162 PROSPECTS. 



below. Perhaps the tide is out, and the long ledges 

 of rock are exposed, alternating with little spots of 

 shingle. The bathing machines are drawn down to 

 the water's edge, and the singularly-attired priestesses 

 of the bath are carrying out little girls in flannel 

 gowns, and duckiog them in the wave. Ladies are 

 speckling the grey rocks with their gay dresses and 

 parasols as they sit in the sun, and merry children 

 are sailing their tiny boats in the pools, or digging 

 up the pebbles with their toy-spades. 



We proceed, and gradually open the dark, iron- 

 bound coast of North Devon, as far at least as the 

 Bull point, a bluff promontory, black and frowning, 

 that projects far into the sea. Far out upon the horizon 

 appears Lundy Island, like a band of blue ribbon, 

 dark and palpable. As we wend farther round, we 

 descry Worms Head, a distant mountain, the termi- 

 nating point of a long line of coast, stretching away 

 upon the northern horizon. This is the opposite side 

 of the Bristol Channel, and those hills that we can 

 just discern, rising range beyond range, are the 

 mountains of South Wales. 



But if we turn our eyes to the scene round about, 

 we shall find much to admire. The varying effects 

 of light and shadow on these great breadths of angu- 

 lar rock ; the inclination of their strata, at an angle 

 of 45° to the horizon ; the fissures that run directly 

 across these, some filled with the quartz deposits, 

 others gaping ; the greasy gleam of the shale in some 

 places, the singular light-bay tint in others that 

 makes one think the sun's rays are falling on the 

 spot and are clouded elsewhere, — may all claim a 



