hounds will suffice; and his stud should consist of about fourteen horses for his own riding, and twelve for his men: but, of course, much depends upon the country. A van is now looked upon as indispensable, as it saves the hounds many a weary mile in going to cover, and returning after a long day's work. To show the sagacity of these animals, we have only to mention an incident that occurred, a few seasons ago, at Berkeley Castle. The hounds left the kennel in a van, and were ferried across the Severn. After a good woodland cub-hunting run in the Forest of Dean, a young hound was missing; and all attempts to recover it were unavailing. Upon the following afternoon the "lost one" was seen in the town of Berkeley, making its way to the kennels, which he reached in safety. It came out afterwards that a man had seen the hound approach the ferryboat, but, being frightened by the shouts of a boy, had turned away, and was lost sight of. It was then made quite apparent that the hound must have swum across the Severn, and, with an instinct scarcely credible, reached its kennel, with this astounding fact-that the whole pack had been conveyed by van to the river's side, and not by road. DEVONIA. PART IV. Refreshed by our luncheon, it was proposed we should run up to Torquay by rail, for a nearer inspection of that beautiful "Devonian Brighton" than we had been able to have from sea; we therefore stepped on board the Railway Company's steamer (which comes up almost to the door of the Castle Hotel), crossed the river to Kingswear, and soon found ourselves comfortably seated in a first-class carriage of the Dartmouth and Newton Railway. The line between this and Torquay is most picturesque; it runs at first parallel with the river, then takes a bend backwards until it reaches the edge of the high cliffs above the sea, where every here and there you look into beautiful little bays far down below, so secluded that you wonder if any human being has ever penetrated them, or if the sea-gull and wild fowl are their only visitors. At Brixham-road station a smell of fish pervaded the air, although the town of Brixham, from which come half the turbot, whiting, soles, &c., we enjoy in London, is some three miles distant. "Oh, for a whiff of a cigar!" exclaimed one of our fair friends; she speedily had her desire, and the fish-like odour was lost in the fragrant clouds of the Havannah. At Paignton, I and some of the party determined on leaving the train, and walking the remainder of the way to Torquay. On the b ach is a large singular-looking edifice, built in the Oriental style of architecture, with a round tower; it is surrounded by a wall with loop-holes, in which are placed small cannon. It excited much curiosity amongst our young ladies, who began to think of "Blue Beard and Fatima," so I was requested to ask permission to see the interior. I boldly pulled the bell; after waiting a long time a head appeared at a window, took a survey of us, and vanished; at last we heard the bolts and bars pulled back, and the massive door was opened by a man (if he were a man, and not a real ogre), with a black beard down to his waist. He demanded what we wanted. I said the ladies were so much struck by the exterior of the building, that their curiosity was raised to see the interior. A fearful expression spread over the giant-face, and from his stentorian lungs came these words in broken English, "De governor of dis castle do not admit any ladies here ;" on hearing which our ladybirds took flight, and it was some time before they could be collected together again. We now walked back over the hard sands, which extend for two miles, and are unequalled in the county: here scallops are caught in great abundance. Reader, if you have never eaten them, remain no longer in ignorance: they are a delightful combination of the lobster and oyster. The sand-eels which are found in this neighbourhood are, I consider, next best to whitebait. Catching them (if you may so call it) is a pretty sight; they go out at night, when a bright moon is shining, each armed with a fork, turn up the sand from which come the beautiful little eels, sparkling like bars of silver on the golden sands, take them home, and have them cooked for supper. The way to cook them is to string them on a skewer, cover them with yolk of egg and bread crumbs, and fry them brown; be sure you have plenty of lard in the frying-pan; stint it not, as many of our housekeepers do, from false economy. To reach Torquay, it was necessary for us to retrace our steps to the orchard-environed village of Paignton, which is not particularly celebrated for anything but its cabbages and cider: a draught of the latter (which by-the-bye was extremely good) considerably refreshed us. Near the church are some "ivy-mantled" ruins of what in by-gone years had been a bishop's palace. "Not all unmoved by holy fear, I tread within these time-worn walls; The spirit of the past is here, And lo! I mark her mystic calls. Decay and desolation sleep In silence 'neath thy hoary head; And tangled grass and ivy creep Around