mit that it may have defects. The defects are in composition-defects the less discernible in our admiration of Nature, because we receive impressions from many, more than from one point of view. The component parts all agree in character, they are grand and simple, yet each having in itself most wondrous variety in detail. It would be presumption to say that this view cannot be accurately and effectively taken-but among the numerous sketches that I have made of it, there is not one of which I could make a picture without much license-and there is a difficulty here, for there is no one part that you could alter without reluctance, and to its particular deterioration. Pictor and I fully agreed that by far the best view was that which few but sketchers and painters would take, from a little low ledge, on the other side of the stream which we crossed, thigh-deep, without difficulty. The wondrous rock before us, towering into the blue sky,—the trees growing from its summit, the stems that shoot over from the sides, under which the eye looks into intermingled shades of deeper foliage and projected rocks, and cavernous hollows, the light boles of trees, and twisted roots riveting huge masses together, bound with ancient ivy,-the precipitous sides, terminating in immense blocks, like squared foundations, stamped and fixed by an omnipotent fiat, deepened in colour and mystery by the vapours of the roaring foaming waters, rushing over the rocks, (from whence unseen,) and taking new direction-the immense dislodged fragments that lie tumbled over each other, and form a foreground most appropriate, with deep recesses with "marvellous darkness shadowed o'er"-the colours perfect in themselves and in their blending, -all these, closely comprehended, and at once palpable to the vision, impart a satisfaction so entire, that I do not recollect ever experiencing any thing to be compared with it. We did not now open our portfolios, but we did not the less enjoy the hour.

Pictor. This little area is a fine school wherein the mind may learn nobility, cast off with shame every littleness of pursuit or fancy, and

from humility learn to be great. Nature's Poet and Nature's Painter may here worship and have his reward.

Sketcher. Yes, and praise Nature's God that he has made her so beautiful, and given us capacity to perceive it,-more-to enjoy it. Then, when we consider that this which excites our wonder is scarce an atom in creation, that angelic beings have a wider range, denied to us, and that the eye of Omnipotence surveys all, fills all, and is sensitive even now with us of all that we enjoy in this very place, we stand as favoured creatures connected with heaven and with earth by the unseen yet certain bonds of feeling and imagination. Long did we remain in this spot; and when we left it, it was to survey the scene from many others. We climbed over the huge fragments that lay around us, bestrode their tops, having the falls before us and at our backs, thrilled with the grandeur of the great whole. Having reached the highest point, we descended down to the foot of the great blocks that formed, as I mentioned, the foundations; with our backs close against these we looked in a direction of the turn whence the river came-and here the scene was very striking. The immediate falls were very grand, and above them you could just see the line of the rocky banks admitting the passage; they did not reach far, taking a sudden turn to the left, up the valley-so that the background of our view was now the woody and rocky hill on which Linton stands, and we could see partly the wall of the road which wound from Lynmouth upwards. This hill was particularly beautiful as seen from hence, admirably broken with rock and trees, some larger growing gracefully upwards, uniting the whole, from immediately above the dark masses, from whose tops and down whose sides the foaming sparkling water was pouring, and which thence whirled away over ledges below us, into an abyss black with overhanging foliage, and dark moss-covered precipitous side of the mountain pass. I made a large coloured study here, which I value both for its representation, and for the materials for composition which

it furnishes. When I had finished my sketch, we scrambled up the steep block by which we had descended, and from a point somewhat nearer than our first view, again looked back upon the height before described. I remarked to Pictor that some change had taken place here since my last visit,-some young shoots and delicate foliage had been cut away, that I thought a loss; but I mostly missed a light ash, that, shooting upwards from a central ledge of the great rock, was wont to wave and fan its delicate foliage, amid the deeper masses, connecting the higher with the lower reach, and by its very lightness and playful motion set off the solemn solidity of the huge cliff. I cannot but think the destruction of this tree, so singularly placed, an injury; I say destruction, because, as it seemed to me, the axe had been applied to it. But where the good taste and liberality of the cultivated inhabitants of Linton and Lynmouth have done so much to preserve and make accessible the many beauties around them, we must be loth to criticize-and after all, many may consider the removal an advantage. To one who does not know the spot, it may seem a deterioration of the whole scene, to admit that the removal of one poor tree could do an injury-but it was so peculiarly situated, as to be significant, and in close spots the removal of a shrub, or even flower, may be of importance. I speak as a painter, for how often on the canvass do such small additions make the picture? We now retraced our steps with our eyes mostly turned to the left, looking into the depth worn by the torrent, or to the woods rising from its bed. To our right was the bare bold hill, of no very enticing aspect, too steep to climb, and not precipitous for grandeur. On the summit of this is a shed, not unpicturesque in form, or position; it looks much like a small temple. I had never reached it, though parties frequently achieve the laborious accomplishment of the summit. "Isuspect," said Pictor, "little would be gained by the undertaking. I shall, therefore, decline making the attempt; and there is more temptation below. Mr Repton, in his letter to Mr Price, observes, that in the val

ley,' (speaking of Matlock,) ' a thousand delightful subjects present themselves to the painter; yet the visitors of this place are seldom satisfied till they have climbed the neighbouring hills, to take a bird's-eye view of the whole spot, which no painting can represent: the love of prospect seems a natural propensity, an inherent passion of the hu man mind."

