CHANNEL PORTS— AND SOME OTHERS 



15 



of the Tamar, the rippling river that di- 

 vides Devon and Cornwall, and looked 

 over at the rocky land beyond. Its gaunt 

 moors, where the rocks break easily 

 through their crusts of ungenerous soil, 

 the great barren cliffs stepping down 

 roughly to a tempestuous sea, contrasted 

 unfavorably with Devon's luxuriant val- 

 leys. 



His majesty looked at the swift cur- 

 rent and shook his head. "No !" he said 

 finally, "No, that's no place for me ! 

 Every one who goes there is turned into 

 a saint and everything else into squab 

 pie. I'm fit neither for one nor the 

 other !" And he stayed in Devon. Now, 

 on whom is the joke? 



There has been much attempt recently 

 to compare Polperro with Clovelly, on 

 the Bristol Channel ; but why make com- 

 parisons? Some one is sure to be hurt 

 and no one helped. Yet as it is not very 

 easy to get anywhere from Polperro, 

 which is 6 miles from Bodinnick Ferry 

 and Fowey and 4 from Looe by the hill- 

 iest of roads, and quite off the line of 

 railroads, we can almost as cheerfully 

 take the "long jump" to Clovelly now. 



But before that let us look attentively 

 at Polperro, at its closely huddled houses, 

 built on and in and of the rock ; its roses 

 and fuchsias and clematis, which bloom 

 as luxuriantly as in southern climes ; for 

 these rock clefts are sheltered from win- 

 ter winds and warmed by the southern 

 sun ; at its little rock-bound gleaming 

 harbor, where at high tide the boats rock 

 lazily and at low water a thousand silvery 

 gulls pick up their dainty feet discreetly 

 in the ooze : at its steep, slippery cliffs, 

 whence one has such glorious breezy 

 views of sea and rock and headland, and 

 of the warm sheltered valley at one's 

 feet (see pictures, pages 17 and 19-22). 



POLPERRO KNOWS XO "DRUMMER" 



Let us glance at the net-making and 

 boat-mending and sail-painting, at the 

 big baskets of wicked brown crabs, at the 

 conger hanging on the scales, at the big, 

 quiet men, who work on undisturbed by 

 the foreign visitor. No one asks if you 

 wish anything, no one offers to sell or to 

 hire. They will welcome you at the tiny 

 inn if you go, but the mistress will not 



seek you out. You may hire a boat if 

 you like, but no one will ask if you wish 

 to. 



Polperro attends to its own business, 

 and that does not include catering to 

 tourists. There are always artists at 

 Polperro. They and the fishermen ob- 

 serve each other, become friends, per- 

 haps ; but business is not mentioned be- 

 tween them. 



"the most exquisite vieeage in 

 Engeand" 



Clovelly fills a rock cleft on the north 

 Devon shore as Polperro does upon the 

 southern Cornish one, but there all com- 

 parisons end. Clovelly may be still an 

 earnest fishing village, but her looks belie 

 it. "The most exquisite village in Eng- 

 land" some one called her, and she de- 

 serves the title (see pictures, pages 24 

 and 26-29). 



From the coach-road where, at the top 

 of the cliffs, you enter upon Clovelly's 

 one street, to the sea ; or, if you come by 

 boat, from, the harbor to Hobby Drive, 

 and the public road, everything is dainty, 

 elegant of its kind, groomed to impos- 

 sible perfection. No whitewash gleams 

 whiter or bluer or more delicately yellow 

 than here at Clovelly; no roses, fuchsias, 

 clematis, nor lilies bloom in more profu- 

 sion ; no trees are richer and greener, no 

 vines more luxuriantly graceful, than 

 there. Never a bit of paper litters that 

 one stony street, more staircase than 

 roadway; no speck of dust mars shining 

 windows or spotless curtains ; no noise 

 of railroads, of trolley cars, of traffic, 

 breaks the soft stillness of this village of 

 delight. 



Plodding up the street on little clatter- 

 ing hoofs comes a string of tiny gray 

 donkeys, bolting now into one house door, 

 now into another, seeking a level spot to 

 rest, and twitching their sympathetic ears 

 impatiently as each time they are per- 

 suaded out and up again. Down the 

 street goes a long procession of tourists 

 arriving by coach from Bideford or Bos- 

 castle, stopping at every house to "Oh !" 

 and "Ah !" and perhaps to buy souvenirs 

 or to eat strawberries and clouted cream. 



It is upon these hordes of tourists, who 

 all the summer days go up and down this 



