glided down Tamerton Creek, towards the town of that name; for a visit to the church had been determined upon before we proceeded to Warleigh House. The creek is skirted by the woods, and a fine bold rock, of a considerable elevation, that bears the name of Warleigh Tor, gives a character of grandeur even to this small inlet of the majestic Tavy. The little village of Tamerton, sequestered and picturesque, presents many such combinations as a Prout would treat with a skill in which few have yet been his rivals. Tamerton might almost be called "the meeting of the valleys," for three of them there unite together; and, in the midst, on a gentle swell of a hill, stands the beautiful weather-beaten old church, that has beheld many a century bring beneath its venerable roof the generations of the village in succession, at their baptisms, weddings, and funerals, and with the self-same bells has rung out a peal for their bridals, or a solemn knell at their departure. We ascended a flight of steps, hewn out of the living rock, which led from the village to the church, where, on entering, we listened to the good old sexton, who told us many a tale about the parish; and who, having got hold of what he fancied to be a finer word than is usually found to mingle itself in village colloquies, repeated it to us about fifty times over, as he sat, leaning on his staff, on the pulpit stairs. "The poplation of Tamerton was," he said, "very much increased; for, when he was a boy, he remembered no poplation at all in comparison to it; but all poplations were so, since Bonaparte and the wars had been put down by the Duke of Wellington." Our conductor pointed out to us one or two monuments that he deemed of importance. We looked also at the ancient tombs of the Foliots and the Copplestones, and the whitewashed effigies of Roger de Gorges and his lady; which the good sexton assured us a young gentleman, who made drawings and maps of old figures, had come all the way from London for the purpose of cleaning: and surely, if such were the case, it was an act much wanted; and for which the noble knight, who never contemplated such a surcoat of whitewash for his monumental armour, would, doubtless, have been thankful. We quitted the old church, and its sombre cemetery, surrounded by tall and shadowy trees, in a mood accordant with serious thoughts and feelings, in order to look upon what is called "the Copplestone Oak," after having just looked upon the "Copplestone Tomb," and listened to the legend respecting its long-remembered tenant; when-how shall I speak our surprise at a scene, so much in contrast, that now burst upon our sight?-on the village green, close without the churchyard, and full in view of this celebrated tree, a group, the gayest and the most attractive, surprised us into a feeling of cheerfulness and pleasure, almost before we were conscious of the change. 66 The village green was tastefully festooned and garlanded with flowers, laurels, and myrtle. Tables of the choicest fruits were spread in gay and inviting luxuriance; whilst, on "the smooth shaven turf" appeared, with all the joyous and mirthful character of a village fair, not merely the "neat-handed" Phillises of the cottage or the farm, but a bevy of ladies," distinguished by elegance and rank; and, to their praise be it spoken, by benevolence also. It was in fact, on this day and at this place, that the Tamerton festival was held, for the benefit of the village school. Youth, beauty, and elegance are at all times attractive; but, when thus seen grouped amidst trees and flowers, glittering in the sun, and canopied by the blue arch of a summer sky, the effect produced by such objects became so heightened, so engaging, that not even the gloom of the dark yews, nor the sombre tints of the old church tower, which stood, like a monitor to mirth and beauty, in the background, could create other than delighted feelings. We It was here that the amiable and accomplished conductress of the festival, the mistress of Warleigh, received us: and, after having paid our respects to one so justly entitled to the universal regard in which she is held; having gazed on the Copplestone Oak, and heard the often told tale once more repeated, we set off in company with Mr. R, the worthy proprietor of Warleigh, to visit that ancient mansion. were much gratified by the kind attention of our guide. Mr. R—— is of a character, now, alas! getting too much out of fashion. He retains the plain, open sincerity of old English manners; looks as if he meant what he says, and says nothing but what he feels; pays no compliment, but that which is the most honest of all compliments, and shews good nature as well as good manners,- -a ready attention to oblige, or to do any act of kindness that may be acceptable to the feelings of another; and who is both old-fashioned and warm-hearted enough to give a friend a hearty shake by the hand, and to drink a health to him at table.. Mr. R conducted us through a considerable part of his domain, and took us to the summit of a hill which commands an extensive prospect of the surrounding country. The rivers Tavy and Tamar, the Lake, Saltash, the Hamoaze, with the high lands of Cornwall and Devon, clothed with wood and verdure, and finely contrasted by the rugged and sterile character of Dartmoor, the pretty village of Tamerton, the church, with the farms and cottages around, all combined to produce one of those successions of interesting objects so well suited to panoramic painting. We continued our way across some fields, where, on gaining a particular spot on the side of a hill, not far distant from the river, the fine baronial residence of Warleigh, its avenues of noble trees, gardens, and plantations; the whole backed by the clear blue waters of the Tavy, at once burst upon our sight; and as we descended towards the house, every step presented a new combination of scenic and beautiful effects. We proceeded on to Warleigh; but, as in the following pages I shall have occasion