the widely spreading roots beneath. The old bridge was erected at a very early age. Its time-stained parapet, variegated by the clinging lichen, is now replaced by a new wall.

The change will matter not a few years hence. Time ever throws its impress on the works of man, and mellows into the harmony of nature, the too-glaring marks of intrusive art. We leave the shades of Woodtown to the united efforts of this wonder-worker (Time), and the good judgment of the posessors. Nature is before them to do what they will. Only let them touch lightly, and this miniature paradise will be perfect. In ascending the hill from Wood-town, we must not forget to look back on the picture presented by this little oasis of the desert, with a pointed tor on one side, and the tower of Walkhampton bounding it on the other.

Our next object on the right of our route is the solitary church of Sampford-Spiney, exposed to every wind that blows, as it rises amidst the sterility of the moor.* Above it frowns the rocky summit of Putor, whose curious layers of stone rising around a square, form what is supposed to be a Druidical court of judicature. On the top of the rocks are found many of the small basins decided by some to be the work of art, by others to have been formed by the continual action of water on the softer parts of the rock. Be that as it may, they collect now all the dews of heaven, and a cooling draught may almost always be found in these fairy fountains, At the foot of the tor is the family seat of the Moretons or Moorringes, a small and retired residence, now belonging to Jonas Ridout, Esq. No other object of interest presents itself. The road may either be taken over Whitchurch down, or by "the Blacksmith's Shop," to Tavistock.

* In the parish of Sampford-Spiney, a mine of Cobalt and Silver has been found.

EXCURSION THE THIRD.

TAVY CLEAVES, HILL BRIDGE, &c.

Rapido fiume che d'alpestra vena

Con maesta terribile discende,

Da tergo io lascio; e'l mio pensiero intende
La, dove l'aura e ancor sacra e serena."

ALFIERI.

N leaving Tavistock by the Okehampton road, the attention is directed to a pointed hill, which rises precipitously in the distance, forming a noble back-ground to the landscape. At the foot of this hill, denominated Grat-Tor or Great Tor, are the rocky valleys distinguished by the name of Tavycleaves. No searcher of the picturesque should leave Tavistock without paying a visit to this wild and romantic scene.

Leaving the Okehampton road we follow the lane which leads to Petertavy, and passing through the village, proceed by the church, to the retired hamlet of Cudlipp-town.* If time allow, the traveller should here

* Called after an ancient family in the neighborhood, to whom it once belonged. John Cudlipp, Esq. was "mayor" of Tavistock in the time of the Commonwealth. Amongst his papers kindly lent me by one of his descendants, I find an entry of the payment of a certain

descend to the water's edge, and view the beautiful rocks that rise from the bank of the Tavy. Tracing up the stream by the broken and narrow road which is only fitted to be traversed on horseback, we come upon a bridge of most primitive workmanship; the arch seems to have been unknown in these parts at the time of its erection. Four elevated pillars of hewn granite, support the horizontal mason-work, which is chiefly composed of large flat stones, united by a strong cement. The dimensions of each opening (we must not call it archway) are considerable. There are four of these, and the whole has an imposing appearance, as we approach near. I should suppose the bridge to be of ancient British workmanship, but the present is evidently an improved structure upon an old post bridge. Proceeding onward by two or three farms,* we reach the neighboring moor, where a scene of utter solitude presents itself. The marshes are so numerous that even the sheep and cattle desert the spot, and seek pasturage elsewhere. The form of man is seldom seen. A wild colt with tossing mane, may sometimes cross our path, and gaze with wonder at the intruders on his domain. Otherwise no living creature but ourselves seems to tread the dreary

sum for "the Dragoones on King Charles the second's birthday, and his coronation; also a sum for the ringors; for wood, beer, and cyder; at the show, and for Bonfyers." There are several other curious disbursements. In another paper, I find that "the Heirs of John Cudlipp, M.D. hold two acres of land Cornish, in St. Leonard's, near Polston Bridge, under the service of meeting the Lord Duke (of Cornwall) at Polston bridge, in every coming of the said Lord into Cornwall, and thereto receive a certain grey cap, and to carry the same after the said Duke through the whole of the county of Cornwall, at the expence of the said Duke, for forty days for all service. -1686.

* The last of which is Willsworthy, where was formerly a small chapel, now converted into a cow-house.

waste. The solitude is as perfect as if we were in the deserts of Africa, instead of the immediate neighborhood of a civilized country. I never felt silence more than when I first visited the Cleaves; for not even a bird raised its small note to break the stillness. All was quiet until a raven sprang from some distant quarter, where it had probably been making a carrion meal, and with its melancholy "roke, roke," sailed across the valley, and was then lost in the distance. It was a stormy afternoon; sudden gusts of wind came against us; and the clouds rolled majestically over our heads, now gathering together in large volumes of blackness, and then scudding in fleecy vapors before the breeze. The sun sent an occasional ray through the lurid veil, rendering the darkness more visible, and throwing a flickering and uncertain light on the frowning tors and gloomy valleys. However, this threatening aspect but heightened the grandeur of the scene; and we went on our way impressed with awe and delight, and really enjoying the prospect of a storm.

A wall of rocks forms a natural barrier to the Cleaves: This is of granite, and seems justly fitted to be the bulwark of a world. A mighty portal opens to the view a deep sunk and wide spread vale, broken by small clefts or cleaves, by which the Tavy rushes with all the wild fury of a mountain stream

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'Sprung from the moor, the river Tavy cleaves
Through devious wilds and dells its foaming way,
And dashing o'er the rocks, with murmurs, leaves
Its native haunts in rounds of fond delay.
Above these tors, creative Fancy weaves

A fabric of ethereal texture grey,

Which, looming in the dusk, the eye deceives
With semblance of a fort in dim array.
Within its clefts the beetling crag receives
To roost, the heath-cock and the bird of prey;
Wak'd from his nest the sky-lark soars on high,
To melodise in heav'n his vocal lay:

Fain would his mate and callow nestlings fly
To hail with him the orient light of day."

Masses of stone tinted with red and yellow lichen, give to the hollow the appearance of a ruined town or city. At our feet a Druidical temple, with its cromlech or altar, seems to have been hurled from the heights on which we stand. Nature in her wildest frolics appears to figure forth the elaborate works of Art. In the lofty avenue of over-arching trees, whose boughs interlace each other with graceful symmetry, we behold a close representation of the "long drawn" aisle of a Gothic cathedral. In these fantastic groups of stones hurled together in motley confusion, we may imagine the ruins of an ancient Baalbec or Palmyra. "But the masses of granite are so enormous," says Reason, that no effort of human power could have brought them together. "There were giants in those days," we answer, and the idea of a ruined city again returns.

"Within the mind strong fancies work,
"A deep delight the bosom thrills,
"Oft as I pass along the fork

"Of these fraternal hills:

"Where, save the rugged road, we find
"No appanage of human kind;

"Nor hint of man, if stone or rock

"Seem not his handy-work to mock

"Green moss-grown tower; or hoary tent;

"Tents of a camp that never shall be raised;
"On which four thousand years have gazed!

WORDSWORth.