Sandown Bay.—Culver Cliff.—Sandown Fort.—High Flood.—Girl and Dog. —Poultry.—Hares.—Butterflies.—Ichneumon Fly.—Myrtles.—Brading. —Bembridge.—St. Helen’s.—Arrival at Ryde.

The next morning was rather cooler than any day since the Mertons had been in the Isle of Wight; and Agnes felt the want of her little pink handkerchief round her neck. She did not like to complain, however, as she was aware it was entirely her own fault that the handkerchief had been lost; and so she bore the cold as well as she could, without saying a word about it. The road they were travelling commanded a beautiful view of Sandown Bay and Culver Cliff, on which last, Mr. Merton told Agnes, was formerly erected a beacon to warn the inhabitants when any danger was apprehended of an invasion from France, as this was the part of the Island that approached nearest to that country.

“The Isle of Wight was once invaded by the French,” said Mrs. Merton, “but I believe it was in the reign of Henry V.”

“It was invaded several times previously to that period,” said Mr. Merton, “and also, I believe, once or twice in the reign of Henry VI.; and it was to repel these invasions,” continued he, pointing to Sandown Fort, “that the fort we see before us was erected in the time of Charles I.; but we now trust to our shipping as our best protection. The only bed of coal that is worth working in the Isle of Wight, is in Culver Cliff.”

They now approached the river, which flows inland from Brading Haven, and which had greatly overflowed its banks; but Agnes was very much amused to see a little robin redbreast sitting on a stone in the middle of the water, looking as saucy and unconcerned as possible. A little farther on they approached the deep part of the water; and here the driver told Mrs. Merton and Agnes to sit as steadily as possible, for the current was flowing with great violence, and the horse might be carried off his feet. They did as he desired, and soon reached the opposite bank in safety. They had scarcely done so, when Agnes’ attention was attracted by a little girl who was standing on the high bank just beyond the water, weeping bitterly. It was easy to guess the cause of her grief, for in the water lay the body of a little dog, which appeared to have been dashed by the current against some large stones near which it lay. They were all sorry for the poor little girl, and Mrs. Merton, telling the driver to stop, asked the little girl if it was her dog that she was crying over.

“No, it was not mine,” said the child, “it was master’s; but it loved me, and I have nothing to love me now.”

Mrs. Merton entered into conversation with the girl, and learnt from her that she was an orphan, and had been bound an apprentice by the parish to a neighbouring farmer. The dog that lay dead before them had been her playfellow and companion, and the poor girl’s sorrow at its loss was the greater as she had nothing to supply its place in her affections. As, however, it was impossible to restore it to life, Mrs. Merton thought the best thing that could be done was to change the current of the child’s ideas, and accordingly gave her a shilling, which effectually answered the purpose intended; for the little girl, who had never been mistress of so much money before, instantly dried her tears, and ran off, leaving Agnes very indignant at her, for suffering herself to be so easily consoled.

They now passed a farm-house, which both Mrs. Merton and Agnes thought might possibly belong to the master of the little girl; and they noticed some remarkably fine poultry feeding at the door of the barn.

“I have noticed in passing through the Island,” said Mrs. Merton, “that the poultry is remarkably fine everywhere, and that it is apparently very abundant.”

“One reason,” said Mr. Merton, “is no doubt the fact, that there are neither badgers nor pole-cats in the Island, and till lately there were no foxes; but these have been now introduced for the sake of hunting them.”

“The inhabitants of the Isle of Wight,” said Mrs. Merton smiling, “appear to have been very badly off with regard to the rural sports, for at one time, I believe, no hares were to be found here. At least I remember reading somewhere, that the same Sir Edward Horsley, whose tomb we saw at Newport, was so anxious to introduce hares here, that he gave a fat lamb for every hare that was brought over from the mainland alive.”

“Oh! look mamma,” cried Agnes, interrupting her mother, “what a beautiful butterfly! Surely that is quite different from those we saw the other day.”

