Madron Church is interesting to the archæologist: the east end is said to be that of the original early English Church of about 1260. Among the objects worthy of notice in the interior, are the font, sedile, and piscina, and also several mural monuments.

On one old tomb may be seen the following matter-of-fact inscription:—

Observe also the inscription on the brass of John Clies, in which the place now called Penzance is spelt Penzour; and the north-west end window, recently presented to this Church by the Rev. M. N. Peters, the Vicar. There are many quaint inscriptions on the old tombs, besides that to George Daniel.

At Landithy farm house, near at hand, note the ancient doorway, which formed a portal to the preceptory of the Knights’ Templars; a considerable portion of the college of these warrior monks, with some of the rooms adorned with curious portraits, supposed to be those of the early kings and queens of England, was standing until a few years ago, when the interesting old building was taken down and a farm-house erected on its site.

From the old portal of Landithy college, we pass up the road north of the Church; at the corner of the Union garden, take the path across the fields; at the bottom of the lane leading out of the third field, turn down through the moors on the right, and a path [115]over soft grass and camomile brings us to a stile, which takes us into the moor where are St. Madron’s Well and Chapel.

To find the Holy Well, on entering the lower enclosure, pass down across the moor at a right angle to the hedge, and a minute’s walk will bring us to the noted spring, which is not seen until very near, as it has no wall above the surface, nor any mark by which it can be distinguished at a distance. Much has been written of the remarkable cures effected by these holy waters, and the intercession of good St. Madron. This was when Madron Well was so famous that the maimed, halt, and lame made pilgrimages from distant parts of the country to the heathy moor.

The water is still resorted to on the first three Wednesdays in May by some few women of the neighbourhood, who bring children to be cured of skin diseases by being bathed in the Well water. And its old repute as a divining fount has not yet quite died out, though young folks come here now to drop pins or pebbles into the spring, more for fun and the pleasure of each other’s company, than through any belief that the falling together, or separation of pins or pebbles, will tell how the course of love will run between the parties indicated by the objects dropped into the spring; or that the number of bubbles which rise in the water, on stamping near the well, mark the number of years, in answer to any question of time; but there was not such want of faith in the virtues of this water half a century ago.

A few weeks before the Excursion, we took a ramble through Boswarva, Bosullow, and some other ancient hamlets on the higher side of Madron, to see if we could glean anything from the old inhabitants about the rites formerly practised at the Crick-stone, Madron Well, and elsewhere.

An elderly dame, who had lived the best part of her time near Lanyon, gave us the following account of the doings at the Well about fifty years ago. “At that time, when she lived in Lenine, scores of women from Morvah, Zennor, Towednack, and other places, brought their children to Madron Well to be cured of the shingles, wildfires, tetters, and various skin diseases, as well as to fortify them against witchcraft and other mysterious ailments.

“An old dame, called An (aunt) Katty, who then mostly lived about in the Bosullows, or some place near, and who did little but knitting-work, picked up a good living in the spring of the year, by attending at the Well, to direct the high country folks how they were to proceed in using the waters.

“First she had the child stripped as naked as it was born; then the creature was plunged or popped three times through the water against the sun; next, the child was passed quickly nine times [116]round the spring, going from east to west, or with the sun; then the babe was dressed, rolled up in something warm, and laid to sleep near the water; if the child slept and plenty of bubbles rose in the water, it was a good sign.”

We enquired if a prayer, charm, or anything was spoken during the operations? “Why, no, to be sure,” the dame replied, “there mustn’t be a word spoken all the time they are near the water, or it will spoil the spell; and a piece rented off from some part of the clothes worn by the child or any other person using the Well, must be left near the water for good luck, ever so small a bit will do; this is mostly placed out of sight, alongside of the stream, which runs from the Well.

“Whilst one party went through the rites at the spring, all the others remained over the stile, in the higher enclosure, or by the hedge, till they came up from the water, because if a word were spoken by anyone near the well, during the dipping, they had to come again. The old woman, An Katty, was never paid in money, but balls of yarn, or anything else she wanted, were dropped on the road, outside the Well-moors, for her. This old dame also got good pickings by instructing the young girls how to try for sweethearts at the Well.

