Ill 



A SEASIDE IDYLL 



THIS is the seaside at its best. There is 

 no sea-wall. The beach is not pebbly. 

 There is no esplanade, and there are no bathing- 

 machines, no hotels and no " amusements." 

 Real country extends down to the very beach 

 itself. Behind us is the little straggling village 

 of whitewashed thatched cottages, with fuchsias 

 hanging over the road from their wee gardens, 

 and one garden has two shady fig-trees with 

 thick trunks that must have seen two or three 

 centuries. The little clear brook babbling by 

 the road turns a miniature mill, all overgrown 

 with ferns. Every sort of rock-plant grow r s on 

 the walls, which are topped with wallflowers 

 and foxgloves. The shady lanes have high 

 banks with hartstongue ferns, foxgloves again, 

 willow-herb, speedwell, red and white campion, 

 vetches, trefoil, scarlet pimpernel, mallows, con- 

 volvulus, scarlet poppies, marguerites, and other 

 wild-flowers galore. One of these lanes takes 

 us down to the sea-shore. At every gateway 



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