IN SOMERSET 279 



will occupy your attention sufficiently without 

 attending to the world beyond the denes, so will 

 going along them for the non-playing pedestrian. 

 If aquatically inclined, make for the fine hard sand 

 to take observations ; and if you can walk, go 

 ahead laterally, I mean not over towards Cardiff, 

 but, as with me, straightway till through the 

 haze looms a mighty barrier, a last link of the 

 Mendip Hills, a spur without a principal to 

 buttress up, cut off from the range by the estuary 

 of the Axe, across whose waters is Weston-super- 

 Mare. 



Brean Hill I believe this peninsula is called — 

 and a grand view you get from its back when you 

 have mounted, only it wants a bit of mounting. 

 A fort is up on the high ridge, but a long way out 

 of sight. Not a soul did I find, though evidences 

 of civilisation were apparent in the shape of an 

 empty beer-jar and a tin house. You could not 

 miss your way there, though without the services 

 of a guide, because the sea told you very plainly 

 not to go to the right or left, and in my case appe- 

 tite set up a big finger-post lettered to the Queen's 

 Hotel, a hint I took more sharper and more by 

 token that I had to call at the — how did the 

 Sussex man describe a house the other day, four 

 square bobblewise, I think he said — Burnham 

 Church, with its leaning tower, made of an 

 enduring stone, now adorned by a slab let in to 

 commemorate its jubilee restoration. The slab, 

 I may mention, is crumbling already on its face. 

 Fain would I have extended my holiday stay and 

 tour, but the full day cribbable was running itself 

 out, and I must make acquaintance with Cheddar's 

 cliffs before getting back to business. Is it 

 irreverent to admit that, liking the pickles, I 



