THE WILD PONIES OF EXMOOil. 217 



pretensions, flanked by a great turf-stack (but no signs 

 of corn ; no fold-yard full of cattle), which bore, on a 

 board of great size, in long letters, this imposing an- 

 nouncement, " The Poltimore Arms." Our driver not 

 being of tlie usual thirsty disposition of his tribe, we 

 did not test the capabilities of the one hostelry and ha- 

 l)itation on Lord Poltimore's Moorland Estate, but, 

 pushing on, took the reins while our conductor de- 

 scended to open a gate in a large turf and stone w^all. 

 We passed through — left Devon — entered Somerset; 

 and the famous Exmoor estate of 20,000 acres, bounded 

 by a wall forty miles in length, the object of our journey, 

 lay before us. 



Very dreary was this part of our journey, although, 

 contrary to the custom of the country, the day was 

 bright and clear, and the hot sun defeated the fogs, and 

 kept at a distance the drizzling rains which hold a sort 

 of chronic sway on Exmoor. We had now^ left the 

 smooth, rocky-floored road, and w^ere travelling along 

 what most resembled the dry bed of a torrent : turf 

 banks on each side seemed rather intended to define 

 than to divide the property. As far as the eye could 

 reach, the rushy tufted moorland extended, bounded in 

 the distance by lofty, round-backed hills. Thinly scat- 

 tered about were horned sheep and Devon red oxen. 

 Forabouttwomiles we jolted gently on, until, beginning 

 to descend a hill, our driver pointed in the valley below 

 to a spot wiiere stacks of hay and turf guarded a series 

 of stone buildings, saying, " There 's the Grange." The 

 tirst glance was not encouraging — no sheep-station in 

 Australia could seem more utterly desolate ; but it im- 

 proved on closer examination. The eff'ects of cultiva- 

 tion were to be seen in the difl'erent colours of the fields 



