The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction | Page 5

sojourn therefore at Mr. Habbakuk Sheepshanks', of the
"Ship-Aground'; (whom I have formerly introduced to the reader) was
prolonged to an extent which sometimes surprised myself, and the
various local stories and traditions of times past, with which mine host,
especially when under the exciting influence of an extra glass of grog,
almost nightly entertained me, essentially contributed to while away the
time. The spot too was so secluded--comparatively unknown: there is
something inseparable from a temperament like mine in so deep a
retirement. To its inhabitants the world and its busy haunts are but as a
tale; yet man in all his varieties is essentially the same. Many a day
have I wandered along the sea-beaten coast--dining perhaps on a
headland stretching far into the sea--or in some secluded little bay, by
the side of a gushing spring; the ocean spread out before me--what
object is so boundlessly or beautifully inspiring? It may be mighty fine
philosophy for those who have passed through the current of life in one
untroubled and unvaried stream, and who have no perception or idea of
the deeper (if I may so express it) feelings of our nature, to call all this
romance; but those who have tasted bitterly of the ills of this world, and
who look back upon times past as doth the traveller in the desert on

viewing from afar the oasis he has left--upon their transitory existence
as a troubled dream--these can feel how deeply solitude amidst the
sublimities of Nature will heal the troubled mind. Is there not a
responsive chord in the hearts of such of my readers? Early one
morning, soon after my arrival at Landwithiel, I proceeded over land to
a distant part of the parish, to visit a ruin situated in a wild and remote
spot, which possessed some degree of historical interest. In the evening
I decided on returning by the coast in order to vary my route. The day
had been clear and sultry, and though the wind blew fresh from the
southward, yet its refreshing influence seemed exhausted by the intense
heat of the sun. In my progress along shore, though it was getting late,
and I was somewhat fatigued, I could not resist the opportunity of
exploring a sort of natural opening or cove in a part of the coast where
the cliffs were unusually precipitous; affording the geologist the
highest gratification; you were reminded indeed of the flat surface of a
stone wall in many parts, which effect the regular stratification of the
rocks contributed to produce; and it required no great stretch of fancy
to imagine it one vast fortification, with loop-holes at regular
intervals--at a short distance from seaward certainly it would be
difficult to divest a stranger of the idea that it was something artificial.
Two high points of rock contracting at their extremities in a circular
direction so as almost to meet, ran into the sandy beach, and you found
on advancing beyond the narrow entrance, a considerable space, which
gradually extended to something like an oblong square, with a sandy
bottom everywhere, surrounded by the same lofty cliffs which
composed the adjacent coast. I was much surprised that I had never
heard of this place before; it had apparently been more the effect of
some natural convulsion than of the encroachment of the sea, and at the
further end was a high mass of shingles, seaweed, and fragments of
rock packed closely together by the tide. On examination I discovered,
about the centre of the shingles, a large stone cross, carved out of a
projecting part near the base of the cliff. It bore simply the initials W.D.
and though the surrounding rocks were thickly covered with seaweed
and barnacles, yet the cross itself was perfectly clean, and bore marks
of recent care. Some singular event had evidently occurred in this
retired and desolate place. I loitered a considerable time in musing and
examining the spot, regardless of the whining and uneasiness of my

Newfoundland dog, Retriever, when I was suddenly and fully aroused
by the sharp echo and plashing of the tide against the rock, within the
entrance of the cove. I now recollected with alarm that it was a spring
flood, and that I had heard the tide sets in on this part of the coast with
extraordinary velocity. I ran hastily forward, expecting to escape with a
mere wetting, along the base of the rocks to an opening which I had
passed about half a mile to the westward. I had just grounds of alarm.
The mouth of the cove as I have already stated, extended some way
abruptly into the beach. On wading to its extremity I found the tide
already breaking in impetuous surf towards the foot of the cliffs, and it