Young Londoner and Neptune.—Disobedience of the Young Fisherman.—Fossils.—Fine Water.—Alum Bay.—The Needles.—Old Couple.—Dull Road.—Fertility of the Isle of Wight.

The next morning Mrs. Merton and Agnes rose early, and, as usual, walked out before breakfast. Almost the first thing they saw was the young man who had attracted their attention the preceding evening; and who, with his gun in his hand, and followed by Neptune, was sauntering over the cliffs. Almost as soon as they saw him, the young man fired his gun; and instantly a thousand birds rose from hidden places in the cliffs, screaming and flapping their wings in such a fearful manner that Agnes was quite terrified, and clung close to her mother’s side, as if for protection. The young man was evidently pleased with the effect he had produced; and, calling Neptune, he threw a stone for him to fetch out of the sea. Neptune did not now refuse; for, as his instinct told him there was no longer any danger of his being dashed against the rocks, he gladly indulged his natural fondness for the water, and sprang into the waves after the stone; though, of course, it had sunk too deep for him to reach it. The young man then threw in a piece of stick, which Neptune brought out in triumph: and his master, sauntering away over the cliffs, again fired off his gun; at which the sea-birds again rose, but, this time, with a wild scream which seemed like fiendish laughter. Neptune had just plunged in again, after something his master had thrown for him, when a young fisherman came up to Mrs. Merton, and asked her if she would not give the young lady a sail. Mrs. Merton, remembering that she had heard it was a beautiful sail from Freshwater to Alum Bay, hesitated: she wished to show her little daughter as much as possible of the beauties of the island; and she recollected that Mr. Merton could easily go round in a carriage, if he thought the boat would be too fatiguing.

“Oh! do go, mamma,” cried Agnes; “I should so like to see the caverns.”

Mrs. Merton was well aware that the caverns could only be seen to advantage from the sea; and, as she was never so happy as when gratifying the wishes of her darling, she was half inclined to engage with the man; but she did not like to do so till she had consulted Mr. Merton: she therefore told the man she would consider of it; and was just turning away, when the gruff voice of the old fisherman sounded in her ear, bidding her beware, for there would be a storm before night. “If you had set out by day-break,” said he, “it would have been a different thing; but now you will never be able to get near enough the shore to see anything without running on the rocks.”

“Why, now, father!” cried the young man, “did ever any body hear the like? there’s mother waiting for us at Black Gang Chine; and here’s a lady that would have paid for the boat half-way, if it had not been for you.”

“Nonsense, lad,” said the father; “mother had rather we had staid away, than went in such weather as this: she’ll not expect us; she’s been a fisherman’s wife too long not to know when a storm’s coming on.”

“Never mind, my lad,” cried the young Londoner, coming down the cliffs; “I’ll go with you, and to Black Gang Chine, too; for that is just where I want to go. Never mind the old fellow’s croaking. It is all very well for women and children,” continued he, glancing contemptuously at Mrs. Merton and Agnes; “but we are hearts of oak, my boy: ain’t we?”

“You had better not go, Jack,” said the father to his son. “You know Black Gang Chine of old: and she’s a bad one with a tide setting in shore; as I know to my cost.”

The young man paid no attention to his father’s remonstrance; but turned aside with the Londoner to settle what was to be paid for the boat. Agnes, who was very fond of dogs, in the meantime began to pat the head of Neptune, who stood beside her, wagging his tail, as though he knew her partiality, and was waiting to be caressed.

“Look, mamma,” cried Agnes, “how singularly he is marked: he has a white throat, with a large, black, heart-shaped mark on the chest.”

Mrs. Merton turned to look at the dog, and perceived the mark of which her daughter had spoken; which was, indeed, very singular, and very distinct. The Londoner, having finished his bargain, now whistled off his dog; and the young fisherman hastened to the beach to prepare his boat. As he passed, the father repeated his ominous cry of “Jack, you’d better not go.”

The young man, however, only replied: “Don’t be a fool, father. He’s given all I asked; and I could have had as much more, if I had but known.”

“Oh! that self-will,” said the old man; “it’ll be the ruin of you, Jack.”

