ssive, above a silvery grey sea. Inland the valley
changes suddenly from barren cliffs to a profusion of copses and
thickets, and several beautiful deeply cleft combes, overbrimming with
thick trees, open into the valley. Among the wayside bushes are the
pretty purple-crimson flower-heads and thick cool leaves of that not
very common wild-flower, livelong.

A road passing through a wood and by a little rushing stream overhung by
hazels, leads towards Lynton, and crosses the tiny railway, on whose
bank masses of the slender stems of great moon-like evening primroses
shine in the grey twilight with an almost weird effect.

The more interesting way to Lynton is along the coast-road, which is
soon reached from the valley. Beneath the road the cliffs fall
precipitously hundreds of feet to the sea, and a few little horned sheep
and some white goats, scrambling on the face of them, seemed to have the
same hold as flies on a window-pane. Ravens are often seen even now
amongst these almost inaccessible rocks. The road runs through a
fir-wood, and as it rises and falls one may catch delicious glimpses of
the sea through the ruddy stems and the great dark fans and tasselled
ends of the branches; and the scent of pine-needles and of the sea
stirring amongst them makes the charm still greater. The road looks down
into Wooda Bay, which is also surrounded by woods, and passes to the
tinier but very lovely Lee Bay. A little combe leads down to the shore,
sheltered by leaves which, luminous from the sunshine above them, shade
the glen from the fierce rays, and it is filled with a subdued,
mysterious light. Stem beyond stem is partly hidden by the fresh,
vigorous green shoots springing round them, or hanging in garlands from
branch to branch, and suggests the wonderful fairyland that Richard
Doyle saw, and enabled many people to see.

A little stream, breaking into miniature waterfalls and reflecting the
foliage in its pools, finally disappears into the shingle, to emerge
close to the sea. A few yards away is a tiny dropping-well on the face
of the cliff, almost hidden by a green veil of plants that grow at the
foot of the rocks or swing from the clefts.

Close to the bay stands Lee Abbey, a comparatively modern house, on the
site of the old house of the De Wichehalses--a family who, considering
the not very remote date of their history, have been surrounded with a
surprising number of fables: Mr Blackmore contributed a share.

The