“From Bexhill, descended between the high, shrubby banks of lanes, so narrow, that the wheels seemed to fill the passage; in some places a horse could not have passed; we met no carriage, or we must have backed a great way. Breathing honeysuckles on the banks; deep twilight. Heard the sea frequently on our right when the wheels stopped. We had before passed Pevensey levels and the town, with its fine old castle: towers in ruins. On our approach, it reminded one of Newark castle. Near eleven, before we reached Hastings; no moon; starlight; milky-way very lucid; seemed to rise out of the sea. Solemn and pleasing night-scene. Glowworms, in great numbers, shone silently and faintly on the dewy banks, like something supernatural. Judgment of Shakspeare in selecting this image to assist the terrific impression in his ghost-scene. May be called earth-stars. The coast patrole passed us. How far to Hastings? Three miles. Farther on had a narrow escape: horse and chaise suddenly plunged down a bank into the pebbles; nearly overturned. Happily our horse stood quite still, after the shock, and until we had ascertained the rugged course we were in; I walked the rest of the way. Pass under grand, dark rocks, disjointed and starting up in splintered points, and huge masses. These rocks, near the beach and over the road, continue to where the houses open.” From Hastings Mrs. Radcliffe proceeded along the coast to Dover, to which place she was extremely partial, and thence by Feversham to London. After minutely detailing her little adventures, she thus concludes her journey:— “In all our tour saw nothing so fine and beautiful as the views of sea and land from the Downs over the East Bourne. The sweet repose of the landscape and sea-bay to Hastings, and the grandeur of the various views, on all sides between the valleys of the South Downs, and even above these summits, circling nearly the whole horizon, with soft blue waves.” In the autumn of this year, Mrs. Radcliffe spent a fortnight at Little Hampton, and returning by Haslemere, thus describes the country immediately southward of that place. “Three miles of continual ascent, or descent of almost tremendous hills, long and steep opening to vast distances, now obscured in ruin, but sublime in their obscurity— ‘Where wilds immeasurably spread, Seem lengthening, as we go.’—GOLDSMITH. ‘These high, wild hills and rough uneven roads, Drag out our miles and make them wearisome.’ CYMBELINE. “This is the country, from which Collins drew his first ideas, and fed his early taste for the wild and the grand. ’O! vales and wild-woods, would he say, In yonder grave your Druid lies.” COLLINS.