, 
 Thy heart is quick with life ; on ! to the sea ! 
 
 How will the voice of thy far streams implore 
 Again amid these peaceful weeds to be ! 
 
 My soul ! my soul ! a happier choice be thine, 
 Thine the hushed valley and the lonely sod ; 
 
 False dream, far vision, hollow hope resign. 
 Fast by our Tamar spring, alone with God ! 
 
 In the parish of Morwenstow is one very interesting old 
 house, Tonacombe, or, as it was originally called, Tidna- 
 combe. It belonged originally to the Jourdains, passed to 
 the Kempthornes, the Waddons, and from thence to the
 
 54 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. hi. 
 
 INIartyns. The present proprietor is the Rev. W. Waddon 
 Martyn, rector of Lifton. 
 
 It is an ancient mansion of the sixteenth century, quite 
 perfect and untouched, very small and plain, but in its way 
 a gem, and well deserving a visit. It is low, crouching to 
 the ground like the trees of the district, as for shelter, or as 
 a ptarmigan cowering from the hawk, with wings spread 
 over her young. A low gate, with porter's lodge at the 
 side, leads into a small yard, into which look the windows of 
 the hall. The hall goes to the roof with open timbers; it 
 is small — 30 feet long — but perfect in its way, with minstrel's 
 gallery, large open fireplace with andirons, and adorned 
 with antlers, old weapons, and banners bearing the arms 
 of the Jourdains, Kempthornes, Waddons, and Martyns. 
 The hall gives access to a dark panelled parlour, with 
 peculiar and handsome brass andirons in the old fire- 
 places, looking out through a latticed window into the old 
 walled garden, or Paradise. 
 
 It is curious that Mr. Kingsley, when writing ' West- 
 ward Ho ! ' should have overlooked Tonacombe, and laid 
 some of his scenes at Chapel in the same parish, where 
 there never was an old house, or any traditions. Probably 
 he did not know of the existence of this charming old 
 mansion. The minstrel's gallery was divided off from the 
 hall, and converted into a bedroom ; but Mr. Hawker 
 pointed out its original destination to the owner, and he at 
 once threw down the lath and plaster partition, and restored 
 the hall to its original proportions.^ The hall was also flat- 
 
 ' Tonacombe was panelled by John Kempthorne, Mho died in 159 1. The 
 anellinC remnin=; in three of the rooms, and the ini ials, J. K. and K. K.
 
 en. III.] MORIVEXSTOIV CHURCH. 55 
 
 ceiled across, but the vicar of Morwenstow discovered the 
 oaken roof above the ceiHng, and persuaded Mr. Martyn to 
 expose it to view. A narrow slit in the wall from the bed- 
 room of the lady of the house allowed her to command 
 a view of her lord at his carousals, and listen to his sallies. 
 Morwenstow Church stands on the steep slope of a 
 
 hill. 
 
 My Saxon shrine ! the only ground 
 
 Wherein this weary heart hath rest ; 
 What years the birds of God have found 
 
 Along thy walls their sacred nest. 
 The storm, the blast, the tempest shock, 
 
 Have beat upon those walls in vain : 
 She stands I a daughter of the rock, 
 
 The changeless God's eternal fane. 
 
 Firm was their faith, the ancient bands, 
 
 The wise of heart in wood and stone, 
 Who reared with stern and trusty hands 
 
 These dark grey towers of days unknown. 
 They filled these aisles with many a thought, 
 
 They bade each nook some truth reveal : 
 The pillared arch its legend brought, 
 
 A doctrine came with roof and wall. 
 
 Huge, mighty, massive, hard and strong. 
 
 Were the choice stones they lifted then ; 
 The vision of their hope was long, — 
 
 They knew their God, those faithful men. 
 They pitched no tent for change or death, 
 
 No home to last man's shadowy day ; 
 There ! there ! the everlasting breath 
 
 Would breathe whole centuries away. 
 
 (Kalherine Kempthome) appear in each. The date is also given, 1578, on the 
 panelling. In the large parlour on two shields are the arms of Ley quartered 
 with those of Jordan and Kempthome impaling Courtenay and Redvers. 
 Prince, in his ' Worthies of Devon,' gives a notice of Sir John Kempthome, 
 Kt.jWho put up this panelling. He is buried in the Morwenstow Church, 
 where there is an interesting incised stone to his memory under the altar. His 
 wife, Katherine Kempthome, daughter of Sir Piers Courtenay of Ugbrook, is 
 also buried there.
 
 S6 LIFE or ROBERT STEPHEN HA IVHER. [en. iii. 
 
 It is a church of very great interest, consisting of nave, 
 chancel, and two aisles. The arcade of the north aisle is 
 remarkably fine, and of two dates. Two semicircular arches 
 are richly carved with Norman zigzag and billet ; one is 
 plain, eventually intended to be carved like the other two. 
 The remaining two arches are transition early English, 
 pointed and plain. At the spring of the sculptured arches, 
 in the spandrels, are very spirited projecting heads ; one of a 
 ram is remarkably well modelled. The vicar, who mused 
 over his church, and sought a signification in everything, 
 believed that this represented the ram caught in a thicket 
 by the horns, and was symbolical of Christ, the true 
 sacrifice. Another projecting head is spirited — the 
 mouth is contorted with mocking laughter. This he as- 
 serted was the head of Arius. Another head, with the 
 tongue lolling out, was a heretic deriding the sacred mys- 
 teries. 
 
 But his most singular fancy was with respect to the 
 chevron ornamentation on the arcade. When first I visited 
 the church, I exclaimed at the beauty of the zigzag 
 moulding. 
 
 ' Zigzag ! zigzag ! ' echoed the vicar, scornfully. ' Do 
 you not see that it is near the font that this ornament 
 occurs .'' It is the ripple of the lake of Genesareth, the 
 Spirit breathing upon the waters of baptism. Look with- 
 out the church — there is the restless old ocean thundering 
 with all his waves, you can hear the roar from here. Look 
 within. All is calm ; there plays over the baptismal pool 
 only the Dove who fans it into ripples with His healing 
 wings.'
 
 CH. III.] DEDICATION OF THE CHURCH. 57 
 
 The font is remarkably rude, an uncouth, misshapen 
 block of stone from the shore, scooped out, its only orna- 
 mentation being a cable twisted round it, rudely carved. 
 The font is probably Saxon. 
 
 The entrance door to the nave is of very fine Norman 
 work in three orders, but defaced by the removal of the 
 outer order which has been converted into the door of the 
 porch. Mr. Hawker, observing that the porch door was 
 Norman, concluded that his church possessed a unique 
 specimen of a Norman porch ; but it was pointed out to 
 him that this door was nothing but the outer order of that 
 into the church, removed from its place, and then he de- 
 termined, as soon as he could collect sufficient money to 
 restore the church, to pull down the porch, and replace the 
 Norman doorway to its original condition. 
 
 The church is dedicated to St. John the Baptist. A 
 little stream runs through the graveyard, and rushes down 
 the hill to the porch door, where it is diverted, and carried 
 off to water the glebe. This he thought was brought 
 through the churchyard for symbolic reasons, to typify 
 Jordan, near which the Baptist ministered. The descent 
 into the church is by three steps. ' Every church dedicated 
 to John the Baptizer,' he said in one of his sermons, ' is 
 thus arranged. We go down into them, as those who were 
 about to be baptized of John went down into the water. 
 The Spirit that appeared when Christ descended into 
 Jordan, hovers here, over that font, over you, over me, and 
 ever will hover here as long as a stone of IMorwenna's 
 Church stands on this green slope, and a priest of God 
 ministers in it.' The south arcade of the nave is much
 
 58 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [cii. iii. 
 
 posterior to that on the north side. One of the capitals 
 bears the inscription — 
 
 THIS WAS MADE ANNO MVCLX4 (1564). 
 
 Another capital bears — 
 
 THIS IS THE HOUSE OF THE LORD. 
 
 It has been put up inverted. The arcade is rich and 
 good for the date. 
 
 Of the same date are the carved oak benches. A few 
 only are earlier, and bear the symbols of the transfixed 
 heart on the spear, the nails, and cross. These Mr. 
 Hawker found laid as flooring under the pews, their faces 
 planed. The rest bear, on shields, sea-monsters. There 
 was a fine oak screen v^ry much earlier in sl}-le than the 
 benches. When Mr. Hawker arrived at Morwenstow, the 
 clerk said to him, ' Please your honour, I have done you a 
 very gude turn. I've just been and cut down and burned 
 a rubbishing old screen that hid the chancel.' 
 
 'You had much better have burnt yourself,' he exclaimed. 
 ' Show me what remains.' 
 
 Only a few fragments of the richly sculptured and gilt 
 cornice, and one piece of tracery, remained. The cornice 
 represents doves flying amidst oak leaves and vine 
 branches, and a fox running after them. The date not 
 later than 1535, when a screen in the same style and 
 character was erected at Broad wood Widger.' 
 
 Mr. Hawker collected every fragment, and put the 
 pieces together with bits of modern and poor carved wood, 
 
 ' The date is on a scroll, which is in a hand descending from the clouds, 
 upon one of the bench ends. Benches and screens are of the same date.
 
 CK. !ii.] THE CHANCEL. 
 
 59 
 
 and cast-iron tracery, and constructed therewith a not 
 inelTective rood-screen. 
 
 Outside the screen is an early incised cross in the floor, 
 turned with feet to the west, marking the grave of a priest. 
 ' The flock He with their feet to the east, looking for the 
 rising of the Day Star. But the pastor always rests with 
 his head to the east, and feet westward, that at the Resur- 
 rection Day, when all rise, he maybe facing those for whom 
 he must give an account to the IMaker and Judge of all, and 
 may say with the prophet, Behold I and the children whom 
 the Lord hath given me.' 
 
 The chancel was originally lighted by lancets, which 
 ha\'e, however, been blocked up and plastered over. The 
 floor he kept strewn with southernwood and thyme, ' for 
 angels to smell to.' 
 
 The east wall was falling, and in 1849 '^^'^s rebuilt, and 
 a stained window, by Warrington, inserted, given by the 
 late Lord Clinton. It represents St. Morwenna teaching 
 Editha, daughter of Ethel wolf,' between St. Peter and St. 
 Paul. The window is v^ry poor and coarse in drawing and 
 in colour. The ancient piscina in the wall is of early 
 English date. 
 
 Mr. Hawker discovered under the pavement in the 
 church, when reseating it, the base of a small pillar, Nor- 
 man in style, with a hole in it for the rivet which attached 
 to it the slender colunm it supported. This he supposed 
 was a piscina drain, and accordingly set it up in the recess 
 beside his altar. 
 
 ' This, as has been already shown, is an error; he confounded St. Morwenna 
 of Cornwall with St. Modwenna of Burton-on-Trent.
 
 6o LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [cii. in. 
 
 Against his chancel wall he fastened up prints and 
 little pictures or texts that pleased him. He had 
 against his south wall a portrait of Christ from the ' Art 
 Journal,' in which Mr. Heapy had written an article, not 
 remarkable for critical ability, on the various miraculous 
 likenesses of Christ preserved in Italy and elsewhere, attri- 
 buted to St. Luke, St. Veronica, and others. Mr. Hawker 
 was perfectly convinced that this was an authentic portrait. 
 Under the altar is a very interesting incised stone repre- 
 senting the half-figure of Sir John Ley, alias Kempthorne, 
 one of the family that possessed Tonacombe, A.D. 1591. 
 
 Mr, Hawker used an old stable, very decayed, on the 
 north side of the chancel, as his vestry, and descended by a 
 stair from it to the church. Floor and roof and stair are 
 now in the last stage of decay. 
 
 His altar was small, of wood, and low. He had on it 
 a clumsy wooden cross, without figure, vases with bouquets 
 of flowers, and two Cornish serpentine candlesticks. 
 
 There was an embroidered frontal on his altar, given 
 him in 1843, ^"^ used for all seasons alike. Considering 
 the veneration in which Mr. Hawker held holy things 
 and places, a little more tidiness might have been ex- 
 pected ; but his altar was never very clean, the top having 
 strewn over it the burnt ends of matches with which he had 
 lighted his candles. It had also on it a large magnifying 
 glass, like those often on drawing-room tables to assist 
 in the examination of photographs. For a long time Mr. 
 Hawker used to say matins, litany, and communion service 
 standing at his altar ; but in late years his curates intro- 
 duced a readinsf-desk within the chancel near the screen.
 
 CH. III.] SHOOTING RUBBISH. 6i 
 
 A deal kitchen-table likewise served for the furnishing 
 of the chancel. On this he would put his mufflers and 
 devotional books. 
 
 The untidy condition of the church affected one of his 
 curates, a man of a somewhat domineering character, to 
 such an extent that one day he swept up all the rubbish 
 he could find in the church, old decorations of the pre- 
 \ious Christmas, decayed southernwood and roses of the 
 foregoing Midsummer festivity, scraps of old Bibles, prayer- 
 books and MS. scraps of poetry, match-ends, candle-ends, 
 &c. and having filled a barrow with all these sundries, he 
 wheeled it down to the vicarage door, rang the bell, and 
 asked for Mr. Hawker. The vicar came into the porch. 
 
 ' This is the rubbish I have found in your church.' 
 
 'Not all,' said Mr. Hawker. 'Complete the pile by 
 seating yourself on the top, and I will see to the whole 
 being shot speedily.' 
 
 In the chancel is a vine, carved in wood, which creeps 
 thence all along the church. An emblem, according to him, 
 of the Christian life. 
 
 Hearken ! there is in old Morwenna's shrine — 
 A lonely sanctuary of the Saxon days, 
 Rear'd by the Severn Sea for prayer and praise — 
 
 Amid the carved work of the roof, a vine ! 
 
 Its root is where the eastern sunbeams fall 
 First in the chancel ; then along the wall 
 
 Slowly it travels on, a leafy line, 
 
 With here and there a cluster, and anon 
 
 More and more grapes, until the growth hath gone 
 
 Through arch and aisle. Hearken ! and heed the sign. 
 See at the altar-side the steadfast root, 
 Mark well the branches, count the summer fruit : 
 
 So let a meek and faithful heart be thine, 
 
 And gather from that tree a parable divine.
 
 62 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [cii. in. 
 
 Formerly, whilst saying service he kept his chancel 
 screen shut, and was invisible to his congregation, but his 
 curates afterwards insisted on the gate being left open. The 
 chancel is very dark. 
 
 Access to his pulpit was obtained through a narrow 
 opening in the screen just sixteen inches wide, and it was 
 a struggle for him to get through the aperture. After a 
 while he abandoned the attempt, and had steps into the 
 pulpit erected outside the screen. 
 
 Above the screen he set up in late years a large cross 
 painted blue with five gold stars on it, the cross cf the 
 heavens in the Southern hemisphere. Near the pulpit he 
 erected a curious piece of wood-carving, gilt and coloured, 
 which he brought with him from Tamerton. It represents 
 a castle attacked by a dragon with two heads. From the 
 mouth of a beardless face issues a dove, which is repre- 
 sented flying towards the castle. This he said was an 
 allegory. The castle is the Church assailed by Satan, 
 the old Dragon, through his twofold power, temporal and 
 spiritual. But the Holy Spirit proceeding from the Son 
 flies to the defence of the Church. On the other side of 
 the castle was originally a bearded head, and a dove issuing 
 in a similar manner from it ; but it has been broken away. 
 This represented the Paraclete proceeding from the Father 
 as from the Son. 
 
 In the churchyard of Morwenstow is a granite tomb 
 bearing the following inscription : — 
 
 Here Liet John Maning of . . . 
 
 Who Died Without Issue . . . 
 
 I AM Beried in 
 
 THE VI DAIE of AV 
 GVST 1 60 1.
 
 CH. III.] THE MANNING BED. 63 
 
 John Manning of Stanbury, in Morwenstow, lived in the 
 sixteenth century. He married Christiana Kempthorne. 
 About six weeks after their marriage the husband was 
 gored by a bull in a field between Tonacombe and 
 Stanbury. His young bride died of grief within the year, 
 and was buried in this altar tomb beside him. 
 
 1 he bed of this ill-fated pair, with their names carved on 
 the head-board, was found by Mr. Hawker in one of the farms 
 in the parish. He was very anxious to get possession of it. 
 He begged it, and when refused offered money, but to no 
 avail, the farmer would not part with it. After trying per- 
 suasion, entreaty, and offering large sums in vain, he had 
 recourse to another expedient. 
 
 The vicar said to the farmer, ' Does it ever strike 
 
 you, S , when lying in that bed, as you do of a night, 
 
 how many corpses have preceded you } There was first 
 of all poor John Manning, all dead and bloody, in 1601, his 
 side ripped up by a bull's horns, just where you lie so snug 
 of a night. Then there was his bride Christiana, lying 
 there, where your wife sleeps, sobbing away her life, dying- 
 of a broken heart. Just you think, John, when you lie there, 
 of that poor lone woman, how her tears dribbled all night 
 long over the pillow on which your wife's head rests. And 
 one morning when they came to look at her — SHE WAS 
 dp:ad. That was two hundred and fifty years ago. What 
 a lot of corpses have occupied that bed where you and 
 your wife lie since then. Think of it, John, of a night, and 
 tell your wife to do the same. I daresay the dead flesh 
 has struck a chill into the bed that the feel of it makes you 
 creep all over at times at dead of night. Doesn't it, John }
 
 64 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [cii. in. 
 
 Two hundred and fifty years ago ! That is about five 
 generations, five men washed and laid out, their chins tied 
 up on your pillow, John, and their dead eyes looking up at 
 your ceiling, and five wives dead and laid out there too, 
 and measured fortheir coffins, just where your wife sleeps so 
 warm. And then, John, consider, it's most likely some of 
 these farmers were married again, so we may say there 
 were at least six or seven female corpses, let alone dead 
 babies in that bed. Why, John, there have been at least 
 fourteen corpses in that bed, including John Manning 
 bleeding to death, and Christiana weeping her life away. 
 Think of that of a night. You will find it conducive to good.' 
 
 ' Parson,' said the farmer aghast, ' I can never sleep 
 in that bed no more. You may take it and welcome.' 
 
 So Mr. Hawker got the Manning bed, and set it up in 
 the room that commanded the tomb in the churchyard ; ' so 
 that the bed may look at the grave, and the grave at the 
 bed,' as he expressed it. 
 
 The writer in the ' Standard,' already quoted, thus de- 
 scribes his first acquaintance with the vicar of Morvven- 
 stow : — 
 
 ' It was on a solemn occasion that we first saw 
 Morwenstow. The sea was still surly and troubled, with 
 wild lights breaking over it, and torn clouds driving through 
 the sky. Up from the shore, along a narrow path between 
 jagged rocks and steep banks tufted with thrift, came the 
 vicar, wearing cassock and surplice, and conducting a sad 
 procession, which bore along with it the bodies of two 
 seamen flung up the same morning on the sands. The 
 office used by Mr. Hawker at such times had been arranged
 
 CH. III.] THE YELLOW PONCHO. 65 
 
 by himself— not without reference to certain pecuh'arities 
 which, as he conceived, were features of the Primitive 
 Cornish Church, the same which had had its bishops and 
 its traditions long before the conference of Augustine with 
 its leaders under the great oak by the Severn. Indeed, at 
 one time he carried his adhesion to these Cornish traditions 
 to some unusual lengths. There was, we remember, a 
 peculiar yellow vestment, in which he appeared much like 
 a Lama of Thibet, which he wore in his house and about 
 his parish, and which he insisted was an exact copy of a 
 priestly robe worn by St. Pardarn and St. Tcilo. We have 
 seen him in this attire proceeding through the lanes on the 
 back of a well-groomed mule — the only fitting beast, as he 
 remarked, for a churchman.' 
 
 We have here one instance out of many of the manner 
 in which the Vicar delighted to hoax visitors. The yellow 
 vestment in question was a poncho. It came into use in 
 the following manner : — 
 
 Mr. M , a neighbour, was in conversation one day 
 
 with Mr. Hawker, when the latter complained that he could 
 not get a greatcoat to his fancy. 
 
 ' Why not wear a poncho ? ' asked Mr. M . 
 
 * Poncho ! what is that .'' ' inquired the Vicar. 
 
 ' Nothing but a blanket with a hole in the middle.' 
 
 ' Do you put your legs through the hole, and tic the 
 four corners over your head .-' ' 
 
 ' No,' answered Mr. M ; ' I will fetch you my 
 
 poncho, and you can try it on.' The poncho was brought ; 
 it was a dark blue one, and the Vicar was delighted with 
 it. There was no trouble in putting it on. It suited his 
 
 F
 
 66 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEX HAWKER. [CH. ill. 
 
 fancy amazingly ; and next time he went to Bideford he 
 bought a yellowish-brown blanket, and had a hole cut in 
 the middle, through which to thrust his head. 
 
 'I wouldn't wear your livery, M ,' said he, 'nor 
 
 your political colours, so I have got a yellow poncho.' 
 
 Those who knew him well can picture to themselves the 
 sly twinkle in his eye as he informed his credulous visitor 
 that he was invested in the habit of St. Pardarn and St. 
 Teilo. 
 
 After a few years at Morwenstow in a hired house, the 
 Vicar set to work to build himself a vicarage near the 
 church ; he chose a spot where he saw lambs take shelter 
 from storm, not so much because he thought the spot a 
 ' lew ' one (that is, a sheltered one), as from the fancy that 
 the refuge of the lambs should typify the vicarage, the 
 sheltering place of his flock. 
 
 Whilst he was building it ]Mr. Daniel King came over 
 to see him, and was shown the house in course of erection. 
 Mr. Daniel King and ^Ir. Hawker were not \txy cordial 
 friends. 
 
 ' Ha ! ' said ^Ir. King, 'you know the proverb, Fools 
 build houses for wise men to liv'e in.' 
 
 * Yes,' answered the Vicar promptly ; ' and I know 
 another : Wise men make proverbs, and fools quote 
 them.' 
 
 He had the chimneys of the vicarage built to resemble 
 the towers of churches with which he had had to do : one 
 was Hke Tamerton, another like ^Magdalen Hall, a third 
 resembled Wellcombe, a fourth MorAvenstow. 
 
 When Archdeacon, afterwards Bishop, Wilberforce came
 
 CH. III.] THE IRREPRESSIBLE SPEAKER. 67 
 
 into the neighbourhood to advocate the cause of the Society 
 for the Propagation of the Gospel, he met Mr. Hawker. 
 
 ' Look here,' said Archdeacon Wilberforce, ' I have to 
 speak at the meeting at Stratton to-night, and I am told 
 that there is a certain Mr. Knight,* who will be on the plat- 
 form, and is a wearyful speaker. I have not much time to 
 spare. Is it possible by a hint to reduce him to reason- 
 able limits .'' ' 
 
 * Not in the least ; he is impervious to hints.' 
 
 ' Can he not be prevented from rising to address the 
 meeting .'' * 
 
 ' That is impossible ; he is irrepressible.' 
 
 ' Then what is to be done .'' ' 
 
 ' Leave him to me, and he will not trouble you.' 
 
 At the S.P.G. meeting a crowd had gathered to hear the 
 eloquent speaker. Mr. Tom Knight was on the platform 
 waiting his opportunity to rise. 
 
 • Oh ! Knight,' said Mr. Hawker in a whisper, ' the 
 Archdeacon has left his watch behind, and mine is also at 
 home, will you lend yours for timing the speeches .-' ' 
 
 With some hesitation Mr, Knight pulled his gold 
 repeater, with bunch of seals attached, from his fob, and 
 gave it to the Vicar of Morwenstow. 
 
 Presently Mr. Knight was on his legs to make a speech. 
 Now the old gentleman was accustomed when addressing 
 a public audience to swing his bunch of seals round and 
 round in his left hand. Directly he began his oration his 
 hand went instinctively to his fob in quest of the bunch. 
 It was not there. He stammered and felt again, flLundcrcd 
 
 * Name altered, 
 F 2
 
 68 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. CH. ni. 
 
 in his speech, and after a few feeble efforts to recover him- 
 self and find his bunch of seals, sat down red and melting 
 and angry. 
 
 Mr. Hawker had a pair of stags, which he called Robin 
 Hood and Maid Marian, given to him by the late Sir 
 Thomas Acland, from his park at Killerton, These he 
 kept in the long open combe in front of the house, through 
 which a stream dashes onwards to the sea. One day the 
 same Mr. Knight proceeded too curiously to approach 
 Robin Hood, when the deer ran at him and butted him 
 down. The clergyman shrieked with fear, and the stag 
 Avould have struck him with his antlers had not the Vicar 
 rushed to the rescue. Being an immensely strong man he 
 caught Robin by the horns and drew his head back, and 
 held him fast whilst the frightened man crawled away. 
 
 ' I was myself in some difficulty,' said Mr. Hawker, 
 when telling the story. * The stag would have turned on 
 me when I let go, and I did not quite see my way to 
 escape ; but that wretched man did nothing but yell for his 
 wig and hat which had come off, and were under the deer's 
 feet, as if my life were of no account beside his foxy old 
 wig and battered beaver.' 
 
 Dr. Phillpotts, the late Bishop of Exeter, not long after 
 this occurred, came to Morwenstow to visit Mr. Hawker. 
 Whilst being shown the landscape from the garden, the 
 Bishop's eye rested on Robin Hood. 
 
 ' Why ! — that stag which butted and tossed Mr. Knight 
 is still suffered to live ! It might have killed him.' 
 
 * No harm done, my Lord,' said Mr. Hawker. ' He is 
 a very Low Church parson.'
 
 CH. III.] ROBLV HOOD. 69 
 
 Early next morning loud cries for assistance penetrated 
 the Vicar's bedroom. Looking from his window he beheld 
 the Bishop struggling with Robin Hood, who, like his 
 fellow of Sherwood, seems to have had little respect for 
 episcopal dignity. Robin had taken a fancy to the Bishop's 
 apron, and, gently approaching, had secured one corner in 
 his mouth. 
 
 There is a story of a Scottish ' curate,' who, when 
 Jenny Geddes seized him by his ' prelatical' gown as he 
 was passing into the pulpit, quietly loosed the strings, and 
 allowed Jenny and the gown to fall backward together. 
 There was no such luck for the Bishop. He sought in 
 vain to unfasten the apron, which descended farther and 
 farther into Robin's throat, until the Vicar, coming to 
 the rescue, restored the apron to daylight, and sent the 
 ' masterful thief about his business. 
 
 Mr. Hawker accompanied the late Bishop of Exeter on 
 his first visit to Tintagel, and delighted in telling how the 
 scene, then far more out of the world than it can now be 
 considered, impressed the powerful mind of Dr. Phillpotts. 
 He stood alone for some time on the extreme edge of the 
 castle cliff, while the sun went down before him in the 
 tumbling foaming Atlantic a blaze of splendour, flaking 
 the rocks and ruined walls with orange and carmine ; and 
 as he turned away he muttered the line from Zanga : — 
 
 I like this rocking of the battlements. 
 
 Another visitor to Morwenstow was the Poet Laureate ; 
 he presented himself at the door and sent in his card, and 
 was received with cordiality and hospitality by the Vicar,
 
 70 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. in. 
 
 v/ho, however, was not sure that the stranger was the poet. 
 After lunch they walked together on the cliffs, and Mr. 
 Hawker pointed to the Tonacombe brook forming a cascade 
 into the sea. 
 
 ' Falling like a broken purpose,' he observed. 
 
 ' You are quoting my lines,' said the Poet Laureate. 
 
 ' And thus it was,' as Mr. Hawker said, when relating 
 the incident, ' that I learned whom I was entertaining.' 
 He flattered himself that it was he who had introduced the 
 Arthurian cycle of legends to his notice. 
 
 Charles Kingsley owed also to Mr. Hawker his first 
 introduction to scenery which he afterwards rendered famous. 
 Stoweand Chapel — places which figure so largely in ' West- 
 ward Ho ! ' — were explored by them together ; and the 
 Vicar of Morwenstow was struck, as everyone must have 
 been struck who accompanied Mr. Kingsley under similar 
 circumstances, by the wonderful insight and skill which 
 seized at once on the most characteristic features of the 
 scene, and found at the instant the fitting words in which 
 to describe them. 
 
 Mr. Hawker, for his own part, not only did this for his 
 own corner of Cornwall, but threw into his prose and his 
 poetry the peculiar feeling of the district, the subtle 
 aroma which, in less skilful hands, is apt to vanish alto- 
 gether. 
 
 His ballads found their way into numerous publications 
 without his name being appended to them ; and sometimes 
 were fathered on other writers. In a letter to T. Carnsew, 
 Esq., dated Jan. 2, 1858, he says as much. 
 
 My dear Sir, — A happy New Year to yours and you, and 
 many of them, as we say in the West. The kind interest you have
 
 CH. III.] BALLADS APrROPRIATED. 71 
 
 taken in young Blight's book ' induces me to send you the Ro}'al 
 reply to my letter. Through Col. Phipps to the Queen I sent a 
 simple statement of the case, and asked leave for the youth to be 
 allowed to dedicate his forthcoming book to the Duke of Cornwall. 
 I did not, between ourselves, expect to succeed, because no such 
 thing has hitherto been permitted, and also because I was utterly 
 unknown, thank God, at Court. But it has been always my fate 
 to build other people's houses. For others I usually succeed ; for 
 myself, always fail. Let me tell you one strange thing. Every 
 year of my life for full ten years I have had to write to some pub- 
 lisher, editor, or author, to claim the paternity of a legend or a 
 ballad or a page of prose, which others have been attempting to 
 foist on the public as their own. Last year I had to rescue a 
 legendary ballad, the ' Sisters of Glennectan,' from the claims of 
 a Mr. H., of Exeter College.^ Yesterday I wrote for the January 
 number of ' Blackwood,' wherein I see published the ' Bells of 
 Bottreaux,' a name and legend which, if anyone should claim, I 
 say with Jack Cade, ' He lies, for I invented it myself ! ' 
 
 The ' Silent Tower of Bottreaux ' is one of his best 
 ballads. To the poem he appends the following note : ^ 
 ' The rugged heights that Hne the seashore in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Tintagel castle and church are crested with 
 towers. Among these, that of Bottreaux Castle, or, as it is 
 now written, Bos-castle, is without bells. The silence of 
 this wild and lonely churchyard on festive or solemn oc- 
 casions is not a little striking. On inquiring as to the 
 cause, the legend, related in the text, was told me as a 
 matter of implicit belief in those parts,' 
 
 ' 'Ancient Crosses in Cornwall,' by J. T. Blight. Penzance, 1858. 
 
 * The mysterious sisters really lived and died in North Devon. Mr. 
 Hawker transplanted the story to St. Knighton's Kieve. Any attempt in 
 prose or verse to associate these sisters with Glennectan he afterwards resented 
 as a literary theft. 
 
 * 'Ecclesia, a volume of Poems,' Oxford, 1S40. Really the Church of Forra- 
 bury on the height above Boscastlc, which is a hamlet in the parish of Forrabury.
 
 72 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. ill. 
 
 THE SILENT TOWER OF BOTTREAUX. 
 
 Tintagel bells ring o'er the tide, 
 
 The boy leans on his vessel's side, 
 
 He hears that sound, and dreams of home 
 
 Soothe the wild orphan of the foam. 
 
 ' Come to thy God in time ! ' 
 
 Thus saith their pealing chime ; 
 
 ' Youth, manhood, old age, past. 
 
 Come to thy God at last.' 
 
 But why are Bottreaux's echoes still ? 
 
 Her tower stands proudly on the hill, 
 
 Yet the strange chough that home hath found, 
 
 The lamb lies sleeping on the ground. 
 
 Come to thy God in time ! 
 
 Should be her answering chime. 
 
 Come to thy God at last ! 
 
 Should echo on the blast. 
 
 The ship rode down with courses free, 
 The daughter of a distant sea. 
 Her sheet was loose, her anchor stored, 
 The merry Bottreaux bells on board. 
 
 ' Come to thy God in time ! ' 
 
 Rang out Tintagel chime. 
 
 ' Youth, manhood, old age, past. 
 
 Come to thy God at last.' 
 
 The pilot heard his native bells 
 
 Hang on the breeze in fitful swells ; 
 
 ' Thank God ! ' with reverent brow he cried, 
 
 * We make the shore Avith evening's tide.' 
 
 Come to thy God in time ! 
 
 It was his marriage chime. 
 
 Youth, manhood, old age, past, 
 
 His bell must ring at last. 
 
 Thank God, thou whining knave, on land ! 
 But thank, at sea, the steersman's hand, 
 The captain's voice above the gale. 
 Thank the good ship and ready sail.
 
 CH. III.] THE BELLS OF BOTTREAUX. -ji 
 
 Come to thy God in time ! 
 Sad grew the boding chime. 
 Come to thy God at last ! 
 Boom'd heavy on the blast. 
 
 Up rose that sea as if it heard 
 The mighty Master's signal word ! 
 What thrills the captain's w^hitening lip ? 
 The death-groans of his sinking ship ! 
 
 Come to thy God in time ! 
 
 Swung deep the funeral chime. 
 
 Grace, mercy, kindness past, 
 
 Come to thy God at last ! 
 
 Long did the rescued pilot tell, 
 When grey hairs o'er his forehead fell — 
 While those around would hear and weep — 
 That fearful judgment of the deep. 
 
 Come to thy God in time ! 
 
 He read his native chime ; 
 
 Youth, manhood, old age, past. 
 
 His bell rung out at last ! 
 
 Still when the storm of Bottreaux's waves 
 Is wakening in his weedy caves. 
 Those bells that sullen surges hide 
 Peal their deep notes beneath the tide. 
 
 Come to thy God in time ! 
 
 Thus saith the ocean chime ; 
 
 Storm, billow, whirlwind past, 
 
 Come to thy God at last ! ^ 
 
 I may be allowed, as this is a gossiping book, here to 
 tell a story of Boscastle, which came to my ears when stay- 
 ing there a few years ago, and which is true. 
 
 There lived at Boscastle, within twenty years, an old 
 seafaring man, whom we will call Daddy Tregellas — his 
 
 ' This ballad has been set to music by Mrs. Arundel, and is published by 
 Messrs. Weekes.
 
 74 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. hi. 
 
 real name has escaped me. A widow in the village died, 
 leaving a fair young daughter of eighteen, very delicate 
 and consumptive, without a home or relation. Daddy 
 Tregellas had known the widow, and felt great pity for the 
 orphan, but how to help her he did not see. After much 
 turning the matter over in his mind, he thought the only 
 way in which he could make her a home and provide her 
 with comforts, without giving the gossips occasion to talk, 
 was by marrying her. And married accordingly they were. 
 The Boscastle people to this day tell of the tenderness of 
 the old man for his young delicate wife ; it was that of a 
 father for a daughter, — how he watched the carnation 
 spots on her cheek with intense anxiety, and listened with 
 anguish to her cough — how he walked out with her on the 
 cliffs, wrapping shawls round her, and sat in church with 
 his eyes fixed on her whilst he sang, listened, or prayed. 
 The beautiful girl was his idol, his pet. 
 
 She languished, in spite of all his care. He nursed her 
 through her illness like a mother, with his rough, brown 
 hand as gentle as that of a woman. She died propped up 
 in bed with her chestnut hair flowing over his blue sailor's 
 jersey, as he held her head on his breast. 
 
 When he had laid his pet in Forrabury Churchyard, 
 the light of his life was extinguished. The old man wan- 
 dered about the cliffs all day, in sunshine and in storm, 
 growing more hollow- cheeked and dull-eyed, his thin hair 
 lank, his back bowed, speaking to no one, and breaking 
 slowly but surely. 
 
 But Mr. Avery, the shipbuilder, about this time laid 
 the keel of a little vessel, and she was reared in Boscastle
 
 CH. III.] THE PET OF BOSCASTLE. 75 
 
 haven. The new ship interested the old man, and when 
 the figurehead was set up, he fancied he traced in it a 
 likeness to his dead wife. 
 
 ' It is— it is the Pet,' faltered the old man. 
 
 The owner heard the exclamation, and said, * So shall 
 it be. She shall be called the Pet.' 
 
 And now the old love, which had wound itself round 
 the Vv'ife, began to attach itself to the little vessel. Every 
 day the old man was on the quay watching the growth of 
 the Pet ; he could not bear her out of his sight. When the 
 Pet was ready to be launched, Mr. Avery offered Tregellas 
 the position of captain to her. The old man's joy was full : 
 he took the command, and sailed for Bristol for coals. 
 
 One stormy day, when a furious west wind was driving 
 upon the land, and bowling mountains of green water 
 against the coast, it was noised that a vessel was visible, 
 scudding before the wind, in dangerous proximity to the 
 shore. The signal rock was speedily crowded with anxious 
 watchers. The coastguardsman observed her attentively 
 with his glass, and said, ' It is the Pet. The hatch- 
 ways are all closed.' 
 
 Eyes watched her bounding through the waves, now on 
 the summit of a huge green billow, now deep in its trough, 
 till she was lost to sight in the rain and spondrift. 
 
 That was the last seen of the Pet ; she, with old Daddy 
 Tregellas and all on board, went to the bottom in that 
 dreadful storm. 
 
 Boscastle is a hamlet of quaint, gabled, weather-beaten 
 cottages, inhabited by sailors, clinging to the steep sides of
 
 76 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. iii. 
 
 the hills that dip rapidly to the harbour, a mere cleft in 
 the rocks, in shape like an S. 
 
 The entrance is between huge precipices of black rock, 
 one of them scooped out into a well ; — it is the resort of 
 countless gulls, which breed along the ledges. The harbour 
 is masked by an islet of rock covered by a meagre crop of 
 sea-grass and thrift. 
 
 Mr. Claud Hawker, the brother of the subject of this 
 memoir, resides at Penally in Boscastle.
 
 77 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Mr. Hawker's Politics— Election of 1S57— His Zeal for the Labourers — ' The 
 Poor Man and his Parish Church ' — Letter to a Landlord — Death of his 
 man, Tape — Kindness to the Poor — Verses over his Door — Reckless 
 Charity — Hospitality — A Break-down — His eccentric Dress — The Devil and 
 his Bam — His Ecclesiastical Vestments — Dislike of Ritualists— Ceremonial 
 — The Nine Cats — The Church Garden — Kindness to Animals — The 
 Rooks and Jackdaws — The Well of St. John — Letter to a young Man 
 entering the University. 
 
 Mr. Hawker in politics, as far as he had any, was a 
 Liberal, and in 1857 ^e voted for Mr. Robartes, afterwards 
 Lord Robartes. 
 
 March 26, 1857. — My dear Sir, — Your mangold is remark- 
 abl}' fine. I must, of course, visit Stratton to vote for Robartes, 
 and I do wish I could be told how far a few votes would throw 
 out Kendall by helping Carew, then I would give the latter one. 
 If I can contrive to call at Flexbury I will, but Mrs. Hawker is so 
 worried by bad eyes that she will not risk the roads. Last time 
 we were annoyed by some rascals who came after the carriage 
 shouting, ' Kendall and Protection !' It will be a dark infamy for 
 Cornwall if Nick, the traitor to every party, should get in. Tom 
 
 S has been out to-day blustering for Nick, but when asked 
 
 what party he belonged to, could not tell. How should he ? A note 
 
 from M to-night, dated Bude, informs me that he is there. 
 
 I am glad to find that, though not yet registered as a Cornish voter, 
 his heart and wishes are for Robartes. It will always be to me a
 
 78 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWK'ER. [CH. iv. 
 
 source of pride that I was the first, or well-nigh, I think, the only 
 clergyman in this deanery who voted for a Free Trade candidate. 
 Yours, my dear Sir, faithfully, 
 
 R. S. Hawker. 
 J. Carnsew, Esq. 
 
 .... I cannot conclude without a word about the mighty 
 theme of elections. When Carew's address arrived, and I read it 
 to Airs. Hawker, her remark was, ' It doesn't ring well' Nor did 
 
 it. There were sneaky symptoms about it. S writes that 
 
 ' sinister influence, apart from political, has been brought to bear 
 against Carew.' We save a breakfast by this, for Mrs. Hawker 
 had announced her intention to give one as she did last time to 
 Mr. Robartes' voters, and I save what is to me important — a ride. 
 When I was in Oxford there was a well-known old man. Doctor 
 Crowe, public orator, &c. He had risen from small beginnings, 
 and, therefore, he was a man of mind. Somewhat rough, and so 
 much the better, as old wine is. Him the young, thoughtless 
 Fellows delighted to tease after dinner in the Common-room, over 
 their wine at New College. N.B. (The rumour used to nm, that 
 when the Fellows of the College retired from the hall the butler 
 went before with a warming-pan, which he passed over the seat of 
 every stuffed chair, that the rev. fogies might not catch cold as 
 they sat down). Well, one day, said a Junior to old Crowe, ' Do 
 you know. Doctor C, what has happened to Jem Ward ? ' ' No, 
 not I. Is he hanged?' * Oh, no! they say he is Member of 
 Parliament.' ' Well, what of that ? ' ' Oh, but consider what a 
 thing for a fellow like that to get into the House of Commons — 
 such a blackguard !' 'And pray, young man, where should a 
 blackguard go but into the House of Commons, eh ? ' 
 
 Good night, dear Sir, good night. Yours faithfully, 
 
 R. S. Hawker. 
 
 But Mr. Hawker's sympathies were by no means 
 bound up with one party. He was as enthusiastic in 1873
 
 CH. IV.] ELECTION AT EXETER. 79 
 
 for the return of a Conservative member for Exeter, as he 
 had been in 1857 for that of a Free Trade candidate for 
 East Cornwall. 
 
 Morwensfow, Dec. 11, 1873. — My dear Mr. and Mrs. 
 Mills, — The good tidings of your success in Exeter has only just 
 arrived in our house, and I make haste to congratulate you, and 
 to express our hearty sympathy with Mr. Mills's great triumph. 
 
 Only yesterday Mr. M was here, and we were discussing the 
 
 probabilities and chances of the majority. I had heard from 
 Powderham Castle that the contest would be severe, and the run 
 close, but every good man's wishes and sympathies were with iSIr. 
 Mills. I hope that God will bless and succour him, and make 
 his election an avenue of good and usefulness to his kind, which I 
 am sure you both will value beyond the mere honour and rank. 
 Our men heard guns last night, but could not decide whether the 
 sound came from Bude or Lundy. But to-day I heard there were 
 great and natural rejoicings around your Efford home. How you 
 must have exulted also at your husband's strong position in London, 
 and at the School Board. He must have been very deeply appre- 
 ciated there, and will, of course, succeed to the chairmanship 
 
 of his district. You will be sorry to hear that Mr. R ' has 
 
 disappointed us, and will not be back again until after Christmas. 
 So, although I am so weak that I can hardly stagger up to the 
 church, and I incur deadly risk, I must go through my duty on 
 Sunday. Our dutiful love to you both. I am, yours ever 
 faithfully, 
 
 « R. S. Hawker. 
 
 It was his intense sympathy with the poor that con- 
 stituted the Radicalism in Mr. Hawker's opinions. A 
 thorough-going Radical he was not, for he was filled with 
 
 ' A clergyman on whom he had calculated for his assistance in his 
 services.
 
 8o LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. iv. 
 
 the mo3t devoted veneration for the Crown and constitu- 
 tion ; but his tender heart bled for the labourer, whom he 
 regarded as the sufferer through Protection, and he fired 
 up at what he regarded as an injustice. When he broke 
 forth into words, it was with the eloquence and energy of a 
 prophet. What can be more vigorous and vehement than 
 the following paper, which he wrote in 1861 1 
 
 There are in Morvvenstow about 6,000 acres of arable land, 
 rented by seventy farmers, forty large and thirty small. 
 
 There are less than sixty able-bodied labourers, and twenty- 
 five half-men at roads, &c. 
 
 With this proportion of one labourer to 100 acres there can be 
 no lack of employ. 
 
 The rate of wages is eight shillings a week, paid, not in money, 
 but by truck of corn. 
 
 A fixed agreement of 135 lbs. of corn or 18 gallons (commonly 
 called seven scores) is allotted to each man in lieu of 14^., be the 
 market price what it will. 
 
 A man with a wife and three or four children will consume the 
 above quantity of corn in fourteen days. 
 
 Therefore, such a man receiving for his fortnight's work 14.?. 
 worth of corn will only leave in his master's hand \s. a week, 
 which one shilling usually is paid for house rent. 
 
 Now, this inevitable outlay for the loaf and for the rent will 
 leave — for fuel, for shoes, for clothing, for groceries, for tools, for 
 club .... nil: o/. ox. od. 
 
 But, bid. But in the year 1860-61 the i4i-. paid for that corn 
 will only yield in flour and meal los. 6d., the millers being 
 judges. 
 
 If a man have only a wife and two children to house and feed, 
 his surplus money above his bread and rent will be \s. (?) a week 
 beyond the above example. But, but, in the recited list of 
 exigencies, will that suffice ?
 
 CH. IV.] APPEAL FOR THE LABOURERS. 8i 
 
 It was from a knowledge of the state of the parish that I 
 assented to the collection, of which I enclose a statement. 
 
 Two farmers only had the audacity to allege that the effort 
 was uncalled for ; and a labourer of one of these must have gone 
 barefooted to his work the whole winter, had not the money for a 
 pair of shoes been advanced to him by the victim of the parish. 
 
 It appears to be a notion entertamed by a chief patron of all 
 our charities, that the wages and the treatment of the labourers in 
 Kilkhampton are more favourable than in Morwenstow. But, hut, 
 but— 
 
 What is the weekly wage? 
 
 How paid ? 
 
 If in corn, at what price ? 
 
 And are there contracts in other respects ? 
 
 These are not questions which I want to be answered, but only 
 questions for your own private consideration. 
 
 A letter narrating the success of this appeal is in my 
 hands, and may find a place here. 
 
 Feb. 21, 1861. — My dear Sir, — I have postponed replying to 
 your last letter until I could acquaint you with the progress or 
 result of the subscriptions to the poor. Lord J. Thynne has 
 given 5/., Mr. Dayman, 3/., Messrs. Cann and Harris, church- 
 wardens, i/. each -y other parishioners about 3/. or 4/. So that we 
 shall divide 25/. and upwards among the really destitute. I am 
 much obliged to you for your readiness to allow my influence to 
 count with that of others in the parish, but the reference in my 
 letter to the churchwardens was to the past, and not altogether to 
 the future. Be this as it may, when Moses languishes manna falls, 
 thank God. 
 
 You will be sorry to hear that Mrs. H is very ill. Her 
 
 attack is so full of peril, and demands such incessant medical 
 
 succour, that Captain H resolved on removing her while she 
 
 could be moved to London, to the charge of her accustomed 
 doctor, and thither they went last Monday. Our loss is deep. 
 
 G
 
 S2 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. iv. 
 
 It was indeed a gift from God to have a thorough lady and gentle- 
 man in the parish to appreciate the utterance of truth, and the 
 effects of duty : it was indeed a happiness, and it is now gone. 
 
 Mrs. H had taken great trouble with our choir. Every 
 
 Thursday evening she has allowed them to come to learn the 
 musical scale, and they were fast learning to read and sing the 
 notes. 
 
 We have been visited of late by the new kind of hurricane, the 
 KVK\h)v, or whirl. It is just as fierce and strong as the old storm, 
 but the scene of its onslaught is rigidly local ; indeed, we might 
 almost call them parochial. They had theirs at Kilkhampton two 
 
 days before Mr. T 's christening. The Poughill rush was the 
 
 week after the vicar brought home his wife. A pinnacle was 
 snapped off there, and the wall of the church rent. At Kilkhamp- 
 ton the damage done was in the immediate vicinity of the church. 
 We had ours last night, but the church did not suffer harm, 
 although two-thirds of the roof are rotten, and the pinnacles over- 
 hang. Lent is always the demon's time, and the strength of evil. 
 A woman who is just come in tells me that the new chimney in the 
 kitchen at Tidnacombe was blown down last night, and is now 
 
 lying on the roof in fragments Yours faithfully, 
 
 R. S. Hawker. 
 
 The energy with which he upheld the cause of the 
 abourer was one cause of some unreasonable resentment 
 against him being felt by the farmers, and this explains his 
 expression ' the victim of the parish,' in reference to him- 
 self in his appeal. 
 
 The same intense sympathy with the poor and the 
 down-trodden breaks out in his ballad, the ' Poor Man and 
 his Parish Church,' of which I insert a few verses : — 
 
 The poor have hands, and feet, and eyes, 
 
 Flesh, and a feeling mind ; 
 They breathe the breath of mortal sighs, 
 
 They are of human kind ;
 
 CH. IV.] THE 'POOR MAN AND HIS PARISH CHURCH: 83 
 
 They weep such tears as others shed, 
 
 And now and then they smile, — 
 For sweet to them is that poor bread 
 
 They win with honest toil. 
 
 The poor men have their wedding-day. 
 
 And children climb their knee : 
 They have not many friends, for they 
 
 Are in such misery. 
 They sell their youth, their skill, their pains, 
 
 For hire in hill and glen ; 
 The very blood within their veins. 
 
 It flows for other men. 
 
 They should have roofs to call their own 
 
 When they grow old and bent, 
 Meek houses built of dark grey stone. 
 
 Worn labourers' monument. 
 There should they dwell beneath the thatch. 
 
 With threshold calm and free, 
 No stranger's hand should hft the latch 
 
 To mark their poverty. 
 
 Fast by the church these walls should stand, 
 
 Her aisles in youth they trod ; 
 They have no home in all the land 
 
 Like that old House of God ! 
 There, there, the Sacrament was shed 
 
 That gave them heavenly birth, 
 And lifted up the poor man's head 
 
 With princes of the earth. 
 
 There in the chancel's voice of praise 
 
 Their simple vows were poured, 
 And angels looked with equal gaze 
 
 On Lazarus and his Lord. 
 There too, at last, they calmly sleep 
 
 Where hallowed blossoms bloom. 
 And eyes as fond and faithful weep 
 
 As o'er the rich man's tomb. 
 
 G 2
 
 84 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. iv. 
 
 I know not why, but when they tell 
 
 Of houses fair and wide, 
 Where troops of poor men go to dwell 
 
 In chambers side by side, 
 I dream of an old cottage door 
 
 With garlands overgrown. 
 And wish the children of the poor 
 
 Had flowers to call their own. 
 
