ing another family. The birds which were hatched the preceding year are in the mean time preparing their nests in the same rookery, or they have joined a body of emigrants to another grove. To attempt an entrance to another rookery would be to them a vain and fruitless proceeding; for friendly and social as the rooks are to birds of their own community, they all unite to prevent the entrance of another rook into their society, and to punish with due severity the unwelcome intruder. We know not the motives which lead a body of rooks to emigrate from their homes: perhaps the community has increased to an inconvenient extent, and they find it necessary to seek another neighbourhood, where the supply of their wants may be more certain perhaps they like not the chastisement they are continually receiving from the older rooks, and determine to seek an unmolested spot, where, if they have not the advantage of pilfering the materials for their nest, they may at least get a better chance of finishing it in peace. However this may be, we soon observe in these emigrants the same attachment to their newly found home which they had previously evinced for their native dwelling, the same orderly habits are prevalent, the same laws of justice enforced, with the same watchfulness against intrusion and interference on the part of others. race of birds who have fearlessly assembled near our dwellings, and whose labours are of such essential service to the agriculturist. There is something very cowardly too, in attacking a creature which can neither defend itself nor seek safety in flight. It is affirmed by some naturalists that were the cruel practice of shooting the young birds altogether discontinued, there would be no sensible increase in the number of nests in a rookery; for, when the birds found themselves too numerous in one society, they would quickly form another, and emigrate to some distant spot, for the purpose of selecting a more commodious dwelling. If this be the case, we may surely hope to find the custom of rook shooting gradually abandoned, for no one would follow so cruel a sport for the mere pleasure afforded by it, unconnected with the advantage of keeping down the number of the birds. The flesh of the rook is bitter and unfit for food, and though the young birds are sometimes eaten, they offer little attraction to the sportsman on this account; the usual method of placing them at table is in the form of a pasty, (for which purpose the rooks are skinned, in order to remove in some measure the bitter flavour peculiar to them,) but even in this form they make but a sorry dish, and are generally despised. When therefore the advantages connected with the increase of There is something very pleasing in the considera-rooks are properly understood, the farmer will doubttion of the social tie which unites these sagacious less be found protecting instead of maiming and birds into one community: a friendly feeling is mani- destroying the young progeny. fested throughout the society; if a fraud be committed on one, all the rest are ready to unite in the punishment of the offender; if the rooks are feeding in parties, one of their number always stands sentinel, and so vigilant is he in the performance of this duty that it is, no easy matter to get within shot of a foraging party hence the country people affirm that rooks can smell gunpowder. In addition to these marks of social feeling, we observe that amicable messages appear to be constantly passing in a rookery; and as there is little doubt of birds being able to communicate intelligence in their own peculiar manner, we may fairly suppose that these messages convey to the several members of the community such tidings as have reference to their united welfare. After the young rooks have taken the wing, there is a general desertion of the nesting-trees; but the families return to them frequently; and in October they roost in them and repair their old dwellings. In winter the forest may be called their habitation; but, instead of forgetting their nests, they visit them every day, and, cawing in a softened and melancholy tone, seem to regret the ravages which a bleak and stormy season has made in their beloved home. Thus, from year to year, the rook is an inhabitant of our country, and joins, not inharmoniously, in the softer music of our groves; while in many other countries he is only a visitant, announcing to the inhabitants of Siberia the return of summer, and to those of France the approach of their winter season. The rook is found as far north as the milder parts of Sweden, but he is soon driven from thence by the severity of the winter. In their emigration they assemble in flights so dease as to darken the air; and on this occasion they have no objection to join company with the common crow, the jackdaw, and the starling. In extensive rookeries it is thought necessary to thin their numbers by shooting many of the young rooks every season. The time chosen for this purpose is when the birds have left their nest, but remain on the branches, unable to fly far from their homes. The diversion, if it can be called such, seems a very poor and unworthy one, exercised as it is against a We feel quite certain (says Bishop Stanley, in his very pleasing and useful little work on Birds,) that on striking a fair balance, the advantage will be in favour of preserving the rooks; and that if every nest were pulled to pieces, the farmers would soon do all in their power to induce the old birds