The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1889-10-09

often hovers with pathetic murmurings
over the old scenes in the form of bird,
the enough, which coastwise people veneer
ate; andthat he will surely come again
wearing the white flower of blameless life.'
To reign as n king should and might over
his beloved England.
From Tintagel to. famed st. Ives
famed chiefly but not alone through the
undying nursery-rhyme query,
AsI was going to St. Ives
met with seven wives,
Each wife had seven sacks
Each sack had seven cats;
Each cat had seven kits;
Kits, cats, sacks and wives
How many were there going to st. Ives
road or cliff-paths leaving and returning
TO the highway, makes possible the con-
slant presence of the coast to the lover OF
nature on foot. Antiquity, historic spot
and brave old legend being dearthful in
this sublime reach of frowning coast, an
other pleasing feature of Cornwall gives
zest and interest. Whatever may be the
drearv effect upon the traveller of the dis
NAL downs and barren tors along the rocky
backbone of Cornwall, there are never
ending surprises of beauty for constant
repayment. Toward St. Georges channel
at the northwest and the English channel
at the southwest, innumerable valleys and
tiny burns, slope toward and cut through
the walls by the sea, every one discharging
limpid streams, which 90 whirling, foam
ing or singing to the sea. Along the sides
of these lovely combes are the quaint old
homes, the rich acres, the ample ricks of
grain and the sleek herds of the hearty,
| happy farmers of Cornwall. Tramp these
desoate coast roads but a mile, you sud-
denly stumble these lovely vales-the
stream, the farms half hidden by glorious
foliage dotting the sides far up the combe
as the eve can reach; here arumbling old
MILL there a nesting church; below you
the quaint old village; beyond, the tiny
haven skirted by the homes of fishers,
specked by queer old fishers crafts; fur
Their, tide blowing up between mass
i've haven walls, or a stretch OF low-tide
rock and drift, and at last the bright blue
sea. Beautiful scenes are these for the
eye and heart-mind TO dwell upon; hardly
to be found in such number and win
someness anywhere else upon all of En-
glands coast.
But here is ancient st. Ives, its name
derived from holy woman of Erin, Iva,
who came here with st. Breaca just 1880
years ago. 1t is the quaintest, most odor-
GUS, and almost the most famous fishing
port in England. Beyond, only a fifteen
mile tramp along the coast-in which
you pass over the lonely Zennor moOrs,
loiter among the donkeys, fisher
men and children of beautiful White
sand bav, where, at Seminar cove,
King Stephen landed on his first arrival
in England, and King John debarked after
his first conquest of Ireland-where mil
lions upon millions of magical sea-shells
are forever there for the taking, and where
you are constantly made conscious,
through the pride of the sturdy inhabi-
tants, that you have now seen the wester-
most village OF Englan1-and then down
over dull, stony road you suddenly come
upon what appears TO be the busy back
yard of some odd little village inn, and
you have arrived at England's famous
Lands End. This little inn, chiefly re-
fectory for briefly tarrying travellers, enjoys
at least the distinction of two suggestive
and humorous signs. On the landward
side from which you approach, you may
read in good Gothic lettering, Last Inn
in England" Fifty feet away, on the sea-
ward side of the house, as if in assertive
notice to the whole western hemisphere,
there is the equally significant sign, First
Inn in England" After getting your food
and paving your bill here, you cannot for
get these two inn signs. There is little
green plateau in front of the inn. The
extremity of this is the last of English
mainland toward America. From its
hight of 400 feet great masses of black
killas or slate break away in diminishing
nights and areas TO the southwest, ter
minating in the betting heap known as
the EARNED knight" and a mile distant
the "Longship" sea crags, on which stands
a noted lighthouse. y speck on the
horizon, twenty-five miles further. may be
deserted with. a glass. Here stand the
Sicily isles, the ocean wreathing them
endlessly with foam, while the warm and
eouable sea airs permit the ceaseless
grazing of herds, and furnish for London
an almost tropical supply of vegetables.
In calm or storm Lands End is wild, for
bidding spot And not a week passes
when there is not doleful wreck and loss
of life.
You are now upon the southern coast of
Cornwall. The cliff-walk between Lands
End and the great Logan or rocking stone
is the finest in all England for coast
scenery, and the whole sublime sweep of
headland, promontory, seething cliff-bases,
spume-swept, rocky islets, with pictur-
esque coves and colorful bits of life in
fishing craft tiny wharves and flower
embedded fishers huts, for all that dis
tance are constantly before you; while
lllt VI the bcd WHICH III CdlHltSL
weather beats upon the cliffs in mount
ainous ground-swells, although seeming
calm beneath the horizon, is such as ]
have never elsewhere seen. The Logan or
rocking stone, is no more interesting than
many on our own northeast coast, or
others in Ireland; but Cornish folk revere
it with a sort of superstitious awe. You
are soon at lovely, leafy Penzance,
where semi-tropical verdure is seen
the year round, where the English in
valids come in hundreds, where the
olden smugglers, pirates and wreckers
were; but as it is high-priced, griggish and
''o'er-airish," you tramp on to little Mara
zion, from where the ancient Jews, as
traders, supplied the Phenicians with the
precious Cornish tin. 1t is but a fishing
port now, noted with st. Ives tor fishwives
and pitchers" the pilchards OF Cornish
fishing fame. The bay, Mounts bay, is
glorious indeed, and there, but half-mile
away, connected by mainland with low
tide. rock-strewn causeway, looms st.
Michael's mount, with its granite pyramid
cutting a black silhouette against the
southern sky. and its peak surmounted by
the castle OF the st. Aubyns, built on the
remnant OF fortified monastery, given by
Edward the Confessor in l044 TO the Bene-
dictine monks. 1t is q grand old sea
giant, recalling the Great Skellig of the
southwest Irish coast, and English song
and history are as full of it as the noble
hnx- A off Ice Il