the better sort, from the magnificent pitcher in the shape of a swan that adorns my washhand-stand to the afternoon tea-table, where Devonshire cream flows as freely as the milk and honey of the promised land of Israel. On our drive over from Camelford, Walter, for the sake of saying something to the driver, from whom he says he generally learns more than from the London Times, asked whether he should find Devonshire cream at Boscastle.

You would have laughed if you could have seen the shake of the head and the lift of the shoulders with which this loyal son of Cornwall emphasized his contempt for the products of an adjoining county. "No, Cornish cream," was the curt reply. We all laughed, and the man, with a comfortable sense of having the best of the situation, became quite loquacious, pointing out to us places of interest that we passed, flourishing his whip with pride toward Brown Willa, the highest hill in Cornwall, toward Willa-Park Point, which bold headland is crowned with a tiny white observatory, and toward the new hotel at Trevenna, a substantial castellated building, which to the bucolic mind is of far more importance than the ruins of King Arthur's castle near by.

The afternoon was so perfect that we were

tempted out for a walk by an enticing headland path, which follows the windings of the tortuous Boscastle harbor, to a seat high above the sea, from which we had a fine view of the sun setting behind the great boulders of Tintagel Head. Beyond lies King Arthur's castle, "Dundagel by the Cornish sea," a realm of mystery and romance which we shall soon explore.

September 6th. This has been heaven's own day for beauty of sea, shore, and sky. I need not tell you that we have spent the greater part of it in walking through the one street of Trevenna, or Tintagel as they seem to call it now, a graceful concession to the importance of the castle of Dundagel or Tintagel, which dominates the whole region hereabouts. Nearly all the buildings of the little hamlet are quaint and picturesque. The village post-office is especially charming with its moss-grown eaves and many peaks, gables and chimneys. Angela was much more successful in getting a picture of this building than of the castle. The vastness of the ruin and the irregularity of the foundations, a part on the mainland and the larger portion upon a wild craggy headland reaching out into the sea, made it quite impossible to include the whole on one film.

After securing the key of the castle, which we found, as directed by our guide-book, at the little refreshment house in the valley, we crossed a narrow path over a chasm three hundred feet deep and climbed up many rock-hewn steps to the iron door that leads into the great banqueting-hall of King Arthur. Beyond are the outlines of several rooms, the remains of a chapel, high battlemented walls supported by noble buttresses on the cliff side, and two perfect doorways.

Although we failed to be thrilled by "King Arthur's cups and saucers, the right royal king's bed," or even his "footsteps imprinted on the solid rock where he stepped at one stride across the chasm to Tintagel church," on the hill beyond, we were deeply impressed by the strength and dignity of what is left of this onceimpregnable fortress. Even in its ruinous state it recalls the descriptions that reached the ears of Uther Pendragon when he set forth to capture Dundagel and to possess himself of the fair Igernia: "A castle so munified by art and nature, and of so narrow an entrance over the sea and rocks by a drawbridge and chain, that three armed men could hold at bay an army on the mainland." You remember that it was only by the aid of Merlin's strategy and magic that