STAG-HUNTIXa ON EXMOOR 



We sons of Devon are, I doubt not, too prone to 

 dwell and enlarge upon the fact that we are not 

 quite as other men, that w^hen all things were made 

 none was made better than this, our land of sunny 

 skies and mystic moors, of lane and hedgerow, 

 of sea and river, where the balmy fragrance of 

 Torbay invites the winter, and the chill grandeur of 

 Exmoor repels the summer's heat; with goodness 

 overflowing from Porlock to Penzance ; the home of 

 traditions and folkspeech that mark us out a people 

 meet to enjoy the wholesomest clime under the 

 canopy of heaven. 



I say we are too apt to allow these matters to 

 weigh with us, and breed a smiling contentment 

 and ease of living perhaps not good for those who 

 shall come after us — for those who may be forced 

 to quit their native soil and sojourn among aliens 

 of sharper wits and noisier mode of life. Soft as a 

 Dartmoor bog the South Devon man has been 

 found by those of northern blood, who in mean 

 ways despoil him. Yet if history doth not lie. 



