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the question with all the evidence before him on the spot. He may visit the remains of Druidical temples, which, having a circle of nineteen stones, are traced to the same origin as Stonehenge, where the inner circle has also nineteen. He may explore the misty fable that Apollo used to visit Cornwall once in nineteen years, the "great year” of the Greeks; and perhaps without discovering any connexion between the visits of the mythical deity and the rings of nineteen monoliths. He may examine the theories which derive the names of places from a Persian or other Eastern source; and come to the conclusion that the names, after all, are good, honest Celtic. But when he comes to consider the question of trade, he will find testimony over which a lifetime need not be spent to discover its meaning. Ancient smelting-places—locally " Jews' houses”—have been discovered at Trereife and Marazion: shallow pits containing ashes, pieces of charred wood, circular lumps of tin called “ Jews' bowls," and other relics of early industry. The rude smelting operations of the South American Indians are still carried on in pits similarly constructed. Many of these relics, and among them an ancient "pig” or ingot of tin, may be seen in the local museums.

To see St. Michael's Mount and not recall its associations is scarcely possible. Alike an object of interest to him who delights in olden legends, him who scans its rocks with the eye of science, to the poet and philosopher, its picturesque form and remarkable history fail not to detain for a while the passing traveller. It carries you back to the primeval times. Hither, while the Greeks were besieging Troy, and the Jews built their Temple, came the proud Phenicians in their galleys to purchase tin of the barbarian islanders. On this point, a local antiquary, not having the fear of the grammarians before his eyes, shows with learned argument that Diodorus Siculus names the Mount Iktin, and not Iktis. Itin signifies Tin-port; and the native name for the Mount being Bré, the Phenicians called the metal purchased here Bré-tin, to distinguish it from that derived from Spain. These postulates made out, the term Britain becomes an easy deduction from Brétin.

Little dreamed those haughty Tyrian merchants that the remote fog-encircled land would become the abode of a mightier people when their own glory had passed away for ever. Lapse enough since their day for ages of history, from which the Mount emerges once more about the time of the Sea-Kings, and appears in annals of the Heptarchy. Jews, seeking the shores of the bay by choice or banishment, founded the adjacent town, the present Mara-Zion; formerly, as some authorities say, Margha-ZionMarket of the Mount. Theirs were the smelting-pits, doubtless used to good profit, over which the mineralogist and antiquary now pore with wondering interest. Again the Mount appears in the turbulent era of the Plantagenets: Richard I. conferred certain privileges on it. Catherine Gordon made it an abiding-place, while her husband, Perkin Warbeck, skirmished for a kingdom; and the “Cornish rebels” held it for a time in a later reign. Moreover, here it was that, in the year 495, St. Michael appeared to a few poor fishermen, seated in an uncomfortable recess of the rocks, still known as the Archangel's Chair. And here, on the summit, to preserve the memory of the visit and the sanctity of the spot, a Cornish saint built a priory, which was for years the resort of thousands of pilgrims. But in the caprices of fortune the growing establishment was made to serve for purposes of war as well as religion, to shelter at the same time soldiers and monks, while its walls were strengthened and mounted with cannon. About the time of the Great Plague it passed into the hands of the St. Aubyns, and from thence the history of the Mount is comprised in the domestic record of rebuilding and alterations, and the arrival and departure of distinguished visitors.

And besides all this, there is the geological question. The Mount, which now stands about two hundred yards from the shore, completely isolated at high water, was once described as the 6 Hoar Rock in the Wood:” a hill of stone, as we are to suppose, rising from the heart of a forest that grew and flourished on land now deeply covered by the wide-sweeping waters of the bay. Dig down some three feet into the sand, and

you

find roots, twigs, and branches firmly imbedded in vegetable mould, and among them ripe nuts, and portions of the horny cases of beetles, which still glisten with prismatic hues on exposure to the sun. If, as some believe, the land extended as far out as a line drawn from Mousehole to Cudden Point, the whole of the present bay, an area to be reckoned by miles, may have been forest and meadow. How then did the Phenicians, as we are told they did, bring their shallops • up to the foot of the Mount? for the submergence must have taken place since their day.

The old chronicler, Florence of Worcester, relates, that “on the third day of the nones of November, 1099, the sea came out upon the shore, and buried towns and men very many, and oxen and sheep innu

merable.” Was this the same convulsion that ravaged the coasts of Cornwall, and worked terrible havoc in many parts of the kingdom? The season of the

year mentioned corresponds to ripe nuts; and for the rest we are left to conjecture. The certainties of the question are, that the sea within the past eighty years has devoured the fields where the people of Penzance were wont to take their pleasure in sports and pastimes, and that year by year the few remaining acres diminish. This may be but the natural advance of the submerging process. The apprehensions excited by the hurricane of 1817 have been already mentioned.

A brief residence on the shore of Mount's Bay will make you acquainted with other of its phenomena. Extraordinary oscillations of the sea sometimes occur even in calm weather, caused by storms in the Atlantic. High swells roll in without warning, except the noise they make in the distance, and fall heavily on the beach, sweeping all before them. At such times fishingboats anchored near rocks incur great risks, and lives have been lost in the effort to prevent a shock. Sir Henry de la Beche records himself to have been more than once in danger from these ground-swells during his survey of the cliffs.

of the cliffs. Minor movements take place from differences of atmospheric pressure: a fall of half an inch of the barometer elevates the sea in some parts of the Channel nearly a foot above the level of other parts. But the greatest disturbances happen at long intervals. Ten times within the present century the sea has come driving in, all on a sudden, in great roaring waves that dash far up the low beaches and make the tallest cliffs tremble again. On the last occasion, in May, 1847, people walking along the causeway to the Mount had a narrow escape from an unexpected rush of this nature, which was repeated several times in the course of the day, and was felt along the coast as far as Plymouth. The cause is considered to be an upheaval of some part of the ocean bottom by an earthquake. Here, too, you may hear that singular phenomenon the calling of the sea; and observe a low fog come creeping out of Loo Pool towards the south-west, whenever the wind is about to blow from that quarter.

As I walked from Marazion Road Station to the Mount, I saw the causeway disappear under the rising tide. “Who knowes not Mighel's Mount and Chaire, the Pilgrim's holy vaunt

Both land and Island, twice a day; both fort, and port of haunt." A man offered to row me across for three shillings; but when remonstrated with on the exorbitancy of his demand, reduced it one-half, not to be paid till he had brought me back again. The harbour is a well-sheltered little bay on the landward side of the Mount, bordered by a small breadth of level ground, on which about fifty houses are built. "Don't forget to look at the Queen's footstep,” said the boatman, as I ran up the stairs of the pier. It would not be easy to overlook the long narrow sole of brass let into the topmost step, or the inscription on the wall recording the Royal visit. From the level you cross a turfy slope to the uneven, curving, rocky path that leads up to the summit. In some places steps are cut to facilitate the ascent, while the masses of granite, hung with ferns and grasses, most numerous where the crystal spring bubbles up, and small trees growing here and there from the crevices, rise steeply on the left. Near the top stands a saluting battery, with guns peeping from its embrasures, and the

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