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