“Scores of maidens” (the dame’s words) “used, in the summer evenings, to come down to the Well, from ever so far, to drop into it pins, gravel, or any small thing that would sink. The names of the persons were not spoken when the objects, which represented them, were dropped into the water; they were only thought of, and as they remained together or separated, such would be the fate of the couple. It was only when the spring was working (rising strongly) that it was of any use to try the spells; it was always unlucky to speak when near the Well at such times.”

Such is the substance of what the dame told us. She never heard that any saint had anything to do with the water, except from somebody who told her there was something in a book about it; nor had she or anybody else heard the water called St. Madron’s Well, except by the new gentry, who go about giving new names to the places, and think they know more about them than the people who have lived here ever since the world was created.

We enquired if the people ever went to the old chapel to perform any ceremony? Not that she ever heard of; Morvah folks, and others of the Northern parishes who mostly resort to the spring pay no regard to any saint or to any body else, except some old woman who may come down with them to show how everything used to be done. We were also informed that there is a spring in some moor in Zennor, not far from Bosporthenes, which is said to be as good as Madron Well, and that children are often taken thither and treated in the same way. [117]

The silent proceedings were altogether new to us, because we had often gone to other Wishing Wells with parties of young folks who always kept noise and fun enough; yet the old dame regarded the proceedings as a very solemn matter.

In answer to the questions of “What was the reason for going round the Well nine times? leaving the bits of rags? following the sun?” &c.; it was always the same reply, “Such were the old customs, and everybody knew it was unlucky to go, or to do anything, against the course of the sun; no woman, who knew anything, would place pans of milk in the dairy, so as to have to unream them against the sun.”

By following down the brooklet from the Well, in a minute’s space we came to the Chapel. In the southern wall may be noticed an opening for letting the water from the Well-brook flow into a baptistry in the South-western corner of the Chapel. Entering by a door-way, on the northern side of the Chapel, we see that this simple font appears to have been arched over, after the manner of the bee-hive huts, by one row of stones projecting over the other. The table-slab of the altar (which still remains at the east end) has a square pit, worked in the centre to mark the place on which an image, or the monstrance, was probably placed. There is a step to mark the division between the little nave and the sacrarium, and remains of the stone seats which were carried all round against the walls. A rare and beautiful little plant, the Cornish Money-wort, may be found among stones beside the Well-brook.

We return to the highway, and continuing on the Morvah road, pass a broken cross, which once served to direct the pilgrim to the Holy Well and shrine, or to the Templar’s roof. A little farther on, a church-way path through fields makes a short cut across the hill; from the road at the foot of this hill, on the Lanyon side, one gets the most striking, though not the first view of the Quoit. From this low ground, the mass of rock (more than eighteen feet long and nine abroad) is seen looming against the sky like a gigantic tripod. When near it, we find that its height from the ground is only from five to six feet; yet Dr. Borlase says, that in his time it was high enough for a man to sit under it on horseback.

In 1816, the cap-stone of the cromlech was thrown down by a violent storm, and a large piece of one supporting stone broken off. In 1824, after the Logan Rock was replaced, the powerful machinery brought into the country for that purpose, was used for raising the Quoit; and, preparatory to replacing it, the other two uprights [118]were sunk several feet. One may speculate on the means first employed to raise the ponderous mass, which has been beaten by the storms of more than twice ten hundred years. Few can view “this lonely monument of times that were” without joining in the prayer of the following beautiful lines:—

It does not seem likely to be soon decided whether these weird-looking monuments on our silent hills were giants’ altars, kist veans, or the tombs of giants who have left the marks of their footsteps on all our granite cairns and hills. Our mythic giants may not be altogether fabulous, and it seems beyond dispute that gigantic remains have been found under cromlechs when first denuded of the barrows with which many, perhaps all, were formerly covered.

