BRIDFORD.

"Bridford! Well, I never. What makes you go to such an outlandish place?" So said a friend on my revealing to him my intention of visiting Bridford. My reply, was that "Bridford stands on the borders of Dartmoor; and that noble glimpses thereof and of the valley of the Teign, can be got from here." Animated by the love of the beautiful, and inspired by high art, my enquiring friend requested to be allowed to accompany me. His request was complied with, and one very fine morning in a lovely month of May we set out, in the liveliest of moods, leaving behind us forgiveness for all our enemies, and blessings on all our friends. I had heard the twitterings of the early bird that morning, just as the first streak of light had appeared in the eastern horizon to tell the unsleeping soul that another eventful day was born; but it was not until long after my feathered friend had made his meal off that foolish thing that will persist in getting up early for the very purpose of becoming a "wictim" that my companion and I started on our journey. Never did I see a brighter sky, or a more bountiful Earth. It seemed as though the Creator had selected this Year of Grace for a special manifestation of his great perennial love for his creatures, so full of promise of a fruitful season

was the beauteous spring-time. With Wordsworth, I exclaimed:

How bountiful is Nature! he shall find

Who seeks not; and to him, who hath not asked,
Large measure shall be dealt.

We passed by verdant meadow-land, and corn-land; slopes and hills, golden with broom and gorse; woodlands ringing with gladsome sounds, bright with the starry anemone, and fragrant with the wild hyacinth and spotted orchid; hedgerows, decked with primroses, violets, valerian, eye-bright, and here and there the graceful columbine. As we descended the hill to Culver a row of chestnut-tress, with their milk-white, feathery cones, and broad, handsome green leaves, de. lighted our eyes. We passed over Teign bridge, by the flashing, foaming weir, and then ascended a hill, which for steepness and sharpness I don't think can be equalled or excelled anywhere. It made the stout man to blow, and the thin man to puff; but if either be wise he will "take it easy," and linger here and there to peep at the green and flowery valley of the Teign, from the various pleasant and picturesque points he will discover en route.

I stopped on my way to listen to a concert, by a numerous choir of melodious wild birds, that had taken up their position on the leafy branches of a cluster of trees, in a woodland. It seemed to me as though some Poet had composed a song for the occasion. What I heard of verse-the music I cannot repeatmy fancy being agreeably excited at the time-I took down in my note book as follows:

THE BIRD CONCERT.

I.
BLACKBIRD.

Here in the Woodland, each Summer day long,

We weave, in cool shadow, our grateful song,
For the great: Love and Beauty are ev'rywhere-

In meadow, and upland, in sky, and air.

CHORUS OF BIRDS.

Let us sing, let us sing, with jocund glee,

As wild birds should, that are tuneful and free,
For the Spring is come, and Summer is nigh;
And, when they're gone, to the South we will fly.
(In the distance) - Cuckoo, Cuckoo.

II.
THRUSH.

Why should we fear the rain, or the blast,

There's light 'neath each cloud, when the sky's o'ercast, Then banish all sadness, envy, and hate,

For birds that are wise will lovingly mate.

Cuckoo, Cuckoo.

CHORUS.

Let us sing, let us sing, &c.

III.

WOOD PIGEON.

I wish I could pipe, like blackbird and thrush,

As here, half-conceal'd, I sit in the bush;

But when cuckoo sings "cuckoo," I'll sing "coo,"
And that's about all that either can do.

Coe, Coo, Cuckoo.

CHORUS.

Let us sing, let us sing, &c.

IV.

WOODPECKER.

I peck, I peck, but my music is poor,

And yet on bird singing I set great store;
I'll join in the chorus, as best I may,
And no bird shall say that I don't feel gay.
Coo, Coo, Cuckoo.

CHORUS.

Let us sing, let us sing, &c.

V.

LINNET.

I trill a lay, in my silvery note,

As I feel the Spring in my joyful throat;

I wish I could sing, with far greater pow'r,
For I am so glad in my leafy bow'r.

Coo, Coo, Cuckoo.

CHORUS.

Let us sing, let us sing, &c.

VI.

BLACKBIRD AND THRUSH.

Let each birdy pipe, in his own best way,

A lay in honour of beautiful May,

And oft we will meet, 'mid sunshine and flow'rs,

To fill, with sweet song, the bright Summer hours.

Coo, Coo, Cuckoo.

CHORUS.

Let us sing, let us sing, with jocund glee,

As wild birds should that are tuneful and free,
For the Spring is come, and Summer is nigh,
And, when they're gone, to the South we will fly.

We reached the breezy little village of Bridford. Bridford's name may be justly said to be "isolation." It knoweth its brethren-Christow, Hennock, Ashton, and other small neighbouring places, but it has little communication with the great world lying far away from it. "I'll leave the world and go to Bridford " was a standing threat of an oppressed wife to an oppressing husband, whenever a domestic storm occurred. Anybody who wishes to lead the life of a recluse should go to Bridford. That ancient person, who "couldn't abear" railways, electric telegraphs, postal deliveries, twice or thrice a day, and other new fangled things," should go to Bridford. There is a story told that, when King George the III died, the intelligence did not reach Bridford until six weeks or two months after the event had occurred; and then it was conveyed from Exeter thither by an aged man of eighty, an inhabitant of Bridford, who had actually visited the old city three times in the course of his protracted life. But, if Bridford be far from what is called "the civilized world," it hath a pleasant world of its own. Nature-wild, picturesque, beautiful-is round and about it. Before leaving Bridford, to visit its "surroundings," I will first inform the reader that the

hamlet can boast of an old church and an inn. Of the last, first. Said inn is named "The Harriers ;'' or, "Haryers," according to local nomeclature. "Man and beast" will find "good accommodation" here. What cheer the ruddy dame-the presiding genius of the hostelry-conveyed to the "conwivial throttles" of my companion and myself is "no business of any. body's." As for the church, I must say that it is a venerable building, and could and ought to be mad the pride of the district. It has an elaborately decorated pulpit and screen, now a little seedy, and requiring an artistic hand to reproduce its ancient beauty. There is a very picturesque old rock abutting from the grounds of the parsonage, on which there is a stone bench, called "The Monk's Seat." Centuries ago, I was told, there was a monastery here, in connection with an Abbey in Sussex.

We left Bridford to visit Heltor, which is about a mile north of the Church. The walk is a singularly pleasant one. The bracing air was perfumed with the gorse that blooms here in rich profusion. As we ascended the hill old Heytor loomed grey and misty in the distance. Blackystone is not far off-about a mile and a half. This grand old tor rises in "sombre majesty" from the common. From its summit the two channels can be seen on a clear day. Heltor, as Rowe rightly says, "occupies a more commanding position than even Blacky stone, as the hill on which it stands rises abruptly from the vale of Teign. Hence it is discernible from a greater distance to the north and east than its giant brother is to the south. Viewed from Dunsford, and the immediate neighbourhood, it wears the appearance of some ancient castle keep, draperied with ivy, and built to defend the pass below. On a closer examination it is found to consist of two distinct, but closely adjacent piles, on the top of which are rock basins; three on the northern pile, and three on the southern. They are all of irregular forms; the