At the most western extremity, and in the lowest latitude of Great Britain, is situated this delightful and justly celebrated Bay. It is bounded by an irregularly curved outline of many miles in extent, the extreme points of which constitute the well known promontory of the "Lizard," and the singular headland, "Tol-Pedn-Penwith," near the "Land's End."

From the Lizard, the shores pass northward and westward, and gradually losing, as they proceed, their harsh and untamed features, swell into sloping sweeps of richly cultivated land, and into hills glowing with the freshest verdure. As the coast advances, and at the same time spreads itself southward, it unites to its luxuriant richness a bolder character, and, rising like a vast amphitheatre, it opposes a barrier to western storms, while it presents its undulating bosom to the sun, and collecting his rays, pours them again with multiplied effect, upon every part of the surrounding country. The shores now pass westward, and extend to the Land's End, in their approach to which they become more rocky and precipitous, and occasionally exhibit some of the finest cliff scenery in the island, displaying by splendid natural sections the exact structure and relations of the rocks of which the country is composed.

The western shores are sprinkled with picturesque villages, churches, cottages, and villas; and near the eastern margin of the bay, a pile of rocks, supporting a venerable chapel on its summit, starts abruptly from the waves, and presents an appearance of a most singular and beautiful description—this is Saint Michael's Mount, an eminence equally celebrated in the works of the poet, the naturalist, the antiquary, and the historian.

If we pursue the coast, and, turning round the western extremity of our island, trace its outline as it proceeds northerly, and then easterly to the Bay of St. Ives, a very different country presents itself; instead of the undulating curves, and luxuriant herbage of the southern shores, the land is generally high,—the vallies short, narrow, and quick of descent, and the whole landscape affords a scene of incomparable cheerlessness; on the summit of almost every hill the granite is to be seen protruding its rugged forms in the most fantastic shapes, while the neighbouring ground is frequently covered for some distance with its disjointed and gigantic fragments, tumbled together in magnificent confusion; scarcely a shrub is seen to diversify the waste, and the traveller who undertakes to explore the more desolate parts of the district, will feel as if he were walking over the ruins of the globe, and were the only being who had survived the general wreck; and yet Ulysses was not more attached to his Ithaca, than is the Cornish peasant to his wild and cheerless dwelling.

Nor let the intelligent tourist despair of amusement, for he will find much to interest, much to delight him. There is not perhaps a district in Great Britain which presents greater attractions to the mineralogist or geologist; and there is certainly not one which, in so small a compass, has produced so many species of earthy and metallic minerals, or which displays so many geological varieties. At the same time the antiquarian may here occupy himself with the examination of the rude relics of antiquity, which lie scattered on all sides—nothing is more pleasing than that sacred enthusiasm which is kindled in the mind by the contemplation of the faded monuments of past ages, and surely no spot was ever more congenial to such sensations. But to return from the digression.

The Climate of Mount's Bay is the circumstance which has principally contributed to its celebrity, and is that which renders its shores so beneficial to invalids. Its seasons have been aptly compared to the neap tides, which neither ebb nor flow with energy; for, notwithstanding its southern latitude, the summer is never sultry, while the rigour of winter is so ameliorated, that thick ice[1] is rarely seen; frost, if it occurs, is but of a few hours duration; and the snow storms which, coming from the north and east, bury the fields of every other part of England, are generally exhausted before they reach this favoured spot, or their last sprinkling is dissolved by the warm breezes which play around its shores.

The records lately collated and published by Dr. Forbes, from the meteorological journals of Messrs. Giddy, eminent surgeons at Penzance, afford abundant proof that this neighbourhood enjoys a mean summer temperature under, and a mean winter temperature greatly above, the mean of places similarly situated as to latitude, but differing in the latter being placed at a distance from the sea; for the mass of water held in the vast basin of the ocean preserves a far more even temperature than the atmosphere, and is constantly at work to maintain some degree of equilibrium in the warmth of the air; so that in the summer it carries off a portion of the caloric from it, while in the winter it restores a part of that which it contains.[2]

