"We'll order some braxfass here; then while they're briling the bacon we'll take the cart up to the pit and leave it, and bring the horse back to stop in the stable till we want him again." The order was given, and then we had a slow climb up a long hill to where, right at the top, the road had been cut straight through, leaving an embankment, forty or fifty feet high, on each side, while, for generations past, the sand had been dug away till the embankments were some distance back from the road.
"Just like being on the sea-shore," said Ike.

"I see the ocean once.
Linkyshire cost.

All sand like this.

Rum place, ain't it ?" "I think it's beautiful," I said as the cart was drawn over the yielding sand, the horse's hoofs and the wheels sinking in deep, while quite a cliff, crowned with dark fir-trees, towered above our heads.

The face of the sandy cliff was scored with furrows where the water had run down, and here it was reddish, there yellow or cream colour, and then dazzlingly white, while just below the top it was honey-combed with holes.
"San'-martins' nesties," said Ike, pointing with his whip.