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sublimity of coachmanship. The box mo- | where thin, the artificial grass very fine; tion titillates the soles of the feet like snuff | hence I see that this last will thrive in a dry affects the nose. At the Globe I dismount- season. Shaston, so they write it, stands ed, swung my knapsack, and walked across high; you nearly see across the island. the country into the Frome road. After | Glastonbury is visible from it; and on the six miles, the Salisbury coach overtook me, | other hand, the view must reach the last for by cross travelling I had got the start. hills towards the Hampshire coast. The I mounted, and reached Warminster. On borough is notoriously venal. Sir Richard the way, a poor woman on horseback was Steele was once its member; he had comnearly run over by us, owing to her horse's petitors who were able, and about to outbacking restively. She was thrown, and bid him ; his winning bribe was curious. hurt in the shoulder. Warminster is the | At a dinner to the burgesses, he laid an most knavish posting town I was ever apple on the table in the midst of the de. cheated at; they overcharge two miles on sert, with one hundred guineas stuck into the Bath road, three on the Deptford Inn, it, to be given to that burgess's wife who and one to Shaftsbury. I walked to Shafts- should be brought to bed the nearest to bury, fifteen miles; the way for ten over nine months from that day. Ever after he the downs. Let not him talk of luxury who remained the Shaftsbury member! never has found a spring unexpectedly when Saturday. To Blandford, twelve, over foot travelling in a hot summer day. The the downs. I met nothing but crows, two larks sung merrily above me. The lark weazles, and one humble bee, who seemed seems to live only for enjoyment; up he as little likely as myself to find a breakfast, mounts, his song is evidently the song of for no flower grew on the bare scant herbdelight; and when they descend, it is with age. The hill sides were in some places outspread wings and motionless, still sing-washed bare by the winter rains, and looked ing. They make the great amusement of like the bones of the earth. To Winbourne, down-walking. To the right I saw Alfred's nine, called ten ; again over the downs the Tower; to the left, Beckford's magnificent greater part of the way. The church here pile. At Knoyle, ten miles, I eat cold meat is very fine. I left visiting it till some fuand drank strong beer at an alehouse. There | ture time. The people say it is finer than the downs ended, and my way was through Christ Church, because it is a quarter Cafertility to Shaftsbury. The hay is every- thedral. To Christ Church, twelve. Faint
and wearily, over the latter road of sand 1 There is no reader but will recollect Vinny
and loose gravel. Iremembered my way over Bourne's sweet lines; but I cannot pass by the beautiful words of 'JEREMY TAYLOR in The
the marsh. Came by our old dwelling, and Return of Prayers: He says, “ For so have I seen
arrived to a house of hospitality. a lark rising from his bed of grass, and soaring Thursday, 25th July, 1799. To Cross, upwards, singing as he rises, and hopes to get to Bridgewater, eighteen and eighteen. To to heaven, and climb above the clouds; but the pour bird was beaten back with the loud sigh
| Minehead, twenty-six, through Stowey. ings of an eastern wind, and his motion made This stage is remarkably fine. We passed irregular and inconstant, descending more at the gibbet of the man whom Lloyd and every breath of the tempest, than it could re. Wordsworth have recorded, and the gate cover by the libration and frequent weighing of his wings; till the little creature was forced to
where he committed the murder. Our road sit down and pant, and stay till the storm was lay through Watchet, the most miserable over; and then it made a prosperous flight, and and beastly collection of man-sties I ever did rise and sing, as if it had learned music and | beheld. The Cornish boroughs are superb motion from an angel as he passed sometimes
to it. Two and a half miles before we through the air, about his ministries here be. low,” Works, vol. v. p. 70. Ed. Heber.
reached Minehead, is Dunster Castle, Mr. J. W. W. | Luttrel's. The house is built to resemble an
old fortification modernized and made ha- | thirty. He might have been saved, but his bitable, and some ruins stand near. It is on mother said, “ Let en stay! let en stay! a well-wooded eminence. The park was in what shall us do we'en if we do save'en ?" a little vale below ; but the ground there Imagine a range of high hills (not mounis so fertile that it is now laid into pas- tains) covered with fern and furze, and the turage and meadow land, and the park ex- Channel at their foot, and you will have the tends over the hills around. The sea view features of this neighbourhood. I toiled up is very striking ; Minehead stands under a a long, long, very long ascent above the headland, which projects boldly. This seat church; and when I reached the top, half is said to command one of the finest views trembled to see the sea immediately below in England ; if the water were clear and me. The descent, however, though to the boundless, I should think so.
