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'Come to thy God in time!'

Thus saith the ocean-chime.
'Storm, billow, whirlwind past,
Come to thy God at last.'"

In the deep caverns which undermine this coast, numbers of seals are taken during the summer by the Boscastle fishermen. A little farther on we reached the headland of Willapark, and gazed into the dreary chasm known by the name of "The Black Pit," in which the rock is so dark as to be easily mistaken for coal. We were informed by our guide that we were that moment standing upon a spot interesting to geologists, where two great formations meet-the carbonaceous and graywacke groups-which are respectively characteristic of Devonshire and Cornwall. Immediately to our west we observed a slate-quarry, worked in the face of the graywacke cliff. Our guide again informed us that the guidechains, by which the stone was raised, were fastened to the bottom of the sea, an almost incredible fact on such a wild and impracticable shore.

Proceeding onward, we presently descended into a picturesque valley, at the bottom of which flowed a clear stream. Had we had time to follow its windings upward, through bush and brake, we heard that we should have found ourselves in a romantic spot called "St. Knighton's Keeve," where a waterfall dashes from a considerable height into a natural basin or keeve below. This place, like others, has its legend, namely, that two forlorn maidens took refuge here, and lived for a considerable time in such strict retirement that even the curiosity of the neighbors failed to discover their names. Their only means of subsistence was said to be snails, which are unusually plentiful; and in this lonely spot it was their tragic fate "to live forgotten and die forlorn."

when he published his work, "the whole constituent body of the borough of Bossiney, alias Tintagel!" The same magical number of electors appears to have constituted the corporation some thirty years before, when eight of them were disqualified from voting by reason of their being revenue officers belonging to the customhouse at Padstow; and thus it was left to one solitary individual—Arthur Wade-to exercise the important function of choosing two members of Parliament ! The patrons of the borough were the Earl of Mount Edgecombe and J. A. Stuart-Wortley, Esq. It is rather difficult to point out how the little body of nine self-appointed electors was acted upon by the patrons or their nominees; but, as eight of them belonged to one family, it may be easily conceived how they kept the secret!

The precept for the election used to be published by the Mayor from the summit of a green tumulus or barrow, opposite the Wortley Arms; and many a joke is still afloat in the neighborhood connected with the jovial festivities which marked the elections. On one occasion the returning officer, who was the Mayor, was no man of letters, and proceeded to give the accustomed notice from memory, aided by the prompting of some more learned clerk, who stood at his worship's elbow. It was humbly suggested by a bystander that the precept was held upside down, upon which the Mayor turned to him with a look of withering scorn:

"And pray, sir, may not the Mayor of Bossiney read it upside down if he chooses?"

On the summit of a towering precipice, which starts out in bold sublimity amid the waters of this northern coast, stand the venerable ruins of Tintagel Castle," the rude remains of high antiquity." The mossed and moldering strength of its The picturesque water-mill in this little val- shattered towers strikes with appalling distinctley, named Trevillet, has been already made fa- ness against the sky as one gazes at them from a miliar to us by the pencil of Creswick in his pic- little distance, and from the sea-level. Turret ture "The Valley Mill." Once more mounting upon turret is massed almost all round what the cliffs, we caught sight of the hamlet of Bos- seemed to us a small circular bay at a fearful siney, which, consisting as it does of a few mean height, the walls rising up straight from the precottages, yet boasts of having sent to Parliament cipitous sides of the bay. It is as if the bay had such members as Sir Francis Drake and Sir once been one huge rocky formation which some Francis Cottington. This village, or hamlet, is convulsion had thrown up in wild, perpendicular in the parish of Tintagel, and its status, before blocks on the inmost precipice, a heap of ruins it was disfranchised by the Reform Bill, was a vast and hoar. Its surly grandeur is simply incurious and interesting illustration of English describable, and no one painting could convey representation of even a recent time. A select an adequate idea of the Titanic, chaotic dimennumber of freeholders of Tintagel, who assumed sions of the whole mass. As we looked, the sea the name of burgesses, claimed the right of elect--notwithstanding the fine weather-was seething two members of Parliament. Oldfield, in ing and raving against the rocks on all hands his "Representative History of Great Britain and Ireland," styles them "a self-created corporation," and prints the names of nine persons (eight of whom were of one family), forming,

with tremendous force; and just at the head of the bay, and firmly pinnacled on a spike of shelving rock, a wreck of considerable size, dismantled and water-logged, was receiving the full

brunt of the waters, while thousands of screaming sea-birds were wheeling up and down, and through every fissure in the battlements. The scene was inconceivably wild, and I thought, as I stood there entranced, that the same view in a stormy sunset would fill any man's ideal of the utterly awful and solemn.

