but as pebbles constitute nearly the whole shore for a hundred miles or more, you see that without a geological disturbance the immense supply must still go on. I picked up a fine specimen of red jasper, a pocket-pebble, and carried away a small crystalline lump of sulphate of lime from the face of the cliff, where it was kept in a state of moisture by percolation from the clay behind. The substance was tender enough to be cut with a knife, and the minute thread-like crystals of which it was composed could be easily separated one from the other. But as it dried, the lump became hard as limestone. If the walking be toilsome, there are many things to observe that will make you forget it: one is the mouth of the Sid, which, instead of being an open mouth, is dammed up so as to form a pool by the pebbles, and through these it oozes away timidly to the

sea.

Sidmouth has its fashionable quarter, and some of the pretentious artifices which watering-places usually invent for the amusement of visitors, while in the older streets, within a stone's throw, you may see houses roofed with unsophisticated thatch. The chief signs of life outside the esplanade are a few coal ships discharging cargo, a few boats, and the bathing-machines, with the row of capstans by which they are hauled up from the water; but turn your back to the sea, and round from right to left, the view is one not to be left unnoticed. High Peake, the cliff on the west, is a magnificent object. But the walk from Branscombe will have provoked an appetite for breakfast, and you will find

wherewith to satisfy it on reasonable terms at the Commercial Inn.

High walls again, as you go up the hill on leaving the town; but at length the view opens, and you see the vale of Sid, the town a mixture of red and gray, the houses in the rear straggling away to the fields, Salcombe Down opposite, cut in two by a white stripe of road, and the hills around more or less flat-topped. Within the woods that darken the hollows are pleasant nooks well known to visitors; and yonder is Sidford, where "the merry monarch" as he is called, after his hurried flight from Lyme, hid in a chimney, to escape the party in pursuit. The royal fugitive had to learn there were worse hiding-places than within the crooked arms of an oak. But chief, the red cliffs attract your eye; the bright green runners of plants and grasses hanging from the summits and shooting from the crevices, in beautiful contrast with the deep rich colour full against the sun.

In the neighbourhood of Sidmouth you may see an instance of what is often taught by the learned in such matters that the fertility of surface depends more on the underlying rock than on climate. The vale is less sheltered from the north than Lyme, yet having a soil composed of red marl and sandstone, occasionally mixed with gravel and greensand from the adjacent hills, it is much more fertile, as is evident to the eye. Lyme rests on the lias: hence the throwing out of rain, landslips, and a damp soil.

The shaggy crown of High Peake is one of those

places which print themselves, so to speak, on the memory, and remain prominent among the reminiscences of the Devonshire coast. The ground falls so rapidly inwards that you can see across the country for miles, away to a brown moorland range in the northwest. By steep, yet pleasant paths, you descend to Ladram Bay; now with scant room between the tall wheat and the edge of the cliff; now beating a fresh track across a field newly sown with turnips; now again on the open turf. At times the path appears to end against a bank with no visible outlet; but on coming up you find it has made a sharp turn to the right or left, and there will be a little stile of the most rustic construction barring the narrow passage through the hedge. In some places the way lies through such curious nooks and corners, that you will not find it without a little searching, and occasionally not at all; in which case there is nothing for it but to advance as best you can—the nearer the edge of the cliffs the less chance of losing the way.

Ladram Bay, three miles from Sidmouth, presents a strange assemblage of rock and island, cavern and promontory, some of the projecting masses arched or tunnelled, and the red shadow of the cliffs quivering in the glistening water below, where it rolls from the arches and plays among the rocks. The dottings of white and gray seen on the crags are colonies of birds, which seem to lead a pleasant life on their sunny perch, or floating with outstretched wing, as though conscious of appearing beautiful by contrast with the green sea

and the dark-hued precipice. Less fortunate in winter, they then become targets for the shots of adventurous sportsmen, who row into the bay and fire up at them from the boats. The cliffs here exhibit the several strata in well-marked horizontal bands; and if you are a botanist, the rare plants growing from the clefts will soon be transferred to your specimen-book.

Farther down, and there is the little coast-guard station, so happily situated, that whether it be rural or marine would be a nice question. While the man on duty, a hale old fellow, was directing me how to find the way through the lanes to Otterton, I could not but be struck by the difference between his instructions and those of a rustic. Your genuine peasant seldom succeeds in communicating topographical information; he omits the points most essential to the stranger, and exemplifies unconsciously the difference between education and the want of it. Yet have patience with him, and you shall find a substratum of shrewd common sense under that uncultivated exterior. And what endurance equals his? toiling on from year to year for nine shillings a week.

Otterton is a thorough Devonshire village-thatched cottages built of "cob," a material much used in all the southern part of the county. It is composed of the red gravelly earth mixed with straw, moistened, and trodden down to form the walls, one layer being left to harden before another is put on. When of the requisite height the two sides are trimmed smooth with a hayknife, and the outer surface is generally rough

cast. A cottage of four rooms and the etceteras can be built for 501. From eighteen inches to two feet is the usual thickness; but three feet is not at all uncommon in old walls, and a strange appearance they have, with their small deep-set windows. The floors are made of lime and ashes, which in time become almost as hard as stone. Sometimes these cottages are whitewashed; most are, however, left of their natural colour, and you may see a village completely red from one end to the other; and pretty enough they look, with their little flower-gardens in front, and honeysuckle and roses climbing to the thatch. But prettiest of all when you come upon a single cottage at the bend of a lane, where a spring bubbles out of the bank, or on the edge of a grassy opening; then the weatherworn thatch, the red walls, the glimmer of the casement, the thin curling smoke, all seen amidst the surrounding verdure, is a picture for the eye to dwell on. There is, however, another side to the picture: cob walls, when neglected, lose patches from the surface, the children grub holes, and the dwelling looks squalid and miserable. But when neglect has passed into decay, and the cottage becomes a ruin, then all is picturesque again, as you will discover by numerous examples.

The main street of Otterton was gay with flags and garlanded fir-trees, remains of a celebration held the day before. The "Women's Club" had brought in their year's product of lace-the factor was there on his annual visit to receive the delicate tissue-accounts were squared and balances paid-the women, serenaded