He rose, for we could both see that this talk was not in the least interesting to our companion.We got again into the carriage, which, by Falconer's orders, was turned and driven in the opposite direction, still at no great distance from the lofty edge of the heights that rose above the shore.
We came at length to a lane bounded with stone walls, every stone of which had its moss and every chink its fern.The lane grew more and more grassy; the walls vanished; and the track faded away into a narrow winding valley, formed by the many meeting curves of opposing hills.They were green to the top with sheep-grass, and spotted here and there with patches of fern, great stones, and tall withered foxgloves.The air was sweet and healthful, and Andrew evidently enjoyed it because it reminded him again of his boyhood.The only sound we heard was the tinkle of a few tender sheep-bells, and now and then the tremulous bleating of a sheep.With a gentle winding, the valley led us into a more open portion of itself, where the old man paused with a look of astonished pleasure.
Before us, seaward, rose a rampart against the sky, like the turreted and embattled wall of a huge eastern city, built of loose stones piled high, and divided by great peaky rocks.In the centre rose above them all one solitary curiously-shaped mass, one of the oddest peaks of the Himmalays in miniature.From its top on the further side was a sheer descent to the waters far below the level of the valley from which it immediately rose.It was altogether a strange freaky fantastic place, not without its grandeur.It looked like the remains of a frolic of the Titans, or rather as if reared by the boys and girls, while their fathers and mothers 'lay stretched out huge in length,' and in breadth too, upon the slopes around, and laughed thunderously at the sportive invention of their sons and daughters.Falconer helped his father up to the edge of the rampart that he might look over.Again he started back, 'afraid of that which was high,' for the lowly valley was yet at a great height above the diminished waves.On the outside of the rampart ran a narrow path whence the green hill-side went down steep to the sea.The gulls were screaming far below us; we could see the little flying streaks of white.Beyond was the great ocean.A murmurous sound came up from its shore.
We descended and seated ourselves on the short springy grass of a little mound at the foot of one of the hills, where it sank slowly, like the dying gush of a wave, into the hollowest centre of the little vale.
'Everything tends to the cone-shape here,' said Falconer,--'the oddest and at the same time most wonderful of mathematical figures.'
'Is it not strange,' I said, 'that oddity and wonder should come so near?'
'They often do in the human world as well,' returned he.'Therefore it is not strange that Shelley should have been so fond of this place.It is told of him that repeated sketches of the spot were found on the covers of his letters.I know nothing more like Shelley's poetry than this valley--wildly fantastic and yet beautiful--as if a huge genius were playing at grandeur, and producing little models of great things.But there is one grand thing I want to show you a little further on.'
We rose, and walked out of the valley on the other side, along the lofty coast.When we reached a certain point, Falconer stood and requested us to look as far as we could, along the cliffs to the face of the last of them.
'What do you see?' he asked.
'A perpendicular rock, going right down into the blue waters,' Ianswered.
'Look at it: what is the outline of it like? Whose face is it?'
'Shakspere's, by all that is grand!' I cried.
'So it is,' said Andrew.
'Right.Now I'll tell you what I would do.If I were very rich, and there were no poor people in the country, I would give a commission to some great sculptor to attack that rock and work out its suggestion.Then, it I had any money left, we should find one for Bacon, and one for Chaucer, and one for Milton; and, as we are about it, we may fancy as many more as we like; so that from the bounding rocks of our island, the memorial faces of our great brothers should look abroad over the seas into the infinite sky beyond.'
'Well, now,' said the elder, 'I think it is grander as it is.'
'You are quite right, father,' said Robert.'And so with many of our fancies for perfecting God's mighty sketches, which he only can finish.'
Again we seated ourselves and looked out over the waves.
'I have never yet heard,' I said, 'how you managed with that poor girl that wanted to drown herself--on Westminster Bridge, Imean--that night, you remember.'
'Miss St.John has got her in her own house at present.She has given her those two children we picked up at the door of the public-house to take care of.Poor little darlings! they are bringing back the life in her heart already.There is actually a little colour in her cheek--the dawn, I trust, of the eternal life.
That is Miss St.John's way.As often as she gets hold of a poor hopeless woman, she gives her a motherless child.It is wonderful what the childless woman and motherless child do for each other.'
'I was much amused the other day with the lecture one of the police magistrates gave a poor creature who was brought before him for attempting to drown herself.He did give her a sovereign out of the poor box, though.'
'Well, that might just tide her over the shoal of self-destruction,'
said Falconer.'But I cannot help doubting whether any one has a right to prevent a suicide from carrying out his purpose, who is not prepared to do a good deal more for him than that.What would you think of the man who snatched the loaf from a hungry thief, threw it back into the baker's cart, and walked away to his club-dinner?
