Legend Land, Volume 2 | Page 7

across the flat wooded lands until it
was brought to a halt by the massive cliffs of what is now the Land's

End peninsula.
There was a Trevilian, an ancestor of the old Cornish family of that
name, who only just escaped with his life from this deluge. He had
foreseen what was coming and had removed his farm stock and his
family from his Lyonesse estate, and was making one further journey to
his threatened home when the sea broke in upon it. Trevilian, mounted
on his fleetest horse, just beat the waves, and there is a cave near
Perranuthnoe which, they say, was the place of refuge to which the
sturdy horse managed to drag his master through the angry waters.
There used to be another memorial of this great inundation at Sennen
Cove, near the Land's End, where for centuries stood an ancient chapel
which it was said a Lord of Goonhilly erected as a thanksgiving for his
escape from the flood that drowned Lyonesse.
To-day all that is left of the lost land are the beautiful Scilly Islands and
the cluster of rocks between the Scillies and Land's End, known as the
Seven Stones. These rocks are probably the last genuine bit of old
Lyonesse, for their Cornish name is Lethowsow, which was what the
old Cornish called Lyonesse. Even now the local fishermen refer to the
Seven Stones as "The City," for tradition tells that there was situated
the principal town of the drowned land, and stories are told of how on
calm days ruined buildings may be discerned beneath the waters near
Lethowsow, and that in times past fishing-nets have brought up old
weathered domestic utensils from the sea bottom near at hand.
A lightship now marks the Seven Stones, and at low water on a rough
day the sight of the huge breakers dashing themselves into foam upon
the rocks is an awe-inspiring one.
The Scillies lie twenty-seven miles west of Land's End and are reached
by a regular service of steamers from Penzance. The journey across is
fascinating, and magnificent views of the rugged coast are to be
obtained.
And the Islands themselves provide a perfect place for a lazy holiday.
A winter climate they seldom know; flowers bloom right through the

year, and sea fishing and boating there are ideal. The Scillies consist of
a group of about forty granite islands, only a few of which are inhabited.
Many of the islets are joined together by bars of sand at low tide.
Though in the Scillies you may feel very far away from the great world,
quaint, fascinating Penzance, from which you start, is very near--in
time--from London. It is only six and a-half hours from Paddington,
although over 300 miles have to be traversed in the rail journey.
[Illustration: The Seven Stones]
[Illustration]

THE PISKIE'S FUNERAL
The sand-hills that abound near the church of Lelant, by St. Ives, are
now famous the world over for providing one of the most excellent golf
courses in this country. But in the far-away simpler days, before golf
had come south, and when Cornwall was a distant land seldom visited
by strangers, the Lelant sand-hills had a different fame.
In those days they used to say that they were the favourite
meeting-place of the piskies, or, as folks from other parts of England
would call them, fairies. Strange stories were told by the people of
Lelant of the moonlight revels indulged in by the small folk in sheltered
corners of that great stretch of sand-dunes that borders the Hayle river.
One of the strangest stories is that of a piskie funeral, seen with his own
eyes by a respectable villager ever so many years ago.
Old Richard, who witnessed this amazing sight, was returning late one
night from St. Ives, whither he had been in search of fish. As he
ascended the hill towards his home, he thought he heard the bell of
Lelant church tolling. This struck him as being curious, for it was just
midnight, so he went out of his way to have a look at the church, in
case anything was wrong.

Arriving in sight of the building, he saw faint lights within; and still the
bell continued to toll, though, as he noticed then, in a strange way, with
a queer muffled sound that aroused no echo.
Richard then crept forward to see what was happening. Peering
cautiously through one of the windows, he was at first unable to
distinguish anything, although a strange light illuminated the whole
church. But after a few moments he was able to discern a funeral
procession moving slowly up the centre aisle. It consisted of the little
people, crowds of whom filled the church. Each piskie looked very sad,
although, instead of being dressed in