FERNY RAMBLES IN SOUTH DEVON. 
High up in these same trees the blue sky peeps 
at us through an opening, the blue being how- 
ever momentarily obscured by the steam which is 
puffed up from the station yard. Such little 
incidents are somewhat trivial, but the tourist 
knows how much life they sometimes add to 
a scene. They in fact make up much of the 
difference between a picture and the reality. A 
town without motion or sign of human existence 
would be dull and uninteresting to look upon, 
however picturesque it might otherwise be; and 
trees and fields and streams without moving 
life, however rich in colouring and grand in aspect, 
would lose more than half their charms. But we 
must not digress. 
About a mile from the town our road com- 
mences to skirt one side of the Dartington Wood 
on the right. The sun is shining brightly, but at 
this spot arching trees on each side of us envelop 
the path in dark shadows. A little distance fur- 
ther on, we reach a point in the road where a 
rushing stream comes out of and flows for some 
distance by the side of the wood. The scenery 
at this spot is beautiful almost beyond descrip- 
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