ays, and says truly, that "the west is the region of fine
landscape;" it also follows as a natural consequence that it
predominates in the number of its artists. The beautiful vignette of
Clifton in a recent number of the MIRROR,[9] has recalled a multitude of
interesting recollections to my mind. I have passed a good deal of time
there at several periods, and as the writer of the description
accompanying the vignette has been led into an error or two, perhaps a
few desultory notes by way of _pendant_ to his paper, may not be
entirely devoid of interest to the reader.

[9] See MIRROR, No. 390.

The old Tower on the Downs no longer exists. A Tower designed for an
observatory has been erected near its former site, which is fitted up
with several large telescopes, and a camera obscura, to which the public
are admitted. This Tower which is seen in the engraving, stands, as
stated, on an extensive Roman camp, or fortification. It would have been
difficult to have selected a more appropriate situation for such a
building; for the combination of picturesque and sublime scenery, united
with the beauties of art, is no where more enthrilling to the mind than
at Clifton.

Clifton Hot Wells has long been celebrated as a watering-place.
Smollett, in his "Humphry Clinker," has given a very interesting picture
of its society in the middle of the last century. Clifton is now,
however, considerably neglected. Omnipotent fashion has migrated to
Cheltenham, though no comparison can be made with Clifton on any other
score. The natives of the Emerald Isle, indeed, since the introduction
of steam navigation, come in crowds to the Hot Wells. Though the "music
of the waters" cannot be heard there, yet you may in a few hours be
transported to scenes where Ocean revels in his wildest grandeur. Few
places are more favourably situated for the tourist. There is a regular
communication by steam with the romantic and interesting coasts of North
Devon and South Wales; while the sylvan Wye, Piercefield, Ragland, and
above all, Tintern, are within the compass of a day's excursion. Clifton
can boast of much architectural magnificence: its buildings rising from
the base to the summit of a crescent-shaped eminence remind me, in a
distant view, of an ancient Greek city; while the tiers of crescents
have a singularly fine effect, and seem to fill a sort of gap in the
landscape.

The rise of the tide in the Avon, in common with most of the ports on
t