Management in Household affairs.—Undercliffe.—Alexandrian Pillar.—Light-house of St. Catherine.—Little Church of St. Lawrence.—Churchyard.—St. Lawrence’s Well.—Ventnor.—Wishing Well, and Godshill.—Beautiful Butterflies.—Pulpit Stone.—St. Boniface.—Arrival at Shanklin.

The night at Black Gang Chine was dreadful; the rain came down in torrents; and the wind rushed by in such furious gusts that the slight fancy building they were in shook to its foundation. The Mertons had a double-bedded room, but none of them slept much; and once, when the house absolutely rocked, from the violence of the wind, Mrs. Merton rose, and throwing a dressing-gown round her, she knelt by the side of Agnes’s little bed, and took the poor child’s cold and trembling hand in her own, till Agnes, soothed and comforted by the pressure of her mother’s hand, at last fell asleep.

Mrs. Merton, herself, however, could not sleep, and she lay counting the tedious hours till the break of day, when she arose weary and unrefreshed.

The morning was extremely beautiful; and even the dark and gloomy hills of the Chine looked less fearful in the bright rays of the early sun. Mrs. Merton dressed herself, and was just going down stairs, when Agnes woke and begged her to wait for her. Mrs. Merton consented, and as soon as the little girl was ready they went down to the room in which they had sat the night before; one of the windows was open, but Agnes had no longer any pleasure in running out under the veranda; and she shuddered at the sight of the rocks, though the sea, which curled gently round them, at a depth of above five hundred feet below the situation of the inn, was now as smooth as glass. She could not even pat the black dog she had been so fond of the day before, and she sat on the sofa with her back to the window, while Mrs. Merton rang the bell to ask the waiter what had become of the sufferers of the night before. The account was unfavourable. The young fisherman was dead; and the Londoner, though alive, lay in a very enfeebled state, and his complete recovery was considered doubtful. Even the poor dog appeared to have sustained some severe internal injury, for it had refused its food, and seemed in great pain. A doctor had been sent for from Niton; but the young man had not yet been able to speak to tell where they could write to his friends. Neither Mrs. Merton nor Agnes felt inclined to walk out before breakfast; though, previously to their unfortunate visit to the Chine, they had intended to visit the medicinal spring, and to taste some of its nauseous waters. Now, however, they were only anxious to quit the place; and they were quite delighted to see Mr. Merton walk into the room a few minutes after they had finished their inquiries. Breakfast was immediately ordered, but not so easily obtained—first, there was no milk, and next the butter had to be sent for; then the cook had boiled only one egg, and the others had to be waited for;—till, with all this waiting and sending, the coffee became cold, and all the comfort of the breakfast was destroyed. To complete the whole, the waiter, who was a most respectable-looking person, and had the air of an old soldier, appeared so anxious to oblige them that it was impossible to scold him; and even the landlady was so civil, and so sorry for the delay, that nobody could blame her.

“What an uncomfortable breakfast!” cried Agnes, when they rose from table.

“And yet every thing was good of its kind,” said Mrs. Merton.

“But something must have been wrong,” said Agnes; “for I never saw so much trouble in getting a breakfast before; and yet we had nothing different to what we have in general. What can have been wanting?”

“Management and arrangement,” said Mrs. Merton. “When I ordered breakfast, the waiter ought to have told me that there was neither milk nor butter in the house; and we should then have waited till all was ready, before we sat down, and our coffee would have been kept near the fire till it was wanted. Remember, Agnes, if ever you should have to act as a housekeeper, that you can never make a family comfortable unless you exercise your forethought and judgment, so as to provide every thing that is likely to be wanted beforehand. I do not mean to recommend you to have a profusion of anything; for it is a common fault with young housekeepers to provide too abundantly; but I hope you will always take care to have a sufficient quantity of the common articles of food ready in the house; as nothing can more decidedly show bad management than to have to send out for anything required for a meal after that meal is served.”

