A Pleasant Time at Penzance, 53 



abode of Sir John St. Aubyn. Unapproachable at 

 times, by reason of the heavy waves that roll in from 

 the Atlantic, is this island home. On the other side 

 the town of Penzance is seen, nearly surrounded by 

 the steep hills that form the background. Just be- 

 neath me is the village church of Gulval, almost 

 buried amidst a group of tall trees, with its beautifully- 

 kept churchyard, full of blossoming shrubs, around 

 which are the few cottages whereof this little village 

 consists, some half-hidden by the clustering roses, 

 giant geraniums, blue hydrangeas, luxuriant passion 

 flowers, or tall, blossoming myrtles, and hedged in 

 with fuchsias, the growth of years. 



Seated beneath the porch, on the morning following 

 my arrival, I am aroused by the tramp of horses and 

 the baying of hounds. It is the huntsman of the 

 Western Foxhounds, accompanied by his whip and 

 twenty-two couples of foxhounds, who, hearing of 

 my arrival, desired to pay me a complimentary visit. 

 A pretty sight at all times is a pack of hounds, and, 

 seen on the village green, with Thompson and his 

 assistants in their scarlet coats pointing out the 

 favourites, and bidding them step forth to show their 

 perfections, it is indeed a pleasing picture that at- 

 tracts the special admiration of a sportsman. 



It is proposed that I should drive to Prussia Cove, 

 and we start on a lovely morning, going by way of 

 Marazion, a little village close to the shore, where 

 "just a trace of silver sand marks where the water 

 meets the land," and after a pleasant hour's ride we 

 reach that rocky inlet. There we sit lazily watching 

 the fishermen collecting their lobster pots, or catch- 

 ing wrass from the rocks, and listening to the music, 



