LYME AND SIDMOUTH.
Aug. 8.—We proceeded to Bridport, a remarkably clean town, with the air so clear and pure, it seemed a new climate. Hence we set out, after dinner, for Lyme, and the road through which we travelled is the most beautiful to which my wandering destinies have yet sent me. It is diversified with all that can compose luxuriant scenery, and with just as much of the approach to sublime as is in the province of unterrific beauty. The hills are the highest, I fancy, in the south of this county—the boldest and noblest; the vales of the finest verdure, wooded and watered as if only to give ideas of finished landscapes; while the whole, from time to time, rises into still superior grandeur, by openings between the heights that terminate the View With the Splendour of the British channel.
There was no going on in the carriage through such enchanting scenes; we got out upon the hills, and walked till we could walk no longer. The descent down to Lyme is uncommonly steep; and indeed is very striking, from the magnificence of the ocean that washes its borders. Chidiock and Charmouth, two villages between Bridport and Lyme, are the very prettiest I have ever seen. During the whole of this post I was fairly taken away, not only from the world but from myself, and completely wrapped up and engrossed by the pleasures, wonders, and charms of animated nature, thus seen in fair perfection. Lyme, however, brought me to myself; for the part by the sea, where we fixed our abode, was so dirty and fishy that I rejoiced when we left it.
Aug. 9.—We travelled to Sidmouth. And here we have taken up our abode for a week. It was all devoted to rest and sea-air.
Sidmouth is built in a vale by the sea-coast, and the terrace for company is nearer to the ocean than any I have elsewhere seen, and therefore both more pleasant and more commodious. The little bay is of a most peaceful kind, and the sea was as calm and gentle as the Thames. I longed to bathe, but I am in no state now to take liberties with myself, and, having no advice at hand, I ran no risk.
SIDMOUTH LOYALTY.
Nothing has given me so much pleasure since I came to this place as our landlady’s account of her own and her town’s loyalty. She is a baker, a poor widow woman, she told us, who lost her husband by his fright in thinking he saw a ghost, just after her mother was drowned. She carries on the business, with the help of her daughter, a girl about fifteen.