 And when they vaunt that in these walls 
 
 They have their worship day. 
 Where the stern signal coldly calls 
 
 The prisoned poor to pray, 
 I think upon an ancient home 
 
 Beside the churchyard wall, 
 Where roses round the porch would roam, 
 
 And gentle jasmines fall. 
 
 I see the old man of my lay. 
 
 His grey head bowed and bare. 
 He kneels by our dear wall to pray. 
 
 The sunlight in his hair. 
 Well ! they may strive, as wise men will. 
 
 To work with wit and gold, 
 I think my own dear Cornwall still 
 
 Was happier of old. 
 
 O ! for the poor man's church again. 
 
 With one roof over all, 
 Where the true hearts of Cornishmen 
 
 Might beat beside the wall ; 
 The altars where in holier days 
 
 Our fathers were forgiven. 
 Who went with meek and faithful ways 
 
 Through the old aisles to heaven. 
 
 A letter to one of the landlords in his parish shows how 
 vehemently Mr, Hawker could urge the claims of one of 
 the farmers. 
 
 Morwmstmv, May 21, 1867. — My dear Mr. Martyn,— Just 
 as I was about to write to you on other matters youradvertisemeiit
 
 CH. IV.] APPEAL FOR A FARMER. 85 
 
 for the letting of your lands reached me. It is not, of course, my 
 duty to express any opinion between landlord and tenant, or to 
 give utterance to my sympathy with any one candidate over 
 another ; yet there is a matter on which I am sure you will forgive 
 me if I venture to touch. It is on the tenancy of your farm of 
 
 Ruxmoore by C . He has been my churchwarden during the 
 
 whole of his last term. He and his have been the most faithful 
 adherents to the Church of their baptism in my whole parish ; and 
 he has been to me so sincere and attached a friend in his station 
 of life, that he without Ruxmoore, or Ruxmoore without the 
 
 C s, would be to me an utterly inconceivable regret. It was I 
 
 who first introduced him to the choice of your family, 28 years 
 agone, and throughout the whole of that time he has been, in his 
 humble way, entirely faithful to me and to you. I do not imagine 
 that you intend to exclude him from your farm, but I venture to 
 hope that you will put me in possession confidentially of your 
 wishes in regard to his future tenancy. Do you mean that he 
 shall tender as before ? and does your valuation of his part of 
 your land ascend? He is not aware that I write to you hereon, 
 and if you are disinclined to answer my questions I hope you will 
 allow me to record my hearty hope and trust, that you will give 
 him the preference over other new and local candidates in or out 
 of Morwenstow. I have firm confidence in the justice and mercy 
 
 of your heart. But you must not infer that C alone of all 
 
 your tenants is, or has been, the object of my special regard. 
 
 .... In Wellcomb, B , whom you remember, no doubt, 
 
 by name, is one of my regular communicants. And now the 
 very kind and generous sympathy which Mrs. Martyn and your- 
 self have shown towards my school demands a detail of our 
 success. 
 
 The children on the day-school books amount to 63. The 
 Inspectors (Diocesan) pronounce it to be the most satisfactory 
 school in their district. I always visit and instruct the children 
 in person once a week. Mrs. Hawker has had a singing class 
 of boys and girls weekly at the vicarage. But this duty and
 
 86 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. \QVi.\\. 
 the harmonium in church are now undertaken by Mrs. T , 
 
 for a reason that will readily suggest itself to your mind. But 
 AV'hy should I hesitate to avow to old friends that we expect 
 another guest at the vicarage? How I hope that God may 
 grant us a boy, that I may utter the words of the Fathers of 
 holy time, 'My son, my son !' 
 
 Morwensiotv, Jan. 22, 1857. — My dear Sir, — It is no longer 
 possible to nourish the project which I have all along, every 
 week and day, intended to essay — viz., a journey down to Flexbury 
 Hall. We have continually talked of it, more than once fixed 
 the day, but we have been as singularly prevented as if some 
 evil spirit had it at heart to hinder our purpose. And these 
 obstacles have very often been occurrences full of pain, domestic 
 or personal. You have no doubt heard of the frightful accident 
 to poor old George Tape, my caretaker and very excellent servant. 
 He lived all his early life with old Mr. Shearm, here in the old 
 Vicarage House; was sexton 25 years; worked with me from 
 1835 to 1851; then visited Australia as a gold-digger; returned 
 about two years agone with enough to live on, aided by a little 
 work, and came back to be again my hind at Michaelmas last. 
 He was, therefore, a long-accustomed face, almost as one of 
 my own family. You will, therefore, understand the shock when 
 we heard a man rushing upstairs to our little sitting-room with 
 the tale of fear, and on going down I found poor George seated 
 in a chair, with the hand crushed into pulp below the wrist, 
 and dangling by the naked sinews. I made a rude tourniquet 
 in haste of a silk handkerchief and short stick, and so the 
 hemorrhage was stopped. We got him home. I was with him 
 nearly all that night, and the next day till he died, but the am- 
 putation I could not witness. We found tAvo fingers and other 
 
 pieces of flesh among the barley afterwards I remain 
 
 yours, my dear Sir, very faithfully, 
 
 R. S. Hawker. 
 T. Camsew, Esq.
 
 CH. IV.] GENEROSITY TO THE POOR. 87 
 
 The generosity of the Vicar to the poor knew no 
 bounds. It was not always discreet ; but his compassionate 
 heart could not listen to a tale of suffering unaffected, na}- 
 more, the very idea that others were in want impelled him 
 to seek them out at all times, to relieve their need. 
 
 On cold winter nights, if he felt the frost to be very 
 keen, the idea would enter his head that such and such 
 persons had not above one blanket on their beds, or that 
 they had gone without anything to warm their vitals to 
 the chill damp attics where they slept. Then he would 
 stamp about the house, collecting warm clothing and 
 blankets, bottles of wine and any food he could find in the 
 larder, and laden with them, attended by a servant, go 
 forth on his rambles, and knock up the cottagers, that he 
 might put extra blankets on their beds, or cheer them with 
 port wine and cold pie. 
 
 The following graphic description of one of these night 
 missions is given in the words of an old workman, named 
 Vinson. 
 
 ' It was a very cold night in the winter of 1874-5, 
 about 9.30 ; he called me into the house, and said, " The 
 poor folk up at Shop will all perish this very night of cold. 
 John Ode is ill and cannot go, can you get there alive .-' " 
 
 ' " If you please, Sir, I will if you'll allow me," I said. 
 
 ' " Take them these four bottles of brandy," he says ; and 
 he brought up four bottles, with never so much as the 
 corks drawed. " Now," says he, "what will you have your- 
 self.'' " and I says, " Gin, if you plase, Sir," I says. And he 
 poured me out gin and water, and then he gi'ed me a 
 lemonade bottle of gin for me to put in my side pocket.
 
 88 LTFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [cH. iv. 
 
 " That'll keep you alive," he says, "before you come back." 
 So he fulled me up before I started, and sent me off to 
 Shop, to four old people's houses with a bottle of brandy 
 for each. And then he says, " There's two shillings for 
 yourself, and you keep pulling at that bottle, and you'll 
 keep yourself alive afore you come back." So I went 
 there and delivered the bottles, and I'd had enough before 
 I started to bring me home again, so I didn't uncork my 
 bottle of gin. 
 
 ' And it isn't once, it's scores o' times he's looked out o' 
 window, after I've going home at night, and shouted to 
 me, " Here, stay ! come back, Vinson," and he's gone into 
 the larder, and cut off great pieces of meat, and sent me 
 with them, and p'raps brandy or wine, to some poor soul, 
 and he always gi'ed me a shilling, either then or next day, 
 for myself, besides meat and drink.' 
 
 ' They are crushed down, my poor people,' he would 
 say with energy, stamping about his room, * ground down 
 with poverty, with a wretched wage, the hateful truck 
 system, till they are degraded in mind and body.' It was 
 a common saying of his, ' If I eat and drink, and see my 
 poor hunger and thirst, I am not a minister of Christ, but a 
 lion that lurketh in his den to ravish the poor.' 
 
 The monetary value of the living was 365/. He wrote 
 up over the porch of his vicarage — 
 
 A house, a glebe, a pound a day, 
 A pleasant place to watch and pray, 
 Be true to Church, be kind to poor, 
 O minister, for evermore ! 
 
 Of his overflowing kindness to the shipwrecked, men-
 
 CH. IV.] A DISASTROUS EXPEDITION. 89 
 
 tion shall be made in another chapter. The many 
 sufferers whom he rescued from the water, housed, f"ed, 
 nursed and clothed, and sent away with liberal gifts, always 
 spoke of his charity with warmth and gratitude. In no 
 one instance would he accept compensation for the deeds 
 of charity which he performed. He received letters of 
 thanks for his services to the shipwrecked from shipowners 
 in Norway, Denmark, France, Scotland, and Cornwall, 
 who had lost vessels on this fatal coast, as well as from the 
 consuls of the several nations. 
 
 Like his grandfather. Dr. Hawker, he was ready to give 
 away everything he had ; and he was at times in strait- 
 ened circumstances, owing to the open house he kept, and 
 the profusion with which he gave away to the necessitous. 
 
 This inconsiderate generosity sometimes did harm to 
 those who received it. One instance will suffice. 
 
 The Vicar of Morwenstow had some years ago a 
 servant, whom we will call Stanlake ; the man may be still 
 alive, and therefore his real name had better not be given 
 to the world. 
 
 One day Mr. Hawker ordered his carriage to drive to 
 Bideford, some twenty miles distant. The weather was 
 raw and cold. He was likely to be absent all day, as he 
 was going on to Barnstaple by train to consult his doctor. 
 His compassion was roused by the thought of Stanlake 
 having forty miles of drive in the cold, and a day of 
 lounging about in the raw December air, and just as he 
 stepped into the carriage he produced a bottle of whisky 
 and gave it to Stanlake. 
 
 Mr. Hawker was himself a most abstemious man ;
 
 90 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. iv. 
 
 he drank only water, and never touched wine, spirits, or 
 beer. 
 
 On the way to Bideford, at Hoops, thinking the coach- 
 man looked blue with cold, the Vicar ordered him a glass 
 of hot brandy-and-water. When he reached Bideford 
 station he said, ' Now, Stanlake, I shall be back by the 4.30 
 train, mind you meet me with the carriage.' 
 
 ' All right. Sir.' 
 
 But Mr. Hawker did not arrive by the 4.30 train. 
 
 Up till that hour Stanlake had kept sober, he had not 
 touched his bottle of whisky ; but finding that his master 
 did not arrive, and that time hung heavily on his hands, he 
 retired to the stable, uncorked the bottle and drank it off. 
 
 At six o'clock Mr. Hawker arrived at Bideford. There 
 was no carriage at the station to meet him. He hurried to 
 the inn where he put up, and ordered his conveyance. He 
 was told that his man was incapable. 
 
 ' Send him to me, send him here,' he thundered, pacing 
 the coffee-room in great excitement. 
 
 ' Please, Sir, he is under a heap of straw and hay in a 
 loose box in the stable, dead drunk.' 
 
 ' Make him come.' 
 
 After some delay, the information was brought him 
 that when Mr. Stanlake after great efforts had been reared 
 upon his legs, he had fallen over again. 
 
 ' Put the horses to. I can drive as well as Stanlake. I 
 will drive home myself; and do you shove that drunken 
 boor head and crop into the carriage.' 
 
 The phaeton was brought to the door, the Vicar 
 mounted the box, the drunken servant was tumbled inside.
 
 CH. IV.] A DISASTROUS EXPEDITION. 91 
 
 the door shut on him, and off they started for a long night 
 drive with no moon in the sky, and frosty stars looking 
 down on the wintry earth. 
 
 Half-way between Bideford and Morwenstow, in 
 descending a hill the pole-strap broke, the carriage ran 
 forward on the horses' heels, they plunged, and the pole 
 drove into the hedge ; with the jerk one of the carriage 
 springs gave way. 
 
 Mr. Hawker, afraid to get off the box without some 
 one being at hand to hold the horses' heads, shouted lustily 
 for help. No one came. 
 
 ' Stanlake, wake up ! Get out ! ' 
 
 A snore from inside was the only answer. Mr. Hawker 
 knocked the glasses with his whip-handle and shouted yet 
 louder: ' You drunken scoundrel, get out and hold the 
 horses ! ' 
 
 ' We won't go home till morning, till daylight doth 
 appear,' chanted the tipsy man in bad tune from within. 
 
 After some time a labourer, seeing from a distance 
 the stationary carriage lamps, and wondering what they 
 were, arrived on the scene. By his assistance the carriage 
 was brought sideways to the hill, the horses were taken 
 out, a piece of rope procured to mend the harness and tie 
 up the broken spring ; and Mr. Hawker remounting the 
 box drove forward, and reached Morwenstow vicarage 
 about one o'clock at night. 
 
 Next morning Stanlake appeared in the library, very 
 downcast. 
 
 ' Go away,' said the Vicar in a voice of thunder. * I 
 dismiss you forthwith. Here are your wages. I will
 
 92 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. iv. 
 
 not even look at you. Let me never see your face 
 again ; you brought me into a pretty predicament last 
 night' 
 
 Two days after he met the man again. In the mean- 
 time his wrath had abated, and he began to think that he 
 had acted harshly with his servant. ' Forgive us our 
 trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us,' ran 
 in his head. 
 
 ' Stanlake,' said he, ' you played me a hateful trick the 
 other night. I hope you are sorry for it' 
 ' I'se very sorry, your honour.' 
 ' You think you won't do it again t ' 
 ' I'se very sure I won't, your honour.' 
 ' Then, Stanlake, I will overlook it. You may remain 
 in my service.' 
 
 Not many weeks after, the Vicar sent Stanlake to 
 Boscastle, and thinking he would be cold, gave him again 
 a bottle of whisky. Of course, once more the man got 
 drunk. This time the Vicar did not overlook it ; and the 
 man was dismissed. 
 
 Mr. Robert Stephen Hawker was a man of the most 
 unbounded hospitality. Every one who visited Morwenstow 
 met with a warm welcome ; everything his larder and 
 dairy contained were produced in the most lavish profusion. 
 The best that his house could afford was freely given. 
 On one occasion, when about to be visited by a nephew and 
 his wife, he sent all the way to Tavistock, about thirty 
 miles, for a leg and shoulder of Dartmoor mutton. If he 
 saw friends coming along the loop drive which descended 
 to his vicarage, he would run to the door, with a sunny
 
 CH. IV.] HOSPITALITY. 93 
 
 smile of greeting, and both hands extended in welcome, 
 and draw them in to break his bread and partake of his 
 salt. Sometimes his larder was empty, he had fed so 
 many visitors ; and he would say sorrowfully, ' There is 
 nothing but ham and eggs : I" give thee all, I can no more.' 
 And visitors were most numerous in summer. In one 
 of his letters he speaks of having entertained 150 in a 
 summer. 
 
 His drawing-room on a summer afternoon was often 
 so crowded with visitors from Bude, Clovelly, Bideford, 
 Stratton, and elsewhere, come to tea, that it was difficult 
 to move in it. 
 
 ' Look here, my dear,' he would say to a young wife, ' I 
 will tell you how to make tea. Fill the pot with leaves to 
 the top, and pour the water into the cracks.' His tea was 
 always the best Lapsing Souchong from Twining's. 
 
 He was a wretched carver. He talked and laughed, 
 and hacked the meat at the same time, cutting here, there, 
 and anywhere in search of the tenderest pieces for his 
 guests. 
 
 ' One day that we went over to call on him unex- 
 pectedly,' says a friend, 'he made us stay for lunch. He 
 was in the greatest excitement and delight at our visit, 
 and in the flurry decanted a bottle of brandy, and filled 
 our wineglasses with it, mistaking it for sherry. The 
 joint was a fore-quarter of lamb. It puzzled him ex- 
 tremely. At last, losing all patience, he grasped the leg 
 bone with one hand, the shoulder with the fork driven 
 up to the hilt through it, and tore it by main force 
 asunder.'
 
 94 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. iv. 
 
 Another friend describes a ' high tea ' at his house A 
 whole covey of partridges was brought on table. He drove 
 his fork into the breast of each, then severed the legs by 
 cutting through the back, and so helped each person to the 
 whole breast and wings. The birds had not been cooked by 
 an experienced hand, and properly trussed. The whole 
 covey lay on their backs with their legs in the air, 
 presenting the drollest appearance when the cover — 
 large enough for a sirloin of beef — was removed from the 
 dish, 
 
 ' When you steal your own cream, my dear,' was a 
 saying of his to ladies, ' don't take just a spoonful on a bit 
 of bread, but clear the Avhole pan with a great ladle and 
 no bread.' 
 
 One story about a break-down when driving has been 
 told ; another incident of the same description shall be given 
 in his own words : — 
 
 Nov. 4, 1856. — My dear Sir, — -When I relate the history of 
 our recent transit through Poughill by night, T think you will 
 allow that I am not nervous beyond measure when I say that I 
 am obliged through fear to deny myself the pleasure of joining 
 your hospi.able board on Thursday next. Before we had crossed 
 Summerleaze one lamp went out ; another languished. My 
 clumsy servant John had broken both springs. A lanthorn, which 
 we borrowed at Lake Cottage of a woman called Barrett, held 
 aloft by our boy, just enabled us to creep along amid a thorough 
 flood of cold rain, until we arrived at Stowe, There we succeeded 
 in negotiating a loan of another piece of candle, and moved on, a 
 rare and rending headache meanwhile throbbing under my hat. 
 Half-way down Stowe hill the drag-chain broke suddenly, and 
 but for extreme good behaviour on the part of the horses — shall I 
 add good driving on mine ? — we must have gone over in a heaj)
 
 CH. IV.] PECULIAR DRESS. 95 
 
 to the great delight of the Dissenters in this district. We did at 
 last arrive home, but it was in a very disconsolate condition. 
 Still, good came of our journey, for Mrs. Hawker cannot deny 
 that I drove in a masterly manner, and therefore is bound to 
 travel anywhere with me by day. We mean, with your leave, 
 to come down to you early one day soon, and depart so as to 
 be at home before dark. Tell your son that on Saturday night 
 last, at eight o'clock, tidings came in that carriage lamps flared 
 along our in-road. I found at the door ' a deputation from the 
 Parent Society,' the Rev. L. H . Three friends had pre- 
 viously suggested his visit here, and all three had been snubbed. 
 But he put into my hand a note from Leopold Acland, so there 
 was no longer any resistance. He had travelled far — Australia, 
 Egypt, the Crimea during the Anglican defeat. So his talk 
 amused us. With kindest regards to all at Flexbury, I remain, 
 yours, my dear Sir, very faithfully, 
 
 R. S. Hawker. 
 T. Carnsew, Esq. 
 
 Mr. Hawker, as has been already intimated, was rather 
 peculiar in his dress. At first, soon after his induction 
 to Morwenstow, he wore his cassock, but in time abandoned 
 this inconvenient garb, in which he found it impossible to 
 scramble about his cliffs. He then adopted a claret- 
 coloured coat with long tails. He had the greatest aversion 
 to anything black — the only black things he would wear 
 were his boots. These claret-coloured coats would 
 button over the breast, but were generally worn open, 
 displaying beneath a knitted blue fisherman's jersey. 
 At his side, just where the Lord's side was pierced, a little 
 red cross was woven into the jersey. He wore fishing- 
 boots reaching above his knee. 
 
 The claret-coloured cassock coats, when worn out.
 
 96 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. iv. 
 
 were given to his servant-maids, wiio wore them as morn- 
 ing dresses when going about their dirty work. 
 
 ' See there ! the parson is washing potatoes ! ' or ' See 
 there ! the parson is feeding the pigs!' would be exclaimed 
 by villagers as they saw his servant-girls engaged on their 
 work, in their master's coats. 
 
 At first he went about in a college-cap, but this 
 speedily made way for a pink or flesh-coloured beaver 
 hat without a brim. When he put on coat, jersey, or 
 hat, he wore it till it was worn out : he had no best suit. 
 
 Once he had to go to Hartland to the funeral of a 
 relative. On the way he had an accident — his carriage 
 upset and he was thrown out. When he arrived at Hart- 
 land his relations condoled with him on his upset. ' Do, 
 Hawker, let me find you a new hat ; in your fall you have 
 knocked the brim off yours,' said one. 
 
 * My dear ,' he answered, * priests of the Holy 
 
 Eastern Church wear no brims to their hats, and I wear 
 none, to testify the connection of the Cornish Church with 
 the East, before ever Augustine set foot in Kent.' And he 
 attended the funeral in his brimless hat. He wore one of 
 these flesh-coloured hats, bleached white, at the funeral of 
 his first wife in 1863, and could hardly be persuaded to 
 allow the narrowest po.ssible band of black crape to be 
 pinned round it. 
 
 The pink hats were, however, abandoned, partly because 
 they would not keep their colour, and a priest's wide-awake, 
 claret-coloured like the coat, was adopted in its place. 
 
 ' My coat,' said he, when asked by a lady why he wore 
 one of such a cut and colour, ' mv coat is that of an
 
 CH. IV.] PECULIAR COSTUME. 97 
 
 Armenian archimandrite.' But this he probably said only 
 from his love of hoaxing persons who asked him impertinent 
 questions. 
 
 When Mr. Hawker went up to London to be married the 
 second time, he lost his hat, which was carried away by the 
 wind as he looked out of the window of the train, to become 
 perhaps an inmate of a provincial museum as a curiosity. 
 He arrived hatless in town after dark. He tied a large 
 scarlet handkerchief over his head, and thus attired paced 
 up and down the street for two hours before his lodging, in 
 great excitement at the thought of the change in his 
 prospects which would dawn with the morrow. I must 
 leave to the imagination of the reader the perplexity of the 
 policeman at the corner over the extraordinary figure in 
 claret-coloured clerical coat, wading-boots up to his hips, 
 blue knitted jersey, and red handkerchief bound round his 
 head. His gloves were crimson. He wore these in church 
 as well as elsewhere. 
 
 In the dark chancel, lighted only dimly through the 
 stained east window, hidden behind a close-grated screen, 
 the Vicar was invisible when performing the service, till, 
 having shouted 'Thomas' in a voice of thunder, two blood- 
 red hands were thrust through the screen with offertory 
 bags, in which alms were to be collected by the church- 
 warden who answered the familiar call. Or the first ap- 
 pearance of the Vicar took place after the Nicene Creed, 
 when a crimson hand was seen gliding up the banister of 
 the pulpit, to be followed by his body painfully worming 
 its way through an aperture in the screen measuring only 
 sixteen inches : ' The camel getting at length through 
 
 H
 
 98 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. iv. 
 
 the eye of the needle,' as Mr. Hawker called the pro- 
 ceeding. 
 
 In church he wore a little black cap over his white hair, 
 rendered necessary by the cold and damp of the decaying 
 old church. , 
 
 At his side he carried a bunch of seals and medals. 
 One of his seals bore the fish surrounded by a serpent 
 biting its tail, and the legend t^j^^us. Another bore the 
 pentacle, with the name of Jehovah in Hebrew characters 
 in the centre. This was Solomon's seal. ' With this seal,' 
 he said, * I can command the devils.' 
 
 His command of the Devil was not always successful. 
 He built a barn on the most exposed and elevated point 
 of the glebe ; and when a neighbour expostulated with 
 him, and assured him that the wind would speedily wreck 
 it, ' No,' he answered ; ' I have placed the sign of the cross 
 on it, and so the Devil cannot touch it.' 
 
 A few weeks after, a gale from the south-west tore the 
 roof off. 
 
 ' The Devil,' was his explanation, ' was so enraged at 
 seeing the sign of the cross on my barn that he rent it and 
 wrecked it.' 
 
 A man, whom he had saved from a wreck, in gratitude 
 sent him afterwards from the diggings in California a 
 nugget of gold he had found. This Mr. Hawker had 
 struck into a medal or seal, and wore always at his side 
 with the bunch. 
 
 Attached to the button-hole of his coat was invariably 
 a pencil suspended by a piece of string. 
 
 He was a well-built man, tall, broad, with a face full of
 
 cu. IV.] DISLIKE OF RITUALISTS. 99 
 
 manly beauty, a nobly cut profile, dark full eyes, and long 
 snowy hair. His expression was rapidly changing, like the 
 sea as seen from his cliffs, now flashing and rippling with 
 smiles, and anon overcast and sad, sometimes stormy. 
 
 Mr. Hawker, some short time after his induction into 
 Morwenstow^ adopted an alb and cope, which he wore 
 throughout his ministrations at matins, litany, and com- 
 munion service. But he left off wearing the cope about 
 ten or twelve years ago, and the reason he gave for doing 
 so was his disapproval of the extravagances of the Ritual- 
 ist party. He was afraid by using this vestment that he 
 would be associated with it, and curiously enough this was 
 a party towards which he entertained the bitterest dislike ; 
 he could not speak of it with charity, but involved 
 Ritualists and Wesleyans in one common denunciation. 
 Till the year before he died he had no personal knowledge 
 of their proceedings, and related as facts the most ridiculous 
 and preposterous fables concerning them which had been 
 told him, and which he sincerely believed in. 
 
 The ceremonial he employed in his church was entirely 
 of his own devising. When he baptized a child, he raised 
 it in his arms, carried it up the church, in his waving purple 
 cope, thundering forth with his rich powerful voice the 
 words, ' We receive this child into the congregation of 
 Christ's flock,' &c. His administra^-ion of this Sacrament 
 was most solemn and impressive, and I know of parents 
 who have gone to Morwenstow for the purpose of having 
 their children baptized by him. 
 
 In celebrating marriage he used to take the ring and 
 toss it in the air before restoring it to the bridegroom.
 
 lOO LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. iv. 
 
 What was symbolised by this proceeding I have been 
 unable to ascertain, unless it were to point out that mar- 
 riage is always more or less of a toss-up. 
 
 After abandoning the cope for the reasons stated, his 
 appearance in girded alb was not a little peculiar. The 
 alb, to any one not accustomed to see it, has much the look 
 of a nightgown. Over his shoulders he wore a stole, of 
 which he was very fond. It was copied for him from one 
 found at Durham, which had been placed in the shrine of 
 St. Cuthbert, on the body. Mr. Hawker bore a special 
 reverence for the memory of St. Cuthbert, who, living on 
 his islet of Fame, the haunt of sea-mews, taming the 
 wild birds, praying, meditating amidst the roar of the 
 North Sea, he thought occupied a position not unlike 
 his own. The week before he died, Mr. Hawker sent 
 to Morwenstow for this stole, and was photographed 
 in it. 
 
 * We are much taken with the old church,' wrote a well- 
 known public man a few years ago to a friend, ' to say 
 nothing of the Vicar thereof, who reminds me immensely 
 of Cardinal Wiseman. He is a sight to see, as well as a 
 preacher to hear, as he stands in his quaint garb and quaint 
 pulpit, and looks as if he belonged to the days of Mor- 
 wenna Abbatissa herself.' 
 
 He was usually followed to church by nine or ten cats, 
 which entered the chancel with him, and careered about it 
 during service. Whilst saying prayers, Mr. Hawker would 
 pat his cats or scratch them under their chins. Originally 
 ten cats accompanied him to church, but one having caught, 
 killed, and eaten a mouse on a Sunday, was excommuni-
 
 CH. IV.] BIRDS AND FLOWERS. loi 
 
 cated, and from that day was not allowed again within the 
 sanctuary. 
 
 A friend tells me that on attending Morwenstow churcii 
 one Sunday morning, nothing amazed him more than to 
 see a little dog sitting upon the altar-step behind the 
 celebrant, in the position which in many churches is 
 occupied by a deacon or a server. He afterwards spoke to 
 Mr. Hawker on the subject, and asked him why he did not 
 turn the dog out of the chancel and church. 
 
 'Turn the dog out of the ark!' he exclaimed; 'all 
 animals, clean and unclean, should find there a refuge.' 
 
 His chancel, as has been already said, was strewn with 
 wormwood, sweet marjoram, and wild thyme. 
 
 He had a garden which he called his Church garden, 
 below his house, in a spot sheltered by dwarfed trees. In 
 this garden he grew such flowers as were suitable for church 
 decoration, and were named in honour of the Virgin Mary 
 or the saints, such as columbine, lilies, Barnaby's thistle, 
 Timothy grass, the cowslip (St. Peter's flower). Lady's 
 smock, &c. 
 
 Mr. Hawker's kindness to animals was a conspicuous 
 feature in his character. The birds of Morwenstow became 
 quite tame, and fluttered round him for food. ' Ubi aves,' 
 he said, ' ibi angeli.' To the north side of the church, above 
 the vicarage, is a small grove of trees, oaks and sycamores. 
 There were nests in them of magpies : Mr. Hawker thought 
 of jackdaws, but these birds do not build nests among 
 branches. He was very anxious to get rooks to inhabit 
 this grove ; to obtain them he went to his chancel, and 
 kneeling before the altar, besought God to give him a
 
 102 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [cH. iv. 
 
 rookery where he wanted. Having made his prayer, 
 full of faith, he had a ladder put to the trees, and he care- 
 fully removed the nests to a chimney of his house which 
 was rarely used. 
 
 ' Jackdaws,' said he, ' I make you a promise ; if you will 
 give up these trees to rooks, you shall have the chimney of 
 ni}' blue room in scecula scBculormnJ 
 
 The jackdaws took him at his word, and filled the 
 chimney with their piles of sticks which serve as nests. 
 Somehow rooks were persuaded to settle among the tree- 
 tops of his grove, and there the colony subsists to the 
 present day. 
 
 Some years ago, when Dr. Phillpotts was Bishop of 
 Exeter, a visit of the Bishop to Morwenstow had been 
 planned and decided on. Mrs. Hawker insisted on having 
 the blue room fitted up for his lordship. A fire would 
 have to be lighted in the grate ; the chimney would smoke 
 luiless cleared of nests. 
 
 Mr. Hawker stood by whilst Mrs. Hawker and the 
 maid prepared the blue room. He would not have the 
 jackdaws disturbed. He had given them his word of 
 honour. Mrs. Hawker argued that necessity knows no 
 law ; the Bishop must have a fire, and the jackdaws must 
 make way for the Bishop. She prevailed. 
 
 ' I wrung my hands, I protested, entreated, and foretold 
 e\'il,' was the Vicar's account of the affair. 
 
 ' Well ! and did evil come of it .-' ' 
 
 ' Yes, the Bishop never arrived after all.' 
 
 Mr. Hawker was warmly attached to the Bishop of
 
 CH. IV.] THE WELL OF ST. JOHN. 103 
 
 Exeter, and was accustomed to send him some braces of 
 woodcocks every October. 
 
 Not far from the church and vicarage was the well of 
 St. John, a spring of exquisitely clear water, which he 
 always employed for his font. 
 
 Sir J. Buller, afterwards Lord Churston, claimed the 
 well, and an expensive lawsuit was the result. The Vicar 
 carried his right to the well, and Sir J. Buller had to 
 pay expenses. Mr. Hawker would tell his guests that he 
 was about to produce them a bottle of the costliest liquor 
 in the county of Cornwall, and then give them water from 
 the well of St. John. The right to this water had cost 
 several thousands of pounds. 
 
 A letter dated February 7, 1852, to a young friend 
 going up to the University, refers to his cats and 
 dogs, and to his annual gift of woodcocks to the Bishop, 
 and may therefore be quoted at the conclusion of this 
 chapter. 
 
 Our roof bends over us unchanged. Berg (his dog) is still 
 in our confidence, and well deserves it. The nine soft, furry 
 friends of ours are well, and Kit rules them with a steady claw. 
 
 Peggy is well and warm I never knew game so scarce 
 
 since 1 came to Morwenstow ; except some woodcocks, which I 
 sent to the Bishop as usual in October and November, we have 
 had literally none. 
 
 And now for one of those waste things, a word of advice. 
 You are in what is called by snobs a fast college. I earnestly advise 
 you to eschew fast men. I am now suffering from the effects of 
 silly and idle outlay in Oxford. I do hope that nothing will 
 induce you to accept that base credit which those cormorants, the
 
 I04 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. iv. 
 
 Oxford tradesmen, always try to force on freshmen, in order to 
 harass and rob them afterwards. No fast undergraduate in all 
 my remembrance ever settled down into a respectable man. 
 Ask God for strong angels, and He will fulfil your prayer. Never 
 forget Him, and He mil never neglect you.
 
 loS 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Inhabitants of Morwenstowin 1834 — Cruel Coppinger — Whips the Parson 
 of Kilkhampton — Gives Tom Tape a Ride — Tristam Pentire — Parminter 
 and his Dog, Satan — The Gauger's Pocket — Wrecking — The Wrecker 
 and the Ravens — The Loss of the 'Margaret Quail'— The Wreck of the 
 'Ben Coolan' — ' ACroononHennacliff' — Letters concerning Wrecks — The 
 Donkeys and the Copper Ore — The Ship ' Morwenna '— Flotsam and Jetsam 
 — Wrecks on November 14, 1875 — Bodies in Poundstock Church — The 
 Loss of the ' Caledonia' — The Wreck of the ' Phoenix,' and of the ' Alonzo. ' 
 
 When the Rev. R. S. Hawker came to Morwenstow in 
 1834, he found that he had much to contend with, not 
 only in the external condition of church and vicarage, but 
 also in that which is of greater importance. 
 
 A writer in the ' John Bull ' says : ' He found a manse 
 in ruins, and partly used as a barn ; a parish peopled with 
 wreckers, smugglers, and Dissenting Bryanites ; and a 
 venerable church, deserted and ill cared for, amidst a heap 
 of weeds and nettles. Desolate as was the situation of the 
 grey old sanctuary and tower standing out upon the rugged 
 incline that shelves down a descent of 300 feet to the beach, 
 it was not more barren of external comfort than was the 
 internal state of those who had been confided to his pastoral 
 care. 
 
 ' The farmers of the parish were simple-hearted and 
 respectable ; but the denizens of the hamlet, after receiv-
 
 io6 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. v. 
 
 ing the wages of the harvest time, eked out a precarious 
 existence in the winter, and watched eagerly and expect- 
 antly for the shipwrecks that were certain to happen, and 
 upon the plunder of which they surely calculated for the 
 scant provision of their families. The wrecked goods sup- 
 plied them with the necessaries of life, and the rended 
 planks of the dismembered vessel contributed to the 
 warmth of the hovel hearthstone. 
 
 ' When Mr. Hawker came to Morvv'enstow, " the cruel 
 and covetous natives of the strand, the wreckers of the 
 seas and rocks for flotsam and jetsam," held as an axiom 
 and an injunction to be strictly obeyed — 
 
 Save a stranger from the sea, 
 And he'll turn your enemy ! 
 
 ' The Morwenstow wreckers allowed a fainting brother 
 to perish in the sea before their eyes without extending a 
 hand of safety, — nay, more, for the egotistical canons of a 
 shipwreck, superstitiously obeyed, permitted and absolved 
 the crime of murder by " shoving the drowning man into 
 the sea," to be swallowed by the waves. Cain ! Cain ! 
 where is thy brother } And the wrecker of Morwenstow 
 answered and pleaded in excuse, as in the case of undiluted 
 brandy after meals, " it is Cornish custom." The illicit 
 spirit of Cornish custom was supplied by the smuggler, 
 and the gold of the wreck paid him for the cursed abomi- 
 nation of drink.' 
 
 One of Mr. Hawker's parishioners, Peter Barrow,* had 
 been, for full forty years, a wrecker, but of a much more 
 
 * Name altered.
 
 CH. v.] CRUEL COPPINGER. 107 
 
 harmless description ; he had been a watcher of the coast 
 for such .objects as the waves might turn up to reward his 
 patience. Another was Tristam Pentire,* a hero of contra- 
 band adventure, and agent for sale of smuggled cargoes 
 in bygone times. With a merry twinkle of the eye, and in 
 a sharp and ringing tone, he loved to tell such tales of wild 
 adventure, and of ' derring do,' as would make the foot of 
 the exciseman falter, and his cheek turn pale. 
 
 During the latter years of last century there lived in 
 Wellcombe, one of Mr. Hawker's parishes, a man whose 
 name is still remembered with terror — Cruel Coppinger. 
 There are people still alive who remember his wife. 
 
 Local recollections of the man have moulded themselves 
 into the rhyme — 
 
 Will you hear of Cruel Coppinger ? 
 
 He came from a foreign land ; 
 He was brought to us by the salt water. 
 He was carried away by the wind ! 
 
 His arrival on the north coast of Cornwall was signal- 
 ised by a terrific hurricane. The storm came up Channel 
 from the south-west. A strange vessel of foreign rig went 
 on the reefs of Harty Race, and was broken to pieces by 
 the waves. The only man who came ashore was the 
 skipper. A crowd was gathered on the sand, on horse- 
 back and on foot, women as well as men, drawn together 
 by the tidings of a probable wreck. Into their midst 
 rushed the dripping stranger, and bounded suddenly upon 
 the crupper of a young damsel who had ridden to the 
 beach to see the sight. He grasped her bridle, and, shout- 
 ing in some foreign tongue, urged the double- laden animal 
 
 * Name altered.
 
 lo8 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [en. v.' 
 
 into full speed, and the horse naturally took his homeward 
 way. The damsel was Miss Dinah Hamlyn. The stranger 
 descended at her father's door, and lifted her off her saddle. 
 He then announced himself as a Dane, named Coppinger. 
 He took his place at the family board, and there remained 
 till he had secured the affections and hand of Dinah. The 
 father died, and Coppinger at once succeeded to the manage- 
 ment and control of the house, which thenceforth became 
 a den and refuge of every lawless character along the coast. 
 All kinds of wild uproar and reckless revelry appalled the 
 neighbourhood day and night. It was discovered that an 
 organised band of smugglers, wreckers, and poachers made 
 this house their rendezvous, and that ' Cruel Coppinger ' 
 was their captain. In those days, and in that far-away 
 region, the peaceable inhabitants were unprotected. There 
 was not a single resident gentleman of property and weight 
 in the entire district. No revenue officer durst exercise 
 vigilance west of the Tamar ; and, to put an end to all such 
 surveillance at once, the head of a gauger was chopped off 
 by one of Coppinger's gang, on the gunwale of a boat. 
 
 Strange vessels began to appear at regular intervals 
 on the coast, and signals were flashed from the headlands 
 to lead them into the safest creek or cove. Amongst these 
 vessels, one, a full-rigged schooner, soon became ominously 
 conspicuous. She was for long the chief terror of the 
 Cornish Channel. Her name was the ' Black Prince.' 
 Once, with Coppinger on board, she led a revenue cutter 
 into an intricate channel near the Bull Rock, where, from 
 knowledge of the bearings, the ' Black Prince ' escaped scath- 
 less, while the King's vessel perished with all on board. In
 
 CH. v.] COPPINGER'S TRACKS. 109 
 
 those times, if any landsman became obnoxious to Coppin- 
 ger's men, he was seized and carried on board the ' Black 
 Prince,' and obliged to save his life by enrolling himself in 
 the crew. In 1835, an old man, of the age of ninety-seven, 
 related to Mr. Hawker that he had been so abducted, and 
 after two years' service had been ransomed by his friends 
 with a large sum. ' And all,' said the old man very simply, 
 ' because I happened to see one man kill another, and they 
 thought I would mention it ' 
 
 Amid such practices, ill-gotten gold began to flow and 
 ebb in the hands of Coppinger. At one time he had enough 
 money to purchase a freehold farm bordering on the sea. 
 When the day of transfer came, he and one of his followers 
 appeared before the lawyer, and paid the money in dollars, 
 ducats, doubloons, and pistoles. The man of law demurred, 
 but Coppinger with an oath bade him take this or none. 
 The document bearing Coppinger's name is still extant. 
 His signature is traced in stern, bold characters, and 
 under his autograph is the word ' Thuro (thorough) ' also 
 in his own handwriting. 
 
 Long impunity increased Coppinger's daring. There 
 were certain bridle-roads along the fields over which he 
 exercised exclusive control. He issued orders that no 
 man was to pass over them by night, and accordingly from 
 that hour none ever did. They were called ' Coppinger's 
 Tracks.' They all converged at a headland which had the 
 name of Steeple Brink. Here the cliff sheered off, and 
 stood 300 feet of perpendicular height, a precipice of 
 smooth rock towards the beach, with an overhanging face 
 one hundred feet down from the brow. Under this was a
 
 no LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. v. 
 
 cave, only reached by a cable ladder lowered from above, 
 and made fast below on a projecting crag. It received the 
 name of ' Coppinger's Cave.' Here sheep were tethered to 
 the rock, and fed on stolen hay and corn till slaughtered ; 
 kegs of brandy and hollands were piled around ; chests of 
 tea ; and iron-bound sea-chests contained the chattels and 
 revenues of the Coppinger royalty of the sea. 
 
 The terror linked with Coppinger's name throughout 
 the coast was so extreme that the people themselves, wild 
 and lawless as they were, submitted to his sway as though 
 he had been lord of the soil, and they his vassals. Such a 
 household as Coppinger's was, of course, far from happy 
 or calm. Although when his father-in-law died he had in- 
 sensibly acquired possession of the stock and farm, there 
 remained in the hands of the widow a considerable amount 
 of money as her dower. This he obtained from the help- 
 less woman by instalments, and by this cruel means. He 
 fastened his wife to the pillar of her oak bedstead, and 
 called her mother into the room. He then assured her he 
 would flog Dinah with a cat-o'-nine-tails till her mother 
 had transferred to him the amount of her reserved property 
 that he demanded. This act of brutal cruelty he repeated 
 till he had utterly exhausted the widow's store. 
 
 The Kilkhampton parson hated rook-pie. Coppinger 
 knew it. 
 
 He invited him to dine with him one day. A large 
 rook-pie was served at one end of the table, and roast 
 rooks at the other, and the parson, who was very hungry, 
 was forced to eat of them. When he departed, he invited 
 Coppinger to dine with him on the following Thursday.
 
 CH. v.] WHIPS THE PAKSOX. m 
 
 The smuggler arrived and was regaled on pie, whether 
 rabbit or hare he could not decide. When he came home 
 he found a cat's skin and head stuffed into his coat pocket, 
 and thereby discovered what he had been eating. 
 
 He was furious. He had a favourite mare, so indomi- 
 table that none but Coppinger could venture on her back, 
 and so fleet and strong that he owed his escape from more 
 than one menacing peril to her speed and endurance. 
 
 Shortly after the dinner off cat-pie the rector of Kilk- 
 hampton was walking homeward along a lane, when he 
 heard behind him the clattering of horse-hoofs, and Cruel 
 Coppinger bore down on him, seated on his mare, whirling 
 his double-thonged whip round his head. He lashed the 
 back of the unfortunate parson, pursued him, struck and 
 struck again, till he had striped him like a zebra, and 
 then galloped off with the parting scoff, ' There, parson, 
 I have paid my tithe in full ; never mind the receipt.' 
 
 It was on the selfsame animal that Coppinger per- 
 formed another freak. He had passed a festive evening at 
 a farmhouse, and was about to take his departure, when 
 he spied in the corner of the hearth a little old tailor who 
 went from house to house in exercise of his calling. His 
 name was Uncle Tom Tape. 
 
 * Ha ! Uncle Tom,' cried Coppinger, ' we both travel 
 the same road, and I don't mind giving you a hoist behind 
 me on the mare.' 
 
 The old man cowered in the settle. He would not 
 encumber the gentleman ; was unaccustomed to ride such 
 a spirited horse. But Coppinger was not to be put off; the 
 trembling old man was mounted on the crupper of the
 
 112 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. v. 
 
 capering mare. Off she bounded, and Uncle Tom, with 
 his arms cast with the grip of terror round his bulky 
 companion, held on like grim death. Unbuckling his belt, 
 Coppinger passed it round Uncle Tom's thin body, and 
 buckled it on his own front. When he had firmly secured 
 his victim, he loosened his reins, and urged the mare into a 
 furious gallop. Onwards they rushed till they fled past 
 the tailor's own door, where his startled wife, who was on 
 the watch, afterwards declared ' she caught sight of her 
 husband clinging to a rainbow.' 
 
 At last the mare relaxed her pace, and then Coppinger, 
 looking over his shoulder, said, ' I have been under long pro- 
 mise to the devil that I would bring him a tailor to make and 
 mend for him. And I mean to keep my word to-night.' 
 
 The agony of terror produced by this announcement 
 caused such struggles that the belt gave way, and the 
 tailor fell among the gorse at the road-side. There he was 
 found next morning in a semi-delirious state, muttering, 
 ' No, no ; I never will. Let him mend his breeches with 
 his own drag-chain. I will never thread a needle for 
 Coppinger or his friend.' 
 
 One boy was the only fruit of poor Dinah's marriage 
 with the Dane. He was deaf and dumb, and mischievous 
 and ungovernable from his youth. His cruelty to animals, 
 birds, and to other children, was intense. Any living thing 
 that he could torture yielded him delight. With savage 
 gestures and jabbering moans he haunted the rocks along the 
 shore, and seemed like some uncouth creature cast up by the 
 sea. When he was only six years old, he was found one 
 day on the brink of a cliff, bounding with joy, and pointing
 
 CH. v.] DISAPPEARANCE OF COPPINGER. 113 
 
 downwards to the beach with convulsions of delight. 
 There, mangled by the fall, and dead, they found the 
 body of a neighbour's child of his own age ; and it was 
 believed that little Coppinger had wilfully cast him over. 
 It was a saying in the district, that, as a judgment on 
 his father's cruelty, his child had been born without a 
 human soul. 
 
 But the end arrived, money became scarce, and more 
 than one armed King's cutter were seen day and night 
 hov^ering off the land. So he * who came with the water 
 went with the wind.' His disappearence, like his arrival, 
 was commemorated by a storm. 
 
 A wrecker, who had gone to watch the shore, saw, as the 
 sun went down, a full-rigged vessel standing off and on. 
 Coppinger came to the beach, put off in a boat to the 
 vessel, and jumped on board. She spread canvas, stood 
 off shore, and, wath Coppinger in her, was seen no 
 more. That night was one of storm. Whether the vessel 
 rode it out or was lost, none knew.' 
 
 Tristam Pentire* has already been mentioned. He 
 was the last of the smugglers, and became Mr. Hawker's 
 servant of all work. The Vicar had many good stories to 
 relate of his man. 
 
 ' There have been divers parsons in this parish since I 
 have been here,' said Tristam, ' some strict and some not ; 
 and there was one that had very mean notions about 
 running goods, and said it was wrong to do so. But even 
 
 ' ' Footprints of Former Men.' I have followed Mr. Hawker's tale closely, 
 except in one point, where I have told the story as related to me in the 
 neighbourhood differently from the way in which he has told it. 
 
 I
 
 ri4 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. v. 
 
 he never took no part with the gauger — never! And 
 besides,' said old Trim, ' wasn't the exciseman always ready 
 to put ns to death if he could ? ' 
 
 One day he asked Mr. Hawker — ' Can you tell me the 
 reason, sir, that no grass will ever grow on the grave of a 
 man that's hanged unjustly ? ' 
 
 ' No, indeed, Tristam ; I never heard of the fact 
 before.' 
 
 ' That grave on the right hand of the path as you go 
 down to the porch, h?s not one blade of grass on it, and 
 never will. That's Will Pooly's grave, that was hanged 
 unjustly.' 
 
 * Indeed ! how came that about } ' 
 
 ' Why you see, they got poor Will down to Bodmin, all 
 among strangers ; and there was bribery and false swear- 
 ing ; and so they agreed together, and hanged poor Will. 
 But his friends begged the body, and brought the corpse 
 home here to his own parish ; and they turfed the grave, 
 and they sowed the grass twenty times over, but 'twas all 
 of no use, nothing would grow — he was hanged unjustly.' 
 
 * Well, but, Tristam, what was he accused of.^ What 
 had Will Pooly done } ' 
 
 ' Done, your honour ? Done ? Oh, nothing at all, 
 except kill an exciseman.' 
 
 Among the ' King's men ' whose achievements haunted 
 the old man's memory with a sense of mingled terror and 
 dislike, a certain Parminter and his dog occupied a principal 
 place. 
 
 * Sir,' said old Tristam one day to the Vicar, ' that 
 villain Parminter and his dog murdered with their shetting-
 
 CH. v.] PARMINTER AND HIS DOG. 115 
 
 irons no less than seven of our people at divers times, and 
 they peacefully at work at their calling all the while.' 
 
 Parminter was a bold officer, whom no threats could 
 deter, and no money bribe. He always went armed to the 
 teeth, and was followed by a large fierce dog, which he 
 called Satan. This animal he had trained to carry in his 
 mouth a carbine or a loaded club, which, at a signal from 
 his master, Satan brought to the rescue. 
 
 ' Ay, they was audacious rascals— that Parminter and 
 his dog — but he went rather too far one day, as I reckon,' 
 said old Tristam, as he leaned on his spade talking to the 
 Vicar. 
 
 ' Did he, Trim ; in what way .-* * 
 
 ' Why, your honour, the case was this. Our people had 
 a landing down at Melhuach, in Johnnie Mathey's hole, 
 and Parminter and his dog found it out. So they got into 
 the cave at ebb tide, and laid in wait, and when the first 
 boat-load came ashore, just as the keel took the ground, 
 down storms Parminter, shouting for Satan to follow. But 
 the dog knew better, and held back, they said, for the first 
 time in all his life : so in leaps Parminter smack into the 
 boat, alone, with his cutlass drawn, but * — with a kind of 
 inward ecstacy — ' he didn't do much harm to the boat's 
 crew.' 
 
 ' Why not } ' 
 
 ' Because, your honour, they chopped off his head on 
 the gunwale.' 
 
 Near Tonacomb Cross is a stone, perhaps Druidical, 
 and called the Witan-stone. To that Tristam one day 
 guided his master, the Vicar.
 
 ii6 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. v. 
 
 ' And now, your honour,' he said, ' let me show you the 
 wonderfuUest thing in all the place, and that is the Gauger's 
 Pocket.' He then showed him, at the back of the Witan- 
 rock, a dry secret hole, about an arm's length deep, closed 
 by a moss-grown stone. ' There, your honour,' said he, 
 with a joyous twinkle in his eye, ' there have I dropped a 
 little bag of gold, many and many a time, when our people 
 wanted to have the shore quiet, and to keep the exciseman 
 out of the way of trouble ; and then he would go, if he 
 were a reasonable officer, and the byeword used to be, when 
 'twas all right, one of us would meet him and say, " Sir, 
 your pocket is unbuttoned ; " and he would smile and 
 answer, " Ay ! ay ! but never mind, my man, my money's 
 safe enough." And thereby we knew that he was a just 
 man, and satisfied, and that the boats could take the roller 
 in peace ; and that was the very way it came to pass that 
 this crack in the stone was called evermore the Gauger's 
 Pocket.' 
 
