the north coast of Devon, when I visited the very fine parish church of Coombe Martyn. This noble church possesses an exceedingly fine rood-screen that has not been demolished. The church possesses something else of interest—a very intelligent, quaint old parish clerk.
As I was admiring the screen, the old man, who was dusting in the church, came up to me and said: "Please, your honour, have y' ever heard tell why the screen-doors niver shut?"
I expressed my doubt that this was so.
"Now, do y' go and look at ivery old church screen you seez," said the clerk. "If it ho'n't been meddled wi' by them blessed restorers, you'll find for sure sartain that the oak doors won't shut. Zur, see here. Here be the doors. Try 'em; they can't be made to shut."
I answered that the wood had swelled, and the joinery was imperfect.
"No, your honour," said the old man. "If you look close, you'll see it was made on purpose not to fit."
On examination it certainly did appear that the doors in question never could have been
