462 
THE FISHING GAZETTE 
[June 17, 1893 
THE RIVERS OF DEVON 
FROM SOURCE TO SEA* 
This delightful book, consisting of 3b0 pages, 
descriptive of the rivers of Devon, with some 
account of the towns and villages on their banks, 
is by the author of “ An Exploration of Dart¬ 
moor and its Antiquities,” “ An Exploration of 
Exmoor and the Hill Country of West Somerset," 
“ Okohampton : its Castles,” &c., and is therefore 
the work of no ’prentice hand. It is divided 
into seventeen chapters, and is beautifully 
printed on good paper. The illustrations, of 
which there are twmnty-one (including four 
etchings) are works of art, and one glance will 
set the reader longing to visit the scenes so 
admirably portrayed. 
The word “river” has a peculiar fascination 
for the angler; and every follower of the beloved 
master who is fortunate enough to peruse this 
charming description of the rivers of the West 
wnll find that the interest is sustained from the 
very first line to the finish. 
The angler pure and simple, whose time in this 
last decade of the nineteenth century is limited, 
may regret that the volume is not wholly devoted 
to his beloved sport; but the ideal angler (whom 
I have in my mind’s eye) would be hard indeed 
to please were he other than deeply interested in 
this instructive and entertaining work. 
To attempt to follow the author in his wander¬ 
ings “through scenery 
of every description— 
through scenery of 
moorland, of woodland, 
of pasture, of wave- 
washed rock—through 
scenery that only Devon 
can show,” would be to 
us a pleasant task ; but 
it must be left for the 
reader to begin at the 
preface, and, meta¬ 
phorically taking the 
hand of the author 
(J. L. W. Page), wander 
with him by the sides 
of all these rivers 
“from source to sea,” 
when we can promise 
him that he will not 
find a dull or unin¬ 
teresting page in the 
whole volume. 
One great charm 
which this work pos¬ 
sesses is its frankness; 
and although the author 
frecjuently breaks into 
pathos and poetry, he 
is not slow in calling a 
spade a spade. He 
very naively tells his 
readers not to trust 
the Devonshire mile. He says : “ Multiply every 
distance given (especially in out-of-the-way 
districts) by two; occasionally by three. ‘ As 
long as a Devonshire mile ’ is a common saying 
in the West Country, and the rustic would 
make it longer still. Sometimes, however, he 
will double the distance. Here is an illus¬ 
tration of both methods. On one occasion, 
when about five miles from Torquay, I was told 
that the distance was three, although a minute 
before it had been given at ten. In short, the 
country people have no idea of distance, and 
almost always underestimate it.” 
In describing the characteristics of the rivers, 
the author says: 
“The mighty throes of the great mother that 
caused the upheaval of Dartmoor, and in a lesser 
degree of Exmoor too, have given us one of 
the loveliest of English counties, and certainly 
the loveliest of English streams. 
“ For this is why our Devon rivers have such 
brief existence; this is why many measure but 
two-score miles from source to sea, and as many 
more are of leng'’\ even less. Not onlv is the 
county bounded north and south by the ‘ salt 
water,’ as 1 once heard a Welsh farmer pic¬ 
turesquely term the sea, but no less than half of 
« “The Rivera of Devon from Source to Sea.” By 
John Llotd Warden Page. London; Seeley and Co., 
Limited, Essex-street, Strand. 
them rise iu the very centre, fifteen to eighteen 
hundred feet above the waters of the two channels, 
and from a neighbouring height you may see the 
blue expanse right well, and on a clear day the 
ships too. A descent of a couple of hundred feet 
in a single mile is nothing for these mountain- 
born streams.” 
The places of interest along the route are 
graphically described and abound with anecdote. 
Speaking of Dartmoor, we are told it is not a 
place to he dealt with delicately: 
“ But if you keep clear of fogs (and bogs) you 
can come to no harm, and you will see rock and 
boulder, hill and valley, torrent and tor, multi¬ 
plied almost unceasingly, and the latter at all 
events, changing its appearance strangely at 
every hundred yards And you will see tints of 
blue and purple, and ochre, and I know not how 
many other colours, changing unceasingly too, 
as the cloud shadows move majestically over the 
waste, a silent but mysterious host. And, if you 
will, you can get into the clouds themselves, and 
that not seldom either ; for this Dartmoor reaches 
2000 feet above the sea.” 
The reader is taken, commencing towards the 
rising sun, to the Axe, the Otter, the Exe, the 
Culm, the Teign, the Dart, the Avon, the Ernie, 
the A^ealm, the Plym, the Tavy, &c., Ac. 
“ First of Devon’s thousand streams, 
Silver Axe ! ” 
But, although we must perforce leave him to pick 
out the gems he loves best, we cannot refrain 
from quoting the following : 
“ The view from the churchyard is fine. Almost 
due north runs the valley of the Quarme, closed at 
the head by the long purple swell of Dunkerry. 
