lf up into the blue; the great Atlantic
breakers, pounding upon the shore; the fisher-folk, standing at the doors
of their picturesque thatched cottages. All things seem alive, with an
exuberance of living, to which I have long been a stranger.

Do you know this coast, with its high moorland, its splendid cliffs; and,
far below, its sand coves, and ever-moving, rolling, surging, deep green
sea? Wonderful! Beautiful! Infinite!

My Inn is charming; primitive, yet comfortable. We have excellent coffee,
fried fish in perfection; real nursery toast, farm butter, and home-made
bread. When you supplement these with marmalade and mulberry jam, other
things all cease to be necessities.

Stray travellers come and go in motors, merely lunching, or putting up
for one night; but there are only four other permanent guests. These all
furnish me with unceasing interest and amusement. The three Miss
Murgatroyds--oh, Jane, they are so antediluvian and quaint! Three ancient
sisters,--by name, Amelia, Eliza, and Susannah. Their villa at Putney
rejoices in the name of "Lawn View"; so characteristic and suitable;
because no view reaching beyond the limits of their own front lawn
appears to these dear ladies to be worthy of regard. They never go
abroad, "excepting to the Isle of Wight," because they "do not like
foreigners." A party of quite charming Americans arrived just before
dinner the other day, in an automobile, and kept us lively during their
flying visit. They were cordial over the consomme; friendly over the
fish; and quite confidential by the time we reached the third course.
But, alas, these delightful cousins from the other side, were considered
"foreigners" by the Miss Murgatroyds, who consequently encased themselves
in the frigid armour of their own self-conscious primness; and passed the
mustard, without a smile. I felt constrained, afterwards, to apologise
for my country-women; but the Americans, overflowing with appreciative
good-nature, explained that they had come over expressly in order to see
old British relics of every kind. They asked me whether I did not think
the Miss Murgatroyds might have stepped "right out of Dickens." I was
fairly nonplussed, because I thought they were going to say "out of the
ark"--you know how one mentally finishes a sentence as soon as it is
begun?--and I simply dared not confess that I have not read Dickens!
Alas, how ignorant of our own standard literature we are apt to feel when
we talk