Part 3

“Monday, July 14.—Cool, cloudy morning. Set off, at eleven, for Worthing. A flat, uninteresting coast. Drove partly over the sands, the tide being down. Larks singing among the corn, near the shore. A sea-gull fishing in the salt-pools, near the sands. Within a few miles of Worthing discovered the sweep of grey downs about Brighton, that form a background to the large bay; within which, Brighton, Worthing, &c. are seated. Soon after, distinguished the dark masts of vessels lying before Worthing, some of which, seen upon the lighter grey of the distant hills, forming that fine bay, were picturesque, and seemed to be of consequence, but proved to be only small sloops. Horses and a carriage upon the sands informed us of our nearer approach to Worthing, which stands well upon the beach; the tide out, and a fine plain of sand spread before the village. It was animated by groups of the busy and the idle; little boats along the edge of the tide, others at anchor: altogether it was a very lively and amusing scene. A fleet of ships, said to be transports, convoyed by two men-of-war, came upon the distance, and clouded the horizon for some time, but were too far off to be interesting. Dined at a pleasant hotel near the beach, with a grass-plot before it. Amused with numerous parties, who had come from Brighton in sociables, chariots and gigs, to dine, and who exhibited themselves on the grass-plot under our window. After dinner, and after seeing the tide flow up the beach, very high, set off for Little Hampton, by an inner road, through pleasant, shady lanes, between corn fields, with a range of distant hills on one side, their feet darkened with wood. Delightful afternoon. After a sweet ride, met the sea again, at the Beach House, where we drank tea, supped, and slept.

“July 15. Lovely day. Left Little Hampton about one for Worthing. Could not go by the sands, the tide being too near. Stopped to dine at the village of Terring, at a small house with a garden. After dinner, walked up a high hill to see a celebrated prospect. Gained the summit of the sheep-down, and stood on the top, whence we saw the whole compass of the horizon and such a stretch of sea and landscape! The whole southern sky, and the blue sea, extending from the Isle of Wight (its faint blue-lands rising towards the west) to the white face of what we took to be Beachy Head, but afterwards learned to be Seaford Cliffs: beneath, lay sloping towards the sea, a landscape of exquisite hues, of corn and thick hedge-rows of woods and intermingled villages. Within the scope of the bay, towards Beachy Head, Worthing, Shoreham, Brighton, on the sea edge, backed with downs. Farther on, the hills begin to whiten, and rise into the high face guarding the entrance of Newhaven river, which seems to fall into a fine bay. To the west, Little Hampton, the woods, town and castle of Arundel; further on, amidst a long tract of woody country, the spire of Chichester Cathedral; further still, the high point of Portsdown hill, but not Portsmouth. The whole of the Isle of Wight clearly within view; the ridge of hills divided into three parts. Spithead may be distinguished, it is said, at times. To the north, we looked down into woody valleys at the feet of the Downs, and saw Mr. Shelly’s new mansion, among his fine woods.

“Went back to our cottage inn delighted. Went to Worthing to tea. The tide just turning, the blue sea flowing almost even with our windows. Parties again from Brighton at our inn. Lovely evening. When the tide was lower, the sands were gay with fine company. In another part, a cricket match going on upon the sands. Fishing vessels at anchor. Saw the Isle of Wight under the evening light, more distinctly in some respects, than before, yet like a dark cloud rising out of the sea.”

From Worthing, Mr. and Mrs. Radcliffe went by short journeys to Seaford. The following reflections, prompted by the “melancholy greatness of nature,” on a little excursion by the shore, will strikingly illustrate the thoughtful and pious cast of the writer.

“July 19.—Went to see the rural village of Alfriston, over such a road as I never saw before; and leading over such hills! Two men helped the chaise down one of them. Some finely spreading oaks about the village, which stands on an eminence in a green valley backed by grey downs. Dined at a very old inn; had seats brought on the ground, before and after dinner. Walked the greatest part of the way back to Seaford; saw the sun set behind one of the vast hills. The silent course over this great scene awful—the departure melancholy. Oh GOD! thy great laws will one day be more fully known by thy creatures; we shall more fully understand Thee and ourselves. The GOD of order and of all this and of far greater grandeur, the Creator of that glorious sun, which never fails in its course, will not neglect us, His intelligent, though frail creatures, nor suffer us to perish, who have the consciousness of our mortal fate long before it arrives, and of HIM. He, who called us first from nothing, can again call us from death into life.