The same registers have, moreover, recorded a fact with respect to the Penzance climate which renders it still more acceptable to the invalid,—the comparatively small annual, monthly, and daily range of its temperature. Nor are the indications of the thermometer the only test upon which we need rely,—the productions of nature will furnish striking elucidations, and amply confirm the justness of our meteorological observations. From the vegetable kingdom we derive conclusive evidence of the mildness of our winter, since all green-house plants may be preserved with far less care and attendance than in any other part of England; myrtles[3] and geraniums, even of the tenderest kind, and many other exotics, are here constantly exposed during the winter, and yet they flower most luxuriantly in the summer. The Hydrangea attains an immense size in our shrubberies, as does also the Verbena Triphylla. The great American aloe (Agave Americana,) has flowered in the open air at Mousehole, at Tehidy park, and in the Scilly islands. To these we may add a long list[4] of tender exotics, all of which are flourishing in the neighbourhood of Penzance, and it has been justly remarked that were ornamental horticulture to become an object of attention in this neighbourhood, as it is in many other parts of England, this list might be very considerably extended. Amongst the rare indigenous plants of this district, the Sibthorpia EuropÆa may be particularised as affording a remarkable proof of the mildness of our winter. This elegant little plant when transplanted into the midland counties is killed even in the most sheltered gardens. Nor must we pass over unnoticed the more substantial proofs of the same fact, as furnished by our winter markets, for at a season when pot-herbs of all kinds are destroyed by frost in the eastern counties, our tables are regularly supplied in abundance;[5] and so little is the progress of vegetation checked during the months of winter, that the meadows retain their verdure, and afford even a considerable supply of grass to the cattle.

Nor is the animal kingdom deficient in proofs of the congenial mildness of western Cornwall. We are indebted to the Rev. W. T. Bree, of Allesley, Warwickshire, for the following remarks, which were communicated by him to Dr. Forbes of Penzance, and published by that gentleman in his Observations on the Climate of this neighbourhood.

"One of the most remarkable instances of the mildness of your climate is the unusually early appearance of frog's spawn: this I observed at Gulval on the 8th of January. According to White's Naturalist's Calendar (which was made from observations taken in Hampshire, a warm and early county,) the earliest and latest appearances there specified, are February 28th, and March 22d. Taking therefore the second week in March as the average for its appearance, you should seem, in this instance, to be full two months earlier than Hampshire."

"In this neighbourhood (near Coventry) I rarely see any of our species of Swallow, except perhaps an occasional straggler, before the second week in April, but in the year 1818 I was not a little gratified at observing upwards of a score of Sand Martins, (Hirundo Riparia,) sporting over the marsh between Gulval and Marazion, on March 31st. The wind at that time was N. W. and the thermometer at 50° in the shade at noon. The Chaffinch (Fringilla Coelebs,) I heard, in Cornwall, begin to chirp his spring note the last day of December. With us he is seldom heard until the beginning of February. The Viper, (Coluber Berus) a great lover of warmth and moisture, occurs more frequently in Cornwall than in the midland counties."

We have already stated that our summers are as remarkable for coolness, as our winters are desirable for mildness. This circumstance necessarily renders our fruit inferior in flavour to that which is produced in the inland counties; indeed the grape very rarely ripens in the open air, and the apricot tree seldom affords any fruit, except in a few favoured spots. The tree of the greengage plum is nearly equally unproductive. The walnut and the common hazel-nut very seldom bear fruit. Apples for the table, however, are plentiful and good; and our strawberries may be considered as possessing a decided superiority.

Why then, it may be asked, should not this climate be as eligible to invalids as that which they are generally sent across the Channel to enjoy? In reply we will venture to assert, and without the least fear of being contradicted by those, whose experience renders them competent judges, that it is not only equally beneficial, but far more eligible, unless, indeed, the patient can possess himself of the cap of Fortunatus, to remove the difficulties and discomfiture of a continental journey. But since the present volume is, in some measure, written for the information and guidance of those who are seeking a winter's residence, in pursuit of health, the author has been induced to subjoin a short essay, in the appendix, for the purpose of examining the comparative pretensions of the several places to the reputation for superior mildness and salubrity, which they have acquired.