Another idea, in connection with them, may be suggested by what we have farther to state. A Cornish gentleman,1 who resided many years in various parts of India, and to whom we are grateful for much exact and curious information on various antiquarian subjects, informs us that he has, in many remote parts of India (where the most ancient and simple forms of Hindooism prevail), seen huge monuments of unhewn stone so like some of our cromlechs in their construction, that they always reminded him of our giants’ quoits, and his distant home on the Cornish hills. He says that in the granite districts, they were precisely similar in plan to our cromlechs; and in the slate districts the slabs were thinner and the construction more regular.

In all, an opening was left on one side. Between the supporting stones and within the recesses of these rude structures sacred lamps were always kept burning. The priesthood, who attended these sacred fires, were so much opposed to Christians coming near their sacred places, that the gentleman referred to had no means of ascertaining whether these Hindoo cromlechs were regarded as altars, tombs, or shrines. They might have been all three combined, as it has been usual, in all times, for the sacredotal hierarchy of all gloomy creeds to make the most of the bones of the dead to impress the minds of the living with awe for the unearthly mystery with which they ever aim to invest priestly functions. At last, by the gloomy creeds and rites of these mysterious religions, they make a personification of death their deity.

We must leave it for our learned antiquaries to decide whether [119]this huge Quoit was a giant’s tomb, or anything else which was ever applied to any mortal use, except to make us feel that the ancient Cornish who could raise such ponderous masses, high enough for a man to sit under on horseback, were no despicable race.

As we proceed on the Morvah road toward Lanyon, the rugged top of Carn Galva is seen rising over the northern hills. The first sight of this huge carn, piled up against the sky, suggests the thought that the good old giant who lived there in ancient times could not have selected a better place for his stronghold. We now approach the town-place of Lanyon, Lanion, or rather Lanine, for every one here calls the place by the latter name, as well as the family, who probably took their name from this, their ancient home. If you enquire of any person hereabouts for Lanyon, they will wonder where you came from, and it is not at all easy for a stranger to get any information out of our good folk by abrupt questioning, which they detest. The best way is to tell them frankly what you want. Then, they will do their utmost to gratify your wishes. So now we are here, we shall always speak of the place as Lanine, and tell a yarn to get two in return.

Many fanciful meanings have been given for the name of Lanyon or Lenine; yet there appears to be little doubt that the name is a contraction of Lanython, which is composed of Lan, an enclosure, and Ython, or Eithin, furze (the adjective comes after the noun in Cornish); or the name may be simply the plural form of Lan. This word Lan (often contracted into la) enters into the construction of many names of ancient places, as Landithy, Lamoran, Lamorna, &c. In Wales and Brittany, names are equally common, which are formed of Llan or lan, followed by some qualifying word; and as some of the oldest settlements or enclosures were the first places in which Churches were erected, the word Lan came to be regarded as designating the Church. In Lamorna and other similar words the n is dropped, from a natural disposition to avoid the exertion which the pronunciation of certain combinations of consonants entails on the speaker. The strongly-built dwelling-house of Lenine shows that Madron masons of the last century were good craftsmen. Note the sturdy strength of the broad chimney-stacks, which seem determined to put a hard face on all the fierce blasts they encounter in this unsheltered place. The sturdy expression of this simple building harmonises well with the bleak character of surrounding scenery.

Another noteworthy object, on this site of ancient enclosures, is the remarkable group of three stones called by antiquaries the [120]men-an-tol, and by country folk the crick-stone, from the old custom (not yet extinct) of “craming” (crawling on all fours) round the centre stone, and of creeping through the hole in the same (when the person was thin enough) for the cure of lumbago, sciatic, and other “cricks” and pains in the back.