their cold and crumbled bed." We found the walk longer and dustier than we had anticipated, but at last a sudden turn brought us in sight of the queen of watering places." Here the road winds round the bay close to the sea, which lay beneath us, blue and sparkling in the summer sun. What a contrast to the last time I saw it, the day after that terrible storm of the past winter, which hurried into eternity so many hundreds of souls! Then it was black and turbulent, and looked like a sunken forest, the tops of the masts of the wrecked vessels just appearing above its dark and angry waters. We now passed through the turnpike-gate. Even that most uninteresting thing is here made to have a picturesque appearance, nestling under the high limestone rock that rises abruptly from the road, interspersed with foliage, and covered with creeping plants. Every style of architecture is here-Gothic, Elizabethan, Italiantowering one above the other, on every available ridge in the rocks. The Strand, where all the principal shops are, is only divided from the water by the road and a row of trees. We now had some difficulty in keeping our party together, as the shops had greater attractions for the ladies than the blue ocean and rugged hills. Many were the exclamations of "Oh, what a sweet hat!" or "What a duck of a bonnet!" but, after a little patient resignation, we succeeded in passing the last of the shops, turned to the right, and arrived at the Beacon, a pointed rock rising from the sea, covered with grass, commanding fine views of the bay, basin, and town. The public baths are immediately below this. They are first-rate, containing swimming-baths for both ladies and gentlemen, and forty dressing-rooms. On the left is the ladies' bathing-cove, a secluded little spot, shut in by high rocks. We now selected from the stand two of those convenient little carriages known here by the name of "midges" (small flies), and drove to St. Mary's church, to see the marble-works of Mr. Blackler. We were quite repaid by the beauty of the inlaid tables, vases, inkstands, &c. The ladies purchased several malachite ornaments and mosaic brooches. Many of the latter are quite equal to the Florentine mosaics. The malachite is more extensively and elegantly worked here than anywhere else in England. We had just time for a visit to the church before dinner, which we had ordered at the Royal Hotel. The interior is very handsome, having beautiful polished marble pillars and fine painted windows. The font is extremely ancient, and worthy inspection. In the churchyard we entered into conversation with an old man who was digging a grave. On our asking him if he found his a paying business, he replied, pushing back his hat, and rubbing his head, "Well, pretty fair zumtimes; but, you see, sir, the folks about here don't die reg'lar" (regular). The Royal Hotel regained, and dinner over, we contrived to miss the last train; so there was nothing to be done but to hire a large carriage and pair of horses, and drive back to Dartmouth; and a most charming drive we had. A brilliant moon shining on the sea recalled to my memory these beautiful lines of John Wilson's (better known as "Christopher North"), in his "Isle of Palms :" "Oh, ne'er did sky and water blend In such a holy sleep, Or bathe in brighter quietude So far the peaceful soul of heaven Hath settled on the sea, It seems as if this weight of calm Were from eternity. O world of waters! the steadfast earth Ne'er lay entranced like thee." On reaching Kingswear, we had to leave the carriage, and cross the river in a boat. The dear old Dart looked more romantic than ever, with its deep shadows, in the calm moonlight; and an utter silence fell on us all, only broken by the gentle splash of our oars, as they touched the silvery waters. They had quite given up all hope of seeing us that night at the Castle. However, they soon came out to welcome us and offer refreshment; but we were too tired even to eat! and were only anxious to seek our comfortable beds, as on the morrow we were to start again in the yacht, for a cruise further westward. The sun was shining and the blue waters sparkling when we stepped into the boat that was to take us to our yacht, which lay at anchor in the middle of the river. Once on board, we soon got under weigh, and sailed out of the harbour. It was not without regret that we bid adieu to the quaint old town of Dartmouth and the peaceful river, with its grand hills and weather-beaten castles; but a fresh breeze from the north-west soon carried us far away from them all, and we rounded the Blackstone and Homestone rocks, and steered for Start Point. The Homestone is a sunken rock, on which several vessels have struck. A brig, some years ago, with a pilot on board, was lost upon it. The pilot, poor fellow ! considering himself much disgraced, took it so to heart that he hung himself from an apple-tree in his orchard. Start Bay is of fine form, with deep water all through it, except over a ridge called the Skerries. Several fishing villages are scattered along the shore. The principal