an uninteresting village in a charming situation.  The lane to the right goes down to Whitchurch Canonicorum in Marshwood Vale.  Here is the interesting church of St. Wita (or St. Candida), Virgin and Martyr.  The chancel, part of the nave and south door are Transitional, about 1175, the transepts being built about twenty-five and the tower two hundred years later.  The chief interest in the church is the so-called shrine of St. Candida opened twenty years ago during repairs to the church wall.  Within a stone coffin was found a leaden casket containing a number of bones declared to be those of a small sized female.  Upon one side of the box was the following inscription: 

  Hic .  Reqesct .  Relique . sce .  Wite

The bones were placed in a new reliquary and again deposited within the restored shrine.  The three openings in the front were made to receive the offerings of the faithful and pilgrims from afar.  There are several monuments here to the De Mandevilles; John Wadham, Recorder of Lyme (1584); Sir John Geoffry of Catherstone (1611) and others.  The terrific name of this small village simply indicates that the canons of Salisbury and Wells claimed the parish tithes.  Across the valley from Whitchurch rise the outstanding eminences—­“Coney” (Conic or King’s) Castle and Lambert’s Castle, the latter crowned with a fine clump of trees.  The name of the valley seems to have deceived some old writers into thinking it a region of chills and agues and of cold sour soil.  It has always been famous for its oaks, but perhaps it may claim a greater fame as a minor Wordsworth country, for on the north side of the vale is Racedown Farm, the home of the poet for about two years.  Dorothy Wordsworth said it was “the place dearest to my recollections” and “the first home I had.”  Perhaps the most striking view in this part of Dorset is that one from the Axminster road at the point on Raymond’s Hill called Red Cross.  At dusk, when the intervening fields and woods are shrouded in gloom, Golden Cap takes on a startling shape against the evening sky.  The huge truncated cone and the separate bays on either side—­mostly differing entirely in colour—­make the centre of as fine a prospect as any in the south.  This road, Roman for the most part, has the rare feature of a tunnel, cut to make the steep ascent to Hunter’s Lodge Inn practicable for modern traffic.

[Illustration:  CHARMOUTH.]

The Marshwood Vale ends at Charmouth, to which the road from Morecombelake now descends round the northern slopes of Stonebarrow; on the far side of this hill is the derelict parish of Stanton St. Gabriel, with a ruined church and two or three cottages in a superb situation under the shadow of Golden Cap.  Charmouth is one long street running up the hill on the Lyme side of the Char.  It is one of those pleasantly drowsy places that even the advent of the public motor from Bridport fails to excite.  That its restfulness is appreciated is evidenced by the number of houses