* * * * *

BLACKGANG CHINE,

[Illustration:  BLACKGANG CHINE, I.W. Taken from below the new Bridge, which is a very general point of view, as the descent to the shore thence becomes more abrupt and difficult.]

    “Where hills with naked heads the tempests meet—­
    Rocks at their sides, and torrents at their feet,”

Deservedly ranks among the most striking scenes in the island, it is the termination of the Undercliff, and of a character the very reverse of Shanklin; for all here is terrific grandeur—­without a green spray or scarcely a tuft of verdure to soften its savage aspect.  It differs also from that sylvan spot, in being much more lofty, abrupt, and irregular:  though it does not penetrate the land so far.  Both have their respective admirers:  this for its awful sublimity—­that for its romantic beauty.

At the head of the Chine is a spacious Hotel, close to the road, and distinguished by the name of the place.

The shelving sides of this gloomy chasm are proved to be little less than 500 feet from the beach in perpendicular height; they are in a constant state of decay—­more or less considerable according to the degree of rain and frost during winter:  for the same description of soil, namely, a mixture of clay and loose absorbent marle, interspersed with veins of gravel, predominate here as we have seen elsewhere in its neighbourhood.  The only relief in fact to the dusky tint of the scene, is two or three horizontal strata of yellowish free-stone, which give it a step-like appearance.  The most remarkable feature is a tremendous gloomy hollow or cave, scooped out of the cliffs on the sea-shore by the united action of the waves and the stream:  the latter falls over a ledge of the stubborn rock at the top, 70 feet high:  and after heavy floods, forms a noble cascade of one unbroken sheet:  but like others of its class, in summer fails in its amount, and often degenerates into a noiseless dribble.

Nowhere can we get a complete view of Blackgang except off on the water, which is not always practicable:  certainly not in the very seasons when the whole appears with the greatest interest,—­when there is a strong wind and tide setting in-shore, and the face of Nature is shrouded in deepening gloom, with perhaps some hapless vessel in danger of being wrecked,—­it is then dressed in all the congenial horrors of savage sublimity.—­No one, a stranger to the sea-coast, would imagine how awfully the surges lash the stony beach in tempestuous weather:  the high-curling waves break with a deafening roar, and mounting the lofty cliffs in sheets of dazzling foam, are wafted in misty clouds half over the island—­even to Newport, where the windows facing the south are occasionally dimmed with the saline vapors, almost to an incrustation.