Descriptive letterpress printed opposite this photograph:

CASCADES ON THE LYN, NORTH DEVON.

FEW rivers present so much that is both picturesque and beautiful, in so short a distance, as the lovely Devonshire stream that rolls joyously down the valley of East Lyn!

The stream rises in Exmoor, and, though its whole length is not more than ten miles, it is the last two miles from the cascades above Watersweet down to the sea that are so beautiful two miles of the most romantic scenery in the West of England. Whether you pursue the path by the river at the bottom of the valley or gorge, or by the road above–which displays a totally different phase of loveliness–the views are perfect. One never tires of the moss-covered path by the river’s side by day, interlaced with sunshine and shadow; by night, when the moon is up, a glimpse of fairyland! The distinctive feature of the scenery of the Lyn is the juxtaposition of rich woodland slopes crowded with ferns and brilliant flowers, deep glens of semi-tropical luxuriance, and ever and anon, glimpses of the bright sparkling sea. One would believe himself miles away inland, but that between twining branches of green foliage and grey stems you everywhere catch occasional gleams of the same boundless ocean blue. As you draw nearer the sea there are no bare cliffs and breezy downs, but, instead, abyss after abyss of hanging wood, and climbing creepers, soft sunlight and chequered shade!

The Lyn is not one of those streams flowing through quiet meadows and brown hamlets a river sunning itself in broad open tracts rich with corn or sleeping beneath the shadow of grey church-towers but an impetuous hill-stream, tumbling down an ever-deepening valley, in glimmering cascades through ferns, and flowers, and leafy woods to the sea.

“Ah! what wild haste! and all to be

A river and expire in ocean;

Each fountain’s tribute hurries thee

To that vast grave with quicker motion.

“Far better ’twere to linger still,

In this green vale these flowers to cherish,

And die in peace, an aged rill,

Than thus a youthful Danube perish.”

And ever, as naturally as the river rolls down to the sea, so do the bolder spirits among the Devonshire folk gravitate to the ocean. For centuries the seamen of Devon have held a foremost place in the roll of England’s naval heroes, and in Elizabethan days were almost suckled in a feeling of deep hatred of the Spaniards and Spanish cruelty, and one of mild contempt for the French.

And to sea they went! sailing ever in the wake of the setting sun, inspired by the bold daring of the Elizabethan sea-kings, the dreams of Raleigh and other great men of that great age, No fanfaronnade, no waste of words marked their departure on these expeditions in search of the unknown. “We’m off, to make our fortunes or to go to heaven” was the only announcement briefly expressed in homely Devonshire idiom.

” Our bodies in the sea so deep,

Our souls in heaven to rest!

Where valiant seamen, one and all,

Hereafter shall be blest.”