8 
FERT^T COMBES. 
“ But Devonshire ! mother dearest !” exclaim the 
trio, what is there to be seen in Devonshire ?” 
“ I don’t know exactly,” answers the quiet voice, 
“ hut I have heard it is very beautiful ; you know 
there is Lynton and Lynmouth,” and there the 
mother’s knowledge of Devonshire scenery begins 
and ends. 
However the voice in the corner has it its own 
way ; and the party start for the wilds of the West, 
after expending sundry sums of money on brown 
hats, camp stools, sketch books and pencils, not 
forgetting a tin botanizing case and a quire or two 
of botanical drying paper, for the father is some- 
thing of a botanist and “ means to take it up a 
little this summer.” 
Do you know what it is to love the country 
thoroughly ? To rejoice in Nature’s wildest, grand- 
est scenes, and yet to have your lot cast either in a 
town where you see nought but smoke and houses, 
or in a country where all around nothing meets the 
eye but low fens, peaty dykes, and alder bushes, 
save, where far away, the dim outline of a great 
cathedral rises against the sky, man’s substitute 
for mountains ? If you love the country, then you 
know the intense delight it is to catch a view of 
distant hills. At first they are but a purple line 
on the horizon ; then as one approaches they gra- 