“Never mind, if it is,” said the young fellow; and, whistling a tune, he hurried down to the beach.

Both Mrs. Merton and Agnes were very much shocked at the recklessness and disobedience of the young man; and Mrs. Merton asked the father, why he had not warned the young Londoner of his danger.

“And much good it would have done,” said the old man; “and much good it would have done,” he repeated. “If my own son won’t listen to me, how can I expect that a cockney would?”

“But why, then, did you warn us?” asked Agnes.

“You,” said he, looking at her; “oh! that’s quite a different thing. It may have done you some good. Besides,” muttered he, as he stumped away, “I’d a little girl of my own once, and she was drowned.”

The waiter from the inn now approached, to tell them that Mr. Merton was waiting breakfast; and Mrs. Merton asked him, if he thought the water was smooth enough for a boat.

“By no means, ma’am,” said the waiter: “there’s a young gentleman from London, who’s gone out shooting, that ordered a boat last night; and I called him as soon as it was light, but he would not get up then, and now it’s too late.”

Mr. Merton, who had become tired of waiting, now joined them; and he made Agnes observe the curious shape of the isolated rocks at Freshwater Gate. One, that stands at some distance from the shore, forms an arch; and another, which is nearer to the cliffs, is of a conical form, and pointed. This last is called the Deer-bound Rock; because a deer, pursued by the hounds, is said to have leaped on it from the cliffs, about seventy years ago.

“And then there’s the caverns, sir,” said the waiter. “There are ten or twelve caverns. There’s Lord Holmes’s Parlour and Kitchen, Neptune’s Cave, the Frenchman’s Hole, the Wedge Rock, and the Lady,—there you see her, sir, sitting as natural as if she was alive.”

“That is,” said Mr. Merton, “I suppose you see a rock that a little imagination may make you fancy a lady in a cavern.”

The man did not seem to like this interpretation; but he could not contradict it: and they walked back to the inn, where they found breakfast waiting. Agnes had then a glass of the excellent water for which the place is celebrated,—and which is so rarely good close to the sea;—and they left Freshwater, delighted with its little inn, civil waiters, and excellent fare, to visit the Needles and Alum Bay.

The shape of the Isle of Wight has been compared to that of a turbot; of which the point called the Needles forms the tail. From this point, which is the extreme west, to Foreland Farm, near Bembridge, which is the extreme east, the whole island measures only twenty-four miles in length; and its greatest breadth, which is from Cowes Castle to Rock End, near Black Gang Chine, is only twelve miles. It is, therefore, extremely creditable to this little island to have made such a noise in the world as it has done; and its celebrity shows that, small as it is, it contains a great many things worth looking at. One of the most remarkable of these curiosities is the point of land towards which our travellers were now advancing. It has a strange effect upon the natives of an inland county to hear the sea roaring on both sides of the tract of land they are passing over; and, when the point is reached from which the tongue of land springs which forms the promontory called the Needles, and the sea is seen, as well as heard, in this unusual position, the effect is still more striking. The part of the promontory on which the light-house is erected is seven hundred and fifteen feet above the level of the sea; but the downs slope down towards the cliffs. These, however, are still six hundred and fifty feet above the sea, which roars awfully beneath them. The promontory is of chalk, intermixed with flint; and the isolated rocks, called the Needles, show that it formerly projected much farther into the sea than it does at present; as they are evidently the remains of a portion from which the softer parts of the chalk have been washed away, while the flint and the firmer parts have been left. When Mr. Merton’s party reached the promontory, they left the carriage; and Mr. Merton waited at the light-house, while Mrs. Merton and Agnes walked over the downs towards the cliffs. They had not gone far, when they met a man with a small telescope in his hand, coming towards them; and Mrs. Merton asked him if he would go back with them, and help Agnes to climb down part of the cliffs. He willingly consented: and they advanced as well as the wind would permit them; but this was so violent that Mrs. Merton, who was light, and not very strong, was in great danger of being blown into the sea. The man told them first to turn to the right, that they might descend to the beach, to see the curious stratification of the Bay; but, just as they had reached a sheltered nook, they observed a young man coming up towards them; and, to their great surprise, they recognised a friend of theirs residing at Godalming. After the first hurried greeting, they asked him how he came to be there; and he told them that he was staying with a friend at Freshwater. He no sooner said this, than Agnes asked him how he had contrived to reach the spot from which they saw him ascending.