“You are quite right,” said her mother, “it is different; and it is very extraordinary that it should be here at all, as it is generally found only in low marshy places.”

“I have heard, however,” said Mr. Merton, “of its being found in the neighbourhood of Dover on the chalk cliffs, and, therefore, it is not very surprising that we should meet with it here.”

“But what is the name of this butterfly, mamma?” said Agnes.

“It is called the Marbled-white, or Marmoress,” said Mrs. Merton, “but I think it is a variety a little different from the common kind.”

“Look, mamma!” said Agnes, “there it is again, sitting on that bough with its wings closed. How very odd it is that butterflies should always sit in that queer position!”

“It is their attitude of repose,” said Mrs. Merton. “They sit in that position when they are asleep, and they are even found in it when they are dead.”

“It is very curious,” said Agnes, “that they should be so very fond of displaying the under side of their wings; and it is still more curious that the under side should be so very different from the upper side. How is it, mamma? I should have thought in wings so thin as those of the butterfly, that the colours would shine through.”

“The marks on the butterfly’s wing,” said Mrs. Merton, “are composed of a number of delicate little scales, laid over each other like the feathers of birds; and there are two different sets of scales for every wing, one covering the upper, and the other the under side. If you lay hold of a butterfly by its wings, you will find that some of these delicate little scales will adhere to your fingers, on which they will look like fine dust, and that the membrane of the wing from which they were brushed will be laid bare; just as the skin of a bird would be if you were to pluck off its feathers.”

“Ah, mamma,” cried Agnes, “there is another butterfly, which appears to me quite different from the other.”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Merton, “that is the Clouded-Yellow, a very common butterfly in every part of England, and, I believe, in almost every part of the world. It is, however, rather capricious in its visits, as every three or four years a season occurs when not one of these butterflies is to be seen; while, perhaps, the next season they are so abundant as to lie dead under every hedge.”

“Several other kinds of insects,” said Mr. Merton, “have the same peculiarity. Some years cockchafers are so abundant as to be quite a pest, though, perhaps, the next season they are rarely to be met with. Entomologists have been puzzled to account for these changes; but with regard to the butterflies, their abundance or scarcity is said to depend chiefly on the number of ichneumons.”

“Ichneumons!” cried Agnes, “I thought they were only found in Egypt.”

“I do not mean the animal that destroys the eggs of the Crocodile on the banks of the Nile,” said Mr. Merton, “but a kind of fly which lays its eggs in the living bodies of caterpillars.”

“Ah!” said Agnes, “I think you have told me of this fly before, mamma. I remember it now.”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Merton, “I remember describing to you the Ichneumon that lays its eggs in the caterpillar of the Cabbage Butterfly; but there are several kinds, and there, I think, is one quite distinct hovering round the florets of that Flowering Rush.”

She told the driver to stop; and Agnes distinctly saw the Ichneumon her mother had alluded to.

They now passed a pretty little cottage with a large myrtle trained against it; and Mrs. Merton remarked how very few similar specimens they had seen of the mildness of the climate. “I remember, when I was a girl,” said she, “having heard so much of the myrtles of the Isle of Wight, that I expected to find the whole island a complete green-house; but, the fact is, we have seen much fewer myrtles here than we did last year in Devonshire.”

Soon after they arrived at the little town of Brading; and Mrs. Merton and Agnes went to visit the Church, while Mr. Merton rested for an hour or two at the inn. As they entered the church-yard, they saw, to their great joy, their old acquaintance Mr. Bevan, whom they had not seen before since they left Carisbrook Castle. He told them he had been staying at Newport; but that he had now come to Brading to see the Church, which was the oldest in the island, part of it being said to have been built in the year 704. “It is also large for the Isle of Wight, which is remarkable for the smallness of its churches,” continued he; “and it contains some curious old tombs of the Oglanders, the founder of whose family came over with William the Conqueror; also the original of the epitaph which has been so often quoted, beginning: ‘Forgive, blest shade! the tributary tear’—I do not remember the rest, but the words are doubtless familiar to you.”