The carriage being now ready, they drove along the road which led to the Undercliffe; and soon lost sight of the horrible Black Gang Chine. This remarkable part of the Island has been formed by a landslip,—or, rather, a succession of landslips; from the effects of which, a considerable portion of land has slipped or settled down from the lofty cliffs called St. Catherine’s Down, so as to form a sort of intermediate cliff between the down and the sea. The summit of the Undercliffe forms a fine terrace about six or eight miles long, and from a quarter of a mile to a mile broad, along which the road is carried, with St. Catherine’s Cliffs frowning above, and the remains, into which it was partly shattered by its fall, lying between it and the sea, and assuming a thousand fantastic shapes. The terrace is bordered with villas, shaded by trees, which grow with the greatest luxuriance and beauty; in some cases even down to the water’s edge. Many of the cliffs, however, which face the sea rise from sixty to a hundred feet above it, and these are crowned by the road; but, in other cases, the road is thrown to some distance back, and villas are erected among the broken rocks between it and the sea. During the whole length of the terrace, it is sheltered from the north by a bold line of rocks, rising from two hundred to three hundred feet above it; which, in some places, form a kind of wall composed of horizontal beds of sandstone, and, in others, a less abrupt slope covered with green sward. Agnes was very much interested in this singular region, and began conversing with her papa on the causes of this remarkable convulsion of nature. “Is it supposed to have been occasioned by an earthquake or a volcano?” asked she.

“No,” replied Mr. Merton; “the cause is supposed to be the numerous beautiful little springs, which you will see presently, meandering among the fallen rocks; sometimes collecting into little pools, and sometimes forming miniature cascades, in their progress towards the sea. The springs, it is thought, formerly flowed under this sunken cliff, and must have melted some of the softer under strata, which being washed away, the upper part would gradually sink down, as we see it has done.”

“Is it long since the fall took place?”

“All memory of the first land-slip of this cliff has passed away; but in the year 1779 a large portion of the upper cliff, about eighty or ninety acres, was suddenly seen sinking, and sliding towards the sea; the surface cracking in various directions, and chasms opening here and there as it fell. This was near the very spot we are now traversing.”

“But have there been any slips since then?” asked Agnes, looking somewhat frightened.

“Yes,” said the driver, “there was a house swallowed up near Niton, not many years ago.”

“There was also a land-slip, in the year 1811, at the other extremity of the under cliff, near Bonchurch,” said Mr. Merton, “by which about fifty acres were displaced.”

They had stopped the carriage while they were looking at the cliffs, and now when they began to move on again, the driver pointed to what appeared an upright black stick, at the extremity of the horizon, and told Agnes that it was the Alexandrian Pillar. Agnes remembered that her mother had told her that light-houses were sometimes called Pharos, from the name of the island on which the first was erected; and she thought, as Pharos was near Alexandria, perhaps the Alexandrian Pillar was another name for a light-house, so she said, “Oh yes, the light-house; I see it just below us.”

“No,” said the man, “I don’t mean the light-house, but the pillar Squire Hoy built on the Downs.”

Mr. Merton now explained to Agnes, that Mr. Hoy, who possessed a good deal of property in that part of the Isle of Wight, had been a Russian merchant; and that he had erected this column, out of gratitude for the kindness he had experienced from the Emperor Alexander, in commemoration of that monarch’s visit to Great Britain, in 1814.

“St. Catherine’s Down,” continued Mr. Merton, “is about nine hundred feet above the level of the sea, and is the highest part of the island.”

“Yes, but it is lower now than it used to be,” said the driver. “They say it is not above eight hundred feet high now in most parts, and that it is gradually sinking.”

“I wonder they did not put the light-house on the top of the Down, as it is so high,” said Agnes.

“There was anciently a chapel,” replied Mr. Merton, “which was built in the year 1323, by the lord of the neighbouring manor; and a certain yearly sum was assigned to it to maintain a monk there, whose duty it was to sing mass, and keep a constant light burning to guide mariners. But at the Reformation the poor monk’s revenues were swept away, and his chapel has become a ruin. There was, however, a light-house erected near it about fifty or sixty years ago, but I believe it soon fell into disuse.”

“The sailors could not see the light on account of the fogs,” said the driver.

“What! are there fogs on the summit of that down?” cried Mrs. Merton.

“So thick that you could not see your hand before you. It is not very long since the landlord of that very house you stopped at walked over the cliff one foggy night, when he thought he was going home to his own house. So they had no light-house at all here till the loss of the ‘Clarendon’ made such a talk; and then they built the light-house of St. Catherine’s, that you see down yonder.”