This mysterious monument is situated in a croft to the right of the Morvah road, about half-a-mile in a northerly direction from Lenine town-place. Our antiquaries are as much at variance with respect to the purpose for which this remarkable group was erected as they are about the real purpose of the cromlech. Some hold that it is a sepulchral monument, as well as the Men Scryfa (written stone) farther on, because there is a tradition that in Gendhal, or Gednhal moor, a little below, there was once a battle so great that the moor “ran with blood.” Others suppose it to have been used for some druidical ceremonies similar to those not long since practised there; and by a great number it is conjectured that this mysterious monument served for the computation of time. Among those who think that the object of its erection was probably astronomical is Professor Max Müller. This gentleman, in the Quarterly Review for August, 1867, after stating that the three stones are in a line bearing nearly east and west, says:—

“This men-an-tol may be an old dial, erected originally to fix the proper time for the celebration of the autumnal equinox, and, though it may have been applied to other purposes likewise, such as the curing of children by dragging them several times through the hole, still its original intention may have been astronomical.”

In another place, after speaking of the Mên-heers, or long stones (which, being mostly found in pairs bearing nearly east and west, he thinks served the same purpose), he continues:—

“If their astronomical character could once be firmly established, it might even be possible, at least approximately, to fix the time of their erection. If we suppose that the shadow of the stones on each side of the men-an-tol was intended to fall through the hole on the day of the autumnal equinox, then, if there is any slight deviation at present, and that deviation in the direction demanded by the precession of the equinoctial, points of difference might be calculated, and translated into years, and we should thus be enabled to fix, at least with a margin of a century or two, the time when that time piece was first set up on the high plains of Cornwall.”

In concluding his notice of the Holed-stone of Lanine, he says:—

“A mere shepherd, though he had never heard the name of astronomy, might have erected such a stone for his own convenience, in order to know the time when he might safely bring his flocks out, or take them back to their safer stables. But this would in no way diminish the interest of the men-an-tol. It would still [121]remain one of the few relics of the childhood of our race; one of the witnesses of the earliest workings of the human mind in its struggle against, and in its alliance with, the powers of nature; one of the vestiges in the first civilization of the British Isles.”

Less than half-a-mile over the downs, in a northerly direction, brings us to the

The safest plan for a stranger to take, in order to find this interesting monument, is to return to, and proceed on, the Morvah road until nearly opposite Bosullow, where a path will be found, on the right hand, leading to this ancient inscribed pillar, which is one of the most important monuments in the west country, if not in the kingdom. One side of the stone will be found inscribed with the words Rialobran-Cunoval Fil, signifying that Rialobran, the son of Cunoval, was here buried. The tradition of the country folks says that a king slain in the battle of Gendhal moor, was buried here with all his arms and treasures; and that the king stood nine feet high, which was found to be the length of this pillar monument, when about half a century ago an old curmudgeon of the neighbourhood upset the tombstone of Rialobran, the son of Cunoval, in searching for the crock of gold, which he, in common with many others, believed to be buried there. It is not known whether he found any treasures by his digging, but he caused the stone to fall face downward, in which position it remained, little heeded, until 1862, when it was replaced by the Antiquarian Society over the warrior’s grave.

A large tract of ground covered with furze and heath, surrounding this monument, used to be called “Goon-men-scryfa” (inscribed stone downs.)

At a short distance to the northward of Men-scryfa, there is a large flat stone, with a cross cut on it, to show that the four parishes of Madron, Gulval, Morvah, and Zennor meet there. There is a tradition that some Saxon kings dined on this stone in days of yore.

According to another tradition, when Prince Arthur and four British kings were on their way to drive the Danes from Penwith, they rested on this rock.

Then, on their way down along towards the Land’s End, Prince Arthur and the four kings collected the native Cornish, who fought the Danes, and under guidance of the royal personages, conquered them, in the battle of Vellan-drucchar (wheel-mill) moor; where the Danes were nearly all killed, and so great was the slaughter, that “the mill was worked with blood,” so old folk said. [122]

From Goon-men-scryfa, the bold and curious pile of Carn Galva (goats’ carn) is a very striking object in the view, standing out as it does near the sea, and six hundred feet or more above the sea level.

From Men-scryfa, we take a northerly course, over the downs, to Carn Galva.

