FEENT COMBES. 
29 
white cottages nestled in woods, the tiny quay 
built of unhewn pebbles from the shore, and num- 
berless skiffs and fishing-boats with tanned sails, 
looking ruddy in the sunlight. 
As you leave the Hobby, or rather the JSTew road 
(for it changes its name about a mile from its ter- 
mination), you come to a most lovely view. Look- 
ing eastward, you can trace the road you have just 
traversed, and the villages of Buckish and Pepper- 
combe suspended against the dark cliffs, gleaming 
in the evening sun. How commences the serious 
matter of descending to the village : a narrow paved 
lane, with deep red banks on either hand, leads 
down the hill. After you have walked about a 
couple of hundred yards, you should turn to your 
left, where you will find yourself on a pretty ter- 
race, consisting of four or five houses, covered with 
myrtles and fuchsias ; from this spot you may form 
some sort of idea of the strange little town ; four 
hundred feet below is the blue sea, from which 
the houses rise irregularly at every sort of angle, 
Inv/ng against the sides of a deep precipitous glen, 
crowned by woods. 
We proceed, slipping and sliding, till we pause 
at what is properly the head of the street.” On 
each side, tiny gardens or quaint terraced balconies 
project from the ground-floor of the houses ; these 
