The clergyman lowered his eyes, and began once more reading a little book, with very small type, while the first speaker raised his eyes in wonder that a stranger could read while passing through the wild beauties of the grand Cornish region spread around. He then leaned forward once more to speak to the coachman, who was ready enough to answer questions about that mine, in full work, where a tall granite building, like a clumsily-formed church tower, stood up on the bleakest point of wind-swept barren hill, with what seemed like a long arm thrust out on one side, the said arm being apparently engaged in telegraphing to them mysterious signs as it slowly rose up and stopped, then went half-way down and stopped before descending to the earth, and finally rose, but all in the most peculiar and deliberate manner. "That's Wheal Porley, sir. Bringing a good bit of copper to grass there just now." "And what mine's that on the next hill?" "Oh! that's tin, sir. Old Friendship they call it; but there's little doing now. Tin's very low. I hear they bring over such a lot from Peru, and 'Stralia, and Banky, and them other gashly outlandish places." "Peru, eh? I did not know that was a tin country." "Perhaps it wasn't Peru, sir. I arn't sure. That's a rare old place yonder," the driver continued, pointing with his whip to a large granite engine-house, with towering chimney, standing on a point running out into the sea. "But it isn't working. It seems to be in ruins." "Ruins, sir? Ah! and it's put lots o' people in ruins too. There's a heap o' money gone down that mine." "Yes, there are failures, I suppose; but is it a tin-mine?" "Yes, sir,--tin. That's what it is, or what it was meant to be by the adventurers; but they never got any thing out that would pay. They're a bad lot, those adventurers." "Are they?" said the young man dryly, and he smiled as he let his eyes wander over the country, with its deeply-scored ravines, into which the whole of the fertile soil of the high ground seemed to have been washed, for they were as rich in ferns and lush foliage as the granite heights were bare. To his left swept away the soft blue sea, dotted with the warm brown sails of the fishing-luggers, and with here and there the white canvas of a yacht or passing ship. The young man drew back, and seemed to inflate his chest with the fresh, pure air. His dark eyes brightened, and a pleasant smile began to play about his lips, but it was half hidden by his crisp, short beard. As they went on he glanced sharply from place to place, eager to take in the surroundings of a land that was to be his future home; and the result seemed to be satisfactory, for he took off his hat, let the sea-breeze blow through his short curly hair, and once more turned to his reading companion.