group of whitewashed buildings under
thatched roofs, more often a bleak granite building, built to withstand
the buffeting of winter storms, grey amid its setting of bare grey
ash-trees or twisted grey alders, with the brown hills behind and the
brilliant blue of the sky overhead. The air here is keen and brilliant;
there is an edge to all outlines, and a keenness to all colours, which
the softer and more humid air of sheltered country does not give. The
yellow of the primroses which cluster thickly in hollow and on bank has a
brilliance and delicacy which I have never seen in valley primroses, and
I cannot describe the exquisite clear rose of apple-blossom, above the
gnarled and twisted grey trunk, seen against this background of sombre
brown and dun, and the penetrating blue of moorland sky.

CHAPTER IV

LYNTON

And so, round a spur of the hills, and high above the wooded gorges of
the West Lyn, we come to Lynton.

It lies upon the north-western slope of a hill, deep among trees; the
few houses and hotels--which is all that it consists of--seem to have
their roots stuck deep into the ground, while their tall chimneys soar
above the tree-tops. If you are freakish-minded, indeed, you may pitch
cherry-stones down your neighbour's chimneys, for the houses stand one
atop of each other, clustering along the North Walk, which is cut round
the side of the cliff; some built high above the road, with steep green
banks of laurel and glossy dark myrtle; some built below it, so that as
you walk the chimney-pots and tall pointed gables lie within touching
distance of your hand. It is curiously unfamiliar to see houses from
such an angle, a perspective of the roofs, with the windows and doors
become unimportant; it is an aeroplane view of the world, or perhaps,
more properly, a bird's view, for you may pause and poise to look down
on Lynton and Lynmouth as no aeroplane at present can.

[Illustration: Lynmouth Bay and Foreland]

The stony white road from the station and from Lynmouth struggles up
the hill to a small open space--what in any Italian hill-town would be
called a piazza, though it is only a few score feet in extent--opposite
the church and the Valley of Rocks Hotel. This, I believe, is the only
level spot in the village, save a club tennis-ground, which has been
levelled out of the hillside, for the few shops or houses run
precipitately down the little side-streets, or up towards the top of
Hollerday Hil