CORNWALL. 81 
found myself continually saying, When I get back 
to England." It is a land of Ferns and wild flowers 
— a land of old ecclesiastical monuments and way- 
side crosses. Each village has its history and its 
records of interest ; its church — a landmark to 
sailors at sea, and to travellers across the waste ; 
its baptistry — the bubbling waters of the clear 
spring, rising on some dreary moor, guarded by a 
few rough slabs of stone covered with ivy and 
decorated with Fern. The true Cornish man has 
a rough intelligence that beams on his face, and 
takes expression in words of singular fitness to 
the subject which engages him. He has a self- 
respect that gives to his conversation a freedom 
unaccompanied by any mixture of vulgar fami- 
liarity. Most of the Cornish miners have their 
bookshelves, containing volumes so successfully 
read that humility keeps pace with the knowledge 
acquired. This intelligence, with the apt way of 
expressing it, gives a stamp of originality to the 
people that you can hardly fail to recognize. 
After a visit of some months to Penzance, I 
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