The history of this fortress, like that of other Cornish castles, is wrapped in impenetrable obscurity; and the nature of its masonry appears to be the only principle from which we are to trace its origin. Dr. Borlase is of opinion that the ancient Britons had here a place of defense before the invasion of the Romans. But the present remains are now pretty clearly ascertained to be of Roman workmanship. Norden, who surveyed these buildings when in a less ruinous state, observes that "it was some time a statelye, impregnable seat, now rent and ragged by force of time and tempestes; her ruins testify her pristine worth, the view whereof, and due observation of her situation, shape, and condition in all partes, may move commiseration that such a statelye pile should perish for want of honourable presence. Nature has fortified, and art dyd once beautifie it, in such sort as it leaveth unto this age wonder and imitation, for the mortar and cement, wherewith the stones of this castle were layde, excelleth in fastness and obduritye the stones themselves; and neither time nor force of hands can easelye sever the one from the other."

The whole of these buildings were formed of slate, and the cement consisted principally of hot lime. They occupied a considerable space partly on the mainland, and partly on what is called the island-the sea having worn away a cavern quite across the promontory, and the cavern being so narrow at one end as to give a spectator at a little distance the impression of its being a circuitous bay. Above this passage, on the eastern side, is a considerable gap, supposed to have been purposely cut for the security of the inhabitants in time of danger, and over it was formerly thrown a drawbridge, which was destroyed in the reign of Henry VIII. and its place supplied with elm-trees. The only passage now to the island is by a narrow path over dangerous cliffs on the western side, where the least slip of the foot would send the passenger at once into the At the end of this path we entered the island through a wicket-gate, the arch of which is still to be seen. We climbed the rude and dizzy staircase that had been cut in the rock, and presently we found ourselves standing on the very rock where once had stood the "spotless King" and his fair but faithless Guinevere.

sea.

The cool Atlantic breeze was exquisitely grateful and refreshing after our mid-day walk,

and the boundless expanse of deep-blue sea, the picturesque line of coast on the left, with the pleasant break of waves upon the opposite shore from the cavern, and the soothing ripple of the receding water, allured us to a long rest upon the short, dry turf that crowns the summit of the headland. At the water's edge, on this side, the sea was of the most brilliant emerald-green tint we ever remember to have observed, and of such pellucid clearness that every stone and weed was visible for a considerable distance.

On the right of the wicket-gate by which we entered we were shown two rooms of a good height, one above the other, the chimneys of each being visible. We presumed them to have been occupied by the guard or porter. The buildings within the area seem to have been numerous, and walls are to be traced in every direction to the very edge of the cliff. On the highest part, toward the north, are the remains of a building fifty-six by fifty-eight feet, with an entrance to the southwest. A little farther to the south we were shown the remains of the chapel, said to have been dedicated to St. Uliane, and measuring fifty-four feet long by twelve feet wide.

At the northwest corner of the island, which is the most exposed, are the remains of a small building eight feet square, with two openings to the right of the entrance, which had apparently been windows once. The walls are about six feet high. In the center of the room is a sculptured moor-stone four feet four inches by two and a half, the top covered with letters or characters no longer legible. It is undoubtedly a sepulchral monument, and—as we were informed

thought by some to mark the tomb of John Northampton, Lord Mayor of London, who for abuse of his office was committed to this castle a prisoner for life, by order of King Richard II. It appears not improbable that in this melancholy cell the unhappy captive-whoever he may have been―lingered out his days, to rest at last beneath a monument of his own carving. On this northern side, too, there is an excellent spring of water, and about twenty fathoms thence is a subterraneous cavern or passage cut through the solid rock for the space of twenty feet, but now so choked with earth that it is no longer penetrable. Some have described it as a hermit's cave, but to us it seemed most likely that it was the unsuccessful expedient of some prisoner to escape.