“I came there in a boat,” said he.

“I thought it was quite dangerous,” said Agnes, eagerly.

“So it would have been,” returned Mr. Russell,—for that was the name of the young gentleman,—“if we had not contrived to pass the Needles when the tide was full.”

“And how did you manage that?” asked Mrs. Merton.

“By leaving Freshwater Gate at three o’clock in the morning,” returned he: “and, I assure you, it was anything but agreeable. The night air blew excessively chill; and the sea was wrapped in such a thick gloom that it required some courage to plunge into it. However, the fishermen pushed off the boat; and, though there was such a heavy swell, that we were alternately mounted on the crest of the billows, and lost in the hollows between them, after about an hour’s hard pulling, we found ourselves under the highest point of the cliff. The face of the rock is there nearly perpendicular, and it is six hundred and fifteen feet high.”

“But did you see the caverns?” asked Agnes.

“Oh! yes; but I had seen them before. The best is Freshwater Cavern: surely you saw that?”

“No, we did not. Pray tell us all about it.”

“It is an opening in the rocks about a hundred and twenty feet deep; and the principal entrance is by a bold, rugged arch about thirty feet high. It has a very curious effect when you look through this arch, as it is just like a church-window; and, when the tide is in, the water looks very beautiful, from the manner in which it seems to tremble in the irregular gleams of light which penetrate through the projections of the rocks. Then, there is Scratchell’s Bay, with the grand arch three hundred feet high; and the Wedge Rock, where there is a great mass of rock detached from the cliff, which looks as though it had lodged between the rocks, just as it was falling down. It is the shape of a wedge; and, when you look at it, you can’t help thinking every moment that it will fall.”

“But the waiter at Freshwater talked of Lord Holmes’s Parlour and Kitchen: what can they be?”

“The first is a cavern in which a certain Lord Holmes, who lived in the island about eighty or a hundred years ago, used to bring his friends to drink their wine in summer; and his kitchen is another cavern, where, it is said, his wine was kept, to cool it; but I did not pay much attention to the caverns as my object was to find Razor-bills and Willocks; which I wanted to shoot, that I might stuff some of them for my father’s museum.”

“I suppose you saw a good many birds near the caverns,” said Agnes.

“A good many,” returned he; “but the most were between the highest cliff,—which is marked by a long streak of red ochre, from a stratum of that earth, I suppose,—and a place called Sun Corner, where the cliff overhangs the sea. Here there were hundreds and thousands of Guillemots and Razor-bills, which were flying about in parties of tens or twenties; and, far above them, the great grey Sea-mews were wheeling round and round, and uttering their loud and piercing cries; while, in the distance, the Needle rocks were covered with hundreds of Black-headed gulls. When we approached this place, the fisherman pulled right in for the cliff; and, as we drew near it, I never saw such a scene before in my life. The whole surface of the cliff was in ledges, like shelves, one above another; and these ledges were perforated, like honey-combs, by the Puffins and Razor-bills. Every ledge was crowded with birds, so thickly, that the only wonder was, how they could all find room to sit; and yet every now and then some fresh birds came popping up through the holes in the ledges, and knocked off those that were sitting on them.”

“How droll!” cried Agnes, laughing.

“But that was not all,” continued Mr. Russell; “the birds that had been so unceremoniously tumbled off, soon returned and settled on the heads of those that had taken their places; slipping down behind them till they gained a footing on the rocks, and obliged those before them to tumble off in their turn. You may easily imagine what a noise all this caused, particularly among the Puffins. These little fellows as they sat upright on the rocks, turned their heads, sharply, first on one side, and then on the other, as if they were scolding and chattering at their disturbers; and, as they have white cheeks with a black hood, which looks as if it was tied under the chin, they had the appearance of a number of old women met to gossip. A few delicately white Kittiwakes, which looked like the young ladies of the party, were perched on some of the projecting crags; and here and there was a Cormorant standing, stern and upright, like a black sentinel, and quite alone. These birds were very striking, from their black hue contrasting with the white cliffs; but I cannot say that I much admire them. I think the Razor-bills are the handsomest of all the Isle of Wight birds; as they have snow-white breasts, and black heads and backs. But, as to their cries, I really don’t know which is the worst. Such a horrible clatter surely never can be heard any where else.’”

