. The North Devon coast. his is the en-trance to the Glenthorne grounds, which are notso strictly private as the stranger might the gateway, the path continues, borderedhere with laurels and fir-trees, and so dips downtoward the mansion, built in 1830, in the domesticGothic style, on a partly natural terrace, threeparts of the way down the wooded cliffs and hill-sides that go soaring up to a height of five hundredfeet. The house is situated exactly on the border-line of Devon and Somerset, and is in the loneliestsituation imaginable; having, indeed, been inthe old days a favour
. The North Devon coast. his is the en-trance to the Glenthorne grounds, which are notso strictly private as the stranger might the gateway, the path continues, borderedhere with laurels and fir-trees, and so dips downtoward the mansion, built in 1830, in the domesticGothic style, on a partly natural terrace, threeparts of the way down the wooded cliffs and hill-sides that go soaring up to a height of five hundredfeet. The house is situated exactly on the border-line of Devon and Somerset, and is in the loneliestsituation imaginable; having, indeed, been inthe old days a favourite spot with the smugglersof these coasts. It was built, and the grounds 6 42 THE NORTH DEVON COAST enclosed, by the Reverend W. S. Halliday, a personwhose eccentricities may yet be heard of atLynmouth. One of his pecuhar amusements wasthe sardonic fancy for burying genuine Romancoins in places where it is thought no Romans everpenetrated, with the expressed idea of puzzlingfuture antiquaries. It seems—since he cannot. GLENTHORNE. be there to chuckle over the jest—a strange kindof humour. The long ascent from Glenthorne, through thewoods, is extraordinarily tiring, beautiful thoughthose woods be, and aromatic with piny carriage-drive, zigzagging up, is steep, anda halt by the way, every now and then, moregrateful and comforting than even a famous cocoais advertised to be. But that ascent in the shade THE COAST 43 is a mere nothing to the further treeless ascentto the coach-road, under the July sun. Baregrassy combes, and white roads that wind roundthe mighty shoulders of the hills exhaust thewayfarer, who at last, taking on trust the pre-historic camp of Old Barrow, perched on a steepheight, gains the dull highway with a sigh of daresay a good many of the sardonic Mr. Halli-days Roman coins are buried in Old Barrow,awaiting antiquarian discovery. The way back to Lynmouth, crossing Countis-bury Common, has some beautiful glimpses awayon the left, over th
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, booksubjectdevonen, bookyear1908