Owing to some peculiarity in the stone, the constant wear of wind and weather has worn it into innumerable pools and basins, which are called by the villagers King Arthur's Cups and Saucers." Our guide exhibited, in entire good faith, the gigantic impression of a foot, which is

said to be King Arthur's footprint, left when he strode across the chasm that separates the peninsula from the mainland. It did not appear to have occurred to him that, from the position of the footprint, the King must have stepped backward across the yawning gulf. No doubt the idea owes its origin to the tradition of his extraordinary stature which has descended to us. We made our way into a rude rock-seat, called "King Arthur's Chair," and tried, as in duty bound, to recall the days so long gone by. But the records of King Uther Pendragon were too slender and various, and even the birth of his son too much shrouded in mystery, to enable us to conjure up any distinct imagery of the past. That the latter was born and bred at Tintagel does not seem to have been discredited many centuries ago, as appears from the verses of Joseph Iscanus (a priest of the Cathedral of Exeter), who accompanied Richard I. to the Holy Land:

"From this blest place immortal Arthur sprung,

Whose wondrous deeds shall be for ever sungSweet music to the ear, sweet honey to the tongue,

The only Prince that hears the just applause— Greatest that e'er shall be, and best that ever was."

Lord Bacon says of King Arthur, that his story" contains truth enough to make him famous, besides what is fabulous." Milton, in his verses to his friend Mausus, hints that he had once designed to celebrate King Arthur, but the British hero was reserved for another destiny, to be victimized in an epic poem of twelve books, which is now forgotten, by the muse of Sir Richard Blackmore. Bishop Heber, too, left us a fragment of a poem upon the "Morte d'Arthur." But, of course, of all existing Arthurian romances, none can boast of such refinement and purity as the sweet fancies of the author of the Idylls," who has invested the pure King and his court with a beauty and interest they never before possessed. Warton, in his "Grave of King Arthur," alludes so pleasingly to the traditional belief in his eventual return to govern his people, that we are fain to transcribe the passage:

"When he fell, an elfin queen,

All in secret and unseen,
O'er the fainting hero threw
Her mantle of ambrosial blue;
And bade her spirits bear him far,
In Merlin's agate-axled car,
To her green isle's enameled steep,
Far in the bosom of the deep.
O'er his wounds she sprinkled dew
From flowers that in Arabia grew-
On a rich enchanted bed
She pillowed his majestic head—

O'er his brow, with whispers bland,
Twice she waved an opiate wand,
And to soft music's airy sound
Her magic curtains closed around.
There, renewed the vital spring,
Again he reigns a mighty king,
And many a fair and fragrant clime
Blooming in immortal prime,
By gales of Eden ever fanned,
Owns the monarch's high command:
Thence to Britain shall return
(If right prophetic rôles I learn),
Borne on Victory's spreading plume
His ancient scepter to resume;
Once more, in old heroic pride,
His barbed courser to bestride,
His knightly table to restore,

And have the tournament of yore."

After the Norman Conquest, Tintagel Castle became the occasional residence of several of the English princes; and here Richard, Earl of Cornwall-otherwise known as King of the Romans-entertained his nephew David, Prince of Wales, when in rebellion against the King in 1245. In Doomsday-Book Tintagel is mentioned as "Dunchine," or "Chain Castle." It was kept in good repair, and occasionally used as a prison until the reign of Elizabeth, when it was allowed to fall into ruins, which are now the property of the duchy-the Duke of Cornwall being the Prince of Wales.

We were fortunate enough to find a specimen of Trifolium stellatum in our descent, and more samphire than we cared to gather. In the pretty rivulet that runs through the valley from Trevalga were growing luxuriant plants of mimulus, a mass of golden blossom; and, although it was the end of July, we discovered a full-blown primrose in a shady corner, which we carried off as a memorial of Tintagel. The parish church of Tintagel stands on an elevated spot west of the castle, and many curious epitaphs we found in the churchyard, and, did our space permit, we should have liked to amuse the reader with a few of them. Tintagel, indeed, is a study in more respects than one. To the geologist its charms are substantial, for its quarries afford quartz, rock-crystals of great transparency and beauty, calcareous spar, chlorite, and in some instances adularia. The slate bears a near resemblance to that of Snowdon, and, like it, presents the impression of bivalve shells.