“I can easily conceive that,” said Mrs. Merton, “from what we heard of these birds ourselves.”

“Oh! but that could have been nothing to what we heard,” said Mr. Russell. “The fisherman told me to fire: I did so; and all the previous din was quiet compared to the uproar which ensued. The sky was positively darkened with the multitude of birds that rose from the cliffs; and their wild screams and cries were hideous beyond description. But the most extraordinary part of the whole was, that though I fired so close that my shot touched the plumage of several of the birds, not one was killed.”

“How could that be?” asked Mrs. Merton.

“The fact is,” replied Mr. Russell, “that the feathers on the necks and breasts of these sea-birds are closely matted together, and form a covering, so smooth and compact, that the shots glance off instead of penetrating it. The fisherman laughed at my astonishment when I saw the birds I had hit fly away; and told me that the only way to shoot a sea-bird was to get behind it. I profited by this advice, and soon contrived to shoot all the birds I wanted, except a Cormorant; and that I have come on land to shoot.”

“But why did you not shoot one from the water?” asked Mrs. Merton.

“Because I could not manage it, my dear madam. Just under the cliff, where the Cormorants were sitting, there was a narrow slip of beach; and I landed there with great difficulty, as the swell of the sea was very heavy, and the bottom there is very bad. I was now almost perpendicularly under the birds, and I could plainly see their long necks, and stiff, still heads poked out towards the sea; and in the same position they continued, without turning their heads to the right or to the left, though I wasted a great quantity of shot upon them, and some excellent powder, which I grudged very much: and so, finding that I could do no good, shooting at them from below, I am now come to try a shot from above; but I must not be long, for we shall have hard work to get through the Needles if we let the tide get too low, and we must be back at Freshwater to dinner.”

“Did you see any of the eggs?” asked Agnes.

“Oh! yes, plenty of the Guillemots and Razor-bills, which were lying singly on the ledges of the rocks, and shaking with every puff of wind; for they are only just balanced on the bare rocks on which they lie: but the Puffins lay their eggs in the long holes they hollow out of the chalk. I have seen a man put his arm in almost up to the shoulder, to pull a Puffin’s egg out of its hole; for the birds always contrive to lay them at the very bottom.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Merton, “we will not detain you, since you have such important business in hand.”

He thanked her; but before he went he took something out of his pocket, which he gave to Agnes. “Here,” said he, “is something curious that I picked up on the rocks where I landed. I also saw a Grampus on the shore at the Shingles;” and, so saying, he wished them good-bye, and ran off.

“What strange things these are that he has given me, mamma!” cried Agnes. “Do look! what can they be?”

“They are cases made by a kind of Molluscous animal,” said her mother, “that lives like the Pholas enclosed in a burrow; but instead of taking up its dwelling in rocks, it forms itself a curious covering with broken bits of Corals and Madrepores, mixed with fragments of limestone, sand, gravel, and in short anything it can find. These materials it works up into the form of a flask, as you see; uniting them by a thick glutinous liquid, which exudes from its own body; and lining the whole with a kind of limy substance, which makes it quite smooth. Now we will open one of the cases, and I will show you what a curious little creature it is that makes this singular case.”

Agnes was quite surprised to see how small the shell was of the little creature that had been working so hard; but they were not in a situation to stand much longer, and, indeed, they could not have remained so long had they not been in a hollow part of the rock. They then descended to the beach; and were quite astonished when they looked up to the cliff. The construction of Alum Bay is, indeed, very curious. On one side, it is bounded by high cliffs of chalk, and on the other, by horizontal strata of diluvial soil, which extend to Freshwater; but the most remarkable feature of the place consists of the vertical strata in the centre. At one end of these is the London clay, which is of a bluish grey; and then follow narrow vertical stripes of red and yellow ochre, fuller’s earth, black flints, and grey and white sand: the colours of all the different kinds being so brilliant as to be seen distinctly at a little distance. While Mrs. Merton and Agnes stood on the beach, they saw hanging above them a man engaged in taking birds’-eggs. He had driven a large stake into the top of the cliff; to which he had fastened a strong rope, with two sticks placed crossways, at the other end, for him to sit on. It made Agnes giddy to look at this man; and she gladly turned her head from him, to listen to what their guide was telling her mother about Alum Bay, and the manner in which bottles are filled with the sands.

