sses of stone, were once covered, or nearly covered, by
earth, and were thus supported in an upright form; that the wear and
tear of storms gradually washed away all this earth, from between the
rocks, down the hill, and then left such heaps of stones as were
accidentally complete in their balance on each other, to stand erect,
and such as were not, to fall flat on the surface of the hill in all the
various positions in which they now appear. Accepting this theory as the
right one, it still seems strange that there should be only one
Cheese-Wring on the hill--but so it is. Plenty of rocks are to be seen
there piled one on another; but none of them are piled in the same
extraordinary manner as the Cheese-Wring, which stands alone in its
grandeur, a curiosity that even science may wonder at, a sight which is
worth a visit to Cornwall, if Cornwall presented nothing else to see.

Besides the astonishment which the rock scenery on the hill was
calculated to excite, we found in its neighbourhood an additional cause
for surprise of a very different description. Just as we were preparing
to ascend the eminence, the silence of the great waste around us was
broken by a long and hearty cheer. The Hurlers themselves, if they had
suddenly returned to a state of flesh and blood, and resumed their
interrupted game, could hardly have made more noise, or exhibited a
greater joviality of disposition, than did some three or four tradesmen
of the town of Liskeard, who had been enjoying a pic-nic under the
Cheese-Wring, had seen us approaching over the plain, and now darted out
of their ambush to welcome us, flourishing porter-bottles in their hands
as olive branches of peace, amity, and good-will. My companion skilfully
contrived to make his escape; but I was stopped and surrounded in an
instant. One benevolent stranger held a glass in a very slanting
position, while a brother philanthropist violently uncorked a bottle and
directed half of its contents in a magnificent jet of light brown froth
all over everybody, before he found the way into the tumbler. It was of
no use to decline imbibing the remainder of the light brown
froth--"_There_ was the Cheese-Wring (cried all the benevolent strangers
in chorus), and _here_ was the porter--_I_ must drink all their good
healths, and _they_ would all drink mine--this was Cornish hospitality,
and Cornish hospitality was notoriously the finest thing in the world!
As for my friend there, who was drawin