NURSERY RHYMES

341

Defendress of the Faithe, etc." The impression of the Corporation seal represents a large ship with an anchor at the bow.

Cornwall is the home of the most delightful folk-lore, Celtic fairy stories, and children's rhymes. I came across these two in this neighbourhood which puzzle me :

And

"Pippety pew, my mammy me slew,

My daddy me ate, and my sister Kate
Gathered my bones and laid them beneath
The milk-white stones.

Then I turned into a bird, and away I flew
Singing Pippety pew, Pippety pew."

"Oh! have you seen my golden ball?
Oh! have you seen my fee?
Or are you come to see me hung
Upon the gallows tree?"

I have made many inquiries, but have met with no one who can satisfactorily elucidate the cryptic meaning of them. But one may be sure that not for nothing did they come into existence, but were composed to commemorate notable events. What were those events?-that is the

question.

As one leaves the railway station for Waterloo the great piles of fish-boxes show that the staple trade of the place nowadays consists in despatching to town the fish brought in by the trawlers.

CHAPTER XXXV

PORTH CURNOW, PORTH CHAPEL, ST. LEVAN, PORTHGWARRA, TOL-PEDN

66

DELIGHTFUL day's easy outing from Land's End or Sennen is to go to Porth Curnow, Porth Chapel, Porthgwarra, and back. The spelling of these places is, as usual, varied. The Ordnance Map says "Porth Curnow," the post office I noticed has Porth Curno above its lintels. The same map gives "Porthgwarra," while old writers print "Porthgwarrah," and the church a few hundred yards inland at Porth Chapel is variously known as St. Levan, St. Leven, St. Levine. Spellings, however, do not very much matter so long as you know what is meant, and this day's travel will present more antiquarian interest, anthropological suggestions, and exquisite scenery than any day's expedition I have ever had the pleasure to undertake. The charm of a trip like this lies largely in the great variety of interesting things one sees. In such expeditions Cornwall is rich.

The Land's End district can only be thoroughly seen and appreciated by such definite expeditions from selected centres. This is not a part of England where you can plan beforehand certain circular tours, as can be done in many other parts, to embrace all, or nearly all, of the features of interest around. To see the scenery, the churches, and the antiquarian treasures, the only way is to remain at a central point-Penzance, Sennen, St. Just, Gurnard's Head, St. Ives, Sancreed, Helston, Mullyon, Lizard town, for example and from thence explore the interesting sights in the neighbourhood by driving and walking. Walking is absolutely necessary if the antiquities are to be seen. The desultory character of this book, which may have puzzled some of my readers, is therefore explained. The centres from which I visited the spots described may not be the same

HINTS TO THE SIGHTSEER

343

whence others may prefer to visit them. Almost any central place selected in this part of Cornwall for a short stay will be found equally good for affording interesting walks. Many of the most interesting antiquarian remains can be visited with equal facility from one side as from another; from one resting-place as from another restingplace. Hence no royal road can be laid down to ease the labours of the sightseer. Each person wishing to become acquainted with this part of Cornwall must just take the map and select his own centres at which to stay. He can hardly make a mistake.

Taking the main road from Land's End to St. Buryan, past the smithy at the junction of roads, we branched off to the right at Trethewey and followed a coast road going due south. This is a narrow lane, and leads direct down to the little sandy cove known as Porth Curnow, where the nine cables of the Eastern Telegraph Company come up from their long course under the sea and are connected with the land lines. As one enters the valley, so out of the world, and yet at the same time so very much in the world, if one considers the messages from distant parts arriving every minute of the day and night, one is struck with signs of prosperity most unusual in this distant part of Cornwall. Several well-built and shapely villas arise amidst well-kept gardens, brilliant with flowers and foliage, with hedges of escalonia. At the bottom of the valley, large asphalt tenniscourts invite players in all states of the weather to outdoor exercise. A large building on the right, facing the tenniscourts, is devoted to the offices of the Telegraph Company, and another palatial edifice on the other side of the valley to the telegraphic operations.

The little valley ends on a sweet sandy beach, with the mass of bold rugged rocks containing the famous Logan Stone sheltering it on the east.

Sweetly smiling in simple innocence does the little bay look now, with the waves idly lapping and kissing the shore. But be not deceived by appearances; those waves know a secret or two, and are of all things in nature least to be depended upon. They can wear another aspect, a frightful, terrifying aspect, the mantle and dread attire of death. It was here that the full-rigged ship Khyber

parted her cables and went to her doom with twenty-three out of twenty-five lives only some few years ago. It was here that the good ship Fairport, of Liverpool, very nearly met a similar fate in January, 1908, when the Sennen lifeboat pluckily conveyed a tow-rope from the ship to a tug and got her off the death-dealing shore.

A steep hill over the western cliff conducts one to the church of St. Levan. At the top is a flat plateau with a magnificent cricket-ground of just perfect turf, kept in tiptop condition, where the telegraphists play. A flag over the pavilion at the north-west corner denotes that they call themselves the "Exiles," but it struck me that many persons in search of health would like much to be exiled too. I should think this is the most magnificently situated cricketground in England!

The views around are sublime. The Logan Rock promontory stands out in the sapphire-coloured sea on the left, its dark granite rocks looking majestically grand, in fact, all around are scenes worth looking at, if attention can be taken from the game in progress.

On the next headland, to the west, a Marconi spider attenuation, in three spindly lengths, points skyward, and reminds one how the latest discoveries of science are often associated with Nature in her wildest and simplest scenes.

Passing the cricket-ground and pushing open a swinging gate, we turn sharply to the right, and there down in a hollow, most snugly sheltered, is St. Levan Church.

Almost quite hidden away amidst ensconsing hills lies this ancient edifice. The little valleys which here seem to meet and form a juncture afford a charmingly retired spot, close to the sea, admirably adapted for a church location. The soothing and swishing murmurs of the ocean are ever present, for the waves break at Porth Chapel, only a quarter of a mile away.

The learned and courteous rector, the Rev. Trimer Bennett, conducted me over the church, and pointed out the unusually numerous curiosities it contains, and others in its precincts. The parish covers a large area (2328 acres), comprising some seven hundred souls, and my informant told me he had often as many as seventy communicants.

The parish is remarkably situated in some of the most