often thoughtlessly regret, are peculiarly favorable for reflecting brilliant hues of the departing luminary. On the particular evening to which I refer, the whole heaven seemed illuminated with these gorgeous rays. There was the deep ruby, and the glowing orange, and the rich purple, melting at length into one shade of violet, which colored hill and dale, sending them out into bold relief. We did not stop for twilight grey, but hastened to our home, dwelling with ever renewed pleasure on the scene of magnificence which Nature had spread before us.

With general consent we paid a second visit to the Tor; and after admiring the extensive prospect which stretches over upland and vale until it reaches the ocean, which again is lost in the overarching sky, we turned towards the little lowly edifice, and wandering around, our attention was fixed by the simple words "On this rock will I build my church," engraven in large characters on the wall. We could not but admire the humility of the founder, whoever he might be, who had left no proud memorial of himself, but had rather ascribed the honor to the Almighty, of exciting the devotion of man, by erecting an altar in this remarkable spot. We observed very few graves in the little churchyard: indeed, the earth is barely sufficient to cover the remains of those buried there; and stray colts or sheep frequently tear up the slight turf which grows over those interred beneath. At least it was the case when we were there. A spring of water also causes the ground to be very damp. The rock beneath is not of granite, like those of the other Dartmoor tors. It is supposed to be an extinct volcano ; its conical shape, soil, and strata, go far to support this opinion the color of the rock is a deep rusty blue, inclining to black, and very porous; it is supposed to be a variety of tophus.

Descending the hill we found ourselves again on Heathfield, and near a part of it once famous as being the

habitation of a race of people, known by the lugubrious title of Gubbins. Mrs. Bray has made them formidable in her tale of Warleigh. A friend of mine thus writes to me respecting them

"I enclose an extract from a curious book, published about the time of Charles the Second, entitled, "Admirable Curiosities, Rarities, and Wonders in England, Scotland, and Ireland, in which many facts, both local and historical are recorded. Until I read the account of the Gubbins' in this book, I had supposed them to belong to the family of the Fairies and Pixies, having been told they had teeth two inches long; danced round burning furze bushes all night, &c. Now I think there was some foundation for the stories related of them, though we must suppose their beauties, virtues, and accomplishments, have been exaggerated. The little volume from which I made the extract, is embellished with wood cuts, containing such grotesque representations of human beings, that if they at all resembled individuals then in existence, mankind must have vastly improved in beauty since the time of Charles the Second." The account to which I have alluded is as follows:

"We may add to these wonders the Gubbins, which is a sort of Scythia in England, and the pure Heathen within. They are a people by themselves, exempt from all authority, ecclesiastical and civil; they dwell in cottages like swine, being rather holes than houses, having all in common, and are multiplied without marriage into many hundreds; their language is the dross of the dregs of Devonshire speech; and the more learned a man is, the less they understand him.-During our civil wars no soldiers quartered among them for fear of being quartered by them; their wealth consists of other men's goods, for they live by stealing sheep on the moor; 'tis in vain to search their houses, being a work beneath a sheriff, and above the power of a constable; their swiftness is

such as they'll outrun horses; so healthful, they outlive most men; ignorant of luxury, the extinguisher of life; they hold together like burrs; and if you offend one, all revenge his quarrel. This place lieth near Brentor, on the edge of Dartmoor."

We quitted Brentor with regret, and were still more unwilling to leave the vicinity of Lydford. But this was in the summer season; a winter sojourn would appear somewhat formidable.

I am sorry my limits prevent my describing a delightful excursion to the romantic ruin of Okehampton Castle, which is only eight miles from Lydford; but a stranger would be well repaid for pursuing his researches so far. He will remark as he proceeds the ancient village of Bridestow, with the neighboring residence of Militon, belonging to John Newton, Esq.; and Leawoods, the property of C. P. Hamlyn, Esq. He may also notice an ancient cross, on which are the remains of sculpture near a spot where two roads meet. On approaching Okehampton, the few remains of the proud seat of the Fitz Baldwins and Courtenays meet his view,

"Around the mould'ring tower pale ivy creeps."

giving life to the decaying work of art. The castle was dismantled in the time of Henry the Eighth, and the noble park adjoining it was disforested. A few trees still remain in the immediate vicinity of the ruin, and near the stream of the east octment which flows through the valley below.

At the death of Lord Edward Courtenay, whose romantic adventures have made him the hero of Ainsworth's romance of "The Tower of London," the title was extinct, and the property was divided amongst his four aunts, one of whom married John Fitz, and thus a portion of the lands came to her daughter, our Tavistock heroine Lady Howard. The Rev. Thomas in his interesting account of the Antiquities of Okehampton, mentions "a

small spring, nearly on the ridge of the park, having a cross of rude sculpture lying in its ooze, which bears the name of Fyce's or Fitz's well." Superstition seems to be connected with this family in every quarter.

CC

EXCURSION THE NINTH.

BICKLEIGH.

"Tis a scene

Might plant delight upon the brow of care,
And make e'en melancholy wear a smile
From luxury of feeling!"

CARRINGTON.

HE summer of 1841 was even more wet and gloomy than that of its predecessor, 1840. Our Devonshire sky was continually overcast with clouds from the Atlantic; our towns were constantly enveloped in fog and vapor; their streets were thoroughly disagreeable from mud; and the whole aspect of the country was watery and unpromising. People almost doubted the time of the year, and were inclined to write November instead of July. However, as Autumn advanced, the state of things improved; a gleam of sunshine now and then stole through the vapor in the morning, and the afternoons were about as bright and beautiful as any reasonable person could desire. So we contrived to take our usual walks and excursions, nothing daunted by the threatening appearance of the early part of the day. A proposal to visit Bickleigh vale was not to be resisted; all were prepared with warm clothing to resist the Dartmoor mist, which looked much more like drizzling rain; and we started in various conveyances to proceed in quest of the picturesque.