he calmest weather angrily foams along the
windward side. Beyond the sturdy lighthouse that shows itself a dazzling
white against the hot blue of the heavens commence the innumerable
gullies. Each one has its trickling stream, and bushes and low trees
grow to the limits of the shelter afforded by the ravines; but in the
open there is nothing higher than the waving corn or the stone walls
dividing the pastures--a silent testimony to the power of the north-east
wind. The village of Hawsker, with its massive though modern church, can
be seen across the fields towards the west, but it does not offer
sufficient attractions to divert you from the cliffs, unless you have a
desire to see in one or two of the fields, gateways and rubbing-posts
formed of whales' jaws, suggestive of the days when Whitby carried on a
thriving trade with the great cetaceans. To enjoy this magnificent coast
scenery, there must be plenty of time to linger in those places where it
seems impossible not to fling yourself on the long brown grass and
listen to the droning of insects and the sound of the waves down below.
At certain times of the day the most striking colours are seen among the
sunlit rocks, and the boldness of the outlines of overhanging strata and
great projecting shoulders are a continual surprise.

After rounding the North Cheek, the whole of Robin Hood's Bay is
suddenly laid before you. I well remember my first view of the wide
sweep of sea, which lay like a blue carpet edged with white, and the
high escarpments of rock that were in deep purple shade, except where
the afternoon sun turned them into the brightest greens and umbers.
Three miles away, but seemingly very much closer, was the bold headland
of the Peak, and more inland was Stoupe Brow, with Robin Hood's Butts on
the hill-top. The fable connected with the outlaw is scarcely worth
repeating, but on the site of these butts urns have been dug up, and are
now to be found in Scarborough Museum. The Bay Town is hidden away in a
most astonishing fashion, for, until you have almost reached the two
bastions which guard the way up from the beach, there is nothing to be
seen of the charming old place. If you approach by the road past the
railway-station it is the same, for only garishly new hotels and villas
are to be seen on the high ground, and not a vestige of the fishing-town
can be discovered. But the road to the bay at last begins to drop down
very steeply, and the first old roofs a