One can’t fail to pass a pleasant time, should the weather be fine, among the rocks and glades of Carn Galva. Above all, if we ramble hither through the ferns, heath, and furze, in the whortleberry season, we may pick the rich fruit, roll in the shade, or bask in the sun, on the beautiful green patches of turf, as soft as velvet, to be found everywhere; or one may ramble in and out, and all around, playing hide-and-seek, through the crellas between the carns, whence the good old Giant of the Carn often sallied forth to protect his Morvah and Zennor people and their cattle against the incursions of the giants of other carns and hills. Those of Trink and Trecrobben were the most troublesome, because they lived near in castles strong and high.

Now they say that when the Trecrobben giant once got the cattle, or tin, into his stronghold, he would defy all other giants in the country. By the traditions, still preserved in Morvah and its neighbourhood,

was more playful than warlike. Though the old works of the giant now stand desolate, we may still see, or get up and rock ourselves upon, the logan-stone which this dear old giant placed on the most westerly carn of the range, that he might log himself to sleep when he saw the sun dip into the waves and sea-birds fly to their homes in the cleeves. Near the giant’s rocking-seat, one may still see a pile of cubical rocks, which are almost as regular and shapely now as when the giant used to amuse himself in building them up, and kicking them down again, for exercise or play, when alone and he had nothing else to do. People of the northern hills have always had a loving regard for the memory of this giant, because he appears to have passed all his life at the carn in single blessedness, merely to protect his beloved people of Morvah and Zennor from the depredations of the less honest Titans who then dwelt on Lelant hills. Carn Galva giant never killed but one of the Morvah people in his life, and that happened all through loving play.

The giant was very fond of a fine young fellow, of Choone, who used to take a turn over to the Carn, every now and then, just to see how the old giant was getting on, to cheer him up a bit, play a game of bob, or anything else to help him pass his lonely time away. One afternoon the giant was so well pleased with the good play they had together, that when the young fellow of Choone [123]threw down his quoit to go away home, the giant, in a good-natured way, tapped his playfellow on the head with the tips of his fingers. At the same time he said, “Be sure to come again to-morrow, my son, and we will have a capital game of bob.” Before the word “bob” was well out of the giant’s mouth, the young man dropped at his feet. The giant’s fingers had gone right through his playmate’s skull. When, at last, the giant became sensible of the damage he had done to the young man’s brain-pan, he did his best to put the inside workings of his mate’s head to rights and plugged up his finger-holes, but all to no purpose; for the young man was stone dead and cold, long before he ceased doctoring his head.

When the poor giant found it was all over with his playmate, he took the body in his arms, and, sitting down on a large square rock at the foot of the carn, he rocked himself to and fro; pressing the lifeless body to his bosom, he wailed and moaned over him, bellowing and crying louder than the booming billows breaking on the rocks in Permoina.

“Oh, my son, my son, why didn’t they make the shell of thy noddle stronger? A es as plum (soft) as a pie-crust, dough-baked, and made too thin by the half! How shall I ever pass my time without thee to play bob and mop-and-heede? (hide-and-seek.)”

The Giant of Carn Galva never rejoiced any more, but, in seven years or so, he pined away and died of a broken heart.

So Zennor people say, and that one may judge of the size of their giant very well, as he placed his logan-rock at such a height that, when seated on it, to rock himself, he could rest his feet comfortably on the green turf below.

Some say that he gathered together the heap of square blocks, near his favourite resting-place, that he might have them at hand to defend his people against the giants of Trecrobben and Trink, with whom he fought many a hard battle. Yet when they were all on good terms they would pass weeks on a stretch in playing together, and the quoits which served them to play bob, as well as the rocks they hurled at each other when vexed, may still be seen scattered all over this hilly region.

Surely a grateful remembrance of this respectable giant will ever be preserved by the descendants of those he protected in the northern hills.

We have often heard the high country folks relate this legend of their giant in a much more circumstantial manner than we can attempt, because we do not, like the good Morvah folk, give implicit credence to all the traditions of Carn Galva. Yet this romantic region makes us feel that

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