46 BRIXHAM. 



miles on the right hand of the road gave occasion to 

 discuss the legendary history of the Pomeroy family 

 to whom it belonged. In particular, the story of that 

 redoubtable Baron who slew the King's herald sent to 

 arrest him for high treason ; who then gained pos- 

 session of the Monastery on St. Michael's Mount by 

 assuming the disguise of a monk, and who caused 

 himself to be bled to death when unable longer to 

 maintain it against the royal forces. And the romance 

 of his two sons, who rather than yield their castle to 

 be dismantled, leaped on horse-back from the preci- 

 pice on which it was built. 



The little town of Brixham, pretty as it appears 

 when viewed from Torquay, is but a sordid affair 

 when you see it at hand. The lower town particularly 

 is close, mean, and dirty ; indeed, truth to tell, I saw 

 refinements in filth here, which I had never the fortune 

 to see parallelled in all my wanderings. The place 

 looked, with sonle exceptions, pretty much as one 

 may suppose it to have looked in the days of the 

 Plantagenets or the Stuarts, stationary, when all 

 around is advancing. " Fast place this !" said my 

 fellow traveller of the morning, with an arch leer, as 

 he saw me resume my place on the box to return, 

 after the day's exploration. 



The scenery on either hand, when once clear of 

 the harbour, is bold and magnificent. The coast is 

 rocky and precipitous, (the town itself appears 

 strangely stuck upon precipices, reaching from top to 

 bottom) and is indented with little coves, the most 

 picturesque imaginable. Berry Head, a noble pro- 

 montory of compact limestone, rears its lofty head 



