What will Babbicombe Bay yield us this fine February morning? One
thing at least it yields, a magnificent coast view; and this is
scarcely affected by the season. Let there be only a moderately clear
atmosphere, a sky chequered with blue spaces and white wind-borne
clouds, and snatches of sunshine interchanging with shadows,--which
last there will be, of course, with such a sky,--and such a prospect
cannot fail to please.
And, indeed, this noble sweep of precipitous coast can hardly be
surpassed for beauty all round the sea-girt shores of Britain. The
forms of the cliffs are imposing: their broad masses of vivid colour
alternating,--the white compact limestone, the bright red sandstone,
becoming almost scarlet as the sun shines out full, yet prevented from
being tawdry by its harmonies with the various hues of green that crown
it, by its own breadth of light and shadow, by its dimming tints as
it softens and mellows into the purple of the distance; the panorama
of blue hills rising and fading far inland, the Tors and heights of
Dartmoor and Exmoor; and the ever-changing sea, now laughing in its
brightness, now frowning and chafing in its wrath, filling so vast
an area as it does from this vantage height;--these are the broader
features of a scene which I will pause a moment to depict in detail,
before I descend to the beach.