is a chamber of about ten feet wide, and twenty feet long.
The fragment, which forms one of its sides, leans towards the main rock,
and touches it at top, forming a roof, with here and there a fissure,
through which the light enters. At the bottom of the room there is a
clear bed of water, which communicates with the sea by a small aperture
under the rock. It is as placid as a summer pond, and is fitted with
steps for a bathing place. Bathe, truly! with the sea ever dashing
against the side, and roaring and reverberating with deafening echo.

On a granite slab, fixed in the side of the rock at the bottom of the
first descent is an inscription. Time has very much effaced the letters,
but by the aid of Mr. C.'s memory, we succeeded in deciphering them.
They will serve as the hundred and first exemplification of the
Bonapartean maxim--"There is but one step from the sublime to the
ridiculous."

"In this remote, and hoarse resounding place,
Which billows clash, and craggy cliffs embrace,
These babbling springs amid such horrors rise,
But armed with virtue, horrors we despise.
Bathe undismayed, nor dread the impending rock,
'Tis virtue shields us from each adverse shock.

GENIO LOCI SACRUM POSUIT
J.R.
MARTIS MENSE
1769"

From the "Crane," which is the name given to that section of the country
in which the "Horse" is situated, we bent our way in a southerly
direction to the Ridge estate, which was about eight miles distant,
where we had engaged to dine. On the way we passed an estate which had
just been on fire. The apprentices, fearing lest their houses should be
burnt, had carried away all the moveables from them, and deposited them
in separate heaps, on a newly ploughed field. The very doors and window
shutters had been torn off and carried into the field, several acres of
which were strewed over with piles of such furniture. Mr. C. was
scarcely less struck with this scene than we were, and he assured us
that he had never known such providence manifested on a similar occasion
during slavery.

At the Ridge estate we met Mr. Clarke, manager at Staple Grove estate,
Mr. Applewhitte of Carton, and a brother of Mr. C. The manager, Mr.
Cecil, received us with the customary cordiality.

Mr. Clarke is the manager of an estate on which there are two hundred
apprentices. His testimony was, that the estate was better cultivated
since abolition than before, and that it is far easier to control th