ummer of 1874. In 1884-5 the Central
Station, or Bournemouth East as it was then called, was built, and the
two stations connected by a loop-line.

The whole of the Bournemouth district lies in the western part of the
great valley or depression which stretches from Shoreham, in Sussex, to
near Dorchester, occupying the whole of South Hampshire and the greater
part of the south of Sussex and Dorset. The valley is known as the chalk
basin of Hampshire, and is formed by the high range of hills extending
from Beachy Head to Cerne Abbas. To the north the chain of hills remains
intact, whilst the southern portion of the valley has been encroached
upon, and two great portions of the wall of chalk having been removed,
one to the east and one to the west, the Isle of Wight stands isolated
and acts as a kind of breakwater to the extensive bays, channels, and
harbours which have been scooped out of the softer strata by the action
of the sea. Sheltered by the Isle of Wight are the Solent and
Southampton Water; westward are the bays and harbours of Christchurch,
Bournemouth, Poole, Studland, and Swanage. The great bay between the
promontories of the Needles and Ballard Down, near Swanage, is
subdivided by the headland of Hengistbury Head into the smaller bays of
Christchurch and Bournemouth.

[Illustration: THE WINTER GARDENS, BOURNEMOUTH

The famous Winter Gardens and spacious glass Pavilion where concerts are
held are under the management of the Corporation. Bournemouth spends a
sum of _L_6000 annually in providing band music for her visitors.]

The site of the town is an elevated tableland formed by an extensive
development of Bagshot sands and clays covered with peat or turf, and
partly, on the upland levels, with a deep bed of gravel.

The sea-board is marked with narrow ravines, gorges, or glens, here
called "Chines", but in the north of England designated "Denes".

For boating people the bay affords a daily delight, although
Christchurch and Poole are the nearest real harbours. At the close of a
summer's day, when sea and sky and shore are enveloped in soft mist,
nothing can be more delightful than to flit with a favouring wind past
the picturesque Chines, or by the white cliffs of Studland. The water in
the little inlets and bays lies still and blue, but out in the dancing
swirl of waters set up by the sunken rocks at the base of a headland,
all the colours of the rainbow seem to be running a race together.
Yachts come