The opening scene of this tale took place in a little village on the southern coast of Cornwall. Treby (by that name we choose to designate a spot whose true one, for several reasons, will not be given) was, indeed, rather a hamlet than a village; although, being at the seaside, there were two or three houses which, by dint of green paint and chints curtains, pretended to give the accommodation of Apartments Furnished to the few bathers who, having heard of its cheapness, seclusion, and beauty, now and then resorted thither from the neighbouring towns. This part of Cornwall shares much of the peculiar and exquisite beauty which every Englishman knows adorns the sweet shire of Devon. The hedges near Trcby, like those round Dawlish and Torquay, are redolent with a thousand flowers ;the neighbouring fields are pranked with all the colours ofF lora its soft air the picturesque bay in which it stood, as it were, enshrined its red cliffs, and verdure reaching to the very verge of the tide all breathe the same festive and genial atmosphere. The cottages give the same promise of comfort, and are adorned by nature with more luxurious loveliness than the villas of the rich in a less happy climate. Treby was almost unknown ;yet whoever visited it might well prefer its sequestered beauties to many more renowned competitors. Situated in the depths of a little bay. it was sheltered on all sides by the cliflT s. Just behind the hamlet the cliff made a break, forming a little ravine, in the depth of which ran a clear stream, on whose banks were spread the orchards of the villagers, whence they derived their chief wealth. Tangled bushes and luxuriant herbage diversified the cliffs, some of
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