Symud i'r prif gynnwys
Cuddio Rhestr Erthyglau

8 erthygl ar y dudalen hon



CORNWALL AND PEilWROKESHIRE, The Land's End is a famous name, with which everyone is familiar from childhood; and the district which sur- rounds it has lately In-come a favourite touring-ground for those who do not think scorn to examine the remarka- ble spots of their own island. As railways spread every- where, and bring all places into communication with London and other centres, the tourist is gradually driven up into more and more remote corners. Romance does not begin till you have got away from the puffing engine and its load, and are fairly thrown upon your own resources. The seeker after such places is in somewhat the same position as the old Cymrv, gradually retreating before the arms of the invading English And, in South Britain at least, he has to fly to nearlr the same retreats in which that persecuted race actually took refuge. There was a time wlun Bath, Bristol, and Exeter were worlds of their own, and when South Wales and Cornwall were out of any world at ali. There is one of Miss Edge- worth's stories in which the scene shifts ..ooutttet.ween Bristol ami Cardiff. it. is u!eir, that in it.ose .lays, Glamorganshire "as looked upon as altogvdlu-r n siramn- land, to be visi'e 1 with the same son of feelillgs witb which people now visit Andorra, or Montenegro. Whether the existence of Cornwall or Pernbrokeahirewas known in those times, we may fairly doubt. Parliamentary men must always have known something about a coun'y which contributed such a vast proportion of legislators to the national councils; but to the world at Urge, the boroughs of Eowey, and Grampound, and Tivgony have still much the same mythical sound as the counties of Nairn and Cromarty, or the bishopriccf'Killaloe, Kilfenora. Clonfert, and Kilmacduagh. As for Wales, as the ancient 'Saxons' are popularly believed to have lived all at the same time, so the modern Britons are popularly believed to live all in the same place. It is a sober fact, that people have been taken to see the Cathedral of l-iarulaff, and have come away i n let- the beliet that they have been at St. David's. Railways ought to make places better known; but we are not sure that they do, Many people are hurried along, satisfied with getting from the place whence they start to the place whither they wish to go, without greatly troubling themselves about the intermediate geography. In the days of coaching, and still more in the days of porting, we fancy :hat people picked up a great deal more knowledge of the places which they went through. A journey was then a rare and a serious business; and people improved 1111 u.casion which tiiey did HA get every day. Aow, a passenger by an express train, who gets from London to Exeter without feeling hungry, has hardly time to look about him or to think where he is. The result is, that particular spots are more visited, but that England, as a whole is even less known to its own inhabitants than it used to be. Th re are, however, some few regions into which the railway has not penetrated. If a man looks at the map of England, he will see that a natural division between north and south is made by the estuaries of the Dee and the Humber. The western portion of the region south of this line is divided into two very unequal peninsulas by the Bristol Channel. Wales, in the modern sense, forms one—West-Wales, the old kingdm of Cornwall, forms another. Wales, indeed, can only be called a peninsnla in the sense of having the sea round t!>ree sides of it; but tie southern peninsula, including Cornwall, Devon, and part of Somerset, is a real peninsula. The isthmus, so to speak, from Burnham to Lyme Kegis, is very much narrower than thedistance, further went, from Ilfracombe, to Bolt lieaJ. After this, the Cornish peninsula gradually narrows to the Land's End, while Wales ends in two horns, with the wide bay of Cardigan between them. We thus get three marked peninsulas—the Land's End District, Pembrokeshire, and the peninsular part of Caernarvonshire, called Lleyn. This last is probably the least-known piii-i o- South Brit iirt, and w -mu-t h ave it to oilier i ens to d.Liib it. But l'emnrokeshiro and West Cornwall have so much in common that we must say a few words about each. Any one of the three affords a region in which the tourist need hardly dreaa- the intrusion of the railway at any time. Penzance and Caernarvon will probably remain termini till the end of time. And if one of the great lines of England has its ending in the land-locked haven of Milford, it leaves smaller peninsulas to the north and south of it, both of which are almost as little likely to be further invaded bv the engine and the tefegraph as the unknown world of Lleyn itself. The Land's End and St. David's Head—to the few at least who ever heard of the latter—naturally suggest one another. They are the most western points ot South Britain-very nearly the most western points of all Britain; and there is a strong general likeness between these two extremities of the island. But there be little doubt that the preference is due to the less-known place of the two. The Land's End is disappointing; not, indeed, from any fault in itself, but from the expectations which the visitor is apt to raise, and from the exaggerated way in which the local lion is often spoken of. It does not quite realise its name. The most westerly point of South Britain does not project in quite so marked a way from the rest of the coast as one is ready to fancy before one sees it. St. David's (lend has much more of the character of a land's end than the Land's End itself. The promontory itself is much bolder, and the adjoining scenery far more striking. But the resemblance between the two spots, and the general resemblance between West Cornwall and Pembrokeshire, must strike every one who has seen both districts. There is a kindred feeling about the two, in the character of the rock scenery, in the wild and treeless aspect of the