FERNY RAMBLES IN SOUTH DEVON. 45 



town nestling down a little below us, the houses 

 just seen between the leafy interstices of the 

 arching trees which overhang the road we have 

 already passed. High up in these same trees the 

 blue sky peeps at us through an opening, the 

 blue being however momentarily obscured by the 

 steam which is puffed up from the station yard. 

 Such little incidents are somewhat trivial, but 

 the tourist knows how much life they some- 

 times add to a scene. They in fact make up 

 much of the difference between the picture and the 

 reality. A town without motion or sign of human 

 existence would be dull and uninteresting to look 

 upon, however picturesque it might otherwise be ; 

 and trees and fields and streams without moving 

 life, however rich in colouring and grand in aspect, 

 would lose more than half their charms. But we 

 must not digress. 



About a mile from the town our road com- 

 mences to skirt one side of the Dartington Wood 

 on the right. The sun is shining brightly, but at 

 this spot arching trees on each side of us envelop 

 the path in dark shadows. A little distance 



