were to go down the river in boats. As to that, everybody knows
Symond's Yat, Monmouth, Raglan Castle, Tintern Abbey, Chepstow; but
at Bristol a brilliant idea took possession of Jack Copley's mind.
Long after we were in bed o' nights the blessed man interviewed
landlords and studied guidebooks that he might show us something
beautiful next day, and above all, something out of the common
route. Mrs. Jack didn't like common routes; she wanted her
appetite titillated with new scenes.

At breakfast we saw the red-covered Baedeker beside our host's
plate. This was his way of announcing that we were to "move on,"
like poor Jo in "Bleak House." He had already reached the
marmalade stage, and while we discussed our bacon and eggs and
reviled our coffee, he read us the following:-

"Clovelly lies in a narrow and richly-wooded combe descending
abruptly to the sea." -

"Any place that descends to the sea abruptly or otherwise has my
approval in advance," said Tommy.

"Be quiet, my boy."--"It consists of one main street, or rather a
main staircase, with a few houses climbing on each side of the
combe so far as the narrow space allows. The houses, each standing
on a higher or lower level than its neighbour, are all whitewashed,
with gay green doors and lattices." -

"Heavenly!" cried Mrs. Jack. "It sounds like an English Amalfi;
let us take the first train."