We had a short walk in the direction of Princetown, where the prison was situated, but we were not at all favourably impressed by the appearance of the country, without a house in sight except the inn where our refreshments were being prepared.  Presently we met an official in uniform, who told us the prisoners were not always kept inside the prison, but were employed in making and repairing roads and fences and in cultivating land.  He pointed out some men a long distance away who were so employed, and strongly advised us not to go any farther in that direction.  The only objects of interest on the Moor, beyond the tors and the views from their summits, were the antiquities, which in that part were particularly numerous, for without leaving the road between the prison and Merridale there could be seen a cluster of hut circles, a kistvaen, a menhir, and a double line of stone rows, and within a short radius many other relics of prehistoric man, as well as one or two logans or rocking-stones.  We therefore returned with him to the inn—­for even an antiquary cannot live on stones; he ought to be well supported with both food and clothing to enable him fully to explore and appreciate the ancient relics of Dartmoor.  Our refreshments were quite ready and were soon put out of sight, and, as we had a downward gradient to the River Tavy, we had made up for our delay when we crossed the bridge over the river and entered the town of Tavistock.

The earliest history of Tavistock was no doubt associated with the prehistoric remains on the hills above, if that had been written; but as early as the tenth century Orgarius, Earl of Devon, in consequence of a dream, decided to build a magnificent abbey there, and to dedicate it to St. Mary.  He began to build it in 961, but as he died before it was completed, his son Ordulph completed it in 981 and endowed it with the manor of Tavistock and others.  Ordulph was also a nephew of King Ethelred, and, according to tradition, was a giant able to stride across a river ten feet wide.  Orgarius had not only left a gigantic son, but he had also left a daughter of such surpassing beauty that her fame spread all over England; and Edgar, who by that time was king, hearing of the wonderful beauty of Elfrida, sent his favourite—­Athelwold—­to her father’s castle to ascertain if her beauty was such as had been reported.  Athelwold went on his mission, but was so struck and bewildered with Elfrida’s beauty that he fell violently in love with her himself, and when he returned he told Edgar that Elfrida was not so beautiful, but was rich and more fit to be the wife of a subject than a king.  Edgar therefore consented to his favourite’s marriage with her; but the king, discovering that he had been deceived, insisted on paying Athelwold a visit at his home in Devonshire.  Athelwold craved permission to go home and prepare for the king’s visit, which was granted, and with all possible haste he went and, kneeling before his wife, confessed all,