Few spots in any country more deserve a visit than this remarkable ruin, standing as it does in the midst of the wildest and most romantic scenery. The whole coast and neighborhood abound in picturesque spots and legendary lore, and for ourselves we had to regret that we had not time to carry our investigations further.

D. C. MACDONALD.

WANDERING THOUGHTS ABOUT GERMANY.

WE

E complain that the Continent is used up, and that one finds the same people and the same dishes and the same prices on the other side the Channel as we are familiar with on this side. Quite true, if we stick to the Rhine and the Oberland, or to Baden and Paris; but, if we will go a little out of the beaten track, there are districts, even within a day's journey of Charing Cross, which are as simple and unspoiled as they were when the flood of tourists first began to spread its fertilizing but corrupting waves over the Continent, and where a man with twenty days, twelve pounds, a pair of serviceable legs, and a conversational knowledge of German at his command, may enjoy, not of course Alpine scenery and Alpine perils, but much quiet beauty and much simplicity of life and habits. Such districts are to be found in the Vosges, the Black Forest, the Odenwald, the Taunus, and the volcanic district between the Rhine, the Moselle, and the Ahr, called the Eifel. To the geologist this latter region, with its extinct volcanoes and its lava-streams, is of the highest interest and importance; but even to the ordinary traveler it presents, not indeed grand, but very striking scenery: a high plateau, some twelve hundred feet above the Rhine, broken by conical hills with flattened tops; lovely deep-blue circular lakes, wooded to the water's edge, filling up the centers of ancient volcanoes; wide sweeps of landscape, stretching beyond the Rhine and away toward Lorraine; and clean country inns, where the Fräulein wishes you "Guten Appetit " as she serves your supper of fresh trout and veal-cutlets. It is probably because the idea of a walking tour is altogether foreign to a Frenchman's habits and tastes, whereas with Germans of all classes it is the established way of spending a holiday, that the country inns in France are so inferior to those in Germany. In both North and South Germany, in every village of any size, you may reckon upon finding at least one inn where clean and comfortable, if humble, accommodation may be found; but he would require to have "robur et æs triplex circum pectus," and indeed round all parts of his body, who should intrust himself to a village auberge in any part of France, from Picardy to Provence. Even in the larger provincial towns, to which the ecclesiological traveler may be attracted by the beauty of their churches, notably in Auxerre, Sens, Chartres, and the like, the hotels, though often more pretentious, are usually much inferior to those of far less important towns in Germany. The fact is, that the French, as a rule, do not explore their own coun

try; provincials go to Paris, and Parisians go to their campagne, or to the seaside, or to visit a friend in the country, and certain classes of Frenchmen travel on business; but it needs only to compare any French guide-book with the works of the great Bädeker to perceive how entirely absent from the French mind is that love of wandering, whether on a larger or smaller scale, which in the German is so prominent.

I had not been in Germany, except in passing rapidly through, since the Franco-German war; and, though I did not notice that deterioration in the German character which is sometimes said to have been the consequence of the war, I did observe one very significant symptom of its results. It has always been the practice at the entrance of a town or village, usually on the first house, to write up the name of the place with the Kreis and Regierungs-Bezirk, the larger and smaller civil district, the county and union as we might say, to which it belonged. Now, however, the name of the place is followed by the regiment and the battalion in which its fighting males are enrolled, the civil division following in humble inferiority to the military. Whether this is the case throughout Germany, I know not; I can only speak for a large district of Rhine-Prussia; but, in any case, it is a striking symptom of the development of militarism-an evil word newly come into use to denote an evil thing-which lies like an incubus upon Germany. No doubt Germany has a difficult position to maintain : until France has thoroughly mastered the lesson which she has got to learn-the lesson of abstinence from aggressive warfare and of sedulous devotion to the arts of peace-Germany can not place her army on a peace footing; and, on the other side, the condition of Austria obliges her to be vigilant. Yet none the less it is a calamity for Europe that the nation which, for the first three quarters of the century, has been in the van of the intellectual movement, should now have been forced, or should have forced herself, into the position of the great military power of Europe. It can hardly be doubted, unless the stream of tendency is to flow back again, that the reign of brute force is destined, slowly perhaps, but surely, to come to an end, and that the day will come when royal personages will no longer of necessity array themselves in military costume on all solemn occasions, as the only raiment befitting their dignity.* Already wars of wanton aggression are

