Christian life -- Juvenile fiction; Family -- Juvenile fiction
In the meantime the carriage was conveying the happy trio of travellers
to the station, which being safely reached, they took train, and in the
afternoon arrived at their destination. Amos had secured a nice little
roomy cottage close to the seashore, which was in the hands of a middle-
aged motherly woman, who, with her only daughter, a girl some fifteen
years of age, waited on her guests. Having deposited their luggage, and
ordered a substantial tea, the little party strolled down on to the
sands.
It was a lovely summer day, and the sun was now hastening to the west.
The tide was still running down, though it had come nearly to the turn,
and its gentle rush, as it broke into a thousand sparkles of foam at
each returning wave, made music in their ears. Far away to the left
tall cliffs rose up, their majestic fronts scarred with the batterings
of unnumbered storms. On either hand the shore swept round, completing
the arc of one wide-extended bay, cleft in many places by paths which
led up, now through lanes overhung by rocks of various coloured sand,
and now along downs of softest turf, to the little town, or, further
off, to solitary dwellings or clustering hamlets. Pebbles of dazzling
whiteness lined the upper part of the slope down to the beach; and these
were succeeded by a broad and even flooring of tough sand, along which
visitors, old and young, found safe and ample space for exercise. There
was no grand esplanade or terrace with its throng of health and
pleasure-seekers. It was emphatically a quiet place, with its few neat
lodging-houses and humble shops, one solitary bathing-machine, and a
couple of pleasure boats now hauled up high and dry. To those who might
seek excitement at the sea, this little retreat would have proved
insufferably dull; but to those who brought their resources with them in
heart, mind, and purpose, there was all that could be needed to cheer,
elevate, and delight,--the grand old ocean, outspread in its vast
dignity of space; the invigorating breezes; the passing ships; the
glories of the most magnificent of nature's painters, even the sun
himself, who spread his tints of gold, crimson, and purple in broad,
dazzling bands from the extreme verge where sea and sky met up to the
centre of the blue vault overhead, though here in hues paler, yet as
intensely beautiful. And all around now breathed peace. No storm was
now ploughing up the water into mountains of angry foam; but a quiet
ripple and a gentle splash at regular intervals soothed the spirit by
the harmony of their ceaseless fall.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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