On the morrow, when I stepped out under the famous porch chamber of the Greyhound Hotel, Corfe wore her bright morning smile. The air was soft, warm and redolent with the scent of good blue wood smoke. Corfe is one of the pleasantest villages in Dorset and has a wonderfully soothing effect upon the visitor. I should recommend this old-world retreat for those who are weary of the traffic and frenzy of the city market-place. The prevailing colour of the old houses makes the place ever cool-looking and lends the village an air of extreme restfulness. From the humblest cottage to the Town House opposite the village cross the buildings are of weather-beaten stone, and are a delicate symphony in the colour grey, the proportions also being exactly satisfying to the eye. Stone slabs of immense size form the roofs themselves. Look at the roof of the Greyhound Inn! When these roof stones were put down the builder did not put them there for his own day, selfishly, but for posterity. This, as Hilaire Belloc would say, is a benediction of a roof, a roof that physically shelters and spiritually sustains, a roof majestic, a roof eternal. A walk through the town will reveal Tudor windows, quaint doorways and several eighteenth-century porches, of which that at the Greyhound is the best example. The market-place, with the Bankes Arms Hotel at one end, the Greyhound backing on to the castle and the castle and hills peering over the roof tops of the town, gives one a mingled pleasure of reminiscence and discovery. Standing back a little from the Swanage road is the small Elizabethan manor-house of Dackhams or Dacombs, now called Morton House, and one of the best manor-houses in the country. The ground plan forms the letter E, and it has a perfect little paved courtyard full of flowers.