“In this month, on the 24th of July, my dear father died two years since: on the 14th of last March, my poor mother followed him: I am the last leaf on the tree! The melancholy greatness with which I was surrounded this evening, made me very sensible of this.”

From Seaford the tourists proceeded to Eastbourne, and visited Beachy Head. The journal contains the following short description, which places a striking scene before us, with a few strokes of a masterly pencil.

“July 20.—Dined at the little village of Friston, seated deep down between immense hills, in a valley, that about a mile off opens to the sea, at the dangerous place called Burling Gap. A Prussian captain, whose vessel had been wrecked at the foot of Beacky, as our landlord called it, had been nine weeks at our poor little inn. The village had been almost buried in the snow, which came down upon the village from the steep sides of the hills; then the thaw nearly overwhelmed it. From the summit of a hill, on our way to Eastbourne, immense retrospect of sea and land. Surprising appearance of the sea, which seemed to rise so high, that it could scarce be distinguished from clouds; ships looked like birds in the sky. Nothing seen but great and simple objects—the round sea—the huge uncultivated headlands.”

The ascent of Beachy Head, and the view from it, are described at some length in the Journal; but the following scene on the shore is more peculiar and striking.

“July 23. Walked to the shore and along it, with a hope of having some sight of the sea—front of Beachy Head from beneath it, though four or five miles off. The beach impassable by any sort of carriage. A shore of ruins under the cliffs, which gradually rise from what is called the Wish-House, a small white building standing sweetly near the beach, to the summit of the Cape. Large blocks of granite imbedded on the shore, and extending to the waves, which rage and foam over them, giving one dreadful ideas of shipwreck. Sometimes, patches of gravelly sand, or pebbles, soon ending against masses of granite, or chalk, between which it is difficult, and not always possible to walk; some of them must be stepped upon. Within half a mile of the great front, unable to proceed farther; sat down on a block, wearied out, desiring William to go on; he was soon hid by a turn of the cliffs. Almost frightened at the solitude and vastness of the scene, though _Chance_[1] was with me. Tide almost out; only sea in front; white cliffs rising over me, but not impending; strand all around a chaos of rocks and fallen cliffs, far out into the waves; sea-fowl wheeling and screaming; all disappeared behind the point, beyond which, is the great cliff; but we had doubled point after point, in the hope that this would be the next, and had been much deceived in the distances by these great objects; after one remote point gained, another and another succeeded, and still the great cliff was unattained; the white precipices beautifully varied with plants, green, blue, yellow and poppy. Wheat-ears flew up often from the beach: _Chance_ pursued them. At length, William returned, having been nearly, but not quite, in front of the great promontory. Slowly and laboriously we made our way back along the beach, greatly fatigued, the day exceedingly hot, the horizon sulphurous, with lowering clouds; thunder rolled faintly at a distance.”

Footnote 1:

Her favourite Dog.

The same afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Radcliffe continued their tour to Hastings. The following is the picturesque view of their journey from Bexhill to Hastings, in the evening.

“From Bexhill, descended between the high, shrubby banks of lanes, so narrow, that the wheels seemed to fill the passage; in some places a horse could not have passed; we met no carriage, or we must have backed a great way. Breathing honeysuckles on the banks; deep twilight. Heard the sea frequently on our right when the wheels stopped. We had before passed Pevensey levels and the town, with its fine old castle: towers in ruins. On our approach, it reminded one of Newark castle. Near eleven, before we reached Hastings; no moon; starlight; milky-way very lucid; seemed to rise out of the sea. Solemn and pleasing night-scene. Glowworms, in great numbers, shone silently and faintly on the dewy banks, like something supernatural. Judgment of Shakspeare in selecting this image to assist the terrific impression in his ghost-scene. May be called earth-stars. The coast patrole passed us. How far to Hastings? Three miles. Farther on had a narrow escape: horse and chaise suddenly plunged down a bank into the pebbles; nearly overturned. Happily our horse stood quite still, after the shock, and until we had ascertained the rugged course we were in; I walked the rest of the way. Pass under grand, dark rocks, disjointed and starting up in splintered points, and huge masses. These rocks, near the beach and over the road, continue to where the houses open.”

