Dover road. The dale to the right, with hamlets, villages, churches, gentlemen's seats, appears peculiarly elegant, contrasted with the plainness on the left. The road is carried along the east side of a valley. This valley is narrow and rich—of the glen sort—and, as we approach Dover, it has several pleasing vista-openings in the Scottish style.
We got a small peep of the channel, two or three miles from Dover. The town itself is scarcely seen till we enter. On descending to the bottom, in which it stands, we took up a little man about twenty, one of the most free and easy persons I have ever met with. He introduced himself to us in a moment, and gave us all the information we wanted; indeed, much more than my companion S——— seemed to want. But I was pleased with the rattle for the moment. He, however, did not lack either sense or discrimination. He pointed out the stream that creeps in the bottom, as being reckoned the richest in England of its size, for manufacturing returns. So he said. Saw several paper manufactories and flour mills. One of the former, he said, was famous for fine paper; the scenery of its banks pleasing, and from this account it became more interesting. It seems to descend from a vista on the right, and to run only four or five miles.
Our attention was attracted by a group of young women promenading in a green field on its banks, near a very small rustic chapel and church-yard; the latter only about fifty feet square. The whole formed a fine rural picture. On descending to the level of the stream, we found both the footway and the road covered with walkers; for this was Sunday afternoon, and the weather was uncommonly fine. When we entered the town, we still found the footway—for it has a footway on each side, and this was one of the few we were to see for many a hundred mile—still crowded with promenaders. The people well dressed, particularly the women. The girls very pretty. Seldom have seen so many fine faces in a town of the same size; but it was Kent. A smile on every countenance. I like to see the evening of the Sabbath-day kept in this cheerful but decorous manner.
I shall compare this with what I see at Calais, said I to my companions of the top.
Dover.
At the Paris hotel. Very good house. Civil and attentive. Full of passengers to and from the Continent. Walked out with my companions, Dr B. and Mr S. to view-hunt a little on the heights on so fine an afternoon. The town built on a narrow slip of land at the bottom of steep chalky cliffs. Ascended a circular excavation in the chalk. Three winding stairs up it, of about 200 steps. Made some years ago. Sentinels both at the entry below and above. Part of the works of defence, on the top of the hill, a little to the right of this. Ascend it by ladder stairs on the outside. These have a fine effect, combined with the fortifications. The castle, also, has a venerable and picturesque appearance from this station.
I inquired about Shakspeare's cliff of the soldiers. A decent-looking militiaman, who was carrying a pretty child, while two more were playing round him, pointed it out to me—a mile or so off. A few halfpence made the little folks very happy, and the parent's fond eye glisten with delight. I cast a wishful look to this favourite cliff:—The declining day was so fine. But Dr B. said, he was so fatigued he could not think of it; and as I could not leave him so abruptly, I was obliged to give up the project, but not without regret that was constantly recurring. This is the inconvenience of a view-hunter entangling himself with any non-view-hunter as a travelling companion. He is prevented from seeing half of what he may see. A word to view-hunters. I determined to give my companions the slip for the future, except at meals.
I then proposed ascending to the citadel. The way at first steep, and nearly on the edge of the precipice. Dr B. said to some of the soldiers who pointed out our way, as they were reclining on the declivity, that it looked like ascending to the skies. Nothing of that sort, said a drummer. I have climbed it often, and I never found I was a bit nearer heaven than before. The pert drummer might not be very far wrong with respect to himself.
The view of the harbour, which is a tide one, and very extensive, having gates between the outer and inner station, with the ships so far below us, formed an interesting picture. The sea was delightfully calm. The white
