Sir Coplestone's, was a poet, and among
his verses occurs this charming sonnet, on that not unknown event in
Devon--a Wet Summer:

'All ye who far from town in rural hall,
Like me, were wont to dwell near pleasant field,
Enjoying all the sunny day did yield--
With me the change lament, in irksome thrall,
By rains incessant held; for now no call
From early swain invites my hand to wield
The scythe. In parlour dim I sit concealed,
And mark the lessening sand from hour-glass fall;
Or 'neath my window view the wistful train
Of dripping poultry, whom the vine's broad leaves
Shelter no more. Mute is the mournful plain.
Silent the swallow sits beneath the thatch,
And vacant hind hangs pensive o'er his hatch,
Counting the frequent drip from reeded eaves.'

Poltimore is nearly two miles east of the Exe, and if a straight line
across country were followed to the river, the traveller would arrive
almost at the point where the Culm flows into the larger stream. The
valley here is rather broad, and the river winds between pleasant, rich,
green meadows and wooded hills, most of which rise in gentle, easy
slopes. Not quite two miles north of Exeter, the Exe turns due south,
and is joined by the Creedy, running south-west. Westcote, in flowery
language, describes the scene, painting a picture which would stand good
to-day, but that nearly all the mills are gone. Cowley Bridge, 'built
of fair square stone,' stands just above the junction, 'where Exe
musters gloriously, being bordered on each side with profitable mills,
fat green marshes and meadows (enamelled with a variety of golden
spangles of fragrant flowers, and bordered with silver swans), makes a
deep show, as if she would carry boats and barges home to the city; but
we are opposed by Exwick wear, and indeed wears have much impaired his
lustre and portable ability, which else might have brought his
denominated city rich merchandise home to the very gates.'

Here one may leave the Exe to follow the Creedy upstream for five miles
or so, till Crediton is reached. 'Creedy' comes from the Celtic word
_Crwydr_, a hook or crook, a name that its tortuous way must have
earned. The river runs between crumbling banks of soft earth, and shifts
its course a little after any great flood. It is curious to notice the
difference after heavy rains between the Exe and the Creedy, for while
the former will be still a comparatively clear b