That such a denudation actually occurred is of course within the bounds of geological possibility, if we take the precaution to date the incident far enough back, to remote and prehistoric days. There is little credence to be attached to the local traditions, which affirm that fishermen on a calm, clear day, have seen the ruins of house and castle, cottage and farm, covered with dulse instead of stonecrop; or the shattered spires of one or two of the reputed "hundred and twenty churches". If such a kingdom ever existed it was long before the mediaeval era, and a spired church belongs to the Gothic period. Sir Richard Carew, the friend and contemporary of Raleigh and of Campden, assures us not only that proofs of the lost kingdom remained in his day, but that the fishermen's nets frequently brought up portions of "doors and windows" from the submerged houses. At the same time there is probably a certain rough truth in the old legends, the details having been added from time to time. As Mr. Arthur Salmon says: "When we speak of a lost Lyonesse we are not dealing with absurdities. We must only be careful to date it far enough backward, or rather to leave it without date. It is an alluring vision on which we can linger without the sense of being actually unhistoric." Certain is it that if we examine _The Life and Death of Prince Arthur_, the _History of Merlin_, or the _Mort d'Arthur_, we shall find "Cornewaile" and "The Lyonesse" spoken of with an airy indifference as to their geographical limits. Thus it may possibly be that, by the title of Lyonesse, Leonois, or any other of the various renderings of the name, it was intended to cover such portion of the west country as lay beyond that part of Devonshire, which, down to so late as the year 410 of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, continued to be known as Cornwall. It is well worth while to stay the night at the little hostel near the Land's End for the purpose of viewing this westernmost piece of England under the magic spell of a stormy sunset or a misty dawn. The sun sinks beyond the vast expanse of open, wide, and illimitable sea, heaving with a deep and mysterious ground swell as the long waves roll shorewards. Between the great pinnacles of rock blue chasms yawn and pass away, and the bases of the nearer rocks are momentarily hidden by the foam of the surging waves. Far out, far beyond where the Longships lighthouse blinks its warning light over the waste of waters, a solitary ship goes down into the western horizon; and the golden clouds of summer follow her, one by one, into the bosom of the night.