CHAPTER XII.

"When I consider life, 'tis all a cheat;
Yet, fool'd with hope, men favour the deceit;
Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay;
To-morrow's falser than the former day.

Lyes worse; and while it says, we shall be blest
With some new joys, cuts off what we possest."

DRYDEN.

I FOUND myself seated opposite to one Mr. Shortman, a gentleman from Penzance, whose countenance indicated that he was frank, humourous, and intelligent; qualities which he soon manifested. To him I was indebted for information respecting several Cornish usages.

This gentleman stated that a fisherman caught a conger eel at Brixham, six years back, in which he found a piece of check

shirt, containing sixteen sovereigns and a half; the inference was, that the fish had preyed on the remains of some mariner, and had swallowed his homely purse.

I was lamenting the sacrifices made by Londoners, whose avarice incited them to work mines, which the Cornish men deemed unprofitable. Said I, "I conceive that a little reflection might convince the Londoners, that you, who are on the spot, must judge best what is likely or unlikely to prove productive; and that, if a mine be good, or hopeful, you neither lack the disposition to keep it, or the capital to work it." "You've hit it! you've hit it, my friend!" said my fellow-traveller,-" I can assure you, if capital be wanted, in a rational undertaking, Penzance alone can raise £90,000; so that there are fearful odds against the London speculators, and that mine is a wheal rara avis which first and last promotes their weal."

I instanced the lamentable case (with which I was acquainted,) of a man, who, after

saving a fortune by standing behind the bar of a city gin shop, during the prime of his life, had, in a short space, lost £10,000 by a Cornish mine. "I remember,” said another passenger, "the case of the wherry mine being re-opened by a set of mad adventurers, whom no Cornish man joined; thinking it hopeless: and upon that occasion one Cornish gentleman said to his neighbour, as they were chatting over their wine, • Friend Coolish, do you purpose holding shares in the wherry ?' 'No,' said he, with a look of unfeigned astonishment; humourously adding, "I'm not so werry foolish!”

The Londoners spent more weight in gold in working this mine, than they extracted in tin. A third passenger, who seemed in his glory, said "There was a traveller of a London mercantile house, who lost a small sum of money in mining; and he remembered it, as long as he visited Cornwall. I remember hearing a gentleman recommend him to purchase, in what he considered a good adventure. "No, sir," said he, "I've

lost too much already by mines." "In which?" said the gentleman. "The first I lost by," said the traveller, "was the Wheal Diddle 'em " "I never heard of that mine," said the gentleman, with sympathy. "And," snappishly resumed the traveller, "the next mine I lost by, and the last I mean to lose by, was the We'll cheat 'em.” We all simultaneously roared with laughter; when one of the gentlemen said to me, "Have you been to our northern coast? "No, sir," said I. "Then" said he, "You have not seen the two notable mines, which are on either side of the high road, near (I forget where he said;) one has ceased to work, and is going to decay,-the other has smoke coming from the chimney,-engines rattling,-pumps going,-and everything indicating industrious toil, 'and bold adventure. The two mines form a striking contrast." "" Pray, sir," said I, "what may be their names?" "That," said the gentleman, "which has ceased to work, and is completely exhausted, and has

I

exhausted the funds and courage of numerous bands of bold London adventurers, goes by the name of We've done 'em; the other, about the richness of whose lodes there are strong doubts and strange rumours, is called Wheal (We'll) do 'em." My sides were aching through laughter; when, after a pause, as we approached Breage, "This" said one of the passengers, "is the very town, of which tradition relates, that, in olden times, whilst the minister was one morning in the midst of a pathetic discourse, upon the subject of the good Samaritan, and had moved his congregation to tears, and holy resolutions to do as they would be done by,—a man dashed into the place of worship, crying a wreck! a wreck! —whereupon there was a general rush to the door; and the minister, with much agitation, descended from the pulpit, and entreated a moment's audience. They paused, expecting the benediction. But he, scrambling to the van of his forces, cried out with energy," my brethren, I again say, do as