Morning journal and courier., 1891-09-05


 are found in this magical city of the English Rivera" They altogether exist nowhere else in Britain. This is solely why 8 wilderness, where heath covered, pine hid sand dunes worth half a century since less than sixty dollars per acre, has been transformed into spot more beauti- full than the royal gardens at Kew, where the same land in many instances has profit making value of more than six hun dred thousand dollars per screI
 Bournemouth is less than three hours time from London, and is reached by the London and Southwestern railway. The first scent of the sea Is got at Poole Three miles more and you are at Bourne mouth. There are Bournemouth east and west stations. These are set far out from the crescent, pine embedded city, so that those who come within the fairy place shall see no railway smoke and grime and never be disturbed by the locomotives whistle. There is no dirt nor poverty at Bournemouth. The most startling noise is the swell of the great orchestral bands. primeval forest is still standing, and the threnodies of the wind in the pines go on and on when night has stilled the birds.
 Where the people have felled the pines they have planted rhododendrons, the ar butus, the laurestina, myrtle and bay, and a myrtle of other shrubs and evergreens instead. These grow on the south coast in almost tropical luxurianee. The silyery Bourne, springing among the heath at Kinson, scarcely more than a blue thread here, shows the sinuous valley depth, with the wide, fair city gently ascending to the east and west Its journey is a pathway through noble garden. Just before it reaches the city edge and the sea it vim ples through an ever green and ever shaded arboretum, sweet, solemn and still. These gardens are interiaced walks, drives and devious wooded hooks. Avenues of an- cient pines are softly melodious here The sun steals through the vaulted roof in fiecks and splinters of light This is the famous "Invalids' Walk"
 The shore and seacspe at Bournemouth are the most beautiful to be found in Eu- rope. The shore is a perfect crescent, facing the south, twelve miles in length, terminating on the east in the bold Christ church head, and on the west in the still bolder headland and stacks of the Old Harry Rocks. The foreshore, penetrated by one of the hsndsomest piers in Eng land, is an eighth of mile in width, gold en and level, with no pebble upon it as large as a pea. Behind this, broken only where the Bourne meets the sea and shows its sides terraced with superb villas and almost palaces, is a continuous cliff of pure sand, here and there indented with tiny ''chines." The cliff is from one to three hundred feet in height. All the 'chinss" are merry burrows for children and lovers. Lookout houses and "shel- ters" line the edge for miles above. By night the shore is ablaze with light. the sea sblsze with harbor and sailing lights. By night or day the eye never rests upon the sea without glimpses of hundreds of steamers and sails. Straight across the Solent, toward France, is the Isle of Wight, the Needles foam-white at their feet The whole is a dream of majestic beauty and repose. Bournemouth is ideal for the rich. The poor man can but look upon it and steal the rayishing pic ture for distant striving hours.
 Although Bouruemouth itself Is new one does not have to remain long visitor to find it, its near headlands and islands and its outlying moors and forests rich in associative interest. In its beautiful St. Peter's church is a fine memorial window to the poet Keble, who died in the "Ever- green Valley" leaving to the region the legacy of a saintly name and blameless life. Ancient Swanage, just over there to the west beyond Old Harry Rocks, where time itself seems dreaming, was the favor ite haunt of that grand man and noble writer, Charles Kingsley.
 Near is the Isle of Purbeck. Its dark purple marble is found in nearly every ca- thedrsl of England. The same island has also been made noted in the Life of Lord Eldon." He used to "bresthe long col umns of air" here, it is related. When he was lord chancellor and lived in Purbeck his mansion took fire and through this circumstance England temporarily lost its historic great seal. His first care at the time of the confsgration, he told friend, was for the great seal, of which the lord chancellor is custodian. By way of secur- ing it during the confusion he buried it. The next morning when he came to reflect he could not remember the spot, and his whole family and retinue of servants were set probing and digging about the walks and carriage ways until it was found.
 At Corfe Castle one is reminded that Sir Christopher Hatton so loved the place for it's healthfulness that he induced Queen Elizabeth to alienate it from the crown lands in his favor. The ivy does not cling thicker to old Heron Court, the seat of Lord Malemsbury, than do literary associ- ations. The founder of the family wrote "Hermes," perhaps the greatest tome of reasoning since the time of Aristotle. When its author entered the House of Commons Charles Fox thought it no place for him, for the great writer on grammer and harmony was sure, ill FOx's opinion, to find neither the one nor the other" within that august body. The late Lord Chancellor Cairns lived and died at Bourne mouth, and is splendidly remembered in the Cairns Memorial hall. Among the heath hills of near New Forest you may see the relic tree of King William Rufus, and at Stony Cross Hill is the stone set up to the memory of the same red headed ruffian whom Tyrrel shot purposely or by accident.
 Then there is the noble minister at Vim bourne, the wonderful old Norman priory at Christchurch, and everywhere along shore among the chimes and caves of lilly Whim, mementoes of smugglers and pi- rates. Not so very long ago the freeboot CTS did thriving trade between this coast and the opposite coast of France. The coast guards many a time found their match irrthese daring fellows, and blood was let nearly as often as brandy and tea were taken. The coastwise folk believed smuggling no crime, and one who lost his life battling against law died the hero's death. IF Kinson ohurchyard you may still read this inscription over the grave of one who fell by the hands of the crown myrmidons: ''To the memory of Robert Trotman, late of Royd, in the county of Wits, who was barbsrously murdered on the shore near Poole on the 24th Of March, 1765
 "A little tea, one leaf did not steal.
 For guiltless blood to God appeal; Put in one scale, human blood in tother, And think what 'tis to slsy thy harmless broth
 er."
 If there is shrine in England sacred to the poet Shelley it is here at Bournemouth. He was born at Field Place, in the county of Sussex, and was drowned in the Gulf of Spezzia in July, 1922. His body was
 - FA