From Hastings Mrs. Radcliffe proceeded along the coast to Dover, to which place she was extremely partial, and thence by Feversham to London. After minutely detailing her little adventures, she thus concludes her journey:—

“In all our tour saw nothing so fine and beautiful as the views of sea and land from the Downs over the East Bourne. The sweet repose of the landscape and sea-bay to Hastings, and the grandeur of the various views, on all sides between the valleys of the South Downs, and even above these summits, circling nearly the whole horizon, with soft blue waves.”

In the autumn of this year, Mrs. Radcliffe spent a fortnight at Little Hampton, and returning by Haslemere, thus describes the country immediately southward of that place.

“Three miles of continual ascent, or descent of almost tremendous hills, long and steep opening to vast distances, now obscured in ruin, but sublime in their obscurity—

‘Where wilds immeasurably spread, Seem lengthening, as we go.’—GOLDSMITH.

‘These high, wild hills and rough uneven roads, Drag out our miles and make them wearisome.’ CYMBELINE.

“This is the country, from which Collins drew his first ideas, and fed his early taste for the wild and the grand.

’O! vales and wild-woods, would he say, In yonder grave your Druid lies.” COLLINS.

“Have never seen such wild woody mountains before in England; they resemble the forests of Wetteravia more than any I have seen, but with this difference, that there the mountains are more pointing, abrupt and rocky, and that here the road often winds round the edge of the hills into deep and most picturesque glades, where comfortable cottages lie snug beneath noble trees, and ruddy children play under the branches, among the huge timber felled on the ground, the Woodman’s implements and the thatched hovel. Sylvan, or other rural industry appeared in every hamlet. Clouds of smoke from places, where wood was charred, sometimes darkened the air. This is the most woody tract in Sussex, and probably in England. The eastern end of the country has no wood: the immense hills stand bare in all their grandeur.”

The following notes are extracted from the Journal of a Tour, made in the autumn of 1801, to Southampton, Lymington, and the Isle of Wight. The two first days’ journey supply no matters of interest: in the afternoon of the third day, 29th Sept. the travellers thus approach the beautiful neighbourhood of Southampton:

“At length, the blue hill tops of the Isle of Wight appeared faintly on the horizon, over the stretching forest masses of the near scene. At the sixth mile-stone, entered a part of the New Forest; beautiful woods and glades; thick trees shadowing the road; wherever the woods opened, especially on the right and in front, other rich masses and others still beyond, rose pompously. One of the perspectives in front particularly fine, as we saw our road descending among the deep woods, and other woods rising up the hills and crowning the bold summit of an eminence, that seemed to rear itself over all the forest. The deep gloom of stormy clouds and fleeting lights of sunshine extremely various; the sun often shedding a misty glory over the solemn woods in the west, while sudden and awful shadows dwelt wide over other summits. Passed a most picturesque hamlet of green mossed cottages scattered round a little lawn, where the woods opened, but closed again in thicker shades. Four miles of this sweet scenery, when we entered upon heath, and came upon a high level common, extending a mile, or two, that opened upon a vast prospect on either hand: in front, all the hills of the Isle of Wight, from east to west, swelled along the horizon. On the right, the wavy woods of the New Forest bounded all the western and northern view. The richness of this vast mass of tufted woods is indescribable. Part of the Southampton water was visible on this side, flowing between wooded banks with villages on its edge. On the left, the view over the vale was not so grand, but more diversified by the light green of pastures and by frequent villages and white mansions among the woods, that spread among the gentle slopes. Showers and sunshine alternately dimmed and brightened the hills. The splendour of the sun fell, at times, upon the forest, in the west, while a heavy shower darkened an open valley in the east, softened the verdure of the nearer hills, and spread over the woods and meadows and villages a gradual chastening tint, that was enchanting. At length, the spire of the great church of Southampton appeared over the woods in front, while the town was yet unseen.”

