It is remarkable that the Devonshire dialect prevails in Cornwall above a diagonal line drawn from Padstow to Saltash, on the Tamar; west of this and below it the dialect is different. This is probably due to the Cornish tongue having been abandoned in the west and south long subsequent to its disappearance in the north-east. But this line also marks the limits of an Irish-Gwentian occupation. The dialect is fast dying out, but the intonation of the voice will remain long after peculiar words have ceased to be employed. The "z" has a sound found nowhere else, due to the manner in which the tongue is turned up to the palate for the production of the sound; "ou" and "oo" in such words as "you" and "moon" is precisely that of the French _u_ in "lune." Gender is entirely disregarded; a cow is a "he," who runs dry, and of a cock it is said "her crows in the morn." But then the male rooster is never a cock, but a stag. The late Mr. Arnold, inspector of schools, was much troubled about the dialect when he came into the county. One day, when examining the school at Kelly, he found the children whom he was questioning very inattentive. "What is the matter with you?" he asked testily. "Plaaze, zur, us be a veared of the apple-drayne." In fact, a wasp was playing in and out among their heavily oiled locks. "Apple-drayne!" exclaimed Mr. Arnold. "Good gracious! You children do not seem to know the names of common objects. What is that bird yonder seated on the wall?" And he pointed out of the window at a cock. "Plaaze, zur, her's a stag." "I thought as much. You do not know the difference between a biped and a quadruped." I was present one day at the examination of a National School by H.M. Inspector. "Children," said he, "what form is that?" "A dodecahedron." "And that?" "An isosceles triangle." "And what is the highest peak in Africa?" "Kilima Ndjaro." "Its height?" "Twenty thousand feet." "And what are the rivers that drain Siberia?" "The Obi, the Yenesei, and the Lena." Now in going to the school I had plucked a little bunch of speedwell, and I said to the inspector, "Would you mind inquiring of the children the name of this plant?" "What is this plant?" he demanded. Not a child knew. "What is the river that flows through your valley?" Not a child knew. "What is the name of the highest peak of Dartmoor you see yonder?" Not a child knew. And this is the rubbish in place of education that at great cost is given to our children. Education they do not get; stuffing they do. They acquire a number of new words, which they do not understand and which they persistently mispronounce. "Aw my! isn't it hot? The prepositions be runin' all hover me." "Ay! yü'm no schollard! I be breakin' out wi' presbeterians." The "oo" when followed by an "r" has the sound "o" converted into "oa"; thus "door" becomes "doar." "Eau" takes the sound of the modified German "ü"; thus "beauty" is pronounced "büty."