to rebuild them; finding out, when too late, that their crops might suffer the fate which befell an entire district in Germany, and which was once nearly deprived of its corn harvest, by an order to kill the rooks having been generally obeyed; the immediate consequence being an increase of grubs and their depredations. For allowing that the rook may do an occasional injury to the husbandman, it confers benefits in a far greater proportion, and to an extent of which few are aware. Many provinces in France were so ravaged by grubs, that a premium was offered by govern ment for the best mode of ensuring their destruction, and and yet singularly enough, so little were the people acquainted with the real and best method of stopping the mischief that when the Revolution broke out, accompanied with murder and bloodshed which can never be forgotten, the country people, amongst other causes of dissatisfaction with their superiors, alleged their being fond of having rookeries near their houses; and in one instance, a mob of these misguided and ignorant people, proceeded to the residence of the principal gentleman in their neighbourhood, from whence they dragged him, and hung his body on a gibbet, after which they attacked the rookery, and continued to shoot the rooks amidst loud acclamationst. In concluding our account of rooks in their social state, as they dwell in large communities in groves or avenues of lofty elms, we would recommend to the attention of our readers some of the good and valuable habits of these birds. Their early hours, their unceasing industry, their perseverance in overcoming difficulties, and their love of home, are not unworthy Let the sight of a rookery, then, of our imitation. remind us of our duties in these respects, and the busy, cheerful, noisy community will not exist for us in vain. THE BANKS OF THE TAMAR. I. THERE are but few rivers in England more celebrated for romantic and beautiful scenery than the Tamar. This river forms, nearly throughout its whole extent, the boundary between the counties of Devon and Cornwall, the former occupying the eastern, and the latter the western bank. It rises in the parish of Morwinstow, near the northern extremity of Cornwall. Soon after this it becomes the boundary between the two counties, and continues so, with very little interruption, for the remainder of its course, a distance of about forty miles. In the parish of Werrington it has Devonshire on both banks, and the village of Werrington on its western side. The Werrington river, which rises near Tremaine, runs through Werrington Park, and falls into the Tamar near the upper new bridge. On the east side of the Tamar, near the river, are the Devonshire parishes of Pancras week, Bridgerule, Tetcot, Luffincot, St. Giles on the Heath, Lifton, Bradstone, Dunterton, Milton Abbot, Sydenham, Beer Ferrers, Tamerton Folist, and St. Budeaux. The Tamar becomes a wide estuary near Beer Alston, and further on, below Saltash, which is on the Cornwall side, forms the harbour of Hamoaze, falling into Cawsand Bay, between Mount Edgecumbe on the Cornish side, and Stonehouse on that of Devonshire. The smaller rivers which fall into the Tamar, besides the Werrington, are the Wick, the Derle, the Deer, the Cary, the Claw, the Lyd, and the Tavy. The source of the river is a small spring rising very near the Bristol Channel, but instead of flowing northVOL. XVI. ward, the few miles necessary to reach that channel, the river flows nearly in a southern direction. The early portion of its course is not so much distinguished for its beauty as the latter portion; and we may pass over it until we come to the neighbourhood of Werrington. Werrington is the name of a parish, of a town, and of a seat belonging to the Duke of Northumberland. The seat is on the western side of the river, and was formerly possessed by a Sir Francis Drake, who sold it, in 1651, to Sir William Morrice, a kinsman of General Monk. These gentlemen were very active in forwarding the Restoration of Charles the Second, on whose landing at Dover, Mr. Morrice received the honour of knighthood. He was afterwards appointed secretary of state; but preferring the quiet of country retirement, he withdrew to Werrington in 1668, where he built a handsome library. He died in 1676. A descendant of this gentleman sold Werrington to the Duke of Northumberland. The situation of this mansion is very beautiful, commanding a richly diversified and expansive view of a well wooded park, with the river close at hand, and the Dartmoor hills in the distance. The river next passes not far from the town of Launceston, the county town for Cornwall. town is distinguished for its castle, a structure whose mouldering walls enclose a large extent of ground. The principal entrance was from the south-west, through a fortified passage upwards of a hundred feet in length, and ten in width. The court of the castle was a square of 136 yards, in the south-west angle of which was a very strong round tower, from whence a terrace proceeded to the keep or citadel. This keep 501 This was an immense artificial conical hill, nearly ninety feet in perpendicular height, about three hundred feet in diameter at its base, and ninety-three at its summit. The walls surrounding the castle court were of immense thickness. This castle is supposed to have been built by William Earl of Moreton and Cornwall, in the reign of William the Conqueror. As our present object is more the banks of the Tamar than the towns near it, we