The Argosy — page 307: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

286 A Drive to the Land's End. , towering red sandstone cliffs, beneath whose shadows we hurried; so close that they could almost be touched. On the other hand, still, smooth water, bays and creeks, with green slopes beyond dotted with clusters of white houses reposing in the hot sunshine: every now and then a glimpse of the ocean, perfectly at rest, vessels lazily passing along with set sails flapping in the slight breeze, or mding at anchor upon the motionless surface. Upon any lover of scenery pre- viously unacquainted with this part of the country, this portion of the journey will strike with wonder and admiration: it is a new world: a world which belongs to the Arabian Nights or the Tales of the Geni. : Plymouth and another halt at last. Here all was crowd and confusion. An agricultural show was afloat: the platform was packed with people bound for all parts of Devonshire and Cornwall. From neighbouring fields strains of music were wafted ; fierce brass bands playing against each other; shows were proclaiming their attractions ; the streets were decorated with barbers’ poles grown to gianthood ; from one to another of which festive garlands of artificial flowers swung gracefully: you might fancy the air impregnated with their perfume. Flags of all nations were flying ; streamers flapped in the wind: Plymouth, in the largeness of its heart, and the excitement of the moment, was cosmopolitan. At nightfall a grand display of fireworks would close the scene. Leaving the good people to enjoy this variety of attractions, we started again, passed over the wonderful Royal Albert Bridge, and in due time—when darkness had shut out all surrounding objects—reached Truro. After that—Falmouth. A hearty welcome, a comfortable night’s rest, effectually scattered next morning the slight fatigues of the previous day. What a scene was before me, as I looked forth that morning from the breakfast-room windows! ‘The beautiful and grand Atlantic, converted heré, by the land jutting out on either side, into a bay. The sun’s rays were pour- ing down upon the surface, the ripples reflected the glitter in a myriad jewel-gleams and flashes. The colours of the water were more numerous and exquisite than any I had yet seen on English shores: varying from a deep green and long streaks of blue, to the brightest, purest, most transparent, translucent aqua marine. To the left stood Pendennis Castle, on a high bold rock, proudly challenging the ocean. ‘The rocks were covered with grass and furze, _ white paths twining in and out among them. At their foot the sea rippled lazily to and fro, breaking into small lines of foam. As we listened with open window it was possible to fancy we heard the quiet plash upon the shore—a sound so soothing to one fresh from the ceaseless roar of the great metropolis. 13 To the right, the land and the cliffs jutted far out, seeming at last to mingle with the sky, which in the early morning was of a pale opal Gomicbooks.com