itants,
with thriving trade and manufactures, and modern improvements are in
evidence everywhere.

The cathedral, though not one of the largest or most imposing, is
remarkable for the elaborate carving of the exterior. The west front is
literally covered with life-sized statues set in niches in the wall, but
the figures are all sadly time-worn, many of them having almost
crumbled away. Evidently the Roundheads were considerate of Exeter
Cathedral that such a host of effigies escaped destruction at their
hands; and they were not very well disposed towards Exeter, either, as
it was always a Royalist stronghold. Possibly it was spared because the
Cromwellians found it useful as a place of worship, and in order to
obtain peace and harmony between the two factions of the army the
cathedral was divided into two portions by a high brick wall through the
center, the Independents holding forth on one side and the Presbyterians
on the other.

The road from Exeter to Torquay follows the coast for some distance,
affording many fine views of the ocean. We were now in the "limestone
country," and the roads are exceedingly dusty in dry weather. The dust,
in the form of a fine white powder, covers the trees and vegetation,
giving the country here and there an almost ghostly appearance. No
wonder that in this particular section there is considerable prejudice
against the motor on account of its great propensity to stir up the
dust. So far as we ourselves were concerned, we usually left it behind
us, and it troubled us only when some other car got in ahead of us.

Torquay is England's Palm Beach--a seacoast-resort town where the
temperature rarely falls below forty degrees, thanks to the warm current
of the Gulf Stream; and where the sea breezes keep down the summer
heat, which seldom rises above sixty degrees. It is especially a winter
resort, although the hotels keep open during the year. Most of the town
is finely situated on a high promontory overlooking a beautiful harbor,
studded with islands and detached rocks that half remind one of Capri.
From our hotel window we had a glorious ocean view, made the more
interesting for the time being by a dozen of King Edward's men-of-war,
supposed to be defending Torquay against "the enemy" of a mimic naval
warfare.

On the opposite side of Tor Bay is the quiet little fishing village of
Brixham, the landing-place of Prince William of Orange. We reached here
early on a fine June day when ev