shall pass on now without further notice of Launceston. After passing at no great distance from Lifton, Bradstone, and Dunterton, the Tamar enters the beautiful grounds of the Duke of Bedford, at Endsleigh Cottage, Milton Abbot. This used to be called Inneslegh, and was an ancient possession of the Abbots of Tavistock, who had a park here in the reign of Richard the Second, and to whom it had been granted by the family of the Edgecumbes. After the dissolution of monasteries, all the estates of the Abbey of Tavistock fell into the hands of the Russells, Dukes of Bedford, who have retained possession ever since. The estate runs on both sides of the Tamar, and in 1810 the noble possessor began the erection of a sweetly picturesque cottage, under the management of the late Sir Jeffrey Wyatville. The grounds are entered by a rustic lodge; and a carriage road leads through the plantations and lawn to the cottage, the gabled roofs, tall chimneys, and transom windows of which, remind the spectator of the mansion of past ages. It stands upon a pleasant slope, descending to the banks of the Tamar. In the grounds is a grotto, commanding a view of the woods and mea dows on the river's bank, and also of a floating bridge, managed by a rope and windlass. The woods in the neighbourhood rise in very picturesque form from the water's edge, and are pierced by ascending walks, one of which leads to a little building called the Swiss cottage, a picturesque edifice in the midst of a sort of Alpine garden. An exterior staircase and gallery lead to the upper apartments, which are furnished, in the Swiss fashion, with wooden chairs and platters, horn spoons, &c. From the gallery of this cottage an extensive view is obtained over the river, woodlands, and open downs. At no great distance are seen rocks, woods, abrupt declivities, and the river foaming over rude masses of stone,-forming altogether a highly beautiful prospect. After passing near Sydenham, the Tamar arrives at Weirhead, where it first begins to be navigable. At this point the waters of the Tamar fall over a ledge of rocks in a rapid and sparkling cascade. When the stream of the Tamar has been swelled by heavy rains, this fall is highly picturesque. The gentle Tamar: leading on his flood, equally attracting. On leaving a neighbouring down, a narrow track leads through a copse to the summit of the cliffs. This gradual ascent to a great height makes the traveller scarcely prepared for the scene now presented to his view. The winding river is seen far beneath, and the surrounding prospect includes Calstock Church, Hengeston Down, and the mining district of Gunnis Lake. There is one particular rock called the Chimney Rock, which is mounted by the assistance of a flight of rude steps. Beneath this rock the river is for a time invisible, as it flows through a short natural tunnel. Mr. H. E. Carrington, the son (we believe) of the poet, thus speaks of the scene which presents itself to a spectator mounted on the rock : The repose of the scene is most interesting-undisturbed, except by the whisperings of the breeze,-the scream of a lonely hawk,-or the faint note of some woodland chorister. At an immense distance below the rude platform on which you stand is an extensive expanse of wood,-a perfect forest, stretching from the top of the slope to its base, and thence across the whole extent of level land on the eastern bank of the Tamar. Looking southward, you behold the river, winding away amid flat meadows, backed by the lofty ridge on which stands the exposed church of Calstock. On the left bank is a continuation of the Morwell wood, divided from the river by one solitary strip of rich meadow. The many sequestered cottages which are scattered around strike the eye by their peculiar neatness and air of deep seclusion. The base of a part of the wooded precipice on the Morwell side is washed by the Tamar, which here makes a sudden bend round a forest-like peninsula. One cliff rises perpendicularly from the water, a fearfully impending mass it is when gazed at from below, though, into comparative insignificance; but if a boat or barge when viewed from the rugged elevations above, it dwindles happen to float along at its foot, you gain an idea of its true magnitude. Near this spot is Morwell House, formerly the hunting seat of the Abbots of Tavistock: from its situation near Morwell Down, and the woods on the banks of the Tamar, it is considered to have been well situated for this purpose. The building is quadrangular, with a large arched gateway in front, ornamented in a similar manner to those of the Abbey. Below Morwell rocks, the Tamar skirts Harewood Peninsula, a little tract of land so nearly surrounded by the river, that after leaving Calstock Church, and sailing five miles, the traveller again arrives at Calstock village. On this tongue of land is situated Harewood House, which occupies a site traditionally connected with an event in the early history of England; we mean the story of Athelwold and Elfrida, which has formed a theme for more than one of our poets. The outline of the story seems to be this-King Edgar, having heard of the beauty of Elfrida, daughter of Ordgar, Earl of Devonshire, sent his favourite Athelwold, to ascertain how far report was borne out by the real attractions of the lady. The messenger,-as has happened in more than one similar instance, no sooner saw her, than he fell desperately in love with her: he made an offer of his hand, was accepted, and the nuptials were