* 



WINTERING IN WEST CORNWALL 3 



It is common, I think, for lovers of walking to dislike 

 e railway. So smoothly had I been carried in this 

 flight to the furthest west that I might have been 

 sailing in a balloon ; and as for the time occupied it 

 would surely be no bad progress for a migrating bird, 

 travelling, let us say, from Middlesex to Africa, to 

 cover the distance I had come in a little more than 

 seven hours ! 



St. Ives is on the north side of the rounded western 

 extremity of Cornwall, and from the little green hill, 

 called the " Island," which rises above and partly 

 shelters the town, you look out upon the wide Atlan- 

 tic, the sea that has always a trouble on it and that 

 cannot be quiet ; and standing there with the great 

 waves breaking on the black granite rocks at your 

 feet, they will tell you that there is no land between 

 you and America. Nevertheless, after London, I 

 wanted no better climate ; for though it rained 

 heavily on many days in December and the wind 

 blew with tremendous force, the temperature was 

 singularly mild, with an agreeable softness in the air 

 and sunshine breaking out on the cloudiest days. 

 The weather could be described as " delicate " with 

 tempestuous intervals. On bright, windless days I 

 saw the peacock butterfly abroad and heard that idle 

 song of the corn bunting, associated in our minds 

 with green or yellow fields and sultry weather. I was 

 still more surprised one day late in December at 

 meeting with a lively wheatear, flitting from stone to 

 stone near the Land's End. This one had discovered 

 that it was not necessary to fly all the way to North 





