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LAUNCESTON CASTLE, OR DUNHEVED.

Ir cannot be ascertained at what time this castle was built: it is admitted that it was not later than A.D. 900. Leland says, "The hill on which stands the keep-a turreted building, elevated above the rest, by means of some mount or tumulus on which it rests-is large and of a terrible height, and the arc (the keep) of it having three wards, is the strongest, but not the biggest I ever saw in England." The principal entrance to this castle is on the north-east. The whole keep, according to Dr. Borlase, is ninety-three feet in diameter, and consists of three wards. The ancient name of this place was Dunheved, the swelling hill; it is now called Launceston, derived, it is supposed, from Lan-cesterton, or Church-castle-town. The ruins now remaining of the castle cover a considerable extent of ground.

"WE ALL DO FADE AS A LEAF."

WE allow ourselves to miscalculate the appropriate season for fading. Our imagination places it in old age most delusively. The period to be accounted, in a general collective calculation, as the proper term of mortality, cannot rightly be placed beyond such a stage in life as a large proportion of men do attain, but not exceed. The comparison of the leaves OCTOBER, 1840.

here again fails; the main mass of the foliage of the forest does continue on to the late period which none of it can survive. Not so in the case of human beings. The great majority of them are not appointed to reach what we are accustomed to regard as the late autumn of life; and therefore young persons are to be earnestly warned against calculating on that as even a probability. On the field of life, there are a thousand things in operation to anticipate time; then let not young persons amuse themselves with flattering lies, and say, "We may, probably, live so far as to the term of eighty." But some of them may, perhaps, truly say, "We do not much think about such calculations in any way; it is enough, for the present, that we are youthful and blooming; there is no fading, nor signs of its approach." Well, so have many felt, and perhaps said, in answer to grave admonitions, who, before the recent fall of the leaf, have withered and died; and so, before the fading of next autumn, will many more, now gay and blooming. But, without insisting on these threatening possibilities of premature decline, to a reflective mind, the constant inevitable progress toward fading would appear very much related to it: there is daily less and less of that intermediate space remaining which is all that there can be between us and death. One has sometimes looked upon

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the flowers of the meadow which the mower's scythe was to invade the next day-perfect life and beauty, as yet; but to the mind they have seemed already fading, through the anticipation. If we turn to those who are a good way, or quite far advanced in life, they can tell how rapidly that vernal season passed away, how much it looks, in the review, like an absolute preternatural fleetness of time; as to their now more advanced period, there are many palpable intimations in their experience, to remind them of the truth of the text. Even those who are ranked as the middle aged, have much that speaks to them in a serious warning voice. They are most of them sensible, by their consciousness, as well as by the record of years, that one grand season of their terrestrial existence is gone by. Let them think on what they feel to be gone :-freshness of life; vernal prime; overflowing spirits; elastic bounding vigour; insuppressible activity; quick ever-varying emotion; delightful unfolding of the faculties; the sense of more and more power of both body and spirit; the prospect as if life were entire before them, and all overspread with brightness and fair colours! This is gone! And this change is not a little towards the fading. Those poignantly feel it to be so, who look back with sadness, or with vain fretfulness to think it cannot be recalled. But there are still more decided indications of decay. Some, indeed, as we observed, remain considerably stationary; but as to the majority, there are circumstances that will not let them forget whereabouts they are in life; feelings of positive infirmity; diminished power of exertion; grey hairs; failure of sight; besetting pains; apprehensive caution against harm and Inconvenience; often what are called nervous affections; slight injuries to the body far less easily repaired. All this is a great progress in the fading, and the appearance partakes of, and indicates the decline, not so perceptible to the person himself, or to constant associates, but strikingly apparent to acquaintance who see one another after long absence. From this stage, there is a very rapid descent toward complete old age, with its accumulated privations and oppressions; great general prostration of strength, often of settled disorders, operating with habitual grievance; loss of memory; furrows marking the countenance; great suffering by little inconveniences; con

finement in a great measure to a spot; a strange and mighty disseverment, as it were, from the man's own early youthful self. In some instances there is a last decline into an utterly withered state of existence-imbecility wholly of body and mind. The final point is that of the fallen leaves-to be reduced to dust; and thus, in so many ways, is the text verified. It will, perhaps, be said, this is a most gloomy view of human life; why exhibit it at such width, and darken it with so many aggravations of shade, as if to cloud the little sunshine which glimmers on our lot? We answer, nothing worth is that sunshine that will not pierce radiantly through this cloud. No complacency, no cheerfulness, no delight is worth having, that cannot be enjoyed together with the contemplation of this view of our mortal condition. Such an exhibition! is it truth? is it fact? and is it truth and fact, bearing irresistibly on our own concern? then the endeavour to be happy by escaping from the view and thought of it, would be a thing incomparably more gloomy to behold than all that this exhibition presents; because that would betray the want, the neglect, the rejection of the grand source, against the gloom of our mortal state and destiny.