one is Torcross, situated at the western end of Slapton Ley. This Ley is a fresh-water lake of about 300 acres, only divided from the sea in many places by a ridge of sand. It abounds in pike, perch, eels, &c., and at the higher end, where the stream runs into it, some fine trout may be found. Large quantities of wild-fowl, coot, dapchicks, and the elegant moor or water hen, and many others resort here. There is an excellent hotel on the beach, called The Sands Hotel, where the sportsman will find good accommodation. Many seines are kept upon the shore of this bay, and large catches. are made of mackerel and pilchards. Smaller nets are used for dragging the ground for soles, turbot, dories, &c. Making good way through the water, we soon arrived off the Start, a very romantic-looking point, running out sharp and craggy into the Channel. It is very high, and finishes in a point with dark and broken rocks, and a beautiful lighthouse rising from its extreme end. Innumerable gulls, large and small, constantly hover on these rocks, dipping and fishing for the small fish, driven to the surface by the larger. The crabbers and lobster catchers lay their fishing-pots close to this point, and for some miles to the westward, getting many of the largest fish in the Channel. The coast from the Start to the west headland, the Prawl Point, is very craggy, broken, and wild, and the sea very rough. Here we began to feel the ripple, pitching our bowsprit in, and small seas breaking over our gunwale. When we were near the Prawle, the waves got larger, and the ladies had to come aft to keep their jackets dry. Then the bright rosy faces we had seen all day changed into pale sad ones, and one by one they vanished, and were seen no more until we put the yacht about, and brought her head for Salcombe harbour, three miles. from the Prawl. We soon sailed over this bit of water, and ran into the harbour, and anchored close to the old-fashioned unpretending town of Salcombe. The entrance to the river is very imposing, the great head of the Bolt with its fine falling crags forming the western arm, and the high sloping land of the Prawl on the east side. The grand rocky cliffs rise in height from 50 to 400 feet from the sea. In the haven mouth are two coves, under the sand of which, about two or three feet down, are the trees of a submerged forest: perfect leaves and hazel nuts have been occasionally dug up. The remains of Salcombe Castle stand upon a lonely rock, which at high tide is completely insulated. It was a fortress for the defence of the harbour, and held out bravely for a long time against the parliament. The castle key is still kept at Fallapit, the seat of the Fortescues, On a picturesque headland is the Moult, the beautiful marine residence of Lord Courtenay. Here oranges, lemons, citrons, and the American aloes bloom and produce fruit in the open air. Woodville, Ringrone, and other villas are prettily perched about on the steep slopes, and add much to the natural beauty of the little harbour. The fishing is very good for pollock, mackerel, bass, and red mullet. The town is five miles from Kingsbridge. We were on the look out for an old acquaintance, a fisherman and pilot. Presently we saw a boat pushed off from the shore making for our yacht. It soon came alongside, and a man jumped on board. There stood our friend-a little man, with very small eyes, and rather deaf. He asked, in his usual quaint manner of speaking, if he could render us any assistance; which meant, could he bring us anything from the land. The ladies begged for grapes, the gentlemen for lobsters, and the united forces said "fowls." So off went our emissary, and soon returned, bringing all we required, and again in his odd way hoped we would excuse all imperfections;" the only remarkable ones we noticed were his great fondness for chewing tobacco, and his clothes being covered with the scales of fish, which wafted a perfume not so agreeable as Eau de Cologne, tobacco smoke, or even seaweed. 66 The repast finished, evening came on, and with it a calm, so that it was impossible to get to Plymouth that night, therefore we decided on sleeping on shore; but, before leaving, one of the ladies sang two or three songs; the hours appeared to have wings, so swiftly did they fly, beguiled by the sweet music of her voice, to which the gentle wavelets made a lulling accompaniment. The rising moon warned us of the hour, the boat was lowered, and we were rowed quickly to the shore. The Salcombe river is narrow for a mile from the entrance, and then widens very much half-way to Kingsbridge. Wild-fowl come to the mud flats in this broad part, but, as in other rivers, are now very few in number compared to the hundreds of times past away. The river used to be famous for some of the finest kinds of oysters. The run out of this romantic harbour in the sunshine of the next morning was very beautiful, passing the Bolt Head and the Elstone rocks, and sailing close under the sloping craggy ridges along the shore to another fine headland-the Bolt Tail, five miles from the Bolt Head, |