els; in the melancholy of those
strips of short brown heath on the seaside, disappearing in the white
sand; in the frowning outlines of the determined rocks that like
fortresses defied their enemy the ocean; in the roll of crisp pasturage
that in unbroken swells covered the long backbone of the cape; in the
few giant old trees, and, more than all, in its character of freedom,
loneliness, and isolation, there was a savage charm and dignity that the
thrift and cultivation, the usefulness and comfort of civilisation's
beauty can never equal.

My first sight of the old cape was when I was about nine years of age.
My father took me with him in a chaise from Bristol--two days' journey
in those times; and I do not think now that my year's tour of Europe,
fifteen years after, was half as full of incident and delight as that my
first expedition of a few hours. I can recall how the man at the
toll-gate hobbled to us on his crutch; how my father chatted with him
for a few moments; how, as we drove off, the man straightened himself on
his crutch and touched the brim of his hat with the back of his hand.
How well I remember the amazement with which I then heard my father say,
"Robert, that man lost his leg while fighting under the great Duke in
the Peninsula." I thrust my head far out of the chaise to look well at
my first live hero. That sight was romance enough for an hour. Then
the first glimpse of the top of the high cape, and my father's telling
me that where I saw the haze beyond was the ocean, were sources of
further reverie and mystery, dispelled, however, very suddenly when
directly afterwards a wheel came off the chaise and pitched me into the
road, with my father's small valise on my stomach. I remember the walk
to the nearest house, which happened to be an inn, and how my father
took off a large tumbler of ale, and gave me some biscuits and a glass
of water. It occurred to me, I recollect, whether, when I became a man,
I should be able to drink a full glass of ale and not be a drunkard, and
whether my son would take biscuits and water and I not be conscious that
he wanted to taste the ale. A thousand things more I remember--mere
trifles in reality, but abounding in great interest to me on my first
journey, which really then seemed of as much importance as Captain
Cook's voyage around the world or Mungo Park's travels in Africa. It
was a delightful day, the most interesting chapter in my life up to that
time--brim