race our way back to Liskeard. It was too late now to think of
proceeding on our journey, and sleeping at the next town on our line of
route.

Returning in a new direction, we found ourselves once more walking on a
high road, just as the sun had gone down, and the grey twilight was
falling softly over the landscape. Stopping near a lonely farm-house, we
went into a field to look at another old British monument to which our
attention had been directed. We saw a square stone column--now broken
into two pieces--ornamented with a curiously carved pattern, and
exhibiting an inscription cut in irregular, mysterious characters. Those
who have deciphered them, have discovered that the column is nearly a
thousand years old; that it was raised as a sepulchral monument over the
body of Dungerth King of Cornwall; and that the letters carved on it
form some Latin words, which may be thus translated:--"PRAY FOR THE
SOUL OF DUNGERTH." Seen in the dim light of the last quiet hour of
evening, there was something solemn and impressive about the appearance
of the old tombstone--simple though it was. After leaving it, we soon
entered once more into regions of fertility. Cottages, cornfields, and
trees surrounded us again. We passed through pleasant little valleys;
over brooks crossed by quaint wooden bridges; up and down long lanes,
where tall hedges and clustering trees darkened the way--where the
stag-beetle flew slowly by, winding "his small but sullen horn," and
glow-worms glimmered brightly in the long, dewy grass by the roadside.
The moon, rising at first red and dull in a misty sky, brightened as we
went on, and lighted us brilliantly along all that remained of our
night-walk back to the town.

I have only to add, that, when we arrived at Liskeard, the lachrymose
landlady of the inn benevolently offered us for supper the identical
piece of cold "_corned beef_" which she had offered us for dinner the
day before; and further proposed that we should feast at our ease in the
private dungeon dining-room at the back of the house. But one mode of
escape was left--we decamped at once to the large and comfortable hotel
of the town; and there our pleasant day's pilgrimage to the moors of
Cornwall concluded as agreeably as it had begun.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] I visited St. Cleer's Well, for the second time, ten years after the
above lines were written; and I am happy to say that two gentlemen,
interested in this beautiful ruin, are about to rest