can never be replaced. We may erect houses, and plant shrubberies, but many centuries must pass before the bending sapling can attain the growth, or aspire to the title of "Monarch of the forest." At a short distance from this "old familiar tree" is the meeting of the Tavy and the Walla.

Two questions to the latter stream may perhaps be inserted here.

TO THE WALLA.

Oh river, murmuring river,

Singing and dancing ever.

Hast thou e'er been

With thy silver stream,

Where the orange blossoms quiver?

Were thy waters distilled from the orient dew,

In a marble fountain of varied hue?
Statues of gold did thy bright drops lave?
Has art e'er coloured thy sparkling wave?
Were the lulling notes of thy waterfall,
Caught from the music of beauty's call?

Not so, kind lady, not so indeed,

My home has been with the rush and weed,
My waters sprang from the barren moor
Where stormy rains the dark clouds pour;
On roughest granite their treasures fell,
And thence my silvery waters well.
I bathed the foot of the stately tor,

And learnt my music from Nature's war.
The course of my mimic cataract
A furious mountain torrent tracked.

Oh river, mountain river,

Dearer to me than ever,

Where wilt thou go

With thy crest of snow,

Which the black rocks dare to sever?

Wilt thou wander in one unbroken line
Through groves of citron and stately pine?
Gliding softly by palace walls,

Glancing by proud ancestral halls?

Is thy stream a mirror for rarest flowers
Guarded with care in Elisian bowers?

Will thy murmurs be lost in a rippling lake
Where the sons of pomp their pleasure take?
Not So, fair lady, I onward speed.
O'erflowing to aid the poor man's need.

I murmur beside his cottage door,

His meadows are bright with my liquid store;
water his garden, I turn his mill,

With sparkling treasures his cup I fill.
My banks are crowned with radiant flowers
But man ne'er nurtured their fragrant powers.

My murmurs are lost in the Tavy's side

As I mingle my stream with its roaring tide.

Flow on sweet river to take thy rest,

Thou hast blessed the poor, and thyself art blest.

The vale of Parkwood, so called in the ancient records of the lands granted to the noble family of Russell by Henry 8th, presents a sweet home scene, which "though seen daily, yet doth never tire." An artificial weir in one part forms a double cascade which is of no mean appearance when the Tavy is swollen by the rains on the moor, The woods of Mount Tavy add greatly to the beauty of the landscape. These enlivened by foliage of various hues, border the river almost as far as Tavistock itself. We notice on the right as we proceed through the valley, the compact dwelling and wellarranged pleasure grounds of Ferum Hill, the residence of John Rundle, Esq.

We cannot speak well of the entrance to the town from the Okehampton road as it is mean and dirty to the extreme; but I have no doubt that the spirit in the place will produce improvements in this quarter as well as in many others.

FIFTH WALK.

WHITCHURCH VILLAGE AND DOWN.

"Calm village silence, and the hope of heaven."

UR next walk may lead us by the Abbey Bridge to the old Plymouth road, which by many gently rising ascents will bring us to the pleasant village of Whitchurch. On our right as we proceed along, we look down into the retired alley, well known to rustic lovers as Piscay or Pixie lane. Whether a Devon Titania throws her spells over this favourite spot is not precisely ascertained, but certain it is that "many a man ånd many a maid, wander in the chequered shade.” Near its foot by West Bridge is a chalybeate well; the peculiar virtues of this fountain consist in imparting vigour to the frame, and roses to the cheeks of every fair damsel who partakes of its waters at the early hour of six on a summer's morning. Try it

ye

fair nymphs of the "flowing Teave;" above all prove its efficacy before you enter the enchanted haunts of Pixie lane. Returning to the old road, (which is as delightful as old roads generally are;-dry in winter ; shady in summer; radiant with some kind of verdure at every season of the year,) we stop to gather some delicious water cresses at a small stream that forms a kind