As he was speaking, a woman came up, and asked if the party wished to see the church. The old gentleman replied that they did. “Because,” said she, dropping a curtsy, “my husband, as keeps the key, is gone out with the key in his pocket, and won’t be home ’till night.”

Mrs. Merton and Agnes could not help laughing at the woman, who gave this intelligence with the air of one who is communicating something peculiarly agreeable, and which she means to be remarkably civil; but the old gentleman did not take it so quietly: on the contrary, he went into a passion, and ordered the woman to send for her husband immediately. She said she did not know where to find him, and curtsying again, walked off. The rage of the old gentleman was now excessive: his face became quite red; he stamped, and shook his fist at the woman; till, happening accidentally to cast his eyes on Agnes, he was evidently struck at the expression of her countenance, and felt ashamed of having exposed himself so much before a lady and a child. He stopped, pushed his wig back into its place,—as it had been disordered by his vehemence,—and began to apologise; but, as he saw Mrs. Merton looked grave, he stopped suddenly. He then endeavoured to turn their attention to another subject, and began speaking of Brading Haven.

“The sea here,” said he, “spreads over a piece of land eight or nine hundred acres in extent, which, tradition tells us, was formerly partly covered with an extensive oak forest, in which the Druids performed their rites. In the centre of the forest was a stone-cased well, in which Merlin, who was a powerful magician, had confined a troublesome water-spirit; and the exact situation of this well was kept a secret, as it was said, that if ever the lid was raised, ruin to the whole country round would follow. The time of the Druids passed away, and all memory of the well was lost, till the time of William the Conqueror, when the Norman knight, Fitz Osborne, who subdued the island and reigned over it as an independent sovereign, gave this tract of land to one of his followers, Robert Okelandro. This knight, being fond of hunting, determined to clear away the underwood in the forest, and in doing so he discovered the enchanted well, and ordered its cover to be removed that it might be filled up; some of the oldest inhabitants of the place remonstrated; but he would be obeyed; the cover was taken off, and the waters rushed up with such force as to overwhelm the whole district, and to drown the adventurous knight and several of his attendants.”

Mrs. Merton thanked the old gentleman for relating this legend, and asked him if the harbour was not useful for shipping.

“No,” returned he; “it is too shallow to bear anything but a small boat, even when the tide is in; and when it is out it is only a mass of mud. In the reign of James I. Sir Hugh Middleton, the same who first supplied London with water, contracted with some Dutchmen to embank this spot, and redeem it from the sea; but after upwards of seven thousand pounds had been expended, a furious tide made a breach in their bank, and the land being again overflowed, they were at length compelled to give up the project in despair.”

The old gentleman now bowed and took his leave, and Mrs. Merton returned his salutation very coldly, as she had been disgusted with the violent rage he had displayed, and which was so unbefitting his age and general intelligence. Agnes was also quite hurt to find him so very different from what she had expected. “I never could have believed he would have behaved so; his appearance was so respectable,” said she.

“My dear Agnes,” returned her mother; “this is your first experience in that important lesson in life—that it is always dangerous to place much reliance on appearances.”

They now returned to the inn, where they found the carriage waiting; on the road they stayed a moment to look again at Brading Haven, with the little town of Bembridge, forming the southern point of the harbour, and approaching nearly to the pretty village of St. Helen’s at its northern point. Mrs. Merton was anxious to pass through St. Helen’s, as she wanted to show Agnes the old church-tower which is now washed by the sea, though it is said to have been once a mile from it, and the green, round which the houses of the village are built; but as Mr. Merton was far from well, she thought it advisable to proceed to Ryde as speedily as possible, and after a very dull ride, only varied by the beautiful view from St. John’s of the town of Ryde, they arrived at that place, and drove to the Pier Hotel.