eye directly abrupt, was not precipitous. Minehead presents the cheerful appear- | A path shelves along, sufficiently fearful to ance of a town rising from its ruins. New produce an emotion of pleasurable dread; houses built and building every where, give yet perfectly safe, for almost in every part a lively and clean appearance to it. The it would be practicable to walk to the beach. quay is ugly, but the view very striking The descent is all furze and fern. In a clear along the indented coast towards Stowey. day the houses on the opposite shore are disA circular eminence in the grounds at Dun- tinct; but in hazy weather the view is finer, ster, with a building on its summit like a like the prospects of human life, because its Tor, amidst wood, stands near the water. | termination is concealed. To the right, there is neither view nor pas. | The inland walks are striking; the hills sage; the quay blocks up the way. The dark, and dells woody and watery, winding Holms look well from hence; the water had up them in ways of sequestered coolness. even a bluishness; it was low, and there- Minehead sends two members to parfore, I imagine, clearer; but the opposite liament, and this has been the cause of its shore was visible, and destroyed the im- | decline. The borough belongs to Luttrell, mensity which makes sea views so impres- | and he manages it with ease proportioned sively magnificent. From a hill on our way to its poverty and depopulation. Thus the here we had one glorious burst of prospect. market price of seats being the same, Old The sun fell on the sea through a mist, and Sarum is the most advantageous to its poson the crags of the shore they looked like sessor. Luttrell, therefore, has opposed a glittering faery fabric; the very muddi- with power every thing which might encouness of the water mellowed the splendour, rage the trade of the town; he has suffered and made it more rich and beautiful. his houses to fall to ruin and renews no
Half way up the hill, where the church leases. A woollen manufacture was to have stands, is the upper town, quite cut off from been established here; this he prevented; the lower, and perhaps containing more and this roused up a spirit of opposition. houses. Indeed, Minehead is like the Tri- | A candidate started against him last elecnity, three; and these three are one: for tion; he bought the only piece of ground the upper, and lower towns, and the quay, buyable, run up houses there, built little are all separated from each other by house tenements for the poor, gave away his money, less lanes. The upper town is beyond any and carried his election. Both parties are thing narrow, dirty, and poor; completely now struggling against the next trial. The a lousy looking place. I never elsewhere royalty is Luttrell's, and so tyrannical is this saw so many houses in ruins, and that at man that he has imprisoned some masters such distant intervals as evidently not to of vessels who were not his friends, for takhave been destroyed by the fire. In the ing the stones on the beach for ballast. fire one life only was lost, a madman about | Under this despotism Minehead is ruining, and Watchet, from a different policy in the track we went he did not point out. I thus lord of the soil, rising daily and becoming lost the Danish encampment where Hubba prosperous by what this place looses. besieged Oddune. We past the spot where
Thursday, Aug. 8. Cruckshank took me Kenwith Castle stood; but for which for: in his chair to Porlock, six miles. Hedges tress and its gallant defender, the efforts of luxuriantly high for the most part impede | Alfred might perhaps have been vain, and the view, through their openings the dark the tide of our history have flowed in a difhills are seen, and the coombs that intersect | ferent channel. From this place the descent them. A Mr. Lee and Wilmot the Quaker, to Lymouth begins, it runs upon the edge wbom Lloyd and I travelled with to Salis- of a tremendous precipice and the sea at bury, and admired so much, accompanied | the base! a bank of from two to three feet us. The day ended in rain ; and my com- | is the only barrier. At the bottom, in a glen, panions who (except W.) had intended to lies Lymouth. We past through and asproceed to Lymouth with me returned. I cended half a mile up the steepest of posam, therefore, alone ; but instead of them I sible hills to Linton, where the public house have a fire, and this employment is plea- is better than in the larger village below. sure.
