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|SIR Walter Scott somewhere speaks of the Isle of Wight as a "beautiful
island, which he who once sees never forgets, through whatever part of
the wide world his future path may lead him." Whether this description
be over-coloured or no, it is certain that there is hardly any spot of
English ground so well adapted for a ramble of three or four days. There
cannot be a more charming excursion than a cruise round "the Island,"
as inhabitants of the neighbouring counties fondly call it, when the
atmosphere is clear, and light breezes stir the water, without raising
it to roughness. The Solent, with its richly varied shores, and its
flotilla of white-sailed yachts, is first traversed: then round the
Needles we meet the open sea, gazing as we pass by at the quaint, almost
grotesque, forms of those pointed chalk pillars, the evident relics of
cliffs worn away by the action of the sea. Scratchell's Bay, with its
chalk precipices, is passed; and other bays, with their richly coloured,
variegated sands, excite new interest and wonder. Then the Chines,
or ravines in the cliff, diversify the outline; and so we reach the
Undercliffe, that line of coast, whose perfect protection from the
winter's cold, with the fresh purity of the sea-breeze, render it almost
unique as a residence for the consumptive. Niton at one extremity,
and Ventnor and Bonchurch at the other, with the five miles between,
offering a succession of views unsurpassed in beauty. "The beautiful
places," writes Lord Jeffrey, "are either where the cliffs sink deep
into bays and valleys, opening like a theatre to the sun and the sea, or
where there has been a terrace of low land formed at their feet, which
stretches under the shelter of that enormous wall like a rich garden
plot, all roughened over with masses of rock fallen in distant ages, and
overshadowed with thickets of myrtle and rose and geranium, which all
grow wild here in great luxuriance and profusion."
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After leaving Bonchurch, Shanklin Chine, Sandown Bay, terminated on
the north by the magnificent chalk headland called Culver Cliff, or
the Cliff of the White Dove, terminate the most beautiful part of this
little voyage. After rounding one or two more headlands, Ryde comes into
sight, and loyal travellers begin to look out for Whipping-ham church
tower, and the woods and palace of Osborne; soon after passing which
Cowes is reached, and the excursion is over.
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The interior of the island has many points of interest, but three or
four days are sufficient for their exploration. A most interesting
excursion is that to Newport and Carisbrooke Castle, so closely
connected with the annals of Charles I. The visitor to Blackgang Chine
will probably come to the conclusion that this and similar fissures
in the chalk cliffs have been extolled beyond their deserts. There are
combes in Devonshire, unknown to fame, far superior to either Blackgang
or Shanklin, and at the latter especially, the elaborate artificiality
of the whole scene is a little repellant, while the celebrated waterfall
is commonly but a trickling rill. Blackgang is finer as a chasm, but the
cascade is equally insignificant. The charm of "the Island" is, after
all, in the climate, the colouring, and the glorious sea.
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Few walks of richer or more luxuriant beauty can be found within the
same compass than that from Blackgang Chine to Ventnor. First we reach
the Sandrock Spring, a chalybeate fountain in a cliff; the water, it
is said, contains alum and iron in an unexampled proportion. There is a
cottage, hard by, displaying a few tumblers, but customers do not seem
to be many. As a spa, Sandrock is too plainly a failure; and for real
invigoration to health and spirits, we would rather try the pure ozone
on the summit of St. Catherine's Cliff, than imbibe any quantity of
the chalybeate. Let the visitor stay long and inhale the glorious
sea-breeze. He will indeed have pure air below, that is, unless the
breezes, as is their wont sometimes, are stirring the chalk in dust
clouds--a kind of white simoom!
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But at the best, the air of the Undercliffe is soft and languid,
suggestive to the robust of delicate lungs; while yet those who are thus
afflicted cannot be too thankful for a shelter where the atmosphere is
as mild as it is pure, and the scene at every point, by land and sea,
most beautiful.
We descend from St. Catherine's down to Niton, and thence pursue our way
by Puckaster and Mirables Lawrence, where the church was once accounted
the smallest in England (twelve by twenty feet in the interior), but is
now enlarged by the addition of a chancel.
"Improvement" has been direfully at work since first we visited this
little village and drank of the cool waters of "St. Lawrence's Well."
The white, well-kept road is more level than the old picturesque path;
instead of ivied cottages there are now shining villas with green
blinds, walls for hedgerows, and, worst of all, the gushing spring flows
somewhere in an inclosure to which there seems no access. It is a pity
to have thus modernised so rustic and lovely a spot. But the flowers are
still there, perfuming the air; and the myrtles and the fuchsias are not
shrubs, but trees, and the luxuriance of southern climes surrounds us.
As we walk along we speculate on the convulsions of nature that have
prepared for us this little paradise. The undulating ground at our feet
is evidently formed of vast masses of chalk and clay, which, at former
periods, have broken bodily from the face of the cliff, slipped forward,
and sunk down. The surface, disintegrated by aqueous and atmospheric
action, has formed a kind of irregular terrace, the soil of which is
most favourable to vegetation. The ground is now firm, the process
of disintegration from above seems almost arrested; but there are even
yet memories of landslips on a large scale, of which the traces are
still visible.
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There is one walk in the island which no tolerable pedestrian should
omit--that from Newport to Freshwater, or Alum Bay. Leaving the main
road at Carisbrooke, a footpath leads upwards through fields richly
cultivated and gay with wild flowers. The open down which forms the
backbone of the island is soon reached. Keeping along the ridge the
tourist will for some miles enjoy a scene almost unique in its beauty.
The soft delicate curves and undulations which characterise the chalk
downs, and which the unobservant traveller so often overlooks, may be
seen in perfection. Nestling in many a sheltered nook are farm-houses,
hamlets, and churches, embosomed in trees. Patches of fern, gorse, and
heather diversify the landscape. And far below, on either side, is the
sea--on the right hand the Solent, on the left the English Channel.
After a while Freshwater comes into view, with its | line of cliffs
rising sheer from the waves, and about half-a-mile inland the sheltered
nook which has been made a classic spot as the home of the Poet
Laureate. His description of it will be familiar to many readers.
"Where, far from smoke and noise of town,
I watch the twilight falling brown
All round a careless ordered garden.
Close to the ridge of a noble down.
You'll have no scandal while you dine,
But honest talk and wholesome wine,
And only hear the magpie gossip
Garrulous under a roof of pine.
For groves of pine on either hand,
To break the blast of winter, stand;
And further on, the hoary Channel
Tumbles a breaker on chalk and sand."
A couple of miles more and we reach Alum Bay and the Needles, spoken of
on a preceding page.
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Half a century ago few contributions to our religious literature were
more widely and deservedly popular than Legh Richmond's "short and
simple annals of the poor." Though of late years they have lost
something of their popularity, yet many visitors to the island make
a pilgrimage to Brading, with which the name of the devout author is
inseparably connected. The grave of little Jane, the Young Cottager,
is in the churchyard here: that of the "Dairyman's Daughter," Elizabeth
Vallbridge, is at Arreton, three or four miles away towards the
interior.
Here for the present our rambles must end.
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It is impossible to retrace them without feeling how very beautiful
England is. Some of her beauties are little known. Others are not
appreciated as they deserve. Many an obscure and unvisited nook has a
loveliness or a grandeur or a picturesqueness beyond that of the most
famous show-places. But the glory of our island is that so many of its
loveliest spots are associated with the memory of great names and noble
deeds. The glory of England is in its people; but its people may well,
in turn, exult and give thanks to God that He has given them so fair and
splendid a home.