But, sad to relate,
before nine o'clock on the morning of November 10th in that same year
scarcely a vestige of the improvements remained, and in place of a small
rippling stream came a great river, which swept away four houses with
stables and other buildings and eight wooden bridges. It seemed almost
as if the devil had been vexed with the prospectors for interfering with
his water, and had caused this devastation to punish them for their
audacity. But a great effort was made in 1818, and a more permanent
scheme on similar lines was completed; and Dawlish as we saw it in 1871
was a delightful place suggestive of a quiet holiday or honeymoon
resort. Elihu Burritt, in his _Walk from London to Land's End_, speaks
well of Dawlish; and Barham, a local poet and a son of the renowned
author of _Ingoldsby Legends_, in his legend "The Monk of Haldon," in
the July number of _Temple Bar_ in 1867, wrote:
Then low at your feet,
From this airy retreat,
Reaching down where the fresh and the salt water meet,
The roofs may be seen of an old-fashioned street;
Half village, half town, it is--pleasant but smallish,
And known where it happens to _be_ known, as Dawlish.
Pages:
996
997
998
999
1000
1001
1002
1003
1004
1005
1006
1007
1008
1009
1010
1011
1012
1013
1014
1015
1016
1017
1018
1019
1020