From the peninsular situation of Cornwall, and its proximity to the Atlantic ocean, over which the wind blows, at least, three-fourths of the year, the weather is certainly very subject to rain, and it is found that when other parts of England suffer from drought, Cornwall has rarely any reason to complain; this peculiarity seems highly congenial to the inhabitants, as well as to the soil; a Cornishman never enjoys better health and spirits than in wet seasons, and there is a popular adage, that "the land will bear a shower every day, and two upon a sunday;" this, like most of our popular sayings, although it requires to be understood with some grains of allowance, is founded on observation and experience. The philosophical explanation of the fact is obvious; the shallowness of the soil, and the large proportion of siliceous matter which enters into its composition, together with the nature of its rocky substratum, necessarily render a constant supply of moisture indispensable to its fertility. And we here cannot but admire the intelligence displayed by Nature in connecting the wants and necessities of the different parts of Creation with the power and means of supplying them; thus in a primitive country, like Cornwall, where the soil is constantly greedy of moisture, we perceive that the rocks, elevated above the surface, solicit a tribute from every passing cloud; while in alluvial and flat districts, the soil of which is rich, deep, and retentive of water, the clouds float undisturbed over the plains, and the country very commonly enjoys that long and uninterrupted series of dry weather which is so congenial and essential to its productions.

It deserves, however, to be noticed, that the rains of Cornwall are, in general, rather frequent than heavy.

It has been satisfactorily ascertained, by means of the rain guage, that the actual quantity of rain that falls is rather under the mean of the whole of England; and Dr. Borlase observes that "we have very seldom a day so thoroughly wet, but that there is some intermission, nor so cloudy, but that the sun will find a time to shine." This circumstance may, perhaps, in part depend upon the narrow, ridgelike form of the peninsula, over which the winds make a quick, because they have a short passage, and therefore do not suffer the clouds to hang long in one place, as they frequently do in other situations; we are, besides, much indebted to Ireland for this moderation of the elements; she may be truly denominated the Umbrella of Cornwall, for were not the vast body of clouds, which the winds bring from the Atlantic, attracted and broken by her hills, we should most probably be deluged with more constant and excessive rain.

Notwithstanding the supposed moisture of the Mount's Bay, the air is not less fit for respiration, nor less beneficial to the valetudinarian, than that of drier situations. The porous nature of the shelfy substratum soon disposes of any excess of water; so that, after a short cessation of rain, the invalid may safely venture abroad to enjoy the delightful walks which surround the bay; at the same time, the numerous promontories which distinguish this coast, promote a constant circulation of breezes around their extremities, so that mists seldom linger, and we never experience those sultry calms, or suffocating fogs, which not unfrequently infest other parts of our island.

As Cornwall is directly exposed to the expanse of the Atlantic ocean, lying south-west of it, we cannot be surprised that the winds, which blow so generally from that quarter, should occasionally produce very violent storms. Their approach is frequently predicted by the experienced fisherman, from the agitation of the water along shore, a phenomenon which is called a "ground swell;" and which is probably occasioned by a storm in the Atlantic, with the wind west; in which case, as the storm proceeds eastward, the waves raised by it will outgo the wind, and reach the eastern coast long before it. A tremendous instance of this kind occurred, during the residence of the author of these pages, on the night of Sunday, January 19th, 1817. The storm assumed the character of a hurricane, and acting in conjunction with a spring tide, impelled the waves with such fury, that they actually broke over the mast heads of the vessels which were lying within Penzance harbour, and bore down every thing before them; two of the four pillars recently erected for the reception of a light were thrown down, and several of the foundation stones of the pier removed. The windows of the bath-house were demolished, and the whole of its furniture washed into the sea. The green between Penzance and Newlyn was torn up, and several boats, lying on the strand were actually carried into the neighbouring meadows. The towns of Newlyn and Mousehole suffered corresponding damage, and several of their houses were washed away. The road between Marazion and St. Michael's Mount was torn from its lowest foundation, and stones of more than a ton in weight, though clamped together with massy iron, were severed and removed from their situation. The turnpike road between Penzance and Marazion was, in many places, buried with sand; and in others, broken up by the violence of the waves, and covered by the sea to the depth of from three to five feet. Had the violence of the storm lasted but a few hours longer, who will venture to say that the two channels would not have been united by the inundation of the low land which constitutes the isthmus, and the district of the Land's end been converted into an island!

