ALUM BAY.
The brilliant and novel display of rock scenery which this spot affords, and its being easily accessible either by water or land (for a road leads to it from the north side of the down), cause it to be universally visited by strangers who extend their tour to this quarter of the island. It is bounded on the south by the Needles and the snowy precipices of which they once formed part: but its greatest celebrity is owing to the wonderful diversity and brightness in the cliffs on the opposite side, which are composed of sand, clay, and ochreous earths, disposed in alternate vertical strata: and as the torrents of winter carry away vast masses of the soil, forming numerous deep ravines—an endless variety of the most beautiful peaks and romantic forms are thus produced. The colored strata vary in thickness from a sheet of paper to several yards; are now purely white, black, red, or yellow; then brown, blueish, or dull green,—alternating in a surprizing manner with each other, or blending into every hue: and many of the tints so vivid, yet so delicate, that they are justly compared to the variegations of a tulip, or to the shades of silk. “Alum Bay,” says an eminent geologist, “is so extraordinary a place, that I am unable to explain in adequate terms, the surprize I felt on first seeing it. The scenery is indeed of a species unique in this country: and nothing that I had previously seen bore the least resemblance to it.” This spot owes its name to the fact of alum having been occasionally found on its shores.
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And now, having pointed out the most remarkable features in the cliffs, it only remains to notice THE LIGHT-HOUSE, which is a gratifying object of curiosity to persons unacquainted with the nature of such an establishment, it stands near the extremity of the down, and commands a prospect of great extent and beauty, particularly of the unrivaled scenery of Alum Bay. The Needles are seen to most advantage from the water: but when this has not been enjoyed, the party should cautiously approach within a few yards of the precipice, “and to those whose nerves are proof against the horrors of the position, the new into the bays beneath, and of the cliffs and Needle Rocks, is extremely sublime. The agitation and sound of the waves below are hardly perceived, and it is scarcely possible to imagine that the quiet expanse which now seems stretched in boundless repose under the eye, is the same turbulent element which had but lately been seen bursting in clouds of foam, and thundering on its rocky shore.—In hard blowing weather, the fury of the wind on this promontory is scarcely credible. Very large flints and fragments of chalk are blown from the cliffs, so as to endanger the windows of the light-house; and for many days in succession, it is scarcely possible to open the door.”