 In former times, when a ship was being driven on the 
 rocks on Sunday, whilst divine service was going on, news 
 was sent to the parson, who announced the fact from the 
 pulpit, or reading-desk, whereupon ensued a rapid clearance 
 of the church. The story is told of a parson at the Poug- 
 hill, near Morwenstow, who, on hearing the news, proceeded 
 down the church in his surplice as far as the font, and the 
 people, supposing there was to be a christening, did not 
 stir. But when he was near the door, he shouted, ' My 
 Christian brethren, there's a ship wrecked in the cove, let us 
 all start fair ! ' and, flinging off his surplice, led the way to 
 the scene of spoliation.
 
 CH. v.] KINSMAN AND THE RAVENS. 117 
 
 ' I do not see why it is,' said a Cornish clerk one day, 
 ' why there be prayers in the Buke o' Common Prayer for 
 rain and for fine weather, and thanksgivings for them and 
 for peace, and there's no prayer for wrecks, and thanksgiving 
 for a really gude one when it is come.' 
 
 Mr. Hawker relates a good story in his * Footprints,' 
 which was told him by an old man in his parish named 
 Tony Cleverdon. 
 
 * There was once a noted old wrecker named Kinsman : 
 he lived in my father's time ; and when no wreck was 
 onward he would get his wages by raising stone in a quarry 
 by the sea-shore. Well, he was to work one day over 
 yonder, halfway down the Tower-cliff, when all at once he 
 saw two old ravens flying round and round very near his 
 head. They dropped down into the quarry two pieces of 
 wreck candle just at the old man's feet.' (Very often 
 wreckers pick up Neapolitan wax-candles from vessels in 
 the Mediterranean trade that have been lost in the channel.) 
 * So when Kinsman saw the candles, he thought in his 
 mind, " There is surely wreck coming in upon the beach ; " 
 so he packed his tools together, and left them just where he 
 stood, and went his way wrecking. He could find no 
 jetsam, however, though he searched far and wide. Next 
 day he went back to quarry to his work. And he used to 
 say it was as true as a proverb, — there the tools were all 
 buried deep out of sight, for the crag had given way, and if 
 he had tarried an hour longer he must have been crushed to 
 death ! So you see, sir, what knowledge those ravens must 
 have had ; how well they knew the old man, and how 
 dearly fond he was of wreck ; how crafty they were to hit
 
 xi8 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. v. 
 
 upon the only plan that would ever have slocked him 
 away.' 
 
 Wrecks are terribly frequent on this coast. Not a 
 winter passes without several. There are men living who 
 can remember eighty. 
 
 If wrecking is no longer practised, the wrecking spirit 
 can hardly be said to be extinct, as the following facts will 
 testify : — 
 
 In 1845 a ship came ashore in Melhuach bay, between 
 Morwenstow and Bude. The surge burst against the cliffs, 
 and it was impossible to launch a lifeboat ; but a rocket was 
 fired over the vessel, and so successfully that the hawser 
 Avas secured to the ship. Every life would, in all proba- 
 bility, have been saved, had not some wretches cut through 
 the rope, more greedy for prey than careful to save life. Of 
 all the crew the only person saved was the captain. He 
 confirmed the opinion of the coastguard that, but for the 
 cutting through of the hawser, every one on board would 
 have been rescued. 
 
 In 1864, a large ship was seen in distress off the coast. 
 The Rev. A. Thynne, rector of Kilkhampton,at once drove 
 to Morwenstow. The vessel was riding at anchor a mile 
 off shore, west of Hartland Race. He found Mr. Hawker 
 in the greatest excitement pacing his room, and shouting 
 for some things he wanted to put in his greatcoat pockets, 
 and intensely impatient because his carriage was not round. 
 With him was the Rev. W. Valentine, rector of Whixley in 
 Yorkshire, then resident at Chapel, in the parish of 
 Morwenstow. 
 
 ' What are you going to do } ' asked the Rector of
 
 CH. v.] THE 'MARGARET QUAIL.' 119 
 
 Kilkhampton ; ' I shall drive at once to Bude for the life- 
 boat.' 
 
 ' No good,' thundered the Vicar, * no good comes out 
 of the West. You must go East. I shall go to Clovelly, and 
 then, if that fails, to Appledore. I shall not stop till I have 
 got a lifeboat to take those poor fellows oft' the wreck.' 
 
 ' Then,' said the Rector of Kilkhampton, ' I shall go to 
 Bude, and see to the lifeboat there being brought out.' 
 
 * Do as you like ; but mark my words, no good comes 
 of turning to the West. Why,' said he, ' in the primitive 
 Church they turned to the West to renounce the devil.' 
 
 His carriage came to the door, and he drove oft* with 
 Mr. Valentine, as fast as his horses could spin him along the 
 hilly, wretched roads. 
 
 Before he reached Clovelly a boat had put off with the 
 mate from the ship, which was the ' Margaret Quail,' laden 
 with salt. The captain would not leave the vessel, for, 
 till deserted by him, no salvage could be claimed. The 
 mate was picked up on the way, and the three reached 
 Clovelly. 
 
 Down the street proceeded the following procession — 
 the street of Clovelly being a flight of steps. 
 
 First, the Vicar of Morwenstow in a claret-coloured 
 coat, with long tails flying in the gale, blue knitted jersey 
 and pilot boots, his long silver locks fluttering about his 
 head. He was appealing to the fishermen and sailors of 
 Clovelly, to put out in their lifeboat to rescue the crew of 
 the ' Margaret Quail.' The men stood sulky, lounging 
 about with folded arms, or hands in their pockets, and 
 sou'-westers slouched over their brows. The women were
 
 120. LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [en. V. 
 
 screaming at the tops of their voices that they would not 
 have their husbands and sons and sweethearts enticed 
 away to risk their hves to save wrecked men. Above 
 the clamour of their shrill tongues, and the sough of the 
 wind, rose the roar of the Vicar's voice ; he was convulsed 
 with indignation, and poured forth the most sacred appeals 
 to their compassion for drowning sailors. 
 
 Second in the procession moved the Rev. W. Valentine 
 with purse full of gold in his hand, offering any amount of 
 money to the Clovelly men if they would only go forth in 
 the lifeboat to the wreck. 
 
 Third, came the mate of the ' Margaret Quail,' restrained 
 by no consideration of cloth, swearing and damning right 
 and left, in a towering rage at the cowardice of the 
 Clovelly men. 
 
 Fourth, came John, the servant of Mr. Hawker, with 
 bottles of whisky under his arm, another inducement to the 
 men to relent and be merciful to their imperilled brethren. 
 The first appeal was to their love of heaven, and to their 
 humanity ; the second Mas to their pockets, their love of 
 gold ; the third to their terrors, their fear of Satan to whom 
 they were consigned ; and the fourth to their stomachs, their 
 love of grog. 
 
 But all appeals were in vain. Then Mr. Hawker 
 returned to his carriage, and drove away, further East, to 
 Appledore, where he secured the lifeboat. It was mounted 
 on a waggon. Ten horses were harnessed to it, and as 
 fast as possible it was conveyed to the scene of distress. 
 
 But, in the meanwhile, the captain of the * Margaret 
 Quail/ despairing of help, and thinking that his vessel
 
 CH. v.] SALVAGE CLAIMED. 121 
 
 would break up under him, came ofif in his boat with the 
 rest of the crew, trusting rather to a rotten boat, patched 
 with canvas which they had tarred over, than to the tender 
 mercies of the covetous CloveUites, in whose veins ran the 
 too recent blood of wreckers. The only living being left 
 on board was a poor dog. 
 
 No sooner was the captain seen to leave the ship, than 
 the Clovelly men lost their repugnance to go to sea. They 
 manned boats at once, gained the ' Margaret Quail,' and 
 claimed 3,000/. for salvage. 
 
 There was an action in court, as the owners refused to 
 pay such a sum, and it was lost by the Clovelly men, who, 
 however, got an award of 1,200/. The case turned some- 
 what on the presence of the dog on the wreck, and it was 
 argued that the vessel was not deserted, because a dog had 
 been left on board to keep guard for its masters. The 
 owner of the cargo failed, and the amount actually paid to 
 the salvors was 600/. to two steam tugs, (300/. each), and 
 300/. to the Clovelly skiff and sixteen men. The ship and 
 cargo, minus masts, rigging, cables and anchors, were 
 valued at 5,000/. 
 
 Mr. Hawker went round the country indignantly 
 denouncing the sailors of Clovelly, and with justice. It 
 roused all the righteous wrath in his breast. And, as may 
 well be believed, no love was borne him by the inhabitants 
 of that little fishing village. They would probably have 
 made a wreck of him had he ventured among them. 
 
 Another incident, at Bude, called forth a second burst 
 of indignation, but this time not so justly. 
 
 A fine vessel, the 'Ben Coolan,' laden with Government
 
 122 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [cH. v. 
 
 stores for India, ran ashore on the sand, outside Bude 
 Haven. The lifeboat was got out, but the sea was terrible, 
 and there was no practised crew to man her. Crowds 
 were on the pier, hooting the boatmen, and calling them 
 cowards because they would not put to sea, and save those 
 on the vessel ; but an old Oxford eight man, who was pre- 
 sent, assures me that the crew were not up to facing such a 
 sea, they were gardeners, land labourers, canal men, not 
 one among them who, when he rowed, did not look over 
 his shoulder to see where he was going. The crew shirked 
 going out in the tremendous sea that was bowling in, and 
 the vessel broke up under the eyes of those who stood on 
 the pier and cliffs. The first rocket that was fired fell 
 short. The second went beyond the bows. The third 
 went over the ship. The mate was seen to run forward to 
 catch the rope, when a wave burst against the side, and 
 spun him up in the foam, and he was seen no more. 
 The ship turned broadside to the waves, which tore her to 
 pieces with great rapidity. Only a few of the crew were 
 saved. The captain was drowned. 
 
 Mr. Hawker wrote shortly afterwards : 
 
 A CROON ON HENNACLIFF. 
 
 Thus said the rushing raven 
 
 Unto his hungry mate : 
 ' Ho, gossip ! for Bude Haven, 
 
 There be corpses six or eight. 
 Cawk ! cawk ! the crew and skipper 
 
 Are wallowing in the sea, 
 So there's a savoury supper 
 
 For my old dame and me ! '
 
 CH. v.] A CROON ON HENNA CLIFF. 123 
 
 ' Cawk ! gaffer ! thou art dreaming, 
 
 The shore hath wreckers bold, 
 Would rend the yelling seamen 
 
 From the clutching billows' hold ! 
 Cawk ! cawk ! they'd bound for booty 
 
 Into the dragon's den, 
 And shout, " For death or duty ! " 
 
 If the prey were drowning men.' 
 
 Loud laughed the listening surges 
 
 At the guess our grandame gave ; 
 You might call them Boanerges 
 
 From the thunder of their wave ! 
 And mockery followed after 
 
 The sea-bird's jeering brood, 
 That filled the skies with laughter 
 
 From Lundy Light to Bude, 
 
 ' Cawk ! cawk ! ' then said the raven, 
 
 ' I am fourscore years and ten. 
 Yet never in Bude Haven 
 
 Did I croak for rescued men. 
 They will save the captain's girdle, 
 
 And shirt,' if shirt there be, 
 But leave their blood to curdle 
 
 For my old dame and me.' 
 
 So said the rushing raven 
 
 Unto his hungry mate : 
 * Ho, gossip ! for Bude Haven, 
 
 There be corpses six or eight. 
 Cawk ! cawk ! the crew and skipper. 
 
 Are wallowing in the sea, 
 O what a dainty supper 
 
 For my old dame and me ! ' 
 
 A gentleman who was a witness of this wreck tells me: 
 ' We saw the carpenter swimming ashore. He was a magni- 
 ficent man, largely built, with sinews and muscles of great 
 
 ' A fact; the shirt was secured.
 
 124 I-IP^ OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. v. 
 
 Strength. He swam boldly and desperately, but badly, as 
 he kept his breast above the water, so that he must have 
 been much beaten and bruised by the waves. We saw 
 how his strength gradually gave way, and then he seemed 
 to rally and make another despairing effort. We suc- 
 ceeded in getting hold of him at last, and brought him 
 ashore. Unfortunately there was no doctor by, or any- 
 one who was experienced in dealing with cases of drowning. 
 We did as best we knew, following the old usage of throw- 
 ing him across a barrel. Now I know that it was the worst 
 treatment possible. Had a medical man been at hand, it 
 is my conviction that the poor fellow would have been 
 saved. His blood was not curdled when we got him ashore, 
 and I saw it settle into his breast afterwards. It is an 
 unpleasant thought that a life was sacrificed for want of 
 knowledge.' 
 
 Those of the crew who were saved proved to be a sad 
 set of fellows. They got so drunk that they could not 
 attend the burial of their comrades. 
 
 Morwenstow, Sept. i8, 1869. — My dear Mr. Martyn, — I 
 will not say forgive me for my silence. You must do that ; but 
 how can I state my miseries ? First of all, for a fortnight I have 
 been a cripple from sciatica, only able to creep bent double from 
 room to room.' On Sunday night a hurricane smote my house 
 at midnight, burst in the whole of our bedroom window at a blow, 
 and drove us out of bed to dress and go down. Two lights of 
 the drawing-room window were also blown in, one broken to smash. 
 No man or boy in the house. Well, we had a bed made up in the 
 servants' room till the morning. At dawn tidings came that a large 
 
 ' The handwriting of this letter is very shaky, and different from the usual 
 bold writing of the Vicar.
 
 CH. v.] WRECKS. 125 
 
 vessel was ashore in Vicarage Bay, just under the hut. I was put 
 into the gig and carried out. Found the crew in death horrors. 
 Rocket apparatus arrived, and fifteen men were dragged ashore 
 alive. The other seven (blacks) were drowned among my rocks. 
 Guess my state. The whole glebe alive with people. Seven 
 corpses came ashore for burial one by one. Graves already dug 
 and shrouds prepared ; but more yet. The cargo, coals, 1,600 
 tons, vessel 1,900 tons, largest ever seen here. Broken up to-night. 
 My path down is now made for donkeys. What can be saved is 
 to be brought up and sold, as well as the broken ship. Cannot 
 you get help for one Sunday and come over? It would be the act 
 of an angel to come to my rescue. You have your house, and 
 you could do much that I ought to do and cannot. Come, I 
 entreat you. God bless you, and help me, for I am indeed in 
 much anguish, and my poor Pauline worn out. I^ove to all. 
 
 Yours faithfully, 
 
 R. S. H. 
 
 Aforwenstow, Oct. 9, 1869. — My dear Mr. Martyn, — I have 
 devoted to you my first interval of freedom from pains and 
 crushing worry. Let no man hereafter ever accuse me of shrinking 
 from duty. I was assisted up to the churchyard by Cann to bury 
 the last sailor in such an anguish from sciatic pains, that I had 
 faintness on me all the time, and on returning from the grave my 
 leg gave way under me, and I fell. However, I have done it so 
 
 far single-handed, and I am thankful Yours faithfully, 
 
 R. S. Hawker. 
 
 Not long after, a Spanish vessel came ashore a little 
 lower down the coast. There were on her a number of 
 Lascars. When the coastguard officer M^ent on board, the 
 Lascars, supposing him to be a wrecker, drew their knives 
 on him. He had the presence of mind to show them his 
 buttons with the crown stamped on them, and so to satisfy 
 them that he was a Government officer. The crew were
 
 126 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [cii. v. 
 
 much bruised and injured. They were taken into Stowe 
 and other farmhouses in the neighbourhood and kindly 
 nursed till well. The captain was a gallant little Spanish 
 don. 
 
 The Rector of Kilkhampton, who diligently visited the 
 sailors, urged on the captain, when all were well, the ad- 
 visability of the crew coming to church to return thanks 
 for their rescue. He hesitated, saying he was a Catholic ; 
 but the rector urged that all worshipped the same God, 
 and had the same Saviour, and, after having revolved the 
 matter in his own mind, he agreed. 
 
 Accordingly, the whole crew with the captain came to 
 Kilkhampton church, a beautiful restored building, filled 
 with old carved seats, rich modern stained glass, and where 
 the service is choral and rendered with great beauty and 
 reverence. 
 
 The Spaniards and Lascars behaved with the utmost 
 devotion and recollection. After service they adjourned 
 to Penstowe, where they were hospitably entertained with 
 a dinner. The captain and the mate dined with the family, 
 the sailors in the hall. The captain took in the lady of 
 the house. On the other side of him at table sat one of 
 the farmers who had received the shipwrecked mariners 
 into his house. The Spaniard helped the lady to wine, 
 half filling her glass, but was nudged by the farmer, who 
 bade him give her a brimmer. The little captain turned 
 round, and looked him in the face with an astonished stare, 
 which said plainly enough, 'Do you, a Cornish clown, 
 think to teach manners to a Spanish don } ' The burly 
 Cornish farmer withered at the glance.
 
 CH. v.] THE DONKEYS AND COPPER ORE. 127 
 
 In 1853, a vessel laden with copper ore was wrecked in 
 the bay below Morwenstow church. The ore was re- 
 covered, and carried up the cliff on the backs of donkeys ; 
 but it was a tedious process, and occupied two or three 
 months. Mr. Hawker was touched with the sufferings of 
 the poor brutes zigzaging up a precipice, heavily laden 
 with ore ; and during all the time had water drawn for them, 
 and a feed of corn apiece, to recruit their exhausted strength, 
 as they reached the top of the cliff. His compassion for 
 the donkeys made a profound impression on the people, 
 and is one of their favourite stories about him when they 
 want to tell of the goodness of his kind heart. 
 
 During these two or three months the agent for the 
 firm which owned the vessel lived in the vicarage and was 
 entertained royally. When everything had been recovered 
 and he was about to depart, he thanked the Vicar for his 
 great kindness, and begged to know on the part of the firm 
 if there was anything he could do or give him which would 
 be acceptable as some recognition for his kindness. 
 
 * No,' answered the Vicar ; ' nothing. If paid by you, 
 God will not repay me.' 
 
 The agent again, and in more forcible terms, assured 
 him that the firm would not be happy unless they could 
 make him some acknovi^ledgment for his services and 
 hospitality out of the common way. 
 
 ' Then I will ask one thing,' he said ; ' give the captain 
 another ship.' 
 
 The agent hesitated, and then said that what he asked 
 was an impossibility. The firm had no other ships which 
 were not then provided with captains. They could not, in
 
 128 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. v. 
 
 justice, displace one of them, to install in his room the 
 captain of the wrecked ship. 
 
 • Never mind,' said Mr. Hawker; 'this is the only thing 
 I have asked of you, and this is refused me.' 
 
 A few days after, the agent came to him to inform him 
 that the firm purposed laying the keel of a new vessel, and 
 that the captain for whom he pleaded should be appointed 
 to her. 
 
 The ship was built, and was baptized ' Morwenna ; ' she 
 now sails to and fro along this coast, and whenever she 
 passes Morwenstow runs up a flag as a mark of deference 
 to the spot whence she derives her name. 
 
 The flotsam and jetsam of a wreck are the property of 
 the Crown. The coastguard are on the qui-vive after a 
 storm, and there is no chance now for village wreckers. 
 They may carry off small articles which they can put in 
 their pockets ; but so many have been had up of late years 
 before the magistrates, and fined, that the officers of Go- 
 vernment have it nearly all to themselves. When, however, 
 a keg of brandy is washed ashore, the villagers go down to 
 the beach with bottles, break in the head of the cask, and 
 fill their bottles. Should a coastguard officer appear, the 
 keg is kicked over, and they make off with their liquor. 
 The bottles are sometimes kept in a cave or hidden in the 
 sand and removed at night. The coastguardsmen may 
 suspect that the head of the cask was stove in purposely, 
 but cannot prove it. When the shore is strewn with 
 articles an auction is held on the spot. The farmers are 
 the principal buyers, and they get the goods very cheap. 
 They have their donkeys at hand to remove up the cliffs
 
 CH. v.] FLOTSAM AND JETSAM. 129 
 
 what they have purchased. The expense of transport 
 prevents others at a distance from entering into compe- 
 tition with them. 
 
 After all has been sold, portions of the beach are let by- 
 auction for a week or fortnight ; and those who take the 
 beach are entitled to claim, as their own, whatever is thrown 
 up by the sea during their tenure. A wreck does not come 
 ashore at once, but by instalments ; nor always at one 
 place, but all along the coast. 
 
 Should there not be sufficient articles found by the 
 coastguard to make it worth their while to call in an 
 auctioneer, they hold an auction of their own ; but, not 
 being licensed, they cannot run the price of the article tip ; 
 they therefore run them dozvii. For instance, a piece of wood 
 comes ashore, worth, may be, half-a-crown. The coast- 
 guard offers it for ten shillings, and so if no one will give 
 that for it, it is offered for nine, then eight, and so on, after 
 the manner of a cheap-jack. 
 
 I had got as far as this in my memoir on Saturday 
 night, November 13. On the following morning I went to 
 Morwenstow to take duty in the church. The wind was 
 blowing a hurricane from the south-west. I had to hold 
 on to the grave-stones to drag myself through the church- 
 yard in the teeth of the storm to the church porch. 
 
 There were few present that morning. No woman 
 could have faced the wind. The roar of the ocean, the 
 howling of the blast, the clatter of the glass in the 
 windows, united, formed such a volume of sound that I 
 had to shout my loudest to be heard, when reading the 
 service. 
 
 K
 
 130 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. v. 
 
 When morning prayer was over, I went into the porch. 
 A few men were there, holding their hats on their heads, 
 and preparing for a battle with the wind. 
 
 ' Not many at church this morning,' I said. * No, your 
 honour,' was the answer, ' the wind would blow the women 
 away, and the men are most of 'em on the cliffs looking 
 out if there be wrecks.' 
 
 Two vessels were caught sight of between the scuds of 
 rain, now on the top of a billow, now lost in the trough of 
 the waves. 
 
 They had been driven within the fatal line between 
 Hartland Head and Padstowe Point. 
 ' Is there no chance for them t ' 
 ' None at all.' 
 
 That evening we sang in church the hymn for those at 
 sea in ' Ancient and Modern.' Whilst it was being sung, 
 one vessel foundered, but the crew, six Frenchmen, came 
 ashore in a boat. An hour or two earlier, the other went 
 down with all hands on board. 
 
 On Monday and Tuesday bits of the wreck came up in 
 the coves with * Wilhelmina ' on them, but no bodies. 
 
 After a storm, the corpses are fearfully mangled on the 
 sharp rocks, and are cut to pieces by the slate as by knives ; 
 and bits of flesh come ashore. These are locally called 
 'gobbets ; ' and Mr. Hawker after a wreck, used to send a 
 man with a basket along the beaches of the coves in his 
 parish, collecting these ' gobbets,' which he interred in his 
 churchyard on top of the cliffs. 
 
 In 1845, after a wreck, nine corpses were taken into 
 Poundstock church. The incumbent was wont to have
 
 CH. v.] CORPSES IN POUNDSTOCK CHURCH. 131 
 
 daily service. The nine corpses lay along in the aisle that 
 morning. It was the twenty-second day of the month, and 
 he read the Psalm cvii. 
 
 ' They that go down to the sea in ships, and occupy their busi- 
 ness in great waters ; these men see the works of the Lord, and His 
 wonders in the deep. For at His word the stormy wind ariseth, 
 which lifteth up the waves thereof They are carried up to tiie 
 heaven, and down again to the deep ; their soul melteth away 
 because of the trouble. They reel to and fro, and stagger like a 
 drunken man, and are at their wits' end. So w^hen they cry unto 
 the Lord in their trouble, He delivereth them out of their distress. 
 For He maketh the storm to cease, so that the waves thereof are 
 still. Then are they glad, because they are at rest ; and so He 
 bringeth them unto the haven where they would be.' 
 
 This psalm coming in its proper order seemed strangely 
 appropriate, read with those dead mariners for a congrega- 
 tion. 
 
 The narrative of the wreck of the ' Caledonia ' in 1843, 
 must not be told by any other than Mr. Hawker himself. 
 The following is extracted from his 'Remembrances of a 
 Cornish Vicar,' ^ slightly shortened. 
 
 At daybreak of an autumn day I was aroused by a knock 
 at my bedroom door ; it was followed by the agitated voice of a 
 boy, a member of my household, ' O, sir, there are dead men on 
 Vicarage Rocks.' 
 
 In a moment I was up, and in my cassock and slippers 
 rushed out. There stood my lad, weeping bitterly, and holding 
 out to me in his trembling hands a tortoise alive. I found after- 
 wards that he had grasped it on the beach, and brought it in 
 his hand as a strange and marvellous arrival from the waves, 
 
 > 'Footprints of Former Men in Far Cornwall,' pp. 182-221. 
 K 2
 
 132 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. v. 
 
 but in utter ignorance of what it might be. I ran across my 
 glebe, a quarter of a mile, to the cliffs, and down a frightful 
 descent of three hundred feet to the beach. It was indeed a 
 scene to be looked on only once in a human life. On a ridge 
 of rock, just left bare by the falling tide, stood a man, my own 
 servant : he had come out to see my flock of ewes, and had 
 found the awful wreck. There he stood, with two dead sailors at 
 his feet, whom he had just drawn out of the water, stiff and stark. 
 The bay was tossing and seething with a tangled mass of rigging 
 and broken fragments of a ship ; the billows rolled up yellow 
 with corn, for the cargo of the vessel had been foreign wheat ; and 
 ever and anon there came up out of the water, as though stretched 
 out with life, a human hand and arm. It was the corpse of 
 another sailor drifting out to sea. ' Is there no one alive ? ' was 
 my first question to my man. ' I think there is, sir,' he said, 
 ' for just now I thought I heard a cry.' I made haste in the 
 direction he pointed out, and on turning a rock, just where 
 a brook of fresh water fell to the sea, there lay the body of a 
 man in a seaman's garb. He had reached the water faint with 
 thirst, but was too much exhausted to swallow or drink. He 
 opened his eyes at our voices, and as he saw me leaning over 
 him in my cassock he sobbed with a piteous cry, ' Oh, mon 
 pere, mon pere ! ' Gradually he revived, and when he had fully 
 come to himself with the help of cordials and food, we gathered 
 from him the mournful tale of his vessel and her wreck. He 
 was a Jersey man by birth, and had been shipped at Malta, on 
 the homeward voyage of the vessel from the port of Odessa 
 with corn. 
 
 Mr, Hawker wrote this account for a periodical without 
 giving the name of the place or signing the article. He 
 goes on to relate how he took Le Daine into his house. 
 There is reason to believe that he allowed himself a poetic 
 licence with the facts. Le Daine was found by another 
 gentleman and taken by him into his father's house in Mor-
 
 CH. v.] 777^ WRECK OF THE ' CALEDONIA: 133 
 
 wenstow parish, where he was carefully and kindly nursed 
 till his recovery. Mr. Hawker continues his narrative 
 thus: 
 
 I returned to the scene of death and danger, where my man 
 awaited me. He had found, in addition to the two corpses, another 
 dead body, jammed under a rock. By this time a crowd of 
 people had arrived from the land, and at my request they began 
 to search anxiously for the dead. It was, indeed, a terrible 
 scene. The vessel, a brig of five hundred tons, had struck, as 
 we afterwards found, at three o'clock that morning, and by the 
 time the wreck was discovered she had been shattered into 
 broken pieces by the fury of the sea. The rocks and water 
 bristled with fragments of mast and spar and rent timbers ; the 
 cordage lay about in tangled masses. The rollers tumbled in 
 volumes of com, the wheaten cargo ; and amidst it all the bodies 
 of the helpless dead— that a few brief hours before had walked 
 the deck, the stalwart masters of their ship — turned their dis- 
 figured faces toward the sky, pleading for sepulture. We made a 
 temporary bier of the broken planks, and laid thereon the corpses, 
 decently arranged. As the vicar, I led the way, and my people 
 followed with ready zeal as bearers, and in sad procession we 
 carried our dead up the steep cliff", by a difficult path, to await, 
 in a room at my vicarage which I allotted them, the inquest. 
 The ship and her cargo were, as to any tangible value, utterly 
 lost 
 
 The people of the shore, after having done their best to 
 search for survivors and to discover the lost bodies, gathered 
 up fragments of the wreck for fuel, and shouldered them away ; 
 not perhaps a lawful spoil, but a venal transgression when com- 
 pared with the remembered cruelties of Cornish wreckers. Then 
 ensued my interview A\ith the rescued man. His name was Le 
 Daine. I found him refreshed, collected, and grateful. He 
 told me his Tale of the Sea, The captain and all the crew 
 but himself were from Arbroath, in Scotland. To that harbour
 
 134 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. v. 
 
 also the vessel belonged. She had been away on a two years' 
 voyage, employed in the Mediterranean trade. She had loaded 
 last at Odessa. She touched at Malta, and there Le Daine, 
 who had been sick in the hospital, but recovered, had joined her. 
 There, also, the captain had engaged a Portuguese cook, and 
 to this man, as one link in a chain of causes, the loss of the 
 vessel might be ascribed. He had been wounded in a street 
 quarrel the night before the vessel sailed from Malta, and lay 
 disabled and useless in his cabin throughout the homeward 
 voyage. At Falmouth, whither they were bound for orders, the 
 cook died. The captain and all the crew, except the cabin-boy, 
 went ashore to attend the funeral. During their absence the 
 boy, handling in his curiosity the barometer, had broken the 
 tube, and the whole of the quicksilver had run out. Had this 
 instrument, the pulse of the storm, been preserved, the crew 
 would have received warning of the sudden and unexpected 
 hurricane, and might have stood out to sea. Whereas, they 
 were caught in the chops of the Channel, and thus, by this 
 small incident, the vessel and the mariners found their fate on 
 the rocks of a remote headland in my lonely parish. I caused 
 Le Daine to relate in detail the closing events. 
 
 'We received orders,' he said, 'at Falmouth to make for 
 Gloucester to discharge. The captain, and mate, and another of 
 the crew, were to be married on their return to their native 
 town. They wrote, therefore, to Arbroath trom Falmouth, to 
 announce their safe arrival from their two years' voyage, their 
 intended course to Gloucester, and their hope in about a week to 
 arrive at Arbroath for welcome there.' 
 
 But in a day or two after this joyful letter, there arrived in 
 Arbroath a leaf torn out of my pocket-book, and addressed 
 ' To the Owners of the Vessel, the " Caledonia " of Arbroath,' with 
 the brief and thrilling tidings written by myself in pencil, among 
 the fragments of their wrecked vessel, that the whole crew, except 
 one man, were lost ' upon my rocks.' My note spread a general 
 dismay in Arbroath, for the crew, from the clannish relationship
 
 CH. v.] LE DAINES STORY. 135 
 
 among the Scotch, were connected with a large number of the 
 inhabitants. But to return to the touching details of Le Daine. 
 
 ' We rounded the Land's End,' he said, ' that night all well, 
 and came up Channel with a fair wind. The captain turned in. 
 It was my watch. All at once, about nine at night, it began to 
 blow in one moment as if the storm burst out by signal; the 
 wind went mad ; our canvas burst in bits. We reeved fresh sails ; 
 they went also. At last we were under bare poles. The captain 
 had turned out when the storm began. He sent me forward to 
 look out for Lundy Light. I saw your cliff.' (This was a bluff 
 and broken headland just by the southern boundary of my own 
 glebe.) ' I sang out, " Land ! " I had hardly done so when she 
 struck with a blow, and stuck fast. Then the captain sang out, 
 " All hands to the maintop," and we all went up. The captain 
 folded his arms, and stood by, silent.' 
 
 Here I asked him. anxious to know how they expressed 
 themselves at such a time, 'But what was said afterwards, Le 
 Daine?' 
 
 ' Not one word, sir ; only once, when the long boat went over, 
 I said to the skipper, "Sir, the boat is gone." But he made no 
 answer.' 
 
 How accurate was Byron's painting. 
 
 Then shrieked the timid, and stood still the brave. 
 
 ' At last there came on a dreadful wave, mast-top high, and 
 away went the mast by the board, and we with it, into the 
 sea. I gave myself up. I was the only man on the ship that 
 could not swim, so where I fell into the water there I lay. I 
 felt the waves beat me and send me on. At last there was a rock 
 under my hand. I clung on. Just then I saw Alick Kant, one 
 of our crew, swimming past. I saw him lay his hand on a 
 rock, and I sang out, " Hold on, Alick ! " but a wave rolled and 
 swept him away, and I never saw his face more. I was beaten 
 onward and onward among the rocks and the tide, and at last I 
 felt the ground with my feet. I scrambled on. I saw the cliff,
 
 136 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. v. 
 
 Steep and dark, above my head. I climbed up until I reached 
 a kind of platform with, grass, and there I fell down flat upon my 
 face, and either I fainted away or I fell asleep. There I lay a 
 long time, and when I awoke it was just the break of day. 
 There was a little yellow flower just under my head, and when 
 I saw that 1 knew I was on dry land.' This was a plant of the 
 Bird's-foot clover, called in old times. Our Lady's Finger. He 
 went on : 'I could see no house or sign of people, and the 
 country looked to me like some wild and desert island. At 
 last I felt very thirsty, and I tried to get down towards a valley 
 where I thought I should find water. But before I could reach 
 it I fell and grew faint again, and there, thank God, sir, you 
 found me.' 
 
 Such was Le Daine's sad and simple story, and no one 
 could listen unmoved to the poor solitary survivor of his ship- 
 mates and crew. The coroner arrived, held his 'quest, and the 
 usual verdict of ' Wrecked and cast ashore ' empowered me to 
 inter the dead sailors, found and future, from the same vessel, 
 with the service in the Prayer Book for the Burial of the Dead. 
 This decency of sepulture is the result of a somewhat recent 
 statute, passed in the reign of George III. Before that time it 
 was the common usage of the coast to dig, just above high-water 
 mark, a pit on the shore, and therein to cast, without inquest or 
 religious rite, the carcases of shipwrecked men. My first funeral 
 of those lost mariners was a touching and striking scene. The 
 three bodies first found were buried at the same time. Behind 
 the coffins, as they were solemnly borne along the aisle, walked 
 the solitary mourner, Le Daine, weeping bitterly and aloud. 
 Other eyes were moist, for who could hear unsoftened the 
 greeting of the Church to these strangers from the sea, and the 
 ' touch that makes the whole earth kin,' in the hope we breathed, 
 that we, too, might one day ' rest as these our brethren did ' ? It was 
 well nigh too much for those who served that day. Nor was 
 the interest subdued when, on the Sunday after the wreck, at 
 the appointed place in the service, just before the General Thanks-
 
 CH. v.] BURIAL OF THE WRECKED. 137 
 
 giving, Le Daine rose up from his place, approached the altar, 
 and uttered in an audible but broken voice, his thanksgiving 
 for his singular and safe deliverance from the perils of the sea. 
 
 The text of the sermon that day demands its history. Some 
 time before, a vessel, the ' Hero ' of Liverpool, was seen in distress, 
 in the offing of a neighbouring harbour, during a storm. The 
 crew mistaking a signal from the beach, betook themselves to 
 their boat. It foundered, and the whole ship's company, twelve 
 in number, were drowned in sight of the shore. But the stout 
 ship held together, and drifted on to the land, so unshattered by 
 the sea, that the coastguard, who went immediately on board, 
 found the fire burning in the cabin. "Wlien the vessel came to 
 be examined, they found in one of the berths a Bible, and 
 bet^veen its leaves a sheet of paper, whereon some recent hand 
 had transcribed verses the twenty-first, twenty-second, and twenty- 
 third of the thirty-third chapter of Isaiah. The same hand had 
 also marked the passage with a line of ink along the margin. 
 The name of the owmer of the book was also found inscribed on 
 the fly-leaf. He was a youth of eighteen years of age, the son of 
 a widow, and a statement under his name recorded that the 
 Bible was ' a reward for his good conduct in a Sunday school.' 
 This text, so identified and enforced by a hand that soon after 
 grew cold, appeared strangely and strikingly adapted to the 
 funeral of shipwrecked men ; and it was therefore chosen as 
 the theme for our solemn day. The very hearts of the people 
 seemed hushed to hear it, and every eye was turned towards 
 Le Daine, who bowed his head upon his hands and wept. These 
 are the words : ' But there the glorious Lord will be unto us a 
 place of broad rivers and streams ; wherein shall go no galley 
 with oars, neither shall gallant ships pass thereby. For the Lord 
 is our Judge, the Lord is our Lawgiver, the Lord is our King ; He 
 will save us. Thy tacklings are loosed ; they could not well 
 strengthen their mast, they could not spread the sail ; then is the 
 prey of a great spoil divided ; the lame take the prey.' Shall I 
 be forgiven for the vaunt, if I declare that there was not literally
 
 138 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. v. 
 
 a single face that day unmoistened and unmoved ? Few, indeed, 
 could have borne without deep emotion, to see and hear Le Daine. 
 He remained as my guest six weeks, and during the whole of this 
 time we sought diligently, and at last we found the whole crew, 
 nine in number. They were discovered, some under rocks, 
 jammed in by the force of the water, so that it took sometimes 
 several ebb-tides, and the strength of many hands, to extricate 
 the corpses. The captain I came upon myself lying placidly upon 
 his back, with his arms folded in the very gesture which Le 
 Daine had described as he stood amid the crew on the maintop. 
 The hand of the spoiler was about to assail him, when I sud- 
 denly appeared, so that I rescued him untouched. Each hand 
 grasped a small pouch or bag. One contained his pistols ; the 
 other held two little log-reckoners of brass ; so that his last 
 thoughts were full of duty to his owners and his ship, and his 
 latest efforts for rescue and defence. He had been manifestly 
 lifted by a billow and hurled against a rock, and so slain ; for 
 the victims of our cruel sea are seldom drowned, but beaten 
 to death by violence and the wrath of the billows. We gathered 
 together one poor fellow in five parts ; his limbs had been 
 wrenched off; and his body rent. During our search for his 
 remains, a man came up to me with something in his hand, 
 enquiring, ' Can you tell me, sir, what is this ? Is it a part of a 
 man?' It was the mangled seaman's heart, and we restored it 
 reverently to its place, where it had once beat high with life and 
 courage, with thrilling hope and sickening fear. Two or three 
 of the dead were not discovered for four or five weeks after the 
 wreck, and these had become so loathsome from decay, that it 
 was at peril of health and life to perform the last duties we owe 
 to our brother-men. But hearts and hands were found for the 
 work, and at last the good ship's company, captain, mate, and 
 crew, were laid at rest, side by side, beneath our churchyard trees. 
 Groups of grateful letters from Arbroath are to this day among 
 the most cherished memorials of my escritoire. Some, wTitten by 
 the friends of the dead, are marvellous proofs of the good feehng
 
 CH. v.] LE DA INK'S RETURN. 139 
 
 and educated ability of the Scotch people. One from a father 
 breaks off in irrepressible pathos, with a burst of ' O my son ! my 
 son ! ' We placed at the foot of the captain's grave the figure- 
 head of his vessel. It is a carved image, life-size, of his native 
 Caledonia, in the garb of her country, with sword and shield.' 
 
 At the end of about six weeks Le Daine left my house on his 
 homeward way, a sadder and a richer man. Gifts had been 
 proffered from many a hand, so that he was able to return to 
 Jersey, with happy and joyful mien, well clothed, and with thirty 
 pounds in his purse. His recollections of our scenery were not 
 such as were in former times associated with the Cornish shore : 
 for three years afterward he returned to the place of his disaster 
 accompanied by his uncle, sister, and affianced wife, and he had 
 brought them that, in his own joyous words, ' they might see the 
 spot of his great deliverance ; ' and there, one summer day, they 
 stood, a group of happy faces, gazing with wonder and gratitude 
 on our rugged cliffs, that were then clad in that gorgeous vesture 
 of purple and gold which the heather and gorse wind and weave 
 along the heights ; and the soft blue wave lapping the sand in 
 gentle cadence, as though the sea had never wreaked an impulse 
 of ferocity, or rent a helpless prey. Nor was the thankfulness of 
 the sailor a barren feeling. Whensoever afterward the Vicar 
 sought to purchase for his dairy a Jersey cow, the family and 
 friends of Le Daine rejoiced to ransack the Island until they had 
 found the sleekest, loveliest, best of that beautiful breed ; and it 
 is to the gratitude of that poor seaman and stranger from a distant 
 abode, that the herd of the glebe has long been famous in the 
 land, and hence, as Homer would have sung, hence came 
 
 Bleehtah, and Lilith, Neelah, Evan Neelah, and Katy. 
 
 ' A copy of verses to Mr. Hawker, thanking him for his conduct was 
 written, printed and circulated in Arbroath. They were by one David 
 Arnott, and dated October 13, 1842. They are of no ntierit. They end 
 thus : 
 
 ' Such deeds as thine are registered in Heaven, 
 And there alone can due rcM'ard be given,'
 
 140 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. v. 
 
 Strange to say Le Daine has been twice shipwrecked since his 
 first peril ; with similar loss of property, but escape of life ; and 
 he is now the master of a vessel in the trade of the Levant. In 
 the following year a new and another \\Teck was announced in 
 the gloom of night. A schooner under bare poles had been 
 watched for many hours from the cliffs, with the steersman 
 fastened at the wheel. All at once she tacked and made for the 
 shore, and just as she had reached a creek between two reefs of 
 rock, she foundered and went down. At break of day only her 
 vane was visible to mark her billowy grave. Not a vestige could 
 be seen of her crew. But in the course of the day her boat was 
 drifted ashore and we found from the name on the stem that 
 the vessel was the ' Phoenix ' of St. Ives. A letter from myself by 
 immediate post brought up next day from that place a sailor 
 who introduced himself as the brother of the young man who had 
 sailed as mate in the wrecked ship. He was a rough plain-spoken 
 man, of simple religious cast, without guile or pretence ; one of 
 the good old seafaring sort ; the men who ' go down to the sea 
 in ships and occupy their business in great waters ; ' these, as the 
 Psalmist chants, ' see the wonders of the Lord and His glories in 
 the deep.' At my side he paced the shore day after day in weary 
 qviest of the dead. ' If I could but get my poor brother's bones,' 
 he cried out yearningly again and again, ' if I could but lay him 
 in the earth, how it would comfort dear mother at home ! ' We 
 searched ever}' cranny in the rocks, and we watched every surging 
 wave, until hope was exchanged for despair. A reward of meagre 
 import, it is true, offered by the Seaman's Burial Act, to which I 
 have referred, and within my own domain doubled always by 
 myself, brought us many a comrade in this sickening scrutiny, 
 but for long it was in vain. At last one day while we were 
 scattered over a broken stretch of jumbled rocks that lay in 
 huddled masses along the base of the cliffs, a loud and sudden 
 shout called me, where the seaman of St. Ives stood. He was 
 gazing down into the broken sea — it was on a spot near low-water 
 mark — and there, just visible from underneath a mighty fragment
 
 CH. v.] THE 'PHCENIX' OF ST. IVES. 141 
 
 of rock, was seen the ankle of a man and a foot still wearing a 
 shoe ! ' It is my brother ! ' wailed the sailor bitterly ; 'it is our 
 dear Jim j I can swear to that shoe !' We gathered around ; the 
 tide ebbed a very little after this discovery, and only just enough 
 to leave dry the surface of the rock under which the body lay. 
 Soon the sea began again to flow, and very quickly we were 
 driven by the rising surges from the spot. The anguish of the 
 mourner for his dead was thrilling to behold and terrible to hear. 
 ' O ! my brother ! my brother ! ' was his sob again and again, 
 * what a burial place for our own dear boy!' I tried to soothe 
 him, but in vain \ the only theme to which he could be brought to 
 listen was the chance, and I confess it seemed to my own secret 
 mind a hopeless thought, that it might be possible, at the next 
 ebb tide, by skill and strength combined, to move, if ever so little, 
 the monstrous rock, and so recover the corpse. It was low 
 water at evening tide, and there was a bright November moon. 
 We gathered in numbers, for among my parishioners there were 
 kind and gentle-hearted men, such as had ' pity, tenderness, and 
 tears,' and all were moved by the tale of the sailor, hurled and 
 buried beneath a rock, by the strong and cruel sea. The scene 
 of our first nightly assemblage was a weird and striking sight. 
 Far, far above loomed the tall and gloomy headlands of the coast ; 
 around us foamed and raged the boiling waves ; the moon cast 
 her massive lowering shadows on rock and sea — 
 
 And the long moonbeam on the cold wet sand. 
 Lay, like a jasper column, half upreared. 
 
 Stout and stalwart forms surrounded me, wielding their iron 
 bars, pickaxes, and ropes. Their efforts were strenuous but 
 unavailing. The tide soon returned in its strength, and drove us, 
 baffled, from the spot, before we had been able to grasp or shake 
 the ponderous mass. It was calculated by competent judges that 
 its weight was full fifteen tons : neither could there be a more 
 graphic image of the resistless strength of the wrathful sea, than 
 the aspect of this and similar blocks of rifted stone, that were
 
 142 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HA WKER. [CH. v. 
 
 raised and rolled perpetually by the power of the billows, and 
 hurled, as in some pastime of the giants, along the shuddering 
 shore ! Deep and bitter was the grief of the sailor at our failure 
 and retreat. His piteous wail over the dead recalled the agony of 
 those who are recorded in Holy Writ ; they who grieved for their 
 lost ones ' and would not be comforted, because they were not ! ' 
 That night an inspiration visited me in my wakeful bed. At a 
 neighbouring harbour dwelt a relative of mine, who was an 
 engineer, in charge of the machinery on a breakwater and canal. 
 To him, at morning light, I sent an appeal for succour, and he 
 immediately responded with aidance and advice. Two strong 
 windlasses, worked by iron chains, and three or four skilful men 
 were sent up by him next day wdth instructions for their work. 
 Again at evening ebb we were all on the spot. One of our new 
 assistants, a very Tubal Cain in aspect and stature, and of the 
 same craft with that smith before the flood, plunged upon the 
 rock as the water reluctantly revealed its upper side, and drilled 
 a couple of holes in the surface with rapid energy, to receive, each 
 of them, that which he called a Lewis-wedge and a ring. To 
 these the chains of the windlasses were fastened on. They then 
 looped a rope around the ankle of the corpse and gave it as the 
 post of honour to me to hold. It was on the evening of Sunday* 
 that all this was done, and I had deemed it a venial breach of 
 discipline to omit the nightly service of the Church, in order to suit 
 the tide. Forty strong parishioners, all absentees from evening 
 prayer, manned the double windlass power ; I intoned the pull ; 
 and by a strong and blended effort, the rocky mass was slowly, 
 silently, and gently upheaved ; a slight haul at the rope, and up 
 to our startled view and to the sudden lights, came forth the 
 altered, ghastly, flattened semblance of a man ! ' My brother ! 
 my brother ! ' shrieked a well-known voice at my side, and 
 tears of gratitude and suffering gushed in mingled torrent over 
 
 ' A man present on this occasion tells me that the recovery of the body 
 took place on a Monday and not on a Sunday. Mr. Hawker had daily prayer 
 in his church. S. B.-G.
 
 CH. v.] RECOVERY OF CORPSE. 143 
 
 his nigged cheek. A coffin had been made ready, under the hope 
 of final success, and therein we reverently laid the disfigured car- 
 case of one who, a little while before, had been the young and 
 joyous inmate of a fond and happy home. We had to clamber 
 up a steep and difficult pathway along the cliff with the body, 
 which was carried by the bearers in a kind of funeral train. The 
 Vicar of course led the way.' When we were about half way up 
 a singular and striking event occurred, which moved us all ex- 
 ceedingly. Unobserved, for all were intent on their solemn task, 
 a vessel had neared the shore, she lay to, and, as it seemed, had 
 watched us with night-glasses from the deck, or had discerned us 
 from the torches and lanterns in our hands. For all at once 
 there sounded along the air, three deep and thrilling cheers ! 
 And we could see that the crew on board had manned their 
 yards. It was manifest that their loyal and hearty voices and 
 gestures were intended to greet our fulfilment of duty to a brother 
 mariner's remains. The burial place of the dead sailors in this 
 churchyard is a fair and fitting scene for their quiet rest. Full 
 in view, and audible in sound, for ever rolls the sea. Is it not to 
 them a soothing requiem that 
 
 Old Ocean, with its everlasting voice, 
 As in perpetual Jubilee, proclaims 
 The praises of the Almighty ? 
 
 Trees stand, like warders, beside their graves ; and the Norman 
 shingled church, ' the mother of us all,' dwells in silence by, to 
 watch over her safe and slumbering dead. And it recalls the 
 imagery of the Holy Book wherein we read of the gathered 
 reliques of the ancient slain : ' And Rizpah the daughter of Aiah 
 took sackcloth and spread it for her upon the rock from the 
 beginning of harvest until water dropped upon them out of 
 Heaven, and suffered neither the birds of the air to rest on 
 them by day, nor the beasts of the field by night.' 
 
 A year had passed away when the return of the equinox 
 
 ' With cross going before him, in his surplice, reciting psalms.
 
 144 L^P^ 0^ ROBERT STEPHEN HA WKER. [CH. v, 
 
 admonished us again to listen for storms and "WTrecks. There are 
 men in this district whose usage it is at every outbreak of a gale 
 of wind to watch the cliffs from rise to set of sun. Of these my 
 quaint old parishioner, Peter Barrow, was one. On a wild winter 
 day I found myself seated on a rock with Peter standing by, at 
 a point that overhung the sea. We were both gazing with anxious 
 dismay at a ship which was beating to and fro in the Channel, 
 and had now drifted much too near to the shore ; she had come 
 into sight some hours before struggling with Harty Race, the 
 local name of a narrow boisterous run of sea between Lundy 
 and the land, and she was now within three or four miles of 
 our rocks. ' Ah, sir,' said Peter, ' the coastmen say 
 
 From Padstow Point to Lundy Light, 
 Is a watery grave by day or night ! 
 