performed privately. On returning to court, he took care to lower as much as possible the reputed charms of Elfrida, and succeeded in weaning the thoughts of the king from her. Wishing afterwards, however, to make his marriage known, he entreated permission from the king to pay his addresses to Elfrida, on the plea that though she was not worthy of her king, her large fortune would be an advantage to him, Athelwold. The consent was given, and the pair were publicly married, Athelwold, however, carefully keeping his wife from court. The secret was some time afterwards revealed to the king, and he resolved on revenge, for the deceit of his favourite. He proposed a visit to the lady, in company with the earl: the latter dreaded the result of the visit, but was forced to comply. The lady, when she heard that she had probably been tricked out of the king's hand, felt as resentful as the king himself. She displayed herself to the best advantage, and won the king's affections: Athelwold was sent on a distant errand, and was afterwards found murdered in a wood; and the king then married the widow Elfrida *. But to return to the Tamar. After skirting Harewood Peninsula, the river passes near Cotehele House, where the woods swell up in magnificent masses, displaying every hue and disposition of foliage. The rocks that line the banks are covered with lichens, and, when the river is calm and smooth, are reflected with great exactness. Cotehele House is an old mansion of much celebrity, and was erected in the reign of Henry the Eighth. Its appearance is described as combining the features of the English manor-house, and of the feudal castle. There are square embattled towers, massy walls, covered with lichens, dark green ivy, or tufts of moss. Though situated almost close to the river, the mansion is as completely hidden from public observation as if it were in the most sequestered part of the country. The entrance to the house is through a gothic archway, leading into a quadrangular court. The windows are latticed and heavy, and the walls of the apartments are hung about with suits of ancient armour, eleven of which are said to be complete; also with arquebusses, pikes, halberts, swords, bows and arrows, and other instruments of warfare. Stags' horns, and other trophies of the chase, also adorn the hall. The original furniture of the apartments is preserved almost entire and complete, the walls being hung with tapestry,— probably the work of the ladies of the mansion in bygone days. One of the doors, opening from the hall, leads to a large old staircase, surrounded by portraits of the early owners of the mansion. Antique furniture and curious trinkets are to be found in all the rooms; such as rich old bed-furniture,-ancient china,-a Saxon sword,—a music-book dated 1556,— curiously ornamented brass fire dogs, more than four feet high (there have never been any grates used in the apartments,)-earthenware drinking-vessels of great antiquity, &c. Connected with the house is a small chapel, where divine service used to be performed, and where the armorial bearings of the successive owners are seen emblazoned on the windows. Not far from the house is another chapel, situated on a bold rock that juts out towards the Tamar. It was built in the reign of Henry the Seventh, and has a curious tradition attached to it, with regard to its origin this, however, we have not room for here. This chapel is very small, and contains several antique paintings and carved work. *William of Malmesbury relates this story, on the authority of a Saxon song, and it has thus been admitted into English history, DEMOSTHENES. DEMOSTHENES, the Athenian orator, was the son of Demosthenes, a rich blacksmith, and born about 380 years before Christ: his mother's name was Cleobule. He was only seven years old when his father died; and his education having been neglected by fraudulent guardians, he applied himself to his studies, with uncommon industry and perseverance, under the care of Isces and Plato. Like many distinguished lawyers of later days, and of our own country, he had to struggle with serious physical disadvantages. His lungs were weak; and he suffered from an impediment in his speech: but these obstacles were surmounted by indefatigable exertion. One of the means to which he resorted, in order to accustom himself to the clamour of public assemblies, was to pronounce his orations early in the morning by the sea-side, while the waves were beating against the shore: and in order to correct his stammering utterance, he spoke with pebbles in his mouth. His abilities as a statesman and rhetorician raised him to eminence at Athens, and he was placed at the head of the govern ment. When Philip, King of Macedon, disputed the power of Athens, and threatened the independence of the whole of Greece, by laying siege to Olynthus, Demosthenes roused his countrymen from their lethargy, and animated them against the encroachments of the tyrant. The Athenians accordingly sent out men and money to the relief of Olynthus: but Philip's gold prevailed: the town surrendered to his troops, and was destroyed. The appeals of the orator in exciting his hearers to extraordinary efforts in behalf of their sinking country are of the most stirring kind; and his allusions to their habitual indolence and indifference, in the midst of danger, exhibit on the one hand his boldness, and knowledge of the human heart, and on the other their characteristics of weakness, which were noted on the sacred page* upwards of three centuries afterwards. After describing the amazing success of their enemy, he upbraided them with "going about in the market-place, and asking "What's the news? Is Philip dead? no, but he is ill.' And what matters it, if he were sick or dead? Your lethargy, your want of preparation, the neglected state of your navy, would soon raise up another Philip!" But it is not necessary to pursue the history, nor to dwell on the failure of Demosthenes himself, and of his efforts to save his country. Our object is to furnish from his life a lesson of industry and perseverance. 