by roads and far from picturesque; steep chalk hollows among the heath. “About half past five in the afternoon, set off for Hythe, ten miles, chiefly along the high sea-cliffs, except that about a mile from Dover, we wound among brown hills, and, the cliffs sometimes sinking a little, we had catches of the sea and of France, between green-dipping heights. Near Folkstone, descended a very long chalk hill, whence an enchanting view towards Beachy Head; the hills, retiring at some distance from the shore, open a curving bosom, and show towns and villages at their feet. Glad to get through the narrow steep streets of Folkstone, though the town is well situated. Proceeded in the dusk for Sandgate. Descended upon it—a white, new village, straggling along the beach, on each side of the wide road. Green hills rising all about it, and the place wide and free and pleasant; the sea beach appearing at every step between the houses, on one side, and as easy an access to the hills, on the other side. On the beach an ancient castle, of several round towers, ivied and clustered together, and built low like Sandwich castle. Soldiers on guard at the gate; thick walls; cannon; all on the outside was green sod. The village being full, proceeded through deepening dusk to Hythe, a mile and a half farther, the road leading along the beach, at the foot of green hills; the sea appearing to flow even with us. Cottages by the road side and people straggling all the way. Came late to Hythe, and slept there. Its ancient church stands high, is a sea-mark and a picturesque object, its grey towers and gothic windows appearing among wood, and having a hill behind them.” In the autumn of 1798, Mrs. Radcliffe, accompanied by her husband, visited Portsmouth, the Isle of Wight and Winchester. Her journal on this little tour, which she seems to have particularly enjoyed, is too minute to give entire; but we select the following specimens. “September 20—Set out in a beautiful afternoon for Portsmouth. Ascending to Esher by twilight, heard the bells sounding, with most melancholy sweetness, from the summit, and strengthening as we approached: every thing pensive, and tranquil.