But short of those Bouches du
Rhone, the railway turns to the north, toward Montpellier and
'Arli, dove il Rhodano stagna.'
And at Cette ends this little tour from Ocean to Sea, with the wish
that he who next travels that way may have as glorious weather, and
as agreeable a companion, as the writer of these lines had in 1864.
VI. NORTH DEVON {225a}
I.--EXMOOR.
We were riding up from Lynmouth, on a pair of ragged ponies, Claude
Mellot and I, along the gorge of Watersmeet. And as we went we
talked of many things; and especially of some sporting book which we
had found at the Lyndale Hotel the night before, and which we had not
by any means admired. {225b} I do not object to sporting books in
general, least of all to one on Exmoor. No place in England is more
worthy of one. There is no place whose beauties and peculiarities
are more likely to be thrown into strong relief by being looked at
with a sportsman's eye. It is so with all forests and moorlands.
The spirit of Robin Hood and Johnny of Breadislee is theirs.
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