various eminent physicians, and pronounced to be extremely efficacious in cases of weakness of the lungs, fevers, in spitting of blood, chlorosis, dysentery, internal inflammations, &c. if timely taken in hand. It is also said to be beneficial in diabetes, stone, gravel, stranguary, gleets, loss of appetite, and indigestion; and consumptions have been stopped in their rapid career by its continued use in milk diet. It is however considered of a hard quality, and will not easily dissolve soap; but it is drunk generally by the inhabitants of Clifton, and brought into their houses by pipes. The above PUMP-ROOM, it seems, is shortly to be taken down to increase the towing-path, and also in consequence of the injury it has sustained from the attraction of Sion-House; a new one is to be erected in a more preferable situation, and a road made to it. Her late Majesty, when she visited Clifton, drank the water at the OLD PUMP-ROOM.

The stupendous rocks, on each side of the river, called St. Vincent's, now burst upon the spectator with such sublimity and grandeur as to set description at defiance: the highest part of which is full 300 feet from the bed of the river. The Avon, which flows between them, for about a mile and a half, no where exceeds 150 yards in breadth; and it is conjectured they were separated from each other by some dreadful convulsion of nature. They have the appearance of a dark red marble. A chapel, formerly erected upon the highest part of these rocks, was dedicated to St. Vincent, after whom they are named. The foliage of the numerous trees in Lee-Wood, opposite, peeping as it were from

their summits, forms a most delightful contrast. This wood, which contains the kingly oak, the lofty elm, ash, sycamore, box, and grave yewtrees, blending their various colours, with the addition of numerous others, render it so exuberant and attracting, that numerous parties, in summer-time, frequently cross the river, (what might be termed "gypsying" it,) taking their provisions, tea-kettle, &c. with them, and often concluding these excursions, on the verdant spot, to the sound of a fiddle, upon the "light fantastic toe." The Indiamen, merchantmen, sloops, boats, &c. sailing to and from Bristol, tend very much to increase the effect. The men employed in blowing-up the rocks, which is rather a service of danger, have tables set out by the side of the river with selections of various pieces of the rock, termed bacon, blue, and black spar, with some variegated Bristol stone for sale, left to the generosity of the purchaser. Some parts of this stone are polished, and made into chimney-pieces, but it is principally burnt for lime. The echo is thunder indeed when the blowing-up is performed; and the men on the rocks, engaged in sending some of the fragments down, appear like little boys. Near to the top of one of the above high rocks is to be seen the "Giant's Hole." From the great curiosity which frequently induced numerous persons to ascend, to explore the two cavities which it contained, an outer and an inner chamber, where, according to tradition, a giant formerly dwelt, all approach to it now has very properly been blown up, in order to prevent any farther danger or accidents. Persons walking

by the side of these rocks appear truly diminutive; and the majestic appearance of the above venerable cliffs must be pronounced one of the grandest scenes in nature:

How beautiful the pale rocks, above the shore,
Uplift their bleak and furrow'd aspect high!
How proudly desolate their foreheads, hoar,
That meet the earliest sunbeams of the sky.

Round to yon dusky mast, with peunants gay,
The tall bark on the winding waters line,
Between the riven cliffs plies her hard way,
And, peering on the sight, the white sails shine.

Alas! for those, by drooping sickness worn,

Who now come forth to meet the gladsome ray, And feel the fragrance of the tepid morn

Round their torn breast and throbbing temples play!

Perhaps the muse, with a desponding sigh,

On the cold vault that shall their bones inurn;
Whilst every breeze seems, as it whispers by,
To breathe of comfort never to return.

Yet oft, as sadly-thronging dreams arise,
Awbile forgetful of their pain and gaze,
A transient lustre lights their faded eyes,

And o'er their cheek the tender hectic strays.

The purple morn that paints with sideling gleam,

The cliff's tall crest, the waving woods that ring With charm of birds, rejoicing in the beam,

Touch soft the wakeful nerve's according string.

Then, at sad meditation's silent hour,

A thousand wishes steal upon the heart;

And, whilst they meekly bend to Heaven's high power, Ah! think 'tis hard, 'tis surely hard to part

To part from every hope that brought delight;

From those that lov'd them, those that lov'd so much;

Then fancy swells the picture on the sight,
And softens every scene at every touch.

Sweet as the mellow'd woods beneath the moon,

Remembrance lends her soft uniting shades:
"Some nat'ral tears she drops, but wipes them soon,'
The world retires, and its dim prospect fades.
Airs of delight that soothe the aching sense;
Waters of health, that through yon caverns glide;
Oh, kindly yet your healing powers dispense,
And bring back feeble life's exhausted tide!
Some orphan maid, deceiv'd in early youth,

Pale o'er yon spring may hang in mute distress;
Who dreamt of faith, of happiness, and truth,
Of love-that virtue would protect and bless.
Some musing youth in silence there may bend,
Untimely stricken by sharp sorrow's dart;
For friendship form'd, yet left without a friend,
And bearing still the arrow at his heart!

On proceeding a short distance, the turning of the river still continues attractive. The view of King's Road and Cook's Folly must be seen to feel the beauty of the impression; on the latter place, it seems, a great number of the trees have been cut down to increase the prospect, and there is one of the most delightful

look-outs," from an old building, that can be imagined.

On the traveller's return to Bristol, upon turning to the right, and ascending the hill, the delightful village of CLIFTON will be gained, which, from the air being so remarkably pure and salubrious, added to its elevation, is styled the MONTPELIER of England. It is worthy of observation, that the turf abounds with aromatic plants, which grow here wildly, and are not to be met with in any other part of the kingdom, being natives of this peculiar spot. The fragrance from these plants proves of the

most vivifying nature, not only to the valetudi-, narians, but to all the frequenters of this healthful retreat. Clifton-Downs now become interesting to the spectator, which is covered with verdure all the year. The invalids are here seen enjoying the light restorative breeze, several of whom are drawn, in small curricles, by a pair of donkeys; the charge for this vehicle, including the driver,is 1s. 6d. per hour. The remnants of some ancient fortifications belonging to the Romans are still visible, and be traced upon

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these Downs, near to which are the remains of an old tower, a circular building containing some windows, but without any roof; the interior of which has only to boast of a brick floor and a fire-place; it has three open spaces, which were formerly doors. From the centre of this building are three most delightful views through the above openings. In the front, an extensive prospect of Gloucestershire. On the right, part of Clifton, Northampton-Buildings ; and in the back ground, Dundry-Hill. On the left, King's Road, with the ships lying at anchor; the Bristol Channel, and the Mountains in South Wales. At the end of the Downs the traveller is attracted by the mansion of Sir William Draper, once so conspicuous in the minds of the public, from the severe attack he received from the pen of the hitherto undiscovered JUNIUS. To the left of this seat is a plain but expensive monument, with an urn upon its top, erected by the above gentleman, “Sacred to the inemory of the Field-Officers, Cols. Brereton and J. More; the Lieutenants, Ensigns, and Surgeons, of the 79th Regiment:" the in