After a short notice of Southampton, where Mrs. Radcliffe remained only two nights, the Journal proceeds:—

“After breakfast, set off for Lyndhurst; passed along the head of the bay, and by Millbrook, then the long bridge and causeway. After a long hill, descend upon the New Forest, and pass between open lawns and woods, capping every little eminence, and spreading round like those of Kensington Gardens. Longed for the speed of a stag to bound along these lawns and endless forest-glades. Dined at the Crown, in a parlour opposite to the inn, which was full; some forest-commissioners here. The Princess Sophia of Gloucester expected at the King’s House; shown to us by an elderly woman. Good rooms; ancient furniture. A wood fire on the hearth of the Princess’s room and on that of the dining-room below. All these rooms look under thick lofty trees to the forest woods, that rise close over the village, towards Brokenhurst. Oak-benches at the upper end of Rufus’-hall, where the forest courts are held—the most ancient part of the building. A large iron stirrup, called Rufus’s stirrup.

“From Lyndhurst, the ride to Brokenhurst is through five miles of pompous forest groves, of which grandeur is the characteristic, mingled with great beauty. The forest crowds over the road. Only two spots the whole way where the trees retire round lawns. Hence to Lymington: the country is inclosed; but still the lanes are forest-lanes. Passed Boldre, leaving Mr. Gilpin’s a mile on the left, and soon came in view of the Isle of Wight, with Lymington, and its neat cupola-church. Came in at dusk; made our way in the market-place, between waggons and cheese piled up for the morrow’s fair.

“Oct. 3. Left Lymington at half past three, in the packet for Yarmouth; after viewing the fair, and the fine booths of trinkets and plate. Passed many charming residences among the woody banks on the left. Glided smoothly under a light summer air; the evening splendid, and the scene most lovely. The Needles are vast dark blocks of rock, tall, but not pointed, standing out from the island in the sea. Hurst castle, with its dark line of peninsula stretching athwart the Channel. The Needles become more huge seen against the light, with the point of the Alum Rock in shade. These objects, with the high line of the Isle of Purbeck, faintly grey beyond, composed a perfect picture, with most harmonious colouring. The light silver grey of the sea first met the eye, then the dark Alum Rock projected to meet Hurst Castle, whose towers were pencilled in deep grey beyond, which softened away to the heights of Purbeck, that closed the perspective. After sunset, streaks of brightest crimson appeared on the sky, behind clouds, black and swelling; the upper shores clear, though dark. Approached Yarmouth, under this sweet twilight. The western shore of Yarmouth goes off in a darkly wooded point, with many white houses, or cottages, among the trees. Landed on Yarmouth quay, small, and crowded with people. Dutch sentinels on the little fort over the quay and rampart of the old castle. Our inn built by Sir Robert Holmes, governor of the island, on the scite, I fancy, of Henry the Eighth’s old castle. Our horse and gig came in another packet.