The sea is encroaching upon every part of the Cornish coast. In the memory of many persons still living, the cricketers were unable to throw a ball across the "Western Green," between Penzance and Newlyn,[6] which is now not many feet in breadth, and the grandfather of the present vicar of Madron is known to have received tithes from the land under the cliff of Penzance. On the northern coast we have striking instances of the sea having made similar inroads. This however is the natural result of the slow and silent depredation of the water upon the land; but at a very remote period we are assured by tradition, that a considerable part of the present bay, especially that comprehended within a line drawn from near Cuddan point on the east side, to Mousehole on the west, was land covered with wood, but which, by an awful convulsion and irruption of the sea, was suddenly swept away. "If we trace the north-west shore of the bay, from the Mount westward to Newlyn, the ebb tide leaves a large space uncovered; the sea sand is from one to two or three feet deep; and under this stratum of sand is found a black vegetable mould, full of woodland detritus, such as the branches, leaves, and nuts of coppice wood, together with the roots and trunks of forest trees of large growth. All these are manifestly indigenous; and, from the freshness and preservation of some of the remains, the inundation of sand, as well as water, must have been sudden and simultaneous; and the circumstance of ripe nuts and leaves remaining together would seem to shew that the irruption happened in the autumn, or in the beginning of winter. This vegetable substratum has been traced seaward as far as the ebb would permit, and has been found continuous and of like nature. Another proof of these shores having been suddenly visited by a tremendous catastrophe, has been afforded by the nature of the sand banks constituting the "Eastern," and "Western Greens," and which will be found to be the detritus of disintegrated granite; whereas the natural sand, which forms the bed of the sea, is altogether unlike it, being much more comminuted, different in colour, and evidently the result of pulverised clay-slate:"[7] but when did this mighty catastrophe occur, and what were its causes? These are questions which are not readily answered; the event is so buried in the depths of antiquity, that nothing certain or satisfactory can be collected concerning it; although it would appear from the concurrent testimony of Florence of Worcester,[8] and the Saxon Chronicles, that a remarkable invasion of the ocean occurred in November 1099. With respect to the causes of the phenomenon we are equally uninformed; let the geologist examine the appearance of the coast with attention, and then decide with what probability De Luc attributed the catastrophe to a subsidence of the land. It must not, however, be concealed that many geologists have questioned the probability of the occurrence altogether, and argue from the appearance of the coast, "whose rocks beat back the envious siege of watery Neptune," that no very important change in the hydrographical outline of the Cornish peninsula can have taken place, during the present constitution of the earth's surface. If Saint Michael's Mount be in reality the "Ictis" of Diodorus Siculus, we have certainly a decisive proof that no material change has taken place for the space of eighteen centuries at least; for the Historian describes the access to this island precisely such as it is at the present period—practicable only at low water for wheel carriages.

Nor is the corroding operation of the other elements upon the hills of Cornwall less evident and striking; no where are the vestiges of degradation more remarkable; granitic countries usually present a bold and varied outline, whereas the aspect of Cornwall, with some few exceptions, is comparatively tame, and even flat. "I went into Cornwall," said a geologist of well known celebrity, "to see an example of a primitive country; but, instead of an example, I found an exception." The same observation would apply to the agricultural character of the county, for its fertility is much greater than that which usually occurs in a country composed of primitive rocks.

All that peninsular portion of Cornwall which is situated to the westward of a line drawn from the estuary of Hayle on the north, to Cuddan point on the south, has been distinguished by the appellation of the Land's End District. It is about thirteen miles long from east to west, and five or six miles broad from north to south, and contains, by superficial admeasurement about 54,000 statute acres. It has been remarked that the small extent of this district, and its peninsular character, preclude the existence of rivers of any magnitude; its varied and uneven surface, however, gives it a great profusion of small streams and rivulets, which add greatly to its value. We shall take occasion to introduce some remarks on its agriculture, in our excursion to the Land's End.