"The thick lids of night closed upon me Alone at the Bill Of the Isle by the Race-- Many-caverned, bald, wrinkled of face-- And with darkness and silence the spirit was on me To brood and be still." From this wild spot Ann Garland watched the _Victory_ depart with Bob Loveday on board. Turning inland we see Pennsylvania Castle. This was the home of Pierston, and near it is the cottage wherein Avice dwelt; while, in the adjoining Ope Churchyard, Jocelyn wooed the granddaughter of the first Avice. The castle is comparatively modern, having been built by John Penn in 1800, from designs by Wyatt. From numberless points on the tableland of Portland many exquisite views may be obtained, some looking seaward to where the distant St. Aldhelm's Head marks the eastern limit of Weymouth Bay. Inland, the prospect includes the town of Weymouth, with the heights of Dorset stretching into the heart of the county. Away to the west the waves of the Channel moan unceasingly, where Chesil lifts her pebbly ridge, and Golden Cap, with its summit of yellow sand, marks the site of Lyme Regis, with its memories of Charles II, Monmouth, Jane Austen, and Mary Mitford. Westward, too, over an expanse of southern sea, the sun sinks behind the belt of blue, and flushes the golden glow of sky with varying hues of rose and amethyst, until the overarching heaven seems etherealized into a transparent canopy that veils the mystic radiance of some hidden glory. WEYMOUTH TO POOLE The visitor to the Hardy country will quickly realize that, in spite of railways, motor cars, and cycles, more than half of South Dorset is a closed book to those who do not walk; while the beautiful coast scenery of this historic land is for the pedestrian alone. The iron road conveys the conventional tourist from an inland to a maritime town, motor cars and cycles thread the great highways, now stripped of their high and shade-giving hedges for the convenience of their mechanically propelled travellers. Contrast this with a tramp over a succession of grassy downs where the salt sea-mist fills the natural amphitheatres made by the hollows in the retreating hills, and across sandy bays eaten out of the soft chalk by the ceaseless action of the sea. There is an indefinable charm in a view combining sea and cliff, hill and dale, the near orchard and the distant down, within the field of vision. [Illustration: GATEWAY, POXWELL MANOR HOUSE]