Mr. Robert Hunt, F.R.S., tells us that, in days long ago, the inhabitants of the parish of Forrabury--which does not cover a square mile, but which now includes the chief part of the town of Bocastle and its harbour--resolved to have a peal of bells which should rival those of the neighbouring church of Tintagel, which are said to have rung merrily at the marriage, and tolled solemnly at the death of Arthur. The bells were cast. The bells were blessed. The bells were shipped for Forrabury. Few voyages were more favourable. The ship glided, with a fair wind, along the northern shores of Cornwall, waiting for the tide to carry her safely into the harbour of Bottreaux. The vesper bells rang out at Tintagel. When he heard the blessed bell, the pilot devoutly crossed himself, and bending his knee, thanked God for the safe and quick voyage which they had made. The captain laughed at the superstition, as he called it, of the pilot, and swore that they had only to thank themselves for the speedy voyage, and that, with his own arm at the helm, and his judgment to guide them, they would soon have a happy landing. The pilot checked this profane speech. The wicked captain--and he swore more impiously than ever, that all was due to himself and his men--laughed to scorn the pilot's prayer. "May God forgive you," was the pilot's reply. Those who are familiar with the northern shores of Cornwall will know that sometimes a huge wave, generated by some mysterious power in the wide Atlantic, will roll on, overpowering everything by its weight and force. While yet the captain's oaths were heard, and while the inhabitants on the shore were looking out from the cliffs, expecting within an hour to see the vessel charged with their bells safe in their harbour, one of those vast swellings of the ocean was seen. Onward came the grand billow in all the terror of its might! The ship rose not upon the waters as it came onward! She was overwhelmed, and sank in an instant close to the land. As the vessel sank, the bells were heard tolling with a muffled sound, as if ringing the death knell of the ship and sailors, of whom the good pilot alone escaped with life. When storms are coming, and only then, the bells of Forrabury, with their dull muffled sound, are heard from beneath the heaving sea, a warning to the wicked. The tower has remained silent to this day.