I combat with my terrors, and have very much overcome them, though I own that I shudder when I remember my exploits of this day. The cliffs rise from the level of the sea upwards of 500 feet; rude, rugged, and composed of a blackish stone and loose sand. The Chine is a chasm at the bottom, formed by the springs that issue from them, and is frightfully fine. Here every thing is dark, frowning and awful, the sea bolder than in any other part, and the whole scene gloomily and terrifically grand. Smugglers frequently make this spot the receptacle of their contraband articles, and it seems well calculated for those who ply in caves their unutterable trade.' And when we left this place, which looked its name, we ascended St. Catharine's Hill, the highest point in the island, being about three feet higher than the cliff at the Needles. We did not attain the summit without toil; and the view when there was too indistinct to possess either interest or beauty, appearing one confused mass of mingled earth and water. A light-house

was erected here; but being found useless to mariners, from the mists that generally involve it, it is now merely a signal station, and appropriated as the residence of a decayed naval lieutenant. We felt as if we had suddenly been tossed from the torrid to the frigid zone, and were glad to descend into the village of Niton; which resting in a little wooded valley, was such a sheltered picture of peace and comfort, as to delight us all after the terrific features of Black Gang Chine, and the bleak and cheerless hill of St. Catharine. We dined at a neat little inn, and afterwards went to see a landslip, a piece of ground which a few years ago fell from the cliff, or rather receded from it, and spread itself down, in consequence of the freezing of the springs, and their expansion when dissolving. It is now cultivated, and forms a pretty and peculiar landscape: large masses of the cliff lie, like ruins, covered with grass, brier, and ivy. We visited a beautiful little marine cottage, delightfully situated in a garden, and

fitted up with an exquisitely simple taste. In no place, I think, is cottage architecture so much studied as here. The humblest abodes of the poor are neat and picturesque: the low roof, the overhanging thatch, and the white chimneys covered with the light foliage of the clematis and passion flower, the rich tassels of the flaunting honeysuckle, and the bright leaves of the myrtle mingled with its snowy blossoms, present such images of domestic comfort and neatness, and of luxuriant nature, as delight not only the eye but the heart. I have no where seen myrtles growing wild in the hedges, as I had heard they did; but they are planted commonly as shrubs in the gardens, where they flourish as luxuriantly as laurels. morrow we proceed to Shanklin, Bonchurch, and Ventnor at the last place Edmund has engaged apartments for us, as he says we shall like to pass a few days there, and there I shall resume my pen."

وو

To

Ventnor, near Bonchurch.

"This has been a day of delight, surpassing any since I have been in the island. It is impossible to convey to any one by words, an idea of the beauty, magnificence, and variety of the scenery, crowded into the short space of five miles. The village of Shanklin surpassed any I had seen in its picturesque effect; it is surrounded by high and wooded hills, with simple but ornamented little cottages; not so simple as to be mean, nor so ornamented as to be fine. We went to see the celebrated Chine; a chasm between immensely high cliffs overgrown with wood, with a stream, which seems to have formed it, winding to the bot tom, and then running into the sea. In winter there is a fine cascade from the top, but now it has no effect. Very safe steps wind to the shore; two cottages (in one of which is the village school) are built on its side, and are neat and pretty objects. To call this place romantic, would be applying

too soft a term; to call it awful, would imply something terrific; but I think it comprises the sublime and beautiful. Mrs. Sinclair said it combined the richly wooded scenery of Matlock with the frowning grandeur of Castleton. You, my dear mother, who have seen both, may form some idea of Shanklin from this description. We walked about the village, admired its little peacefullooking recesses, wished for a summer lodging in some of them, and proceeded towards Ventnor, about five miles distant; and never did I travel five miles of such varied and interesting scenery. Julia and I left the carriage, to walk across some fields, and beneath the shade of a small wood; sometimes we had a fine expansive view of valleys, hills, and the sea; our delight increased at every step. Occasionally we returned to Mrs. Sinclair and Edmund, whom we had left in the vehicle; for we had not the cruelty to tempt him to leave her: at last the ruggedness of the road and the abruptness of the hills induced them also to walk. We