als 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.

Leaving Exeter early, we planned to reach Bath in the evening--only
eighty-one miles over an almost perfect road--not a very long run so far