t reach Brent Tor, is famous for its wild
gorge. It stands on the edge of Dartmoor itself, and from it country of
wonderful beauty may easily be reached. All around are hills and
heather-carpeted moorland; yet a short railway journey will take you
from this far-away village to busy Plymouth, Okehampton, or Launceston,
the border town of Cornwall.

Here, where winds sweep from any direction across great wastes of moor,
or from the sea, health and quiet are to be found more easily than in
any popular holiday resort or fashionable spa.

[Illustration: _Brent Tor Church_]

[Illustration]

THE PARSON AND THE CLERK

All real old stories of long ago should begin with "Once upon a time,"
and so, once upon a time there was a Bishop of Exeter who lay very ill
at Dawlish, on the South Devon coast, and among those who visited him
frequently was the parson of an inland parish who was ambitious enough
to hope that, should the good bishop die, he would be chosen to fill his
place.

This parson was a man of violent temper, and his continued visits to
the sick man did not improve this, for his journey was a long and dreary
one, and the bishop, he thought, took an unconscionable time in dying.
But he had to maintain his reputation for piety, and so it happened that
on a winter night he was riding towards Dawlish through the rain,
guided, as was his custom, by his parish clerk.

That particular night the clerk had lost his way, and, long after he and
his master should have been in comfortable quarters at Dawlish, they
were wandering about on the high rough ground of Haldon, some distance
from the village. At last, in anger, the parson turned upon his clerk
and rebuked him violently. "You are useless," he said; "I would rather
have the devil for a guide than you." The clerk mumbled some excuse, and
presently the two came upon a peasant, mounted upon a moor pony, to whom
they explained their plight.

The stranger at once offered to guide them, and very soon all three had
reached the outskirts of the little coast town. Both parson and clerk
were wet through, and when their guide, stopping by an old, tumble-down
house, invited them to enter and take some refreshment, both eagerly
agreed. They entered the house and found there a large company of
wild-looking men engaged in drinking from heavy black-jacks, and singing
loud choruses. The parson and his servant made their way to a quiet
corner and enjoyed a good meal, then, feel