Two rivers, each coming down a difPorlock lies in a vale. The hill which ferent coombe, and each descending so raruns from Minehead here ends in one of the | pidly among huge stones as to foam like a finest serrated headlands I ever saw. I long waterfall, join at Lymouth, and enter looked back upon a horse-way which wound the sea immediately at their junction; and down a little cut in its side, and regretted the roar of the sea forms with them but one that Cruckshank had deprived me of the sound. Of these coombes one is richly walk. This place is called in the neigh wooded, the other runs up between bare and bourhood the End of the World. All be- | stony hills; a fine eminence, Line Cliff, rises yond is inaccessible to carriage or even between them. Even without the sea this cart. A sort of sledge is used by the coun-would be one of the finest scenes I ever betry people, resting upon two poles like cart- | held; it is one of those delightful and imshafts. Mother Shipton prophesied that pressive places from which the eye turns “ Porlock Bay
to rest upon the minutest home object-a Should old England betray:"
flower, a bank of moss, a stone covered with and at every rumour of invasion her rhyme | lichens. of evil omen is remembered here.
From Linton an easy and little deMy candlestick is of ancient make and scent led me to the Valley of Stones. The useful; half-way up is a broad circle of range of hills here next the sea are combrass, like a dumb waiter, which serves to pletely stripped of their soil, the bones only hold the snuffers. The bed room reminded of the earth remain: in the vale, stone upon me of Spain, two long, old, dark tables with stone is scattered, and the fern grows among benches, and an old chest, composed its fur- | them. Its origin I could not conjecture. niture; but there was an oval looking-glass, | | Water to have overwhelmed such a height a decent pot de chambre, and no fleas! | must have inundated all the lower country,
Friday 9. Two travellers arrived drip a thing evidently impossible: and the hills ping wet the preceding night from Ilfra- | on the other side the valley, not an arrow's comb with a guide here, there was a guide flight distant, are clothed with herbage. A for me and a horse. The man was stupid. / water spout perhaps ; but I am, to my He conducted me over the hill instead of shame, no naturalist, and must hypothesize taking the road nearer the channel, where as a poet. there are many noble scenes; and what there Was it the work of our giants, of the was remarkable in the barren, objectless | race of Albion ? we have historical proof that they were not large limbed enough, for | about him. I pleaded for the poor prisoner Goemagog, one of the hugest of them, was and he was released. We passed through not too big for Corineus to carry. I con Combmartin, an old, and dirty, and poor ceive it, therefore, being unable to trace place; one house, once a good one, bears any other inhabitants of Britain who pos- | the date 1584 ; another is built in a most sessed power enough for the wonder, to be ridiculous castle style, and called the Pack the ruins of some work erected by the devils of Cards. Near is Watermouth, a harbour who concubinated with the fifty daughters of not used, but strikingly beautiful, the one Diocletian; not that Diocletian who chose | side formed by a peninsular rock running to lengthen his name of Diocles for the same out parallel with the shore, with herbage on reason that the inhabitants of Frog Lane | its summit—and a little islanded fragment in Bristol, in contempt of the original god- | at the end. fathers of the said Frog Lane, have gen- ! Similarly formed is the harbour at Ilteelized it into Frogmore Street—but the fracombe, and much of the town stands on Thracian king, and this diabolic origin ac- the peninsula. The shores are broken and counts why the process of nature in cloth- | fine, the country naked and dreary. To ing the rocks does not proceed here beyond Barnstaple is eleven miles; as you approach a luxuriance of lichens.
the town you have a fine view of the bay, On the summit of the highest point of and river, and town, of Biddeford on the the hill, two large stones inclining against right. each other form a portal; here I laid my Sunday 11. A rainy day, and the devil self at length — a level platform of turf himself dislikes walking in the wet, for it is spread before me about two yards long, and written that he wandereth up and down in then the eye fell immediately on the sea— dry places. I went by stage to Taunton, a giddy depth. After closing my eyes a in the coach were a daughter of Dr. Cul. minute, it was deeply impressive to open len, a woman unhappily ugly, a Scotchthem upon the magnificent dreariness, and man, myself, and another young man of the precipice, and the sea. A Mr. Williams about my age, and like me in a white hat. led me here in the morning; in the evening I found hin universally read, and an oriI came alone, and resigned myself to the ental scholar; he interested me, and told me solitude. This Mr. Williams is a natural if I came to Exmouth he should be glad to son of the Duke of Gloucester.
show me the place. Breakfast at South MolThe alehouse at Linton is bad. Mr. ton, twelve miles; dinner at Tiverton, eighLean was there and claimed acquaintance teen ; Taunton, twenty-two. The Scotchwith me, because his son bad met me at | man and I past the evening together; he Bristol. He is a pleasant, intelligent man, I chose theology for the subject of conversaand showed me where to walk. I learnt tion, and exprest much surprise that I talkafterwards that he travels twice or thrice ed intelligibly and without anger : he gave a year with a cartful of goods round Ex me his address and a friendly invitation. moor; and when he arrives at a village, it is Samuel Watson, Tanner, Ayr, Scotland. proclaimed at the church door that Mr. Monday 12. Bishops Lediard five. Here Lean is come.
