THE LEGEND OF ST. WARNA.

NCE upon a time, very long ago, when from frequent inroads, and civil broils, the whole country was brought down into a low and feeble state; when law was so little known, or so little regarded, that a man who did wrong was, at the mere will of his lord,* placed on a rock with some bread and water, and left to be washed off, and drowned, by the receding tide; when the good old days of Earl Richard, and Earl Edmund, and Earl Reginald, were remembered with regret; there dwelt in St. Agnes five families only, and those of the poorest class. The old faith had been supplanted by one plain and stern, the tabernacles of our Fathers had everywhere been thrown down, and ruined, and the sons and daughters of prayer were driven forth, from their peaceful cloisters, into a strange and unknown world. Many there were, in those times, who disdained to purchase life by submission. Many there were who refused to partake of the new rites, or to enter their churches, and who said in the spirit, peradventure in the

* See Appendix.

JA

very words, of the Hebrew Prince, when threatened with danger at the hands of an apostate from their erst common belief, "Shall such a man as I go up into the Temple to save my life? I will not go up!"

But others from coarser and darker motives clave to their antique worship. The power, that dwelt in St. Warna, was believed to be strong over those who followed their business on deep waters. Many a time, when a gallant ship was seen approaching land, in fancied safety, walking grandly upon her way, the dim shadow of the hostile Saint was thought to appear, brooding, like a cloud, above her, and leading her, unconsciously, upon some one of the concealed terrors that lurked below. Many a time a light burning upon the shore, like a friendly signal, hurried the homeward bound bark, and her trusting company, upon rocks from which no human hand could rescue them. In all these cases, St. Warna was held to be the presiding influence, the unseen shade, that did her terrible spiritings even at her own stern will. So, when the holy rood was pulled down, and the shrines defaced, and their relics scattered abroad, and people went about breaking down the carved work thereof, and shivering into fragments the images, and crying out, "these be thy Gods, oh Israel!" the few remaining inhabitants, yet abiding on St. Agnes, clung to their old faith more fervently, perhaps because it was fallen; perhaps also because they feared lest the new one should, by depriving St. Warna of her supposed authority over the elements, rob them of the profits derived from the frequent wrecks, which they believed her to have driven upon their rugged shores.

At that period, as I before said, five families alone

were left upon St. Agnes. They were unwilling to admit strangers among them, lest they should be obliged to share the advantages of their wicked gain with a greater number, and so diminish their unholy store. They bowed daily before the altar of St. Warna, and daily threw pins. into her well, and offered up their supplications for wrecks. Many of these there were, and their hearts were gladdened, and they grew wealthy on their spoils. The corpses of the crews they stripped, and then flung them back into the sea. Some missionaries of the reformed belief essayed to come, and teach them the things that concerned their peace, but the islanders stoned them, and drove them away. Even as the Idolaters of Ephesus cried "Great is Diana of the Ephesians," so did they magnify St. Warna, the source of their bad prosperity. They were like the leeches, ever craving for more blood, for they were still unsatisfied, even by the abundance of their ill-got goods.

People prophesied against them, and foretold for them an evil end, but those of St. Agnes were ever, and are now, a dour race, disagreeing among themselves, and only uniting to oppose some common enemy. So they went on sacrificing to St. Warna, and laying snares for unhappy mariners, and increasing their profits, at the expense of their souls. The preachers of the Gospel faith held that the Demon was permitted, for a time, to personate the Saint, and so to do these works of darkness; and truly it seemed probable, for they prospered in their ungodliness, and even went so far as to take up their parable against the new ministers, and stoutly appealed to their well-doing, as a proof of the efficacy of their prayers, and of the influence of St. Warna.

One day a vessel was seen to approach the island, in a quarter the most dangerous and, generally, the most carefully avoided. All the five households of St. Agnes were on the alert. They knelt before the shrine, and vowed their offerings, in case their prayers were heard. They then hurried to the shore, and saw there, as they believed, a plain proof of the power of their patroness.

The vessel had, by some almost miraculous chance, passed Annet, with its wide reefs and shoals. Tempted by the appearance of deep water and safe anchoring ground, the crew bore up and made straight for the shore. For some time there was no sign of danger. The tall ship came on bravely, and without fear. At last, however, the foam ahead gave notice of breakers on the bow, and the helmsman endeavoured to wear, but in vain. The devoted craft missed stays, and was next moment lifted upon a sharp rock, the peaks of which pierced her sides, and held her fast. She struggled and reeled to and fro, but every shock lengthened her agony, and the water rushed in through the leak thus made, and then, as her stout timbers gaped and yawned from each successive blow, she parted amidships, and the sea was covered with her fragments. Her crew and passengers were beheld in the water, swimming with the energy of despair, or clinging to portions of the wreck, on which they hoped to reach the shore. But man held out to them no helping hand. One by one, they sunk, and were seen no more. The wretched islanders watched their expiring struggles, but made no effort to aid them. All their exertions were directed towards seizing and dragging forth, high and dry, upon the beach, such articles of value as the tide had already

begun to cast up. While they were thus engaged, a mass of timbers was borne to the strand, unnoticed by those around. Three or four times it was left, apparently, by the waves, and was again as often sucked back amid the breakers. Yet, loud as was the howling of the wind, and the thunders of the angry deep, there issued from among thein a cry awfully distinct and clear. It caught the ears of some of those rude pillagers, and made them for a moment pause. It came from that heaving fragment of woodwork, which had so nearly been flung clear upon the land, but to which the billows clung with such desperate and fierce tenacity.

As it whirled round in the vortex formed by the advancing and retiring currents, there were seen upon it two objects that well might excite compassion, and stir up to the rescue even those little accustomed to pity, or to spare. A white-haired and reverend man, in the dress of a Priest of the reformed faith, was lashed firmly to a plank, and held in his arms a beautiful child. It was the plaintive appeal of the latter that had penetrated through the roaring of the storm. The patriarch uttered no cry, made no complaint, but, still holding the infant clasped to his bosom, looked piteously to those on shore. It was a sight to touch the heart of a savage, but it made no impression upon the wreckers. They gazed coolly and callously upon that struggle between man and the elements. They felt a kind of curiosity as to the result of the strife. But they had no pity, and they never moved a step nor a hand to aid.

The contest was a short one. Every wave, as it broke over the frail raft, weakened the vital powers of the old minister, already enfeebled by the previous trials, and