“But why is it called Alum Bay?” asked Agnes.

“Because alum is frequently picked up on the beach,” replied her mother; “and, I believe, copperas-stones are also found here. The white sand is used in making china and glass.”

The guide now beckoned Agnes to advance; and, turning round the projecting rock, she saw the very Grampus Mr. Russell had spoken of lying on the shingles, which were a mass of stones projecting through the sea, at some distance from the shore. She was most excessively disappointed at first, as she thought the creature so very ugly; but, in a little time, she began to admire its glossy black skin, and the silvery-grey of the lower part.

“Is it worth any money?” said Mrs. Merton.

“Oh! yes,” said the guide; “it weighs three tons and a half; and the fisherman that found it has sold it for twenty-three pounds.”

They now began to re-ascend the path they had taken to descend; and soon reached the summit of the cliff: after which they proceeded along it, till they arrived at the best point of view for seeing the Needles.

“How dreadfully the wind blows!” said Agnes, as she wrapped her cloak more closely round her.

“The wind always blows at the Needles, miss,” observed the guide.

“And are those the Needles?” cried Agnes, as they descended the down low enough to catch a view of these celebrated rocks. “I declare they look more like thimbles.”

“That remark has been made before,” said Mrs. Merton; “and yet they appear to me as little like thimbles as needles. The fact is, I think that they are more like mile-stones than anything belonging to the work-table; or, what bears a closer resemblance to them, they are like the awkward stone stiles I have seen, when I was a girl, in Gloucestershire.”

They had now reached the point beyond which Mrs. Merton did not wish to go; and she sat down on the turf, while the guide helped Agnes sufficiently far down the cliffs to enable her to see the birds sitting on their ledges of rock, uttering strange sharp cries, and then chattering, as though they were talking to each other. There were Cormorants, and Gulls, and Puffins, and Guillemots, with several smaller kinds, each sitting on its separate rock, and alternately muttering and shouting, till Agnes’s head grew giddy, and she begged the man to take her back to her mamma.

“Do not most of the birds generally leave you about this season?” said Mrs. Merton to the guide, when they returned.

“They are later than usual this year, ma’am,” replied the man. “It was a late summer.”

“I thought there had been five Needles, mamma,” said Agnes; “and I can see only three.”

“There are five, miss,” said the man, “but you can very seldom see them all at once, unless you’r on the water.”

“I wonder how these rocks ever came to be called the Needles?” observed Agnes,—“since they are not conical.”

“There was one formerly,” replied the man “that was like a needle exactly. It was above one hundred feet high, and quite thin and pointed. It used to be called the pillar of Lot’s wife; but it fell down, and some of the cliffs have fallen down since then, and more will go soon I have no doubt of it. These cliffs are always a-falling, I think.”

“I have heard,” said Mrs. Merton, “that the name of Needles is a corruption of two Saxon words signifying Undercliffe; and there appears little doubt that these rocks once formed part of the cliff, as you see they are dotted with rows of flints.”

Agnes here stooped and gathered a flower from the down. It sprang from a little hollow place in the turf, and was thus sheltered from the cold by the higher part of the hollow. “Oh! do look mamma,” cried she, “I declare I thought there was a bee in the flower.”

“It is the Bee Orchis,” said Mrs. Merton, “which is common on these chalky downs, though it is rarely found in flower later than July.”

She then showed Agnes the curious construction of the flower, and told her that the pollen of the Orchis tribe, instead of being like fine dust, was in wax-like masses. “Here is another flower,” continued she, “which is of the same species, but something different, for nothing can equal the variety of nature.”

