Kentigern, the founder of the see, was born in A.D. 518, or 527, and was by birth a by no means humble person, having been the son of Ewen ap Urien, a prince of Strathclyde, and of Thenewth, daughter of Loth, King of Northumbria. Kentigern was born at Culross, where, as a youth, he entered the Church, under the guidance and protection of St. Serf, the old Bishop of Culross, who showed great affection for him, and used to style him, intimately, “Munchu,” a nickname said to derive from words signifying “dear, well-mannered little fellow.” Kentigern was not only urbane, but pious as well, and early of such holiness as to be able to perform miracles. The first of these was the bringing again to life a pet robin belonging to his patron, which had been accidently killed by other lads in the monastery, who laid the blame of the accident on him. Taking the dead bird in his hand, and making the sign of the Cross, it revived, and flew off, chirping, to its master. The next miracle was exhibited to reprove his mischievous young companions, who, seeing him fall asleep over a consecrated fire which it was his duty to attend, extinguished it. Kentigern merely, when he awoke, went outside and found a frozen hazel branch which he breathed upon, in the name of the Trinity, whereupon it burst into flame. The precocious sanctity and the amazing miracles of Kentigern so impressed St. Serf—as well they might—that when the cook attached to the monastery died suddenly at harvest time and the reapers were returning to a dinner that had not been prepared, the Bishop merely gave him the choice of cooking the dinner, or raising the cook from the dead. Whatever else Kentigern was, he was no _chef_, and so did the easiest thing for him to perform, and resurrected the cook, who was doubtless grateful: but probably not so grateful as the reapers, who narrowly escaped having their dinner spoilt. But these were not his most celebrated exploits; and were mere side-shows compared with the famous adventure of the Queen of Cadzow, which he saved from becoming a tragedy. It seems that the King of Strathclyde had given his consort a ring of great price and singular beauty, but she in turn presented it to a knight with whom she was on terms of peculiar friendship. As ill-fortune would have it, the King espied it on the knight’s finger, and, indignant that his gift should have been passed on, snatched it off and flung it into the Clyde. He then, saying nothing of what had happened, asked her for it. She made a temporary excuse, and in distress turned to Kentigern, who listened patiently, and then instructed her to cause a fishing-line to be cast into the river, when the first fish hooked would be found to have the missing ring in his stomach. [Illustration: THE ARMS OF GLASGOW.]