As God was free to form them at the first,
Who in his sovereign wisdom made them all.’”
“Thank you, mamma,” cried Agnes, “I am glad I did not kill the caterpillar.”
“Call it a grub,” said Mrs Merton, smiling, “if you wish to give it its right name. The larvæ of butterflies and moths are called caterpillars; those of beetles, grubs; and those of flies, maggots.”
They now entered the little hamlet of Mottistone; a pretty little place, with a very picturesque church, and a curious upright stone, supposed to be part of a temple of the Druids. Then they passed through Brixton, a village containing nothing worth seeing but a donkey that had lain down, with a lady on his back: after which the road made a sharp turn to the right, and they now approached the sea; though the scene was devoid of beauty, from the barrenness and gloomy hue of the downs. They were, however, tired with their journey, and glad to approach a newly-erected Gothic cottage, which, they found, was the inn. The house was nearly full; and it was some time before they could be accommodated with a room. They were, however, at last shown into a tolerably large one, with two windows, one of which looked on the downs they had passed, and the other on the gloomy rocks of Black Gang Chine. Mrs. Merton ordered an early dinner; and, while it was preparing, Agnes ran out under the veranda, to play with a large black dog belonging to the people of the house, and Mrs. Merton turned over the leaves of an album which lay on the table. When dinner was over, Mrs. Merton having seen her husband comfortably placed on the sofa, inquired the way to the Chine, and set out, accompanied by her daughter. They first entered a kind of field, by a gate; and, crossing a small wooden bridge, they arrived at a fanciful-looking cottage, filled with toys; where they engaged a guide. While waiting for this person, Mrs. Merton bought Agnes a curiously-shaped bottle,—filled with sand from Alum Bay, arranged so as to represent the Needle Rocks washed by the sea, and some hideous trees,—with some other trifles; and Agnes was amused watching a large Kittiwake Gull, which seemed quite tame. The guide at length arrived; and they proceeded down the steep descent which leads to the Chine; the gull hopping before them, as though it were helping to show the way. The descent was very steep and slippery, and the rocks rose black and stern above them. The night was closing in more rapidly than Mrs. Merton expected; and, in fact, she began to get alarmed. “Do you not think it is getting dark very soon to night?” said she to the guide.
“Why, yes, it is,” returned the man; “but I think we shall have a storm.”
“A storm!” cried Mrs. Merton, looking at Agnes with terror.
“Oh! you’ll have plenty of time to see the Chine, and get miss back before it begins.”
They continued to descend till they reached the bridge, where they paused for a few moments to look around them; and a more gloomy scene can scarcely be conceived. They were surrounded by precipitous cliffs, which rose high on every side, and looked as black as night. Not a single sprig, not a blade of grass, not a tuft of moss, was to be seen; all was dark, save a few bands of a dusky yellow colour, which gleamed on the dark sides of the rocks. But, if the scene was thus dreary when they looked above, what was it when they cast their eyes below? There a fathomless abyss seemed to yawn to receive them. Mrs. Merton shuddered. “I think we had better return,” said she; “for it is getting late.”
“Oh! mamma,” cried Agnes, “don’t let us go back without seeing the Chine.”