ments on each side, having its back just within, and hanging high over the rocky precipice below. It thus " appears somewhat dangerous" indeed, but not merely "for access," though the climber to it must actually turn his whole body at that altitude to take his seat in it, but from the altitude itself, and from its projection over the precipice. It also appears an evident addition to the building. And it was assuredly made at this period, not for the ridiculous purpose to which alone it professedly ministers at present,-that of enabling women who sit in it to govern their husbands afterwards; but for such of the pilgrims as had stronger heads, and bolder spirits, to complete their devotions at the Mount, by sitting in this St. Michael's Chair, as denominated, and these showing themselves as pilgrims to the country round. Hence, in an author, who lends us information without knowing it, as he alludes to customs without feeling the force of them, we read this transient information :

Who knows not Mighel's Mount and Chair,
The pilgrim's holy vaunt?

Norden also re-echoes Carew, in saying, "St. Michael's chair is fabled to be in the Mount." We thus find a reason for the construction of the chair, that comports with all the uses of the church on which it is constructed, and that ministered equally with this to the purposes of religion then predominant; a religion, dealing more in exteriors than our own, operating more than our own, through the body, upon the soul; and so leaving, perhaps, a more sensible impres sion upon the spirits. To sit in the chair, then, was not merely, as Carew represents the act, "somewhat dangerous' in the attempt, "and therefore holy in the adventure;" but also holy in itself, as on the church tower; more holy in its purposes, as the seat of the pilgrims; and most holy as the seat of a few in accomplishment of all their vows; as the chair of a few, in invitation of all the country.-WHITAKER'S Supplement to the First and Second Book of PoLWHELE'S History of Cornwall, pp. 6, 7.

39

MERRILY, merrily rung the bells,

The bells of St. Michael's tower,

When Richard Penlake and Rebecca his wife
Arrived at St. Michael's door.

Richard Penlake was a cheerful man,
Cheerful and frank and free,

But he led a sad life with Rebecca his wife,
For a terrible shrew was she.

Richard Penlake a scolding would take,
Till patience avail'd no longer,

Then Richard Penlake his crab-stick would take,
And show her that he was the stronger.

Rebecca his wife had often wish'd

To sit in St. Michael's chair;
For she should be the mistress then
If she had once sat there.

It chanced that Richard Penlake fell sick,
They thought he would have died;
Rebecca his wife made a vow for his life,
As she knelt by his bed-side.

"Now hear my prayer, St. Michael! and spare My husband's life," quoth she;

“And to thine altar we will go,

Six marks to give to thee."

Richard Penlake repeated the vow,

For woundily sick was he; "Save me, St. Michael, and we will go Six marks to give to thee."

When Richard grew well, Rebecca his wife
Teazed him by night and by day:
"O mine own dear! for you I fear,
If we the vow delay."

Merrily, merrily rung the bells,

The bells of St. Michael's tower,

When Richard Penlake, and Rebecca his wife Arrived at St. Michael's door.

Six marks they on the altar laid,
And Richard knelt in prayer:
She left him to pray, and stole away
To sit in St. Michael's chair.

Up the tower Rebecca ran,

Round and round and round; 'T was a giddy sight to stand a-top, And look upon the ground.

"A curse on the ringers for rocking The tower!" Rebecca cried,

As over the church battlements

She strode with a long stride.

"A blessing on St. Michael's chair!"

She said as she sat down:

Merrily, merrily rung the bells,

And out Rebecca was thrown.

Tidings to Richard Penlake were brought
That his good wife was dead:

"Now shall we toll for her poor soul
The great church bell?" they said.

"Toll at her burying," quoth Richard Penlake, "Toll at her burying," quoth he;

"But don't disturb the ringers now In compliment to me."

Westbury, 1798.

KING HENRY V. AND THE HERMIT OF DREUX.

While Henry V. lay at the siege of Dreux, an honest Hermit, unknown to him, came and told him the great evils he brought on Christendom by his unjust ambition, who usurped the kingdom of France, against all manner of right, and contrary to the will of God; wherefore in his holy name he threatened him with a severe and sudden punishment if he desisted not from his enterprise. Henry took this exhortation either as an idle whimsey, or a suggestion of the dauphin's, and was but the more confirmed in his design. But the blow soon followed the threatening; for within some few months after he was smitten with a strange and incurable disease.-MEZERAY.

He pass'd unquestion'd through the camp,
Their heads the soldiers bent

In silent reverence, or begg'd

A blessing as he went;

And so the Hermit pass'd along

And reached the royal tent.

King Henry sate in his tent alone,

The map before him lay,

Fresh conquests he was planning there

To grace the future day.