ch on the first bit of land he saw. As Brent Tor is
far inland, the fog story sounds the more probable, for there is no
saying how mist wreaths may drift. The church is dedicated to St Michael
de la Rupe, and here another tradition comes in, for it is popularly
supposed that, when the building of the church was begun, the devil
pulled away all the day's work in the night. At last St Michael came to
the rescue, and hurled such an enormous mass of rock upon the devil that
he fled away and hindered no more. The building is very tiny, and a
countryman told me that as a child he used to be puzzled by the cryptic
warning: 'If you get into the second aisle of Brent Tor Church, you will
never get out again.' Of course--there is no second aisle.

The beauty of many of the places on the banks of the Tamar is
celebrated. Among the exquisite woods and lawns of Endsleigh--through
which one Duke of Bedford cut no less than forty miles in rides--the
river twists and winds for a long distance at one point, and curves
round almost into a ring. A little farther south are Morwell Rocks,
which Mr Norway had the good fortune to see in the spring. 'The trees
stretch far away along the river, dense and close to the water's edge, a
mountain of gold and sunny green, broken in the midst by a high grey
crag, which stands up sheer and grey amid the mass of gorgeous colour.
This is the first peak of a great range of limestone cliffs, which for
the most part, as the hill sweeps round above the village of Morwellham,
are hidden in the woods. But when that tiny cluster of cottages and
wharves is left behind, the stream creeps closer to the hill, and it is
as if the buried rock stirred and flung the coppice off its shoulders,
for the limestone precipices rise vertically out of the water to a vast
height. The summits are weathered into most fantastic shapes, pinnacles
and towers break the skyline, and wherever a crevice in the rock has
allowed the lodging of a little earth, some oak-tree roots itself, or a
wild tangle of greenery drops down the scarred surface of the cliff.'

A little farther down, the Tamar and the Tavy join, and with the Cornish
Lynher form the Hamoaze--a view of land and water that is very
admirable. It is not a scene whose dimly realized charm grows gradually
stronger, but one whose triumphant beauty is beyond dispute. The
innumerable creeks and inlets, the rich abundance of foliage and
pasture, and the sweeping sense of spaciousnes