s'
may ever diminish. Westcote comments on the name. 'Of some it is
supposed that the river takes name of the swiftness of the current; the
like is thought of the river Arrow in Warwickshire, and of the Tygris in
Mesopotamia, which among the Persians doth import a shaft.'

There is a saying that 'the river "cries" when there is to be a change
of wind. "Us shall have bad weather, maister; I hear the Broadstones
a-crying." The Broadstones are boulders of granite lying in the bed of
the river. The cry, however, hardly comes from them, but from a piping
of the wind, in the twists of the glen through which the turbulent river
writhes.'

Many tales on the Moor speak of the amazing swiftness with which a
freshet will suddenly swell and sweep down, an overwhelming flood. Only
a few years ago a farmer was crossing a very safe ford when he saw the
freshet coming, and tried to hurry his horse, but before he could reach
the bank the torrent caught his cart and overturned it, and he and his
horse were drowned.

'River of Dart, O river of Dart,
Every year thou claimest a heart.'

The ominous couplet springs from no misty legend, but from melancholy
experience.

The East Dart runs throughout its course in a south-easterly direction,
and at Post Bridge just below the road from Moreton Hampstead to
Tavistock it is crossed by an old bridge, one of the many rugged
witnesses to unwritten history scattered all over Dartmoor. It is a
massive structure, built of rough granite blocks; the 'table-stones'
that rest on the piers are each about fifteen feet long.

The West Dart rises farther south than the East Dart, and runs almost
due south as far as Two Bridges, and then, in many curves to the
east--sometimes almost hidden in the depths of the hollow that has been
worn between the high bare sides of the valley--till about five miles
from Two Bridges it reaches Dartmeet. From the top of a tor close to the
point where the two streams meet the effect is rather curious, for sunk
deep between the wide barren stretches of moor and desolate tors, broad
green ribbons of trees and undergrowth, broken by tufts and uneven
edges, mark the course of the rivers till they wind away out of sight.
Their darker green makes them stand out against the sides of the
valleys, and they are the only trees in sight. In summer the river is
often very low, and then masses of great boulders in the river-bed are
seen, and some of the biggest are crowned with