Sketcher.-Mr Repton is wrong in his assertion that painting cannot represent a bird's-eye view;-why should it not? It may be a natural propensity, but it is the business of Art to cultivate, and thereby implant better propensities. Taste is acquired, and often is obliged to condemn our deteriorated natures, and “inherent passions." It is a vulgar taste that can never have too much for its money. It must grasp all, and has not the moderation to reject. In my village, the other day, the farmers, in Vestry assembled, determined to have the children of the parish innoculated, for that they shouldn't like to have any thing short of the whole disease; if they must have it at all, they "liked," they said, "the real thing." They have not acquired the knowledge that "too much of a good thing is good for nothing."

The

Thus trifling away a few minutes, we reached a slight indication of a passage on the left of our path, which we followed; it led us to a seat in the bank, turf-covered, overhung with bush, and sheltered. small trees were partly cut away in front, to admit a view of the water foaming and circling amidst large rocky fragments, over which the boles of trees were shooting, and branches spreading in all directions. A quantity of eels were here seen twisting and insinuating themselves among the crevices of the upright stones.

"How strange," said Pictor, "that those creatures should not be affected by the roaring of the water, but should sport within the sound and terror of the thunder of its pounding! But, I believe, naturalists have discovered that fish are deaf."

Sketcher. I should easily believe it, for how else could the salmon approach those terrific falls, at which putting their tails in their mouths, they, as it were, snap their fingers,

and to relieve it when it is weary. But why did I fly from matter-offact to the vagaries of poetic fiction? We had been studying one of Nature's great and awful lessons -we had been intent on our studies. The school is broken up, and, like boys, we revel in our play and pastime. Such thoughts, and such reasoning, awakened a curiosity to see how Pictor was trifling himself into composure. I went in search of him, and found him in that very scene he so much admired on our entering the valley, with his back against a large mossy stone, in whose shadow he was reposing. Though the very spot of his recent admiration, his bodily eyes at least were closed to its beauties; but it was evident, from the expression of his features, that his mind's eye had most pleasing visions. I stood some time before I would disturb him, I

saw that if he had not been sketching he had been composing, for his pencil and paper were lying in the sunshine. As I approached, the movement I made among the stones attracted his attention; and turning to me with a smile, he asked me if I and the fishes had settled the point, and what they thought of Greek; that he had departed to leave the communication free. "You, at least," said I, "have had your dreams, (pointing to his paper, which I found written throughout,) and to avert all evil that may be in them, are following the practice of the ancients, by shewing them to the sun. What does this illuminated MS. denote ?" "I have been," said he, endeavouring to impress this scene upon my mind by the aid of rhymes. Read them to me; but recollect they are not Greek,"

neath which is a water-course. Above is a very steep hill, below a descent to the river; above and below all is filled with trees, which, near the path, but for the path to which they assimilate in character, would be any thing but beautiful-the lower branches being cut away so that the leafage and shade is from above, but the trees grow very fantastically out of large masses of stone, and twist their roots round the bank very curiously. It is shady, yet so that gleams of sunshine shoot across here and there in small bands, and glitter upon the tops of the trees. The greens, the browns, and greys, are beautifully blended. The entrance to it is very singular. It is extremely narrow, between the high-wooded bank of the hill, cut, and therefore rising perpendicularly from the path, and a large mass of dark stone parted from the opposite bank, above which the trees meet, and include the whole under green shade. This had been filled up with a door, but it is now liberally left open. It is just such an entrance as you would

expect to meet in some very sequestered valley, leading to a "little lowly hermitage." Towards the termination of the walk, for it is of sufficient length to deserve the name, is a small path that leads to a weir. It was amongst some trees here that we took our seats on mossy stones, and greatly did we enjoy the quiet beauty of the scene, and the gleams of sunshine continually stealing upon and retiring from the cool green of the intricate foliage and herbage around

us.

We had converse, and music both of the guitar and the voice; and the subdued and constant accompa niment of the river added to the charm. For it tended to make us and Nature one party-and a happy party we were. What songs the ladies sang, or what they said, I am not permitted to utter. But Pictor's doings are within my privilege of speech; and as he generally furnished us with an original song, not inappropriate to the scene, when the guitar was put into his hands, with great feeling he touched the strings, and after a short prelude thus sang.