But leaving Bideford and Northam Burrows, a very pleasant excursion may be made to Clovelly, where the small fishing-village is built on the steep slope of the cliff, looking almost as if the whole place had been wrecked from some large ship, and had cleverly contrived to scramble on shore and clamber up the rocks just beyond high-water mark, but had never been able to get up to the top of the cliffs and so on to real habitable dry land. Surely if we have anywhere a good similitude of Mahomet's coffin it is Clovelly, perched half-cliff high on the western coast of Devonshire. The country in the immediate neighbourhood is very pretty, and as you pass through the grounds of Sir Hamlyn Williams, here you have it well wooded, there is a broad grassy glade where the deer love to roam, yonder is a hillock purple with heather, then, every now and then, a turn in the road brings you in sight of the almost perpendicular cliffs, with the deep blue of the sea, edged with a narrow border of white foam, at their base. A mixture of richly wooded and sea-side scenery is always pleasing, because it is not often that we find the two combined. The sea view here is of considerable extent, Clovelly being situated in the midst of a semi-circular sweep from Hartland Point on the south to Baggy Point on the north.

F

Before taking leave of Devonshire I think I must conduct my readers to Chudleigh, though I fear it is not a locality generally visited, being out of the line of railway; indeed, to get to it you have to quit the railway at Exeter, and then take the turnpike road over Haldon. The road, after leaving the valley of the Exe, gradually ascends, till at length the tourist attains such an elevation that, on a clear day, he has a most magnificent view of the country on the other side of the Exe, the fields of various colours, all laid out as though on a plan; here a grass-field, there a fallow-field; here a field of beans, there a field of wheat, yellow with the blossoms of the wild mustard; and then, after the eye has enjoyed the pleasures of the scene, we reach High Haldon, and a fresh bracing breeze comes to us over the blooming heather, causing a more healthful flow in every pulse; and thence, pursuing our way beyond the heath, we arrive at the comfortable little town of Chudleigh.

Chudleigh is famous for its rocks; it is not on the sea shore, but inland; and rocks inland are always more thought of than rocks on the coast. The rocks at Chudleigh stand nearly perpendicularly near the margin of a small stream, the banks of which are densely clothed with the large green leaves of the butter bur (Petasites

vulgaris); between the rocks and the stream a slender winding path leads to the lower level, and from the upper level a pleasant coup d'œil of the low-country is obtained.

Alternating between the rocks and the stream I have spent several days in June, and on one occasion was cajoled out of a fourpenny piece in a mode that deserves being recorded.

It was one afternoon that I was walking up and down the banks of the little stream looking for a peculiar insect, when I found a companion close beside me, who, after watching me for some time, perhaps with the view of ascertaining whether I were compos mentis or not-for entomologists are not always reckoned as perfectly sane; he, however, appears to have come to a satisfactory conclusion, and commenced the conversation by asking me the way to some place of which I had never heard; I replied that I was a perfect stranger, and then I made the discovery that he was an Irish beggar! I endeavoured to assure him that it was no use his trying to get anything out of me because I never gave to beggars; however, my friend had evidently learnt the virtues of perseverance, and so, after trying in vain to get him persuaded that I was perfectly impenetrable to his entreaties, and as he would not go away, and I had no intention of

leaving the place where I was, I went on with my sport, he following me like an attendant satellite, and gradually we got into conversation, and I asked him what made him come to me on his begging expedition. He said he was passing through the field, in which was a public footpath, and seeing me by myself he thought he would try his powers of persuasion upon me, for, said he, "if I go to a great house and ask to see the masther, sure they tell me he's busy, and I can't see him, and perhaps the next house I go to they tell me that they're very sorry for me, but they can do nothing for me; now I know they're not sorry for me, and going from house to house and hearing such lies it gives one such a bad idea of human nature." So, after this clever philosophising remark I gave him a fourpenny piece, for which he overpowered me with thanks, and took himself off with the parting benediction of "May ye live to be converted, and die in the true faith !"

JUNE IN SUSSEX.

TUNBRIDGE WELLS is a very pleasant place to stop at in summer time; if you have any appreciation of the country you cannot but enjoy the varied surface of the ground; up this hill and down that; over this common and through that wood; then, for the lovers of the picturesque, there is the Toad Rock on Rust Hall Common.

Then you can diversify the day's occupation by a pilgrimage to drink the celebrated waters, a glass of which should always be drunk an hour before breakfast. I have great faith in these waters, for I deem any spell potent enough to draw a quasi-invalid from his or her bed for a two hours' walk before breakfast must contribute to health; and if, after drinking the quantum suff. of the stone-cold water, you take a turn up the Frant Road, where the hedges are luxuriant with bramble-blossoms, you will, by the time you reach Frant, be in a sufficiently exhilarated state heartily to enjoy the beauties of the morning. Close to you lies Eridge Park, with its extensive woods of oaks and fir trees, in which