guessed at. In 1807 there is a very different, but also
unusual, item:

'Mr Sowden's huntsman for killing a fox, 3s. 4d.'

To return to Mr Brown's 'Record,' the memoranda are followed by a long
and very interesting list of 'Parochial Superstitions,' some of which,
but not all, are generally known. He also tells one or two stories with
a caustic touch where he might have suggested a supernatural atmosphere.

'"The Parsonage is haunted." This has been asserted for 100 years, at
least. It is still asserted, and proved too by the following story,
invented by Jacob Wright, a lively servant of mine in 1814. "'Jacob,'
said my master, 'come into my room. I am going to lay the ghost--don't
be frightened.' Well, we went in, and frightened enough I was when I saw
the ghost fly out of the window with _Master's hat and wig_."'

If only Mr Brown had had enough imagination to omit the word 'invented'!
His eyes must have twinkled again while he was enjoying the following
speech: 'It is reported that a calf with two heads has been seen in Hare
Lane. Hannah Splatt says: "Though I have walked about as a nurse at all
hours, I never saw anything _more frightful_ than myself."' The italics
in both cases are his. Superstitions are followed by a long list of
words that strike him (who must have come from 'up the country') as
peculiar, though many of them are commonly used to-day. And he makes one
delightful quotation. In mentioning the fact that Devonshire people say
'to' where others say 'at'--far instance, 'working to blacksmith's,' or
'living to Exeter'--he writes: 'Dr Atterbury used to say that if he had
been Bishop of Exeter, the Devonshire folks would have called him Dr To
Terbury.'

Rejoining the Teign, one descends a valley very beautiful, but less
striking than Fingle Gorge, the sides wider apart and less high, but
thickly wooded. It is especially lovely in late March or early April,
when the woodbine wreaths give an earnest of what the spring's full
touch will bring, and buds are bursting and tiny quilled leaves showing
on the hazels scattered among the oaks that form the chief substance of
the coppices. Near Dunsford lies a sea of blue-green daffodil spears,
with the pale gold flowers showing among them. These flowers push up
among the rustling brown leaves, under interlacing branches overhead,
but at a turn of the river a large flat meadow spreads out before one,
and here the daffodils indeed 'dance' in their myriads. Just b