I was witness here of a rather amusing scene. A gentleman with his wife and a young lady friend of hers had driven out, from Princetown or Tavistock, and when near Bellever the latter expressed a wish to go to the summit of the tor. The gentleman looked at his better half, who gave consent with a nod, whereupon he started with the young lady, and his wife drove on and put up the horse at Post Bridge, then walked back to meet the two as they returned to the high-road, on which madame promenaded. Now, as it fell out, the husband missed his way on trying to reach the high-road, and got to the morass, where he and the young lady walked up and down, and every now and then he extended his hand and helped her along from one tuft of grass to another. They went up--got more involved--then down again, and were fully half an hour in the morass. Madame paced up and down the road, glaring at her husband and the young lady dallying on the moor, as she took it; for she was quite unable to apprehend the reason why they did not come to her as the crow flies, and as she considered was her due. Her pace was accelerated, her turns sharper, her glances more indignant, as minute after minute passed. She saw them approach, then turn and retrace their steps, gyrate, holding each other's hands, and walk down the slope some way. Then along the road, snorting like a war-horse, went the lady. She flourished her parasol at them; she called, they paid no attention. Finally they headed the swamp and arrived on the firm road. Thereupon the lady strode forward speechless with wrath towards Post Bridge and the inn, where a high tea was ready. Not a word would she vouchsafe to either. Not a word of explanation would she listen to from her husband. Curious to see the end, I went on to Webb's Inn, and came in on the party. The gentleman sat limp and crestfallen. An excellent tea was ready. Cold chicken, ham, whortleberry jam and Devonshire cream. He ate nothing. "My dear," said madame to her husband, "you are not eating." "No, precious!" he replied. "I have lost my appetite." "But," retorted she, "the moor gives one." "Not to me," he responded feebly. "I don't feel well. The moor has taken mine away." Obviously there had been an interview, _tête-à-tête_, before they sat down. Presently I saw them drive away. Madame brandished the whip and held the reins, and the young lady friend sat in front. Monsieur was behind, disconsolate and sniffing. FOOTNOTES: [23] I have been informed that the Jack-o'-lantern is only to be seen after a hot summer, at the end of July, and in August and September. As the moormen say, "When the vaen rises," _i.e._ when there is fermentation going on in the fen or vaen. [24] I have had to considerably tone down the original, which was hardly presentable if given _verbatim_. [25] "The Lichen Flora of Devonshire," in _Transactions of the Devonshire Association_, 1883. [26] Given in _A Garland of Country Song_. Methuen, 1895.