A LAST LOOK AT WEYMOUTH.
In this changing state, the brightest, like
"the darkest day,
Live till to-morrow, will have passed away;"
—the summer, only too swiftly, passes into autumn, and autumn quickly merges into gloomy winter. The sea-side has few charms in December; reluctlantly, we took our last walk upon the now bleak and spongy Nothe, our last stroll along the gusty and deserted Esplanade, and our last look at Weymouth. This, however, was a charming one. Just half-way between Weymouth and Dorchester, the hills, which rise gradually on each side, attain their greatest elevation, and the high-road passes over the summit of the ridge. Here we made the carriage halt, and for ten minutes
"cast one longing lingering look behind,"
on a widely-expanded panorama of the scenes with which we had been so familiar. The sun and sky were all that could be wished; the air more autumnal than wintry; and, as we gazed on the town and harbour, about four miles distant, the long promontory of the Nothe, the calm silvery Bay, the huge mass of Portland, like a sleeping lion, and the boundless expanse of open sea beyond, we could not help feeling that this was by far the finest prospect we had seen in Dorsetshire.
But even in London, thanks to the Aquarium, the same pleasant studies can be prosecuted that had occupied me on the coast; and thus, by means of a few specimens that I brought up with me, and by the aid of contributions forwarded to me by the kind courtesy of
