Plymouth Breakwater.
The Eddystone Lighthouse, in the English Channel, is fourteen miles from Plymouth, from which town its light is distinctly visible under favourable atmospheric circumstances. It is erected on one of the Eddystone rocks, probably so called from the eddies, or whirls, which surround them. The rocks themselves are completely covered at high tide. The first attempt to erect a lighthouse on these rocks was made by Mr. Winstanley in 1696. This was completed in about four years, but was washed away in a hurricane. In 1706 a new lighthouse, for which an Act of Parliament had been passed, was begun to be erected by Mr. John Rudyerd, silk mercer, of London, who was of the famous family of Rudyerd, of Rudyerd, in the county of Stafford, and a man of considerable engineering and architectural skill. He, wishing to profit by experience, determined that as the former lighthouse had been angular, his should be round, and that as it was mainly of stone his should be of wood. In 1709 Rudyerd’s lighthouse was completed, and gave promise of being a great success. Years passed on, storms rose, the waves dashed over and around it wildly, but it remained firm and unshaken even through the dreadful tempest of 1744. What wind and water could not do, was, however, soon after fearfully accomplished by fire—the lighthouse being burned down in 1755. Immediately after this Mr. Smeaton undertook the task of erecting a new lighthouse of stone. This, the present Eddystone Lighthouse, was commenced in 1756 and completed in 1759. In construction it is the most complete example of architectural and engineering skill. The lower part is solid throughout, being literally as firm as the rock itself, on which it is immovably and permanently fixed. The stones are all dovetailed together, so that, in reality, it becomes but one stone throughout. In the upper portion, which is equally strong, the rooms and staircase take up the hollow centre. The lantern is octagonal. This building, which has given to the name of Smeaton an imperishable fame, bears on its granite cornice the truly appropriate inscription:—“Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it. Psalm cxxvii. 1;” and over the lantern, “24th August, 1759. Laus Deo.” Of this we give an engraving on our initial letter on page 54.
But we have a theme that demands all the space we can give—Mount Edgcumbe, and that other seat of the ancient family, Cothele.
For Mount Edgcumbe art has done little; but it was here unnecessary for art to do much: like some women, whose charms of expression and perfect “loveliness” do not seem to require beauty, this delicious peninsula has been so richly gifted by Nature, that, perhaps, efforts to enhance its attractions might have lessened instead of augmenting them. Hill and dell, heights and hollows, pasture slopes and rugged hillocks, succeed each other with a delicious harmony we have rarely seen elsewhere. On one side of the bay are the three busy towns, active with energetic life; on another are the cultivated hill-sides of productive Devon; on another is the open sea, with the two objects we have noted—the Breakwater and the marvellous Eddystone. Everywhere Nature has had its own sweet will; even the laurel hedges have risen thirty feet in height; the lime trees grow as if they had never been trimmed; while the slopes, from the hill-heights to the sea-rocks, appear as sheen as if the scythe had been perpetually smoothing them. Here and there, pretty and pleasant shelters have been provided for visitors who throng hither for health and relaxation;[12] “look out” seats are provided on many of the hill-tops; and the deer and the rabbits have free pasturage in the noble Park that occupies a space of many hundred acres between the harbour and the sea. Nor may we forget the “defences” of the peninsula: the battery that would here, as elsewhere, “keep the foreigner from fooling us,” and that battery called “the Salute,” in which the huge “Armstrongs” are hidden, but where may be seen, by all on-lookers, twenty-one mounted cannon—“prizes” from ships of “the enemy” taken during the war with France.
Mount Edgcumbe, from Stonehouse Pier.
All, therefore, is not left to Nature. Nor must we forget the gardens: prettily laid out; enriched by rare trees, with vases and statues judiciously intermixed; and, especially, a grove of orange trees, with several summer-houses in pleasant nooks, where cedars, magnolias, cork trees, and other trees, supply shade and shelter from rain and sun. Art has here been aiding Nature, but its influence is felt rather than seen; those to whom the “grounds” owe much seem to have been ever mindful that their profuse and natural luxuriance needed few checks of the pruner and trainer. The name of one of these benefactors is recorded—a votive urn contains a tablet to the memory of that countess “whose taste embellished these retreats, herself their brightest ornament”—Countess Sophia, who could not have found on earth a home more lovely than that which, in 1806, she was called to leave for one still more perfect and more beautiful.
The great charm of Mount Edgcumbe, however, consists in the five-mile drive through the Park, along a road that everywhere skirts the harbour or the sea. It is perpetual hill and dell; a mimic ruin, intended as a view tower, and answering its purpose well, is the only object remarkable on the higher grounds, if we except the church—Maker Church—neither venerable nor picturesque, but containing many interesting memorials of the Edgcumbe family;[13] but down in the dales (in nearly all of them) are the pretty “lodges,” where the keepers and gardeners reside, and where simple “refreshments” of milk and hot water are provided for the crowds who are weekly visitors to the domain. One of these we have pictured on page 64.
Lady Emma’s cottage—Lady Emma being the first Countess of Mount Edgcumbe, wife of George, first Baron and Earl of that title—is charmingly situated in one of the most lovely of the dells of this domain, surrounded by soft grassy turf, and overhung by lofty trees; the cottage itself is completely embosomed in creeping plants, and has a rustic verandah exquisitely decorated with fir-cones and other natural productions, so disposed as to give considerable richness to the effect of the building. The little valley in which it stands, hollowed out with great regularity by Nature, and sloping gently down towards the sea, is one of the sweetest spots on the whole estate. The footway winds round the upper part of the valley, and at the head of the dell is a spacious alcove composed of Gothic fragments, called the “Ruined Chapel,” from which a glorious view is obtained.