EXCURSIÓN THE FIFTH.

VIXEN-TOR, MERRIVALE-BRIDGE, DARTMOOR PRISONS, &c. "We roam the heath, soon as the sun

The golden sun is high;

And the leaping, laughing streams are bright,

And the lark is in the sky.

CARRINGTON.

"Dartmoor! thou wert to me, in childhood's hour

A wild and wondrous region. Day by day,

Arose upon my youthful eye thy belt

Of hills mysterious, shadowy, clasping all

The green and cheerful landscape sweetly spread
Around my home, and with a stern delight
I gazed on thee."

IBID.

HERE is life abroad at an early hour of the morning. Almost at sunrise, the voices of children are heard, gathering flowers laden with

maydew, and trailing along huge branches of oak. It is May-day-and garlands decorated with gilded bird's eggs, are to be paraded by little urchins from door to door, while they gather small contributions and sing. It is holiday, for all who choose to make one; there is a famous may-pole erected in a certain green field, about which young people are dancing with joyous glee. It is beautiful; all beautiful on May-day: new life appears infused into every part of creation; the

insect race spring into existence, and rejoice in fluttering their brilliant wings in the brilliant sunshine. The birds fill the air with ringing melody. The aged and decrepid move out from their long winter imprisonments, and sit in some sheltered nook, sunning themselves. As for the young, their spirits are buoyant; they are elevated above the world with the fulness of hope. Where can they spend the wild exuberance of their spirit's emotions? how subdue their spirits to the prescribed etiquette of every day life? Let them go to the moor and give them full vent; let them tire themselves out by the sweet labors of exercise. There is no hour like the present for a moorland excursion; there is no month so appropriate as laughing May. Her smiles are neither too hot, nor too cold; they are exactly suited to cheer us on our way; and if a Zephyr fan us with its downy wings, it comes perfumed with honied scents, "like the sweet South breathing upon a bank of violets." It is time to be gone. We are to visit the Dartmoor prisons, with many fine tors which lie in our road, besides hunting for as many Druidical remains as we can afford leisure to discover.

The first object on the moor which we stop to examine, is Vixen-Tor, a vast mass of rock rising like a sphinx in the desert on our right hand, at about a mile from the entrance of the moor.

"Majestic pile

Thus, through the dreary flight of ages, thus
Triumphant o'er decay! Art not thou old

As the aged Sun, and did not his first beam
Glance on thy new-formed forehead; or art thou
But born of the deluge, mighty one? Thy birth

Is blended with the unfathomable past,
And shadows deep-too deep for mortal eye-
Envelope it. With reverence we gaze
Upon thy awful form, to which compared
Our proudest works are toys."

Vixen-Tor is to be approached in fine weather without difficulty; the bogs may be avoided by keeping near the fence, above Merrivale-bridge. On approaching nearer, we discover that the sphinx has changed its form; the rock is now like a tower, with the ruins of a mighty cathedral strewn around. The tower is divided (it may be by the lightning's flash); the summit of the pinnacles can only be gained by climbing up the division, which is about the size of a large chimney. On the highest rock, two ravens have here from time immemorial, built their nest. A friend who was anxious to inspect their eyrie, clambered up some way, and then to assist his ascent, drew off his boots, flinging them down to his companion beneath. "Here they come" said the delighted naturalist, running to seize the expected birds. Apropos des Bottes: it would be well to borrow a pair of the Giant's seven-leagued boots, in crossing this same boggy moor. We once attempted to go from Vixen-Tor, to the opposite eminence, and paid dearly for our pains, by meeting with some of the blackest, and most deceitful swamps, to be met with in any one spot. The disposition of some of the stones on Vixen-Tor, would give us leave to suppose that Druidical rites had been here performed. A projecting slab, resting on two upright supporters, has much the appearance of a Cromlech,—but it is said that the only perfect one discovered in this county, is at Drewsteignton, at about five miles from Okehampton. Three rock basins are to be seen on the summit of the Tor.

In proceeding towards Merrivale-bridge, from VixenTor, we remark Steeple-Tor on the left, while the great Mist-Tor rises with much grandeur in the distance towards the east. On the highest part of the last mentioned rock, is a large mist-pan, with a pointed beaker, or lip, considered as one of the most perfect specimens of the rock basin on the moor. "An ancient trackway has been discovered, leading from the great Mist Tor,