ack the mill. On this,
being certain that the small garrison could not hold out, and seeing the
enemy again approaching, he set fire to a rick of furze, and while the
wind blew the smoke in the faces of the Spaniards, he and his son, each
taking a sack of flour on their shoulders, issued out through a back
door and made their way up the hill. They had got some distance up the
steep ascent before they were discovered by the Spaniards, who then
began firing at them. The gallant millers made their escape, but the
old man received a wound of which he ultimately died. The son declared
that his sack, from the number of bullets in it, was far heavier than
when he set out.

Near it is Sennen Cove, where there is a fishing-village and a
Coastguard station. Some way off the shore, rising from amid the
foaming waves, is a high rock, denominated "The Irish Lady," from the
peculiarity of its form, which is that of a female figure, with a long
robe, advancing into the sea. We were told that many years ago an Irish
vessel was driven on the rocks; but that one female alone was seen
clinging to the wreck until the waves washed her away, and that it is
her figure which now appears still surrounded by the foaming billows.

"I wonder she hasn't got tired of standing out there all by herself!"
exclaimed Dick.

Another rock in the same neighbourhood, far out in the sea, is called
"The Armed Knight." It is a magnificent pile, two hundred feet in
height. The summit, from the point we saw it, assumes the profile of a
man's head, while the regular way in which the blocks of granite join
each other has much the appearance of armour. As Dick observed, he must
have been related to the giant whose grave we had visited.

Later in the day we reached what we were assured was the Land's End,
although other rocks appeared to project as far westward into the ocean.
It was a grand scene. In all directions were headlands, crowned by
what appeared to be ruined castles and towers, rocks scattered around,
piled up into a variety of fantastic shapes; while afar off we could
distinguish the faint outline of the Scilly Islands. Imagination might
picture them as some fairy land, likely at any moment to vanish, though
we had little doubt that they would remain to let us pay them a visit.
A few hundred yards off is a headland called "Doctor Johnson's Head,"
because the rocks at the extremity present somewhat the appearance of a
human face with massive