The Vicar of Morwenstow: Being a Life of Robert Stephen Hawker, M.A.Baring-Gould, S. (Sabine)
General
The Vicar of Morwenstow: Being a Life of Robert Stephen Hawker, M.A.
Baring-Gould, S. (Sabine)
Hawker, Robert Stephen, 1803?-1875
The vicar of Morwenstow, when Mr. Waddon snapped off the foot of his
glass, would put the foot and a fragment in his pocket, and treasure it;
for each wine-glass 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 broken wine-glasses,
and he had them fitted together to form an enormous lantern; and
thenceforth, when he went to dine at Stanbury, this testimony to his
triumphs was borne lighted before him.
The lantern fell into the hands of Mr. Hawker, and he presented it to
the lineal descendant of Mr. E. Waddon, as a family relic. It is still
in existence, and duly honoured. It is of oak, with the fragments of
wine-glasses let in with great ingenuity in the patterns of keys,
hearts, etc., 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 Cornish, or were Irish or Welsh saints who 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 was 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;
And there they dwelt with angels like a dream.
So they unclosed the volume of the Book,
And filled the fields of the Evangelist
With thoughts as sweet as flowers![3]
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 deity who
has bequeathed his myth to an historical personage. St. Padarn, St.
Cadoc, St. Petrock, 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.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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