not wholly succumbed to modern improvement, nor yet is it wholly
backward. It is "fair to middling" only, so far as the requirements
of the automobilist go (what Royalty may think of it the writer does
not know), but its proprietor ought to take a trip abroad and find
out what his house lacks.

The wonder of Exeter for us was the carved west porch of its
cathedral, not very good carving, we were told, but undeniably
effective, peopled as it was with a whole regiment of sculptured
effigies.

Exeter has a ruined castle, too, called Rougement, a name which
preserves the identity of its Norman origin. Exeter's High Street is
a curious stagy affair, with great jutting house gables, pillars, and
pignons, undeniably effective, but a terror to automobilists because
of its narrowness and the congestion of its traffic.

The road turns north after leaving Exeter and passes Taunton, "one of
the nicest towns in the west of England," as we were told by the
landlord's daughter on leaving Exeter. Not knowing what her standard
was for judgment, but suspecting it was tea and buns, we delved away
into the county of Somerset and reached Wells, on the edge of the
Mendip Hills, before dinner.

Somerset is reputed to be one of the loveliest counties in the west
of England and one of the most countrified of all Britain. It is a
region of farming lands, of big and little estates, with the big ones
predominating, which the land reformers, and all others who give it a
thought, claim must some day be divided among the people. When that
millennium comes Somerset will be a paradise for the people. In spite
of its productiveness and its suitability for farming, the great
estates of the wealthy are used for the purposes of pleasure and not
of profit, for the hunting of foxes and for the shooting of
pheasants.

Wells is an episcopal city with a bishop who presides also over Bath.
Wells is essentially ecclesiastical; never had it a momentous or
warlike history; it is bare of romance; it has no manufactures and no
great families. Wells Cathedral takes high rank for the originality
of its architecture, its general constructive excellence, and its
sculptures.

[Illustration: Taunton]

There are three picturesquely named hotels, the Swan, the Mitre, and
the Star. They are all equally dull, respectable, and conservative,
and they stick to tradition and conventional English fare. You will
probably arrive on boiled-mutton night; we did, and suspect