he Bristol Channel, is a very extraordinary phenomenon. The whole
strength of the mighty Atlantic seems to rush up the Channel with
impetuous force. At Rownham Ferry, five miles inland, near the entrance
to Cumberland-Basin, the spring-tides frequently rise thirty-seven feet.
The tide rises at Chepstow, farther up the Severn, more than sixty feet,
and a mark on the rocks below the bridge there, denotes that it has
risen to the height of seventy feet, which is perhaps the greatest
altitude of the tides in the world.

The views on the Downs, above the Hot Wells, are infinitely varied and
delightful, and glimpses constantly occur of the Avon

"Winding like cragged Peneus, through his foliaged vale,"

while "ocean fragrance" is wafted around. The scenery on the Avon is
said strikingly to resemble the vale of Tempe in Greece. The student of
nature may there enjoy "communion sweet," with all that his heart holds
dear as life's blood. How often have I wandered through that valley of
cliffs by the light of the "cold, pale moon," watching their dark and
gigantic masses and silvery foliage, thrown into bold outline on the sky
above, with not an echo, save the solitary cry of the bittern; and
perhaps only aroused by an impetuous steamer, like some unearthly thing,
rushing rapidly past me. Parties of musicians sometimes place themselves
amongst the rocks at night when the effect is extremely fine. Perhaps
autumn is the fittest season for enjoying these scenes. At that season
the many coloured liveries of the foliage, the lonely woodland
wilderness and rocky paths, and the mists which in the earlier part of
the day linger on the tops of the cliffs and woods, when partially
dispersed by the suns rays, give a character of vastness and sublimity
to the scenery which it would be difficult to describe. I would
particularly point out on these occasions the view from the hill near
the new church at Clifton, towards Long Ashton, and Dundry Tower.

I visited the latter place during the last summer. It was a glorious
sunset in July, when after climbing a long and mazy turret-stair, we
stood at the summit of Dundry Tower. A magnificent landscape of vast
extent, stretching around on every point of the compass, burst almost
simultaneously on the sight, embracing views of the Bristol Channel, the
mountains of South Wales and Monmouthshire, the Severn, Gloucestershire
and the Malvern Hills, Bath, the Vale of White Horse in Berkshire, and
the