Kingsbridge is a curious town, having a name that is a misnomer, for it possesses no bridge, there being no river. The estuary that runs some five to six miles in, at the head of which Kingsbridge stands, is a creek into which no river discharges, only brooks. It has several lateral branches--to Gerston, Frogmore, and South Pool, and at the mouth is Salcombe, a flourishing place, much in resort on account of the mildness of the climate, surpassing Torquay in this respect, and nearly as warm as Falmouth. The drawback to Salcombe is its distance from a railway. In Kingsbridge itself there is not much to be seen. The church is interesting, with a central tower and spire, and is curious as having been enlarged at various times, making the interior very inconvenient for the hearing of the preacher. Kingsbridge is actually in Churchstow. The town has drifted down from the high ground where was the fortified "stoke" to the quay, the "brig." The church in the town is a chapelry, and the erection took place in 1310. It is dedicated to S. Edmund the king and martyr, but why in the world they should have gone to the East Saxons for a patron I am at a loss to know. Churchstow belonged to the Abbey of Buckfast. One half of Kingsbridge is in the parish of Dodbrooke, where there is a good church with a fine old screen. There is a local ballad preserved relative to the departure of some troops for America quartered in the place in 1778-80, and there are old men in Kingsbridge who can recall the time when a detachment of military was there. The ballad runs:-- "On the ninth day of November, at the dawning in the sky, Ere we sailed away to New York, we at anchor here did lie. O'er the meadows fair of Kingsbridge, there the mist was lying grey; We were bound against the rebels, in the North America. "O so mournful was the parting of the soldiers and their wives, For that none could say for certain, they'd return home with their lives. Then the women they were weeping, and they curs'd the cruel day That we sailed against the rebels in the North America. "O the little babes were stretching out their arms with saddest cries, And the bitter tears were falling from their pretty, simple eyes, That their scarlet-coated daddies must be hurrying away, For to fight against the rebels in the North America. "Now God preserve our Monarch, I will finish up my strain; Be his subjects ever loyal, and his honour all maintain. May the Lord our voyage prosper, and our arms across the sea, And put down the wicked rebels in the North America." There are a good many objects of interest in the neighbourhood. Combe Royal is an old house much modernised, where lemons and oranges are golden in the open air, and the blue hydrangeas lie in masses under the trees.