greater peril than the fair vale of Springhaven.  But lying to the
west of the narrow seas, and the shouts both of menace and
vigilance, the quiet little village in the tranquil valley forbore
to be uneasy. 

For the nature of the place and race, since time has outlived
memory, continually has been, and must be, to let the world pass
easily.  Little to talk of, and nothing to do, is the healthy
condition of mankind just there.  To all who love repose and
shelter, freedom from the cares of money and the cark of fashion,
and (in lieu of these) refreshing air, bright water, and green
country, there is scarcely any valley left to compare with that of
Springhaven.  This valley does not interrupt the land, but comes in
as a pleasant relief to it.  No glaring chalk, no grim sandstone,
no rugged flint, outface it; but deep rich meadows, and foliage
thick, and cool arcades of ancient trees, defy the noise that men
make.  And above the trees, in shelving distance, rise the crests
of upland, a soft gray lias, where orchards thrive, and greensward
strokes down the rigor of the rocks, and quick rills lace the bosom
of the slope with tags of twisted silver.