'Twas raddy dawn! The winds that swept the main 'Tis Cleobule's son! With steadfast gaze Ah, Athens, plunged in luxury and ease, Nor vainly; for the day is nigh at hand, Then poured Demosthenes his soul of fire, And in deep tones of pity, scorn, and ire, More fluent than Isæus, (honoured name! Yet half forgotten in his pupil's fame,) Kindled a spark in hearts ne'er warmed till then, And showed th' Athenians how they might be MEN. "Men, men, were wanted! not to lounge, and say, "Is Philip dead ?' or 'What's the news to-day?' But men in arms! men eager to uphold Their fanes and hearths, and spurn the tyrant's gold. Your sloth," he cried, "gives Philip his success: Up, then, awake, and seek a world's redress. These doubtful looks, these folded arms, away! 'Tis Constancy and Toil that win the day.' O wondrous force of eloquence, to raise Reluctant hearts to honourable praise : Nay more, by gifted industry to frame A classic model,-Tully's highest aim,The growing genius of a Pitt to form, And gird young hearts to meet the coming storm !— M. * See Acts xvii., 21. As the poet Prior was one day surveying the apartments at Versailles, being shown the victories of Louis, painted by Le Brun, and asked whether the King of England's pala ce had any such decorations,-"The monuments," said he, "of my master's actions are to be seen everywhere but in his own house." "ROME, it has been said, is the country of all who Adventurers of all nations and all states, monks of all countries, ecclesiastics attracted from all the corners of the world in hopes of advancing themselves, or by the mere necessity of gaining a livelihood;-such is the greater part of the population. Without common ties, without unity, it has a purely passive existence. Without political rights, for of these they know not the name, they have no share, directly or indirectly, in the government or the administration. Every man lives for himself, and hence, religion apart, the object of life is, with some, the gross one of lucre, and, with others, of present enjoyment. Repose, indolence, and sleep, broken in upon at times, by exhibitions addressed to the senses; such is happiness in the view of men, in whom, nevertheless, may be found the germ of loftier and stronger feelings. As if in mockery of ancient Rome, a Senator, as he is called, holds I know not what petty court of first resort, and on the palace of the Governor, who is always a prelate, you read the renowned monogram, S. P. Q. R., the best rendering of which is certainly the French one, Si peu que rien*. Rome long preserved a portion of her ancient spirit and institutions, modified by the genius and manners of the Middle Ages; and in these the Popes found obstacles in the way of the consolidation of their temporal domination. Down to the sixteenth century they had to struggle with the power of haughty barons and with the remains of municipal franchises. But it was then that society experienced a revolution. Absolute monarchies arose, that gave the victory to the Popes, and made them sole masters in the issue. Sixtus the Fifth, a despot both by nature and principle, ended by concentrating all authority in the hands of the clergy. The Pope, and under him the sacred college and the prelacy, are now the exclusive depo Let us see what at this day constitutes the popula tion of this blighted city. A few really Roman families obscurely vegetate in it. All the great names of the middle ages, the Colonnas, the Orsinis, are either extinct or at the point of being so. The nobility of princes and of dukes does not belong to the country, either by the nature of their institution, by the services they have done it, or by their origin. It was an established custom for ages that the Popes should educate and enrich their children, legitimate or not, or their nephews, and too often confiscations, spolia-sitories of political power, and administrative and tions and rapine, have laid the foundations of these families thus hasting to decay. To an excessive pomp there has succeeded, it is said, an excess of another kind; and that class of society, saddened at once by its recollections of the past and its anticipations of the future, skulks in vast and silent palaces which none can penetrate, and thus creates for itself a solitude in the midst of a solitude. A natural instinct leads all animals to hide themselves as their end approaches. judicial authority. They in fact form the state; all the rest pay and obey. Thus the Romans are governed, have their public affairs administered, and their law-suits determined, by strangers, inasmuch as, not to mention the Pope, the cardinals and the prelates are almost all connected with Rome only by those casual events which bring them there from all parts, not only of Italy, but of Europe. Can this be *S. P. Q. R., Senatus Populus Que Romanus; the Senate and People of Rome. Si peu que rien, as little as nothing. |