 And I think the poor fellows off there will find it so.' All at 
 once, as we still watched the vessel labouring on the sea, a boat 
 was launched over her side and several men plunged into it 
 one by one. With strained and anxious eyes we searched the 
 billows for the course of the boat. Sometimes we caught a 
 glimpse as it rode upon some surging wave ; then it disappeared 
 awhile. At last we could see it no more. Meanwhile the vessel 
 had held down Channel, tacked and steered as if still beneath 
 the guidance of some of her crew, although it must have been 
 in sheer desperation that they still hugged the shore. What 
 was to be done ? If she struck, the men still on board must 
 perish without help, for nightfall drew on. If the boat re- 
 appeared Peter could make a signal where to land. In hot 
 haste then I made for the vicarage, ordered my horse, and re- 
 turned towards the cliffs. The ship rode on and I accompanied 
 her way along the shore. She reached the offing of Bude Haven 
 and there grounded on the sand. No boatman could be induced 
 to put off, and thick darkness soon after fell. I returned worn, 
 heartsick, and weary on my homeward way ; there strange tidings 
 greeted me, the boat which we had watched so long had been
 
 CH. v.] THE 'ALONZO' OF STOCKTON. 145 
 
 rolled ashore by the billows empty. Peter Barrow had hauled 
 her above high-water mark, and had found a name, the ' Alonzo 
 of Stockton-on-Tees,' on her stern. That night I wrote as usual 
 to the owner, with news of the wreck, and the next day 
 we were able to guess at the misfortunes of the stranded ship ; 
 a boat had visited the vessel and found her freighted with iron 
 from Gloucester for a Queen's yard round the Land's End. Her 
 papers in the fcabin showed that her crew of nine men had been 
 reported all sound and well three days before. The owners' 
 agent arrived, and he stated that her captain was a brave and 
 trusty officer, and that he must have been compelled by his men 
 to join them when they deserted the ship. They must all have 
 been swamped and lost not long after the launch of the boat, and 
 while we watched for them in vain amid the waves. Then ensued 
 what has long been with me the saddest and most painful duty of 
 the shore ; we sought and waited for the dead. Now, there is a 
 folklore of the beach that no corpse will float or be found until 
 the ninth day after death. The truth is that about that time the 
 body proceeds to decompose, and as a natural result it ascends to 
 the surface of the current, is brought into the shallows of the tide, 
 and is there found. The owners' representative was my guest for 
 ten days, and with the help of the ship's papers and his own 
 personal knowledge we were able to identify the dead. First of 
 all the body of the captain came in ; he was a fine stalwart and 
 resolute-looking man. His countenance, however, had a grim 
 and angry aspect ; just such an expression as would verify the 
 truth of our suspicion that he had been driven by others to 
 forsake his deck. Then arrived the mate and three other men 
 of the crew. None were placid of feature or calm and pleasant 
 in look as those usually are who are accidentally drowned or 
 who die in their beds. 
 
 But one day my strange old man, Peter Barrow, came to me 
 in triumphant haste with the loud greeting, ' Sir ! we have "ot 
 a noble corpse down on your beach. We have just laid him 
 down above high-water mark, and he is as comely a body 
 
 L
 
 146 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. v. 
 
 as a man shall see ! ' I made haste to the spot, and there 
 lay, with the light of a calm and wintry day falling on his 
 manly form, a fine and stately example of a man ; he was 
 six feet two inches in height; of firm and accurate propor- 
 tion throughout— and he must have been, indeed, in life a 
 shape of noble symmetry and grace. On his broad smooth chest 
 was tattoed a Rood, that is to say, our Blessed Saviour on His 
 cross, with, on the one hand His Mother, and on the other St. 
 John the Evangelist ; underneath were the initial letters of a 
 name, P. B. His arms also were marked with tracery in the 
 same blue lines. On his right arm was engraved P. B. again, and 
 E. M., the letters hnked with a wreath — and on his left arm was 
 an anchor, as I imagined the symbol of hope, and the small blue 
 forget-me-not flower. The greater number of my dead sailors — 
 and I have myself said the burial service over forty-two such men 
 rescued from the sea — were so decorated with some distinctive 
 emblem and name ; and it is their object and intent, when they 
 assume these signs, to secure identity for their bodies if their lives 
 are lost at sea. We carried the strangely decorated man to his 
 comrades of the deck, and gradually in the course of one month 
 we discovered and carefully buried the total crew of nine strong 
 men. These gathered strangers, the united assemblage from many 
 a distant and diverse abode, now calmly slept among our rural 
 and homely graves, the stout seamen of the ship 'Alonzo' of 
 Stockton-on-Tees ! The boat which had foundered with them 
 we brought also to the churchyard, and there, just by their place 
 of rest, we placed her beside them keel upward to the sky, in 
 token that her work too was over and her voyage done. There 
 her timbers slowly moulder still, and by-and-by her dust will 
 mingle in the scenery of death with the ashes of those living 
 hearts and hands that manned her, in their last unavailing launch, 
 and fruitless struggle for the mastery of life ! ' But the history of 
 the ' Alonzo ' is not yet closed. Three years afterwards a letter 
 
 ' The boat is rotted nearly away, the bows alone remain tolerably 
 entire. — S.B.-G.
 
 CH. v.] PHILIP BEXGSTEIN. 147 
 
 arrived from the Danish Consul at a neighbouring seaport town, 
 addressed to myself as the Vicar of the parish ; and the hope of the 
 writer was that he might be able to ascertain through myself, for 
 two anxious and grieving parents in Denmark, tidings of their lost 
 son. His name, he said, was Philip Bengstein, and it was in the 
 correspondence that this strange and touching history transpired. 
 The father, who immediately aftenvard wrote to my address, told 
 me in tearful words that his son, bearing that name, had gone 
 away from his native home because his parents had resisted a 
 marriage which he was desirous to contract. They found that 
 he had gone to sea before the mast, a position much below his 
 station in life : and they had traced him from ship to ship, until 
 at last they found him on the papers of the ' Alonzo' of Stockton- 
 on-Tees. Then, their inquiry as to the fate of that vessel had 
 led them to the knowledge, through the owners^ that the Vicar of 
 a parish on the seaboard of North Cornwall could in all likeli- 
 hood convey to them some tidings of their long-lost son. I 
 related in reply the history of the death, discovery, and burial 
 of the unfortunate young man. I Avas enabled to verify and 
 to understand the initial letters of his own name, and of her 
 who was not to become his bride ; although she still clung to 
 his memory in loving loneliness in that foreign land ! Ample 
 evidence, therefore, verified his corpse, and I was proudly enabled 
 to certify to his parents the reverent burial of their child. A 
 letter is treasured among my papers filled to overfloAving with 
 the strong and earnest gratitude of a stranger and a Dane for 
 the kindness we had rendered to one who loved 'not wisely' 
 perchance, 'but too well,' to that son who had been lost and 
 was found too late ; one, too, ' whose course of true love ' had 
 brought him from distant Denmark to a green hillock among the 
 dead, beneath a lonely tower among the trees, by the Cornish 
 sea ! What a picture was that which we saw painted upon the 
 bosom and limbs of a dead man, of fond and faithful love, of 
 severed and broken hearts, of disappointed hope, of a vacant 
 chair and a hushed voice in a far-away Danish home !
 
 148 LIFE OF R0BER7 STEPHEN' HAWKER. [ch. vi. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Wellcombe — Mr. Hawker Postman to Wellcombe — The Miss Kitties — Adver- 
 tisement of Roger Giles — Superstitions —The Evil Eye — The SpirituaL'Ether 
 — The Vicar's Pigs bewitched — Horse killed by a Witch — He finds a lost 
 Hen — A Lecture against Witchcraft — Its Failure — An Encounter with the 
 Pixies — Curious Picture of a Pixie Revel — The Fairy-Ring — Antony 
 Cleverdon and the Mermaids. 
 
 About three miles from Morwenstow, as the crow flies, 
 and five or six by road, on the coast is a little church and 
 hamlet called Wellcombe. The church probably occupies 
 the site of a cell of St. Nectan, and is dedicated to him. 
 It is old and interesting. The parish forms a horseshoe 
 with the heels toward the sea, which is here reached by a 
 rapidly descending glen, ending in a cove. It is a small 
 parish with some 230 inhabitants, people of a race 
 different from those in the adjoining parishes, with black 
 eyes and hair, and dark-skinned. ' Dark-grained as a Well- 
 combe woman,' is a saying in the neighbourhood when a 
 brunette is being described. The people are singularly 
 ignorant and superstitious ; they are a religious people, and 
 attend church with great regularity and devotion. The 
 chief landowner and lord of the manor is Lord Clinton, 
 and the vicarage is in his gift. It is only worth 70/., and 
 there is neither glebe nor parsonage house, consequently
 
 CH. VI.] IVELLCOMBE. 149 
 
 Wellcombe generally goes with Hartland or Morwen- 
 stow. 
 
 When Mr. Hawker became Vicar of Morwenstow, 
 Wellcombe was held by the Vicar of Hartland, but on 
 his death, in 1851, Lord Clinton gave it to Mr. Hawker. 
 
 Mr. Hawker accordingly took three services every 
 Sunday. He had his morning prayer at Morwenstow at 
 eleven, and then drove over to Wellcombe, where he had 
 afternoon service at 2 P.M. ; and then returned to Morwen- 
 stow for evening prayer at 5 P.M. 
 
 He never ate between services. Directly morning 
 prayer was over he got into his gig, a basket of pipes all 
 loaded was handed in, and he drove off to Wellcombe, 
 smoking all the way ; and after having taken duty, he 
 smoked all the way back. Once a month he celebrated 
 the Holy Communion at Wellcombe, and then through the 
 kindness of the rector of Kilkhampton the morning 
 service at Morwenstow^ was not allow^ed to fall through. 
 
 Mr. Hawker for long acted as postman to Wellcombe. 
 The inhabitants of that remote village did not often get 
 letters ; when missives arrived for them, they were left 
 at Morwenstow vicarage, and on the following Sunday 
 a distribution of the post took place in the porch after 
 divine service. 
 
 But the parishioners of Wellcombe were no ' scholards,' 
 and the Vicar was generally required to read their letters 
 to them, and sometimes to write the answ^ers. 
 
 On one occasion he was reading a letter to an old 
 woman of Wellcombe, whose son was in Brazil. Part of 
 the letter ran as follows ; — ' I cannot tell you, dear mother.
 
 I50 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN' HAWKER. [CH. vi. 
 
 how the muskitties (mosquitoes) torment me. They never 
 leave me alone, but pursue me everywhere.' 
 
 * To think of that ! ' interrupted the old woman. ' My 
 Ezekiel must be a handsome lad ! But I'm interrupting. 
 Do you go on please, parson.' 
 
 ' Indeed, dear mother,' continued the Vicar reading, ' I 
 shut my door and window of an evening to keep them out 
 of my room.' 
 
 ' Dear life ! ' exclaimed the old woman, ' what will the 
 world come to next ! ' 
 
 ' And yet,' continued the Vicar, ' they do not leave 
 me alone. I believe they come down the chimney to get 
 at me.' 
 
 ' Well, well now, parson,' exclaimed the mother, hold- 
 ing up her hands ; ' to think how forward of them ! ' 
 
 ' Of whom > ' 
 
 ' Why, the Miss Kitties, sure. When I were young, 
 maidens would have blushed to do such a thing. And 
 come down the chimbley too ! ' After a pause, mother's 
 pride overmastering sense of what befitted her sex, ' But 
 Ezekiel must be rare handsome for the maidens to be after 
 him so. And, I reckon, the Miss Kitties is quality folk 
 too.' 
 
 Mr. Hawker thus describes the Wellcombe people : — 
 ' They have amongst them no farrier for their cattle, no 
 medical man for themselves, no beerhouse, no shop ° a man 
 who travels for a distant town (Stratton) supplies them 
 with sugar by the ounce, or tea in smaller quantities still. 
 Not a newspaper is taken in throughout the hamlet, 
 although they are occasionally astonished and delighted by
 
 CH. VI.] ROGER GILES, SCHOOLMASTER. 151 
 
 the arrival, from some almost forgotten friend in Canada, 
 of an ancient copy of the " Toronto Gazette." This pub- 
 lication they pore over to weariness, and on Sunday they 
 will worry the clergyman with questions about Trans- 
 atlantic places and names of which he is obliged to confess 
 himself utterly ignorant. An ancient dame once exhibited 
 her prayer-book, very nearly worn out, printed in the 
 reign of George II., and very much thumbed at the page 
 from which she assiduously prayed for the welfare of Prince 
 Frederick.' 
 
 The people of Wellcombe are very ignorant. Indeed, a 
 good deal of ignorance lingers still in the West of England. 
 The schoolmaster has not yet thrown a great blaze of light 
 on the Devonian mind, and the Cornish mind is not much 
 better illuminated. 
 
 I give a specimen of English composition by a school- 
 master of the old style in Devonshire, and it may be guessed 
 that the Cornish fared not better for teachers than their 
 Wessex neighbours. 
 
 This is an advertisement, written over a little shop : — 
 
 Roger Giles, Surgin, Parish dark and Skulemaster, Groser, 
 and Hundertaker, Respectably informs ladys and gentlemen that 
 he drors teef without wateing a minit, applies laches every hour, 
 blisters on the lowest tarms, and vizicks for a penny a peace. He 
 sells Godfather's Kordales, kuts koms, bunyons, dokters hosses, 
 clips donkies, wance a munth, and undertakes to lake arter every 
 bodies nayls by the ear. Joesharps, penny wissels, brass kanel- 
 sticks, fryinpans, and other moozikal hinstrumints hat grately 
 reydooced figers. Young ladys and genelmen larnes their gram- 
 mur and langeudge, in the purtiest manner, also grate care taken 
 off their morrels and spellin. Also zarm-zinging, tayching the
 
 152 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [cii. vi. 
 
 base vial, and all other zorts of vancy-work, sqiiadrils, ])okers, 
 weazils, and all country dances tort at home and abroad at 
 perfekshun. Perfumery and znuff, in all its branches. As times is 
 cruel bad, I begs to tell ey that i his just bcginned to sell all sorts 
 of stashonary ware, cox, hens, vouls, pigs, and all other kinds of 
 poultry. Blakin-brishes, herrins, coles, skrubbin-brishes, traykel, 
 godly bukes and bibles, mise-traps, brick-dist, whisker-seed, morrel 
 pokkerankerchers, and all zorts of swatemaits, including taters, 
 sassages, and other gardin stuff, bakky, zigars, lamp oyle, tay- 
 kittles, and other intoxzikatin likkcrs ; a dale of fruit, hats, zongs, 
 hare oyle, pattins, bukkits, grindin stones, and other aitables, 
 korn and bunyon zalve and all hardware. 1 as laid in a large 
 azzortment of trype, dogs' mate, lolipops, ginger-beer, matches, 
 and other pikkles, such as hepsom salts, hoysters, Winzer sope, 
 anzetrar. 
 
 Old rags bort and zold here and nowhere else, new lade heggs 
 by me Roger Giles ; zinging burdes keeped, sich as howles, 
 donkics, paykox, lobsters, crickets, also the stock of a cele- 
 brated brayder. Agent for selling gutty-porker souls. P.S. — I 
 tayches gografy, rithmetic, cowstiks, jimnastiks, and other chynecs 
 tricks. 
 
 The people of Wcllcombe arc not only i^morant, but 
 superstitious. Mr. Hawker shared at least some of their 
 superstitions. Living as lie did in a visionary dreamworld 
 of spirits, he was ready to admit without questioning 
 the stories he heard of witchcraft and the power of the 
 evil eye. 
 
 Whenever he came across any one with a peculiar eye- 
 ball, sometimes bright and clear, and at others covered 
 with a filmy gauze, or a double pupil, ringed twice, or a 
 larger eye on the left than on the right side, he would hold 
 the thumb, fore, and middle fingers in a peculiar manner, 
 so as to ward off the evil effect of the eye.
 
 CH. VI. i THE EVIL EYE. 153 
 
 He had been descanting one day on the blight which 
 such an eye could cast, when his companion said, ' Really, 
 Mr. Hawker, you do not believe such rubbish as this in the 
 nineteenth century.' 
 
 He turned round, and said gravely, ' I do not pretend 
 to be wiser than the Word of God. I find that the evil 
 e}-e is reckoned along with " blasphemy, pride, and foolish- 
 ness," as things that defile a man.' ^ And he would pro- 
 duce a curious passage from Heliodorus : — ' " Tell me, 
 my good Calasiris, what is the complaint that has attacked 
 your daughter t " " You ought not to be surprised," I 
 replied, " if, when she was leading the procession in the 
 presence of so vast an assemblage, she has drawn upon her- 
 self some envious eye." Whereupon, smiling ironically, 
 " Do you then," asked he, " like the vulgar in general, 
 believe in the existence of such a fascination .'' " " As 
 much as I do in any other fact," I replied ; " and the thing 
 is thus : this air that surrounds us, passing, as it were, 
 through a strainer, through the eyes, the nostrils, the 
 breath, and the other passages into the inward parts, and 
 the external properties rushing in together with it, what- 
 ever be its quality as it flows in, of the same nature is the 
 effect it disseminates in the recipients ; so that when any 
 one looks upon Beauty with envy, he fills the circumambient 
 air with a malignant property, and difiuses upon his neigh- 
 bour the breath coming from himself replete with bitter- 
 ness, and this, being, as it is, of a most subtle nature, 
 
 ' Mark vii. 21 ; cf. also Piov. xxiii. 6, xxviii. 22 ; Matt. vi. 23 ; Luke 
 xi. 34 ; Matt. xx. 15. It must be remembered that when the Gospels were 
 written, the ixpOaKjxhs irovr)p6s or (pdovepos was universally believed in, and the 
 expression had its meaning well understood.
 
 154 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. vi. 
 
 penetrates through into the very bones and marrow. 
 Hence envy has often turned itself into a true disease, and 
 has received the distinctive name of Fascination {fiaaKovla). 
 . . . Let, above everything else, the origin of love be a 
 support for my argument, which owes its first beginning to 
 the sight which shoots, like arrows, passion into the soul, 
 . . . And if you wish for a proof drawn from natural 
 history, and recorded in the sacred books : the bird yellow- 
 hammer cures the jaundice ; and if the person so affected 
 should but look at the bird, the latter at once endeavours 
 to escape, and shuts its eyes, not, as some think, because it 
 begrudges the benefit to the sick man, but because, if 
 looked upon, it is forced by its nature to attract the disease 
 like an exhalation into its own body, and therefore shuns 
 the glance as much as a blow. And of serpents : the 
 basilisk, does not he, as you may have heard, kill and blast 
 whatever comes in his way by his eye and breath alone ? 
 And if some give the stroke of the evil eye even to those 
 they love and are well disposed towards, one must not be 
 surprised, for people of an envious disposition do not what 
 they wish, but what their nature compels them to." ' ^ 
 
 This explanation of the evil eye by Heliodorus, Bishop 
 of Tricca in Thessaly,^ approved itself to Mr. Hawker's 
 mind, as it fell in with a theory he had that there was an 
 atmosphere which surrounded men, imperceptible to the 
 senses, which was the vehicle of spirit, in which angels and 
 
 ' Heliodorus, 'Theagenes and Chaiicles,' iii. 8. 
 
 ^ According to Nicephorus, a provincial synod, alarmed at the danger to 
 morals of the amatory romance of the bishop, required him either to burn his 
 novel or resign his bishopric: he chose the latter course.
 
 CH. VI.] CHERRY PARNELL. 155 
 
 devils moved, and which vibrated with spiritual influences, 
 affecting the soul. Every passion man felt set this sether 
 trembling, and made itself felt throughout the spiritual 
 world. A sensation of love, or anger, or jealousy, felt by 
 one man, was like a stone thrown into a pool, and it sent 
 ripples throughout the spiritual universe, which touched 
 and communicated itself to every spiritual being. Some 
 mortal men having a highly refined soul were as conscious 
 of these pulsations as disembodied beings ; but the majority 
 are so numbed in their spiritual part as to make no 
 response to these movements. 
 
 He pointed out that photography has brought to light 
 and taken cognisance of a chemical element in the sun's 
 rays of which none formerly knew anything, but the exist- 
 ence of which is now proved ; so in like manner was there 
 a spiritual element in the atmosphere of which science could 
 not give account, as its action could only be registered by 
 the soul of man, which answered to the calms and storms 
 in it, as the barometer to the atmosphere, and the films of 
 gold-leaf in the magnetometer to the commotions of the 
 magnetic wave. 
 
 There was an old woman at Morwenstow, who he 
 fully believed was a witch. If any one combated his state- 
 ment, he would answer, ' I have seen the five black spots 
 placed diagonally under her tongue, which are evidences of 
 what she is. They are like those in the feet of swine, made 
 by the entrance into them of the demons at Gadara.' 
 
 This old woman came every day to the vicarage for 
 skimmed milk. One day there was none, and she had to 
 leave with an empty can. 'As she went away,' said the
 
 156 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. vi. 
 
 Vicar, ' I saw her go mumbling something beside the pig- 
 stye. She looked over at the pigs, and her eye and 
 incantation worked. I ran out, ten minutes after, to look 
 at my sow, which had farrowed lately. And there I saw 
 the sow, which, like Medea, had taken a hatred to her own 
 offspring, spurning them away from her milk, and there sat 
 all the nine sucking-pigs on their tails, with their fore-paws 
 in the air, begging in piteous fashion ; but the evil eye of 
 old Cherry had turned the mother's heart to stone, and she 
 let them die one by one before her eyes.' 
 
 Some years agone a violent thunderstorm passed over 
 the parish, and wrought great damage in its course. Trees 
 were rooted up, cattle killed, and a rick or two set on fire. 
 
 ' It so befell that I visited, the day after, one of the chief 
 agricultural inhabitants of the village, and I found the 
 farmer and his men standing by a ditch, wherein lay, heels 
 upward, a fine young horse, quite dead. " Here, sir," he 
 shouted, as I came on, " only please to look ; is not this a 
 sight to see .'' " I looked at the poor animal, and uttered 
 my sympathy and regret at the loss. " One of the fearful 
 results," I said, " of the storm yesterday." " There, Jem," 
 said he to one of his men, triumphantly, " didn't I say the 
 parson would find it out .'' " " Yes, sir," he said, " it is as you 
 say ; it is all that wretched old Cherry Parnell's doing, with 
 her vengeance and her noise." I stared with astonishment 
 at this unlooked-for interpretation which he had put into my 
 mouth, and waited for him to explain. " You see, sir," he 
 went on to say, " the case was this : old Cherry came up 
 to my place, tottering along, and mumbling that she 
 wanted a faggot of wood. I said to her, 'Cherry, I gave you
 
 CH. VI.] CHERRY PARNELL. 157 
 
 one only two days agone, and another two days before that, 
 and I must say that I didn't make up my woodrick al- 
 together for you.' So she turned away, looking very grany, 
 and muttering something. Well, sir, last night, as I was 
 in bed, I and my wife, all to once there bursted a 
 thunderbolt, and shaked the very room and house. Up we 
 started, and my wife says, ' Oh, father, old Cherry's up. I 
 wish I had gone after her with that there faggot' I confess 
 I thought in my mind I wish she had ; but it was too late 
 then, and I would try to hope for the best. But now, sir, 
 you see with your own eyes what that revengeful old 
 woman has been and done. And I do think, sir," he went 
 on to say, changing his tone to a kind of indignant growl, 
 " I do think that, when I call to mind how I've paid tithe 
 and rates faithfully all these years, and kept my place in 
 church before your reverence every Sunday, and always 
 voted in the vestries that what hath and be ought to be, — I 
 do think that such ones as old Cherry Parnell never ought 
 to be allowed to meddle with such things as thunder and 
 lightning." ' 
 
 A farmer came to Mr. Hawker once with the complaint, 
 ' Parson ! I've lost my brown speckled hen. I reckon old 
 Cherry have been and conjured her away. I wish you'd 
 be so gude as to draw a circle and find out where my brown 
 speckled hen have been spirited away to.' 
 
 The Vicar had his cross-handled walking-stick in his 
 hand, a sort of Oriental pastoral staff, and he forthwith drew 
 a circle in the dust and sketched a pentacle within it — 
 Solomon's seal, in fact — whilst he thought the matter over. 
 
 ' I believe, Thomas,' said he, ' the brown speckled hen
 
 158 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. vi. 
 
 has never got out of your lane, the hedges are walled and 
 high.' 
 
 In the afternoon back came the farmer. ' Parson, 
 you've done for old Cherry with your circle. I found the 
 brown speckled hen in our lane.' 
 
 Not twenty miles from Morvvenstow a few years ago 
 occurred the following circumstances, which I know are 
 true, and which I give here as an illustration of the super- 
 stition which prevails in Devon and Cornwall. 
 
 A boy of the parish of X , proving intelligent in the 
 
 national school, was sent by the rector to Exeter to the 
 training college, in time passed his examination, and ob- 
 tained his certificate. He then returned for a holiday to 
 his native village, and volunteered to deliver in the school- 
 room a lecture on ' Popular Superstitions.' 
 
 The lecture was announced, the rector took the chair, 
 the room was crowded, and a very fair discourse was de- 
 livered against the prevailing belief in witchcraft. The 
 lecturer was heard patiently to the close, and then up rose 
 one of the principal farmers in the place, Brown by name. 
 
 ' Mr. Lecturer,' said he, ' and all good people here 
 assembled. You've had your say against witchcraft, and 
 you says that there ain't nothing of the sort. Now I'll 
 tell'y a thing or two, facts ; and a pinch of facts is worth 
 a bushel of reasons. There was, t'other day, my cow 
 Primrose, the Guernsey, and as gude a cow for milk as 
 ever was. Well, on that day, when my missus put the 
 milk on the fire to scald 'un, it wouldn't hot. She put on 
 a plenty of wood, and turves, and brimmle bushes, but 
 'twouldn't hot noways. And, sez she to me as I comes in.
 
 CH. VI.] A LECTURE ON SUPERSTITION: 159 
 
 "I'll telly what tez, Richard, Primrose has been overlooked 
 by old Betty Spry. Now you go off as fast as you can to 
 the White Witch up to Exeter." Well, I did so ; and when 
 I came to the White Witch as lives nigh All Hallows on 
 the Walls, I was shov/n into a room, and there was a 
 farmer stamping about, in just such a predicament as me. 
 Sez I, " Are you come to see the White Witch .'' " " Ah ! 
 that I be," sez he ; " my old cow has fallen ill, and wont 
 give no milk." " Why," sez I, " my cow's milk won't hot, 
 and the missus has put a lot of fire underneath." " Do 
 you suspect anybody.''" sez he. "I do," sez I ; "there's 
 old Betty Spry has an evil eye, and hers the one as has 
 done it." Just then the door opens, and the maiden looks 
 in and sez to me, " Mr. Brown, the White Witch \y\\\ speak 
 with you." And then I am shown into the next room. 
 Well, directly I come in, sez he to me, " I know what 
 you've come for, before you speak a word. Your cow's 
 milk won't scald. I'll tell'y why. She's been overlooked 
 by an old woman named Betty Spry." He said so to me 
 as sure as eggs is eggs, and I never had told him not one 
 word. "Then," sez he to me, "you go home, and get 
 sticks out of four different parishes, and set them under the 
 milk, and her'Il boil." Well I paid 'un a crown and then 
 I came here, and I fetched sticks from Lew Trenchard, 
 and from Stowford, and from German's Week, and from 
 Broadwood Widger, and no sooner were they lighted under 
 the pan than the milk boiled.' 
 
 Then uprose Farmer Tickle, very red in the face, and 
 said : ' Mr. Lecturer ! You've said that there be no such 
 things as spirits and ghosts. I'll tell'y something. I was
 
 i6o LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. vj. 
 
 coming over Broadbury one night, and somehow or other 
 I lost my way. I was afraid of falHng into the bog. You 
 know all about that bog, dont'y, by the old Roman castle ? 
 There was a gentleman — a sort of traveller — in my recol- 
 lection, was driving over Broadbury, in a light tax-cart, 
 and suddenly he went into the bog, and his horse and cart 
 were swallowed up, and he had much-ado to save himself. 
 Well, he didn't want to lose his tax-cart and harness, for 
 the tax-cart contained bales of cloth and the harness was 
 new. So he went to the blacksmith at the cross, and got 
 him to come there with his man and grappling-irons. 
 They let the irons down into the bog, and presently they 
 got hold of something, and began to draw it up. It was 
 a horse, and they threw it on the side and said, " There, 
 sir, now you have your horse." " No," answered he, looking 
 hard at it, " this is a hunter, with saddle and stirrups. Let 
 down the irons again." So they felt about once more, and 
 presently they pulled up another horse, and laid him on 
 the side. "There, sir, is this yours.''" sez the blacksmith, 
 " he's in gig harness all right." " No," sez the traveller, 
 " my horse was a dapple, and this is a grey. Down with 
 the irons again." This time they cries out, " Yo ! heave- 
 oh ! we've got hold of the tax-cart ! " But when they 
 pulled 'un up, it was a phseton. So they let their grappling- 
 irons down again, and presently up came another horse, 
 and this was in harness, but, sez the traveller, " He's not 
 mine, for mine was a mare. Try again, my fine fellows." 
 Next as came up had no harness at all on ; and the next 
 
 had blinkers with Squire G 's crest on them. Well, 
 
 they worked all day and they got up a dozen horses and
 
 CH. VI.] FARMER TICKLE AND THE OWL. i6i 
 
 three carriages, but they never found the traveller's tax- 
 cart and the dapple mare. 
 
 ' But, Lor bless me ! I've been wandering again on 
 Broadbury, and now I must return to the point. Knowing 
 what I did about the bog, I was a bit frighted of falling 
 into her. Presently I came to a bit of old quarry and rock, 
 and I thought there might be some one about, so I shouted 
 at the top of my voice, " Farmer Tickle has lost his way." 
 Well, just then, a voice from among the stones answered 
 
 me, and said, " Who } who } " " Farmer Tickle of X , 
 
 I say." Then the voice answered again, asking " Who .'' 
 who .'' who } " " Are ye hard of hearing .'' " I shouted, " I 
 say tez Farmer Tickle, as live in the old rummling farm of 
 
 Southcot in X parish." As imperent as possible again 
 
 the voice asked, " Who ? who ? who .'' " " Tez Farmer Tickle, 
 I tell'y ! " I shouted, " and if you axes again, Fll come 
 along of you with my stick." " Who .'' who ? who .'' " I 
 ran to the rocks, and beat about with my stick, and then a 
 
 great white thing rushed out " 
 
 ' It was an owl,' said the lecturer, scornfully. 
 ' An owl ! ' echoed Farmer Tickle. ' I put it to the 
 meeting. A man as sez this was an owl, and not a pixie, 
 would say anything ! ' and he sat down amidst great ap- 
 plause. 
 
 Then up rose Farmer Brown once more. 
 ' Gentlemen, and labouring men, and also women,' he 
 began ; 'I'll give you another pinch of facts. Before I was 
 married, I was going along by Culmpit one day, when I 
 met old Betty Spry, and she sez to me, " Cross my hand 
 with silver, my pretty boy, and I'll tell you who your true 
 
 M
 
 i62 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. vi. 
 
 love will be." So I thinks I'd like to know that, and I 
 gives her a sixpence. Then sez she, " Mark the first 
 maiden that you meet as you go along the lane that leads 
 to Eastway House. She's the one that will make you a 
 wife." Well, I was going along that way, and the first 
 maiden I met was Patience Kite. I thought she was 
 comely and fresh-looking, so after going a few steps on, I 
 turns my head over my shoulder and looks back at her ; 
 and what in the world should she be doing at exactly the 
 same minute, but looking back at me. Then I went after 
 her, and said, " Patience, will you be Mrs. Brown } " and 
 she said, " I don't mind, Pm noways partickler." And 
 now she is my wife. Look at her yonder, as red as a 
 turkey cock ; there she sits, and so you may know my story 
 is true. But how did Betty Spry know this before ever I 
 had spoken the words.'' — that beats me.' 
 
 Then, once more, up stood Farmer Tickle. 
 *'Mr. Lecturer, Mr. Chairman, I puts it to you. First 
 and last we must come to Holy Scripter. Now, I ask you, 
 Mr. Chairman, being our parson, and you, Mr. Lecturer, 
 being a scholard, and all you as have got Bibles, whether 
 Holy Scripter does not say, " Thou shalt not suffer a witch 
 to live," whether Holy Scripter does not say that the works 
 of the flesh are idolatry, witchcraft, hatred, variance, emula- 
 tions, and such like } Now if witchcraft be all moonshine, 
 then, I reckon, so be hatred, variance, and emulations too. 
 Now, I put it to the meeting, which is true, which does it vote 
 for, the Holy Bible and witchcraft, or Mr. Lecturer and his 
 newfangled nonsense .'' Those in favour of Scripter and 
 witches hold up their hands.'
 
 CH. VI.] THE FAIRY-RING. 163 
 
 Need I say that witchcraft carried the day ? 
 
 One of Mr. Hawker's parishioners had an encounter 
 with Pixies. Pixies, it must be explained, are elves, who 
 dance on the sward and make fairy-rings ; others work in 
 mines, others again haunt old houses. 
 
 This man had been to Stratton market. On his way 
 home, as he was passing between dense hedges, suddenly 
 he saw a light, and heard music and singing. He stood 
 still, and looked and listened. Passing through the hedge, 
 he saw the little people in a ring dancing, and there sat on 
 a toadstool an elf with a lantern in his hand, made of a 
 campanula, out of which streamed a greenish-blue light. 
 As the pixies danced they sang. 
 
 ' Sir,' — this is the man's own account, — ' I looked and 
 listened awhile, and then I got quietly hold of a great big 
 stone and heaved it up, and I dreshed in amongst them all, 
 and then I up on my horse and galloped away as hard as 
 I could, and never drew rein till I came home to Morwen- 
 stow. But when the stone fell among them all, out went 
 the light. You don't believe me .'' But it be true, true as 
 Gospel, for next day I went back to the spot, and there lay 
 the stone, just where I had dreshed it.' 
 
 I have got a curious oil-painting in Lew Trenchard 
 House, dating from the reign of William and Mary, as I 
 judge by the costume. It represents a Pixy revel. In 
 the background is an Elfin city, illumined by the moon. 
 Before the gates is a ring of tiny beings dancing merrily 
 around what is probably a corpse-candle : it is a candle- 
 stump, standing on the ground, and the flame diffuses a 
 pallid white light. 
 
 M 2
 
 i64 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. vi. 
 
 In the foreground is water, on which floats a pumpkin, 
 with a quarter cut out of it, so as to turn it into a boat 
 with a hood. In this the pixy king and his consort are 
 enthroned, while round the sides of the boat sit the court, 
 dressed in the costume of the period of Wilham of Orange. 
 On the hood sits a Httle elf, with a red toadstool, as an um- 
 brella, over the head of the king and queen. In the bow sits 
 Jack-o'-lantern, with a cresset in his hands, dressed in a 
 red jacket. Beside him is an elf playing on a Jew's harp, 
 which is as large as himself; and another mischievous red- 
 coated sprite is touching the vibrating tongue of the harp 
 with a large extinguisher, so as to stop the music. 
 
 The water all round the royal barge is full of little old 
 women and red-jacketed hobgoblins in egg-shells and crab- 
 shells, whilst some of the pixies, who have been making a 
 ladder of an iron boat-chain, have missed their footing, and 
 are splashing about in the water. In another part of the 
 picture the sprites appear to be illuminating the window of 
 a crumbling tower. 
 
 Mr. Hawker had a curious superstition about fairy- 
 rings. There was one on the clifT. Some years ago he 
 
 was visited by Lady , who drove over from Bude. As 
 
 he walked with her on the sward, they came to the ring in 
 the grass, and she was about to step into it, when he 
 arrested her abruptly, and said, ' Beware how you set foot 
 within a fairy-ring ; it will bring ill-luck.' 
 
 ' Oh, nonsense, Mr. Hawker, the circle is made by 
 toadstools. See ! here is one, I will pick it' 
 
 ' If you do, there will be shortly a death in your 
 house.'
 
 CH. VI.] THE FAIRY- RING. 165 
 
 She neglected his warning, and picked one of the fairy 
 champignons. 
 
 Within a week a little daughter died. 
 
 Another similar coincidence confirmed him in his 
 belief. The curate of Bridgerule and his wife came to see 
 him, and much the same scene took place. The curate, in 
 spite of his warning, kicked over a toadstool in the ring, 
 and handed it to his wife. 
 
 Ten days after, Mr. Hawker got a heart-broken letter 
 from the wife, an Irish lady, in which she said, ' Oh why 
 did we neglect your prophecy, why did we give no heed to 
 your word ! When we returned to Bridgerule our little 
 Mary sickened, and now we have just laid her in her 
 grave.' 
 
 He was staying with a friend. Suddenly the table 
 gave a crack. Mr. Hawker started, and laying his hand 
 on the table said, ' Mark my words, there has been a death 
 in my family.' 
 
 By next post came news of the death of one of the 
 Miss I'ans. 
 
 At Wellcombe was an old man, Antony Cleverdon, 
 from whom Mr. Hawker learned many charms, some of 
 which he has given in his ' Footprints of Former Men.' 
 This old man, commonly called Uncle Tony, was a source 
 of great amusement to the Vicar, who delighted to visit 
 and converse with him. 
 
 ' Sir,' said Uncle Tony to him one day, ' there is one 
 thing I want to ask you, if I may be so free, and it is this : 
 Why should a merrymaid (the local name for mermaid),
 
 1 66 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. vi. 
 
 that will ride upon the waters in such terrible storms, never 
 lose her looking-glass and comb ? ' 
 
 ' Well, I suppose,' answered the Vicar, ' that if there are 
 such creatures, Tony, they must wear their looking-glasses 
 and combs fastened on somehow — like fins to a fish.' 
 
 ' See ! ' said Tony, chuckling with delight, ' what a 
 thing it is to know the Scriptures like your reverence : I 
 never should have found it out. But there's another 
 point, sir, I should like to know, if you please ; I've been 
 bothered about it in my mind hundreds of times. Here 
 be I, that have gone up and down Wellcombe cliffs 
 and streams fifty years come next Candlemas, and I've 
 gone and watched the water by moonlight and sunlight, 
 days and nights, on purpose, in rough weather and smooth 
 (even Sundays, too, saving your presence), and my sight as 
 good as most men's, and yet I never could come to see a 
 merrymaid in all my life ! How's that, sir t ' 
 
 ' Are you sure, Tony,' the Vicar rejoined, ' that there 
 are such things in existence at all 1 ' 
 
 ' Oh, sir, my old father seen her twice ! He was out 
 once by night for wreck (my father watched the coast like 
 many, of the old people formerly), and it came to pass that 
 he was down by the Duck Pool on the sand at low-water 
 tide, and all at once he heard music in the sea. Well, he 
 croped on behind a rock, like a coastguard-man watching 
 a boat, and got very near the noise. He couldn't make 
 out the words, but the sound was exactly like Bill Martin's 
 voice, that singed second counter in church ; at last he got 
 very near, and there was the merrymaid very plain to be
 
 CH. VI.] ANTONY AND THE MERMAIDS. 167 
 
 seen, swimming about on the waves like a woman bathing 
 — and singing away. But my father said it was very sad 
 and solemn to hear — more like the tune of a funeral hymn 
 than a Christmas Carol by far — but it was so sweet that it 
 was as much as he could do to hold back from plunging 
 into the tide after her. And he an old man of sixty-seven, 
 with a wife and a houseful of children at home. The 
 second time was down here by Wellcombe Pits. He had 
 been looking out for spars ; there was a ship breaking up 
 in the Channel, and he saw some one move just at half-tide 
 mark. So he went on very softly, step and step, till he 
 got nigh the place, and there was the merrymaid sitting 
 on a rock, the bootifuUest merrymaid that eye could be- 
 hold, and she was twisting about her long hair, and dress- 
 ing it just like one of our girls getting ready for her sweet- 
 heart on a Sunday. The old man made sure he should 
 greep hold of her round the waist before ever she found 
 him out, and he had got so near, that, a couple of paces 
 more, and he would have caught her as sure as tithe or tax, 
 when lo, and behold, she looked back and glimpsed him ! 
 So in one moment she dived head foremost off the rock, 
 and then tumbled herself topsy turvy about in the water 
 and cast a look at my poor father, and grinned like a 
 seal ! '
 
 i68 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. I [CH. vii. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Condition of the Church last Century — Parson Radcliffe — The Death of a 
 Pkiralist — Opposition Mr. Hawker met with — The Bryanites — Hunting 
 the Devil — Bill Martin's Prayer-meeting — Mr. Pengelly and the Candle-end 
 
 — Cheated by a Tramp — Mr. Hawker and the Dissenters — Mr. B 's 
 
 Pew — A special Providence over the Church — His Prayer when threat- 
 ened with the Loss of St. John's Well — Objection to hysterical Religion — 
 Mr. Vincent's Hat — Regard felt for him by old Pupils — 'He did not ap- 
 preciate me ' — Modryb Marya — A Parable — A Carol — Love of Children — 
 Angels — A Sermon, ' Here am I. ' 
 
 The condition of the Church in the diocese of Exeter at 
 the time when John Wesley appeared, was piteous in the 
 extreme. Non-residence was the rule, the services of the 
 sanctuary were performed in the most slovenly manner, 
 the sacraments were administered rarely and without due 
 reverence, in too many places, and pastoral visitation was 
 neglected. The same state of things continued, only 
 slightly improved, to the time when Mr. Hawker began 
 his ministrations at Morwenstow. 
 
 There was a story told of a fox-hunting parson, Mr. 
 Radcliffe, in the north of Devon, when I was a boy. He 
 was fond of having convivial evenings in his parsonage, 
 which often ended uproariously. 
 
 Bishop Phillpotts sent for him, and said, ' Mr. Radcliffe, 
 I hear, but I can hardly believe it, that men fight in your 
 house.'
 
 CH. VII.] FAjRSON RADCLIFFE. 169 
 
 * Lor, my dear,' answered Parson Radcliffe, in broad 
 Devonshire, ' doant'y believe it. When they begin fighting, 
 I take and turn them out into the churchyard.' 
 
 The Bishop of Exeter came one day to visit him with- 
 out notice. Parson Radcliffe, in scarlet, was just about to 
 mount his horse, and gallop off to the meet, when he heard 
 that the Bishop was in the village. He had barely time to 
 send away his hunter, run upstairs, and jump, red coat 
 and boots, into bed, when the Bishop's carriage drew up at 
 the door. 
 
 ' Tell his Lordship I'm ill, will ye ! ' was his injunction 
 to his housekeeper, as he flew to bed. 
 
 ' Is Mr. Radcliffe in } ' asked Dr. Phillpotts. 
 
 ' He's ill in bed,' said the housekeeper. 
 
 * Dear me ! I am so sorry. Pray ask if I may come up 
 and sit with him,' said the Bishop, 
 
 The housekeeper ran upstairs in sore dismay, and 
 entered Parson Radcliffe's room. The Parson stealthily 
 put his head out of the bedclothes, but was reassured when 
 he saw his room was invaded by his housekeeper, and not 
 by the Bishop. 
 
 ' Please your honour, his Lordship wants to come up- 
 stairs and sit with you a little.' 
 
 * With me, good heavens ! ' gasped Parson Radcliffe. 
 * No, go down and tell his Lordship I'm took cruel bad 
 with Scarlet Fever, it is an aggravated case, and very 
 catching.' 
 
 In the neighbourhood of Morwenstow, a little before 
 Mr. Hawker's time, was a certain Parson Wlnterton.* He 
 
 * Names altered.
 
 i:^o LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. vii. 
 
 was rector of Eastcote, rector of Eigncombe, rector of Mar- 
 wood, rector of Westcote, and vicar of Barton. Mr. Hawker 
 used to tell the following story : — 
 
 When Parson Winterton lay on his death bed, he was 
 visited and prepared for dying by a neighbouring clergyman. 
 
 'What account can you render for the talents committed 
 to your charge } What use have you made of them .'' ' 
 asked the visitor, 
 
 ' Use of my talents } ' repeated the dying man ; and 
 then, thrusting his hands out from under the bedclothes, 
 he said, ' I came into this diocese with nothing, — yes, with 
 nothing, and now,' — and he began to check off the names 
 on the fingers of the left hand, with the forefinger of the 
 right hand, ' I am rector of Eigncombe, worth 80/. ; 
 rector of Marwood, worth 450/. ; rector of Westcote, 
 worth 560/. ; vicar of Barton, worth 300/. ; and rector of 
 Eastcote, worth 1,000/. If that is not making use of 
 one's talents, I do not know what is. I think I can die in 
 peace.' 
 
 Morwenstow, as has been already said, had been with- 
 out a resident vicar for a century before Mr. Hawker came 
 there. When he arrived, it was with his great heart over- 
 flowing with love, and burning to do good to the souls and 
 bodies of his people. He was about the parish all day on 
 his pony, visiting every one of his flock, taking vehement 
 interest in all their concerns, and doing everything he could 
 think of to win their hearts. 
 
 But two centuries of neglect by the Church was not to 
 be remedied in a generation. Mr. Hawker was surprised 
 that he could not do it in a twelvemonth. He was met
 
 CH. VII.] OPPOSITION HE MET WITH. 171 
 
 with coldness and hostility by most of the farmers, who 
 were, with one or two exceptions, Wesleyans or Bible 
 Christians. The autocrat of the neighbourhood was an 
 agent for the principal landowner of the district, and he 
 held the people under his thumb. With him the Vicar 
 speedily quarrelled ; their characters were as opposed 
 as the poles, and it was impossible that they could work 
 together. ]\Ir. Hawker thought — rightly or wrongly, who 
 shall decide .-' — that this man thwarted him at every turn, 
 and urged on the farmers to oppose and upset all his 
 schemes for benefiting the parish, spiritually and tempor- 
 ally. Mutual antipathy caused recriminations, and the 
 hostility became open. The agent thought he had dealt 
 the Vicar a severe blow when he persuaded Sir J. Buller to 
 claim St. John's Well. Mr. Hawker found himself baffled 
 by the coldness of the Dissenters, and the hostility of the 
 agent, which he had probably brought upon himself, and it 
 struck a chill to his heart and saddened it. 
 
 The Vicar was, however, not blameless in the matter. 
 He expected all opposition to melt away before his will, 
 and if a parishioner, or any one else with whom he had 
 dealings, did not prove malleable, and submit to be turned 
 in his hands like a piece of wax, he had no patience with 
 him. He could not argue, but he could make assertions 
 with the force and vehemence which tell with some people 
 as arguments. 
 
 The warmth with which Mr. Hawker took up the cause 
 of the labourers, his denunciation of the truck system, and 
 the forcible way in which he protested against the lowness 
 of the wage paid the men, conduced, no doubt, to set the
 
 172 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. vii. 
 
 farmers against him. But he was the idol of the workmen. 
 Their admiration and respect for him knew no bounds. 
 ' If all gentlemen were like our vicar,' was the common 
 saying, ' the world would have no wrongs in it.' 
 
 When Mr. Hawker's noble face was clouded with 
 trouble, as he talked over the way in which he had been 
 thwarted at every turn by the agent and the farmers, 
 if a word were said about the poor, the clouds cleared 
 from his brow, his face brightened at once : — ' The poor 
 have ye always with you, said our Lord, and the word is 
 true — is true.' 
 
 In a letter written in 1 864 to a former curate of Well- 
 combe, now an incumbent in Essex, he says : — 
 
 The only parish of which I can report favourably is my own 
 cure of Wellcombe. Morwenstow is, as it always was, Wesleyan 
 to the back-bone ; but at Wellcombe the church attendance is 
 remarkable. The same people are faithful and constant as wor- 
 shippers, and the communicants from 204 souls are fourteen. 
 When any neighbouring clergyman has officiated for me, he is 
 struck with the number and conduct of the congregation. The 
 Rector of Kilkhampton often declares Wellcombe to be the 
 wonder of the district. This is to me a great compensation for 
 the unkindly Church feeling of Morwenstow. 
 
 The opposition of the Wesleyans and Bryanites caused 
 much bitterness, and he could not speak with justice 
 and charity of John Wesley. He knew nothing of the 
 greatness, holiness, and zeal of that apostolic man ; he 
 did not consider how dead the Church was when he ap- 
 peared and preached to the people. When he was re- 
 proached for his harsh speeches about Wesley, his
 
 CH. VII.] THE BRYANITES. 173 
 
 ready answer was, ' I judge of him by the deeds of his 
 followers.' 
 
 One of his sayings was, 'John Wesley came into 
 Cornwall, and persuaded the people to change their vices.' 
 Once when the real greatness of Wesley was being pressed 
 upon him, he said sharply, ' Tell me about Wesley when 
 you can give me his present address.' 
 
 If this vehement prejudice seems unjust and unchristian, 
 it must be remembered that Mr. Hawker had met with 
 great provocation. But it was not this provocation which 
 angered him against Methodists and Bryanites, for he was 
 a man of large though capricious charity ; that which cut 
 him to the quick was the sense that Cornish Methodism 
 was demoralising the people. Wesleyanism was not so 
 much to blame as Bryanism. The Bible Christians, Bryan- 
 ites, or Thornites, as they are variously called, are ap- 
 parently a sui-vival of some of those antinomian sects 
 which disturbed the primitive Church, under the name of 
 Valentinians and Markosites, and which lingered on in 
 Europe during the Middle Ages, and broke out into full 
 flagrance at the Reformation. A curious picture of them 
 at that time is presented by Edwardes' ' Gangrena.' They 
 reached their head abroad in the obscenities and violence 
 of the Miinster Anabaptists. 
 
 The Cornish Bryanites profess entire freedom from 
 obligation to keep the Law, and the complete emancipation 
 from irksome moral restraint of those who are children of 
 God, made so by free grace and a saving faith. One 
 of their preachers was a man of unblushingly pro- 
 fligate life ; the details of his career will not bear re-
 
 174 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. vii. 
 
 lation. Mr. Hawker used to mention some scandalous 
 acts of his to his co-religionists, but always received the 
 cool reply, * Ah ! maybe ; but after all he is a siveet Chris- 
 tian.' 
 
 A favourite performance in a Bryanite meeting, ac- 
 cording to popular report, is to 'hunt the Devil out' The 
 preacher having worked the people up into a great state of 
 excitement, they are provided with sticks, and the lights 
 are extinguished. A general melee ensues. Every one who 
 hits, thinks he is dealing the Devil his death blow ; and 
 every one who receives a blow, believes it is a butt from the 
 Devil's horns. 
 
