I Am Persuaded, That It Will One Day Disappear In The
Twinkling Of An Eye.
The neighbourhood of this fort, which is a
smooth sandy beach, I have chosen for my bathing place.
The road
to it is agreeable and romantic, lying through pleasant
cornfields, skirted by open downs, where there is a rabbit
warren, and great plenty of the birds so much admired at
Tunbridge under the name of wheat-ears. By the bye, this is a
pleasant corruption of white-a-se, the translation of their
French name cul-blanc, taken from their colour for they are
actually white towards the tail.
Upon the top of a high rock, which overlooks the harbour, are the
remains of an old fortification, which is indiscriminately
called, Tour d'ordre, and Julius Caesar's fort. The original
tower was a light-house built by Claudius Caesar, denominated
Turris ardens, from the fire burned in it; and this the French
have corrupted into Tour d'ordre; but no vestiges of this Roman
work remain; what we now see, are the ruins of a castle built by
Charlemagne. I know of no other antiquity at Boulogne, except an
old vault in the Upper Town, now used as a magazine, which is
said to be part of an antient temple dedicated to Isis.
On the other side of the harbour, opposite to the Lower Town,
there is a house built, at a considerable expence, by a general
officer, who lost his life in the late war. Never was situation
more inconvenient, unpleasant, and unhealthy.
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