scover when
he has reached the _district_ of the "Land's End," by two rather
remarkable indications that he will meet with on his road. He will
observe, at some distance from the coast, an old milestone marked "I,"
and will be informed that this is the real original first mile in
England; as if all measurement of distances began strictly from the
West! A little further on he will come to a house, on one wall of which
he will see written in large letters, "This is the first Inn in
England," and on the other: "This is the last Inn in England;" as if the
recognised beginning, and end too, of the Island of Britain were here,
and here only! Having pondered a little on the slightly exclusive view
of the attributes of their locality, taken by the inhabitants, he will
then be led forward, about half a mile, by his guide, will descend some
cliffs, will walk out on a ridge of rocks till he can go no
farther--and will then be told that he is standing on the Land's End!

Here, as elsewhere, there are certain "sights" which a stranger is
required to examine assiduously, as a duty if not as a pleasure, by
guide-book law, rigidly administered by guides. There is, first of all,
the mark of a horse's hoof, which is with great care kept _sharply
modelled_ (to borrow the painter's phrase), in the thin grass at the
edge of a precipice. This mark commemorates the narrow escape from death
of a military man who, for a wager, rode a horse down the cliff to the
extreme verge of the Land's End; where the poor animal, seeing its
danger, turned in affright, reared, and fell back into the sea raging
over the rocks beneath. The foolhardy rider had just sense enough left
to throw himself off in time--he tumbled on the ground, within a few
inches of the precipice, and so barely saved the life which he had
richly deserved to lose.

After the mark of the hoof, the traveller is next desired to look at a
natural tunnel in the outer cliff, which pierces it through from one end
to the other. Then his attention is directed to a lighthouse built on a
reef of rocks detached from the land; and he is told of the great waves
which break over the top of the building during the winter storms.
Lastly, he is requested to inspect a quaint protuberance in a pile of
granite at a little distance off, which bears a remote resemblance to a
gigantic human face, adorned with a short beard; and which, he is
informed, is considered quite a portrait (of all the people in the w