received on my own proper merits; but, as a
Cornishman, I have had no such a chance.
What a fool I was when I went up to
Cambridge, to admit that I came from any greater
distance than Highgate or Hampstead !

"Pendraggles," says Littermere to me
(Littermere, afterwards called Long Litter, on
account of his legs, was my very first college
acquaintance; we had been introduced to each
other in caps and gowns of startling blueness
and freshness, by old Sniggles, the tutor, on the
very first day of our first freshmen's term);
"Pendraggles," says Littermere to me, about a
month after we had been up, " confess you are
a Cornishman, and that you are descended from
that very same Pendraggles, of ancient memory,
who got so much the better of the Phœnicians
in their little dealings with tin."

"He's a horrible wrecker, that's what he is!"
shouts out that long-winded bore Swilsbury;
"and he may be seen any day below the locks,
waiting for his prey in the shape of capsized
freshmen and their 'funnies.'"

"Now, I'll tell you what it is, you know,"
says that gorgeous young fellow-commoner,
the Honourable Augustus de Slimchick;
"it's too bad, you know, for these sea-
vultures, you know, to bring their ill-gotten
gains up here, and to batten upon the college
butteries!"

Oh! those dreary hours when I was supposed
to be the cause of wit in Slimchick, and to
provoke jokes in the obese mind of Swilsbury! But
the dons were just as bad in their way.

"Oh, indeed!" said Sniggles; " dear me, really
now, you come from Cornwall!" and Sniggles
smiled.

Now, I want to know why Sniggles smiled.
Cornwall! Why not Cornwall? Isn't Cornwall
better than your own sloppy Lincolnshire,
O Sniggles ?

But there was no reasoning with these people.
I wonder how often I have been told that
abominable lying story of the Cornish parson, who,
on hearing of a wreck when in the middle of his
sermon, cried out, " Let us all start fair !" I
wonder how often, and in how many varieties of
ways, I have had forced upon me that stale, flat,
insipid joke about the wise men having come
from the East. I wonder how often I have had
to declare to well-meaning people, that Cornwall
is not a queer country, that we do not speak the
language of Wales or Brittany, that we have
good roads, and capital inns, that we are only
one day's post from London, and that we
regularly read the Times.

But you will say that surely my trials must
now be over, that living as I do now amongst
my own kith and kin, and possessing, in my own
little way, a certain otium cum dignitate in my
old Cornish home, I can feel all the pride of a
Cornishman, without any of these attending
disadvantages. No such thing. You are probably
aware that the weather has not been altogether
propitious this summer. You will probably allow
that the season has not been altogether favourable
for pedestrian tours, or boating excursions,
or pic-nics in exposed places. Good. Now,
I was seated in my snug little study at
Treslisick, at the beginning of the late watery
month of August, and was glancing hopelessly
at my new aneroid barometer, which continued
pointing obstinately at " much rain," when the
saturated postman brought up the following
letter :

"MY DEAR PENDRAGGLES,—I am coming to
see you at last. I have got a spare fortnight,
and I am determined this time to satisfy my
curiosity, and to spend it in the land of Tre,
Pol, and Pen. You remember Swilsbury. I
met him the other day at Cambridge, and
prevailed on him to accompany me. He is as
absurd as ever, and wants to know whether his
life insurance policy will stand good for such a
journey. 'The question is how to get to you,'
Swilsbury says. 'It is comparatively easy to
get to the frontiers, but that there we must arm
ourselves with a Cornish vocabulary, and plunge
boldly amongst the natives.' I give you warning
beforehand that we intend to do the place
thoroughly. We hope to be always in the open
air, and to see everything, but especially the
pilchard-fishery and the mines. We shall start
from here on the 20th, and hope to reach Treslisick
in the course of the month. More than
that I can't say, but don't be surprised at our
coming down upon you at any moment. You
must be accustomed to this sort of thing. Looking
forward to the pleasure of soon making the
acquaintance of Mrs. Pendraggles and the
youngster,

"I remain, your old friend,"
LAWRENCE LITTERMERE.

"P.S—Swilsbury says this must be fine
weather for wrecks, and that he hopes to see
you come out in your full developed character,
which had so little scope for its genius in those
little operations below the locks."

Now, I don't hesitate to say that I disliked
the tone of that letter. Putting aside, for
the moment, Swilsbury's mouldy old jokes,
what sort of a time of it could I reasonably
hope to have with two fellows who expected,
to use their own words, "to be always in
the open air, and to see everything, but
especially the pilchard fishery and the mines"?
I felt convinced there was another time of
trial coming, and that my miseries as a
Cornishman were not yet past. But
however gloomy may have been my expectations,
they fell infinitely short of the miserable
reality. The visit may be said to have
commenced characteristically. The 20th had been
passed by some days, and I was beginning to
cherish the absurd idea that, perhaps, they had
given up the journey in consequence of the
continued bad weather, when, suddenly, my two
friends made their appearance. What a day
that was! The view from Treslisick is at all
times of rather a dreary character, but on the
day in question there was a more than usual
gloominess about the scene. The whole