Indeed Bridetown was decked with blooms.

Here and there in the midst stood better houses, with some expanse of
lawn before them and flat shrubs that throve in that snug vale. Good
walnut trees and mulberries threw their shadows on grass plat and house
front, while the murmur of bees came from many bright borders.

South the land rose again to the sea cliffs, for the spirits of ocean
and the west wind have left their mark upon Bride Vale. The white gulls
float aloft; the village elms are moulded by Zephyr with sure and steady
breath. Of forestal size and unstunted, yet they turn their backs, as it
were, upon the west and, yielding to that unsleeping pressure, incline
landward. The trees stray not far. They congregate in an oasis about
Bridetown, then wend away through valley meadows, but leave the green
hills bare. The high ground rolls upward to a gentle skyline and the
hillsides, denuded by water springs, or scratched by man, reveal the
silver whiteness of the chalk where they are wounded.

Bride river winds in the midst, and her bright waters throw a loop round
the eastern frontier of the hamlet, pass under the highway, bring life
to the cottage gardens and turn more wheels than one. Bloom of apple
and pear are mirrored on her face and fruit falls into her lap at autumn
time. Then westward she flows through the water meadows, and so slips
uneventfully away to sea, where the cliffs break and there stretches a
little strand. To the last she is crowned with flowers, and the
meadowsweets and violets that decked her cradle give place to sea
poppies, sea hollies, and stones encrusted with lichens of red gold,
where Bride flows to one great pool, sinks into the sand and glides
unseen to her lover.