To the left niaj^ be traced the windings of the 
valley from Winsford, the heathery upland of 
Winsford Hill rising over the green pastures of 
the lower slopes. A horn sounds below. Up the 
road from Dulverton comes with fine cheery 
rattle the ‘Wild West ’ coach enroute for Dunster 
and Minehead. Keep your eye on that opening 
there where a bit of the road can be seen, and 
you will catch sight of the driver—Tom Baker 
—and box-seat passengers, perhaps even of the 
gaily-painted vehicle itself swinging up the 1 
valley as fast as four good horses can travel. I 
I There they go—a goodly company! Their faces j 
' cannot be seen, but if they are not exhilarated by | 
^ this bracing moorland air—they ought to be. \ 
As we approach Dulverton the hills become 
higher and more densely wooded. Promontory 
j succeeds promontory, sometimes threatening to 
j block the valley altogether. But the river, now 
widening rapidly, though still sliding shallow 
over ‘ shingly bars,’ finds for itself a way. 
, Presently sweeping into a green strath, bounded | 
by a steep wooded hill on the one hand and the j 
bracken-besprinkled park of Baronsdown on the 
' other, we come upon a crumbling ruin.” 
Again, as we journey from Tiverton to the 
sea, we begin by crossing to the western bank of 
river, which is spanned by a picturesque old 
bridge of five arches. This spot bristles with 
historical associations, and as we pass Bickleigh 
we are regaled with an account of that extra¬ 
ordinary character, Bamfylde Moore Carew, son 
of the Rev. Theodore Carew, born in 1693, and 
styled the “King of the Beggars.” He died in 
1759, “a melancholy instance of misused talents; 
an exhibition of a living lie.” 
In the course of our wanderings we come to 
the rambling village of Christow, “ which is 
a pretty place.” But methinks the contemplative 
.angler will not quite agree with the author when 
he says “ the dulness of life in these far-away 
hamlets must be something appalling"; for 
what can bo more delightful to the jaded dweller 
in the busy city than a sojourn in such a calm 
and peaceful spot! 
We read still further in this charming book 
that there is nothing particularly interesting 
about the hamlet of Postbridge; but at the inn 
there is a “Visitor’s Book,” in which a gentleman 
put his praises into verse, and, after expressing 
the satisfaction he felt at the dissection (and 
possibly digestion) of a fowl, finishes thus : 
“ Let the stately swells go on 
To their dinners a la mode; 
But, oh, for the taste of that vanished hen, 
At the inn on the Dartmoor road ! ” 
The sportsman is very rudely treated indeed. 
The trout fisher who 
bewails the weather 
and the water, is 
gravely informed that 
failure is possibly due 
to his want of skill; 
while the fowler, who 
slew, according to his 
own account, a phe¬ 
nomenal number of 
snipe, is warned that 
“ all liars shall have 
their portion,’’ &c. 
There is some little 
consolation to the 
angler, even in the 
“Visitors’ Book,” to 
know that snipe 
catchers are included 
in the exaggerator's 
category. We have 
said enough to whet 
the appetite of all who 
love to ramble by the 
river, yet, if space 
would permit, we should 
like to reproduce one 
or two examples of the 
quaint epitaphs which 
may be found in some 
of the Devonian village 
churchyards. Should 
the hoi id ay-seeker be 
an adept in the art of casting the fly, he cannot 
do better, when in the neighbourhood of Dulver¬ 
ton, than seek the shelter of the hospitable inns 
known as “ The Lion ” and “ The Lamb.” A feel¬ 
ing of calm and peace pervades us as we near the 
end of this charming work; and it seems only 
natur-al that the lion and the lamb should be 
found in such friendly juxtaposition. 
The description of the Docne Valley and the 
anecdotes of the Doones, with which we reluctantly 
close the book, are familiar to all who have 
read the thrilling pages of Blackmore’s greatest 
romance; and we will imitate the author of The 
Rivers of Devon ” by quoting the following, by the 
late R. W. Baddeley (“ The Dales of Devon ”):— 
“ Rivers that gleam ; the red decay 
Of woods upon their russet floors; 
Highlands and hills that far away 
Rise blue and quiet from the moors : 
Slopes red with fallows, green with leas ; 
Lands roll’d and slanted; field and flood ; 
White halls and, over villages. 
Towers, here and there, of God.” 
Mr. Wiieeley landed a trout at the Tumbling 
Bay, Shepperton, on Tuesday; a full-grown fish, 
with a hooked under-jaw. This fish was red 
spotted, and of a brilliant yellow colour, as bright 
as a new sovereign. It weighed three pounds, 
and is evidently one of the trout introduced from 
THE EXE AT BICKLEIGH BRIDGE. 
