The Hoe is an elevated promenade, occupying a high ridge of land between Mill Bay and the entrance to the harbour, with the citadel at its eastern extremity. It forms the seaport of Plymouth, and commands the beautiful and varied scenery of the Sound. In front of it lies St. Nicholas's Island, bristling with fortifications; beyond, rising in verdurous slopes and terraces from the water's edge, is Mount Edgcumbe Park, with its masses of luxuriant foliage backed by green hills. The land juts out on either side the bay in rocky points, which are crowned with forts and batteries; while in the distance now, though not in Smeaton's time, extends the nobly massive rampart of the breakwater, midway between the bluffs of Redding and Staddon Points, so as to arrest the long roll of the Atlantic waves, and protect the placid expanse of the great harbour. It was from the Hoe that our ancestors first descried the immense array of the Spanish Armada advancing threateningly toward the English coast. It was the favourite watch-tower, so to speak, of Sir Francis Drake in those times of difficulty and peril, as it was now of Smeaton in less critical circumstances: and it may be added, that these two men, each so illustrious in his special vocation, possessed many characteristic qualities in common; perseverance, patience, heroic endurance, indomitable resolution; the qualities, in fact, by which great deeds are accomplished. [Sidenote: A famous hill.] Smeaton, when he ascended the Hoe after a stormy night at sea, had neither eye nor thought for the picturesque beauties or historical associations of the scene before him. All he could think of was his lighthouse on the rock. He knew that he had brought the fullest resources of skill, and care, and prevision to bear upon its erection, yet he could not avoid a feeling of anxiety as to the security of the foundation. Many there were who still went about asserting that no fabric of stone could possibly stand upon the wave-worn, wind-beaten rock; and again and again the engineer, in the first dim light of morning, came to see if their ill-omened predictions had been fulfilled. Sometimes he had to wait long, until he could see a tall white column of spray rise aloft into the morning air. _Then_ he breathed freely, and shut up his telescope, and thanked God that his labour had not been undone. And as the morning advanced, and the light grew fuller and stronger, he was able to discern his shapely light-tower, standing, erect and firm, above the whirl of waters. [Sidenote: The Eddystone lighthouse.]