Swanage is a well-known seaside resort, rapidly growing in favour. It nestles in the farther corner of a lovely little bay, and though in the rapid extension of rows of newly arisen houses, consequent upon the development of its fame as a watering-place, much of its old-time, half-sleepy, half-commercial aspect has passed away, Kingsley's still remains the best description of this spot--"well worth seeing, and when once seen not easily to be forgotten. A little semicircular bay, its northern horn formed by high cliffs of white chalk (_Ballard Head_), ending in white, isolated stacks and peaks (_The Pinnacles_, _Old Harry and his Wife_, etc.), round whose feet the blue sea ripples for ever. In the centre of the bay the softer Wealden beds have been worn away, forming an amphitheatre of low sand and clay cliffs. The southern horn (_Peveril Point_) is formed by the dark limestone beds of the Purbeck marble. A quaint, old-world village slopes down to the water over green downs, quarried, like some gigantic rabbit-burrow, with the stone workings of seven hundred years. Land-locked from every breeze, huge elms flourish on the dry sea beach, and the gayest and tenderest garden flowers bask under the hot stone walls." Tilly Whim is one of the attractions here. A short walk by Peveril Point, Durlston Bay and Durlston Head leads to Tilly Whim, which is on the eastern side of oddly named _Anvil Cove_, and is the first of a series of cliff quarries opened in the Portland-Purbeck beds along the coast. The cliff has been tunnelled into a series of gigantic chambers, supported by huge pillars of the living rock and opening on a platform in the face of the precipice, beneath which the waters roar and rage almost unceasingly. The boldness of the headland, the sombre greys of the rocks, the rude, massive columns which support the roof of the huge cavity, the restless sea--all are elements that heighten the scenic effect of a spot almost unique of its kind. Tilly Whim has been compared to a "huge rock temple"--like those of India. Thomas Hardy has left us another interesting description of the Swanage of bygone days: "Knollsea was a seaside village, lying snugly within two headlands, as between a finger and thumb. Everybody in the parish who was not a boatman was a quarrier, unless he were the gentleman who owned half the property and had been a quarryman, or the other gentleman who owned the other half and had been to sea."