. Highways and byways in Devon and Cornwall. with littleuncanny gleams, and sticking perhaps to some older recollectionwith which they had nought to do originally, but with whichthey blend quite charmingly ; and so the stories grow and astriking legend is manufactured quite unconsciously out of nextto nothing. Tavistock is certainly a very lovely town. It is set in a deepvalley of rich pastureland around the banks of the RiverTavy, sheltered by dense woodlands over which the hills risebare and rugged, cutting off the winter storms from everyquarter. Turn where you will in the old town streets,
. Highways and byways in Devon and Cornwall. with littleuncanny gleams, and sticking perhaps to some older recollectionwith which they had nought to do originally, but with whichthey blend quite charmingly ; and so the stories grow and astriking legend is manufactured quite unconsciously out of nextto nothing. Tavistock is certainly a very lovely town. It is set in a deepvalley of rich pastureland around the banks of the RiverTavy, sheltered by dense woodlands over which the hills risebare and rugged, cutting off the winter storms from everyquarter. Turn where you will in the old town streets, youwill see the wild downs rising over these lovely woods and hearthe noisy river singing over stones and boulders of all thewonders it has seen upon the moor. This sound of rushingwater fills the town. You lose it for a moment as a heavywaggon passes ; and then as the horses strain away with thelumbering thing, once more the steady singing fills the air,occupying ones mind with fancies, and drawing ones stepstowards the abbey bridge. Mli!. Here idleness is a virtue. [To face p. 151 ix TAVISTOCK CELEBRITIES 151 This bridge is the true centre of the town of Tavistock, awondrous place for reflection and romance. It was long sincepointed out by qualified observers that a bridge across arunning stream conduces to idleness. Yes, but much comes ofidleness in such a spot as this. Here idleness is a virtue ; andhe is the bad man who hastens by with no more than apassing thought for the brown water foaming under the oldbridge, the dark pools round which it swirls, the trailing ivywhich hangs in the cool shadow of the arches, the weir overwhich the river boils a few yards further on, the salmon ladderby its side, and the leaping of the fish in the still pool beyond,where the rush and turmoil of the fall is carried under waterby its own weight and the foam and bubbles may be seenglistening below the unrippled surface. Black and broken bywhite rapids, the river hastens on, flashing over b
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