They had now just passed a pretty romantic-looking Gothic cottage called the Sand-rock Hotel; on the fine lawn before which were several persons sitting, enjoying the cold morning breeze. It was, in fact, a delightful scene: the air was fresh and pleasant, though the sun shone brightly; and the sea, instead of the boisterous force which it had shown the preceding night, curled gently round the cliffs, with a snow-white crest mantling on its edge, and seemed as if it were smiling at the mischief it had done. They had now a good view of the light-house which the driver had mentioned. It was an octagon building about one hundred and twenty feet high, standing upon a cliff about fifty feet above the level of the sea. Advancing rapidly, they soon reached the pretty little church of St. Lawrence; which is said to be the smallest parochial church in Great Britain; as it is only twenty feet long, twelve feet wide, and six feet high, in the lowest part; though, from the roof being of a steep slope, it is much higher in the middle of the church. Mrs. Merton and Agnes got out of the carriage, and walked round this curious little building, which appeared to have been constructed for Lilliputians, rather than for human beings of the ordinary size. They walked round the church-yard, and found one of the tomb-stones erected to the memory of a gentleman, upwards of ninety years of age, who had lost his life by falling from the downs just above the church, while travelling through the island. After satisfying their curiosity by inspecting the church, Mrs. Merton and Agnes returned to the carriage; and they drove on to St. Lawrence’s Well, where the water of a delightfully clear and pure spring is received in a stone-basin, protected by a kind of alcove, which forms an elegant little stone building surrounded by trees. Fortunately the party had a travelling case with them containing a glass; and they were all, except the driver, very glad to refresh themselves with some of this delicious water, which tasted as cool as if it had flowed through ice. They now approached Steephill, a modern castle, which has been erected on a spot formerly called the Queen of the Undercliffe; and the grounds of which certainly appeared as pretty as wood and smooth turf could make them. On the road-side, sitting by a little stream of water which gushed out of the broken rocks, sat a large Kittiwake Gull. “Look, mamma,” cried Agnes, pointing to the bird, “there is the very gull we saw at Black Gang Chine.”

“Not the same, I think,” said Mrs. Merton. “There are a great many of these gulls in the neighbourhood; and there was one, some years ago, kept by some cottagers at Bonchurch, which they had had twenty-seven years. Every spring, when the wild gulls arrived, it used to fly away with them, and amuse itself with them all the summer; but, about August, when they desert the island, it used to return to its old quarters, and would remain there all the winter.”

They now passed rapidly on, and soon reached Ventnor, where Mr. Merton had intended to stay for some time. He changed his mind, however, as soon as he saw its hilly situation; as, though Ventnor is now a fashionable place for consumptive patients, it is impossible to find anywhere a hundred yards of level ground; and every body knows how difficult it is for a person with weak lungs to climb a hill. Besides, new houses were building in every direction, and the smell of lime and mortar, and the jarring of stone-cutting, have an unpleasant effect on the senses and nerves of an invalid. He, therefore, determined to go on; and, after a short stay, they proceeded to Bonchurch.

“I have heard,” said Agnes, “of two things near Ventnor that I should like to see; and these are the Wishing Well and the church at Godshill.”

“And why should you like to see these things?” asked Mr. Merton.

“Because,” replied Agnes, blushing, “they say that if you go up the hill to the well without once looking back, and drink of the water without turning round, you will have three wishes.”

“How can you believe such nonsense?” said Mr. Merton.

“I don’t believe it, papa; but I should only like to see the well.”

“And, supposing you could have three wishes granted, what would they be?” asked Mrs. Merton.

“First,” said Agnes, “I would wish papa quite well; then I would wish you plenty of money, mamma; and then I think I should like to be very clever.”

“Your papa and I ought to be very much obliged by your first wishes; but I think I could put you in the way of getting the last wish fulfilled without a wishing-well.”

“Ah! I know what you mean, mamma. You mean that if I study hard I may make myself as clever as I like.”

“You are quite right, and, if you confess the truth, I think you will allow that I am right also.”

“But, mamma, I want to be clever without—without—”

“Taking any trouble at all;—but that, my dear Agnes, surpasses the lot of humanity. It is true that some persons are more highly gifted than others; but there is generally some serious drawback that reduces their lot to the level of that of other people; and, generally speaking, no talents are so useful as those which are in a great measure the result of our own industry.”

“But why did you wish to see the church, Agnes?” said her father.

“Because, papa, they say the stones of which it is built would not lie still in the valley where the people first wished to build the church; but ran rolling and tumbling along up hill as though they had been mad.”

“And the people must be mad who could believe so absurd a story.”

