The top of the cliff was like a carpet of thick green grass and springing heather.

Far away, in the blue distance, one could see, of a bright, sunny day, the outline of the French coast.

The waves rolled in, and broke upon the yellow sands; the sea-birds flew by with busy wings, white sails gleamed in the sunshine.

Occasionally a large steamer passed; there was no sound save the rich, never-changing music of Nature, the rush of wind and waves, the grand, solemn anthem that the sea never tires of singing.
Far down the cliff ran the zigzag path that led to the village; there was no sign of the sea on the other side of the white rocks.

There the green fields and pretty hop-gardens stretched out far and wide, and the Farthinglow Woods formed a belt around them.