igos!] 'Through Devonshire 



Glion ? — Ah, twenty years, it cuts 

 All meaning from a name! 

 White houses prank where once were huts. 

 Glion, but not the samel 



And yet I know not! All unchanged 

 The turf, the pines, the sky! 

 The hills in their old order ranged; 

 The lake, with Chillon by! 



In London, after Kellogg's departure, we were 

 house guests of the Herbert Hoovers, though un- 

 fortunately during their absence. On short tours Motoring 

 from this hospitable refuge we first motored in the 

 car of our host to near-by places of note, next on a 

 longer tour through Devon and Somerset. 



As a man of Devon lineage I can well understand 

 the saying in "Lorna Doone," "No Devon man nor 

 Somerset either ever did more work than his Maker 

 made him." In Kilhampton church on the edge of 

 Cornwall, I found the effigy of one of my excessively 

 remote kinsmen, Sir Beville Grenville, grandson of Someoj 

 Sir Richard Grenville ^ of the Revenge. On the sar- ^^J^^^'"' 

 cophagus of Lady Grenville and Sir Beville, the 

 latter "slain by rebels of Ross," is carved a "prize 

 poem" by Martin Llewellyn of Oxford: 



Thus slain, our valiant ancestor doth lie 

 Where his one bark a navy did defy 

 Where now encompassed round the victor stood 

 And bathed his pinnace in the conquering blood. 

 With all his purple current dyed and spent 

 He fell and made the waves his monument. 

 Where shall you next find Grenville's ashes stand ? 

 Thy grandsyre fills the seas and thou the land ! 



1 " Sir Richard Grenville was a magnificent barbarian who hunted red Indians 

 for sport, treated Spanish prisoners as slaves, and ate wineglasses out of bravado. 

 His splendid bravery resulted in the loss of the only war-ship taken in Eliza- 

 bethan times." O. A. POLLARD 



C i6i a 



