“The soote season that bud and blome forth brings;”
when the apple orchards—prides of Devon—are in full blossom; the hawthorns have donned their snow-white draperies; the gorse its garment of gold; and every hedgerow is rich in the hundred hues of flowers that herald summer: while all the hill-slopes and meadows, “in verdure clad,” seem rejoicing over the prospective abundance that Nature promises to healthy toil. We have passed through the fifty-three miles that separate Exeter from Plymouth. It would be hard to find in any part of the world, in equal space, a road so lavishly endowed with gifts of the fertile and the beautiful. Part of the way by the open sea, then by estuaries, then by the banks of broad rivers, then by narrow and rapid streams, then under the shadows of tree-clad hills, green from base to summit, with frequent views of prosperous towns and happy villages, with venerable churches continually showing their tall spires above the tree-tops—in thoroughly rural England, far from the tall chimneys and dense atmosphere that betoken manufactures and their results—the railway runs through many scenes of surpassing loveliness, any one of which might tempt the traveller who is in search of either health or pleasure, with assurance of an ample supply of both.
The Great Western conveys us from Paddington to Exeter. We leave Exeter by the South Devon Railway (proverbially well managed, in all respects): it may take us to Penzance; but its great station is midway, at Plymouth, where has been recently erected for the especial accommodation of railway travellers and tourists, an admirable hotel (the Duke of Cornwall—there is none more comfortable in the kingdom).[11] Here we arrest the tourist, in order to visit the promontory of Mount Edgcumbe, that occupies one side of the famous harbour.
First, however, let us glance at the several points of interest that claim our attention en route. Leaving Exeter and its many attractions other than its renowned Cathedral, we first reach the marine village of Starcross, opposite to which are old Topsham (full of memories of our own boyhood, when “a stranger yet to pain”), and young Exmouth; stately villas and pretty cottages occupy slopes of the hill range. Then, at Dawlish, a graceful village, we front the sea, and pass some singular rocks of red sandstone, that stand like sentinels along the shore—and here, it may be well to note, some extraordinary inroads upon the sea-wall of the railway have lately been made by the ocean—Teignmouth and Shaldon come next, towns on both sides of the river Teign, connected by a narrow wooden bridge more than a quarter of a mile in length. We next arrive at Newton Junction, where a railway branch conducts to Torquay and Dartmouth; soon afterwards Totnes is reached, an old town on the Dart, one of the most beautiful of all the rivers in Devonshire, whence a steamboat issues daily to visit Dartmouth. Here we have left the sea, and have only in view rich pasture land—ever green, the hills tree-clad to their topmost heights. Passing Brent and Kingsbridge Stations, Ivy Bridge next comes in sight, a deep dell, over which a viaduct passes: a dell of singular beauty, one of the finest in all Devonshire. Soon we pass Cornwood and Plympton,—the latter famous as the birthplace of Sir Joshua Reynolds,—and, skirting the Plym, enter Plymouth.
The eye is at once arrested by a sylvan spot, running out into the sea, beyond the docks, and their manifold adjuncts; a mass of greenery, unbroken except by trees of varied foliage, that rise continually in groups, from all parts of the promontory that, thus seen, seems an island.
The admiral of the “Invincible” Armada had taste, at least, in fixing upon Mount Edgcumbe as his dwelling-place, when settled in the country he was “about” to conquer. God’s providence gave the invader a different locality; and the beautiful domain continues to be, as it was then, the home of the family of the Edgcumbes, now earls of “that ilk.”
Mount Edgcumbe is in Cornwall; but until recently it was a part of Devonshire; the Act of Parliament that removed it from one county to the other dating no further back than 1854. But Acts of Parliament have done other wonders in this district, for it was only in 1824 that an act was passed giving to the town of “Plymouth Dock,”—or, as it was then generally called, “Dock,”—the new and more pretentious name which it now holds of Devonport. The “Mount” is about half a mile across the bay which divides it from the now “united” towns of Devonport, Stonehouse, and Plymouth, which, together, contain a population of 150,000 “souls.” From any of the adjacent heights, especially the Hoe at Plymouth, we obtain a glorious view of the road-stead—fortified everywhere. In mid-distance is seen the Breakwater, one of the marvels of engineering art; and far off, yet within view, the famous lighthouse—the Eddystone, some fourteen miles from the nearest shore. Between these objects and the port are, at all times, many ships of the navy: they rule the waves of ocean in the seas that encircle earth; and Plymouth will be especially glorified when the triumphs of British sailors, from the admiral to the able seaman, supply subjects of discourse.
The Breakwater, one of the most gigantic works in the kingdom, lies in Plymouth Sound, where it forms a line between Bovisand Bay on the east, and Cawsand Bay on the west. It is about three miles from Plymouth, and is a mile in length. In form it is a straight line, with a kant or arm at each end, branching off towards the shore. At its eastern end a clear passage between it and the Bovisand shore of about a mile in width is left for ships, while at the western end the passage is about a mile and a half in width. The idea of the Breakwater originated with Earl St. Vincent in 1806, and Mr. Rennie and Mr. Whidbey surveyed the Sound for the purpose. In 1811 the plan was decided upon. The first stone was deposited on the birthday of the Prince Regent (afterwards George IV.), 1812. In 1817, and again in 1824, much damage was done to the progressing work. The quantity of stone used in its formation is estimated at about four millions of tons, exclusive of about two millions and a half of tons of granite and other stones used for paving, facings, &c. At the east end is a beacon, and at the west end a lighthouse 60 feet high. The spirited engraving of this gigantic undertaking, which we here give, is taken from Mr. Jewitt’s recently published “History of Plymouth,” where it forms one of many illustrations. The view, as will be seen, is a kind of bird’s-eye, and shows the form of the Breakwater, with its new central fort and its lighthouse and beacon.