impressive effects, it is necessary to see the bridge, the chasm, and the roaring water, from different projecting crags which impend over the river.  At a little distance below the bridge, “the fissure gradually spreads its rocky jaws; the bottom opens; and, instead of the dark precipices which have hitherto overhung and obscured the struggling river, it now emerges into day, and rolls its murmuring current through a winding valley, confined within magnificent banks, darkened with woods, which swell into bold promontories, or fall back into sweeping recesses, till they are lost to the eye in distance.  Thickly shaded by trees, which shoot out from the sides of the rent, the scene at Lydford Bridge is not so terrific as it would have been, had a little more light been let in upon the abyss, just sufficient to produce a darkness visible.  As it is, however, the chasm cannot be regarded without shuddering; nor will the stoutest heart meditate unappalled upon the dreadful anecdotes connected with the spot."[4]

Scenes of this description frequently give rise to marvellous stories; and Lydford Bridge has furnished many themes for the gossip’s tongue.  It is related, that a London rider was benighted on this road, in a heavy storm, and, wishing to get to some place of shelter, spurred his horse forward with more than common speed.  The tempest had been tremendous during the night; and in the morning the rider was informed that Lydford Bridge had been swept away with the current.  He shuddered to reflect on his narrow escape; his horse having cleared the chasm by a great sudden leap in the middle of his course, though the occasion of his making it at the time was unknown.

Two or three persons have chosen this spot for self-destruction; and in a moment of desperation, have dashed themselves from the bridge into the murky chasm.

    [1] Dartmoor appears the head-quarters of dreariness and desolation,
        forming a mountain tract of nearly 80,000 acres in extent,
        strewed with granite boulders and fragments of rocks, and
        appearing to set cultivation at defiance.—­Brande’s Outline
        of Geology.

    [2] John Britton and E.W.  Brayley:  in the Beauties of England and
        Wales, vol. iv.

    [3] A poet of considerable eminence in his day, born at Tavistock,
        in the year 1590.  He was noticed by Selden, Drayton, Brooke,
        Glanville, and Ben Jonson.

    [4] Warner’s Walk through the Western Counties.

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Libels on Poets.—­Cicero tells us, Democritus and Plato said that there could be no good poet without a tincture of madness; and Aristotle calls poets madmen.—­P.T.W.

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THOU WERT THE RAINBOW OF MY DREAMS.