that which led
to the left, and was gratified, on gaining an eminence a short distance
in advance, to see in the far distance a square turret, which he
concluded was that of the church of St. Just.
Keeping this turret in view, the youth stepped out so vigorously that he
soon reached the small town that clustered round the church, and going
up to the first man he met, said, "This is the town of St. Just, I
suppose, is it not?"
"No, et is'n; thee's come the wrang road, sur," replied the rustic.
"This es Sennen church-town. St. Just es up over th' hill theere."
Oliver Trembath's first feeling was one of surprise; this was followed
by annoyance, which quickly degenerated into anger as it flashed into
his mind that the old gentleman might possibly have led him wrong on
purpose.
"How far is it to St. Just?" he inquired.
"'Bout six miles, sur."
"Then I suppose I am not far from the Land's End?" said Oliver after a
pause.
"No, not fur," replied the man. "Et do lie straight before 'ee."
Thanking the man, Oliver started off at a smart pace, resolving, before
proceeding to St. Just, to visit this extreme western point of England--
a visit to which he had often looked forward with pleasant anticipation.
During the last hour of his walk the sun had been obscured by clouds,
but, just as he approached the cliffs, the clouds separated, and a
golden flood rushed over the broad Atlantic, which now lay spread out
before him in all its wide majesty as far as the eye could see.
"A good omen!" cried the youth with a shout, as he hurried towards the
shore, intending to fling off his garments and bathe in the mighty
ocean, which, from the place where he first beheld it, appeared to be
smooth and still as a mill-pond. But Oliver was compelled to restrain
his ardour, for on nearing the sea he found that he stood on the summit
of high cliffs, beyond which the Land's End stretched in a succession of
broken masses of granite, so chafed and shattered by the action of the
sea, and so curiously split, as to resemble basaltic columns. To reach
the outermost of those weather-worn sentinels of Old England, required
some caution on the part of our traveller, even although well used to
scaling the rocky heights of Scottish mountains, and when he did at last
plant his foot on the veritable Land's End, he found that it was a
precipice apparently sixty feet high, which descended perpendicularly
into deep water. His meditated bathe w
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