THE AQUAEIUM. 



CHAPTEE I. 



April is come at last. The arctic frosts, dreadful and 

 protracted" as they were, of Fehruary and March, that 

 chilled the very life out of my poor cherished Acti- 

 nias, and left me mourning over empty vases, have at 

 last passed away, and here are the sweet, soft, south- 

 west breezes of April. And now farewell to grimy, 

 smoky London, and down, down, to Dorsetshire, as 

 swiftly as the panting engine can drag us. 



What a change have twenty four hours made ! We 

 raise the blind from our bed-room window, and in- 

 stead of a forest of chimneys in the distance, and a 

 mews in the foreground, with grooms currying horses 

 that won't stand still, we gaze out upon the magni- 

 ficent Bay of Weymouth, for our lodgings are on the 

 ridge that they call the Lookout, with the sea below 

 us breaking at the foot of the cliff. 



The expanse before us has been described as second 

 only to the beautiful Bay of Naples, by those who 

 have seen both. I have not, and therefore cannot vouch 