Agnes compared the two, and was astonished to find how different they were, though at first she had supposed them to be the same.

They now turned back in search of Mr. Merton; and as they ascended the hill, Agnes began asking her mother some questions about light-houses.

“They are buildings,” said Mrs. Merton, “erected on rocks near the sea-shore, in which lights are exhibited all night, for the direction of mariners.”

“They are sometimes called pharos, are they not?” asked Agnes.

“That name,” said Mrs. Merton, “was given to them from the first light-house of which we have any record having been erected on the island of Pharos, near Alexandria, about two hundred and eighty years before Christ. The principal light-houses in Britain, however, are that on the Bell rock, opposite the Firth of Tay, and that on the Eddystone rocks, opposite to Plymouth Sound.”

“Why are light-houses made so high?” asked Agnes.

“In order that the light may be seen at a greater distance,” replied her mother; “and for the same reason the light is always placed in the upper part of the building.”

“Of what does the light consist?”

“It is an Argand lamp,” replied Mrs. Merton, “with a reflector behind it, made of silver strengthened with copper and highly polished.”

“I wonder,” said Agnes, “how the sailors know when it is a light-house. I should think that when they are at sea, they must be in danger of mistaking it for the light of a common house.”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Merton, “that has been done; and to prevent the possibility of such a mistake occurring again, as it would be a very serious one, contrivances have been devised for making the lights turn round, or of placing two in the light-house of different colours, so that the light of the light-house can never be mistaken for any other.”

“I suppose that on the Bell rock is one of those that turn round,” said Agnes, “for I remember when I was in Edinburgh and down at Leith, seeing it appear, disappear, and then appear again, till I was tired of looking at it.”

They now reached the light-house where they found Mr. Merton, who had been amused during their absence, hearing the history of the old couple who formerly lived there, and who, for nineteen years, had never, either of them, had a single hour’s illness. They now resumed their seats in the carriage, and returned in the way they came, till they were within a short distance of Freshwater, when they turned to the left, to take the road to Black Gang Chine. The road was extremely uninteresting, consisting of a series of narrow lanes between high hedges like those of Devonshire; but without the beautiful views, which in that county delight the eye, whenever a field-gate makes a break in the hedge.

“What a dull country!” cried Agnes.

“It is a very fertile one, however,” said her father, “as it has been found, on calculation, that the Isle of Wight produces seven times as much corn and other articles of human food as would suffice for the wants of its inhabitants.”

To relieve the monotony of the road, Agnes now began to tell her papa what she had seen at the Needles; and even their surly driver mingled in the conversation. “Ah! miss,” said he, “the greatest sight that was ever seen near the Needles was a whale that was cast on shore on the Shingles, in the year 1814. It was before my time,” continued he, “but I have often heard talk of it.”

Agnes yawned; and her mother advised her to get out of the carriage, and walk a little, as she had been so much amused in gathering wild flowers the previous day. Agnes willingly complied, and soon returned with a piece of the weed called Crosswort, with an insect feeding on it. “What can this be?” cried she. “It does not look like a common caterpillar.”

“It is the larva of the bloody-nosed beetle,” said Mrs. Merton. “Its colour is a deep green, and it has six legs near the head, with two other legs at the extremity of the body which assist it in climbing from leaf to leaf.”

“But why has the beetle to which it belongs such a strange name?” asked Agnes.

“Because when attacked it ejects from its mouth some drops of a reddish fluid which look like blood. The eggs of this insect are of a bright orange, and its pupa case is green.”

Agnes now shook the insect off, and was about to tread on it, when her mother stopped her. “Do not hurt it,” said she, “it only feeds on weeds;—do you not remember what Cowper, who was pre-eminently the poet of Nature, says:—

Yet I would not wish you to show a morbid sensibility. As when it is necessary that animals should be killed, even the same poet says:—

“Thank you, mamma,” cried Agnes, “I am glad I did not kill the caterpillar.”

“Call it a grub,” said Mrs Merton, smiling, “if you wish to give it its right name. The larvÆ of butterflies and moths are called caterpillars; those of beetles, grubs; and those of flies, maggots.”