To an enlightened beholder of mankind, it is not then being all under the doom to fade, and be dissolved, and vanish; it is not that that strikes him as the deepest gloom of the scene; no, but their being thoughtless of this condition; their not seeking the true and all-powerful consolation under it; their not earnestly looking and aiming toward that glorious state, into which they may emerge from this fading and perishing existence. The melancholy thing, by emphasis, is, that beings under such a doom, should disregard that grand countervailing economy of the Divine beneficence, in which "life and immortality are brought to light," in which the Lord of life has himself submitted to the lot of mortals, in order to redeem them to the prospect of another life, where there shall be no fading, decline, nor dissolution. Let us not then absurdly turn from the view, because it is grave and gloomy; but dwell upon it often and intently, for the great purpose of exciting our spirits to a victory over the vanity of our present condition, to gain from it, through the aid of the Divine Spirit, a mighty impulse toward a state of ever.

living, ever-blooming existence beyond | the sky. A man who feels this, would accept no substitute consolation against the gloomy character of this mortal life; not the highest health; not the most exuberant spirits; nor early youth itself, if it were possible for that to be renewed. No, far rather let me fade, let me languish, let me feel that mortality is upon ine, and that the terrestrial scene is darkening around me, but with this inspiration of faith and hope, this rising energy, which is already carrying me out of an existence which is all frailty, into one of vigour, and power, and perpetuity.Foster.

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NOTES ON THE MONTH. By a Naturalist.

OCTOBER,

"THE sear and yellow" leaves of autumn are fast falling from the trees, and the approach of winter has already produced a decided influence on the tribes of earth and air. The bat is no longer to be seen as evening draws o'er all her gradual dusky veil," in chase of his insect prey, wheeling on flickering wings, and ever uttering his shrill cry of exultation. The mole has ceased to throw up mounds of earth, dotting the level meads with mimic hills; he is driving his levels deeper from the suface. The hedgehog is preparing his hybernaculum, his winter dwelling-place, among the roots of some old tree, or at the bottom of the tangled thicket. The little dormouse has retired to his snug retreat; the squirrel is hoarding up his stores of winter food; the frog has left the sedgy margin of the pond, to bury himself deep beneath the mud. The noonday sun ceases to invite the snake to bask in the beams; the lithe reptile has hid himself in some secure retreat, till spring shall rouse him to renewed activity. The flies that have buzzed about our rooms, and in the windows, have almost all disappeared, and the few that yet linger about, are dull and torpid.

If we look among the feathered race, we miss many of our favourites. All our summer birds of passage have left us for a warmer climate. The swift and the nightingale led the way; the blackcap, and the redstart, and the whitethroat, and the wheatear, followed; the swallows, as loth to depart, continued long to gather, night after night, in flocks of countless thousands, to roost

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among the sedges of the swamp, wheeling, and chattering, and settling, ere they sank to sleep; at last they fixed their time; morning rose,-no swallows were visible, or, but a few stragglers; night came, but the reed beds were deserted. The place of our summer visitors begins, however, to be occupied by a race of hardy natives of the north; driven from the frozen lakes and morasses of the polar circle, they wing their way to more temperate latitudes; not, indeed, for the purpose of incubation; not to build their nests and rear their broods with us, but for the sake of food, which our inlets, marshes, and lakes, our hedgerows and copses supply in abundance. Wild ducks, of various species, are thronging towards our shores; and the snipe is scattered over our boggy meadows and waste lands. But though our island is subject to so great a flux and reflux of the feathered race, still there are many species which are stationary with us throughout the year. Flocks of rooks, intermingled with starlings, blacken the fallows in search of the buried larvæ of coleopterous, or wingsheathed insects. Troops of sparrows collect around the barns, and the clear song of the robin is heard at our window.

It will be interesting to inquire into the general character of our birds of passage, in order to ascertain, if possible, the law which compels their flight.

In the first place, then, our summer visitors, the swallow, nightingale, blackcap, redstart, goatsucker, and cuckoo, are all insectivorous, that is, they feed on insects and caterpillars, which cannot be procured, (at least in sufficient abundance for themselves and their young,) except during summer; and though many birds, (the nightingale and swift, for example, depart before that season is ended, we should rather be inclined to attribute their early flight to a regular failure, at that peculiar season, of the insects upon which they subsist, than to any constitutional incapability of enduring our climate for a longer period. It is true, however, that causes, as yet unknown, may also operate.

