LYNTON AND LYNMOUTH. The distance from Ilfracombe, by way of the cliff, is 16 miles, by the carriage-road 20 miles. The former route lies through Berrynarbor, straggling Combemartin, by the wild valley of long grass and gray rocks, and fern-clad stream of Trentishoe, Heddonsmouth, by the church of St. Martin, Martinhoe; among the trees of Woody Bay Cove, by Lea and the Valley of Rocks. The carriage-road is in parts ill made, and passes for several miles an uninteresting country. The village of Lynton, reached by a winding road, stands upon the hill, 428 feet high, perpendicularly above Lynmouth, which crouches upon the seashore, at the level gorge of two valleys begirt by Lyncliff and hills covered with pines. Through these narrow glens, at the base of steep sides formed of beetling cliffs, two alpine torrents, whose springs lie among the wild rolling heathery downs, inland, flash along over their rocky beds, and under two small ivied bridges. The walls in the season are covered with peach-blossom, so soft is the climate. West Lyn claims to be a miniature of Pyrenean scenery: at East Lyn the visitor will find a waterfall, roaring and thundering after heavy rain, pouring in sweeping cascades a stream to which the chines of the Isle of Wight can offer no comparison for volume or beauty; it goes seaward under noble trees, and among mossy glens, and woods set deep in ferns. Into one of these ravines a stag, maddened by the fast-closing hounds, leaped down to immediate destruction; and not long after, another "antlered monarch" of Exmoor Forest, being driven to desperation, flew down the valley, and actually swam out some distance into the sea, until it was captured by means of a boat and some fishermen. Lastræa areoptens, and L. filix mas palearia, hymenophyllum unilaterale, filmy fern, and ivy-leaved campanula are found here; at Trentishoe, orpine; at Shercombe, bog-pimpernel. The grounds of Sir W. Herries, at Lynmonth, are very beautiful. The church of St. Mary (M. Mundy, P. C.) was enlarged 1817 and 1833. Gainsborough, writing to Price, observes that Lynton "is the most delightful school for a landscape-painter which this country can boast." Southey thus describes this charming spot : sea; "My walk to Ilfracombe led me through Lynmouth, the finest spot, except Cintra and the Arrabida, that I ever saw. Two rivers join at Lynmouth. You probably know the hill-streams of Devonshire; each of these flows down a combe, rolling over huge stones like a long waterfall; immediately at their junction they enter the and the rivers and the sea make but one sound of uproar. Of these combes, the one is richly wooded, the other runs between two high, bare, stony hills. From the hill between the two is a prospect most magnificent: on either hand, combes; and the river before the little village-the beautiful little village, which I am assured by one who is familiar with Switzerland, resembles a Swiss village. This alone would constitute a view beautiful enough to repay the weariness of a long journey; but to complete it, there is the blue and boundless seafor the faint and feeble line of the Welsh coast is only to be seen on the right hand if the day be perfectly clear." Until the beginning of the present century, the village was a mere fishing-creek, with approaches impassable to carriages, until Mr. Lock and W. A. Sandford opened new roads. From Lynton, the shore below, and every object but the hills, appears in miniature, and the largest vessel but Lilliputian: on the west side, the heights are 700 feet above the sea: the greatest altitude which they obtain is 1000 feet; but Chapman Burrows rise in the distance, 1555. The West Lyn has the amazing descent of 400 feet within a quarter of a mile. The Water's Meet, the union of the two streams, occurs at a distance of a mile and a half up the romantic winding gorge of Lyndale, or East Lyn Valley: the cascades mingle under the spires of lofty wood-clad hills, and form a scene at once lovely and wild. Beyond this beautiful spot are the ravine-like valley and village of BRENDON; and still further Simon's Bath (T. Knight, 8 miles), so named after a bold outlaw of Somerset, or Siegfred, the hero of the Niebelungenlied. EXMOOR FOREST is traversed by this route-a tract of heath and gorse, the parent of the Barle and the Exe, but now gradually, since 1815, being brought into cultivation; though the red deer may still be seen drinking at its trout-streams, or in their lair among the shelter of the valleys of Brandon woods. Before the enclosure, Exmoor Forest was principally stocked with a famous breed of wild ponies; strong, hardy, and often well shaped, they vied in spirit with those of Shetland, Norway, and other mountainous countries, but were larger than the former, less than the latter. Bred in such wild freedom the ponies were difficult to catch and to tame. Once a year, the foresters drove a herd of, perhaps, a thousand at a time, into a large inclosure, where those selected by the dealers were caught by the lasso. It was a remarkable sight to witness a herd of these animals, seldom seen but as trained and domesticated, careering in their native wilds, with flowing mane and tail, panting and snorting in excitement