“Oct. 4. After breakfasting at Yarmouth, set out in a bright morning for the Light-house above the Needles. As we rose, the Channel and the English coast, from Portsdown Hill (known by its long chalk-pit) to the shore near Pool in Dorsetshire, lay before us, bounded partly by the New Forest and thick inclosures, and spreading with towns and villages and innumerable seats and farms, with a vast extent of the northern part of the Isle of Wight, and with Southampton Bay, to Lymington, here and there a white house on the shore, snug under trees, and other house-tops peeping out, almost wherever I directed the glass, above the forest. Discovered Lyndhurst steeple, with the large white house at Mount Royal, ‘bosomed high in tufted trees.’ The whole country, from the neighbourhood of Southampton to the West, rises gradually from the shore into a line of horizon little varied; but the richness and cheerful beauty of this widely extending amphitheatre, seen over the calm blue Channel, with here and there a white sail and a ship of war at anchor, permit no desire for greater variety. As we rose upon the down, this scene enlarged: the Isle of Purbeck became more majestic; its outline is more mountainous than that of the Isle of Wight, with a range of high awful cliffs below. It was now tinged with misty azure, but the sun brightened all the sea before it. Two of its summits appeared finely in the perspective from Cowes’ Point. The effect of the sea so close on either hand of this vast western promontory, called the Needle Point, or the Alum rock, running out upon the ocean like a long narrow causeway, is awful. You have a wonderful and rather a painful sensation of the narrowness of the earth that bears you, though it may be half a mile, or more, in width. As the Needle rocks were not visible from the Light-house, we left the chaise, and descended the down half a mile, and looked upon them. On their summits, which now seem sharp, and splintered into ledges and points, perceived with the glass numbers of dark birds quietly seated; not one took wing, or uttered any cry. Perhaps it was owing to our great height, that the Needles disappointed us, and appeared insignificant, compared with the grander objects around us: listened to the surge breaking below, round the feet of these rocks. Did not venture near enough the edge to see into Alum Bay. Drove to Freshwater Bay. The inn at Freshwater Gate in the bottom is a little cottage, with two or three rooms apart on the beach. A ruinous and desolate shore spreads and rises on either hand. Mounted a promontory, which confined our view from the inn, on the right. Greatness and desolation. As the tide was coming in, could not see a cave in the cliff below. Returned to Yarmouth at five.”

The following is Mrs. Radcliffe’s account of a visit to the tract called Undercliffe.

“Oct. 6. Set off for the Undercliffe, a tract of shore formed by fallen cliffs, and closely barricadoed by a wall of rock of vast height. Entered upon it about a mile from Kniton, and found ourselves in such a scene of ruin, as we never saw before. The road is, for the most part, close to the wall of rock, which seems to lie in loose horizontal strata, with frequent perpendicular fissures, which threaten the traveller with destruction, as he passes sometimes beneath enormous masses, that lean forward. This is the boundary on one side of the road; on the other side, is an extremely irregular and rugged descent of half a mile towards the sea: on this side, there are sometimes what may be called amphitheatres of rock, where all the area is filled with ruins, which are, however, frequently covered with verdure and underwood, that stretch up the sides, with the wildest pomp, and shelter here a cottage, here a villa among the rocky hillocks. We were two hours and a half in going from Kniton to the inn at Steephill, five miles, W. leading the horse almost the whole way: a Druid scene of wildness and ruin. Sometimes the road led us into vast semicircular bays of rock, filled up entirely to the eye with wild wood and broken hillocks; the sea below appearing to stretch so from point to point, that it seemed impossible to make our way out, till the road led us under projecting crags of the promontory into other recesses, and, winding under these threatening walls, again led near the sea, on which I looked down, not without terror. Descended upon the romantic and sweet village of St. Lawrence, among thickets on a hill, near the shore. Beautiful cottages, covered with ivy even to the chimney tops, with each its garden, and some with little orchards hung with golden fruit; clear, gushing rills passing under the shades to the sea. A mile beyond, the beautiful village of Steephill, in the same style. Went to the New Inn, standing on a hill, with a wide sea view in front, half a mile off, and at the foot of St. Boniface Downs, whose steep green sides rise to a tremendous height behind it, having below them, on the other hand, the little woody village of St. Boniface, with its beautiful cottages and villas.”

The remaining memoranda of the visit to Steephill, are too long to be extracted, but contain some beautiful descriptions, and several vivid notices of the effects of light, as for example:—“The sea in gloom, with gleams of cold silvery light upon it, where the clouds began to break: these lights finely marked the distances on the grand surface of the ocean, as they fell in blue lines.” Again, “Sunlights on the sea, and, now and then, bright green spots between black shadows;”—in the evening “a fiery sunset with _sullen_ clouds.” The following short recollection of a storm is full of feeling and power:—