 Mr. Hawker had a capital story of one of these meet- 
 ings. 
 
 The preacher had excited the people to a wild condition 
 by assuring them he saw the Devil in person — there ! there ! 
 there ! 
 
 ' Where, where is he .'' ' screamed some of the people. 
 
 ' Shall I hit 'un down with my umbrella } ' asked a 
 farmer. 
 
 ' He'll burn a great hole in it if ye do,' said his wife ; 
 ' and I reck'n he won't find you another.' 
 
 Sticks were flourished, and all rushed yelling from their 
 pews. 
 
 ' Where is he } ' ' Let us catch a glimpse of the end of 
 his tail, and we'll pin him.' 
 
 The shouting and the uproar became great. 
 
 ' I see 'un, I see 'un ! ' shouted the preacher, and pointing 
 to the door, he yelled, ' He is there ! ' 
 
 At that very moment the door of the Bryanite meeting-
 
 CH. VII.] BILL MARTIN'S MEETING. 175 
 
 house was thrown open, and there stood R -, the dreaded 
 
 steward of Lord , with his grey mare. He had been 
 
 riding by, and, astonished at the noise, had dismounted and 
 opened the door to learn what occasioned it. 
 
 I give the account of a private Bible Christian meeting 
 from the narrative of an old Cornish woman of Kilk- 
 hampton. 
 
 ' Some thirty or more years agone. Long Bill Martin 
 was converted, and became a very serious character in 
 Kilkhampton, and a great change that was for Bill. Prayer- 
 meetings were now his delight, especially if young women 
 was present. Then he did warm up, I tell'y. He could 
 preach, he could, just a word or two at a time, and then, 
 when he couldn't find words, he'd roar. He was a mighty 
 comfortin' preacher too, especially to the maidens. Many 
 was the prayer-meeting which he kept alive ; and if things 
 was going flat, for Gospel ministers du go flat sometimes, 
 tell'y, just like gingerbeer bottles, if the cork's out tu often. 
 And, let me tell'y, talkin' of that, there comed a Harch- 
 deacon here one day, I seed 'un, and he had strings tied 
 about his hat, just as they du corks of lemonade, to keep 
 the spirit in him down ; he was nat'rally very uppish, I 
 reck'n. But to go back to Bill. When he couldn't speak, 
 why then he'd howl, like no sucking dove, " Ugh ! the 
 Devil ! drive the Devil ! " Yu could hear him hunting the 
 Devil of nights a hundred yards or more off from the 
 cottage where he was leading prayer. One day, he settled 
 to have a meeting down near the end of the village, and 
 sent in next door to borrow a form (not a form of prayer, 
 yu know, for he didn't hold to that), and invited the
 
 176 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. vii. 
 
 neighbours to join. "You'd better come, We'm goin' to 
 have a smart meetin' t'night, can tell'y." 
 
 ' So us went in, and they set to to pray ; fust won and 
 then another was called upon to pray. " Sister, you pray." 
 " Brother Rhicher (Richard), you pray." So to last Rhicher 
 Davey, he beginned — " My old woman," sez he, " she's 
 hoffal bad in her temper, and han't got no saving grace in 
 her, not so much as ye might put on the tail of a flea," sez 
 he, " but we hopps for better things, and I prays for im- 
 provement," he went on, " and if improvement don't come 
 to her, why improvement might come to me, by her bein' 
 taken where the wicked cease from troubling, and so leave 
 weary me at rest." Then I began to laugh, but Long Bill, 
 he ketched me up, and roared, " Pray like blazes, Nanny 
 Gilbert, do'y ! " So I kep my eye fixed to her, and luked 
 at her hard and steadfast, I did — for I knew what the latter 
 hupshot would be with her — and her beginned, " We worms 
 of hearth ! " and there her ended. So we waited a bit, and 
 then Bill Martin says, " Squeedge it hout, Nanny, squeedge 
 it hout ! " But it were all no good. Never another word 
 could she utter, though I saw she was as red as a beetroot 
 with squeedging. She groaned, but no words. Then 
 out corned old Bill — Long Bill us called 'un ; but Bill 
 Martin was his rightful name — " Let us pray, my friends," 
 he sez. " Honly believe," he sez. " Drive the Devil," he 
 roars. " There he is ! There he is ! " he sez. " Do'y 
 not see 'un? Do'y not smell 'un .-^ " "It's the cabbidge," 
 sez Nanny Gilbert ; " there's some, and turnips tu, and 
 a bit of bacon biling in the pot over the turves." For 
 her was a little put out at not being able to pray. It
 
 CH. VII.] BILL MARTIN'S MEETING. 177 
 
 was her cottage in which the prayer-meeting was being 
 held, yu know. Well, Long Bill didn't stomach the 
 cabbidge, so he roars louder than afore, " Faith ! my 
 friends ; have faitJi ! and then yu can see and smell the 
 Devil." " If it's the cabbidge yu mean,' sez Nanny, " I can 
 smell 'un by my nat'ral faculties." " There's the Devil ! " 
 shouts Bill Martin, growing excited ; " ugh ! drive the 
 hold Devil ! Faith ! my friends, have faith, hell-shaking 
 faith, conquering faith, Devil-driving faith, a damned lot of 
 faith ! " And then he roars, " There he is ! I can zee 'un a 
 fluttering hover your heads, ye sinners, just like my hand's 
 a fluttering over the cann'l ! " 
 
 ' So I titched her as was next me, and I sez, " Where is 
 'un .'' I doan't see 'un, d'yu .-* " " Yer ha'nt got faith," sez 
 she. "But I can feel 'un just as if he was a crigglin' and a 
 crawlin' in my head where the partin' is." 
 
 •Well, just then, — and Fm sure I can't tell yu whether 
 it happened afore Bill Martin speaked or after— but he 
 roars out, " I see 'un ! he's flowed up the chimley ! " and 
 just then — as I sed, I cannot say whether it was afore he 
 speaked or after — down came a pailful of soot right into 
 the midst of old Nanny's pot of cabbidge and turnips. 
 
 ' Well, I tell'y, when old Nanny Gilbert seed that, her 
 was as mad as Parson Hawker during a wreck ; she ups off 
 her chair, and runs first to the pot and looks what's done 
 there, and then she flies to Bill Martin — Long Bill, yu 
 know — and ketches him by the ear, and drags him forward 
 to the pot, and sez, flaming like a bit of fuzz, " Yer let the 
 Devil loose out of your own breast, and sent 'un flittering 
 up my chimley, the wiper ! and he's smutted all my supper, 
 
 N
 
 178 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. vii. 
 
 as was biling for me and my old man and the childer. 
 And I'll tell'y what, if yu don't bring your Devil down by 
 his tail, that I may rub his nose in it, I'll dip yours, I 
 will." 
 
 ' Well, yu may believe me, Bill tremmled as a blank- 
 mange — that's a sort of jelly stuff I seed one day in a 
 gentleman's house to Bude, when the servant was carrying 
 it in to dinner ; it shooked all hover like. For I tell'y a 
 woman as has had her biling of cabbidge and turnips 
 spoiled, especial if there be a taste of bacon in it, aint to 
 be preached peaceable. 
 
 ' After that I can't tell'y 'xactly what took place. We 
 wimin set up screaming, and scuffled about like bats in the 
 light. But I seed Nanny giving Long Bill a sort of a 
 chuck with one hand where his coat-tails would have 
 grown, only he didn't wear a coat, only a jacket. P'raps, 
 though, yu know, he'd nibbled em off like the monkey as 
 Parson Davies keeped in the stable for his childer. That 
 monkey had the beautifulest tail — after a peacock — when 
 first he came to Kilkhampton, but he bit it off in little 
 portions. And then, poor thing, at last he got himself into 
 a sort of tangle or slip-knot in twisting himself about to 
 bite right off the last fag-end of stump. And when 
 Ezekiel — that's the groom — comed in of the morning with 
 his bread and milk, the poor beast stretched his head out 
 with a jerk to get his meat, and forgot he had knotted 
 himself up with his own body, and so got strangled in him- 
 self. Well, but I was telling yu about Bill Martin, and 
 not Parson Davies's monkey. So after that, his nose was a 
 queer sort of mixture of scald-red and black. He was
 
 CH. VII.] MR. PENGELLY AND THE DEVIL. 179 
 
 never very partial to water, was Bill, and so the scald and 
 smut stuck there, maybe one year, maybe two. But all 
 this happened so long ago that I couldn't take my Bible 
 oath that it twasn't more — say three, then ; odd numbers is 
 lucky.' 
 
 Mr. Hawker had a story of a Wellcombe woman whom 
 he visited after the loss of her husband. 
 
 ' Ah ! thank the Lord,' said she ; ' my old man is safe 
 in Beelzebub's bosom.' 
 
 ' Abraham's bosom, my good woman,' said the Vicar. 
 
 ' Ah ! I dare say. I am not acquainted with the quality, 
 and so don't rightly know their names.' 
 
 While on the subject of the Devil I cannot omit a story 
 told of a certain close-fisted Cornish man, whom we will 
 call Mr. Pengelly, as he is still alive. The story lost 
 nothing in the Vicar's mouth. 
 
 Mr. Pengelly was very ill, and like to die. So one 
 night the Devil came to the side of his bed, and said to him, 
 ' Mr, Pengelly, I will trouble yu, if you please.' 
 
 ' Yu will trouble me with what, your honour } ' says 
 Mr. Pengelly, sitting up in bed. 
 
 * Why, just to step along of me, sir,' says the Devil. 
 
 ' Oh ! but I don't please at all,' replies Mr. Pengelly, 
 lying down again, and tucking his pillow under his cheek. 
 
 ' Well, sir, but time's up, yu know,' was the remark the 
 Devil made thereupon ; ' and whether it pleases yu or no, 
 yu must come along of me to once, sir. It isn't much 
 of a distance to speak of from Morwenstow,' says he, by 
 way of apology. 
 
 ' If I must go, sir,' says Mr. Pengelly, wiping his nose
 
 i8o LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. vil. 
 
 with his blue pocket-handkerchief covered with white spots, 
 and R.P. marked in the corner in red cotton ; ' why then I 
 suppose yu aint in a great hurry. Yu'll give me ten 
 minutes ? ' 
 
 ' What do'y want ten minutes for, Mr. Pengelly .-' ' asks 
 the Devil. 
 
 ' Why, sir,' says Mr. Pengelly, putting his blue pocket- 
 handkerchief over his face, ' I'm ashamed to name it, but 
 I shud like to say my prayers. Leastwise, they couldn't 
 du no harm,' exclaimed he, pulling the handkerchief off, 
 and looking out. 
 
 ' They wouldn't du yer no gude, Mr. Pengelly,' says the 
 Devil. 
 
 ' I shu'd be more comfable in my mind, sir, if I said 
 'em,' says he. 
 
 ' Now, ril tell yu what, Mr. Pengelly,'says the Devil, after 
 a pause, ' I'd like to deal handsome by yu. Yu've done 
 me many a gude turn in your day. I'll let you live as long 
 as yonder cann'1-end burns.' 
 
 'Thank'y kindly, sir,' says Mr. Pengelly. And pre- 
 sently he says, for the Devil did not make signs of depart- 
 ing, 'Would yu be so civil as just tu step into t'other 
 room, sir } I'd take it civil. I can't pray comfably with 
 yu here, sir.' 
 
 ' I'll oblige yu in that too,' said the Devil ; and he went 
 out to look after Mrs. Pengelly. 
 
 No sooner was his back turned than Mr. Pengelly 
 jumped out of bed, extinguished the candle-end, clapped it 
 in the candle- box, and put the candle-box under his bed. 
 presently the Devil came in, and said, ' Now, Mr. Pengelly,
 
 CH. vii.] MR. PENGELLY AND THE DEVIL. i8i 
 
 yu're all in the dark, I see the cann'l's burnt out, so yu 
 must come with me.' 
 
 ' I'm not so much in the dark as yu, sir,' says the sick 
 man, ' for the cann'l's not burnt out, and isn't like to. He's 
 safe in the cann'1-box. And I'll send for yu, sir, when I 
 want yu.' 
 
 Mr. Pengelly is still alive, but let not the visitor to his 
 farm ask him what he keeps in his candle-box, or, old man 
 of seventy-eight though he is, he will jump out of his 
 chair and lay his stick across the shoulders of his interro 
 gator. ' They du say,' said my mformant, ' that Mrs. Pen- 
 gelly has tried a score of times to get hold of the cann'l- 
 cnd and burn it out, but the master is tu sharp for his 
 missus, and keeps it as tight from her as he does from the 
 Devil.' 
 
 Mr. Pengelly has the credit of having been only once 
 in his life cheated, and that was by a tramp, in this wise : — 
 
 One day a man in tatters, and with his shoes in frag- 
 ments, came to his door and asked for work. 
 
 ' I like work,' says the man, ' I love it. Try me.' 
 
 ' If that's the case,' says Mr. Pengelly, ' yu may dig my 
 garden for me, and I will give yu one shilling and two- 
 pence a day.' Wages were then eighteen pence, or one and 
 eight pence. 
 
 ' Done,' says the man. 
 
 So he was given a spade, and he worked capitally. 
 Mr. Pengelly watched him from his windows, from behind 
 a wall, and the man never left off work except to spit on 
 his hands ; that was his only relaxation, and he did not do 
 that over often.
 
 i82 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. vii. 
 
 Mr, Pengelly was mighty pleased with his workman ; 
 he sent him to sleep in the barn, and paid him his day's 
 wage that he might buy himself a bit of bread. 
 
 Next morning Mr. Pengelly was up with the lark. But 
 the workman was up before Mr. Pengelly or the lark either, 
 and was digging diligently in the garden. 
 
 Mr. Pengelly was more and more pleased with his man. 
 He went to him during the morning ; then the fellow stuck 
 his spade into the ground, and said, ' I'll tell yu what it is, 
 sir ; I like work, I love it ; but I cannot dig without butes 
 or shoes. Yu may look. I've no soles to my feet, and the 
 spade nigh cuts through them.' 
 
 ' Yu must get a pair of shoes,' says Mr. Pengelly. 
 
 'That's just it,' says the man ; ' but no boot-maker will 
 trust me, and I cannot pay down, for I haven't the money, 
 sir.' 
 
 ' What would a pair of shoes cost, now .'' ' asks his 
 employer, looking at the man's feet wholly devoid of 
 leather soles. 
 
 ' Fefteen shilling, maybe,' says he. 
 
 'P'efteen shilling ! ' exclaims Mr. Pengelly; ' yu'll never 
 get that to pay him.' 
 
 ' Then I must go to some other farmer who'll advance 
 me the money,' says the man. 
 
 ' Now dont'y be in no hurry,' says Mr. Pengelly, in a 
 fright lest he should lose a man worth .half-a-crown a day 
 by his work. ' Suppose I were to let'y have five shilling. 
 Then yu might go to Stratton, and pay that, and in five 
 days yu would have worked it out, keeping two-pence a 
 day for your meat ; and that will do nicely if yu're not
 
 CK. VII.] MR. PENGELLY IS CHEATED. 183 
 
 dainty. Then I would Ict'y have another five shilling, till 
 yu'd paid up.' 
 
 * Done,' says the man. 
 
 So Mr. Pengelly pulled the five shillings out, in two 
 half-crown pieces, and gave them to the man. 
 
 Directly he had the money in his hand the fellow drove 
 the spade into the ground, and making for the gate, took 
 off his hat and said, ' I wish yu a gude morning, Mr. 
 Pengelly. And many thanks for the crown. Now I'm ofT 
 to Taunton like a long dog.' And like a long dog he went 
 off, and Mr. Pengelly never saw him or his two half-crowns 
 again. So the man who cheated the Devil was cheated by 
 a tramp. That shows how clever tramps are. 
 
 But to return to the Vicar of Morwenstow and the Dis- 
 senters in his parish. Although very bitter in speech against 
 Dissent, he was ready to do any kindness that lay in his 
 power to a Dissenter. He took pains to instruct in Latin 
 and Greek a young Methodist, preparing for the Wesleyan 
 ministry, and read with him diligently, out of free good na- 
 ture. His pupil is now, I believe, a somewhat distinguished 
 preacher in his connexion. He was always ready to ask 
 favours of their landlords for Dissenting farmers, and went 
 out of his way to do them exceptional kindnesses. 
 
 Some one rallied him with this. 
 
 * Why, Hawker, you are always getting comfortable 
 berths for schismatics.' 
 
 ' So one ought, my friend,' was his ready reply ; ' I try 
 my best to make them snug in this world, they will be so 
 miserable in the next.' 
 
 He delighted in seeing persons of the most opposed
 
 i84 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [cH. vii. 
 
 religious or political views meet at his table ; a Roman 
 Catholic, an Independent minister, a Nothingarian, and a 
 High Anglican were once lunching with him. 
 
 ' What an extraordinary thing, that you should have 
 such discordant elements most harmoniously at your table !' 
 said a friend. 
 
 * Clean and unclean beasts feeding together in the Ark,' 
 was his reply, 
 
 ' But how odd that you should get them to meet.' 
 
 ' Well, I thought it best ; they never will meet in the 
 next world.' 
 
 One day he visited the widow of a parishioner who was 
 dead. As he entered, he met the Methodist preacher 
 coming out of the room where the corpse lay. 
 
 ' When is poor Thomas going to be buried } ' asked the 
 Vicar. 
 
 ' We are going to take him out of the parish,' answered 
 the widow ; ' we thought you would not bury him, as he 
 was a Dissenter.' 
 
 * Who told you that I would not t ' 
 
 The widow lady looked at the Nonconformist minister. 
 
 ' Did you say so .'' ' he asked of the preacher, abruptly. 
 
 ' Well, sir, we thought, as you were so mightily par- 
 ticular, you would object to bury a Dissenter.' 
 
 ' On the contrary,' said the Vicar ; ' do you not know 
 that I should be but too happy to bury you all.' 
 
 He was highly incensed at Mr. Cowper Temple's Bill 
 for admitting Dissenters to the pulpits of the Church. 
 ' What,' said he, in wrath, ' suffer a Dissenting minister to 
 invade our sacred precincts, to draw near to our pulpits and
 
 CH. VII.] DESPOTIC C0XDUC7. 185 
 
 altars ! It is contrary to Scripture, for Scripture says, " If a 
 beast do but touch the mountain, let him be stoned or 
 thrust through with a dart." ' 
 
 As an instance of despotic conduct towards a parishioner 
 it would be difficult to match the following incident : A 
 
 wealthy yeoman of Morwenstow, Mr. B , was the owner 
 
 of a tall pew, which stood like a huge sentry-box, in the nave 
 of the church. Most of the other pew-owners had consented 
 to the removal of the doors, curtains, and panelling which 
 they had erected upon or in place of their old family seats, 
 to hide themselves from the vulgar gaze ; but no persuasion 
 
 of the Vicar had any effect upon the stubborn Mr. B . 
 
 The pew had been constructed and furnished with a view to 
 
 comfort ; and, like the famous Derbyshire farmer, Mr. B 
 
 could 'vould his arms, shut his eyes, dra' out his legs, and think 
 upon nothin',' therein, unnoticed by anyone but the parson. 
 
 Moreover, Mr. B had, it was said, a faculty-right to the 
 
 hideous enclosure. He was therefore invulnerable to all the 
 coaxing, reasoning, threatening, and preaching which could 
 be brought to bear upon him. Weeks after all the other 
 pews had been swept away, he entrenched himself in his 
 ecclesiastical fortress, and looked defiance at the outside 
 world. At last, the Vicar resolved to storm the enemy, 
 and gave him due notice that, on a certain day and hour, it 
 
 was his intention to demolish the pew. Mr. B was present 
 
 at the appointed time to defend his property, but was so 
 taken aback at the sight of the Vicar entering the church 
 armed with a large axe, that he stood dumbfounded with 
 amazement, whilst, without uttering a word, the Vicar strode 
 up to the pew, and with a few lusty blows literally smashed
 
 186 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. vit. 
 
 it to pieces, and then flung the fragments outside the church 
 
 door. To the credit of Mr. B , he still continued to attend 
 
 church ; but he took on one occasion an unseasonable 
 opportunity of rebuking the Vicar for his violence. It was 
 on the parish feast day, or ' revel,' as the inhabitants of the 
 parish called it, and, as was his wont, the Vicar was expa- 
 tiating in the pulpit on the antiquity of the church, and 
 how the shrine of St. Morwenna had been preserved un- 
 changed whilst dynasties had perished and empires had 
 
 been overthrown. Whereupon Mr. B exclaimed in a 
 
 voice of thunder, * No such thing ; you knocked down my 
 pew !' The Vicar, however, was still more than a match for 
 him. Without the least embarrassment, he turned from St. 
 Morwenna to the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus, and, 
 in describing the life and character of Dives, drew such a 
 
 vivid portrait of Mr. B , that the poor man rushed out of 
 
 church when the preacher began to consign him to his 
 place of torment. 
 
 The impression was strong upon him that he and the 
 Church were under special divine protection, and he would 
 insist that no misfortune ever befell his cows or sheep. 
 When, however, after some years he was unlucky, he 
 looked on every stroke of misfortune as an assault of Satan 
 himself, allowed to try him as he had tried Job. 
 
 This belief that he had of a special Providence watch- 
 ing over him must explain the somewhat painful feature ot 
 his looking out for the ruin of those who wrought evil 
 against the Church. He bore them no malice, but he 
 looked upon such wrongs done as done to God, and as sure 
 to be avenged by Him. He had always a text at hand to
 
 CH. VII.] PR A YER FOR ST. JOHN'S WELL. 187 
 
 support his view. ' I have no personal enemies,' he would 
 say, ' but Uzziah cannot put his hand to the Ark without 
 the Lord making a breach upon him.' 
 
 He was perfectly convinced that the Church was God's 
 kingdom. ' No weapon formed against thee shall prosper,' 
 he said ; ' that was a promise made by God to the Church, 
 and God does not forget His promises. Why, I have seen 
 His promise kept again and again. I know that God is no 
 liar.' 
 
 ' But, look at the hostility to the Church in Mr. M , 
 
 what efforts he has made in Parliament, and throughout 
 the country, agitating men's minds, and all for the purpose 
 of overthrowing the Church,— he prospers.' 
 
 ' My friend,' said the Vicar, pausing, and laying his 
 hand solemnly on his companion's arm, ' God does not 
 always pay wages on Saturday night.' 
 
 When an attempt was made in 1843 to wrest the well 
 of St. John from him, he went thrice a day, every day 
 during that Lent, whilst the case was being tried, till 
 March 27, and offered up before the altar the following 
 prayer : — 
 
 Almighty and most merciful God ! the Protector of all that 
 trust in Thee ! We humbly beseech Thee that Thou wouldest be 
 pleased to stretch forth Thy right hand to rescue and defend 
 the possessions of this Thy sanctuary from the envy and violence 
 of wicked and covetous men. Let not an adversary despoil Thine 
 inheritance, neither suffer Thou the evil man to approach the 
 waters that flow softly for Thy blessed baptism, from the well of 
 Thy servant Saint John. 
 
 And, O Almighty Lord, even as Thou didst avenge the cause 
 of Naboth the Jezreelite, upon angry Ahab and Jezebel his wife ;
 
 l88 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. vii. 
 
 and as Thou didst strengdien the hands of Thy blessed Apostle 
 Saint Peter, insomuch that Ananias and Sapphira could not escape 
 just judgment, when they sought to keep back a part of the pos- 
 session from Thy Church ; even so now, O Lord God, shield and 
 succour the heritage of Thy holy shrine ! Show some token upon 
 us for good, that they who see it may say, ' This hath God done.' 
 Be Thou our hope and our fortress, O Lord, our castle and 
 deliverer, as in the days of old, such as our Fathers have told us. 
 Show forth Thy strength unto Thy generation, and Thy power 
 unto them that are yet for to come. So shall we daily perform 
 our vows, through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen. 
 
 The attempt to deprive him of the well of St. John 
 signally failed. 
 
 They dream'd not in old Hebron, when the sound 
 
 Went through the city that the promised son 
 
 Was born to Zachary, and his name was John — 
 They little thought that here, in this far ground 
 
 Beside the Severn Sea, that Hebrew child 
 
 Would be a cherished memory of the wild ! 
 Here, where the pulses of the ocean bound 
 
 W^hole centuries away, while one meek cell, 
 
 Built by the fathers o'er a lonely well, 
 Still breathes the Baptist's sweet remembrance round ! 
 
 A spring of silent waters with his name, 
 
 That from the Angel's voice in music came. 
 Here in the wilderness so faithful fovmd. 
 It freshens to this day the Levite's grassy mound ! 
 
 Morwenstow, Sept. 20, 1850. — My dear Mrs. M , 
 
 .... I have but a sullen prospect of wintertide. I had longed 
 to go on with another window. But my fate, which in matters 
 of /. s. d. is always mournful, paralyses my will. A west window 
 in my tower is offered me by Warrington for the cost of carriage 
 and putting together. But — but — but. Fifteen years I have been 
 vicar of this altar, and all that while no lay person, landlord,
 
 CH. vii.] BELIEF IN MODERN MIRACLES. 189 
 
 tenant, parishioner, or steward, has ever proffered me even one 
 kind word, much less aid or coin. Nay, I have found them all 
 bristling with dislike. All the great men have been hostile to 
 me in word or deed. Yet I thank my Master and his Angels, 
 I have accomplished in and around my church, a thousand times 
 more than the great befriended clergy of this deanery. Not 
 one thing has failed. When I lack aid to fulfil I go to the 
 altar and ask it. Is it conceded? So fearfully that I shudder 
 with thanksgiving. A person threatened me with injury on a 
 fixed day. I besought rescue. On that very day that person 
 died. A false and treacherous clergj^man came to a parish close 
 by. I shook with dread. I asked help. It came. He entered 
 my house five days afterwards to announce some malady un- 
 accountable to him. He went. It grew. He resigned his cure 
 last week. 
 
 And these are two only out of forty miracles. Yours faithfully, 
 
 R. S. Hawker. 
 
 It is painful to record this side of the Vicar's character, 
 but without it, this would be but an imperfect sketch. He 
 was, it must be borne in mind, an anachronism. He did 
 not belong to this century or this country. His mind and 
 character pertained to the Middle Ages and to the East. 
 
 He is not to be measured by any standard used for 
 men of our times. 
 
 Morwenstoiu , ynly 24, 1857. — My dear Mrs. M , — All 
 
 my pets are dead, and I cannot endure my lonely lawn. I want 
 
 some ewe lamb ' to be unto me a daughter.' T is a parish 
 
 famous for sheep ; are there any true Church farmers among the 
 
 sheep-masters to whom, with Dr. C 's introduction, I could 
 
 write, in order to attain the animals I seek. I want to find a man, 
 or men, who would deal honestly and sincerely by me, and in 
 whom I could trust. Will you ask your father if he would have the 
 kindness to instruct me hereon ? I want soft-eyed, well-bred sheep.
 
 igo LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. vii. 
 
 the animal which was moulded in the mind of God the Trinity, 
 to typify the Lamb of Calvary. Yours always, 
 
 R. S. Hawker. 
 
 He had the greatest objection to hysterical religion. 
 ' Conversion,' he said, ' is a spasm of the ganglions.' ' Free 
 justification,' was another of his sayings, 'is a bankrupt's 
 certificate, whitewashing him, and licensing him to swindle 
 and thrive again.' 
 
 * There was a young Wesleyan woman at Shop ' — this 
 is one of his stories — ' who was ill, and her aunt, a trusty 
 old Church woman, was nursing her. The sick woman's 
 breast was somewhat agitated, and rumblings therein were 
 audible. ' Aunt,' said she, ' do you hear and see } There 
 is the Clear Witness of the Spirit speaking within ! ' ' Lor, 
 my dear,' answered the old woman, ' it's not that ; you can 
 o-et the better of it with three drops of peppermint on a bit 
 of loaf sugar.' 
 
 On the occasion of a noisy revival in the parish, he 
 wrote the following verses to describe what he believed to 
 be the true signs of Spiritual Conversion, very difTerent 
 from the screeching and hysterics of the revival which had 
 taken place among his own people, the sad moral effect of 
 which on the young women he learned by experience. 
 
 When the voice of God is thrilling, 
 
 Breathe not a sound ; 
 
 "When the tearful eye is filling. 
 
 Breathe not a sound ; 
 
 When the memory is pleading, 
 
 And the better mind succeeding. 
 
 When the stricken heart is bleeding, 
 
 Breathe not a sound.
 
 CH. vii.] MR. VINCENT'S HAT. ,pi 
 
 When the broad road is forsaken, 
 
 Breathe not a sound ; 
 
 And the narrow path is taken, 
 
 Breathe not a sound ; 
 
 When the angels are descending, 
 
 And the days of sin are ending, 
 
 When Heaven and Earth are blending, 
 Breathe not a sound. 
 
 A Dissenter at Bude considered this sentiment so un- 
 suited to Evangelical religion, and so suitable for the dumb 
 dogs of the Established Church, that he had it printed on 
 a card, and distributed it among his co-religio«nists, in scorn, 
 with a note of derision of his own appended. 
 
 Mr. Hawker was walking one day on the cliffs near 
 Morwenstow with the Rev. W. Vincent* when a gust of 
 wind took off Mr. Vincent's hat and carried it over the cliff. 
 Within a week or two a Methodist preacher at Truro 
 was discoursing on prayer, and in his sermon he said : ' I 
 would not have you, dear brethren, confine your suppli- 
 cations to spiritual blessings, but ask also for temporal 
 favouis. I will illustrate my meaning by narrating an 
 incident, a fact, that happened to myself ten days ago. I 
 was on the shore of a cove near a little insignificant 
 place in North Cornwall, named Morwenstow, and about 
 to proceed to Bude. Shall I add, my Christian friends, 
 that I had on my head at the time a shocking bad hat, 
 and that I somewhat blushed to think of entering that 
 harbour, town, and watering-place so ill-adorned as to my 
 head .^ Then I lifted up my prayer to the Almighty, that 
 He would pluck me out of the great strait in which I found 
 myself, and clothe me suitably as to my head, for He
 
 192 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. vii. 
 
 painteth the petals of the polyanthus and colours the calyx 
 of the coreopsis. At that solemn moment I raised my 
 eyes to Heaven, and I saw in the spacious firmament on 
 high, the blue ethereal sky, a black spot. It approached, 
 it largened, it widened, it fell at my feet. It was a brand- 
 new hat by a distinguished London maker. I cast my 
 battered beaver to the waves, and walked into Bude as fast 
 as I could, with the new hat on my head.' 
 
 The incident got into the * Methodist Reporter,' or some 
 such Wesleyan publication, under the heading of ' Remark- 
 able answer to prayer.' ' And,' said the Vicar, ' the rascal 
 made off with Vincent's new hat from Bennett's ; there was 
 no reaching him, for w^e were on the cliff, and could not 
 descend the precipice. He was deaf enough, I promise 
 you, to our shouts.' 
 
 That Mr. Hawker was appreciated by some, the fol- 
 lowing note received by me will show: — 
 
 Nov. 1 6, 1875. — In the spring of this year, and consequently 
 before there could have been any idea of ' De mortuis, &c./ I 
 happened to find myself in company with two Morwenstow 
 people returning to their old home. One of them was a prosperous- 
 looking clerk or shopman from Manchester, the other a nice, 
 modest-looking servant-girl. On recognising each other, which 
 they did not do at once, their talk naturally turned to old days. 
 The Sunday-school, Morwenstow, and its Vicar were discussed, 
 and it was very remarkable to see how lively was their remem- 
 brance of him, how much affection and reverence they entertained 
 for him ; how keen was their appreciation of the great qualities 
 of his head and heart ; and how much delight they testified in 
 being able to see his honoured face and white head, and hear 
 the well-remembered tones of his voice once more. It may seem 
 but a trivial incident, but to those who know how constant is
 
 CH. VII.] BEWARE OF BOASTING. 193 
 
 the complaint, and, indeed, how well-founded, that our children, 
 when they leave school, leave us altogether, such attestation to 
 his work and influence is not without its ^•alue. I remain, &c., 
 
 W. C . 
 
 ' Talking of appnxiation,' as Mr. Hawker said once, 
 
 'the Scripture-reader, Mr. Bumpus,* at , came to me 
 
 the other day and said, " Please, sir, I have been visiting 
 and advising Farmer Matthews, but he did not quite ap- 
 preciate me. In fact, he kicked me downstairs." ' 
 
 Mr. Hawker could not endure to hear the apostles or 
 evangelists spoken of by name without their proper prefix 
 or title of ' Saint.' If he heard any one talk of Mark, or 
 John, or Paul, he would say, ' Look here. There was a 
 Professor at Oxford in my time, who lectured on Divinity. 
 One day a pert student began to speak about " PauPs 
 opinion." " Paul's opinion, sir ! " said the Professor ; " Paul 
 is not here to speak for himself: but if Paul were, and heard 
 you talk thus disrespectfully of him, it is my belief that 
 Paul would take you by the scrufif of your neck and chuck 
 you out of the window. As I have Paul in honour, if I 
 hear you speak of him disrespectfully again, I will kick 
 you out of the room." ' 
 
 ' Never boast,' was a favourite saying of the Vicar's. 
 ' The moment you boast, the Devil obtains power over 
 you. You notice if it be not so. You say, " I now never 
 catch cold," and within a week you have a sore throat. 
 " I am always lucky in my money ventures," and the next 
 fails. As long as you do not boast, the Devil cannot touch 
 }'ou, but the moment you have boasted, virtue has gone 
 
 O
 
 194 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. vii. 
 
 from you, and he obtains power. Nebuchadnezzar was 
 prosperous till he said, " Is not this great Babylon, that I 
 have built for the house of the kingdom by the might of 
 my power, and for the honour of my majesty ? " It was 
 while the word was in the king's mouth that the voice fell 
 from heaven which took it from him.' 
 
 Morwenstow, yan. 2, 1850. — My dear Mrs. M , — I know 
 
 not when I have been more shocked than by the sudden announce- 
 ment of the death of good Bishop Coleridge. For good he verily 
 and really was. What a word that is, ' suddenly.' The Lord 
 opened the eyes of the young man, and behold there were horses 
 and chariots of fire round about Elisha. May God grant us Sir 
 T. More's prayer, 'That we may all meet and be merry in 
 heaven !'....! am to do something again for the new series 
 of ' Tracts for the Christian Seasons.' Did you detect my 
 ' Magian Star,' and ' Nain, the lovely city ' ? 
 
 I hope to hear from you what is on in the out world. Here 
 within the ark we hear only the voices of animals and birds, and 
 the sound of many waters. ' The Lord shut him in.' Give my 
 
 real love to P , and say I will write her soon a letter, with a 
 
 psalm about ' her dear Aunt Mary.' Yours faithfully, 
 
 R. S. Hawker, 
 
 The psalm came in due time, with this introduction : — 
 
 MODRYB MARYA : AUNT MARY. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CHANT. 
 
 In old and simple-hearted Cornwall, the household names 'uncle' and 
 ' aunt ' were uttered and used as they are to this day in many countries of the 
 East, not only as phrases of kindred, but as words of kindly greeting and 
 tender respect. It was in the spirit, therefore, of this touching and graphic 
 usage, that they were wont, on the Tamar side, to call the Mother of God, in 
 their loyal language, ' Modryb Marya ; or. Aunt Mary ! ' 
 
 Now, of all the trees by the king's highway, 
 Which do vou love the best .-'
 
 CH. VII.] A PARABLE. 195 
 
 Oh ! the one that is green upon Christmas Day, 
 
 The bush with the bleeding breast ! 
 Now, the holly, with her drops of blood, for me : 
 For that is our dear Aunt Mary's tree ! 
 
 Its leaves are sweet with our Saviour's name, 
 
 'Tis a plant that loves the poor ; 
 Summer and winter it shines the same, 
 
 Beside the cottage door ! 
 Oh ! the holly, with her drops of blood, for me, 
 For that is our kind Aunt Mary's tree ! 
 
 'Tis a bush that the birds will never leave. 
 
 They sing in it all day long ; 
 But, sweetest of all, upon Christmas Eve, 
 
 Is to hear the Robin's song. 
 'Tis the merriest sound upon earth and sea. 
 For it comes from our own Aunt Mary's tree ! 
 
 So of all that grow by the king's highway, 
 
 I love that tree the best ; 
 'Tis a bower for the birds upon Christmas Day, 
 
 The bush of the bleeding breast. 
 Oh ! the holly, with her drops of blood for me, 
 For that is our sweet Aunt Mary's tree ! 
 
 The following was sent to the same young girl, P 
 
 M :— 
 
 Morwenstow, Feb,, 1853.— Dear P ,— I have copied a 
 
 little parable-story for you. Tell me if you can understand it. 
 May God bless you, my dear child, whom I love for your 
 father's sake. Yours faithfully, 
 
 R. S. Hawker. 
 
 Natum ante omnia scecula. 
 
 The first star gleamed over Nazareth, when thus the Lady said 
 unto her Son, ' Jesu, wilt thou not arise and go with me into the 
 field, that we may hear the sweet chime of the birds as they chant 
 
 o 2
 
 196 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. vii. 
 
 their evening psalm 1 ' ' Yea, Mary, mother,' answered the awful 
 Boy, ' yea, for I love their music well. I have loved it long. I 
 listened, in my gladness, to the first-born voices of the winged fowl, 
 when they brake forth into melody among the trees of the Garden, 
 or ever there was a man to rejoice in their song ! Twain, more- 
 over, after their kind, the Eagle and the Dove, did my Father and 
 I create, to be the Token-Birds of Our Spirit, when He should 
 go forth from us to thrill the World of Time.' 
 
 His theory was that the eagle symbolized the Holy 
 Ghost in His operation under the Old Covenant, and the 
 dove His work in the Church. The double-headed eagle, 
 so often found in mediseval churches — and there is one 
 carved on a boss at Morwenstow — he thought represented 
 the two-fold effusion of the Spirit in the two dispensa- 
 tions. 
 
 The following ' Carol of the Kings ' was written during 
 the Epiphany of 1859, and published with the signature 
 ' Nectan ' in a Plymouth paper : — 
 
 A 'CAROL OF THE KINGS.' 
 
 It is chronicled in an old Annenian myth, that the wise men of the East 
 were none other than the three sons of Noe, and that they were raised from the 
 dead to represent, and to do homage for all mankind, in the cave at Bethlehem ! 
 Other legends are also told: one, that these patriarch-princes of the Flood did not 
 ever die, but were rapt away into Enoch's Paradise, and were thence recalled to 
 begin the solemn gesture of world-wide worship to the King-born Child ! 
 Another saying holds, that when their days were full, these arkite fathers fell 
 asleep, and were laid at rest in a cavern at Ararat, until Messias was born, and 
 that then an angel aroused them from the slumber of ages to bow down and to 
 hail, as the heralds of many nations, the awful Child. Be this as it may — 
 whether the mystic magi were Sem, Cham, and Japhet, in their first or 
 second existence, under their own names, or those of other men ; or, whether 
 they were three long-descended and royal sages from the loins or the land of 
 Baalam — one thing has been delivered to me for very record. The super- 
 natural shape of clustering orbs, which was embodied suddenly from surround-
 
 CH. VII.] 'CAROL OF THE A'AVGS.' 197 
 
 ing light, and framed to be the beacon of that westward-way, was and is the 
 Southern Cross ! It was not a soHtary signal-fire, but a miraculous constellation: 
 a pentacle of stars, whereof two shone for the transome and three for the stock ; 
 and which went above and before the travellers, day and night, radiantly, imtil 
 it came and stood over where the young Child lay 1 — And then ? What then ? 
 Must those faithful orbs dissolve and die ? Shall the gleaming trophy fall ? 
 Nay — not so. When it had fulfilled the piety of its first-bom office, it arose, 
 and, amid the vassalage of every stellar and material law, it moved, onward 
 and onward, obedient to the impulse of God the Trinity, journeying evermore 
 towards the south, until that starry image arrived in the predestined sphere of 
 future and perpetual abode : to bend, as to this day it bends, above the peace- 
 ful sea, in everlasting memorial of the Child Jesus : the Southern Cross ! 
 
 Three ancient men in Bethlehem's cave 
 
 With awful wonder stand ; 
 A voice had call'd them from their grave 
 
 In some far eastern land. 
 
 They lived, they trod the former earth, 
 When the old waters swell'd ; 
 
 The ark, that womb of second birth, 
 Their house and lineage held. 
 
 Pale Japhet bows the knee with gold, 
 Bright Sem sweet incense brings. 
 
 And Cham, the myrrh his fingers hold : 
 Lo ! the three Orient Kings ! 
 
 Types of the total earth, they hail'd 
 
 The signal's starry frame ; 
 Shuddering with second life, they quail'd 
 
 At the Child Jesu's name. 
 
 Then slow the patriarchs turn'd and trod, 
 And this their parting sigh, — 
 
 ' Our eyes have seen the living God, 
 And now — once more to die.'
 
 198 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. vii. 
 
 We began this chapter with stones ilkistrating the 
 harsh side of Mr. Hawker's character. We have sHded 
 insensibly into those which show him forth in his gentler 
 nature; there was in him the eagle and the dove; it is 
 pleasanter to think of the dove-like characteristics of this 
 grand old man. 
 
 And naturally, when we speak of him in his softer 
 moods, not when he is doing battle for God and the 
 Church, and — it must be admitted — for his own whims, but 
 when he is at peace and full of smiles, we come to think of 
 him in his relations with children. 
 
 When his school was first opened, he attended it daily ; 
 but in after years, as age and infirmities crept on, his visits 
 were only once a week. 
 
 He loved children, and they loved him. It was his 
 delight to take them by the hand, and walk with them 
 about the parish, telling them stories of St. Morwenna, 
 St. Nectan, King Arthur, Sir Bevil Granville, smugglers, 
 wreckers, pixies, and hobgoblins, in one unflagging stream. 
 So great was the affection borne him by the children of his 
 parish, that when they were ill and had to take physic, and 
 the mothers could not induce them to swallow the nauseous 
 draught, the Vicar was sent for, and the little ones without 
 further struggle swallowed the medicine administered by 
 his hand. 
 
 A child said to him one day, ' Please, Mr. Hawker, did 
 you ever see an angel .-" ' 
 
 ' Margaret,' he answered solemnly, and took one of the 
 child's hands in his left palm, ' there came to this door one 
 day a poor man. He was in rags. Whence he came I
 
 CH. VII.] HERE AM I! 199 
 
 know not. He appeared quite suddenly at the door. We 
 gave him bread. There was something wonderful, mys- 
 terious, unearthly in his face. And I watched him as he 
 went away. Look, Margaret ! do you see that hill all gold 
 and crimson with gorse and heather ? He went that way. 
 I saw him go up through the gold and crimson, up, still 
 upwards, to where the blue sky is, and there I lost sight of 
 him all at once. I saw him no more, but I thought of the 
 words, " Be not forgetful to entertain strangers : for thereby 
 some have entertained angels unawares." ' 
 
 A good idea of his notions about angels, and their 
 guardianship of his church, may be gathered from a re- 
 markable sermon he preached a few years ago on St. John 
 the Baptist's day, in his own church. It was heard by an 
 old man, a builder in Kilkhampton, and it made so deep 
 an impression on his mind, that he was able to repeat 
 to me the outline of its contents, and to give me whole 
 passages. 
 
 His text was i Sam. iii. 4, ^ Here am //' 
 
 More than a thousand years ago, Saint Morwenna came 
 from Wales, from Brecknockshire, where was her father's 
 palace : she loved the things of God more than the things 
 of men. 
 
 And then the wild Atlantic rolled against these cliffs, 
 as now, and the gorse flamed over them as now, and the 
 little brook dived through fern, and foamed over the rocks 
 to join the sea as now. And there were men and women 
 where you dwell, as now ; and there were little children on 
 their knees, as now. But then there was no knowledge of 
 God in the hearts of men, as there is now. There was no
 
 200 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. vii. 
 
 Church as now, no Word of God preached as now, no font 
 where the water was sanctified by the brooding Spirit as 
 now, no altar where the Bread of Life was broken as now. 
 All lay in darkness and the shadow of death. 
 
 And God looked upon the earth, and saw the blue sea 
 lashing our rocks, and the gorse flaming on our hills, and 
 the brook murmuring into the sea, and men and women 
 and children lying in the shadow of death, and it grieved 
 Him. Then He called, Who will come and plant a church 
 in that wild glen, and bring the light of Life into this lone 
 spot ; and Morwenna answered with brave heart and child- 
 like simplicity, ' Here am I ! ' 
 
 And Morwenna came. She built herself a cell at 
 Chapelpiece where now no heather or furze or thorn will 
 grow, for her feet have consecrated it for evermore ; and 
 she got a gift i,>f land, and she built a church and dedicated 
 it to God, the Trinity, and St. John the Baptizer, who 
 preached in a wilderness such as this. And she gave the 
 land for ever to God and His Church : and wheresoever 
 the Gospel shall be preached, there shall also this, that 
 this woman hath done, be told for a memorial of her. 
 
 Now a holy Bishop came, and he accepted, in the 
 name of God, this gift of her hands, and he consecrated for 
 ever this church to God. 
 
 Now look you ! This house is God's. These pillars 
 are God's. These windows are God's. That door is God's. 
 Every stone and beam is God's. The grass in the church- 
 yard, the heather-bell rooted in the tower, all are God's. 
 
 And when the holy Bishop dedicated all to God, and 
 consecrated the ground to the very centre of the earth,
 
 CH. vii] HERE AM J ! 201 
 
 then he set a priest here to minister in God's name, to bless, 
 baptize, and break the holy bread and fill the holy cup, in 
 God's name. 
 
 And God looked out over the earth, and He saw (he 
 building and the land Morwenna had given to Him, and 
 He said, ' Who will pasture my flock in this desert ? Who 
 will pour on them the sanctifying water? Who will dis- 
 tribute to them the Bread of Heaven ! ' And the priest 
 standing here made answer, ' Here am I ! ' 
 
 And God said, ' Who will stand by my priest, and 
 watch and ward my building and my land ? Who will 
 defend him against evil men ? Who will guard my house 
 from the spoiler ? My land from those who would add 
 field to field till they can say, ' We are alone in the earth ' ? 
 And an Angel answered, ' Here am I ! ' 
 
 And the Angel came down to keep guard here, with 
 flaming sword that turneth every way, to champion the 
 Priest of God and to watch the sanctuary of God. 
 
 More than one thousand years have rolled away since 
 Morwenna gave this church to God ; and since then never 
 has there been a day in which when God looked forth 
 upon the earth there has not been a priest, standing 
 at that altar, to say in answer to His call, * Here am I ! ' 
 
 A thousand years, and more, have swept away, and in 
 all these ages there never has been a moment in which 
 an angel, leaning on his flashing sword, has not stood 
 here as sentinel, to answer to God's call when foes 
 assail, and traitors give the Judas kiss, and feeble hearts 
 fail, ' Here am I ! ' 
 
 And now, my brethren, I stand here.
 
 202 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HA IVKER. [ch. vii. 
 
 Does God ask, Who is there to baptize the children and 
 bring them to Me ? Who is there to instruct the young 
 in the paths of Righteousness ? Who is there to bless the 
 young hands that clasp for life's journey ? Who is there 
 to speak the word of pardon over the penitent sinner who 
 turns with broken and contrite heart to Me ? Who is 
 there to give the Bread of Heaven to the wayfarers on 
 life's desert ? Who is there to stand by the sick man's 
 bed, and hold the cross before his closing eyes ? Who is 
 there to lay him with words of hope in his long home ? 
 Why, my brethren, I look up in the face of God, and I 
 answer boldly, confidently, yet humbly and suppliantly, 
 * Here am I ! ' 
 
 I, with all my infirmities of temper and mind and body ; 
 I, broken by old age, but with a spirit ever willing ; I, 
 troubled on every side, without with fightings, within with 
 fears; I — I — strengthened, however, by the grace of God, 
 and commissioned by His Apostolic ministry. 
 
 And am I alone ? Not so. There are chariots and 
 horses of fire about me. There are angels round us on 
 every side. 
 
 You do not see them. You ask me. Do you .-• 
 
 And I answer — Yes, I do. 
 
 Am I weak .-* An angel stays me up. Do my hands 
 falter } An angel sustains them. Am I weary to death 
 with disappointment .'* My head rests on an angel's bosom, 
 and an angel's arms encircle me. 
 
 Who will raise his hand to tear down the house of God .-' 
 Who will venture to rob God of His inheritance } An angel
 
 CH. VII.] HERE AM I! 203 
 
 is at hand. He beareth not the sword in vain ; he saith to 
 the assailer, ' Here am I ! ' 
 
 And beheve me : the world may roll its course through 
 centuries more 5 the ocean may fret our rocks, as he has 
 fretted them through ages past ; but as long as one stone 
 stands upon another of Morwenna's church, so long will 
 there be a priest to answer God's call and say, ' Here am I ! ' 
 and so long will there be an angel to stay him up in his 
 agony and weakness, saying, ' Here am I ! ' and to meet 
 the spoiler, with his sword and challenge, ' Here am I ! ' ' 
 
 ' This sermon is only given approximately. Mr. Hawker always preached 
 extempore. It is a restoration, and a restoration of fragments can never equal 
 the original.
 
 204 LIFE CF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. viii. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The Vicar of Morwenstow as a Poet — His Epigrams — The ' Carol of the 
 Pruss' — ' Down with the Church ' — The ' Quest of the Sangreal ' — Editions 
 of his Poems — Ballads — The ' Song of the Western Men' — The 'Cornish 
 Mother's Lament' — 'A Thought' — Churchyards. 
 
 When the Vicar of Morwenstow liked he could fire off a 
 pungent epigram. Many of these productions exist ; but, as 
 most of them apply to persons or events with whom or with 
 which the general reader has no acquaintance, it is not 
 necessary to quote them. Some also are too keenly 
 sharpened to bear publication. 
 
 The Hon. Newton Fellowes ' canvassed for North 
 Devon, at the time when the surplice controversy was at 
 its height, and went before the electors as the champion of 
 Protestantism, and ' no washing of the Parson's shirt.' 
 
