A HOLIDAY IN DEVONSHIRE. 65 



the estuary of the Exe and skirted the sea wall at Dawlish 

 and Teignmouth ; but we by-and-by became conscious of 

 something uncommon, and awoke to find the train brought 

 to a standstill in the midst of the purest country sur- 

 roundings. 



An hour or two before a luggage train had wrecked, and 

 our passage was now stopped. In the freshness of the 

 balmy morning we had men, women, and children to 

 tumble out of the carriages, and struggle with bag and 

 baggage through a couple of fields, across a country lane, 

 and up a high bank of nettles and brambles, to a train'com- 

 posed of odds and ends of rolling stock, hastily constructed 

 and despatched from Totnes. The ruined engine, getting 

 off the line, had plunged madly into a field, torn up the 

 earth a yard deep, and finally capsized, exhausted and 

 smashed and twisted into a marvellous variety of fantastic 

 forms. We arrived at last, fishing impedimenta and all, at 

 our improvised train, panting, and with boots well yellowed 

 by the buttercups. Being less than a mile from Totnes, I 

 deserted my fellow passengers, left the few labourers who 

 could be hastily gathered together transferring Her Ma- 

 jesty's mails and the contents of the luggage van to the 

 new train, and strolled on towards Totnes, where the 

 stoker of the hapless engine lay on a death-bed of ex- 

 cruciating agony. The sun, newly risen, shone upon this 

 singular picture of wreck and confusion in a frame of rural 

 fertility, and the sleek Devon herds and a few open- 

 mouthed rustics looked on in astonishment at the novel 

 occurrence which had taken place amongst their promising 

 orckards and richly- cropped fields. 



The Dart at Totnes is a very sober-minded river. That 



