a quarter to
six
I awoke early on the third morning after my return from Ashby Park -- the sun was shining through the blind , and I thought how pleasant it would be to pass through the quiet town and take a solitary ramble on the sands while half the world was in bed . I was not long in forming the resolution , nor slow to act upon it . Of course I would not disturb my mother , so I stole noiselessly downstairs , and quietly unfastened the door . I was dressed and out , when the church clock struck a quarter to six . There was a feeling of freshness and vigour in the very streets ; and when I got free of the town , when my foot was on the sands and my face towards the broad , bright bay , no language can describe the effect of the deep , clear azure of the sky and ocean , the bright morning sunshine on the semicircular barrier of craggy cliffs surmounted by green swelling hills , and on the smooth , wide sands , and the low rocks out at sea -- looking , with their clothing of weeds and moss , like little grass-grown islands -- and above all , on the brilliant , sparkling waves . And then , the unspeakable purity -- and freshness of the air ! There was just enough heat to enhance the value of the breeze , and just enough wind to keep the whole sea in motion , to make the waves come bounding to the shore , foaming and sparkling , as if wild with glee .