 On the hustings he declared with great vehemence that 
 he ' would never, never, never allow himself to be priest- 
 ridden.' Mr. Hawker heard him, and tearing a leaf from 
 his pocket-book, wrote on it — 
 
 Thou ridden ne'er shalt be, by prophet or by priest ; 
 
 Balaam is dead, and none but he would choose thee for his beast ! 
 
 And he slipped the paper into the hand of the excited and 
 eloquent speaker. 
 
 ' Afterwards Lord Portsmouth.
 
 en. VIII.] 'CAROL OF THE PRUSS: 205 
 
 He had a singular facility for writing off an epigram on 
 the spur of the moment. In the midst of conversation he 
 would pause, his hand go to the pencil that dangled from 
 his button-hole, and on a scrap of paper, the fly-leaf of a 
 book, or a margin of newspaper, a happy, brilliant epigram 
 was written on some topic started in the course of conver- 
 sation, and composed almost without his pausing in his talk. 
 
 Many of his sayings were epigrammatical. On an 
 extremely self-conceited man leaving the room one day, 
 after he had caused some amusement by his self-assertion, 
 Mr. Hawker said, ' Conceit is the compensation afforded 
 by benignant Nature for mental deficiency.' 
 
 His ' Carol of the Pruss/ January i, 1871, is better : — 
 
 Hurrah for the boom of the thundering gun ! 
 
 Hurrah for the words they say! 
 ' Here's a merry Christmas for every one 
 
 And a happy New Year's Day.' 
 Thus saith the Kmg to the echoing ball : 
 ' With the blessing of God we will slay them all ! ' 
 
 ' Up ! ' saith the King, ' load, fire, and slay! ' 
 
 'Tis a kindly signal given ; 
 However happy on earth be they, 
 
 They'll be happier in heaven. 
 Tell them, as soon as their souls are free. 
 They'll sing like birds on a Christmas tree. 
 
 Down with them all ! If they rise again 
 They will munch our beef and bread ; 
 
 War there must be with the living men, 
 There'll be peace when all are dead ! 
 
 This earth shall be our wide, wide home, 
 
 Our foes shall have the world to come.
 
 2o6 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. viii. 
 
 Starve, starve them all ! till through the skin 
 
 You may count each hungry bone ! 
 Tap, tap their veins till the blood runs thin, 
 
 And their sinful flesh is gone ! 
 While life is strong in the German sky. 
 What matters it who besides may die ? 
 
 No sigh so sweet as the cannon's breath, 
 
 No music like to the gun ! 
 There's a merry Christmas to war and death, 
 
 And a happy New Year to none. 
 Thus saith the King to the echoing ball : 
 ' With the blessing of God we will slay them all ! ' 
 
 Sir R. Vyvyan and Sir C. Lemon were standing for 
 East Cornwall in the Conservative and Church interest. 
 The opposition party was that of the Dissenters, and their 
 cry was ' Down with the Church ! ' Thereupon Mr. Hawker 
 wrote the lines — 
 
 Shall the grey tower in ruin bow ? 
 Must the babe die with nameless brow .'* 
 Or common hands in mockery fling 
 The unblessed waters of the spring ? 
 No ! while the Cornish voice can ring 
 The Vyvyan cry, ' Our Church and King ! ' 
 
 Shall the grey tower in ruin stand 
 When the heart thrills within the hand, 
 And beauty's lip to youth hath given 
 The vow on earth that links for heaven ? 
 Shall no glad peal from church tower grey 
 Cheer the young maiden's homeward way ? 
 No ! while the Cornish voice can ring. 
 And Vyvyan cry, ' Our Church and King! ' 
 
 Shall the grey tower in ruins spread "i 
 And must the furrow hold the dead 
 Without the toll of passing knell, 
 Without the stoled priest to tell
 
 CH. VIII.] EPIGRAMS. 207 
 
 Of Christ the first-fruits of the dead, 
 To wake our brother from his bed ? ^ 
 No ! while the Cornish voice can ring, 
 And Vyvyan cry, ' Our Church and King ! ' 
 
 When the Irish Church was disestabHshed the Vicar 
 was highly incensed, and at the election of 1873 voted for 
 the Conservative candidate instead of holding fast in his 
 allegiance to the Liberal. But when the Public Worship 
 Bill was taken up by Mr. Disraeli and carried through 
 Parliament by the Conservative Government, his faith 
 in the Tory Prime Minister failed as wholly as it had in 
 the leader of the Liberal Party, and he wrote the following 
 bitter epigram on the two Prime Ministers : — 
 
 An Enghsh boy was born, a Jpw, and then 
 On the eighth day received the name of Ben. 
 Another boy was born, baptized, but still 
 In common parlance called the People'sWill ! 
 Both lived impenitent, and so they died, 
 And between both the Church was crucified. 
 Which bore the brand, I pray thee tell me true, 
 The wavering Christian or the doubtful Jew ? 
 
 There is another epigram attributed to him, but whether 
 rightly or not I am not in a position to state : — 
 
 Doctor Hopwood,* the vicar of Calstock,* is dead, 
 But De mortiiis nil nisi boiiiini is said. 
 Let this maxim be strictly regarded, and then 
 Doctor Hopwood will never be heard of again ! 
 
 The following is the solitary piece in which the in- 
 
 • Four lines in the last verse I have supplied, as the copy sent me was 
 imperfect. 
 
 * Names altered.
 
 2o8 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [cH. viii. 
 
 fluence of the tender passion seems manifest. It was written 
 
 in 1864. 
 
 The eyes that melt, the eyes that burn, 
 The lips that make a lover yearn, 
 These flashed on my bewildered sight, 
 Like meteors of the northern night. 
 
 Then said I, in my wild amaze, 
 ' What stars be they that greet my gaze ? ' 
 Where shall my shivering rudder turn ? 
 To eyes that melt, or eyes that burn ? 
 
 Ah ! safer far the darkling sea 
 Than where such perilous signals be : 
 To rock, and storm, and whirlwind turn 
 From eyes that melt, and eyes that burn.' 
 
 A lady was very pressing that he should write 
 something in her album — she thought his poems so 
 charming, his ballads so delicious, his epigrams so delightful, 
 &c. Mr. Hawker was impatient at this poor flattery, and 
 taking up her album wrote in it : — 
 
 A best superfine coat . . . . -550 
 
 A pair of kerseymere small-clothes . . . 2 14 o 
 A waistcoat with silk buttons . . . . i 10 o 
 
 £990 
 
 Mr. Hawker was a poet of no mean order. His ' Quest 
 of the Sangreal,' which is his most ambitious composition, 
 is a poem of great power, and contains passages of rare 
 beauty. It is unfortunate that he should have traversed 
 the same ground as the Poet-Laureate. The ' Holy Grail' 
 of the latter has eclipsed the ' Quest ' of the Vicar of Mor- 
 wenstow. But if the two poems be regarded without pre- 
 vious knowledge of the names of their composers, I am not 
 sure that some judges would not prefer the masterpiece of
 
 CH. VIII.] 'QUEST OF THE SANGREAL: 209 
 
 the Cornish poet to a piece in which Mr. Tennyson scarcely 
 rises to his true level. In his 'Quest of the Sangreal' alone 
 does the Vicar of Morwenstow show his real power. His 
 ballads are charming, but a ballad is never, and can never 
 be, a poem of a high order ; it is essentially a popular piece 
 of verse, without any depth of thought, pleasing by its 
 swing and spirit, but not otherwise a work of art or genius. 
 Mr. Hawker was too fond of the ballad. His first 
 successes had been won in that line, and he adhered to it 
 till late. A few sonnets rise to the level of sonnets, also 
 never a very exalted one. His 'Legend of St. Cecily' and 
 ' St. Thekla,' somewhat larger poems, are pleasing, but 
 there is nothing in them which gives token of there lying 
 in the breast of the Cornish Vicar a deep vein of the purest 
 poetical ore. That was only revealed by the publication 
 of the 'Quest of the Sangreal,' which rose above the smaller 
 fry of ballads and sonnets as an eagle above the songsters 
 of the grove. 
 
 And yet this poem, belonging to the first order, as I am 
 disposed to regard it, is disappointing — there is not enough 
 of it. The poem is charged with ideas, crowded with concep- 
 tions full of beauty, but it is a torso, not a complete statue. 
 
 The subject of the poem is the Sangreal,^ the True 
 
 ' There is considerable doubt as to the origin of the name Sangraal, 
 Sangrail, or Sangreal. It has been variously derived from 'Sang-real,' True 
 Blood, and from ' Sanc-Grazal,' the Proven9al for Holy Cup. The latter is the 
 most probable derivation. 
 
 The Holy Grail was an element of Keltic mythology, along with the 
 sacred lance, the sun-ray ; The Grail being the cauldron of Ceridwen, the 
 vessel or womb of nature. The old Keltic myth was Christianised by a 
 British hermit in 720, who wrote on it a history called the Gradal, as Helinardus 
 tells us, A.D. 1220. See my ' Myths of the Middle Ages,' 2nd series. 
 
 P
 
 2IO LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. viii. 
 
 Blood of Christ, gathered by Joseph of Arimathea in a 
 
 golden goblet from the side of the Saviour as He hung on 
 
 the cross. This precious treasure he conveyed to Britain, 
 
 and settled with it at Avalon, or Glastonbury. There it 
 
 remained, till 
 
 Evil days came on, 
 And evil men ; the garbage of their sin 
 Tainted this land, and all things holy fled. 
 The Sangreal was not ! On a summer eve 
 The silence of the sky brake up in sound ; 
 The tree of Joseph glowed with ruddy light ; 
 A harmless fire curved like a molten vase 
 Around the bush — 
 
 and all was gone. 
 
 After the lapse of centuries King Arthur sends his 
 knights in quest of the miraculous vessel. There is a long 
 account given by Arthur of its history, then of the drawing 
 of the lots by his knights to decide the directions in which 
 they are to ride in quest of it, then of the knights departing, 
 and a description of the blazon and mottoes on their shields, 
 and then — after some four hundred lines has led us to the 
 beginning of the Quest, and we expect the adventures of 
 Sir Percival, Sir Tristan, Sir Launcelot, and Sir Galahad 
 — it all ends in a vision unrolled before the eyes of King 
 Arthur of the fate of Britain in about eighty lines. 
 
 We are disappointed, for Sir Thomas Malory's ' Morte 
 d'Arthur' supplies abundant material for a long and 
 glorious poem on the achievements of the four knights. 
 
 The Poet-Laureate's ' Holy Grail ' did not appear till 
 1870, or we might suppose that the Cornish poet shrank 
 from treading on the same ground. When we turn over 
 Sir Thomas Malory's pages, it is with a feeling of bitter
 
 CH. VIII.] 'QUEST OF THE SANGREAU 211 
 
 regret that we have not his story glorified by Mr. Hawker's 
 poetry. The finding of the Grail by Sir Galahad, his 
 coronation as King of Sarras, and his death, were subjects 
 he could have rendered to perfection. 
 
 The name of the poem is a misnomer. There is no 
 quest, only a starting on the quest. 
 
 But, in spite of this conspicuous fault, the ' Quest of the 
 Sangreal ' is a great poem, containing passages of rare 
 beauty. Of Joseph of Arimathea, Mr. Hawker says : — 
 
 He dwelt in Orient Syria, God's own land, 
 
 The ladder-foot of heaven ; where shadowy shapes 
 
 In white apparel glided up and down ! 
 
 His home was like a garner full of corn 
 
 And wine and oil — a granary of God ! 
 
 Young men, that no one knew, went in and out 
 
 With a far look in their eternal eyes ! 
 
 All things were strange and rare ; the Sangreal, 
 
 As though it clung to some ethereal chain, 
 
 Brought down high heaven to earth at Arimathee. 
 
 The idea of the poet — 
 
 The conscious water saw its God and blushed, 
 
 in reference to the miracle at Cana, occurs with a change 
 in Mr. Hawker's verses, with reference to the Last 
 Supper — 
 
 The selfsame cup, wherein the faithful wine 
 Heard God, and was obedient unto blood ! 
 
 After the loss of the Holy Grail — 
 
 The land is lonely now : Anathema ; 
 The link that bound it to the silent grasp 
 Of thrilling worlds is gathered up and gone : 
 The glory is departed, and the disk 
 r 2
 
 212 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. viii. 
 
 So full of radiance from the touch of God ! 
 This orb is darkened to the distant watch 
 Of Saturn and his reapers when they pause, 
 Amid their sheaves, to count the nightly stars. 
 
 The Eastward craving of Mr. Hawker, the point to 
 which his heart and instincts turned, find expression in this 
 poem repeatedly : — 
 
 Eastward ! the source and spring of life and light. 
 Thence came, and thither went, the rush of worlds 
 When the great cone of space was sown with stars ! 
 There rolled the gateway of the double dawn 
 When the mere God shone down a breathing man ! 
 There, up from Bethany, the Syrian Twelve 
 Watched their dear Master darken into day ! 
 
 Sir Galahad holds the Orient arrow's name. 
 
 His chosen hand unbars the gate of day ! 
 
 There glows that Heart, filled with His Mother's blood. 
 
 That rules in every pulse the world of man, 
 
 Link of the awful Three, with many a star. 
 
 Oh, blessed East ! 'mid visions such as thine, 
 
 'Twere well to grasp the Sangreal and die. 
 
 In one passage Mr. Hawker seems to be speaking the 
 feehng of lonehness that he ever felt in his own heart ; he 
 was, as he says in one of his letters, ' the ever-alone ! ' 
 
 Ha ! Sirs, ye seek a noble crest to-day, 
 To win and wear the starry Sangreal, 
 The link that binds to God a lonely land. 
 Would that my arm went with you like my heart ! 
 But the true shepherd must not shun the fold. 
 For in this flock are crouching grievous wolves, 
 And chief among them all my own false kin ! 
 Therefore I tarry by the cruel sea 
 To hear at eve the treacherous mermaid's song, 
 And watch the wallowing monsters of the wave,
 
 CH. viii.] 'QUEST OF THE SANGREAU 21 
 
 'Mid all things fierce, and wild, and strange — alone / 
 
 Ay ! all beside can win companionship : 
 
 The churl may clip his mate beneath the thatch. 
 
 While his brown urchins nestle at his knees ; 
 
 The soldier gives and grasps a mutual palm, 
 
 Knit to his flesh in sinewy bonds of war ; 
 
 The knight may seek at eve his castle gate. 
 
 Mount the old stair and lift the accustomed latch 
 
 To find, for throbbing brow and weary limb. 
 
 That paradise of pillows, one true breast. 
 
 But he, the lofty ruler of the land, 
 
 Like yonder Tor, first greeted by the dawn 
 
 And woo'd the latest by the lingering day. 
 
 With happy homes and hearths beneath his breast. 
 
 Must soar and gleam in solitary snow ! 
 
 The lonely one is evermore the king. 
 
 Here are some beautiful lines on Cornwall : — 
 
 Ah ! native Cornwall ! throned upon the hills, 
 Thy moorland pathways worn by angel feet. 
 Thy streams that march in music to the sea 
 'Mid Ocean's merry noise, his billowy laugh! 
 Ah me ! a gloom falls heavy on my soul, 
 The birds that sang to me in youth are dead, 
 I think, in dreamy vigils of the night. 
 It may be God is angry with my land, — 
 Too much athirst for fame, too fond of blood, 
 And all for earth, for shadows, and the dream 
 To glean an echo from the winds of song ! 
 
 Mr, Hawker's poems were republished over and over 
 again with a few, but only a few, additions. 
 
 The pieces written by him as a boy, 'Tendrils by 
 Reuben,' were never reprinted, nor did they deserve it. 
 He saw that clearly enough. 
 
 In 1832 he published his 'Records of the Western 
 Shore; ' in 1836 the second series of the same. In these 
 appeared his Cornish ballads.
 
 214 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. viii. 
 
 They were republished in a volume entitled ' Ecclesia,' 
 in 1 84 1. Again, with some additions, under the title 
 'Reeds shaken by the Wind,' in 1842; and the second 
 cluster of the same in 1843. 
 
 They again appeared, with ' Genoveva,' in a volume 
 called 'Echoes of Old Cornwall,' in 1845. 'Genoveva' is 
 a poem founded on the beautiful story of Genevieve de 
 Brabant, and appeared first in ' German Ballads, Songs, 
 &c.,' edited by Miss Smedley, and published by James 
 Burns, no date. 
 
 His ' Cornish Ballads,' and the ' Quest of the Sangreal,' 
 containing reprints of the same poems, came out in 1869. 
 The 'Quest of the Sangreal ' was first published in 1864. 
 
 In 1870 he collected into a volume, entitled ' Footprints 
 of Former Men in Cornwall,' various papers on local 
 traditions he had communicated to ' Once a Week ' and 
 other periodicals. 
 
 Of his ballads several have been given in this volume. 
 Two more only are given here, one the ' Song of the 
 Western Men,' which deceived Sir Walter Scott and Lord 
 Macaulay into the belief that it was a genuine ancient 
 ballad. 
 
 Macaulay says, in speaking of the agitation which 
 prevailed throughout the country during the trial of the 
 seven bishops, of whom Trelawney, Bishop of Bristol, was 
 one : ' The people of Cornwall, a fierce, bold, and athletic 
 race, among whom there was a stronger provincial feeling 
 than in any other part of the realm, were greatly moved 
 by the danger of Trelawney, whom they reverenced less as 
 a ruler of the Church than as the head of an honourable
 
 CH. VIII.] CORNISH BALLADS. 215 
 
 house, and the heir, through twenty descents, of ancestors 
 who had been of great note before the Normans set foot 
 on EngHsh ground. All over the country the peasants 
 chanted a ballad, of which the burden is still remem- 
 bered : — 
 
 And shall Trelawney die ? and shall Trelawney die ? 
 
 Then thirty thousand Cornish boys will know the reason why ! 
 
 The miners from the caverns re-echoed the song with a 
 variation : — 
 
 Then thirty thousand underground will know the reason why ! ' 
 
 The refrain is ancient, but the poem itself was composed 
 by Mr. Hawker. This is its earliest form ; it afterwards 
 underwent some revision, 
 
 THE SONG OF THE WESTERN MEN. 
 
 A good sword and a trusty hand, 
 
 A merry heart and true, 
 King James's men shall understand 
 
 What Cornish lads can do. 
 And have they fixed the Where and When, 
 
 And shall Trelawney die ? 
 Then twenty thousand Cornish men 
 
 Will know the reason why ! 
 What ! will they scorn Tre, Pol, and Pen, 
 
 And shall Trelawney die ? 
 Then twenty thousand underground 
 
 Will know the reason why ! 
 
 Out spake the Captain brave and bold, 
 
 A merry wight was he : 
 ' Though London's Tower were Michael's hold, 
 
 We'll set Trelawney free. 
 We'll cross the Tamar hand to hand, 
 
 The Exe shall be no stay ; 
 We'll side by side, from strand to strand, 
 
 And who shall bid us nay ?
 
 2i6 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [cH. viii. 
 
 What ! will they scorn Tre, Pol, and Pen, 
 
 And shall Trelawney die ? 
 Then twenty thousand Cornish men 
 
 Will know the reason why ! 
 
 * And when we come to London Wall, 
 
 We'll shout with it in view : 
 " Come forth, come forth, ye cowards all, 
 
 We're better men than you ! 
 Trelawney, he's in keep and hold, 
 
 Trelawney he may die ; 
 But here's twenty thousand Cornish bold 
 
 Will know the reason why ! " 
 What ! will they scorn Tre, Pol, and Pen, 
 
 And shall Trelawney die ? 
 Then twenty thousand underground 
 
 Will know the reason why ! ' 
 
 The other is a touching little ballad, the lament of a 
 Cornish mother over her dead child, which well illustrates 
 the sympathy which always welled up in the kind Vicar's 
 heart when he met with suffering or sorrow : — 
 
 They say 'tis a sin to sorrow — 
 
 That what God doth is best, 
 But 'tis only a month, to-morrow, 
 
 I buried it from my breast ! 
 
 I know it should be a pleasure 
 
 Your child to God to send ; 
 But mine was a precious treasure 
 
 To me and to my poor friend ! 
 
 I thought it would call me mother, 
 
 The very first words it said ; 
 Oh ! I never can love another 
 
 Like the blessed babe that's dead I 
 
 Well ! God is its own dear Father, 
 It was carried to church and bless'd. 
 
 And our Saviour's arms will gather 
 Such children to their rest.
 
 CH. VIII.] CORNISH BALLADS. 217 
 
 I will check this foolish sorrow, 
 
 For what God doth is best ; 
 But O ! 'tis a month to-morrow 
 
 I buried it from my breast. 
 
 The following beautiful verses, of very high order of 
 poetical merit, have never been published : — 
 
 A THOUGHT. 
 
 August 30, 1866. Suggested by Genesis xviii. 1-3. 
 
 A fair and stately scene of roof and walls 
 Touched by the ruddy sunsets of the West, 
 
 Where, meek and molten, eve's soft radiance falls 
 Like golden feathers in the ringdove's nest. 
 
 Yonder the bounding sea, that couch of God ! 
 
 A wavy wilderness of sand between ; 
 Such paveinent, in the Syrian deserts, trod 
 
 Bright forms, in girded albs, of heavenly mien. 
 
 Such saw the patriarch in his noonday tent : 
 Three sever'd shapes that glided in the sun, 
 
 Till lo ! they cling, and interfused and blent, 
 A lovely semblance gleams, the Three in One ! ^ 
 
 Be such the scenery of this peaceful ground. 
 
 This leafy tent amid the wilderness ; 
 Fair skies above, the breath of angels round. 
 
 And God the Trinity to beam and bless ! 
 
 ' Cf. Philo., 'On Abraham,' xxiv. 'The soul is shone upon by God as if 
 at noonday . . . and being wholly surrounded with this brightness it perceives 
 a threefold image of one subject, one image of the Living God, and others of 
 the other two, as if they were shadows irradiated by it . . . the one in the 
 middle is the Father of the Universe, I Am that I Am ; and the beings on each 
 side are those most ancient Powers which are ever close to the Living God, 
 the Creative Power and the Royal Power.' This is on Gen. xviii. 1-3. Did 
 Mr. Hawker know the passage ?
 
 2i8 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. viii. 
 
 This poem was sent to an intimate friend with this 
 
 letter : — 
 
 Dear Mrs. M — — , — I record the foregoing thought for you, 
 because it hterally occurred to me as I looked from the windows 
 of your house, across the sand towards the sea. Forgive the hnes 
 for the sake of their sincerity, &:c 
 
 He wrote a poem of singular beauty on the auroral 
 display of the night of November loth, 1870, which was 
 privately printed. In it he gave expression to the fancy, 
 not original, but borrowed from Origen, or from North 
 American Indian mythology, that the underworld of spirits 
 is within this globe, and the door is at the North Pole, and 
 the flashing of the lights is caused by the opening of the 
 door to receive the dead. The following passage from his 
 pen refers to the same idea : — 
 
 Churchy m-ds. — The North side is included in the same conse- 
 cration with the rest of the ground. All within the boundary, and 
 the boundary itself, is alike hallowed in sacred and secular law. 
 It is because of the doctrine of the Regions, which has descended 
 unbrokenly in the Church, that an evil repute rests on the Northern 
 parts. The East, from whence the Son of Man came, and who 
 will come again from the Orient to judgment, was, and is, His 
 own especial realm. The dead lie with their feet and faces turned 
 Eastwardly, ready to stand up before the approaching Judge. The 
 West was called the Galilee, the region of the people. The South, 
 the home of the noonday, was the typical domain of heavenly 
 things. But the North, the ill-omened North, was the peculiar 
 haunt of evil spirits and the dark powers of the air. Satan's door 
 stood in the North wall, opposite the font, and was duly opened 
 at the exorcism in baptism for the egress of the fiend. When our 
 Lord lay in the sepulchre, it was with feet towards the East, so 
 that His right hand gave benediction to the South, and His left
 
 CH. VIII.] CHURCHYARDS. 219 
 
 hand reproached and repelled the North. When the evil spirits 
 were cast out by the voice of Messiah, they fled, evermore, North- 
 ward. The god of the North was Baalzephon. They say that at 
 the North Pole there stands the awful gate, which none may 
 approach and live, and which leads to the central depths of penal 
 life. 
 
 Morwenstow. R. S. H.
 
 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. ix. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Restoration of Morwenstow Church — The Shingle Roof — The first Ruridecanal 
 vSynod — The Weekly Offertory — Correspondence with Mr. Walter — On 
 Alms — Harvest Thanksgiving — The School — Mr. Hawker belonged to no 
 Party — His Eastern Proclivities — Theological Ideas — Baptism — Original 
 Sin — The Eucharist — Intercession of Saints — The Blessed Virgin — His 
 Preaching — Some Sermons. 
 
 The church of Morwenstow was restored by Mr. Hawker 
 in 1 849 ; that is to say, he removed the pews and replaced 
 the old carved oak benches, pulled down the gallery, and 
 put up a new pulpit, and made sundry other changes in 
 the church. 
 
 The roof was covered with oak shingle in the most 
 deplorable condition of decay. According to the descrip- 
 tion of a mason who went up the tower to survey it, ' it 
 looked for all the world like a wrecked ship thrown up on 
 the shore.' 
 
 Mr. Hawker was very anxious to have the roof re- 
 shingled, and this question was before the vestry during 
 several years. The parish offered to give the church a 
 roofing of the best Delabole slate, but the Vicar stood out 
 for shingle. The ratepayers protested against wasting 
 their money on such a perishable material, and the Vicar 
 would not yield. 
 
 Vestry meeting after vestry meeting was called on this 
 matter ; one of the landowners remonstrated, but all in
 
 CH. IX.] THE SHINGLE ROOF. 221 
 
 vain, Mr. Hawker would not yield, a shingle roof he would 
 have or none at all. A gentleman wrote to him, quoting a 
 passage from Parker's ' Glossary of Architecture ' to show 
 that anciently shingle roofs were only put on because more 
 durable material was not available, and w^ere removed when 
 lead, slate, or tiles were to be had. But Mr. Hawker re- 
 mained unconvinced. ' Our parson du stick to his may- 
 gaims,' said the people, shrugging their shoulders. He 
 w^as very angry with the opposition to his shingle roof, and 
 quarrelled with several of his parishioners about it. 
 
 He managed to collect money among his friends, and 
 re-roofed the church, bit by bit, with oak shingle. But old 
 shingle was made from heart of oak cut down in winter ; 
 the shingle he obtained was from oak cut in spring for 
 barking, and therefore full of sap. The consequence was 
 that in a very few years it rotted, and now lets the water 
 in as through a cullender. 
 
 Enough money was throwai away on this roof to have 
 put the whole church in thorough repair. 
 
 I pointed out to the Vicar some years ago, when he was 
 talking of repairing his church, that the stones in the arches 
 and in the walls were of various sorts — some good building- 
 stone, some rotten, some dark, some light — giving a patch- 
 work appearance to the interior, I advised the removal of 
 the poorer stones, and the insertion of better ones for the 
 sake of uniformity. ' No, never,' he answered. ' The Church 
 is built up of good and bad, of the feeble and the strong, 
 the rich and the poor, the durable and the perishable. The 
 material church is a type of the Catholic Church, not the 
 type of a sect.'
 
 222 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. ix. 
 
 In many ways Mr. Hawker was before his time, as in 
 other ways he was centuries behind it. 
 
 He was the first to institute ruridecanal synods ; and 
 when he was Rural Dean in 1844, he issued the following 
 citation to all the clergy of the deanery of Trigg- Major : — 
 
 In obedience to the desire of many of the clergy, and with 
 
 the full sanction of our right reverend Father in God, the Lord 
 
 Bishop of this Diocese, I propose, in these anxious days of the 
 
 Ecclesiate, to restore the ancient usage of Rural Synods in the 
 
 Deanery of Trigg- Major. I accordingly convene you to appear, 
 
 in your surplice, in my church of Morwenstow, on the fifth day 
 
 of March next ensuing, at eleven o'clock in the forenoon, then 
 
 and there, after divine service, to deliberate with your brethren 
 
 in Chapter assembled. I remain, reverend sir, your faithful 
 
 servant, 
 
 R. S. Hawker, 
 
 The Rural Dean. 
 February, 1844. 
 
 Accordingly on March 5, the clergy assembled in the 
 vicarage, and walked in procession thence to the church in 
 their surplices. The church was filled with the laity ; the 
 clergy were seated in the chancel. The altar was adorned 
 with flowers and lighted candles. After service, the laity 
 withdrew, and the doors of the church were closed. The 
 clergy then assembled in the nave, and the Rural Dean 
 read them an elaborate and able statement of the case of 
 rural chapters, after which they proceeded to business. His 
 paper on Rural Synods was afterwards published by 
 Edwards & Hughes, Ave Maria Lane, 1844. 
 
 It is remarkable that synods which are now being here 
 and there revived, in a spasmodic manner, meeting some-
 
 CH. IX.] CORRESPONDENCE WITH MR. WALTER. 223 
 
 times in vestries, sometimes in dining-rooms, were first 
 restored after the desuetude of three centuries, in the 
 church of Morwenstow, and with so much gravity and 
 dignity, thirty-one years ago. 
 
 The importance of the weekly offertory is another thing 
 now recognised. The Church seems to be preparing her- 
 self against possible disestablishment and disendowment, 
 by reviving her organic life in synods, and by impressing 
 on her people the necessity of giving towards the support 
 of the services and the ministry. But the weekly offertory 
 is quite a novelty in most places still. Almost the first 
 incumbent in England to establish it was the Vicar of 
 Morwenstow, before 1843. 
 
 He entered into controversy on the subject of the 
 Offertory with Mr. Walter of the Times. 
 
 When the Poor Law Amendment Bill passed in 1834, 
 and was amended in 1836 and 1838, it was thought by 
 many that the need for an offertory in church was done 
 away with, and that the giving of alms to the poor was an 
 interference with the working of the Poor Law. 
 
 Mr. Hawker published a statement of what he did in 
 his parish in the English ChitrcJunan, in 1844. Mr. Walter 
 made this statement the basis of an attack on the system, 
 and especially on Mr. Hawker, in a letter to the Times. 
 
 Mr. Hawker repHed to this : — 
 
 Sir, — I regret to discover that you have permitted yourself 
 to invade the tranquillity of my parish, and to endeavour to inter- 
 rupt the harmony between myself and my parishioners, in a letter 
 which I have just read in a recent number of the Times. You 
 have done so by a garbled copy of a statement which appeared
 
 224 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. ix. 
 
 in the English Churchman of the reception and disposal of the 
 offertory ahns in the parish church of Morwenstow. 
 
 I say ' garbled,' because while you have adduced just so much 
 of the document as suited your purpose, you have suppressed 
 such parts of it as might have tended to alleviate the hostility 
 which many persons entertain to this part of the service of the 
 Church. 
 
 With reference to our choice, as the recipients of Church 
 money, of labourers whose ' wages are seven shillings a week,' 
 and ' who have a wife and four children to maintain thereon,' you 
 say, ' here is an excuse for the employer to give deficient 
 wages ! ' 
 
 In reply to this I beg to inform you that the wages in this 
 neighbourhood never fluctuate. They have continued at this fixed 
 
 amount during the ten years of my incumbency Your 
 
 argument, as applied to my parishioners, is this — Because they 
 have scanty wages in that country, therefore they should have no 
 alms. Because these labourers of Morwenstow are restricted by 
 the law from any relief from the rate, therefore they shall have no 
 charity from the Church. Because they have little, therefore 
 they shall have no more. You insinuate that I, a Christian 
 minister, think eight shillings a week sufficient for six persons 
 during a winter's week, as though I were desirous to limit the 
 resources of my poor parishioners to that sum. May God for- 
 give you your miserable supposition ! I have all my life sincerely, 
 and not to serve any party purpose, been an advocate of the 
 cause of the poor. I, for many long years, have honestly, and 
 not to promote political ends, denounced the unholy and cruel 
 enactments of the New Poor Law 
 
 Let me now proceed to correct some transcendent miscon- 
 ceptions of yourself and others as to the nature and intent of 
 the offertory in church. The ancient and modern division of 
 all religious life was, and is, threefold ; into devotion, self-denial, 
 and alms. No sacred practice, no Christian service, was, or is, 
 complete without the union of these three. They were all alike
 
 CH. IX.] ON ALMSGIVING. 225 
 
 and equally enjoined by the Saviour of man. The collection 
 of alms, was, therefore, incorporated in the Book of Common 
 Prayer. But it was never held to be established among the 
 services of the Church for the benefit of the poor alone. It was 
 to enable the rich to enjoy the blessedness of almsgiving for 
 their Redeemer's sake. It was to afford to every giver fixed 
 and solemn opportunity to fulfil the remembrance, that whatsoever 
 they did to the poor they did unto Him, and that the least of 
 such their kindness would not be forgotten at the last day. ' Let 
 us wash,' they said, ' our Saviour's feet by alms.' .... But this 
 practice of alms, whereunto the heavenly Head of the Church 
 annexed a specific reward, this necessity, we are told, is become 
 obsolete ! A Christian duty become by desuetude obsolete. 
 As well might a man infer that any other religious ex- 
 cellence ceased to be obligatory because it had been disused. 
 The virtue of humility, for example, which has been so long in 
 abeyance among certain of the laity, shall no longer, therefore, be 
 a Christian grace ! The blessing on the meek shall cease in 
 1844 ! . . , . Voluntary kindness and alms have been rendered 
 unnecessary by the compulsory payments enacted by the New 
 Poor Law ! As though the twenty-fifth chapter of St. Matthew 
 had been repealed by Sir James Graham ! As if one of the three 
 conditions of our Christian covenant was to expire during the 
 administration of Sir Robert Peel ! . . . . 
 
 And now, Sir, I conclude with one or two parting admonitions 
 to yourself. You are, I am told, an elderly man, fast approaching 
 the end of all things, and ere many years have past, about to 
 stand a separated soul among the awful mysteries of the spiritual 
 world. I counsel you to beware, lest the remembrance of these 
 attempts to diminish the pence of the poor, and to impede the 
 charitable duties of the rich, should assuage your happiness in 
 that abode where the strifes and the triumphs of controversy are 
 unknown, ' Because thou hast done this thing, and because thou 
 hadst no pity.' And lastly, I advise you not again to assail our 
 rurral parishes with such publications, to harass and unsettle the 
 
 Q
 
 226 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. ix. 
 
 minds of our faithful people. We, the Cornish clergy, are a hum- 
 ble and undistinguished race, but we are apt, when unjustly 
 assailed, to defend ourselves in straightforward language, and to 
 utter plain admonitions, such as, on this occasion, I have thought 
 it my duty to address to yourself; and I remain, your obedient 
 servant, 
 
 R. S. Hawker. 
 Nov. 27, 1844. 
 
 Now there is scarcely a church in England in which 
 a harvest thanksgiving service is not held. But probably 
 the first to institute such a festival in the Anglican Church 
 was the Vicar of Morwenstow in 1843. 
 
 In that year he issued a notice to his parishioners to 
 draw their attention to the duty of thanking God for the 
 harvest, and of announcing that he would set apart a 
 vSunday for such a purpose. 
 
 To THE Parishioners of Morwenstow. 
 
 When the sacred Psalmist inquired what he should render 
 unto the Lord for all the benefits that He had done unto him, he 
 made answer to himself and said, ' I will receive the cup of 
 salvation, and call upon the name of the Lord.' Brethren, God 
 has been very merciful to us this year also. He hath filled our 
 garners with increase, and satisfied our poor with bread. He 
 opened His hand and filled all things living with plenteousness. 
 Let us offer a sacrifice of thanksgiving among such as keep Holy 
 Day. Let us gather together in the chancel of our church on 
 the first Sunday of the next month, and there receive, in the 
 bread of the new corn,' tiiat blessed Sacrament, which was 
 ordained to strengthen and refresh our souls. As it is written, 
 ' He rained dowTi manna also upon them for to eat, and gave them 
 
 ' On October i, Lammas Day, the Eucharistic bread was anciently made 
 of the new corn of the recent harvest. This custom Mr. Hawker revived.
 
 CH. IX.] ST. MJJ?A"S SCHOOL. 227 
 
 food from heaven.' And again, ' In the hand of the Lord there 
 is a cup, and the wine is red.' Furthermore, let us remember that 
 as a multitude of grains of wheat are mingled into one loaf, so 
 we, being many, are intended to be joined together into one, in 
 that Holy Sacrament of the Church of Jesus Christ. Brethren, on 
 the lirst morning of October call to mind the word, that where- 
 soever the Body is thither will the eagles be gathered together. 
 ' Let the people praise Thee, O God, yea, let all the people praise 
 Thee ! Then shall the earth bring forth her increase, and God, 
 even our own God, shall give us His blessing. God shall bless 
 us, and all the ends of the earth shall fear Him.' 
 
 TlIE ViCAR. 
 
 The Vicarage, Morwenstow, Sept. 13, 1843. 
 
 At much expense to himself he built and maintained a 
 school in a central position in the parish. He called it 
 St. Mark's School. It stands on a very exposed spot, and 
 the site can hardly be considered as judiciously chosen. It 
 is unnecessary here, it could hardly prove interesting, to 
 quote numberless letters which I have before me, recounting 
 his struggles to keep this school open, and obtain an 
 efficient master for it. It was a great tax on his means, 
 lightened however by the donations and subscriptions of 
 landowners in the parish, and personal friends, towards the 
 close of his life. 
 
 But in 1857 he wrote a letter to a friend, who has 
 sent the letter to the Rod', from which I extract it. 
 
 It is said that Mr. Hawker is a very ' eccentric ' man. Now I 
 know not in what sense they may have intended the phrase, nor, 
 in fact, what they wish to insinuate, so that I can hardly reply. 
 If they mean to convey the ordinary force of the term, namely, a 
 person out of the common, I am again at a loss. I wear a cassock, 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. ix. 
 
 instead of a broad-cloth coat, which is, I know, eccentric ; but 
 then I have paid my parish school expenses for many years out of 
 the difference between the usual clergyman's tailor's bill and my 
 own cost in apparel ; so that I do not, as they may have meant, 
 feel ashamed or blush at such eccentricity. My mode of life, 
 again, does differ from that of most of my clerical neighbours, for, 
 w^iile they belong, some to one party in the Church, and some to 
 another, I have always lived aloof from them all, whether High or 
 Low. And although there exist clerical clubs of both extremes 
 in this Deanery, and I have been invited to join by each, I 
 never yet was present at a club meeting, dinner, or a local 
 synod. The time would fail me to recount the many modes 
 and manners wherein I do differ from usual men. Be it enough 
 that I am neither ashamed nor sorry for any domestic or parochial 
 habit of life. 
 
 In 1845, he issued the following curious notice in 
 reference to his daily prayer and his school : — 
 
 Take Notice. 
 
 The Vicar will say Divine Service henceforward every morning 
 at ten, and every evening at four. ' Praised be the Lord daily ^ 
 even the God that helpeth us, and poureth his benefits upon us.' 
 Psalm Ixviii. 19. 
 
 The Vicar will attend at St. Mark's School-room every Friday 
 at three o'clock, to catechise the scholars, and at the Sunday 
 School at the usual hour. He will not from henceforth shew the 
 same kindness to those who keep back their children from school 
 as he will to those who send them . ' Thou shalt not seethe a kid 
 m his mother's milk.' Exod. xxiii, 19. 
 
 Mr. Hawker was a High Churchman, but one of an 
 original type, wholly distinct from the Tractarian of the 
 first period, and the Ritualist of the second period, of the
 
 CH. IX.] EASTERN TEXDENCIES. 229 
 
 Catholic Revival in the English Church. He never asso- 
 ciated himself with any party. He did not read the 
 controversial literature of his day, or interest himself in the 
 persons of the ecclesiastical movement in the Anglican 
 Communion. 
 
 In November, 1861, he wrote : — 
 
 Dr. Bloxham was an ancient friend of mine (at Oxford). One 
 of a large body of good and learned men, all now gone, and he 
 only left. How I recollect their faces and words ! Newman, 
 Pusey, Ward, Marriott — they used to be all in the common room 
 every evening, discussing, talking, reading. I remember the one 
 to whom I did not take was Dr. Pusey. He never seemed simple 
 in thought or speech \ obscure and involved. He was the last 
 in all that set — as I now look back and think — to have followers 
 called by his name. 
 
 Mr. Hawker turned his eyes far more towards the East- 
 ern Church than towards Rome. His mind was fired by 
 Mr. Collins-Trelawney's ' Peranzabuloe, or the Lost Church 
 Found,' the fourth edition of which appeared in 1839. It 
 was an account of the ancient British chapel and cell of 
 St. Piran which had been swallowed up by the sands, but 
 which was exhumed, and the bones of the saint, some 
 ancient crosses, and early rude sculpture found. The author 
 of the book drew a picture of the ancient British Church 
 independent of Rome, having its own local peculiarities 
 with regard to the observance of Easter, and the tonsure, 
 &c., and argued that this Church, which held aloof from St. 
 Augustine, was of Oriental origin. He misunderstood the 
 Paschal question altogether, and his argument on that head 
 falls to the ground when examined by the light which can 
 be brought to bear on it from Irish sources. The ancient
 
 230 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. ix. 
 
 British, Scottish, and Irish churches did not follow the 
 Oriental rule with regard to the observance of Easter, but 
 their Calendar had got out of gear, and they objected to 
 its revision. 
 
 However, the book convinced Mr. Hawker that he must 
 look to the East for the ancestors of the Cornish Church, 
 and not Romewards ; and this view of the case lasted 
 through his life, and coloured his opinions. 
 
 When Dr. J, Mason Neale's ' History of the Holy East- 
 ern Church ' came out, he was intensely interested in it, and 
 his Oriental fever reached its climax, and manifested itself 
 in the adoption of a pink brimless hat, after the Eastern 
 type. This Eastern craze also probably induced him, when 
 he adopted a vestment, to put on a cope for the celebration 
 of the Holy Communion, that vestment being used by the 
 Armenian Church for the Divine Mysteries, whereas it is 
 never so used in the Roman Church. 
 
 His theology assumed an Oriental tinge, and he ex- 
 pressed his views more as an Eastern than as a son of the 
 West. 
 
 A few of his short notes of exposition on Holy Scripture 
 have come into my hands, and I insert one or two of them 
 as specimens of the poetical fancy which played round 
 Gospel truths. 
 
 'O /xf (TtVjye. A mediator is not one who prays. Christ's Man- 
 hood is the intermediate thing which stands between the Trinity 
 and man, to link and blend the natures human and divine. It is 
 the bridge between the place of exile and our native land. The 
 presence of God, the Son, standing with His wounds on the right 
 hand of God, the Father, is, and constitutes, Mediation.
 
 CH. IX.] THEOLOGICAL NOTES. 231 
 
 His idea is that mediation is not intercession, but the 
 serving as a channel of intercommunion between God and 
 man. Thus there can be but one mediator, but every one 
 may intercede for another. There can be no doubt that 
 he was right. Though he was not aware of it, this is 
 exactly the line laid down by Philo, in a wonderful pasage 
 which is an appeal for, and prophecy of, the Incarnation. 
 
 The three days and three nights kv rj] Kupl'iq. rije yijc. When 
 the Lord Jesus died, the round world became for a time His vast 
 sepulchre. The whole earth girded Him in. The globe of the 
 nations received the silent God- man into its breast and revolved 1 
 An orb that was in itself a tomb. A vaulted star. Of Thucydides, 
 'II irdcra yij 6 ro^oc. One day and two nights at Judaea ; two days 
 and one night at the Antipodes. 
 
 Gal. iii. 20. St. Paul refers to the necessity of our Lord's 
 Incarnation. God as God, inasmuch as he was a party, could not 
 have been the Mediator. Therefore, the Second Person took the 
 human nature on Him, and stood between both. But did He 
 thus sever Himself from the First Person? No, the Godhead 
 was still one. This is t/ie meaning. 
 
 His views with regard to baptism were peculiar. He 
 seems to have retained a little of his grandfather's Calvinistic 
 leaven in his soul, much as St. Augustine's early Mani- 
 chaeism clung to him and discoloured his later orthodoxy. 
 The Catholic doctrine of the Fall is, that, by the first trans- 
 gression of Adam, a discord entered into his constitution, 
 so that, thenceforth, soul and mind and body, instead of 
 desiring what is good and salutary, are distracted by con- 
 flicting wishes, the flesh lusting against the spirit, and the 
 mind approving that which is repugnant to the body. The
 
 232 LIFE OF ROBERT S7EPHEN HAWKER. [CH. ix. 
 
 object of the Incarnation is to restore harmony to the 
 nature of man, and in Baptism is infused into man a super- 
 natural element of power for conciliating the three con- 
 stituents of man. Fallen man is, according to Tridentine 
 doctrine, a beautiful instrument whose strings are in dis- 
 cord ; a chime, 
 
 Of sweet bells jangled out of tune. 
 
 But he is provided with the Conciliator, with One whose 
 note is so clear and true, that he can raise the pitch of all 
 his strings by that, and thus restore the lost music of the 
 world, 
 
 Lutheran and Calvinistic teaching, however, are the re- 
 verse of this. According to the language of the ' Formulary 
 of Concord,' man by the Fall has lost every element of good, 
 even the smallest capacity and aptitude and power in spirit- 
 ual things ; he has lost the faculty of knowing God, and 
 the will to do anything that is good ; he can no more lead 
 a good life than a stock or a stone ; everything good in 
 him is utterly obliterated. There is also a positive in- 
 gredient of sin infused into the veins of every man. Sin 
 is, according to Luther, of the essence of man. Original 
 sin is not, as the Church teaches, the loss of supernatural 
 grace co-ordinating man's faculties, and their consequent 
 disorder ; it is something born of the father and mother. 
 The clay of which we are formed is damnable ; the foetus in 
 the mother's womb is sin; man, with his whole nature and 
 essence, is not only a sinner, but sin. Such are the expres- 
 sions of Luther, endorsed by Quenstadt. Man, according 
 to Catholic theology, still bears in him the image of God,
 
 CH. IX.] ON ORIGINAL SIN. 233 
 
 but blurred. According to Melanchthon this image is wholly 
 obHterated by an ' intimate, most evil, most profound, in- 
 scrutable, ineffable corruption of our whole nature.' Calvin 
 clenches the matter by observing that from man's corrupted 
 nature comes only what is damnable. ' Man,' says he, ' has 
 been so banished from the kingdom of God, that all in him 
 that bears reference to the blessed life of the soul is extinct.' ' 
 And if men have glimpses of better things, it is only that 
 God may take from them every excuse when He damns 
 them.2 
 
 Mr. Hawker by no means adopted the Catholic view 
 of the Fall ; the Protestant doctrine of the utter corruption 
 and ruin of man's nature had been so deeply driven into 
 his mind by his grandfather, that it never wholly worked 
 itself out, and he never attained to the healthier view of 
 human nature, as a compound of good elements temporarily 
 thrown in disarray. 
 
 This view of his appears in papers which are under 
 my eye, as I write, and in his ballad for a cottage wall, on 
 
 Baptism. 
 
 Ah ! woe is me ! for I have no grace, 
 
 Nor goodness as I ought ; 
 I never shall go to the happy place, 
 
 And 'tis all my parents' fault ! 
 
 His teaching on the Eucharist he embodied in a ballad 
 
 entitled ' Ephphatha.' An old blind man sits in a hall at 
 
 ]\Iorwenstow, that of Tonacombe probably. 
 
 He asks, — and bread of wheat they bring, 
 He thirsts for water from the spring 
 Which flow'd of old and still flows on, 
 With name and memory of Saint John. 
 
 ' Institutes, lib. ii. c. 2, sec. 12. * Ibid. sec. 18.
 
 234 I^IPE. OF ROBERT STEPHEN HA WKER. [ch. ix. 
 
 Bread and water are given him, and through the stained 
 windows, glorious rainbow tints fall over what is set before 
 him. A page looking on him pities the old man, because 
 
 He eats, but sees not on that bread 
 What glorious radiance there is shed ; 
 He drinks from out that chalice fair, 
 Nor marks the sunlight glancing there ! 
 
 Watch ! gentle Ronald, watch and pray ! 
 And hear once more an old man's lay : 
 I cannot see the morning pour'd 
 Ruddy and rich on this gay board ; 
 I may not trace the noon-day light, 
 Wherewith my bread and bowl are bright ; 
 But thou, whose words are sooth, hast said 
 That brightness falls on this fair bread ; 
 Thou sayest, and thy tones are true, 
 This cup is tinged with heaven's own hue ; 
 I trust thy voice, I know from thee 
 That which I cannot hear nor see ! 
 
 The application of the parable is palpable. Mr, 
 Hawker appended to the ballad the following note : — 
 
 I have sought in these verses to suggest a shadow of that 
 beautiful instruction to Christian men, the actual and spiritual 
 presence of our Lord in the second Sacrament of His Church. A 
 primal and perpetual doctrine in the faith once delivered to the 
 Saints. How sadly the simplicity of this hath and has been dis- 
 torted and disturbed by the gross and sensuous notion of a 
 carnal presence introduced by the Romish innovation of the 
 eleventh century. • 
 
 The following passage occurs in one of his sermons : — 
 
 If there be anything in all the earth to which our Lord did 
 join a blessing, and that for evermore, it was the Bread and the 
 
 ' Note in Ecclesia, 1841.
 
 CH. IX.] rilE HOLY COMMUNION. 235 
 
 Cup. Surely of this Sacrament, which the Apostles served, it may- 
 be said, He that receiveth you receiveth Me. Now nothing can be 
 more certain than that our Lord and Master before He suffered 
 death, called into His presence the twelve men, the ^^?/(i!/ founders 
 of His future Church. He stood alone with the Twelve. There 
 was nobody else there but those ministers and their Lord. 
 Nothing is more manifest than that He took bread of corn and 
 showed the Apostles in what manner and with what words to bless 
 and to break it. Equally clear is it, that their Lord took into His 
 hands with remarkable gesture and deed the Cup, and taught the 
 Twelve also the blessing of the Wine. Accordingly, after the Son 
 of Man went up, we read that the Apostles took bread and 
 blessed, and gave it to the Church. Likewise also they took the 
 Cup. 
 