country, and in the remains of prse-historic antiquity with which both regions abound. But though Pembrokeshire, compared with most parts of Wales, cannot be called a mountainous country, yet the distant range of Preseli, and the bold outlines of the rocky hills of Cam Llidi and Pen Beri close by, give a degree of mountain character to the Welsh landscape which is quite wanting in its Cornish rival. And, though the Land's End district is, as a whole, even richer in primaeval remains than the neighbourhood of St. David's, yet the latter has the advantage of having one of the most remarkable monuments of the kind immediately on the bead itself. The actual isthmus is occupied by a strong line of defence, including clear foundations of dwellings within it. On the other hand, though the land-locked haven of Milford is larger than any one of the similar Cornish fiords, yet it is only one to set against a whole series. St. Bride's Bay, with the islands at each of its horns, is a noble sweep, but it will hardly compare to Mount's'Bay. It is the hand of man which here makes the difference. The single isle of the Cornish Bay, capped by that strange pile, half monastery, half fortress, gives a peculiar and, in England, unique character to the whole. This is, however, a rare case, for, on the whole, the hand of man has—in an artistic view we mean-done far more for Pembrokeshire than for Cornwall. There is nothing in Cornwall to set against the most striking group in Britain -perhaps in the world—the Cathedral of St. David's, will, its Palace and other attendant buildings, some ruined, some surviving, all alike witnesses of the strange accident which planted a great ecclesiastical establishment almost beyond the bounds of human habitation. The whole of Cornwall seems singularly poor in monastic and collegiate remains. The most important exception, St. German's Priory—once the seat of the Cornish Bishopric —with its bold irregular west front, stands at the end of the county farthest removed from the Land's End. The Land's End district itself contains no church of impor- tance. bt. Buryan was an ancient college, boasting King jEthelstan for its founder, and it still eives it* rpctnr title of Dean; but the fabric does not 2drance in point of architecture beyond the common parochial model. As a general rule the Cornish churches do not rank high though there are fine exceptions, as the noble towers at Probus and St. Austell-which the Cornishmen so care- fully hid from their late antiquarian visitors—and the graceful, and probably unique, tpire of Lostwithiel. Pembrokeshire falls naturally into two divisions. For that small county contains one of the most remarkable and most strongly marked ethnological frontiers in Europe. There ii a brook where it is said that, a very short time ago, on one side of it no one understood Welsh and on the other side no one understood English. Howl ever this may be, there is no doubt as to the essentially Celtic character of North Pembrokeshire, or as to the essentially Teutonio character of South Pembrokeshire. In that district-' Anglia Transwalliana,' I Little England beyond Wales'—the use of English is universal; and there can be no doubt, here at least, whatever may be said in the case of Gower, that the present inhabitants are the descendants of the Flemings, who, as several chroniclers testify, were planted there in the twelfth c«ntury. The Welsh district presents nothing remarkable in, an architectural point of view; but the Englishry possesses a group of castles and castellated houses sur- passed by no part of Britain, and against which Cornwall baa not very much to set It has aliro a group of churches of'which few can be called. beautiful, though nearly all wIDay be called wonderful. and whose strange and pictu- resque outlines harmonise well with the surrounding icenery. The atriking general resemblance between Pembroke- shire and West Cornwall does not extend very far "ward into the latter county. Cornwall, at a wholej has t f' b.-en sometimes unduly depreciated in point of scenery, It wa- we believe, Sou!hey who said to one who prai-ed the beauty of Devonshire, that he must either have gone through Son. ersetshire in the dark or else have entered Devonshire through Cornwall. Neither of the two western counties seems to us to deserve this slur on its character. Cornishmen explain the unfavourable judg- nient by the dreariness of the old coach road, which ran along the backbone of the peninsula, and left out the picturesque places on each side of it. No such apology is needed by the !ine of railway by which Cornwall is now entered. It lacks, indeed, the fine mountain scenery of Wales, or even the approaches to it which may he seen in Devon and Somerset. But there is plenty of high gronnd, and few parts of England can afford a more striking trip than the Cornish line. with its lofty viaducts, now span- ning well-wooded valleys, now either spanning or skirting the land-locked creeks of the numerous harbours. If the Cornishmen. have not actually lighted on a paradise, m '.y at :easi be thankful that they are not *< 1 down any- where in the part, of Cambridge and Huntingdon. One word more as to St. Michael's Mount. How any man CJUIJ ever take it for the lktis of Diodorus is truly amazing. Only Diodorus has, in this case, been use.I as i! he had been, not the stupid heathen that he was, but one of the writers of the Old Testament. He has been quoted, not with the intention of really learning anything from what he says, but with the intention of forcing him into agreement with a pre-conceived opinion. Diodorus says not a word about Phoenicians or Jews, but he talks o. a caravan trade across Gaul, of which the Isic of Wight was the natural starting-point on the British side. As for his strange assertion that not only the Isle of Wight, but all the inlands between Gaul and Britain, can be reached from the mainland at low water, we can only say, that to those who have read all Diodorus, and not merely one particular passage, it does not scon very extraordinary II to find him making a stupid blunder. And so we will take a long farewell of the Phoenicians and their tin; but of the primjeva! antiquities, the real wonders of the district, we may perhaps find something to say another time.