There is a homeliness in the harbour that draws the visitor away from the exotic front, and it is to the harbour he first resorts when he revisits Teignmouth, for it seems almost to welcome him back. There, up stream, is that hoary old landmark, the long bridge that spans the Teign, which is 1,671 feet in length, and was built in 1827, and is the longest wooden bridge in England. “Further on,” as the guide-book says, “are the gas-works.” It is only too true, and they might, with advantage to the scenery, be still further on; but in that case they would not get their coal barged cheaply up to the very walls, which everybody knows to be a greater consideration than the preservation of mere scenic amenities. Away in the misty distance are the tors of Dartmoor, prominent among them Rippon Tor and Heytor Rocks, grey-bearded—as you know when you have visited them—with sage-green lichen, and altogether very reverend and inscrutable. They seem with a grave benevolence to welcome you back. [Illustration: THE NESS: ENTRANCE TO THE TEIGN.] Above Teignmouth is Haldon, that vast expanse of tableland whose heights we first saw from Exmouth, and whose range—marked on maps “Great Haldon” and “Little”—extends across the whole of the back country between Exe and Teign. He who, in search of fresh air and vigour on some stewing day in the Teign valley, essays to climb from Teignmouth to Little Haldon, comes, very soon after he has set out, and very long before he has arrived, to the conclusion that the “littleness” of Little Haldon is a misnomer; for the way is long and the road steep. But once there, you are in another and more bracing climate, where the air is keen and charged with the scent of the bracken and the heather that clothe the wild moorland. From Haldon you look one way to the Exe and the other to the Teign, and, standing in one and the selfsame spot, can see both, for it is an exceeding high place. The solitude of it is perhaps intensified to some by the fact of Teignmouth’s cemetery being here; but it is a large and a populous place, and to those of us who knew in life many who lie here, this is no solitude. God rest them. The summer sun that shines on Haldon shines no more for them, nor winter storms blow. Although Teignmouth has its literary and artistic associations, it does by no means obtrude them upon the stranger, who, indeed, only discovers them after some considerable pains, and is perhaps regarded as a little eccentric, for his trouble. Two poets—Winthrop Mackworth Praed, and John Keats—have described the town, and although Praed was not actually born here, the connection with the family was close, the Bitton property belonging to his father, who lies in the churchyard of West Teignmouth. Bitton, in fact, only passed from the Praeds in 1863. The poet was born in 1802 and died in 1839, when member of Parliament for Aylesbury.