The church of St. Symphorian, at Forrabury (the distant cemetery) is of mixed Saxon and Norman architecture, a remarkable feature in Cornwall where most of the churches were rebuilt in the 14th and 15th centuries. A granite cross is in the garth. The road to Tintagel passes through Trevethy, from which a path leads to St. Nectan's, or Nighton's Kieve (basin), a delicious tree-shadowed glen, wild and tangled with mosses and ferns, briars and trailing plants, and echoing with the dull plashing of a waterfall, and the ripple of a swiftly-flowing stream. The fall is divided into two parts, the lower being bridged by a natural arch: the upper cascade is 30 feet high; the lower leap only 10 feet. Adjoining are the remains of an ancient hermitage, where a pious anchorite kept midnight vigil, and prayed for all poor mariners at sea: the present name is that of a popular Cornish saint, to whom Hartland Abbey was dedicated. Many years since, the deserted cell was occupied by two aged sisters, who were plainly of ancient lineage, and of a lofty bearing: the sad stream and the lonesome wood seemed in unison with their fallen fortunes, as slowly they withered away. A curious child one day penetrated into the haunted glen, and peeping timidly in at the latticed window, saw one of the ladies, sitting bowed and in passionate tears beside the bed, on which lay a shrouded form, while she murmured, "I shall have none to weep for me." A few months after her sister had been laid in holy ground, the survivor was found in the same attitude, bent, in her lonely seat, quite dead; and with her died the secret of her life. Half a mile west of Trevena village, a favourite sketchingplace of Creswick, is the church of St. Symphorian, Tintagel, seated on a bare ridge, its tower forming a conspicuous sea-mark. A Norman font, with bas-reliefs, representing the triumph of the Cross over the serpent, some good stall-work, an oak rood-screen, Norman arcades in the chancel, and an Early English Eastern sepulchre render the interior interesting. TINTAGEL. On a rock-bound coast, under its cyclopean walls, the greater depth of water, and the absence of sand and mud beneath the surface, cause the sea of the western coast to wear, when calm, a hue of deeper blue than the channel on the southern sea-board, while in the shallower parts near the shore, the waving oar-weed, and rapid movements of the fish are plainly discernible. The broad Atlantic, heaving for a length of one thousand leagues, pours in here a heavy ground-swell, rising slow and stately, the last remains of some distant storm. But at no point is the grandeur of the ocean more perceptible than under these stupendous cliffs, arching in vast billows, grassy green, and throwing up thick showers of spray, like flying mists; solemn and dreary when the south-west wind drives in the gloomy steaming sea-fog, or sweeps its vast trails away, like the furnace-smoke that rose over the guilty cities of the plain. The time to see it is in the short daylight of winter, when low murky clouds, before a storm, hanging like a canopy over land and sea, shadow the horizon, and darkening the depths, and obscuring the cliffs, draw back the outlines into the mysterious gloom and night of the sky. No contrast can be greater than that between a Cornish valley, soft, rich, luxuriant, calm, and the stern, rugged cliffs, the bare, wild hill and craggy heights of the precipitous coast. Here, approaching through the glen, riven asunder by some tremendous force, the long rollers of the sapphire-flashing sea appear at intervals; while the high mossy banks are overhung with harts-tongue, polypody, wild rose, and honeysuckle. Fern and cresses mantle a sluggish brook; thistles, sea-nettles, and thrift nestle in the crannies of the slate and quartz; samphire and stony trefoil are found on the cliffs. On nearing the shore is seen a deep cove, and the eye, following the narrow zig-gag sheep-track up the verge of the steep, dun-coloured hill-side of the promontory, perceives winding outworks, rising and falling with the slope of the ground, and reaching to the edge of the dizzy brow, where the rocks have parted asunder, and the central parts of King Arthur's Keep have fallen centuries since, from the bluffs 100 ft. sheer into the yawning gulf below. “He must have eyes," said old Norden, "that will scale Tintagel." The landing-place bears the appropriate name of Porth-hem, "the iron gate." Fragments of bastion and battlement have strewn the beach on Tintagel Island were once the outworks, but now all is wrapped above in dark solemn grandeur; the moan of the sea, the dirge-like wind, the knell of the thunder, are the only sounds that pass through the broken arches; there is no stir of life in the loosely-piled, loopholed ruins, which seem quarried out of the living rock; yet fancy rebuilds the walls of micaceous slate, as of old, with a metallic lustre in the sun, glittering like a palace of Arabian story. It must be a cold