 And although the Romish Dissenters keep it back to this 
 day, the Apostles gave the Wine also to the people. Saint Paul, 
 who was not one of the Twelve, but a Bishop, afterwards ordained, 
 writes, ' We have an altar.' He speaks of the bread which he 
 breaks, and the Cup he was accustomed to bless. So we trace 
 from those old Apostolic days, down to our own, an altar-table 
 of wood in remembrance of the wooden Cross, fine white bread, 
 good and wholesome wine, a ministry descended from the 
 Apostles, to be in all ages and in every land the outward and 
 visible signs of a great event — the eternal sacrifice of Jesus Christ, 
 our Lord. 
 
 Now nothing can be more plain than that these things, so 
 seen, and handled, and felt, and eaten, and drunk, were delivered 
 to the Church to contain and to convey, a deep blessing, an actual 
 grace. They were ordained for this end by Christ Himself; He 
 said of the Bread, this is My Body, i.e. not a part of My Flesh, 
 but a portion of my Spiritual Presence, a share of that which is 
 Divine. 
 
 Again, Jesus said about the Cup, This is My Blood, i.e. not 
 that which gushed upon the soldier's spear, but the life-blood of 
 ]\Iy Heavenly Heart, that which shall be shed on you fiom on
 
 236 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. ix. 
 
 high with the fruit of the Vine, — the produce of the everlasting 
 veins of Him who is on the Right Hand of God. 
 
 So was it understood, so is it explained,byApostohc words — 
 Thus said Saint Paul, ' The Cup of blessing which we bless, is it not 
 the communion— the common reception, that is, — the communi- 
 cation to faithful lips of the Blood of Christ ? ' 
 
 So we say in our Catechism, that the Body and Blood of 
 Christ are verily and indeed taken and received. We confess that 
 our souls are strengthened and refreshed in the Sacrament of the 
 Body and Blood of Christ, we call the Bread and Wine, in our 
 service, Heavenly food. We acknowledge that we spiritually eat 
 the Flesh of Christ and drink His blood. We declare that in that 
 sacrament we join Him and He us, as drops of water that mingle 
 in the sea, and that we are, in that awful hour, very members in- 
 corporate in the mystical Body of the Son of God — words well nigh 
 too deep to apprehend or to explain. 
 
 Mr. Hawker, holding, as has been shown, that Media- 
 tion was distinct from Intercession, admitted that the dead 
 in Christ could pray for their brethren struggling in the 
 warfare of life, as really, and more effectually than they 
 could when living. If the souls under the altar seen by 
 St. John, could cry out for vengeance on those upon earth, 
 surely they could also ask for mercy to be shown them. 
 
 He thought that all the baptized had six sponsors, the 
 three on earth and three in heaven. Those in heaven were, 
 the Guardian Angel of the Child, the Saint whose name 
 the child bore, and the Saint to whom the Church was 
 dedicated in which the baptism took place ; and that as it 
 was the duty of earthly sponsors to look after and pray for 
 their god-children, so it was the privilege and pleasure of 
 their heavenly patrons to watch and intercede for their 
 welfare.
 
 CH. IX.] INTERCESSION- OF SAINTS. 237 
 
 He did not see why Christians should not ask the 
 prayers of those in bhss, as well as the prayers of those in 
 contest ; and he contended that this was a very different 
 matter from Romish invocation of saints, that invested the 
 Blessed Ones with all but divine attributes, and which he 
 utterly repudiated. He quoted Latimer, Bishop Montague, 
 Thorndike, Bishop Forbes, in the seventeenth century ; 
 and Dean Field, and Morton, Bishop of Durham, &c., as 
 holding precisely the same view as himself. 
 
 Of course his doctrines, to some, seem to be perilously 
 high. But in the English Church there are various shades 
 of dogmatism, and the faintest tinge to one whose views 
 are colourless is a great advance. The slug at the bottom 
 of the cabbage stalk, thinks the slug an inch up the stalk 
 very high, and the slug on the stalk regards the slug on 
 the leaf as perilously advanced, whilst the slug on the leaf 
 considers the snail on the leaf-end as occupying an equi- 
 vocal position. 
 
 Catholicism and Popery have really nothing necessarily 
 in common. The first is a system of belief founded on the 
 Incarnation, the advantages of which it applies to man 
 through a sacramental system ; while the latter is a system 
 of ecclesiastical organisation, which has only accidentally 
 been linked with Catholicism, but which is equally at home 
 in the steppes of Tartary with Buddhism. 
 
 Popery is a centralisation in matter of Church govern- 
 ment ; it is autocracy. A man may be theoretically an 
 Ultramontane without being even a Christian, for he may 
 believe in a despotism. And a man may be a Catholic in 
 all his views, without having the smallest sympathy with
 
 238 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HA WKER. [ch. ix. 
 
 Popery. As a matter of fact, the most advanced men in 
 the EngHsh Church are radically liberal in their views of 
 Church Government, and if they strive, with one hand, to 
 restore forgotten doctrines and reinstate public worship, 
 with the other they do battle for the introduction of Con- 
 stitutionalism into the organisation of the Church of 
 England, the element of all others most opposed to 
 Popery. 
 
 It is quite possible to distinguish CathoHcism from 
 Romanism. Romanism has developed a system, — a miser- 
 able system of indulgences and dispensations on one side, 
 and restraints on the other — all issuing from the throne of 
 St. Peter, as an impure flood from a corrupt fountain, and 
 which has sadly injured Christian morals. A student of 
 history cannot fail to notice, that the Papacy has been a 
 blight on Christianity, robbing it of its regenerating and re- 
 forming power, a parasitic growth draining it of its life 
 blood. He may love, with every fibre of his soul, the great 
 Sacramental system, the glorious Catholic verities, common 
 to Constantinople and Rome, to Jerusalem and Moscow; but 
 it is only to make him bitterly regret, that they have been 
 used as a vehicle for Romish cupidity, so as to make them 
 odious in the eyes of Protestants. Holding Catholic 
 doctrines and enjoying Catholic practices, an English 
 Churchman may be as far removed in temper of soul from 
 Rome as any Irish Orangeman. 
 
 Mr. Hawker held the Blessed Virgin in great reverence. 
 The ideal of womanhood touched his poetical instincts. 
 Yet he checked his exuberant fancy when dealing with 
 this theme, by his conscience of what was right and fitting.
 
 CH. IX.] THE BLESSED VIRGIN. 239 
 
 He says, in a sermon on the text, ' He stretched forth His 
 hand towards His disciples and said, Behold my Mother and 
 my Brethren, for whosoever shall do the will of God, the 
 same is my Brother and Sister and Mother : ' ' His Mother 
 also, whom the Angel had pronounced Blessed among 
 women, because on her knees the future Christ should lie, 
 sought to usurp the influence of nature over the Son 
 Divine. But to teach that although in the earth he was 
 not all of the earth, and aw^are of the blind idolatry which 
 future men would yield unto her who bare Him, and those 
 to whom His Incarnation in their family gave superior 
 name, Jesus publicly renounced all domestic claim to his 
 particular regard. More than once did He remind Mary, 
 His Mother, that in His miraculous nature she did not par- 
 take ; that in the functions of His Godhead she had nothing 
 to do with Him.' 
 
 The Rev. W. Valentine, Rector of Whixley, perhaps the 
 most intimate friend Mr. Hawker had, writes to me of him 
 thus : — 
 
 During the first six months of my residence at Chapel House, 
 Morvvenstow, September 1863 to April 1864, I and he invariably 
 spent our evenings together, and although for ten weeks of that 
 period I took the Sunday morning and evening duties at Stratton 
 Church, during the illness of the vicar, I always rode round by 
 Morwenstow vicarage on Sundays to spend an hour with him, at 
 his urgent request, though it took me some miles out of my way 
 over Stowe Hill and by Combe. I thus got to know Mr. Hawker 
 thoroughly, more intimately perhaps as to character and social 
 habits, than any other friend ever did ; and on two important 
 points no one will ever shake my testimony, viz., a — his desire to 
 be buried by me beneath the shadow of his own beloved church.
 
 240 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. ix. 
 
 'That grey fane, the beacon of the Eternal Land,' and, ^— his 
 constant alkisions to the Roman CathoHcs as ' Romish Dis- 
 senters.' 
 
 But Mr. Hawker was neither a theologian, nor careful 
 in the expression of his opinions. He spoke as he thought 
 at the moment, and he thought as the impulse swayed him. 
 Many of his most intimate friends, who met him constantly 
 during the last years of his life, and to whom he opened 
 his heart most fully, are firm in their conviction that he 
 was a sincere member of the Church of England, believing 
 thoroughly in her Divine mission and authority. But it 
 is quite possible that, in moments of excitement and dis- 
 appointment, to others he may have expressed himself 
 otherwise. He was the creature of impulse, and his mind 
 was never very evenly balanced, nor did his judgment 
 always reign paramount over his fancies. 
 
 Mr. Valentine writes in another letter to me : — 
 
 I have only one sermon to send you, but to me it is a deeply 
 interesting one, as it was dehvered more than once just over 
 the spot where he told me so often to lay him; and I feel 
 assured that whenever he preached it, his thoughts would wander 
 onward to that coming day when he, himself, as he contemplated, 
 would form one of that last and vast assemblage, which will be 
 gathered in Monvenstow churchyard and church. Ever since I 
 knew dear old Hawker, and for years before, he preached ex- 
 tempore. His habit was to take a Prayer Book into the pulpit 
 and expound the Gospel for the day. He would read a verse or 
 two, and then with a common lead pencil, which was ever sus- 
 pended by a string from one of his coat buttons, mark his resting 
 point. Having expounded the passage he would read further, 
 mark again, and expound. His clear, full voice was most melli- 
 ftuouSj and his language, whilst plain and homely, was highly
 
 CH. IX.] DESTRUCTION OF HIS SERMONS. 241 
 
 poetical, and quite enchanting to listen to. He riveted one's 
 whole attention. His pulpit MSS. are very rare, because jusi 
 before taking to extempore preaching, ' baskets-full ' of his sermons 
 were destroyed under the following circumstances, as he used to 
 relate it to me : A celebrated firm of seedsmen advertised some- 
 thing remarkable in the way of carrots, and Mr, Hawker, who had 
 long made this root his especial study, sent for some seed. He was 
 recommended to sow it with some of the best ashes he could 
 procure, and therefore brought out all his sermons one morning on 
 to the vicarage lawTi, set fire to the pile, and carefully collected the 
 precious remains. The crop was an utter failure, but the cause 
 thereof, on reflection, was most palpable. He remembered that 
 a few of old Dr. Hawker's sermons were lying amongst his own, 
 and the conclusion forced upon him was, that his grandfather's 
 heterodoxy had lost him his crop of carrots. 
 
 He refers to this destruction in another letter to Mr. 
 Carnsew : — 
 
 Dec. 6, 1857. — My dear Sir, — To-morrow I send for my last load 
 of materials for building, the close of a long run of outlay extending 
 through nearly thirty years. Bude, Whitstone, Trebarrow, Morwen- 
 stow, have been the scenes of my architecture. Old Mr. Dan King 
 once said to me, as he looked down on my house, ' Ha ! fools 
 build houses, and wise men inhabit them .' ' Just so,' said I, un- 
 willing to be outdone even in candour, ' Just so, as wise men 
 make proverbs and fools quote them ? ' And then we both 
 grunted. Anderson writes that he has bought a cottage of 
 yours. I am glad of it for his wife's sake. I wTOte to him offering 
 a young pig of mine and twelve MS. sermons for a young boar of 
 the same age, and, do you know, he has taken me at my word . 
 So I am to send him my MSS, and to fetch the boar. Did I ever 
 tell you that I once dressed a drill of turnips for experiment with 
 sermon ashes (I had been burning a large lot), and it was a com- 
 plete failure . Barren, all barren, like most modern discourses ; 
 not even posthumous energy. 
 
 R
 
 242 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. ix. 
 
 The sermon that is spoken of by Mr. Valentine was on 
 the general Resurrection, and was preached at the ' Revel,' 
 Midsummer Day. 
 
 One of his sermons which is remembered to this day 
 was on the text Gen. xxii. 5 : ' Abide ye here with the 
 ass ; and I and the lad will go yonder and worship, and 
 come again to you.' 
 
 He pointed out in this sermon, how that in Morwenstow 
 and many other villages, the church is situated at some 
 distance from the congregation. At Okehampton the 
 church is on a hill, and the town lies below it in the valley. 
 At Brent-tor it is planted on the apex of a volcanic cone, 
 rising out of a high table-land, and the cottages of which it 
 is the parish church lie in combes far away, skirting the 
 moor. At Morwenstow it stands above the sea, without a 
 house near it save the vicarage and one little farm. This, 
 said he, was no bit of mismanagement, but was done pur- 
 posely, that those who went up to Jerusalem to worship 
 might have time to compose their thoughts, and frame 
 their souls aright for the holy services in which they were 
 about to engage. 
 
 Is it a trouble to go so far .'' Does it cost many paces .-* 
 Yea ! but an angel counts the paces that lead to the House 
 of God, and records them all in Heaven. 
 
 ' Abide ye here with the ass,' away from the Hill of the 
 Lord, from the place of sacrifice ; tarry dumb ass and 
 hireling, whilst the son goes on under the guidance of his 
 father ! The poor hireling, not one of the family, the un- 
 baptized, no son, and the coarse, brutal nature, the ass, 
 they stay away, they have no inclination, no call to go up
 
 CH. IX.] SOME SERMONS. 243 
 
 to the House of God. ' Abide ye here with the ass ; and I 
 and the lad will go yonder and worship.' 
 
 Another remembered sermon was on the text, Matt. x. 
 2 : ' Now the names of the twelve apostles are these ; the 
 first, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother ; 
 James the son of Zebedee, and John his brother ; Philip, 
 and Bartholomew ; Thomas, and Matthew the publican ; 
 James the son of Alphaeus, and Lebbaeus, whose surname 
 was Thaddaeus ; Simon the Canaanite, and Judas Iscariot, 
 who also betrayed Him.' 
 
 On this he preached a magnificent discourse on the 
 Church built on the coequal twelve, but leaning on its great 
 Corner Stone, Christ. 
 
 R 2
 
 244 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [cii. x. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The First Mrs. Hawker — Her Influence over her Husband — Anxiety about 
 her Health — His Fits of Depression — Letter on the Death of Sir Thomas D. 
 Acland — Reads Novels to his Wife — His Visions — Mysticism — Death of 
 his Wife — Unhappy Condition — Burning of his Papers — Meets with his 
 Second Wife — The Unburied Dead — Birth of his Child — Ruinous con- 
 dition of his Church — Goes to London — Sickness — Goes to Boscastle — 
 To Plymouth — His Death and Funeral — Conclusion. 
 
 Mrs. Hawker was a very accomplished and charming old 
 lady, who thoroughly understood and appreciated her 
 husband. She was a woman of a poetical, refined mind, 
 with strong sense of humour, and sound judgment. The 
 latter quality was of great advantage, as it was an 
 element conspicuously absent in the composition of her 
 husband. 
 
 She translated from the German, with great elegance, 
 the story of Guido Goerres, the ' Manger of the Holy 
 Night,' and it was published by Burns, in 1847. The verses 
 in it were turned with grace and facility. Another of her 
 books was ' Follow Me,' a Morality from the German, 
 published by Burns, in 1844. 
 
 The author remembers this charming old lady, some 
 fifteen years ago, then blind, very aged, with hair white as 
 snow, full of cheerfulness and geniality, laughing over her 
 husband's jokes, and drawing him out, with a subtle skill,
 
 CH. X.] THE FIRST MRS. HAWKER. 245 
 
 to show himself to his best advantage. In his fits of 
 depression she was invaluable to him, always at his side, 
 encouraging him, directing his thoughts to pleasant topics, 
 and bringing merriment back to the eye which had dulled 
 with despondency. 
 
 Ash Wednesday, 1853.— My dear Mrs. M , — Among 
 
 my acts of self-research to-day one has regarded you, the 
 wife of one of the very few whom I would really call my 
 friends. Since my days of sorrow came and self-abasement, 
 I have shrunk too much into myself, and too much 
 regarded the breath that is in the nostrils of my fellows. But 
 what have I not been made to suffer? But — and I have 
 sworn it as a vow, if my God grants me the life of poor, dear 
 Charlotte, all shall be borne cheerfully. Beyond that horizon I 
 have not a hope, a thought, a prayer. And now I feel relieved at 
 having written this. It lifts a load to tell it to you, as I should 
 long ago to your guileless husband had he been here to listen. 
 But he is gone to be happier than we, and would wonder if he 
 read this why I grieve. And then how basely have those who 
 vaunted themselves as my friends dealt with me ! All this I 
 unfold to you to-day for my relief Do you please not to say a 
 word about .... or anything to vex or harass Charlotte. She 
 is, I thank God, well and quiet. We hardly ever go out, save for 
 exercise, in the parish. My thoughts go down in MS., of which I 
 have drawers full. But I print no more.* 
 
 The friend to whose widow he thus writes, died 
 in 1S46. He then wrote to a relative this note of 
 sympathy : — 
 
 Your letter has filled us with deep and sincere sorrow. We 
 feared that our friend was sincerely ill, but we were not prepared for 
 so immediate an accession of grief That he was ready to be 
 
 ' It is to be sincerely hoped that his widow will publish a volume of these 
 remains.
 
 246 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPIIKN IIAWKl'.R. \(\\. x. 
 
 dissolved I doubt not, and to be with Christ 1 am e(]uall}- satisfied. 
 He, already, I trust, prays for us all effectually. 
 
 There was ever a sad undertone in Mr. Hawker's cha- 
 racter. He felt his isolation in mind from all around him. 
 His best companions were the waves and clouds. He lived 
 'The ever alone/ as he calls himself in one of his letters, 
 solitary in the Morwenstow ark, \\ith only the sound of 
 waters about him. 'The Lord shut him in.' 
 
 With all his brightness and vivacity, there was con- 
 stantly 'cropping up,' a sad and serious vein, which showed 
 itself sometimes in a curious fashion. ' This is as life 
 seems to you,' he would say, as he bade his visitor look at 
 the prospect through a pane of ruby-tinted glass, ' all 
 glowing and hopeful. And this is as T see it,' he would 
 add, turning to a pane of yellow, ' grey antl wintry and 
 faded. But keei) your ruby days as long as you can.' 
 He wrote on January 2, 1868 : — 
 
 Wheresoever you may be this letter will follow you, and wiUi 
 it our best and most earnest prayers for your increased welfare of 
 earthly and heavenly hopes in this and many succeeding new years. 
 How solemn a thing it is to stand before the gate of another year 
 and ask the oracles what will this ensuing cluster of the months 
 unfold ! But if we knew, perhaps it would make life what a 
 Pagan Greek called it, ' a shuddering thing.' We have had, through 
 the approach to us of the Gulf stream, with its atmospheric arch 
 of warm and rarefied air, a sad succession of cyclons, or, as our 
 homely phrase renders it, ' shattering sou'westers,' reminding us 
 of wliat was said to be die Cornish wreckers' toast in bygone 
 
 days, 
 
 A billowy sea and a shattering wind, 
 The cliffs before and the gale behind. 
 
 But, thank God, no wrecks yet on our iron shore.
 
 (11. X.] HIS WIFE'S BLLVDNESS. 247 
 
 The following letter was written to Mrs. Mills, daughter 
 of Sir Thomas D. Acland, on the death of her father ; a 
 letter which will touch the hearts of many a ' West Country 
 Man,' who has loved his honoured name. 
 
 Mo/'we/isfota, July 27, 187 1. — My dear Mrs. Mills, — The 
 knowledge of your great anguish at Killerton has only just 
 reached us. How deei)ly we feel it 1 need not tell. Although 
 long looked for, it smote me like a sudden blow. Yet we must 
 not mourn ' for him, but for ourselves and our children.' ' It shall 
 come to pass at evening-tide there shall be light.' The good and 
 faithful servant had borne the burden and the heat of the day, and 
 at set of sun he laid him down and slept. My heart and my eyes 
 are too full to write. May his God and our God bless and sus- 
 tain yours and you. My poor dear wife, who is ill, offers you her 
 faithful love. And I shall pray this night for him who is gone 
 before, and for those who tarry yet a little while. I am, dear 
 Mrs. Mills, yours faithfully and affectionately, 
 
 R. S. Hawker. 
 
 During his wife's blindness, and the gentle fading away 
 of a well- spent, God-fearing life, nothing could be more un- 
 remitting than the attention of Mr. Hawker. He read to 
 her a great part of the day, brought her all the news of the 
 neighbourhood, strove in every way to make up to her for 
 the deprivation of her sight. 
 
 He had a ten-guinea subscription to Mudie's Library; 
 and whole boxes of novels arrived at the vicarage ; these 
 he diligently read to her as she sat, her armchair wheeled 
 to the window, out of which she could no more see, or by 
 the fire-side where the logs flickered. 
 
 But though he read with his lips, and followed with his 
 eyes, his eager mind was far away, in that wondrous
 
 248 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. x. 
 
 Dreamland where his mental life was spent. After he had 
 diligently read through the three volumes of some popular 
 novel, he was found to be ignorant of the plot, to know 
 nothing of the characters, and to have no conception even 
 of the names of hero and heroine. These stories interested 
 him in no way ; they related to a world of which he knew 
 little, and cared less. Whilst he read, his mind was fol- 
 lowing some mystic weaving of a dance, in the air, of gulls 
 and swallows ; tracing parables in the flowers that dotted 
 his sward ; or musing over some text of Holy Scripture. 
 To be on the face of his cliff, to sit hour by hour in his 
 little hut of wreck-wood, with the boiling Atlantic before 
 him, sunk in dream or meditation, was his delight. Or, 
 kneeling in his gloomy chancel, poring over the sacred 
 page, meditating, he would go off into strange trances, and 
 see sights ; Morwenna, gleaming before him, with pale face, 
 exquisitely beautiful, and golden hair, and deep blue eyes, 
 telling him where she lay, drawing him on to chivalrous 
 love, like Aslauga in Fouque's exquisite tale. Or, he saw 
 angels ascending and descending in his dark chancel, and 
 heard ' a noise of hymns.' — 
 
 A gentle sound, an awful light, 
 
 Three angels bear the holy Grail ; 
 With folded feet, in stoles of white, 
 
 On sleeping wings they sail. 
 
 Ah, blessed vision ! blood of God ! 
 
 My spirit beats her mortal bars. 
 As down dark tides the glory slides, 
 
 And star-like mingles with the stars. 
 
 We have seen hitherto the sparkling merriment of his
 
 cii. X.] MYSTIC TEXDENCIES. 249 
 
 life, but this was the flashing of the surface of a character 
 that rolled on its mysterious unfathomable way. 
 
 To him the spiritual world was intensely real ; he had 
 in him the makings of a mystic. The outward world, the 
 carnal flesh, he looked upon with contempt, with almost 
 the disgust of a Manichaean. The spiritual life was the 
 real life, the earthly career was a passing troubled dream 
 that teased the soul, and broke its contemplations. The 
 true aim of man was to disentangle his soul from the sordid 
 cares of earth, and to raise it on the wings of meditation 
 and prayer to union with God. Consequently the true self 
 is the spiritual man, this none but the spiritual man can 
 understand. The Vicar accommodated himself to ordinary 
 society, but he did not belong to it. His spirit hovered high 
 above in the thin clear air, whilst his body and earthly 
 mind laughed, and joked, and laboured, and sorrowed 
 below. Trouble was the anguish of the soul recalling its 
 prerogative. The fits of depression which came on him, 
 were the moments when the soul was asserting its true 
 power, pining as the captive for its home and proper 
 freedom. 
 
 It will be seen that nothing but his intense grasp of the 
 doctrine of the Incarnation, saved him from drifting into 
 the wildest vagaries of mysticism. 
 
 He would never open out to any one who, he thought, 
 was not spiritually minded. 
 
 A commonplace neighbouring parson visiting him once, 
 asked him what were his views and opinions. 
 
 Mr. Hawker drew him to the window. 'There,' said 
 he, ' is Hennaclifif, there the Atlantic stretching to Labrador,
 
 250 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. x. 
 
 there Morwenstow crag, here the church and graves. These 
 are my views. As to my opinions, I keep them to myself.' 
 
 The flame after long flickering in the breast of his 
 dearly loved wife, went out at length, on Feb. 2, 1863. 
 She died at the age of eighty-one. 
 
 He had a grave — a double grave— made outside the 
 chancel, beside the stone that marks where an ancient 
 priest of Morwenstow lies, and placed over her a stone with 
 this inscription — 
 
 Here Rests the Body of 
 CHARLOTTE E. HAWKER. 
 
 For nearly Forty Years the Wife of one of the 
 
 Vicars of this Church. 
 
 She died February 2, 1863. 
 
 There is sprung up a light for the righteous, and joyful gladness 
 for such as are true-hearted. 
 
 The text had reference to her blindness. 
 
 At the bottom of the stone is a blank space left for his 
 own name, and a place was made by his own orders at the 
 side of his wife for his own body. 
 
 Morwenstozu, October 16, 1864. — My dear Mrs. M , I have 
 
 intended every day to make an effort, and go down to Bude to see 
 you and to thank you for all your kindness to me in my desolate 
 abode. But I am quite unequal to the attempt. If you return 
 next year, and you will come, you will find me, if I am alive, 
 keeping watch and ward humbly and faithfully by the place where 
 my dead wife still wears her ring in our quiet church. If I am 
 gone, I know you will come and stand by the stone where we 
 
 rest. My kindest love to Mr. M and your happy little 
 
 children.
 
 CH. X.] INTENSE DEPRESSION. 251 
 
 After the death of Mrs. Hawker, he fell into a con- 
 dition of piteous depression, and began to eat opium. He 
 moped about the cliffs, or in his study, and lost interest in 
 everything. Sciatica added to his misery. 
 
 He took it into his head that he could eat nothing but 
 clotted cream. He therefore made his meals — breakfast, 
 dinner, and tea of this. He became consequently ex- 
 ceedingly bilious, and his depression grew the greater. 
 
 He was sitting, crying like a child, one night over his 
 papers, when there shot a spark from the fire among those 
 strewn at his feet. He did not notice it particularly, but 
 went to bed. After he had gone to sleep, his papers were 
 in a flame, the flame communicated itself to a drawer full 
 of MS. which he had pulled out and not thrust into its 
 place again, and the house would probably have been 
 burnt down had not a Methodist minister seen the blaze 
 through the window, as he happened to be on the hill 
 opposite. He gave the alarm, the inmates of the vicarage 
 were aroused, and the fire was arrested. 
 
 Probably much of his MS. poetry, and jottings of ideas 
 passing through his head, were thus lost. ' O dear ! ' was 
 his sad cry ; ' if Charlotte had been here, this would never 
 have happened.' 
 
 The Vicar had brain-fever shortly afterwards, and was 
 in danger ; but he gradually recovered. 
 
 A friend tells me that during the time that he was a 
 widower, the condition he was in was most sad. His 
 drawing-room, which used to be his delight, full of old oak 
 furniture, and curiosities from every corner of the world, 
 was undusted and neglected. The servants, no longer
 
 252 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. r. 
 
 controlled by a mistress, probably did not attend properly 
 to the comforts of the master. 
 
 However, a new interest grew up in his heart. It was 
 fortunate that matters did not remain long in this condition. 
 It was neither well nor wise that the old man should linger 
 on the rest of his days without a ' help meet for him,' to 
 attend to his comforts, be a companion in his solitude, and 
 a solace in his fits of depression. The Eastern Church is 
 very strong against the second marriage of priests. No man 
 who has had a second wife is admitted by the orthodox 
 communion to Holy Orders. But Mr. Hawker was about, 
 and very fortunately for his own comfort, in this matter, to 
 shake off the trammels of his Orientalism. 
 
 Previous to the death of his first wife, he had some 
 good stories to tell of men who, when the first wife was 
 dead, forgot her speedily for a second. One belongs to the 
 Cornish moors, and may therefore be here inserted. 
 
 A traveller was on his way over the great dorsal moor- 
 land that runs the length of Cornwall. He had lost his 
 way. It was a time of autumn equinoxial storm. The day 
 declined, and nothing was to be seen save sweeps of moor, 
 broken only by huge masses of granite ; not a church tower 
 broke the horizon, not a dog barked from a distant farm. 
 
 After long and despairing wanderings in search of a 
 road or house, the traveller was about to proceed to a pile 
 of granite, and bury himself among the rocks for shelter 
 during the night, when a sudden burst of revelry smote his 
 ear from the other side of the hill. He hasted with beating 
 heart in the direction whence came the sounds, and soon 
 found a solitary house, in which all the inhabitants were
 
 cii. X.] A TERRIFIED TRAVEILER. 253 
 
 making merr}\ He asked admission and a lodging for the 
 night. He was invited in, and given a hearty welcome. 
 The owner of the house had just been married, and brought 
 home his bride. The house, therefore, could furnish him 
 with plenty of food, saffron cakes abounded ; but a bed 
 was not to be had, as brothers and cousins had been invited, 
 and the only place where the traveller could be accommo- 
 dated was a garret. This was better than a bed on the 
 moor, and the stormy sky for the roof, and he accepted the 
 offer with eagerness. 
 
 After the festivities of the evening were over, he retired 
 to his attic, and lay down on a bed of hay, shaken for him 
 on the floor. But he could not sleep. The moon shone in 
 through a pane of glass let into the roof, and rested on a 
 curious old chest which was thrust awa}" in a corner. Some- 
 how or other, this chest engrossed his attention and excited 
 his imagination. It was of carved oak, and handsome. 
 Why was it put away in a garret .-' What did it contain } 
 He became agitated and nervous. He thought he heard a 
 sigh issue from it. He sat up on the hay, and trembled. 
 Still the moonbeam streaked the long black box. 
 
 Again his excited fancy made him believe he heard a 
 sigh issue from it. Unable to endure suspense any longer, 
 he stole across the floor to the side of the garret where 
 stood the box, and with trembling hand he raised the lid. 
 The moonbeam fell on the face of a dead woman, lying in 
 her winding-sheet in the chest. He let the lid drop with a 
 scream of fear, and fainted away. When he came to him- 
 self, the bride and bridegroom, brothers and cousins, 
 surrounded him in the attic, in somewhat dcgagc costume, as
 
 254 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. x. 
 
 they had tumbled from their beds in alarm at the shriek 
 which had awakened them. 
 
 ' What is it ? What have you seen ? ' was asked on all 
 sides. 
 
 ' In that chest,' gasped the traveller, ' I saw a corpse ! ' 
 
 There was a pause. Slowly — for the mind of an agri- 
 culturist takes time to act — the bridegroom arrived at a 
 satisfactory explanation. His face remained for three 
 minutes clouded with thought, as he opened and explored 
 the various chambers of memory. At length a gleam of 
 satisfaction illumed his countenance, and he broke into a 
 laugh and an explanation at once. ' Lor', you needn't trouble 
 yourself; it's only my first wife, as died last Christmas, 
 You see, the moors were covered with snow, and the land 
 frozen, so we couldn't take her to be buried at Camelford, 
 and accordingly we salted her in till the thaw shu'd come ; 
 and Fm darned if I hadn't forgotten all about her ; so the 
 old gal's never been buried yet.* 
 
 ' So you see,' Mr. Hawker would say, when telling the 
 story, ' in Cornwall we do things differently from elsewhere. 
 It is on record that the second wife is wedded before the 
 first wife is buried.' 
 
 There is a Devonshire version of this story told of 
 Dartmoor, but it wants the point of the Cornish tale. 
 
 The Rev. W. Valentine, vicar of Whixley in Yorkshire, 
 bought Chapel House, in the parish, in the October of 
 1863, and having obtained two years' leave of absence 
 from the Bishop of Ripon, came there into residence. He 
 brought with him, as governess to his children, a young 
 Polish lady, Miss Kuczynski. Her father had been a
 
 CH. X.] HIS SECOND MARRIAGE. 255 
 
 Polish noble, educated at the Jesuit university of Wilna, 
 who, having been mixed up with one of the periodical revolts 
 against Russian domination, had been obliged to fly his 
 native country, and take refuge in England. He received 
 a pension from the British government and office under the 
 Master of the Rolls. He married a Miss Newton, and by 
 her had two children, Stanislaus and Pauline. 
 
 On the death of Count Kuczynski, his widow married 
 a Mr. Stevens, an American merchant. He lost greatly by 
 the war between the Northern and Southern States, and Miss 
 Kuczynski was obliged to enter the family of an English 
 clergyman as governess to his children. She had been re- 
 cently under Unitarian influences ; she was now brought in 
 contact with the teaching and ceremonies of the Anglican 
 Church, and acquiesced in them. 
 
 Mr. Hawker, as vicar of the parish in which Chapel 
 stands, made the acquaintance of this lady of birth and 
 education. A sunbeam shone into his dark troubled 
 life, and lighted it with hope. He was married to her in 
 December, 1864 — 'by a concurrence of events, manifestly 
 providential,' he wrote to a dear friend ; ' her first position 
 was in the family of Mr. Valentine, who so recently arrived 
 in my parish of Morvvenstow. There I saw and understood 
 her character ; but it was not her graceful person and 
 winning demeanour that so impressed me, as her strong 
 intellect, high principle, and similitude of tastes with my 
 own. She won m)' people before she won me, and it was 
 a saying among my simple hearted parishioners, " O, if 
 Miss Kuczynski would but be mistress at vicarage ! " Her 
 friends, as was natural, objected to the marriage, but I
 
 256 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. x. 
 
 went to town, saw them, and returned hither Pauhne's 
 husband.' 
 
 His marriage had one good effect on him immediately. 
 He for a time gave up opium-eating. His spirits rose, and 
 he seemed to be entirely, supremely happy. 
 
 In November, 1865, he was given a daughter, to be the 
 light and joy of his eyes. He says in a letter dated 
 November 30, 1865 : — 
 
 The kind interest you have taken in us induces me to think 
 that you may be glad to hear, diat just before midnight on Monday, 
 I was given a daughter, — a fair and gentle child, who has not up 
 to this time uttered a single peevish sound. As is very natural, I 
 think her one of the loveliest infants I ever took in my arms. 
 Both child and mother are going on very well, and the happiness 
 which the event has brought to my house is indeed a blessing. 
 The baby's name is to be Morwenna Pauline. 
 
 A second daughter was afterwards given to him, 
 Rosalind ; and then a third, who was baptized Juliot, after 
 a sister of St. Morwenna, who had a cell and founded a 
 church near Boscastle. The arrival of these heaven-given 
 treasures, however, filled the old man's mind with anxiety 
 for the future. The earth must soon close over him, and 
 he would leave a widow and three helpless orphans on the 
 world, without being able to make any provision for them. 
 This preyed on his mind during the last year or two of his 
 life. It was a cloud which hung over him, and never was 
 lifted off. As he walked, he moaned to himself He saw no 
 possibility of securing them a future of comfort and a home. 
 He could not shake the thought off him ; it haunted him 
 day and night.
 
 en. X.] RUI.YOUS CONDITION OF HIS CHURCH. iii 
 
 His church also was fallen into a piteous condition of 
 disrepair ; the wooden shingle wherewith he had roofed it 
 some years before was rotten and let in the water in 
 streams. The pillars were green with lichen, the side of 
 the tower bulged, and discoloured water oozed forth. A 
 portion of the plaster of the ceiling fell ; storms tore out the 
 glass of his windows. 
 
 In 1872 he sent forth the following appeal to all his 
 friends : — 
 
 Jesus said, Ye have done it unto Me ! 
 
 The ancient church of Morwenstow, on the northern shore of 
 Cornwall, notwithstanding a large outlay of the present Vicar, has 
 fallen into dilapidation and disrepair. A great part of the 
 oak shingle roof requires to be relaid. The walls must be painted 
 anew, and the windows, benches, and floor ought to be restored. 
 To fulfil all these purposes a sum amounting to at least five 
 hundred pounds will be required. In the existing state of the 
 Church Rate Law it would be inexpedient and ineffectual to rely on 
 the local succour of the parishioners, although there is reason to 
 confide that the usual levy of a penny in the pound per annum, 
 (16/.), now granted in aid of other resources would never be with- 
 held. But this church from the interest attached to its extreme 
 antiquity and its striking features of ecclesiastical attraction, is 
 visited every }ear by one or two hundred strangers from distant 
 places, and from Bude-Haven in the immediate neighbourhood. 
 It appears, therefore, to the Vicar and his friends, that an appeal 
 for the sympathy and the succour of all who value and appreciate 
 the solemn beauty and the sacred associations of such a scene, 
 might happily be fraught with success. A committee to consist 
 of the Vicar and churchwardens, of J. Tarratt, Esq., late of 
 Chapel House, Morwenstow, and W. Rowe, Esq., SoHcitor, 
 Stratton, will superintend the disposal of the contributions, under 
 
 S
 
 258 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. x. 
 
 the control of a competent builder, and account to the subscribers 
 for their outlay. 
 
 And the Benediction of God. the Trinity, will assuredly 
 requite every kindly heart and generous hand that shall help to 
 restore this venerable sanctuar}- of the Tamar side. 
 
 A voluntar}' rate raised 32/., an offertory 2/. 2s. \o\d., 
 and he had donations of about 150/. from various friends. 
 
 In 1S74 he went to London for his health. He was 
 very much broken then, suffering in his heart and from 
 sciatica. At the same time he resolved to preach in 
 such churches as were open to him, for the restoration 
 fund of St. Morwenna's sanctuary. His dislike to the 
 Ritualist party prevented him from asking the use of their 
 pulpits ; and other clergy were reluctant to concede to him 
 an offertory, though they were ready enough to allow him 
 to preach in their churches. 
 
 He wrote to me on the subject : — 
 
 16, Harley Road, South Hampstead, AprU 20, 1874. — My dear 
 Sir, — I am here in quest of medical aid for my wife and myself. 
 I am so far better that I can preach, and I am trying to get offer- 
 tories here for the restoration of my grand old Monvenstow church. 
 Only one has been granted me thus far : last night at St. Matthias, 
 Brompton, where I won an evening ofiFertory 'with my sword and 
 with my bow,' 22/. iSj. od., whereas the average for two years at 
 evensong has been under 5/. But I find the great clergy shy to 
 render me the loan of their pulpits. Do you know any one of 
 them ? Can you help me ? And about St. Morwenna. Cannot 
 I see your proof sheets of my Saint's Life ; or can you in any 
 way help me in the delivery of her legend to London ears ? .\t 
 all events do Avoite. I seem nearer to you here than at home. If 
 you come up, do find us out. I WTite in haste. Yours faithfully, 
 
 R. S. Hawker.
 
 CH. X.] GRADUAL FAILURE OF POWERS. 259 
 
 The previous October he had written to me from his 
 * sick room, to which I have been confined with eczema for 
 full two months.' In November he wrote, ' Ten days in 
 bed helpless,' I had been in correspondence with him 
 about St. Monvenna 7iot being identical with St. Mod- 
 wenna ; his answer was, ' I have twice received super- 
 natural intimation of her identity, by dream and sugges- 
 tion.' 
 
 However, I believe I convinced him in the end. 
 
 16 Hurley Road, Hampstead, March 10, 1874. — My dear 
 
 Mrs.M , — You may well be astonished at my address, but our 
 
 journey hither was a matter of life or death to both of us, and so 
 far I am the only gainer. Dr. Goodfellow, after a rigid scrutiny, 
 has pronounced me free from any perilous organic disease, and is 
 of opinion that with rest and a few simple remedies, ' there is 
 work in me yet.' .... Yours faithfully, 
 
 R. S. Hawker. 
 
 But the grand old man was breaking. There was pain 
 of body, and much mental anxiety about his family. He 
 could not sleep at night, his brain was constantly excited 
 by his pecuniary troubles, and the sufferings he endured 
 from his malady. Whether b)- the advice of his doctor or 
 not I cannot say, but he had recourse to narcotics to alla}- 
 the pain and procure him rest at night. Mr. C. Hawker 
 writes to me : — 
 
 Towards the close of his life, n:y brother. I am grieved to 
 state it, renewed a habit he had contracted on the death of his 
 first wife, but had abandoned — of taking opium. This had a 
 most injurious efiect on his nerves ; it \'iolenth excited him for a 
 while, and then cast him into fits of the most profound depression.
 
 26o LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. x. 
 
 When under this influence he wrote and spoke in the wildest and 
 most unreasonable manner, and said things which in moments of 
 calmer judgment, I am sure, he bitterly deplored. He would at times 
 work himself into the greatest excitement about the most trivial 
 matters, over which he would laugh in his more serene moments. 
 
 Whilst Mr. Hawker was in London he called one day 
 on some very kind friends, who had a house in Bude, but 
 
 were then in town. Mrs. M , thinking that the old 
 
 man would be troubled at being away from his books, very 
 considerately offered to lend him any from her own library, 
 which he might take a fancy to read. But he said ' All I 
 want is a reference Bible. If I have that I care for no 
 other books.' And he carried off a Bagster's Polyglot that 
 lay on the table. 
 
 From London, Mr. Hawker returned to Morwenstow, 
 to fresh suffering, disappointment, and anxieties. I give a 
 few of his last letters to one whom he regarded as his best 
 friend. 
 
 Moi'zaensto7ci, Sept. 22, 1874. — My dear Valentine, — You 
 brought to my house the solitary blessing of my life. My three 
 daughters came to me through you, as God's instrument. I must 
 write to you. You will not have many more letters from me . . . 
 My mind has been so racked and softened that I shall never be 
 myself again. My health, too, is gone. My legs are healed, but 
 the long drain has enfeebled me exceedingly. Money terrors, 
 too, have reached a climax. I have so many claims upon me 
 that I cannot regard my home as sure, nor my roof certain to 
 shelter my dear ones. On the School Building account I am 
 responsible for 70/. odd, more than I have collected from sub- 
 scribers I have to pay the master 1 2/. loj-. quarterly. But 
 
 there is one thing more, — the Curate, whom I must have, for I
 
 CH. X.] SICA'iVESS AV MIND AND BODY. 261 
 
 cannot go on serving both churches as I do now, with daily 
 
 service here. T , and his mother, will give me one half or 
 
 nearly his salary. But besides Dean Lodge there is no house that 
 he can live in. Let him rent it until you sell it. I implore you 
 grant this last kindness to me whom you once called a friend. 
 My heart is broken. It is a favour you will not have to grant me 
 long, as my pausing pulse and my shuddering heart testify. O 
 God bless you ! 
 
 Mr. Valentine came to Chapel House, Morwenstow, in 
 October, 1874, and renewed his old warm friendship with 
 the Vicar. Had there been any change in the views of 
 Mr. Hawker, it would certainly have been made known to 
 his most intimate friend of many years. But Mr. Valen- 
 tine found him the same in faith, though sadly failing in 
 mental and bodily power. 
 
 Nov. 13, 1874. — My dear Valentine, — You will be sorry to 
 hear that over anxieties and troubles are incessant. First of all, 
 
 no curate. A Mr. H came down from Torquay. He had 
 
 all but agreed to come, but when he saw Dean Lodge he declined. 
 He thought it too far to walk to church. I have advertised in 
 three papers, but only one applicant. I have invited him to come 
 and see for himself, but he has not yet appeared or wriilen. We 
 are so remote and forlorn that unless a man be very sincere and 
 honest there is no inducement. No sphere for strut or grimace, or 
 other vanity. Another trouble that we have is scarlet and typhus 
 
 fever both, in several parts of the parish And now I am 
 
 compelled to remind you, that you promised me this month your 
 subscriptions to our charities. I want to pay the schoolmaster, 
 this next week, his quarter's salary. This will make the adverse 
 balance run to nearly 50/. against me. It is most ruinous. LTpon 
 the School Building account I am responsible for 68/. beyond the 
 subscriptions
 
 262 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HA WKER. [ch. x. 
 
 What a life this is to lead in the flesh ! Mine has been indeed 
 a martyrdom. 
 
 Nov. 17, 1874. — My dear Valentine.' .... One part of 
 your letter has troubled our earnest hope. If you would but fulfil 
 your suggestion, and come to Dean Lodge, the advantages to me 
 would be incalculable. You would not, I know, object to help 
 me in the church once a Sunday. I cannot, by any effort, obtain a 
 curate. The work — thrice a day on Sunday — is killing me, and 
 your presence would soothe the dreadful depression into which I 
 am sinking fast. Make any effort, I do entreat you, to come. 
 The cry after your last appearance in church ^ was, that no sermon 
 had been heard in church for a long time equal to yours : not 
 very complimentary to me, but that I don't mind. Come ! any- 
 thing you want at Dean, that we have, you are most welcome to 
 have from us. Your presence in the parish will be ample com- 
 pensation. Come, I do entreat you, and gladden us by deciding 
 at once, and telling us so. I shall have hope then of getting over 
 the winter, which now I cannot realise. My great terror is that 
 I have all but lost the power of sleep. I cannot rest in bed 
 quietly above two or three hours. Now, it would be cruel to 
 awaken hope and crush it again. You shall have horses and 
 carriage, and anything you want. 
 
 At Christmas he was very ill, and thought that life's 
 last page was being turned, and that before the daisies 
 reappeared in Morwenstow churchyard he would be resting 
 in his long home. 
 
 But he got slowly better. On April 28, 1875, he was 
 still in trouble about a curate, and wrote to Mr. Valentine, 
 begging him to allow him to take Dean Lodge and make 
 it a cottage for his curate. 'Write to me at once,' he said, 
 
 ' Then returned to Yorkshire. 
 ^ In the previous month, October.
 
 CH. X.] GOES rO BOSCASTLE. 263 
 
 ' to relieve my poor broken mind of one of the pressures 
 which are now dragging it down. Pray write immediately, 
 because my second letter must have apprised you how 
 unable I am in my present shattered state. And mind, I 
 rely on you for standing by me in these, my last trials.' 
 
 In June Mr. Hav/ker went for change, with his wife and 
 children, and a lady, the companion of Mrs. Hawker, who 
 was staying with them, to Boscastle, to visit his brother at 
 Penally. 
 
 Did any prevision of what would take place pass before 
 his mind's eye ere he left his beloved Morwenstow } Had 
 he any thought that he was taking his last look at the quiet 
 combe, with its furze and heather slopes, the laughing, 
 sparkling, blue sea that lashed the giant cliffs on which St. 
 Morwenna had planted her foot, cross in hand } We can- 
 not tell. It is certain that it had been all along his wish 
 to lay him down to rest in his old church. The grave made 
 for his wife was, by his orders, made double ; a space was 
 left on the stone for his name ; and he often spoke of his 
 desire to be laid there, and made a friend promise that, 
 should he by any accident die away from Morwenstow, he 
 would fetch his body and lay him there. 
 
 When he heard that it was illegal to be buried inside 
 the church, he pointed out a place under the east wall of 
 his chancel where he wished to be laid, but he hoped that, 
 owing to the remoteness of Morwenstow^, no difficulty 
 would be raised about his being laid in the grave he had 
 prepared for himself in the church where he had ministered 
 so long. 
 
 Is it to be wondered at that now there are Morwenstow
 
 264 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. x. 
 
 people who say that, since his death, they have seen the 
 old man standing at the head of the stone that covers his 
 wife, looking mournfully at the blank space where he had 
 hoped his name would be cut ; and that others, who have 
 not seen him, aver that they have heard his familiar sighs 
 and moans from the same spot ? 
 
 Whilst he was at Boscastle he was neither mentally nor 
 bodily himself. His brother, Mr. Claud Hawker, writes 
 to me that he was often in a state approaching stupor. 
 * When he came down here in August he was very ill, and 
 certainly broken in his mind, nearly all the time he was 
 here ; he was often in a scarce conscious state.' 
 
 Whilst Mr. Hawker and family were staying at Penally, 
 Mr. Claud Hawker fell ill, and it was necessary for them 
 to move out of the house. Mr. Robert Hawker would have 
 returned to Morwenstow, had not the curate been in the 
 vicarage ; then he wished to take lodgings at Boscastle, 
 but was persuaded by Mrs. Hawker to go to Plymouth. 
 
 His brother writes to me : ' Robert came down to see 
 me ill in bed ; I was ill at the time, but I could see he was 
 not like himself in any way, and it was no act of his to go 
 to Plymouth. He declined to do so for some time, until at 
 last, most reluctantly, and against his better judgment, he 
 was persuaded to do so.' 
 
 They left on June 29, and took lodgings in Lockyer 
 Street, Plymouth. Mr. Robert S. Hawker was still very ill 
 and failing. 
 
 The Rev. Prebendary Thynne, Rector of Kilkhampton, 
 a near and attached friend of sixteen years, was in Ply- 
 mouth not long before the end, and saw the Vicar of Mor-
 
 CH. X.] GOES TO PLYMOUTH. 265 
 
 wenstow. He was then agitated because he had not been 
 able to be present at the Bishop of Exeter's Visitation at 
 Stratton, fearing lest the Bishop should take it as a slight. 
 The Rector of Kilkhampton quieted him by assuring him 
 that the Bishop knew how ill he was, and that he was away 
 for change of air. Then he brightened up a little, but he 
 was anything but himself. 
 
 The curate of Kilkhampton writes to me : ' Mr. Hawker 
 complained that we had not invited him to a Retreat held 
 by one of the Cowley Missioners in the same month in 
 which he died. Of course we knew that he could not have 
 come, and so did not ask him. But surely his making a 
 kind of grievance of it, is hardly consistent with the idea 
 that even at that time he was in heart a Roman Catholic' 
 
 On Sunday, August i, Mr. Hawker went with his wife 
 to St. James' Church, Plymouth, for Morning Service. 
 The service was choral, and he much enjoyed it. Mrs. 
 Hawker saw him home, and then went on to the Roman 
 Catholic Cathedral, to High Mass ; and in the evening he 
 accompanied her to Benediction, and was pleased with the 
 beauty of the sei-vice, which, to him, had all the attractions 
 of novelty, as he had nevei travelled abroad, and so was 
 unfamiliar with Roman Catholic ritual. The church was 
 very solemn, and nicely cared for, and Benediction is one 
 of the most touching, popular, and elastic of services. 
 
 He was so pleased, that he said he should be quite 
 happy to spend a night in the church. 
 
 During the week he began to fail rapidly, and on 
 Friday spent the greater part of the day on his bed. He 
 suffered from great mental prostration. One evening, he
 
 266 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HA WKER. [CH. x. 
 
 was got out of the house as far as to the Laira, a beautiful 
 creek with the Saltram woods beyond, touching the water ; 
 but he was too weak in body and depressed in mind to go 
 out for exercise again. 
 
