Persistent identifier:
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mndbook to Southampton,
Nearing Southampton.
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e'll not be long in getting in now, sir,' says our cabin steward, "you had better get your things together. There's the cutter, and we'll pick up the pilot directly." If we prudently take time by the forelock, there is much to see as we are " nearing Southampton ! " On the port side of the liner we see pine-encircled Bournemouth, nestling snugly in the bight of its bay, and the massive tower of Christchurch Priory. We are also almost within the shadow of the white cliffs of the Isle of Wight. The lighthouse crowned group of rocks at the end of the Isle of Wight is the Needles. The tallest of them, known as Lot's Wife, fell in 1764, making a big splash. Madame Lot was 120 feet high. We pass the Needles unchallenged, for we are at peace. Were our errand warlike full many a hidden battery would thunder out " No admittance ! " The afternoon sun shines upon the many-coloured cliffs of Alum Bay on our starboard hand. "Deep purplish red, dusky blue, bright ochreous yellow, grey, nearly approaching to white, and absolute black, succeed one another, as sharply defined as the stripes in silk."
On the port side is Hurst Castle, built in 1535, at the end of a natural causeway. News of our passing will be swiftly flashed from hence to Southampton, and our friends will be on the look out for us. King Charles the First was a prisoner here in December, 1648. On our right is the old-fashioned town of Yarmouth, whilst yonder beacon upon the High Down keeps green the memory of Alfred, Lord Tennyson. The beacon on the left is " Jack in the Basket," which marks the entrance to a devious three mile channel, at the head of which is quaint red-roofed Lymington, a typical old English port. A few miles farther, and we pass, likewise on the left, the mouth of the Beaulieu River, which leads the wanderer through exquisite windings to never to be forgotten Beaulieu Abbey.
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