I astonished my aunt Mary by breakfastSaturday 10. To Ilfracombe five hoursing with her. Seven over Quantock to and a quarter; the distance variously com- Stowey. puted from fifteen to eighteen miles. Two At Wellington I saw a very fine boy, about young sailors were my guides; and an ac- twelve years old, who lost both his legs by quaintance of theirs went part of the way. the severe cold last winter. At Linton, in He caught a young lark, and it was quite a little shop window, I saw caricatures of distressing to see the parent bird fluttering the coalition. At Tiverton, the boiled beef
had an herb-stuffing which pleased me place; there are persons here who always much.
call the Americans the rebels. One great
street, Fore Street, runs through the city, TUESDAY, Aug. 27. To Taunton twelve. the rest is dirty lanes; as you cross the To Honiton eighteen. At Honiton they put bridge you look down upon a town below the Coleridges into a chaise with cart-horses. you intersected by water in a strange way. We were told that the towns-people there The river Ex is fine, and the walks on its are remarkably dishonest, and have been banks. There is a canal whose shores are so ever since the borough has been venal. completely naturalized, and most beautiOn the road is one rich view over the vale fully clothed with flowers. of Taunton.
Wednesday, Sept. ll. Coleridge and I Wednesday 28. To Seaton twelve. A set out to Moreton, for about seven miles hilly and uninteresting road, for some miles the way was hilly and heavy. We then crost over an open heath so luckily lonely that the Teign by a beautiful old notched bridge, we found our trunk, which fell off some and ascended a woody hill rich in magni. half mile before it was mist. At Seaton no ficent views of woods and the river below. lodgings were to be had. · It is a high, open, It rained incessantly the last half of the naked, Dorsetshire sort of country, with way, and we rejoiced in expectation of the nothing to make me leave it with regret or waterfall to-morrow. To Moreton twelve. remember it with pleasure. To St. Mary Thursday. Through Bovey and ManniOttery, twelve. The church here is very ton, two beautiful villages, to Becky Fall. beautiful, the place itself remarkable as the | The stream falls among huge round stones, birth-place of Gower, and Browne the -a striking scene. But we were some hours Pastoral Poet, and Coleridge.
too late for the rush after the rains; and From Ottery I walked with S. T. Cole waterfalls, unless they are Niagaras, usuridge to Budley Salcombe; on the way we ally disappoint. Mediocrity in a cataract past the mansion of Sir Walter Raleigh. | is as bad as in poetry. Near this is Lust. In Lord Rolle's park are the finest beeches leigh Cleeve, a similar scene. Indeed the I ever saw, one in particular which is quite whole county repays a pilgrimage. We dead, but in its ramifications even more touched upon Dart Moor, and passed very beautiful than the summer trees; it branch- | near Heiter Cliff, the highest point in the ed into three great branches, one of which county,-a rocky summit, visible almost shot immediately into three smaller ones. everywhere, and sometimes looking like a The Otter enters the sea at Budley Sal ruin. This we left on our right, descending combe. I forded it at its mouth. The sce into the vale. The road is intricate, and nery upon the river is tame and soothing; the directing posts of no use to a stranger, like all the Devonshire rivers it often over- or little, for they are only marked with the flows.
initial letter of the town to which they Also we went to Sidmouth, a nasty wa point. One spot I remember with pleasure, tering place, infested by lounging ladies, and saw with delight, a little vale watered and full of footmen.
with a mill-stream, the circling hills high, Monday, Sept. 2. To Exeter twelve. | and on one part deeply wooded, the vale
Exeter is ancient and stinks. The ca- sprinkled with fine old ashes, that seemed thedral looks well in those points where to have been spared by a man of taste when both towers are seen, and the body of the he rooted up a grove. The mill stood unbuilding only half. The bells rung for the der the hill, a neat, comfortable habitation. surrender of the Dutch fleet. One church | A saw.pit was before it. There was just with two bells went ding dong, another had enough of man, and what there was, was in but one, and could only ding. It is a bigotted | keeping. Ashburton twelve, a good town.