 Feehng himself growing weaker, and, as Mrs. Hawker 
 wTote to his niece, 'with the truth really beginning to dawn 
 upon him,' he became nervously impatient to get away 
 from Plymouth as speedily as possible, and to return to the 
 home he loved, hallowed by the feet of St. Morwenna, and 
 rendered dear to him by the associations of more than forty 
 years. 
 
 But before he left Plymouth, when all had been ordered 
 to be in readiness for departure, and notice had been 
 given that the lodgings would be left the ensuing week, a 
 curious occurrence took place. His beloved St. Cuthbert's 
 stole was sent for from Morwenstow, and a biretta, a dis- 
 tinctively priest's cap, was borrowed for him — a thing he 
 never wore himself — and he had himself photographed in 
 cassock, surplice, stole, and biretta, as a priest. It was his 
 last conscious act ; and it certainly looks as though it were 
 a solemn testimony that he believed in his Orders, that he 
 regarded himself as a priest of the English Church. This 
 photograph was taken on Saturday, August 7 ; on Mon- 
 day, August 9, he was struck down with paralysis. 
 
 His action in this matter was the more extraordinary, 
 as he had at one time manifested an extreme repugnance 
 to having his likeness taken. He has told me himself that 
 he would have inscribed on his tombstone ' Here lies the 
 man who was never photographed.' For a long time he 
 stubbornly refused the most earnest requests to be taken ;
 
 cu. X.] LAST PHOTOGRAPH. 267 
 
 and his repugnance was only overcome, at last, by Mrs. 
 Mills bringing over a photographer from Bude, in her car- 
 riage, to Morwenstow, and insisting on having him stand 
 to be taken.' 
 
 It was the old man's last act, and it was a very 
 emphatic and significant one. The photograph was taken 
 on the very day on which Mrs. Hawker represented him 
 as seeing that his end was drawing nigh. Every prepara- 
 tion was made for departure, the boxes were packed, and 
 all was ready, on Monday ; his impatience to be gone 
 rapidly growing. 
 
 Mrs. Hawker wrote to his nephew at Whitstone, eight 
 miles from Stratton, to say that they would lunch with 
 him on Tuesday, the loth, on their way back from Plymouth 
 to Morwenstow, intending to drive the distance in the day. 
 
 He never came, nor was the reason known till it was 
 too late for his nephew to see him. 
 
 On Monday evening when all was ready for departure 
 on the morrow, about seven o'clock, Mrs. Hawker saw her 
 husband's left hand turn dead, white, and cold. Perceiving 
 that he had a paralytic stroke, she sent immediately for a 
 surgeon. On the morrow, Tuesday, the day on which the 
 old man's face was to have been turned homewards^ it 
 became evident that his face was set to go towards a 
 happier and an eternal home. 
 
 It was then clear that there was no return for him to 
 
 ' The photographs taken on this occasion were by Mr. Thorn, of Bude 
 Haven. The most admirable one is of Mr. Hawker, standing in his porch 
 to receive visitors. He was, however, afterwards taken by Mr. Thorn at 
 Bude, with his wife and children. That of him in surplice and stole is by 
 Mr. Hawke, of Plymouth.
 
 268 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. x. 
 
 Morwenstow, and the lodgings were taken on for another 
 week, which would probably see the close of the scene. 
 
 On that evening Mrs. Hawker wrote to his sister, Mrs. 
 Kingdon, a very aged lady at Holsworthy, to tell her that 
 her brother had had a stroke, and that the medical atten- 
 dant had ' forbid him doing any duty if he goes back to 
 Morwenstow .... Of course the knowledge that he can 
 be no longer of use at Morwenstow is a terrible blow to his 
 mind.' She also requested Mrs. Kingdon to keep his sick- 
 ness a profound secret from every one. At Whitstone he 
 was in vain expected day after day for lunch. Nor were 
 his brother and niece at Boscastle aware that his illness was 
 serious, and that life was ebbing fast away, till all was over. 
 
 Mr. Claud Hawker informs me that even on that 
 Tuesday, when he learned that he must not take duty 
 again in his loved church, he was restless to be off, ind 
 would not have the things unpacked. On that day one of 
 the arteries of the left arm with the pulse had stopped. 
 On Wednesday the companion of Mrs. Hawker, who helped 
 to nurse him, was satisfied that he knew her, and seemed 
 to be pleased with her attentions. His wife ministered to 
 him with the most devoted tenderness, and would allow no 
 hired nurse near him, nor even one of the servants of the 
 house to invade the room, so jealous is love of lavishing all 
 its powers on the object of affection. On Thursday his 
 pulse was weaker and consciousness scarcely manifested 
 itself. His solicitor from Stratton had been telegraphed 
 for, and arrived on that day ; he was informed by Mrs. 
 Hawker that her husband was quite unconscious, and not 
 fit to see any one. Understanding that there was no chance
 
 CH. X.] LAST SICKNESS. 269 
 
 of Mr. Hawker recovering sufficiently to discuss final 
 arrangements of money affairs, and that it was, therefore, 
 useless to stay in Plymouth, he returned to Stratton. 
 
 Mrs. Hawker and her friend, finding themselves unable 
 to raise the sick man in bed, sent for his servant-man from 
 Morwenstow, and he arrived on Friday. His master re- 
 cognised him, and gave tokens of pleasure at seeing him at 
 his side. The same evening he knew the medical man 
 who attended him, and said a word or two to him in a 
 faint whisper ; but his brain was in part paralysed, and he 
 hovered between consciousness and torpor, like a flickering 
 flame, or the state of a man between sleeping and waking. 
 
 On Saturday morning, Mrs. Hawker informed him that 
 she was going to send for the Roman Catholic Canon 
 Mansfield to see him. She believed that he seemed 
 pleased, and, as so often happens shortly before death, a 
 slight rally appears to have taken place. 
 
 During the day he murmured familiar psalms and the 
 ' Te Deum.' ^ 
 
 In the evening at half-past eight o'clock, he was visited. 
 He was then in a comatose condition, and if able to recog- 
 nise his visitor, it was only that the recognition might fade 
 away instantaneously, and he lapsed again into a condition 
 of torpor. 
 
 It was then clear that Mr. Hawker had not many hours 
 
 ' Thi-ough the kindness of Mr. Hawker's relatives, I have been furnished 
 with every letter that passed on the subject of his death and reception into the 
 Roman Communion. In not one of them is it asserted that he asked to have 
 Canon Mansfield sent for: the last expression of a wish was, that he might go 
 back to Morwenstow.
 
 270 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAIVKER. [cii. x. 
 
 to live. At ten o'clock at night, Canon Mansfield was 
 introduced into the dying man's chamber, and the Sacra- 
 ments of Baptism, Penance, Extreme Unction, and Com- 
 munion, four in all, were administered in succession. 
 
 During the night, his groans were very distressing, and 
 seemed to indicate that he was in great suffering. At 
 eight o'clock next morning he was lifted up in his bed to 
 take a cup of tea, with bread sopped in it. A change 
 passed over his face, and he was laid gently back on the 
 pillow, when his spirit fled. 
 
 Youth, manhood, old age past, 
 Come to thy God at last. 
 
 The funeral took place on Wednesday, August i8. 
 The body had been transferred to the Roman Catholic 
 Cathedral the night before. At lo A.M. a solemn Requiem 
 Mass was sung by the Very Rev. Canon Woollet, the Vicar 
 General of the titular diocese. Around the coffin were six 
 lighted candles, and a profusion of flowers. 
 
 During the playing of the ' Dead March in Saul,' and the 
 tolling of the church-bell, the coffin was removed to the 
 hearse, to be conveyed to the Plymouth cemetery. The 
 coffin was of oak, with a plain brass cross on it, and bore 
 the inscription : — 
 
 ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. 
 
 For 41 YEARS Vicar of Morwenstow, 
 
 Who died in the Catholic Faith, 
 
 On the Feast of the Assumption of our Blessed Lady, 
 
 1875- 
 
 Requiescat in Pace. Amen.
 
 CH. X,] ROMAN THEORY OF BAPTISM. 271 
 
 It is far from my intention to enter into controversy- 
 over the last sad transaction in the Hfe of him whose memoir 
 I have written. The facts are as I have stated, and might 
 have been made clearer had I been at liberty to use 
 certain letters, which I have seen, but am not allowed to 
 quote. 
 
 Much allowance must be made for the love of a devoted 
 wife, caring above all things for the welfare of a husband's 
 soul, and believing that she was acting so as to best ensure 
 its future felicity, and reunion with herself, when it should 
 please God to call her. Not one ungenerous, or unkind 
 word would I speak to wound a widow's sacred feelings ; 
 and I am content to see in this last transaction another 
 proof of that passionate, adoring love towards her husband 
 which marked her whole married career. 
 
 According to Roman Catholic doctrine, there is no sal- 
 vation for those who die outside the Church, unless they 
 have remained in ignorance of Catholic verities. No such 
 plea could be urged in the case of Mr. Hawker, and there- 
 fore, from the point of view of a Romanist, his damnation 
 was assured. We must view these matters in the light in 
 which they would present themselves to the mind of a 
 Roman Catholic, before we pass sentence on an act, which, 
 from our point of view, seems of questionable morality. 
 
 Nor must Canon Mansfield be harshly judged. A 
 Roman Catholic priest is bound by the rules of his Church, 
 and in doubtful cases by the decisions of eminent canonists. 
 The 'Rituale Romanum ' for the Baptism of Adults, provides 
 for the baptism of those who are unconscious, and even 
 raving mad, on the near approach of death, if there have
 
 272 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. x. 
 
 appeared in them, when conscious, a desire for baptism ; * 
 and the apparent satisfaction expressed by Mr. Hawker's 
 face on Saturday morning was sufficent to express acqui- 
 escence, passive if not active. How far he was aware of 
 what was proposed, with his brain partly paralysed, is 
 open to question. However, in the case of such a sick- 
 ness, the patient is regarded in the same light as an infant, 
 and passive acquiescence is admitted as sufficient to justify 
 the administration of the sacrament. 
 
 Dens, a great authority, in his "Theologia Moralis et 
 Dogmatica,' says that in the case of those who are out of 
 their mind, with no prospect of a lucid interval — which 
 w^ould of course include the period of unconsciousness before 
 death — Baptism may be administered, if there be reason to 
 conjecture that the patient desired it, when of sound mind. 
 And as no proofs are laid down for testing the desire, the 
 rule is a very elastic one.'^ 
 
 Billuart, however, asserts that for the sacrament of pen- 
 ance, full consciousness is necessary, as an act of penitence 
 
 ' De Baptismo Adultoriim. — ' Amentes et furiosi non baptizentur, nisi tales 
 a nativitate fueiint : tunc etiam de iis judicium faciendum est, quod de infantibus 
 atque in fide Ecclesise baptizari possunt. Sed si dilucida habeant intervalla, 
 dum mentis compotes sunt, baptizentur, si velint. Si vero antequam insanirent, 
 suscipiendi Baptismi desiderium ostenderint, ac vitas periculum immineat, 
 etiamsi non sint compotes mentis, baptizentur. Idemque dicendum est de eo, 
 qui lethargo aut phrenesi laborat, ut tantum vigilans et intelligens baptizetur, 
 nisi periculum moj-tis iuipendeat, si in eo prius apparuerit Baptismi desiderium.' 
 
 - Dens: Theologia Moralis et Dogmatica, Tract, de Sacramentis inGenere, 
 § 45. — ' De iis, qui quandoque habuerunt usuni rationis, sed jam eo carent, 
 judicanda est dispositio secundum voluntatemet dispositionem quam habuerunt 
 sanse mentis existentes. Obseivandum tamen, quod, si aliquando habeant 
 lucida intervalla, tunc Sacramentum eis non sit ministrandum extra necessi- 
 tatem, nisi dum mentis compotes sunt.'
 
 CH. X.] DEATH- BED BAPTISMS. 273 
 
 is an essential part of it ; so that, though a man may be 
 baptized who is insane or unconscious, such a man cannot 
 be absolved. Marchantius, in his ' Candelabrum Mysticum,' 
 lays down that a man may be baptized when drunk as well 
 as when unconscious or raving mad, if he had before shown 
 a disposition to receive the sacrament. 
 
 Practically, no doubt, moved by desire to assure the 
 salvation of the patient, Roman Catholic clergy will charit- 
 abl}^ trust to there being a disposition on veiy slight grounds. 
 The following instance will show this, communicated to me 
 by a learned English divine : 'Some time ago, a lady wrote 
 to me for counsel on this ground. Her father-in-law, a 
 very aged man, an Unitarian, had died whilst she was 
 helping to nurse him, and had been unconscious for some 
 days before his death. A very well-known and dis- 
 tinguished Roman Catholic wrote a letter to her, which 
 she forwarded to me to read, blaming her very severely for 
 not having seized the opportunity for baptizing him, on 
 the ground that he might have changed his views, and 
 might have desired baptism, and that the sacrament, so 
 administered, would have been his passport to heaven. 
 She consulted me as to her blame-worthiness, and as to 
 whether she had, in fact, to reproach herself with a failure 
 of duty. I replied in the negative, and stated that the 
 purely mechanical view of the sacrament taken by her 
 correspondent was, to say the least, highly untheological. I 
 do not give the names, but you may cite me as having 
 supplied you with this fact, which happened this year, 
 
 (1875).' 
 
 A case was brought before my notice also of a man 
 
 T
 
 274 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. x. 
 
 being baptized when dying in a condition of delirium 
 tremens. To the Enghsh mind such a case is very 
 shocking, but it is one provided for by Marchantius. In 
 this case it was conjectured that the man had desired 
 baptism into the Roman Communion ; he had previously 
 been a member, though an unworthy one, of the English 
 Church, and had shown no desire of secession. 
 
 A letter appeared in the 'Western Morning News' from 
 ' A Priest's Wife,' which I quote in part, not that I wish to 
 bring forward subjects of contention, in any spirit of bitter- 
 ness, but to show that Canon Mansfield was not acting 
 contrary to what the formularies of his Church enjoin, nor 
 to the rules laid down by eminent canonists, nor to the 
 current practice of those of the Communion to which he 
 belongs. I omit from the letter only such passages as are 
 offensive to courtesy. 
 
 Sir, — Some years ago I Avas staying in a village in one of our 
 midland counties, where the squire, his family, and retainers were 
 Roman Catholics. The wife of one of the squire's servants had 
 resisted all inducements to forsake the Church of England, and 
 clung faithfully to its ministrations during a long life, towards the 
 close of which she was debarred by extreme weakness from at- 
 tendance at any of the public offices of that Church. The rector 
 or his curate, however, administered the Holy Communion to her 
 monthly ; and either one of diem, or some member of their 
 families, visited her weekly. To all of these and to friends of her 
 own class she often expressed a dread of what would be done 
 ' when she was too far gone to know,' and entreated them to see 
 that the ministers of her own Church only attended her dying bed, 
 and that her body should be laid nowhere but in the churchyard^ 
 ' with her own kith and kin.' 
 
 Singularly enough, her summons came during the enforced
 
 CH. X.] CHARGED IVITH IiVCONSISTEJVCV. 275 
 
 absence of both rector and curate from the parish in the shape of 
 a fit, which deprived her of speech. I will not say positively of 
 entire consciousness, but sure I am that she, never too strong in 
 intellect, was so far enfeebled as to render its owner quite incapable 
 of decision. The curate of the next parish was summoned as 
 quickly as possible, and requested to give her the Holy Com- 
 munion if he judged it right in her then state. His opinion was 
 that, being unconscious, she was incapable of reception ; and 
 he left, begging those around her to send for him if she rallied. 
 The next morning he called again only to learn that she had seen 
 the Roman Catholic Priest, and from him received the last 
 rites of his Church. Shortly afterwards she was buried with con- 
 siderable display in the burying ground attached to the Roman 
 Catholic Chapel. 
 
 August 27, 1875. -A- Pkiest's Wife. 
 
 I cannot dismiss this part of my subject without dealing 
 with a brief charge made against Mr. Hawker by certain 
 correspondents in the papers. They did not shrink from 
 charging him with having been for many years a Roman 
 Catholic at heart, only holding on his position of the 
 Church of England for the sake of the loaves and fishes it 
 offered him. 
 
 If I had considered there were grounds for this charge, 
 his Life would never have been written by me. 
 
 How far Mr. Hawker was a consenting party to the 
 reception, how far he had gone towards contemplating such 
 a change, when incapacitated by paralysis from forming a 
 decision, I cannot decide. The testimony is conflicting. 
 I hesitate to believe that it was his intention to leave 
 the Church of England before he died. He was swayed 
 this way or that by those with whom he found himself. 
 
 T 2
 
 276 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [cH. x. 
 
 He was vehement in one direction one day, as impetuous 
 in another direction on the day following. A reviewer in 
 the AtJiencBuni quotes the following passages from letters. 
 Referring to blessed candles and supplies of holy water 
 which he obtained from a Roman Catholic family in the 
 neighbourhood, he wrote, in 1855, 'You know well how I 
 am watched, and with what malignity every brother-rascal 
 of mine seizes every fibre of my life for attack,' and entreats 
 secrecy. But for what did he solicit these articles .-' Was it 
 for himself ; and, if so, was it not through superstition against 
 witches, as he used horse-shoes and folded fingers } In 
 1862 he wrote of the conversion of a friend, a clergyman, 
 
 ' I have heard to-day that is now a Catholic. I don't 
 
 know any one whose reception gave me more delight. I 
 yearn for the conversion of Cornwall.' Another grave 
 passage has reference to the bidding prayer of his visitation 
 sermon at Launceston. In allusion to the passage ' Ye shall 
 pray for the Holy Catholic Church, especially for that branch 
 thereof whereto we belong,' he wrote, 'My "bidding prayer" 
 was one of the most libellous supplications ever penned,' 
 I have not seen the context of these letters. I asked to be 
 allowed to see them Avhen I was forming my estimate of 
 Mr. Hawker's opinions and character, and was refused. The 
 expressions are strong ; but a neighbour has explained one 
 of them to me satisfactorily, for Mr. Hawker used the same 
 expression at the time to him. The libellousness of the 
 bidding prayer was not an allusion to the English Church, 
 but to an interpolation he made in it denying the supremacy 
 of the Queen in things spiritual. The conversion of Corn- 
 wall was from Methodism, not necessarily to Romanism.
 
 CH. X.] TRANSPARENCY OF CHARACTER. 277 
 
 There are passages in letters and sermons quite as strong 
 in an opposite direction. It is impossible to reconcile them. 
 It is, perhaps, not worth attempting. The man was an 
 anomaly ; a combination of contradictory elements, con- 
 flicting characteristics, and mutually destructive opinions. 
 I believe he was perfectly sincere in what he said and did ; 
 but he said and did at one time exactly the reverse of what 
 he said and did at another. The master power, the balance 
 wheel, of a well-ordered judgment was left out of his com- 
 position. This is, if I mistake not, the key to this psycho- 
 logical puzzle. 
 
 No one who knew Mr. Hawker intimately, not one of 
 his nearest relatives, his closest friends to whom he opened 
 his heart, can believe that he was a conscious hypocrite. 
 If there was one quality which was conspicuous in his 
 character, it was his openness. He could not act a part, 
 he could not retain unspoken a thought that passed through 
 his brain, even when common judgment would have deemed 
 concealment of the thought advisable. He was transparent 
 as a Dartmoor stream, and all his thoughts, beliefs, and 
 prejudices lay clearly seen in his mind, as the quartz and 
 mica and hornblende particles on the brook's white floor. 
 
 If there was one vice which, with his whole soul, he 
 abhorred, it was treachery in its every form. 
 
 Be true to Church, be kind to poor, 
 O minister, for evermore ! 
 
 were his lines cut by him over his vicarage door, 
 
 A year or two ago, the Rector of Kilkhampton was 
 about to go to Exeter to preach an ordination service in its
 
 278 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [CH. x. 
 
 cathedral. The Vicar of Morwenstow said to him, ' Go, and 
 bid the young men entering the holy ministry be honest, 
 loyal, true.' Is that the exhortation of a man conscious 
 in his own heart that he is a traitor .'' 
 
 One day, not long ago, he was in Kilkhampton, and 
 entered the house of an old man, a builder, there. 
 
 The old man said to him, ' You know, Mr. Hawker, 
 what names you have been called in your day. They have 
 said you were a Roman Catholic' 
 
 ' Hockeridge,' answered Mr. Hawker, standing in the 
 midst of the floor, and speaking with emphasis ; ' I am a 
 priest of the Church, of the Church of God, of that Church 
 which was, hundreds of years before a Pope of Rome was 
 thought of.' 
 
 A clergyman in the diocese of London, who knew him 
 well, thus writes : — 
 
 I think I never read any announcement with greater surprise 
 than that the late Vicar of Morwenstow had shortly before his 
 death, been ' received ' into the Church of Rome. Mr. Hawker 
 and I were intimate friends for a number of years, and there were 
 few matters connected either with himself or those near and dear 
 to him on which he did not honour me with his confidence. It 
 was just a year ago that I spent some days with him, shortly after 
 his visit to London, to collect funds for the restoration of his 
 interesting church, among the scenes he loved so well, and I feel 
 perfectly assured had he then meditated such a step, or had he so 
 much as allowed it to assume a form in his mind however in- 
 definite, it would have been among the subjects of our converse. 
 Notliing, however, was more contrary to the fact. I am certain 
 that at that time not an idea of such a thing occuiTed to him. I 
 received most confidential letters from him down to a short period 
 before his death, and there is not a line in them which hints at
 
 CH. X.] CURIOSITIES. 279 
 
 any change in those opinions which had not only become part of 
 himself, but which, as opportunity offered, he was accustomed to 
 defend with no small amount either of logic or of learning. My 
 friend was a man of profound learning, of very great knowledge 
 of passing events, and able to estimate aright the present aspect 
 of the Church and her difficulties. He was also a man of trans- 
 parent honesty of purpose, of the nicest sense of honour, and of 
 bold and fearless determination in the discharge of his duties. 
 On two matters he was an enthusiast ; the scenery and the early 
 Christian history of his beloved Cornwall, and, which is more to 
 my purpose, the position and rights of the Church of which he 
 was, in my most solemn belief, a dutiful and faithful priest. He 
 was never weary of asserting her claim as the Catholic Church of 
 England, possessed of Orders as good as those of any other 
 Branch of the Sacred Vine, and alone possessed of the mission 
 which could make their exercise available. His very aspect was 
 that of the Master in Israel, conscious of his indubitable position, 
 and whose mind was thoroughly made up on questions about 
 which many other men either have no certain opinions, or at least 
 have no such ground for holding them as that with which his 
 learning and acuteness at once supplied him. Such was the late 
 Vicar of Morwenstow — one of the very last men in En-land to 
 leave the Church of which he gloried to be a priest, of whose 
 cause he was at all times the most unyielding defender, and in 
 whose communion it was his hope and prayer to die. 
 
 A writer in one of the daily papers spoke of his wearing 
 secretly a medal blessed by the Pope ; but when this 
 statement comes to be examined by those who were about 
 him, his nieces, who stayed in his house, and others who 
 saw him constantly, it resolves itself into a very small 
 affair indeed. A college friend visited Italy at the time of 
 the consecration of Pio Nono, in 1846, and brought back a 
 number of medals struck on the occasion, some of which he
 
 28o LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [cii. x. 
 
 gave to Mr. Hawker. These he kept with a lot of other curio- 
 sities, such as manna from the Wilderness of Sinai, a bit 
 of stone from the Temple at Jerusalem, olive wood from 
 the Garden of Gethsemane, some leaves from the tree that 
 overhung Napoleon's tomb at St. Helena, and sand from 
 St. Paul's cave at Malta. Visitors were fond of giving him 
 little curiosities they had picked up on their travels, and 
 these he treasured. That with mock solemnity he may 
 have told some credulous visitor a ridiculous tale about the 
 medals is possible enough. At one time he exhibited, out 
 of mischief, a scrap of isinglass, which he said was a bit of 
 the Pope's toe-nail, bitten off by his friend when bowing 
 to kiss his foot, and carried away in his mouth ; and he 
 would show garnets as the sand of the Red Sea. 
 
 He gave away these medals, and many other of his 
 curiosities of which he had duplicates. He wore one with 
 his bunch of seals and keys, not secretly, but openly, and 
 along with various coins presented to him, and the gold 
 medal he had made out of the nugget sent him from 
 California by a mariner who had been shipwrecked on his 
 beach, and whom he nursed in his vicarage. 
 
 I have been given for perusal a number of Mr. Robert 
 Stephen Hawker's letters, written to his most intimate and 
 loved friends ; and in not one of them have I traced the 
 slightest token but of unwavering fidelity to his Church,* 
 of perfect confidence in the validity of her ministry and 
 
 ' The only expression of this sort is. one written after the Gorham judg- 
 ment, of doubt whether the Church of England would stand after that sanction- 
 ing of the denial of Baptismal Regeneration. Then many hearts were disturbed 
 as to the future.
 
 cii. X.] THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND. 281 
 
 sacraments, points on which he dwelt repeatedly in his 
 sermons, on which he leaned his whole teaching. 
 
 At the same time I think it possible that, during the 
 last year or two of his life, when failing mentally as well as 
 bodily, and when labouring under the excitement or sub- 
 sequent depression caused by the opium he ate to banish 
 pain, he may have said, or written recklessly, words which 
 are capable of being twisted into meaning a change of 
 views. But none came under my notice when writing this 
 book, or I would frankly have stated the fact. I have 
 laboured, above all things in this book, to give a true 
 picture of the man I describe. I have not painted an 
 ideal portrait. 
 
 In the ' Field of Rephidim,' a visitation sermon written 
 by him for delivery before the Bishop, in 1845,^ he gave 
 utterance to sentiments with regard to the Church of 
 England, from which I see no evidence to justify me in 
 believing that he ever swerved. He may have felt alarm 
 for her fate, in the storms assailing her, doubted the fidelity 
 of the pilots guiding her ; but I do not think, from any 
 letter that has come under my notice, from any word that 
 has dropped from his lips in the hearing of those whom he 
 most trusted, from any act of his done when unfettered by 
 paralysis, that he disbelieved in her, and was prepared to 
 disown her as his Mother.^ 
 
 ' This Sermon was delivered for him by Mr. Harper, the curate of Stratton, 
 as his father died the day before the Visitation. It was preached June 27, 
 1845, and published by Edwards & Hughes, 12 Ave-Maria Lane, and T. Bums, 
 lyPortman Street, London, 1845. 
 
 * I would draw attention also to the Sermon in Appendix B.
 
 282 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAIVRER. [ni. x. 
 
 These arc his words : — 
 
 It is a function of the chief shepherds to defend the flock 
 from the secret or oi)en ravages of heresy and schism ; more 
 especially here in ICngland, and in tlicsc troublous limes, il be- 
 hoves them to watch and ward against all attempted return to the 
 old innovation by the See and l>isho]i of Rome. Vox the transit 
 of our apostolic lineage througli Romish times in ICngland, is like 
 the temporary i)assage of a well-known foreign river through one 
 circumfluent lake ; wherein, although the waters intermingle a 
 little as they glide, yet the course of the mighty Rhone is visible 
 throughout, in distinct and unbroken existence ! So it is with us 
 who have inherited the genealogy of the Aj^oslles in these lands. 
 We came from British fountains, we flowed in Saxon channels, 
 we glided through Romish waters — but we were not, we are not, 
 we will not be of Rome ; for we will i)reserve, (iod willing, the 
 unconcpiered courses of our own ancestral stream. 
 
 The follovvinfj letter, wliicii has reached nic since the 
 publication of the first edition of my book, will show the 
 depths of depression into which Mr. Mawker fell at times 
 so far back as 1848, and they were even deeper towards 
 the close of his life. I insert the letter here as evidence of 
 tliat extremely des[)ondin(j frame of mind which renders mc 
 unwilling to take his utterances in regard to his Church 
 literally, as I am unwilling to understand those literally in 
 which he speaks with extreme longing for death, not with 
 the calm resignation and hope with which St. Paul expressed 
 the same desire, but with a loathing of life which is charac- 
 teristic of an unhealthy frame of mind. 
 
 Feb. 13, 1848. — My dear William, — You say you have not 
 heard from me for some time, but I do think I wrote you last, and,
 
 < II. x.) /l//v'. HAWKER'S r/S/TA770X SERMO.V. 2S3 
 
 if not, what good can my letters do? — I, whose daily i)rayer is for 
 death — I, the corpse. Never yet was a man crushed as I have 
 long been. William, I have not smiled for months. I am never 
 free from that dull, deadly, dragging weight on the diaphragm, 
 wliirh men m,t\l)c thought to feel in the interval between sentence 
 and a cruel death. My days, my liours, are numbered here. 1 
 shall not be in Morwenstow at the close of 1848. Would to God 
 I may ere tlien be hidden out of sight ! I have no thing, no 
 one, to live for. No single reason why, if I were asked by an angel, 
 I should wish to remain. 1 loathe life, and I yearn for death as 
 some men do for wealth or rank. I would kiss the hand of any 
 man who gave me to drink some deadly thing. O may God bless 
 you, my dear boy, and make you unlike me ! — Yours ever, 
 
 R. S. Hawker. 
 
 And now my work is done. I have written truthfully 
 the life of this most remarkable man ; I have taken care to 
 ' nothing extenuate, nor aught .set down in mahce.' I 
 cannot more worthily conclude my task than with the 
 peroration of Mr. Hawker's Visitation Sermon, already 
 (]U()tcd. 
 
 ' The day is far spent, and the niglit is at hand ; the 
 hour Cometh wherein no man can work. A little while, 
 and all will be over. " Their love, and their hatred, and 
 their envy will have perished ; neither will they any longer 
 have a name under the sun." The thousand thoughts that 
 thrill our souls this day with the usual interests and the 
 common s)'nipathies of an earthly existence ; of all these 
 there will not, by and by, survive in the flesh a single 
 throlx This, our beloved Father in the Church, will 
 ha\'c entered into the joy of his Lord, to prefer, per- 
 chance, in another region, affectionate supplications for us
 
 284 LIFE OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER. [ch. x. 
 
 who survive and remain. We, who are found worthy, shall 
 be gathered to a place and people where the strifes and 
 the controversies of earth are unnoted and unknown. 
 " Violence shall no more be heard in that land, wasting 
 nor destruction within its borders ; but they shall call the 
 gates Salvation, and the walls Praise. There the envy 
 of Ephraim shall depart, and the adversaries of Judah shall 
 be cut off; Ephraim shall not envy Judah, and Judah shall 
 not vex Ephraim." 
 
 ' Nevertheless, all will not perish from the earth. That 
 which hath done valiantly in the host will not glide away 
 into a land where all things are forgotten. Although the 
 sun may go down while it is yet day, it shall come to pass 
 that at evening-tide there shall be light. Moses is dead, 
 and Aaron is dead, and Hur is gathered to his fathers also ; 
 but because of their righteous acts in the matter of Rephi- 
 dim, their memorial and their name live and breathe among 
 us for example and admonition still. So shall it be with 
 this generation. He, our spiritual lord, whose living hands 
 are lifted up in our midst to-day, he shall bequeathe to his 
 successors, and to their children's children, the eloquent 
 example and the kindling heritage of his own stout-hearted 
 name. And we, the lowlier soldiers of the war — so that 
 our succour hath been manifest and our zeal true — we shall 
 achieve a share of humble remembrance as the duteous 
 children of Aaron and of Hur. 
 
 ' They also, the faithful few, who have lapped the waters 
 of dear old Oxford, and who were the little company 
 appointed to go down upon the foe, with the sword of the 
 Lord and of Gideon, and to prevail — honour and everlasting
 
 cii. X.] MR. HAWKER'S VISITATION SERMON. 285 
 
 remembrance for their fearless names ! If, in their zeal, they 
 have exceeded — if, in the dearth of sympathy, and the 
 increase of desolation, they should even yet more exceed — 
 nay, but do Thou, O Lord God of Jeshurun, withstand 
 them in that path, if they should forsake the house of the 
 mother that bare them for the house of the stranger. 
 
 ' Still, let it never be forgotten, that their voices and 
 their volumes were the signals of the dawn that stirred the 
 heart of a slumbering people with a shout for the mastery. 
 Verily, they have their reward. They live already in the 
 presence of future generations ; and they are called, even 
 now, by the voices yet unborn, the giants of those days, 
 the mighty men that were of old, the men of renown ! 
 
 ' Whosoever shall win the war — whatsoever victories 
 may wait hereafter on the armies of the living God — it 
 shall never fail from the memory and heart of England, 
 who and what manner of men were they that, when the 
 morning was yet spread upon the mountains, arose, and 
 went down to the host, and brake the pitcher, and waved 
 the lamp, and blew the trumpet in the face of Midian ! 
 
 ' God Almighty grant that they and their adversaries, 
 and we ourselves also, may look on each other's faces and 
 be at rest one day, in the city of God, among the in- 
 numerable company of angels, and the first-born whose 
 names are written in heaven, and the spirits of just men 
 made perfect, and Jesus the Mediator of the new covenant, 
 through the blood of sprinkling, that speaketh better things 
 than that of Abel ! '
 
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 291 
 
 APPENDIX B. 
 
 SERMON BY REV. R. S. HAWKER. 
 PREACHED AT LAUNCESTON, 1 86 5. 
 
 Lo ! I am with you always, even unto the end of the world. 
 Matthew xxviii. 20. 
 
 The election of the Jewish people from among the nations had 
 fulfilled its promised end. Their fortunes had displayed the 
 alliance between transgression and punishment, obedience and 
 reward, in the temporal dispensations of God ; and suggested an 
 analogy between these and the spiritual allotments of a state 
 future and afar. They had treasured up with a reverence ap- 
 proaching to superstition the literal language of the old inspiration, 
 the human echo of the voice of the Lord. But the national 
 custody of prophetic evidence and typical illustration was no 
 longer demanded from those guardians of the oracles of God. 
 Prediction had been fixed and identified by event, and t)-pe had 
 expired in substantive fulfilment. The ritual also of the old covenant 
 was one of fugitive and local designation. The enactments of 
 their civil code anticipated miraculous support ; and had this been 
 vouchsafed to many nations, miracle, instead of an intenuption in 
 the harmony of nature, would have been in the common order of 
 events. The observance, again, of their ceremonial law, restricted 
 to one temple and a single altar, was impracticable to all save those 
 in the vicinity of that particular land ; many, indeed, were merely 
 possible, under peculiar adaptations of climate, manners, and 
 governments. Even the solemn recognition of the old morality 
 embodied in the Scripture of Moses, and made imperative bv the 
 
 r 2
 
 292 APPENDIX. 
 
 signature of God ; inasmuch as it exacted utter obedience, and 
 yet indicated no ceremonial atonement, for defect was another 
 argtmient of a mutable creed. The impress of change, the 
 character of incompletion, were traceable on ever}' feature of the 
 ancient faith. The spirit of their religion, as well as the voice of 
 prophecy, announced that the sceptre must depart from Judah, 
 and a new covenant arrive for the House of Israel. It was not 
 thus with the succeeding revelation. When the fulness of time 
 w^as come (that is to say, when the experiment of ages had 
 ascertained the Gentile world that the sagacity of man was 
 inadequate to the counsels of God), and when the long exhibition 
 of a symbolic ritual by the chosen Israelites had conveyed signi- 
 ficant illustration of the future and final faith, God sent His Son. 
 Then was brought to light the wisdom and coherence of the One 
 Vast Plan. The history of man was discovered to be a record 
 of his departure from a state of original righteousness (after the 
 intervention of a preparatory religion) and eternal existence, and 
 his restoration thereto by a single Redeemer for all liis race ! 
 For this end, the Word, that is to say the Revealer, was made 
 flesh. That second impersonation of the sacred Trinity ' took our 
 manhood into God.' The Godhead did not descend, as of old, 
 in partial inspiration, nor were its issues restrictive and particular 
 to angel or prophet; but because the scheme about to be de- 
 veloped was to be the Religion of Humanity, its Author 
 identified himself with human nature, and became, in His own 
 expressive language, the Son of Man. He announced in the 
 simple solemnity of truth, the majestic errand of His birth — to 
 save sinners ; repealed, by a mere declaration, every previous 
 ritual, and substituted one Catholic worship for the future earth. 
 Now the elements of durability were blended with every branch 
 of this new revelation. Firstly, unhke the old covenant, it had 
 no kingdom of this world, it depended on no peculiar system of 
 political rule, interfered not with any civil right, but submitted to 
 every ordinance of man as supreme to itself. The Christian Faith 
 was obviously meant to cohere with the political constitution of any
 
 APPENDIX. 293 
 
 country and all lands; to be the established religion of Republic 
 or Monarchy according to the original laws, or any fundamental 
 compact between Ruler and Realm, as, for example, this our 
 Church of England received solemn recognition as a public estab- 
 lishment, and had assurance of the future protection of her 
 liberties and privileges unharmed in the Charter of King John. 
 The new ceremonial usages again were as watchfully calculated 
 for stability as the forms of the old law had been pregnant with 
 cJiange. The simplicity of Baptism — that rite of all nations — 
 was invested with a Sacramental mystery, and constituted the 
 regenerative and introductory rite of a vast religion. 
 
 One sacrifice, and that to be offered not again, was exhibited 
 upon Mount Calvary, that last altar of earthly oblations, and the 
 sources of redemption were thenceforth complete. The memory 
 of this scene was to be perpetuated, and its benefits symbolised 
 and conveyed by an intelligible solemnity, common to all countries, 
 and attainable wheresoever two or three were gathered together 
 in His name. The moral law proceeding on the perpetuity of 
 natural obligation, entered of necessity into the stipulations of 
 the new covenant. But it was no longer fettered in operation by 
 a literal Decalogue ; no longer repulsive from its stern demand for 
 uncompromising obedience. Its enactnents were transferred by 
 the Founder of Christianity into the general and enlarged prin- 
 ciples of human action, and defect in its observance supplied by 
 an atonement laid up or invested in the heavens. But not only 
 was this alteration of doctrine and ceremony made from transitory 
 to eternal — the law being changed there arrived of necessity a 
 change in the priesthood also. The temporary functions of the 
 race of Aaron were superseded by the ordination of a solemn 
 body of men, whose spiritual lineage and clerical succession 
 should be as perpetual as the creed they promulgated. 
 
 The scene recalled by our text is that of the shore of Gene- 
 sareth, whereon stood the arisen Lord, with the eleven men. 
 Thence the Sons of Zebedee, and others among them, had 
 departed at His mere command from their occupation of the
 
 294 APPENDIX. 
 
 waters, and had become the followers of His path of instruction 
 in Judea, and Samaria, and GaHlee. They had seen the super- 
 natural passage of His life in wonder and in sign. They had 
 gradually imbibed the doctrines of His mouth ; for them He had 
 given unto the olive and the vine the voice of instruction, and 
 hung as it were a parable on every bough. From the cross of 
 shame, indeed, they had shnmk in shuddering dismay. But then 
 faith revived with His resurrection, and they were permitted to 
 identify His arisen body. And now, they beheld Him on that 
 accustomed spot, the apparent conqueror of death, from whose 
 grasp He nad returned, the author of that second life, the breath 
 which He breathed into His new founded Church ; the evident 
 Lord of — in His own declaration — all power in heaven and on earth. 
 
 In the first ordination of Christian antiquity, the Son of God 
 invested, with His last authority, the Apostles of His choice : 
 Go ye into all the world and proclaim the gladdening message 
 unto every creature. Make disciples in all nations by baptism 
 into the religion and worship of the Father, the Son, and the Holy 
 Ghost. 
 
 Such was the tenor of that awful commission which they had 
 to undertake and discharge. It was conferred at that hour on 
 none beside, imparted with no lavish distribution to a multitude 
 of disciples, but restricted to the blessed company of Apostles, 
 and by implication to those whom they, in aftertime, might 
 designate and ordain, save that the supernatural interference of 
 the same Lord in the vocation of particular Apostles might, and 
 did afterwards occur. 
 
 Who is sufficient for these things ? must have been the con- 
 scious, though unuttered, question of every Apostolic heart at that 
 hour of awe. The fishermen of Bethsaida to arise from their nets 
 to convert the nations ! Unknown Galileans to compel the homage 
 of distant and enhghtened cities to the Crucified ! The Searcher 
 of hearts, aware of their natural diffidence and usual fear, therefore 
 gave them assurance that the purifying and instructing spirit He 
 had promised should descend upon them at Jerusalem ; and thai
 
 APFEyDIX. 295 
 
 miracle and sign should attend their ministerial path; and then, to 
 banish the apprehension and awaken the courage of His suc- 
 ceeding servants, He uttered to those representatives of the 
 Christian clerg)\ the consolation of our text. A Catholic promise 
 to a Catholic Church. ' Lo ! I am with you always, even unto 
 the end of the world.' Amply was that pledge redeemed ! that 
 promise fulfilled ! After not many days, urged onward by the 
 impulse of the descended Spirit, upheld by the conscious presence 
 of their invisible Lord, the Apostles, from the guest-chamber of 
 Jerusalem, proceeded on their difficult path. Peril and hostihty 
 were on every side. On the one hand the Jew, haughty and 
 stubborn, clung to the altars of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and 
 would not have ' that man to reign over them.' On the other 
 hand, the Gentiles, absorbed in the indulgence of a luxuriant 
 superstition, were unlikely to forego the gods of their idolatr}- 
 and elect from among the various formularies of worship the 
 adoration of Jesus of Nazareth. Yet mightily grew the word of 
 the Lord, and prevailed. Not only were Jewish converts counted 
 in vast multitudes beneath the eloquence of St Peter and St. 
 John, but, in Gentile countries, a tent-maker of Tarsus obtained 
 much people in ever}' cit}'. The mantle of the Apostles descended 
 on early martyrs and succeeding saints, until, not four centuries 
 after the ascension of its Lord, the ^'oke of Christianity was on 
 the neck of men having authority. A vast empire was docile to 
 its tenets, and a conqueror was found to inscribe on his banner 
 the s)Tnbol of human redemption, the Wood of Shame. 
 
 These, it may be urged, were days of miracle and sign. They 
 were so ; but it was only because prodigy and supernatural proof 
 were the chief exigencies of those times. The supply of grace 
 — by which word I understand aidance Divine imparted to human 
 endeavour — was not intended to be uniform or redundant, but 
 'by measure.' Thus, the display of the co-operation declared in 
 our text, and the contribution of the Holy Ghost to the structure 
 and stability- of the Apostolic Church, these were to be accorded 
 in rigid proportion to time and circumstance, and local need.
 
 296 APPENDIX. 
 
 When that Church built upon the rock of a pure confession, and 
 reared by the succeeding hands of Apostles and saints, had 
 survived the wrath of early persecution, and baffled the malice of 
 Pagan antiquity, then, in the next section of her history, heresy and 
 schisms within her walls tried her foundations and assayed her 
 strength. In this peril He was with her always, vouchsafed 
 other manifestations of His presence and His power. Wise and 
 courageous champions ' for the faith once delivered to the saints ' 
 appeared on the scene clad with faculty and function, obviously 
 from on high. The warfare of controversy produced the exposi- 
 tion of error and the triumph of Truth. Those sound statements 
 of the Triune Mystery and the attributes of the Second Person 
 therein, which we confess in our Nicene and Athanasian for- 
 mularies, were documents deduced from those Arian and Sabellian 
 dissensions which they were embodied to refute. The suggestions 
 of Pelagianism, again in the succeeding era, tended to the more ac- 
 curate definition of Scriptural doctrine on the union of Divine with 
 human agency in the conduct of man, and the experiment of 
 centuries afforded ample comment on the text of the Apostle that 
 ' heresies must needs be in order that the orthodox might appear.' 
 True it is that in the following times under Papal encroachment a 
 long period of lowering superstition was permitted to threaten the 
 primitive doctrine, and distort the Hturgical simplicity, of the 
 Church of Christ ; yet even then the fire of the Apostolic lips was 
 not wholly quenched. The sudden impulse given to the human 
 mind by the appeal of Luther, proved that the elements of early 
 faith yet endured, that the former spirit was breathing still, and 
 awaited only that summons to respond to the call. The success 
 of that German monk and the other lowly instruments whereby 
 a vast work was wrought, exhibited another interference of that 
 supernatural succour promised by our text. The fortunes of our 
 Church of England, since that Reformation, have been somewhat 
 given to change. Once her sanctuaries have been usurped ; and 
 often her walls assailed. Evil men have ' gone round about 
 our Sion, and told the towers thereof, and marked well her bul-
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 297 
 
 warks,' but with hostile intent. The present days are not without 
 their danger ! still we hitherto remain. Still we have the promise 
 of the text sounding in our ears. Still have we the contribution 
 of our own endeavours to sustain the spiritual fabric whereto we 
 belong. The circumstances that originate with ourselves to 
 impair our ecclesiastical solidity appear to be, firstly, a spirit of 
 concession. The right-hand of paternity is too often extended, 
 when the glove over Edom, the gauntlet of defiance, should be 
 cast down, and the sword of the Spirit grasped to combat and 
 refute. Dissent may be inseparable from religious freedom, as 
 prejudice and error are congenital with the human mind. But 
 the wanderers from our discipline and doctrine forget that they 
 have voluntarily destroyed their identity with the flock ; freely 
 abandoned the pasture and refiage of the true fold, and have wil- 
 fully resigned all inheritance in its spiritual safety and in the secular 
 advantage which may thereto accidentally belong : if then, through 
 some narrow gate of misconception or error, they have 'gone from us 
 because they w^ere not of us,' they cannot, in honesty, look that it 
 should be widened for their re-admittance, when that return, too, 
 is with unfavourable design towards us and ours. Far be it from 
 me to display unnecessar}' hostility towards any sect or denomina- 
 tion of men ; but if, as I conceive it be in supposition, that, by 
 some compromise of doctrine or ceremony on our part, future 
 stability may accrue to this Church of England, let us remember 
 that Divine co-operation is not proposed to unworthy means, and 
 that recorded experiments hath shown that it were even better 
 that the Ark of God should tremble than that the hand of Uzzah 
 should sustain its strength. 
 
 One other source of future insecurity may be apprehended 
 from the growth of vanity in theological opinion and private in- 
 terpretation among the members of our own body. For example, 
 it is matter of lamentation that the terms ' orthodox ' and ' evan- 
 gelical ' should have attained contrasted usage in a Church whose 
 appellations like her doctrines should be Catholic and one. As 
 in the perilous time of the early Corinthian Church, the existence
 
 298 APPENDIX. 
 
 of divisions in practice extorted the indignant expostulations of 
 St. Paul ; so in these days of danger it behoves every sincere friend 
 to Ecclesiastical order to deprecate the exhibition of internal 
 diversity either on questionable doctrine or custom indifferent, to 
 the surrounding foe. Better it were that those energies which are 
 dissipated on the shibboleths of party, were applied in unison to 
 the vindication and honour of the general Church ! The theory of 
 ministerial operation might appear to be that every apostolic 
 officer of Christ should combine, with the intrepid discharge of his 
 own duty, a corporate anxiety for the common weal ; that each of 
 us should convey his personal stability as a contribution to the 
 strength of our spiritual structure, and regard the graces of in- 
 dividual ministry as instrumental to the decoration of a general 
 edifice, built upon the foundation of the Apostles and Prophets ; 
 Jesus Christ himself being the chief Corner-stone. To this end 
 the solemnity of that function which the apostolic clergy have to 
 discharge, is in itself argument and exhortation. Unto them was 
 transferred the especial guardianship and authoritative exposition 
 of the Oracles of God. By them alone the Founder of their faith 
 gave promise to infuse sacramental advantage into the souls of 
 men. The pledge and reward, the privileges and hopes of 
 Christian Scripture, regard that Universal Church wherein they 
 hold pastoral rank from the Chief Shepherd, to bind and loose, 
 shut and enclose in His earthly fold. The constant remembrance 
 of these things, might both kindle zeal and repress presumption ; 
 for though the office be ' but a little lower than the angels,' how 
 can we forget that it is entrusted to frail and erring men ? The 
 train of thought suggested by a retrospect of these remarks is that 
 the erection of our enduring Church was always the hopeful pre- 
 destination — the original intent of God. That three periods of 
 Revelation absorb the spiritual history of man. The simple 
 worship of the patriarchal times — that rudiment of religion, the 
 particular but mutable and transitory covenant of Moses, and the 
 Catholic Faith which we confess. In this last inspiration all 
 doctrine and usage, stationary and complete, are final ; and we
 
 APPENDIX. 299 
 
 approach in this concluding dispensation the threshold of Eternity ; 
 and the text has announced the prophecy of the Revealer that 
 tlie official existence of its ministers shall expire only with the 
 close of time. Local illustration of this durability is extant in 
 our own ecclesiastical records. What changes have glided over 
 the land since these towers of the past were set upon our hills, the 
 beacons of the Eternity whereto they lead ! What alternations of 
 poverty and wealth, of apprehension and hope, have visited those 
 who have served at their altars ! times of vigour and decay ! And 
 yet, we have assembled this day to exhibit our adoration to the 
 one true God, and Jesus Christ whom He hath sent, in this 
 surviving sanctuary ' grey with His name ; ' but the voice of 
 history, that prophet of the past, afitbrds us full assurance of hope 
 for the future continuance of our beloved Church. Vicissitudes 
 may approach, but not destruction ; external attack, but no intrinsic 
 change ! Whatsoever the hand of sacrilege may perpetrate on 
 the temporal fortunes of the Church of England, these are 
 accessory but not essential to her spiritual existence. Howsoever 
 she may be despoiled of her earthly revenues, though silver and gold 
 she had none, there would be much. Apostolic and sacramental, that 
 men must seek at her hands ; and with the memory of Him who 
 uttered the consolation of the text, we confide that while England 
 shall bear that name, in the imagery of the Psalmist, ' the sparrow 
 will find her a home, and the swallow a nest where she may lay 
 her young, even thine altars, O Lord of Hosts, my King and my 
 God.' Because He will be with us in the control and guidance 
 of human events; for all power is given unto Him in heaven and on 
 earth ; with us in the general anxiety of His providence and the 
 particular interference of His aid — since the Chief Shepherd must 
 keep the watches of the night over His earthly fold— with us in 
 the issues common and ministerial of His most Holy Spirit which 
 is in continual procession from the Father and the Son — Lo ! He 
 is with us always, even unto the end of the world 1 
 
 Sjiottiswoode &• Co., Printers, Netu-Street Square, London.
 
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