and terror, as the spirited little creatures were driven to the pen. But the Exmoor ponies have been removed, as the herds of deer from the Cranbourne Chace and the New Forest, as the increase in the numbers of the population necessitates the conversion of the waste into pasture lands. Morasses are not unfrequent here: Mole's chamber, near the source of the Barle, commemorates the name of a rash yeoman who, plunging into the bog regardless of warning, horse and rider were swallowed up and perished in it. There are many barrows in the vicinity. In the warren are remains of a house once tenanted by a body of robbers, known as the Doones of Badgeworth, who began their cruelties here during the civil wars, but were at length exterminated; the whole neighbourhood having risen in arms against them, and succeeded in delivering them over to justice. GLENTHORNE (Rev. W. Halliday) is distant 8 miles, or by a coast-path 5 miles: the road mounts Countisbury Hill (1 miles), 1100 feet high, and after passing two ancient camps -Countisbury, 14 miles, and Old Barrow, 5 miles from Lynton-descends into the beautiful plantations round the mansion. Two other camps, called Holwell and Stock Castles, are in the neighbourhood; they probably formed part of a chain of hill-forts, erected by the Damnonii to guard against surprise by their enemies, the Morini. The tower of St. John's Countisbury was rebuilt 1847. PORLOCK (the land-locked harbour), in Somersetshire, is 13 miles distant from Lynton, and is well deserving of a visit for the magnificence of its scenery: the superb Dunkerry Beacon, 1668 feet high, rises on the side of Exmoor; on the other hand are the graceful curve of the Bay, the intermediate channel, and the mountains of Wales. The church of St. Dubricius contains effigies of a crusader, and of a knight and a lady. The original high altar remains, not as at Arundel and St. Mary Magdalene's Ripon, but standing here against the north wall of the chancel; the support is solid and richly panelled in the style of the fifteenth century: on the centre panel is a shield with the sacred wounds. Asplenium septentrionale may be found about the ninth mile-stone. Culborne (3 miles), with its diminutive church, may be visited from Porlock. It stands in a romantic oval cove, bounded by abrupt wooded hills, 1200 feet high; a further descent of 400 feet, relieved by foliage, slopes down to the beach. Horner-wood, with its stream of "laughing water," is the subject of a legend that reads like a fairy-tale. A knight of Porlock, and a fair lady of Clovelly, were betrothed: the knight was bound for a tournay in the brilliant court of France; and his lady-love, for fear of harm betiding him in the rough sport, placed in his breast a spray of oak, which had been dipped in the brooklet by a wizard who dwelt in the wood. A disappointed suitor of the lady's hand repaired to the magician for help the only advice he would give, was to rob the knight of his talisman; and this could only be achieved by the tempo : rary assumption of a swift bird's form. The rival became a Blue Bird; and having flown to the lists at Paris, plucked the amulet from Sir Albert's helm, at the moment he was meeting his adversary in full course. The horse fell: the heart of the rider was pierced. In the blood of the fallen knight the Bird dyed the branch, and swiftly returning, laid it at the feet of the lady, who was sitting beneath the spreading oak, her former trysting-place. The wood echoed to one shrill cry; the stream bore away a lifeless woman's form; the old wizard was dead in the cave; and the murderer remained a bird till he also died. But still, about the time of the anniversary, the voice of the swollen stream is loud, and the old folks called it the "loudvoiced," or Horner. The object of chief interest to visitors at Lynton is the Valley of Rocks. The terraced path, 300 feet long, which leads to it, is situated midway between a perpendicular wall of stone above and a terrific steep on the sea-side, to which there is a rapid slope. The upper precipices are covered with coppices of oak, which, with the ravines channelled by mountain-streams, are as marked features as the grand hills and cliffs of this coast. Suddenly the prospect changes to the mouth of a valley, grotesque and wild like a natural Druid's temple, bounded by naked piles of rock, bluishgray in colour, of fine-grained argillaceous grit, split into spires, or rising into the form of towers and turrets, lamellar, friable, and of loose texture. By some terrible convulsion of nature-an earthquake that shook them centuries since, or an avalanche of water which swept away every earthly particle-the fantastic fragments have been hurled on every side. The valley is mostly a stony desolation; but at intervals green herbage, ivy and moss, and in summer, the purple bells of folk's-glove, soften the general dreariness. Upon a foundation of precipices, along a hundred chasms from which the eye recoils, are ranged these rugged piles-wild, shapeless, gigantic crags-distorted, tilted, leaning, threatening to fall, as they slope in every direction; and among them the only sound is the roar of the ocean, or the scream of the carrion-bird. These rocks |