imagination that does not conjure up the old glories of the place-the kingly garden outside the massive portals, and the wide courts where Queen Guenevre and her ladies watch the stately marshalling of knights on caparisoned barbs, with hawk and hound, or armed for battle. King Arthur, who was born here, rides at their head, his lance Rou in rest, his sword Caliburn slung at his back, behind him following Sir Gawain, Sir Tristram, and Sir Launcelot, and those other worthies of the Round Table, each of whom was designated to honour by Merlin's magic art, the name of the chosen candidate appearing, written by unearthly fingers, above his future chair. Or, perhaps, the traveller will think of the day, when the king was brought back, wounded to death in the great fight at Camelford: angel voices sang peace to his departing soul, and the dark ship, with sable-clad ladies and their queenly mistress, came softly over the sea, and bore him away to sleep in Avalon. Here his castle stands, like a huge cairn; ivy nor moss, nor fern nor lichen, colour its weather-worn walls, though the turf slopes downward from their base, with ledges of slate breaking the sameness of the verdure. Not a vestige now remains of St. Ulette's Chapel, Sir Galahad's postern, Sir Tristram's turret, or Sir Kaye's window; ladies alone preserve the fashion which, according to the old song, was introduced here— "When Arthur first in court began To wear long hanging sleeves." To the memorable interchange of visits between Mordred and Arthur, in which they ate each other out of house and home, we owe the famous nursery rhyme "I went to Taffy's house, Taffy was not at home; The castle was formerly called Dun Chine (the Fort of the Chasm), and more lately Dun-dagell (the impregnable fortress), a name of which Tintagel is a corruption. It belonged to the Earls of Cornwall: Richard, King of the Romans, resided here in it, 1245; and subsequently it served as the state prison for a lord mayor of London, and in 1397, of the Earl of Warwick. On the rocks are found lichen geographicus, and 1. fuciformis. The route may be prolonged to visit the interesting slate-quarries of Bowithic, and those at Delabole, about 4 miles distant. They consist of enormous excavations, on the belts of high gray cliffs, 300 feet high. Men formerly hewed and hurled down huge blocks, which the labourers below proceeded to square and slice; but now whims raise the slate, which, after being split and polished by steampower, is carted away in waggons. This material is used for roofing. Delabole is famous for Cornish diamonds. MOORWINSTOW will afford a pleasant termination to an excursion. The road passes through Stratton (2 miles), a common designation for towns lying on the line of a Roman road. The church of St. Andrew has a fine tower, and contains an effigy of a knight (Sir John Blanchminster), and some brasses of the Arundell family. At Lancels (1 mile south) is some rich stall-work ; there is also a part of a rood-screen remaining, with rude paintings of the Apostles. It was remarkable that the same ringers chimed the bells for the accession and the jubilee of George III.; some rang on the coronation of his successor, and one survived to pull a rope at the accession of William IV. At Stamford Hill, on May 16, 1643, Sir Bevil Granville defeated the rebels under Lord Stamford. Sir Bevil has a monument in Kilkhampton Church (3 miles), in the next village which is passed: J. Hervey was curate, and wrote here his "Meditations among the Tombs." There is a very fine Norman door, with a beakhead ornament. Moorwinstow is the living of J. M. Hawker, author of "Echoes of Old Cornwall." The church of St. Morwenna has a curious Norman south porch; the remainder of the structure being Decorated: the east window has glazing by Warrington, the gift of Lord Clinton, 1849. The carved screen is of the 16th century. The legend of the first mole in Cornwall is connected with the name of Lady Alice of the Lea, in Moorwinstow, whose blue eyes and gorgeous dress made the folks aver she had the eyes of a seraph and the robes of a queen. Her heart was set on winning the love of Sir Bevil Granville of Stow. In vain her mother entreated this haughty dame to commend her desires to heaven and not to trust to beauty or apparel; but she replied with impiety and scorn. At length Lady Alice could nowhere be found; on her favourite lawn appeared a little mole-hill, and a priest passing by took from its top her ring, on which were graven these words : "The earth must hide,' At Stanbury Creek are some remarkable cortorted strata : at Wescott the cliffs are 420 feet high. From Welcombe to Hartland is a succession of bold and lofty cliffs. The traveller may proceed by Hartland to Clovelly. Hartland can boast only a semicircular pier, uncouth weather-beaten cottages, dark rocks, and dangerous reefs protruding into the ever-restless surf. The north coast of Cornwall presents, leagues upon leagues, a vast front of |