SECOND WALK.

MOUNT TAVY, COXTOR, PETERTAVY, MARYTAVY, &c.

E may commence another walk by following the road to the moor, pausing on Vigo bridge to admire the pretty weir and fine old trees overshadowing it by the woollen factory. Mount Tavy, with its lawn, dotted by cattle and sheep, and its sheltering groves also wins our admiration.

Pursuing our way we look down on the vale of Parkwood; the noble façade of a house of Grecian architecture presents itself amidst surrounding shrubberies. On the opposite bank of the Tavy, the farm of Rowden is seen surmounted by a finely wooded promontory, which an experienced traveller has declared to equal anything of the kind in Italian scenery. Still farther on, the retreat of Tavy Cottage, with the house and plantations of Hazledon, and the little hamlets of Twobridges and Wilminstone appear, while the whole is backed by some noble tors, the pointed eminence by Tavycleaves called par excellence "Grat Tor," or Great Tor, rising in grandeur above the whole. The road now conducts to the entrance to Mount Tavy where we may admire a piece of water with a small island in the centre, shaded by drooping willows. Leaving the high road for a moment we turn

Mount I

nt Tavy, from West St. Tavistock.

Market Day.)

into the gate by Taveyton mills. Here is presented a miniature counterpart of the vale of Parkwood. The same overhanging woods on a smaller scale, the same green fields between, and a mimic Tavy sparkling and dancing on to supply the Mount Tavy pond, and then speeding apace to join the greater river. Retracing our steps, we proceed on our way, ascending one eminence after another reminding one of the Christian pilgrim's eternal “Hill of Difficulty," until a fresh gale plays upon us, and in a short time we are on the heath clad moor:

"A range of unappropriated earth

Where, unmolested wanderers, we behold

The shining giver of the day diffuse
His brightness o'er a tract of barren land.
Gay as our spirits, free as our desires
As our enjoyments boundless."

WORDSWORTH.

What delight to tread the soft turf,-to inhale the health-inspiring breeze, and to listen to the warbling of the lark as mounting to the clouds it fills the air with its ringing melody. The distance is greater than we imagined between the road and the summit of the hill,

the

eye is so much deceived on this wild common. Then too, the latter part of the ascent is made difficult by rough blocks of granite scattered in wild confusion, over which we must scramble to gain the desired point. At length we have attained our wishes, and gaze with delight on the scene. I remember visiting it one morning before sunrise. A rich purple glow was spread over the whole landscape. One small eminence to the left was especially deep in shade; then streaks of red began to appear behind it; a golden hue succeeded, whilst a deep stillness prevailed around; suddenly the sun shot up, gilding the summit of each tor with yellow light, and at the same moment a lark sprang from its nest, and a breeze stirred the tops of the heath flowers;-all nature apparently

being called into life at the appearance of the God of day.
A sleeping mist rolling from the valleys displayed the
wide-spread landscape at our feet. On one side as far
as the
eye could reach, were cultivated patches of corn,
interspersed with smiling fields, and small cottages, each
one the centre of some scene of busy life; the town of
Tavistock appeared embosomed in its hills, and the river
Tamar winding like a thread of silver between its wooded
shores, until it reached the sea, which we could just dis-
cern with the promontory of Mount Edgcumbe in the
distance. Turning to the other side we beheld the un-
cultivated moor frowning in solitary grandeur with its
hundred tors and mountain streams, varied only by the
hut of the turf cutter, or the withered trunk of a blasted
tree. Such was the view that presented itself on the
morning of our excursion to see the sun arise on the
waste. Now every thing is smiling under the influence
of its noon-tide beams; we descend and seek shelter from
its heat in the rocky lane which leads to the quiet farm
of Southern-town. Here a colony of rooks are busy in
forming their future homes; what a scene of happy in-
dustry! they are pulling hard at the tufts of wool on
the black thorn, and collecting the broken twigs which
lie scattered on the ground. They have settled on some
noble elms, but we must not stop to admire them longer;
choosing the bye road that leads to the little village of
Petertavy, we follow its windings passing Mr. Crossing's
white cottage, and the neat parsonage-house, and arriving
soon in view of the church tower, surrounded by its
spreading trees.

"Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,
"Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,

"The rude forefathers of the village sleep;'

Quiet and undisturbed, save by the shouts of the merry boys who frequent the neighbouring school, is the small church-yard. In summer it is quite over-shadowed by