Since this was written, France has done herself honor by taking for her chief ruler "Un Président en habit noir."

branded by the public opinion of civilized Europe; even the Napoleons, uncle and nephew, felt obliged to put forward some colorable pretext for their attacks on their neighbors. But a still further elevation of international morality is seriously postponed by the military spirit which at present seems to pervade the ruling classes in Germany. And if this spirit is a hindrance to the progress of Europe, still more is it an element of danger to Germany herself. Nowhere else, probably, in Europe are the mediæval and the modern spirit, the spirit of authority and militarism, and the spirit of liberty and industry, to be found ranged against each other in such force. Nowhere else is an aristocracy, feudal in ideas if not in power, confronted so directly by a proletariat leavened with the ideas and aspirations which the late Pope summed up under the term "the Revolution." And therefore those who are fostering the military spirit and painting up the regiment and the battalion before the civil organization are, in fact, sitting on the safety valve, purchasing present force and movement at the cost of an imminent explosion. The desire of all who believe in the future progress of the race should be that, without any great convulsion or cataclysm, modern ideas may, as men are able to bear them, supersede those of barbarism and feudalism; that the age of armies and privileged classes may pass—as it must pass -peacefully and gradually into the age of free industrial development and equal rights and "la carrière ouverte aux talents." In France, indeed, the accumulated evils of many generations had so wrought themselves into the very life and system of the nation, that they could not be driven out without a terrible paroxysm of revolution; but in Germany, the mother of inquirers and thinkers, it might be hoped that the change should be a peaceful and a natural process. If however, the present apparent predominance of the military spirit is more than a mere passing symptom, if Germany is to continue to be, in the happy phrase of M. Rénan, “crushed beneath the weight of her own armor "-if, instead of fostering industry and commerce, the ruling classes are bent upon developing the present system of bloated armaments and of unproductive expenditure of the people's earnings upon guns and drums and villainous saltpetre-then it can hardly be doubted that a terrible day of reckoning will come at last, and that the force of the ultimate explosion will be in proportion to the weight of repression.

In truth, the present policy of Europe seems calculated to force on the question whether, after all, smaller states are not better suited for the growth and maintenance of liberty than these vast and sometimes heterogeneous empires which it

has been the work of modern Europe to pile up with much labor and to cement with much blood. Setting aside Great Britain, as having her boundaries fixed for her by nature, and Austria as an altogether abnormal and portentous growth, it may fairly be questioned whether, for instance, the unification of Germany will have been a benefit or an injury to Europe, if it causes her, by maintaining a vast military establishment, to crush her restless masses into despair, and to keep her neighbors' armaments at their present overgrown scale. It is at least among the possibilities of the distant future, that a federation of small republics, united closely for purposes of defense and of commerce and intercourse, but otherwise independent, may take the place of the enormous monarchies which now overshadow Europe.

At present, however, Germany is great, and will remain great so long as her rulers can hold her together. But it is amusing to notice how neither the infinitely great nor the infinitely little is beyond the notice of the Government. At the little town of Altenahr, I was surprised to notice the figures 23 legibly painted on the lintel of the church door. Apparently, an edict had gone forth from the Home Office that every house in every town should be numbered consecutively, and accordingly, the church being the twentythird house in Altenahr, it was numbered 23. Fancy if Westminster Abbey were known to the official mind only as No. 57 Parliament Street! But the home government of Germany is conducted on a policy of "peddling and meddling". (to paraphrase a celebrated epigrammatic saying), which a born German accepts as his natural heritage, but which to any other nation would be intolerable. Not long ago-very likely they are there still-there were to be read in the carriages of a German railway the following regulations: "Only one window of this compartment may be open at one time, and that only on the side from which the wind does not blow, and that only with the expressed consent of all the travelers in the compartment," So that if on the hottest day the travelers are unanimous in wishing to put down both windows, or the window on the windward side, a paternal government interposes its veto, and says: "Not so, my children. I know what is best for you. You will get cricks in your necks and rheumatic pains in your shoulders, and will be unable to fight for the Fatherland. One window only, and that on the leeward side." The maxim of English lawyers, "De minimis non curat lex," might be exactly adapted to German usage by the omission of the negative. Any one who may have chanced to take lodgings in a German city some five-and-twenty years ago—it may be so now very likely-will remember with awe the form which on the very first day of his entry

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