the shoemaker, looking at his wife, "we shall stick by the old place. It do give us a living."

Of course, he always got ready money for his work? No, he had to give six months' credit, and to be careful in the choice of customers. Some were safe enough; but if a man brought him a pair of boots to mend, passing on the way two or three other shoemakers, "then," he said, "I thinks it ain't all right, and I declines doing the job on trust." A shrewd process of reasoning, suited doubtless to rustic emergencies. He "wondered rather" that any one should go wandering about the country carrying a knapsack, getting tired and benighted, and having to sleep in out-of-the-way quarters. Poor tramps did that. And yet, after all, there must be a pleasure in seeing strange places. "Tisn't often I goes to Plymouth," he added; "but when I do, I feels like a boy going out for a holiday." He had once met a gentleman down by the sea who had come all the way from Falmouth along the beach collecting specimens of different species of oarweed, and who, opening his box, showed him such a number of varieties as was truly astonishing.

As the rain continues to fall, let us take a brief survey of the country around; to know what its features are will inform our subsequent walk. Cornwall, stretching over a length of seventy-eight miles, is divided by a great central ridge into two principal slopes, one facing the English, the other the Bristol Channel. This ridge comprehends 200,000 acres of wastes, so dreary of aspect as to dishearten the traveller who enters the county by any of the roads within their limits. Gilpin, journeying westwards from Launceston in search of the Picturesque, saw nothing but "a coarse,

naked country, in all respects as uninteresting as can well be conceived," and went no farther than Bodmin. There he turned back. Had the good pastor first made acquaintance with the southern side of the county, he would not have pronounced it all barren. The ridge, moreover, has grand and impressive features, produced by a series of remarkable elevations, which, commencing in Devonshire, occur at intervals down to the Land's End. Dartmoor, with its numerous tors, the highest rising to an altitude of 2052 feet, is a vast upheaved mass or "boss" of granite-the first of the series. Crossing the Tamar, we find a second-that traversed by Gilpin-its chief hills Brown Willy and Rowtor; and the Cheesewring on its eastern margin. It is in view from all the highest parts of the road between Antony and Looe. A few miles farther, and there is a third boss, north of St. Austell, rich in chinastone and clay; the Roche Rocks, a romantic group, and Hensbarrow rising from its centre. Two small patches appear, one east, the other west of Helstone; and again, beyond Penzance, the whole extremity of the island is granite: a solid bulwark against the ocean. The extent and elevation of the upheavals successively diminish until, at the Land's End, the cliffs are less than a hundred feet high. The same reddish, coarse-grained granite is seen in all. But farther still: the Scilly Isles are granite, much of it perfectly identical with that of Dartmoor. Thus we see proof of some tremendous force having been at work, along a line of more than a hundred miles, to elevate a system, so to speak, of huge vertebræ, to strengthen the narrowing land, and enable it to bear the pressure of the sea on either side. They form a minor mountain range of striking contrasts:

rocky summits, bleak slopes, craggy steeps, and wild ravines, which, as they decline towards the shore, become fertile and bosky valleys.

And there is variety below, as well as on the surface. Cornwall has been called the country of veins: it is full of them, running in all directions, but principally from east to west. The numerous interstices formed in the rocky strata by the uneasy throes of the old earth in past ages have since become filled with metalliferous deposits, which now constitute the subterranean wealth of the county. Copper, tin, and lead are dug out every year by thousands of tons, besides a variety of other highly valuable minerals; and gold and silver are found in small quantities. The mineral character, unmatched by that of other English counties, has its counterpart in France. Here enterprise and speculation may be seen burrowing six hundred fathoms deep in eager quest of the precious ores; sending away the solid substance of the county, stone, marble, and metal by thousands of tons, pumping millions of gallons of water into the sea, and carrying millions of bushels of sand from the shore to spread over the fields. A perpetual interchange. Only in comparatively recent years has agriculture risen into esteem. "Fish, tin, and copper" used to be the standing toast; and but few cared to cultivate a soil thought unfit for cultivation. Now, tillage competes with mining, having found in some places a surface of extraordinary fertility. Draw a line from Callington to Falmouth, and you cut off the best corner of the county. And with these remarkable phenomena, as we shall by-and-by see, is associated as remarkable a climate.

Eighteenpence was the charge made for my two meals and bed, when, at ten o'clock, the rain having

slackened, I went on my way again. But for the mist I should have had a view over the broad moorland district to the north-west, where the Caraton mines and the Cheesewring appear on the horizon. The weather was, however, brightening. The muddy lane was not improved by the rain; but I could see better to avoid the softest places, and was soon down on the beach at Seaton-a small bay containing two or three miserable cottages, and a bridge, where carts come from the neighbouring farms for sand and seaweed. The lane ascends the opposite hill between high hedges, and only at the breaks can you step aside to look back to Rame Head, or forwards to Looe Island; and altogether the way was such as made me felicitate myself on having fallen back on Nackers the night before. Another descent, and another rise up the very face of the cliff, and so lane and cliff alternately, until turning the corner of a high, rocky hill, where a fence guards the path, a deep valley is seen beneath, with the queerlooking town of Looe squeezed into its mouth—a place of foreign aspect: and you will say the same of other Cornish towns before you leave the county. Here the houses are grouped irregularly together-a mass of whitewashed walls, outside stairs, gray gables, green roofs, and dilapidated chimneys; scattered at the outskirts, and straggling away up the valley. That patchy line slanting up between the trees of the opposite hill is the main street of West Looe. Going down you will see myrtles, fuschias, and geraniums, which stand out the whole year, in the little bits of gardens, warmed by the southern sun. The street is as narrow, tortuous, and ill-paved as the view from above may have led you to expect, bordered by old-fashioned little shops, offer

ing very miscellaneous wares, among which stand the two inns. Presently emerging you come to the open road by the side of the river, up which it is worth while to walk for a mile or two. There is the inlet, singularly beautiful, leading to Trelawny Mill; and along its banks a few hours may be delightfully spent in exploring some of the finest scenery of the county. The name recalls one of the ancient families; and a memorable passage in the national history. Continuing upwards you come to the lock, where the river seems an embowered lake, the verdure in cheerful contrast to the naked downs, and the sullen-looking cliffs. Three miles farther will bring you to that famous spring, St. Keyne's Well, overshadowed by its five trees, at which you may quaff the miraculous water that imparts to bride or bridegroom the right to rule, according as one or the other first drinks of it after wedding.

Back to the bridge-a thirteen-arched structure, four hundred and fifty years old, barely wide enough for a cart, which does not convincingly testify in favour of wisdom of ancestors, whatever may be said of the pillory and cucking-stool, that once formed part of the town's legal machinery. A new bridge is now being built, a few yards higher up the stream, of which the first stone was laid a fortnight before my visit. Then up the steep street of West Looe, which suffers by comparison with its eastern namesake. It is tenanted chiefly by fisherfolk, and you may form some opinion of their commissariat by the medley of articles in the little shopwindows: tawny bacon; long, thin candles; cheese and matches, soap, butter, brimstone, and other sundries; besides a tempting display of rich-looking yellow cakes. They are coloured with saffron, a Cornish practice,