— Saturday Review. A TRUE LOVE STORY. We propose to tell a little love story, which is so prettv and romantic in ihs details that we w iuld suppose it a fiction, but for the good authority upon which we have obtained it. Some fifteen or sixteen years ago, in the Fatherland, a young man named Iling and a young girl named Weenn loved each other very hard, and wanted to marry. A I tightness in the money market however, forbade the banns so, after considering the matter, the lover kissed the sweetheart, swore a true lover's oath to come back and marry her in good time, and went to the United States to seek his fortune. lie worked like a good fellow, and prospered and after saving up a good sum he flaw back on the wings of love to Germanv. But a terrible disappointment awaited him. His intended bride was gone She had not taken cold pizin,' or eloped with a tinker; but weary of her lover's long absence, and despairing of bis return, she had, like the brave Utile sweetheart that she was, set out for the United States, determined to find him, and enter into that united state which is the El Dorado of all true lovers. So the young man came back to this country, on the paddle-wheels of love and with the additional celerity which the screw propeller of anxious suspense always imparts. He taught his fair one everywhere; many journeys he took, and much money and much sleep he iost; but all to no purpose, and he gave up Christine as for ever lost to him. He went to New Orleans; and Time, after cooling and petrifying the lava-current of his first love, intro- duced him to a fraulein, as fair and sweet, perhaps, as the lost Christine. He married her, and they went to Texas, where they settled and were happy. Old Time continued to trundle the year round. Two fine children blessed the union, but a sad event followed in the death of the wife and mother. Ever since then, or until re- cently, the widower remained there, prosecuting his business and taking care of his children. Some weeks ago he reached Chicago, and then found it necessary to go to Cincinnati. He went there to stop a few days. One night, whilst he was returning to his lodgings from some place of amusement, he was alarmed by female screams not far off. He ran, with others to discover the cause, and found that the screams proceeded from a girl about eight fears old, lying helpless on the sidewalk. She was badly, but not dangerously hurt; and in reply to the questions of the crowd, stated that her uncle with whom she was living had come home drunk and violent, causing her, in her anxiety to avoid him, to fall out of a window. As she was a German girl, the widower naturally felt interested in her, and plied her with all sorts of questions, as to parentage, circumstances, &c. She told him, among other things, that her mother's first name was Christine. That aroused an old memory, and stimu- lated fresh inquiry. The girl gave such information, finally, as to leave no doubt that her mother was his own long-lost sweetheart—his first love. She had been for some years a widow, and was living dependent on the charity of her deceased husband's brother, on a farm ten miles out in the country. Next morning Hing took the little girl out there, and was by her introduced to her mother. The recognition was mutual and instantaneous. Of course there was a scene. The old petrifaction of first love melted on both sides. The widow told her story. It was a good counter- part to that of the widower. She had searched and despaired, and sought consi lation in marriage with another. Time had made her mother to one child, and left her a widow. The lovers seemed to have met by Providential direction, and were young again and ineffably happy. Of course the rest may be anticipated. The couple reached Chicago a few days ago, having married on the passage down the river the little girl, of course, being along with them. They will return to Texas as soon as it is safe for them to do so. SUICIDE BY SULPHURIC ACID.-On Friday Dr. Lankester held an inquest at the Lord Nelson, Upper Charlton-street, Fitzroy-square, touching the death of Barbara Dent, aged thirty-three, who committed suicide by taking sulphuric acid, or oil of vitriol, at No. 22 in the above-mentioned street. Robert Dent, a plasterer, identified the body as that of his wife, and said he could not account for her taking the poison. She was ad- dicted to drink, and was|always low-spirited after drinking, and about ten months ago had threatened to cut her throat. Last Saturday he was sent for to her aunt's at 5, Buckingham-street. He saw her drink four glasses, and she promised to go away with him if he would wait a few minutes. She took a bottle out, and a milkpot, for more gin; on her return she took the bottle from under her shawl, and said, putting the bottle to her lips, This is my last drink.' She was prevented from drink- ing the whole of the contents. Mr Richard Hatfield, surgeon, deposed to being called to the deceased about two o'clock on Saturday. At five o'clock she was vomiting, and her lips were seared. The poison taken was sulphuric acid in oil of vitriol. She was in a morbid Itate of mind, and excited. She was no doubt insane. She sank and died about eleven o'clock on Monday morning. The jury returned a >erdict of Suicide by taking oil of vitriol while in an unsound state of mind.' HOLLOWAY'S OINTMENT AND PILLS.-Holloway's Pills and Ointment have the largest sale of any medicine in the world. The pills are the finest purifiers and regene- rators of the blood ever known. They speedily eorrecfc all disorders of the liver and stomach, are invaluable in cases of dysentery, and as a general family medicine have no equal. 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