They now entered the little hamlet of Mottistone; a pretty little place, with a very picturesque church, and a curious upright stone, supposed to be part of a temple of the Druids. Then they passed through Brixton, a village containing nothing worth seeing but a donkey that had lain down, with a lady on his back: after which the road made a sharp turn to the right, and they now approached the sea; though the scene was devoid of beauty, from the barrenness and gloomy hue of the downs. They were, however, tired with their journey, and glad to approach a newly-erected Gothic cottage, which, they found, was the inn. The house was nearly full; and it was some time before they could be accommodated with a room. They were, however, at last shown into a tolerably large one, with two windows, one of which looked on the downs they had passed, and the other on the gloomy rocks of Black Gang Chine. Mrs. Merton ordered an early dinner; and, while it was preparing, Agnes ran out under the veranda, to play with a large black dog belonging to the people of the house, and Mrs. Merton turned over the leaves of an album which lay on the table. When dinner was over, Mrs. Merton having seen her husband comfortably placed on the sofa, inquired the way to the Chine, and set out, accompanied by her daughter. They first entered a kind of field, by a gate; and, crossing a small wooden bridge, they arrived at a fanciful-looking cottage, filled with toys; where they engaged a guide. While waiting for this person, Mrs. Merton bought Agnes a curiously-shaped bottle,—filled with sand from Alum Bay, arranged so as to represent the Needle Rocks washed by the sea, and some hideous trees,—with some other trifles; and Agnes was amused watching a large Kittiwake Gull, which seemed quite tame. The guide at length arrived; and they proceeded down the steep descent which leads to the Chine; the gull hopping before them, as though it were helping to show the way. The descent was very steep and slippery, and the rocks rose black and stern above them. The night was closing in more rapidly than Mrs. Merton expected; and, in fact, she began to get alarmed. “Do you not think it is getting dark very soon to night?” said she to the guide.

“Why, yes, it is,” returned the man; “but I think we shall have a storm.”

“A storm!” cried Mrs. Merton, looking at Agnes with terror.

“Oh! you’ll have plenty of time to see the Chine, and get miss back before it begins.”

They continued to descend till they reached the bridge, where they paused for a few moments to look around them; and a more gloomy scene can scarcely be conceived. They were surrounded by precipitous cliffs, which rose high on every side, and looked as black as night. Not a single sprig, not a blade of grass, not a tuft of moss, was to be seen; all was dark, save a few bands of a dusky yellow colour, which gleamed on the dark sides of the rocks. But, if the scene was thus dreary when they looked above, what was it when they cast their eyes below? There a fathomless abyss seemed to yawn to receive them. Mrs. Merton shuddered. “I think we had better return,” said she; “for it is getting late.”

“Oh! mamma,” cried Agnes, “don’t let us go back without seeing the Chine.”

“We are more than half-way down,” said the man; “and the rest of the road is not half so bad as it looks.”

Mrs. Merton suffered herself to be persuaded; as, indeed, she seldom could refuse anything her darling wished, unless she thought it would be injurious to her; and she recollected that she had never heard of any accident occurring from visiting the Chine. Shipwrecks were, indeed, common on the coast; but that was another thing. She, therefore, gave her consent to go on; and they continued their descent. The path now became very steep; but they advanced more rapidly, and soon reached the point from which the best view of the Chine is obtained. Agnes was, however, excessively disappointed when she saw the small size of the water-fall.

“What!” cried she; “is that all?”

The man in vain assured her that the cascade was larger in winter; Agnes would not be pacified. She had seen the falls of the Clyde; and she could not be persuaded that the little paltry stream that she saw trickling over the ledge of the rocks could ever be worth looking at. Her mother, however, at last turned her attention to the rocks themselves, which, in some places, are five hundred feet high; and to the vast chasm, called the Chine, which has been scooped out of them, and looks like the crater of an extinct volcano. The cliffs did, indeed, now look awfully grand; and the wind, which blew from the sea, howled among their recesses. The tide was coming in; and the high-curling waves broke against the rocks with a deafening roar; and then retired, murmuring as if they had rushed upon an enemy that they had hoped to overpower by their might, and had been beaten back again.

