"THE mind is its own place," said Milton: and cannot the mind find objects of research in every place, at home as well as abroad? in the smallest cultivated garden, as well as the most extended? in the examination of the little flower, as of the branching oak? And cannot even minute objects create in the imagination the same pleasure as the most expansive? though it be allowed that the greater the object, of course the greater the display, and the more it strikes, overawes, or delights, while gazing. or examining minutely. Many travel on the Continent and cross the sea to view the heights of Parnassus, and there taste the Castalian spring, and to penetrate into the Catacombs of Egypt; but if my young friends would accompany me, I would show them even in England objects of the same nature, very interesting to contemplate and examine. To confirm this, I would give a short description of a place or two round a spot where I once dwelt a short time. Or rather I might have said, if you wish to see Parnassus in miniature, with the Castalian spring, go to Cheddar Cliffs, in the county of Somerset, and taste the pure water that flows at their feet; or if you wish to examine a Catacomb, descend into Banwell Cave, in the same county. First call at Professor Beard's on your way, and there you will find bones of animals that lived before the flood: for though some say it was an hyena's den, the savans declare that VOL. IV. Second Series. P there is every evidence of these animals being buried there by the deluge. To return to Cheddar, which is represented by the engraving.-Detained a short time at Axbridge, when on my way thither, I walked into the field at the end of Axbridge church, and resting on the stile, with the Cheddar Cliffs about two miles distant, I was struck with the similarity of this view to another at Scala in Greece, a few miles distant from Delphi, where there is the same appearance. At Axbridge you see the Mendip Hills extending far on one hand, the Cheddar Cliffs rising high in the centre, and on the other hand the wide plains of Somersetshire stretching towards Bridgewater. At Scala the hills of Greece rise high all round; the plain of Salona is many miles over, lying at the foot of Parnassus towering in its midst. The Castalian spring gushes from a rock at the foot of the mountain: a mighty torrent flows at the foot of Cheddar Cliffs, of water as pure as the stream of Delphi. Ascending the road that is made through Cheddar Cliffs, you will find the weeping rocks on which Mrs. Hannah More has written one of her celebrated poems, in imitation of some of Ovid's Metamorphoses. In conversing with a person who resides at the foot of the hill, he told me that there is a vast cavern in which the water is collected in a mighty reservoir, from whence it forces its way out, and becomes soon a perfect river. Barley-Wood, once the residence of Mrs. Hannah More, is only a few miles from Cheddar, where the trees are found growing majestically which were planted by the lady's own hands, while the walks were laid out by her direction. The grottos and temples still stand that she erected; and the monuments to Bishop Porteus and Mr. Locke which she placed, are surrounded now by shrubs. And in the silent churchyard of Wrington (at the foot of Barley-Wood) lie the remains of Mrs. More herself, with her four sisters, all in one tomb, with a plain stone over them, stating their ages, which, together, amounted to three hundred and eighty-two years; for each lived to a good old age, and came to the grave like a shock of corn fully ripe in its season. marble monument, with the inscription as found in the Youth's Instructer for January, 1836. And near the church gate is the very cottage, still remaining, in which the great John Locke was born in 1632. The room in which he first drew breath shows the humble condition of its present inmates; and not much more elevated was the state in which this great man was born. In the church itself stands the Are not these objects worthy of research? And do they not afford many reflections while we are gazing on the spots from whence the inhabitants are gone, no longer to be seen among the children of men? Their works remain for the information and instruction of succeeding generations; but the time will come when not only the marble monuments which survive the wreck of years shall perish, but even Cheddar Cliffs and Parnassus, the Alps and every mountain, shall be removed. Happy, then, those who can say, "We, while the stars from heaven shall fall, W. O. C. [To the descriptive reflections with which our esteemed correspondent W. O. C. has favoured us, we add a farther description of the locality represented in the engraving, extracted from the published "Notes of a Traveller."] A DRIVE of about fifteen miles from Bristol, through a romantic country, brought us to Cheddar, a village situated at the entrance of a deep gorge or ravine in the Mendip hill, which, extending two or three miles, displays a succession of bold and rocky scenery exceeding anything to be met with elsewhere in England. The ravine is narrow, and the cliffs on each side ascend abruptly to the height of many hundred feet. Some portions of the cliffs remind one of a lofty gothic structure, the action of the elements having worn the rock into niches and columns, |