The Portland daily press., 1886-10-27

thls aged pilgrim beyond the sight of earthly
friends. The servants were furnishing the
brasses and setting the house in order to
await the coming of the new heir.
A niece, and close companion of Mrs. Ire
lawney, took us to the window opening upon
the banks of murmuring brook, which pur-
sued its curling pathway through the park.
On the opposite shore she pointed to the on
ly two which have survived of the pine
trees, which the Maine Historical Society
sent from the Trelawney plantation at Spur
wink to Rev. c. T. c. Trelawney. She told
us how closely her aunt and uncle had
watched these saplings, and with what re-
gret they saw one after another die. When
they were planted the old gentleman invited
his nephew, the future heir of the manor, to
assist him in setting them out upon the an
cestral grounds, as living seal and witness
of the titles of property owned in the New
World by his enterprising ancestor. One
may become acclimated but both were puny,
and looked as if they were enervated by the
rich soil and too gentle breezes of their
adopted home. Trees, whose seeds are ger
minated beneath the SHOWS of Maine, and
whose limbs are made sturdy by constant
battling with the winds and tempests do not
thrive in the tender nursery Of Southern
Devonshire. twas personal disappoint-
ment to miss the face to face friendship with
Mrs. Trelawney, with whom pleasant ac-
quaintance had been formed by correspon-
dence.
From Plymouth we took the railway to
Biddeford; and thence late one afternoon we
started ON a drive to Clovelly. Not that tn is
place possessed any historic interest, but its
sweet name and the graphic snatches of de-
scription given us by friend on the eve of
our departure had fingered. for the whole year
in our memories, and settled us into an unal-
terable resolve at all hazards to see the place
with our own eyes. AS is often the case in
various parts of Old England, the landscape
here presents such a striking resemblance to
familiar localities bearing the same name at
home that we do not wonder the early ad-
yenturers in the wilds of New England
called their rude clearings for their dear
homes in their mother country. Many times
in tracing the origin Of the first settlers in
New England, the missing links could readi-
ly be found by turning to the vicinity of the
same name in the old country; but unfsrtu-
nately during the troubled times of the kings
Charles the First and Second and Of Crom-
wells rule, many of the parish records were
either imperfectly kept or destroyed AS
we wound around the bay, crossing the flats,
and turned inland through rather sterile
country, where we caught glimpses of distant
rocky cliffs, we could imagine we were driv-
ing on our own shore by the mouth of the
Saco, across Cape Arundel and Cape Por-
poise.
The ride to Cloyelly is very monotonous,
since the high hedges ON either side. des-
cribed so often as a charming feature in Eng
lish landscape. Shut out every possible
glimpse of the beautiful scenes through
which the traveller is passing, and unless
one is seated on the drivers box or top of a
stage, he must content himself with the little
framed picture of rural England which he
gets straight ahead, framed in by the long
rows of thorn bushes. Our faith in the
charms of Cloyelly had nearly ebbed away,
when the driver halted at rustic lodge
whose gateway gave peeps of long vista OF
sylvan mysteries, lighted by fiery streaks
from the sinking sum- and turning to us with
tone of deep regret said, 'The gate is
closed, we cannot enter by the 'obby drive. -
Whatever this 'obby drive might be we que
ried much, and thinking it some foreign
word his thick tongue could not master, we
pictured to ourselves all sorts of weird and
fascinating bits of scenery we had missed
We could only wall and lament, too latei toe
late! and submit most reluctantly to being
dragged at tedious pace by equine power
over dusty road for full two miles. We
afterwards found the 'obby was pleas.
ure drive through the estate of Clov-
ely Court, in which the former lady
of the manor took so much pride
that II gained the name of Madame Fane's
Hobby Turning abruptly from the high.
way, our wheels ratified over the stones OF
a narrow English lane. which slowly twisted
its way into the top of the road" running
through the queerest old town we have yet
seen in England. Ever and anon as we
looked ahead, afew onward steps threatened
to bring us to a standstill in somebody's
back yard. The cottagers were all gathered
in little groups about the door steps, where
the men were smoking their pipes or whit
Ting sticks, the women were busily knitting,
for their work is never done, and the young
men and maidens were initiating their lords
and superiors in athletic sports From their
eagerness to look us all over and their lively
conversation, we fancied they saw some
thing remarkable in the dress or manners OF
the newcomers. The rocks were whirling
over our heads on their way to the quiet
rookery for their nights repose, the children
and chickens had all come home to roost on
the fences and gates, while the swallows
lifted in and out of their nests beneath the
caves of the thatched roofs. Herethe narrow
road, paved as roughly as if the stones were
sunk by the waves of the surging sea, de-
scended such steep declivity that we won
deied what would come next, and were
heartily glad when the jolting ceased and
we rested to take breath on bit of level
ground. Being hidden to alight, we found
ourselves at the summit of still sleeper
path, where absolutely nothing was to be
seen. We cautiously hobbled over the rude
payements, between high embankments, un-
til the road became SO precipitous the way
was cut into stairs and built up with cobble
stones. AT a corner of the way we reached
an opening where we stood nearly on level
with the roofs of the houses in the town.
This was Clovelly by the sea, which the
stranger should never approach from the
shore, but always from the cliff if he would
fully appreciate the oddities of the place.
This one road of rocky stairs keeps twisting
about in its serpentine course for full mile
to the beach. Clovelly is as unlike Venice
as the sea and Alpine cliffs in most respects,
yet like Venice, its repose is not broken by
the rumbling of wheels. neither is the tread
of horse or mule heard within its borders.
No matter how weary the traveller, or in
firm the aged pilgrim may be, he must plod
up and down its stony street to embark on
the sea or cross the thoroughfares of inland
commerce. 1t is a very ancient town, where
have been reared many brave men, who
have sailed the seas and encompassed the
wide world to pour the riches of far off lands
into England's treasury; or who have as
sisted in the famous naval conflicts to bring
home the trophies of war. These brave sail
ors once played on the beach and took their
first lessons in navigation by padding about
Clovelly's bay in their rude slxiffs, just as
we saw the lads of this generation.l
M.C.P. B.
4<s<<Y XIV