to speak more at large respecting this venerable mansion, I shall here only observe that we found it a substantial and noble piece of architecture; originally built in the reign of king Stephen, but altered and enlarged in the times of Henry the Seventh and Henry the Eighth, and having very recently received the addition of a rich doorway, quite in character with the original building. After shewing us the hall, and the greater part of the interior, Mr. Rled the way to a small apartment adjoining the hall, and looking towards the gardens in front of the house. Here were many books; in fact, it was the library. The volumes it contained, Mr. R- told us, had been chiefly collected by an uncle of his, since dead, who was partial to literature; and being also somewhat of an antiquary, had been a careful preserver of all the old family deeds, leases, letters, records, etc., etc. The books spoke at once the character of their late proprietor; they were full of marginal notes, in his own handwriting. Mr. R- anxious to afford us all the information we could desire respecting the former inhabitants of Warleigh, produced a bundle of old brown dusty parchments, containing records as far back as the reign of King Stephen. Most of them were in Latin, and in a character cramped, worn, and almost illegible in many places. These were far beyond my antiquarian skill to decipher; and, like one who travels in a country with the language of which he is unacquainted, I could only admire, without understanding, the very things that lay before my sight. On some of the parchments there were curious seals, in a high state of preservation. Here and there I could make out a word or a line that rather piqued than gratified curiosity, till I was, at length, obliged to give up the investigation, and could only regret how much information I must lose by not being able to read old writings and monkish Latin. However, though I failed here, I was successful in reading the plain fair hand of the deceased antiquary; and, on care lessly looking over a bundle of papers-having permission to open any I pleased-my attention was at once arrested by seeing a very small packet, carefully tied up with pink tape. It would be needless, perhaps, to tell the reader, that this was a packet of exciting interest. I was allowed to gratify my curiosity; and though I confess the information it contained might be less full than could have been desired, still was it sufficient to excite and stimulate imagination. The following pages owe their existence to the few, but remarkable, facts connected with the tradition of the Copplestone Oak, which thus became known to me: and as, in all works of fiction, nothing adds so much to their interest as a knowledge of their being founded on truth, I thought it better to relate the above particulars for the satisfaction of my readers. Man seems born with an innate love of truth; it is natural to him: for, if you relate a tale but to a child, the first remark that passes his lips, as he stands looking with wonder in your face, will be"Is it all true?" I have but one more observation to make respecting the traditionary lore on which some parts of the following narrative are founded; and that is, to tell the reader that I am aware one circumstance of the tale borders on the marvellous: nor do I pretend to argue the point of its truth with any critic who may feel disposed to be sceptical on the subject. Be it false or true, it was an oral tradition, and as such, was sufficient for my purpose, especially as it will be found connected with the spirit of former times. The following narrative, however, I ought to remark, is but little concerned with events of a public nature; not more so than must ever be the case in the history of every family, who may have the misfortune to live in troublesome times, and to learn the truth of an observation which avers--that private happiness cannot hope for security during public dissensions and calamity. Vicarage, Tavistock, Nov. 1, 1830. A. E. B. CHAPTER I. 'Tis pleasant, by the cheerful hearth, to hear SOUTHEY'S "MADOC." THE Eddystone Light-house has long been celebrated, not only as the most remarkable structure of the kind in this kingdom, but, perhaps, in the whole world. The dangerous reef of rocks on which it stands, surrounded, and in a storm, covered, by roaring breakers, is supposed to derive its name from the number of contrary eddies that here meet and strive amidst their deep and dark abysses. These rocks are distant at least twelve miles from the coast of Devon, entirely insulated, and lie directly in the way of such vessels as may chance to coast the Channel. To have approached them at any time, unless under the guidance of an experienced pilot, must have been hazardous; but during a dark night, or in a gale of wind, no other than certain destruction; nay, seldom in former times could any vessel, during a storm, escape the fatal reef, did she attempt to reach Plymouth harbour amid the hours of darkness. Dangerous, toilsome, and almost impracticable as it seemed, yet the genius of man triumphed over the difficulties presented by the Eddystone; for in the year 1696, Winstanley, the Merlin of his age, erected upon it a light-house, which, having withstood several tremendous assaults from the tempestuous ocean-that once, it is said, hurled its waves more than a hundred feet above the fabric, cresting with foam its burning top-the founder deemed was as capable of endurance as the rocks on which it stood. With too much presumption, perhaps, on his own skill, and too little thought of God's power to overthrow the strongest works of man at his pleasure, he even expressed a wish, that the first time he visited the light-house, the greatest storm might blow that ever shook the heavens. The wish, rashly formed, was too soon, and too fatally gratified; for the floods arose, and "the Most High uttered his voice, and the channels of the sea appeared," and the strong walls and their unfortunate founder |