the particular
kind made in this town would be the ale here referred to. Yet I was told
by an inhabitant of the neighbourhood who was a good deal interested in
local traditions, that it was introduced by the French doctor of the
prisoners of war at Kingsbridge Barracks, for the benefit of those who
found themselves ill at ease in this climate--an event that could not
possibly have taken place till the very end of the eighteenth century.

There is a charm over all this country, not solely due to its beauty. It
is true that it is rather drowsy, that the 'spell of the briar-rose' in
part lies over it, but it may be that this adds to the charm. There is
an absence of competition, an air of plenty and of kindness, a golden
glamour that gives the impression that Nature has told the people theirs
is a generous portion, and they may sit still and be content. And they
are content.

There is such an overbrimming wealth of bushes and plants and flowers on
every side, that the fact of the water in the estuary being salt
scarcely seems to prevent their growing in it! Along the bank washed by
the flowing tide, and almost touching the masses of tough golden-brown
seaweed on the rocks, are multitudes of the daisy-flowers of
sea-mayweed, flowering samphire, the stars of sow-thistle, and bright
yellow bunches of charlock and straggling spires of wild-mignonette,
against a darker background of blackthorn, hawthorn, ivy, and furze,
lightly powdered with trails of bramble-blossom. Creeks, edged with low
hills, wind away from the estuary. When the tide is low, great stretches
of mud and sand lie on either side, and here may be seen black
cormorants and crowds and crowds of gulls, here and there a heron, and
quantities of smaller birds. The scene changes entirely at the mouth of
the creek, for here the banks rise into high rugged cliffs, and the
water frets restlessly over sunken rocks.

Salcombe is a tiny little town, with steep, narrow streets and
high-walled gardens on each side of the close lane that ends the
principal street; and between the gardens the air is fragrant with sweet
clematis, that, as well as red valerian, tumbles in clusters over the
walls. Salcombe has a very good claim to remembrance, for on a
peninsular rock at the mouth of the harbour stand the ruins of a
fortress that held out for King Charles later than any other place in
Devonshire. It was defended by Sir Edward Fortescue, and surrendered
only on May 7, 1646.