“Now, let us go,” said Mrs. Merton.

“Oh! stay a moment!” cried Agnes. “There is something in the sea that looks like a man’s head.”

Mrs. Merton and the man both looked, and saw, though it was now nearly dark, something black and hairy that was beating about by the waves.

“Bless you! miss,” exclaimed the man: “that’s a dog.”

The next wave carried its burden nearer shore,—so near, indeed, that they saw distinctly the large shaggy head and white throat of a Newfoundland dog. The wave retired, carrying its prey with it; but soon, with deafening roar and redoubled fury, it came again; and again they saw the dog, with its black head and white breast; and, more,—that there was a black heart-shaped mark on its breast, which Agnes instantly recognised. “Oh! mamma,” cried she, turning pale and trembling, “it is Neptune; but where is his master?”

“Where indeed?” exclaimed Mrs. Merton, shuddering, and turning away her head.

They now saw distinctly that Neptune was not merely struggling to reach the shore himself: he was dragging something with him that was frequently torn from him by the waves, and that he dived for again and recovered, and then seemed to lose again. They watched his progress with the most intense anxiety; but always, when he seemed just on the point of reaching the shore, something appeared to rise out of the sea, and to dash him back again.

“It’s the ground swell,” said the guide; “there’s few Newfoundland dogs strong enough to stand against it.”

At this moment a large wave carried Neptune and his burden fairly on shore; and though its recoil swept them back again, the effect which a full sight of them produced upon the guide was electric.

“It’s a man!” he shouted. “Help, help!” and instantly several persons started from recesses in the cliffs, and ran upon the beach. Agnes saw that one was an old woman, who seemed in an agony of despair; and then she saw something black dashed against the rocks, and she heard a crash, and a shrill and piercing scream—and then she hid her face in her mother’s gown, for she could bear no more. Mrs. Merton bent over her and both remained silent for a few minutes. When they looked up, all was bustle on the beach. Lights were flashing to and fro, and numerous voices were heard. The idea suddenly struck Mrs. Merton that her husband would be alarmed and might come to seek them, and endanger his life by the descent. “Oh! let us go,” she cried.

“Stay a moment,” said Agnes, softly laying her hands upon her mother’s arm. “Let them pass first.”

Mrs. Merton shrank back, and let four men pass bearing the body of the young fisherman. He was apparently quite dead, his long black hair hung back from his pallid face, which was distinctly seen by the torches carried by some of the men, and his aged mother walked beside him, hiding her face in her apron. The young Londoner still lay on the beach, with his faithful dog panting by his side; for it seemed that the people had gone to seek for him some more suitable mode of conveyance; but he was not alone, for several persons crowded round him; and among them Mrs. Merton was glad to perceive their guide. She beckoned him to approach, and under his guidance they began to retrace their steps. The way was long, and in some places the ascent was frightfully steep. It had become quite dark, and the flame of the torch carried by their guide quivered so tremulously in the sudden gusts of wind that howled round them, that they feared every moment it would be extinguished. The rain now began to fall—slightly at first, but gradually in thick small drops, that chilled them to the heart, and made the soft clay over which they had to climb, so slippery, that they could scarcely keep their feet. At last they reached the bridge; and they had no sooner done so, than they saw distinctly the figure of Mr. Merton on the cliff above, surrounded by a number of men carrying torches; and he was waving a handkerchief to them to encourage their exertions. Then two men descended; one bore a torch; and the other, as soon as he reached the ascending party, took Agnes in his arms, and Mrs. Merton had soon the happiness of seeing her darling child safe by her father’s side. Mrs. Merton now felt new strength, and in a short time she reached the summit of the cliff herself. The men who were assembled round Mr. Merton waited a moment to see she was safe, and then hurried down the rocks to bring up the body of the young Londoner—the rapidity of their descent being marked by their torches, which appeared to slide down the different cliffs. The Mertons did not stay to witness the result of their labours, but hastened to the inn; and when Mrs. Merton and Agnes offered up their evening prayers, they did not forget to add a fervent thanksgiving for the mercy that had saved them from a dreadful catastrophe similar to that they had beheld.