6th. The lady's own room, or boudoir, up-stairs, and connected with the wardrobe and bed-room, on the same floor, having a degagement, or private stairs, although the approach for strangers is by the principal staircase.

(Fig. 245. Section through the house, shewing the parlour, the dining room, and the drawing-room.]

7th. The bed-rooms to have dressing-rooms, in which sofa-beds may occasionally be used.

8th. The rooms over the offices, to be used as nurseries, should have large folding-doors to admit air, and may be connected, on the same level, with the hill at the back of the house, for exercise to the children.

[Fig 245, Section from north to south, through the living room; shewing two bed-rooms and wardrobe over ]

The eating-room is of that proportion, about two by three, which is now considered the standard of perfection: indeed,

in many modern houses, every room partakes of the same shape and dimensions; such a room requires tables and sofas to fill up its area, and create that sort of intricacy which is so admirably conspicuous in the old houses of the date of Queen Elizabeth, where large bow windows and deep recesses give a degree of comfort worth copying in a modern room. With this idea, the windows of Sherringham [see fig. 244] are proposed to take a new character, as applied to Grecian architecture, which, in fact, has no more to do with a modern sash than with a large Gothic window.

In the centre of this room, and opposite to the fire-place, is a deep recess, which will be one of the most interesting and striking novelties, admitting a small company to live in the room, or out of the room, at pleasure, and commanding a delightful view of the flower-garden, with just so much of the sea as will be sufficient to announce its proximity, without exposing the room to its baneful effects. The view to the east, from this window in the recess, will be so peculiar, that it may, perhaps, be advisable to exclude all views from the windows on the sides, only leaving the upper part for transparent blinds, or stained glass.

FRAGMENT XXXIV.

EXTRACTED FROM THE REPORT OF ENDSLEIGH,

A COTTAGE ON THE BANKS OF THE TAMAR, IN DEVONSHIRE, BY PERMISSION OF HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF BEDFORD.

SITUATION AND CHARACTER.

THOSE Who have sailed on this beautiful river, near Plymouth and Saltash, will figure to their minds one of those calm sequestered retreats, reflected on the smooth surface of a broad expanse of waters, very different from the river scenery of Endsleigh: to explain this difference it will be necessary to describe the Tamar.

There are hardly two things in nature more contrasted, than a river, near its source, in a mountainous country, and

the same river when its becomes navigable, and spreads itself into an estuary, like the Tamar at Plymouth. Nothing can be more delightful to those who have braved the storms of the ocean, than to sail between the romantic banks of the Tamar, whose echoing rocks often repeat the music, which, from pleasure boats, enlivens its peaceful surface; and a cottage, on the banks of the Tamar, will naturally suggest such tranquil scenery. Very different is that of Endsleigh. Here, solitude, embosomed in all the sublimity of umbrageous majesty, looks down on the infant river, struggling through its rocky channel, and hurrying onwards with all the impetuosity of ungoverned youth, till it becomes useful to mankind. This idea often occurred to me while contemplating the river on the spot. The Tamar, like all mountain streams, however it may amuse the eye with its frolic motion, by not being navigable, or passable, becomes a barrier, and seems to serve no other purpose than that of dividing the two counties of Devon and Cornwall; but, even in this apparently useless state, it is busy in collecting the "little streams which run among the mountains ;" and, on tracing its progress, we find that it soon becomes more and more useful to man, till, at length, it is acknowledged as the great source of the harbour of Plymouth, to which England owes much of its glory and its commerce.

In speaking of the course of the Tamar, I should wish to make a distinction betwixt the channel and the bed of the river, if I may be allowed so to use these two words. By the channel, I mean the whole flat surface over which a river spreads its waters during the floods of winter, extending to the foot of the hills which form the valley. By the bed, I mean the narrow channel to which the water is confined during that "belle saison," when all Nature presents her beauties to advantage; when all rivers sleep in their beds, and even the most turbulent are restrained within their narrowed limits. Let us now consider the process of Nature in forming this bed. Light never moves but in straight lines. Water always takes some degree of curvature. The rays of light may be broken by reflection, or refraction, but can never be bent. Water, on the contrary, may easily be bent, but cannot be broken without changing its fluid character to froth. The course of a river is never straight, and seldom along the middle, or lowest part of

the flat, but it shoots across, from side to side, increasing its utility by thus retarding its progress: this observation applies to all rivers, though I was first led to examine the subject by the tortuous course of the river Manyfold, in Derbyshire.

In this sketch [fig. 247], which I have supposed to represent the course of any river, two dotted lines [a a] shew a second track, which the water seems to mark out during floods, and which leaves, occasionally, swamps or pools of water [b], in summer, after the river has subsided. This sort of channel may be observed at Endsleigh, in the shape of the ground on the left bank of the river.

Sometimes a river forsakes its bed entirely, and takes one of these new channels: and I have frequently had occasion to assist, or retard, this operation of nature, by an interference of art; but, in the present case, I shall only revert to the difference which I have endeavoured to establish betwixt the channel and the bed of the river Tamar, so far as it relates to the best means of crossing it without the sort of bridge aptly described by Cowper,

That, with its wearisome but needful length,
Bestrides the wintry flood."

If a substantial bridge were necessary or expedient, no person would be so competent to construct it, as my scientific and experienced friend, Mr. Rennie, who has been consulted on the subject; but I shall beg leave to make some observations, first, on the uses of a bridge; and, next, consider its effect on the scenery. The wood opposite being now annexed to Endsleigh, access is required to it; but, if there were no other expedient, I should doubt the accommodation being equivalent to the difficulty and expense of such a bridge as

might be passable at all seasons, requiring, at each end, an embankment, and arches, on dry ground, above the level of the highest winter floods. This would be necessary, if it were a public road; but, on the contrary, it would be a private bridge, seldom used, and might be dispensed with during floods; therefore, such a bridge is not absolutely necessary. With respect to its effect on the scenery, it would present an object totally at variance with that calm sequestered retreat which forms the striking characteristic of Endsleigh: since a great bridge announces a great road, and a great road destroys all solitude, both real and imaginary, there is, also, another objection to a conspicuous bridge in the situation proposed.

The part of the Tamar forming the chief view from the house [fig. 248], is so nearly in a straight line, that it would more resemble an artificial canal than a natural river, if the extremity, now forming a graceful curvature, were to be terminated by a bridge, and especially one so large as to rob the river of all its importance. In addition to these objections, it may be added, that, if a crossing can be effected more immediately near, and opposite to, the house, it would, doubtless, be a better situation for a bridge, in point of convenience; and, as an object of beauty, it might assume a picturesque character more in harmony with that of the place [see fig. 249].

OF THE PICTURESQUE.

This word has, of late, excited considerable interest and controversy; but the word, like many others in common use, is more easy to be understood than defined; if it means all subjects capable of being represented in a picture, it will include the pig-sties of Moreland, as well as the filthy hostels of Teniers and Ostade: but the absurdity of representing all that is visible, without selecting what is most beautiful, cannot be better exemplified than by the following fact. One of our most eminent landscape painters was desired to make a portrait of a gentleman's seat: he saw the place during a land flood, and, when the whole valley was covered by vapour, he. made a beautiful picture of a fog, after the manner of Vernet; and thus he painted an atmospheric effect, when he should have painted a landscape. In like manner, a beautiful woman, represented during a fainting fit, may display great ingenuity