circular tower, rising high above the summit of the hill, which itself dominates the country, and the view stretching away in every direction was far-reaching and varied.  The castle has been gradually falling into ruin for the last six hundred years, but in its palmy days it must have been one of the grimmest and most awe-inspiring of the fortresses in the west country.  Scarcely another ruin did we see anywhere more imposing in location and more picturesque in decay.  Masses of ivy clung to the crumbling walls and all around spread a beautiful park, with soft, velvety turf interspersed with shrubbery and bright dashes of color from numerous well cared-for flower beds.

Not less unique is St. Steven’s church, the like of which is not to be found elsewhere in Britain.  Its walls are covered with a network of fine carving, vine and flower running riot in stone, and they told us that this was done by English stonecutters, though nearly all such carving on the cathedrals was the work of artisans from the continent.  The Launceston church is pointed to as an evidence that English workmen could have done quite as well had they been given the chance.  Aside from this wonderful carving, which covers almost every stone of the exterior, the church is an imposing one and has lately been restored to its pristine magnificence.  Launceston had its abbey, too, but this has long since disappeared, and all that now remains of it is the finely carved Norman doorway built into the entrance of the White Hart Hotel.

Our next day’s run was short, covering only forty-two miles between Launceston and Exeter.  For about half the distance the road runs along the edge of Dartmoor, the greatest of English moorlands.  A motor trip of two or three days through the moor itself would be time well spent, for it abounds in romantic scenery.  The road which we followed is a good one, though broken into numerous steep hills, but a part of the way we might as well have been traveling through a tunnel so far as seeing the country was concerned.  A large proportion of the fences are made of earth piled up four or five feet high, and on the top of this ridge are planted the hedges, generally reaching three or four feet higher.  There were times when we could catch only an occasional glimpse of the landscape, and if such fences were everywhere in England they would be a serious deterrent upon motoring.  Fortunately, they prevail in a comparatively small section, for we did not find them outside of Cornwall and Devon.  This experience served to impress on us how much we lost when the English landscapes were hidden—­that the vistas which flitted past us as we hurried along were among the pleasantest features of our journey.  It was little short of distressing to have mud fences shut from view some of the most fascinating country through which we passed.

The greatest part of the day we spent in Exeter.  The Rougemont Hotel, where we stopped for the night, is spacious and comfortable, and a series of stained-glass windows at the head of the great staircase tells the story of Richard Ill’s connection with Exeter; how, according to Shakespeare’s play, the Rougemont of Exeter recalled to the king’s superstitious mind an ancient prophecy of his defeat at the hands of Richmond, later Henry VII.