“Look, Agnes,” said Mrs. Merton, “at that butterfly! Is it not beautiful?”

“Oh, yes!” cried Agnes; “and there is another more beautiful still. How I should like to catch them.”

“We can admire them without catching them,” said her mother; “for I don’t like to torment poor innocent creatures merely because they are beautiful. Besides, that is a butterfly, called the Purple Emperor, which it is very difficult to catch, from the great height to which it flies.”

“Even if it were not, mamma,” said Agnes, laughing, “I do not think the Undercliffe would be a good place for a butterfly chase! But see, there is another butterfly of the same kind.—No, I see it is not, for it has red upon its wings.”

“That butterfly,” said Mrs. Merton, “is called the Alderman, I suppose partly from his gravity, and partly from his scarlet cloak, which you see he wears with great dignity. The caterpillar of this butterfly feeds on the nettle; and, generally, about July the female butterfly lays a single egg upon each leaf of the plant. The egg to the naked eye is scarcely bigger than the point of a pin; but when examined in a microscope, it is found to be curiously ribbed, almost like a melon cactus. As soon as the caterpillar is hatched, which it is by the heat of the sun, it begins to spin a kind of web, by means of which it draws the leaf together into a roundish hollow shape, so as to form a kind of boat, open at both ends. In this boat, or tent, the caterpillar lives; and it feeds on the lower part of the leaf, till, in a little time, it becomes perforated with holes.”

“How very much I should like to see some of these caterpillars, mamma!” said Agnes, “but no doubt I may some day, as I suppose if ever I find a caterpillar upon a nettle that this will be it.”

“You must not be too sure,” said Mrs. Merton, “for there is another caterpillar that feeds upon the nettle, which produces the peacock butterfly; but that caterpillar is black, with small white spots, and red hind legs. The caterpillars of the peacock butterfly, also, are found several together, while those of aldermen, are always solitary;—and there,” continued Mrs. Merton, interrupting herself as a butterfly flew past, “is another, whose caterpillar lives on the nettle. It is called the small Tortoise-shell, and it is extremely beautiful from the rich reddish-orange of its wings. This butterfly when it sits on a branch with its wings closed is not beautiful at all, as the inside of the wings is of a dusky brown; the caterpillar also is brown.”

“You should tell Agnes,” said Mr. Merton, “that it was from the golden hue of the pupa case of the small tortoise-shell butterfly, that the words chrysalis and aurelia have been applied to pupa cases generally. Both words signify golden, though the first is derived from the Greek, and the second from the Latin. Observe, also,” continued he, addressing Agnes, “that all the three nettle butterflies your mamma has just been telling you about, belong to the genus Vanessa.”

“But there is a butterfly of another genus,” said Mrs. Merton, “that is, the lovely little azure blue. Look, my dear,” continued she, addressing her husband, “it is just settled on that holly.”

Mr. Merton looked, and expressed his surprise as these butterflies are rarely seen so late in the season.

They now passed a very pretty villa, called St. Boniface, and very soon after they arrived at Bonchurch, which Agnes said she supposed was an abbreviation of St. Boniface. Just before they reached Bonchurch, however, they passed a curious stone called the Pulpit-rock, and the driver stopped, in order that some of the party might get out of the carriage, and climb up it. Mrs. Merton declined as she did not feel well; but Agnes was delighted to do so, as she was particularly fond of climbing; just as she got out of the carriage, however, her mother observed that a pretty little pink silk handkerchief, that she wore round her neck, was neither tied nor fastened by a pin.

“You had better tie your handkerchief, Agnes,” said Mrs. Merton, “or give it me to take care of till you come back.”

“Oh! no, thank you, mamma,” cried Agnes, “I will fasten it with a pin,” and she did, indeed, put a pin into it, but so carelessly that it fell out immediately, without her being aware of it. In fact, Agnes’s head was so full of the Pulpit-stone, that she could not stay to think about her handkerchief, and she ran away as fast as she could, passing through the narrow entrance, and climbing up behind the stone with the greatest agility. The pulpit-rock commanded a fine view, which Agnes stayed to look at; and, indeed, the rock itself took rather more time for Agnes to climb up and return than her papa had expected; so that, as soon as she re-entered the carriage, he desired the driver to go on. They passed through Bonchurch, and by Luccombe Chine, without stopping, and soon arrived at a very pretty little inn, called Williams’ Hotel, at Shanklin.