In the second place, our winter visitors are of three kinds. 1. Berry feeders, such as the waxwing, redwing, fieldfare, and others: these visit the copses, the hedges, and the woods. 2. Vermivorous, that is, such as live on aquatic larvæ and worms, which they grope for in the slimy mud, by means of their long and slender beaks, constituted

as feelers; to these they add minute aquatic plants, and soft freshwater snails; such are the snipe and the curlew. 3. True aquatic birds, some of which feed on fishes, on molluscous animals, on aquatic plants, the produce of lakes, marshes, and inlets of the sea; others on grain, young corn, and grasses. Such are the anatidæ, or duck tribe. None of our summer birds of passage ever voluntarily stay with us during the winter many of our winter visitors, on the contrary, are identical with species permanent with us, and whose numbers are increased by hordes driven from more northern districts. We may notice, as examples of this fact, the thrush and the lark, which are respectively joined in winter by flocks of brethren from the north.

If, however, none of our summer birds of passage stay with us during winter, we have, at least, many closely allied to them in habits and manners, which brave our seasons, and live during the severest seasons. Hence it is worth while to inquire, What is the nature of their food, and how they acquire it. Let us first take the hedge-sparrow, (Accentor modularis,) one of the feeble-billed insectivorous tribe (Sylviada.) It is indeed true, that the summer food of this bird consists of insects; and insects, no doubt, form part of its winter diet: it is a bird, as is well known, which is ever skulking in thick garden hedges, and similar places, where it finds the larvæ of insects adhering to the stems, or among the fissures of the bark; but still insects are not all that it takes, for grains and seeds are also added: and it is not a little singular, that the gizzard of this bird, and of an allied species, the accentor alpinus, should approach, as Cuvier informs us, more closely to the structure of that organ in granivorous birds, than is usually found in the sylviada. That elegant little bird, the golden-crested wren, feeds, we suspect, in a similar manner.

The creeper (Certhia familiaris) appears, on the contrary, to be strictly insectivorous; and its feet and tail are peculiarly modified with a view to fit it expressly for the search of its food, which consists, in winter, of larvæ and torpid insects, concealed in the crevices of the bark of trees, or covered by moss or lichen. Hence it may be observed creeping spirally round and round the trunk, with singular activity, busy in the search.

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The robin, (Sylvia rubicula,) whose lively and varied strain cheers the winter season, is, at one time of the year, insectivorous, at another, granivorous. The great work of incubation, and of rearing the callow brood, is carried on in orchards, copses, or thickets, the softer winged insects and caterpillars constituting, at that time, the sole subsistence, both of the parents and their nestlings. At this season of the year, they are shy and retired, and their voice of song is silent; but soon as the summer is ended, soon as the trees begin to lose their richlytinted livery, the redbreast "pays to trusted man his annual visit." The insects have disappeared, and now begins his change of diet: occasionally, it is true, he pulls an unhappy worm out of its hole, and transfers it to his crop; and the gardener, while turning up the soil with his spade, is sure of the company of the redbreast, with his sharp inquisitive eyes, intent on every stroke; and if the spade be left for a moment, there is he perched upon the handle, on the look-out for prey: still he does not refuse grains and seeds; and, as the severities of winter render other food impossible to be obtained, he subsists on such diet entirely : then the "table crumbs attract his slender feet;" and, welcome wherever he enters, whether in hall or cottage, he becomes the familiar guest of man; till spring returning, calls him back to the thicket to meet his foreign friends.

Such, then, are a few of the zoological features, characteristic of the present month. But let us now go forth into the fields, and from what we may observe in our ramble, endeavour to gain some instruction and improvement. Observe these birds scattered over the field in quest of food; you would, at first, suspect them to be rooks, or crows; and, indeed, they do belong to the genus Corvus; but you will see, by their party-coloured plumage, that they are distinct from both those well-known species. The flock consists of the hooded, or Royston crow, (Corvus cornix,) and it is the only example of the genus, which is one of our migratory birds. The hooded crow (so called from the neck and back being of a grey colour, while the head is hooded with black, which is also the colour of the wings and tail) visits England in October; but on the northern and western parts of Scotland, it is indigenous, remaining there throughout the year, and breeding. It

makes its nest in tall trees, among the precipices of rocks, or the cliffs which overhang the sea, as the locality may render most convenient: the nest is formed of sticks, and lined with soft materials: the eggs are four or five in number. During the breeding season, these birds are very destructive, both to the eggs and young of the red grouse of the moorlands; and, like the raven, they will attack young lambs, or weakly sheep. They also resort for food to the seashore, where shellfish, and other marine animals, are greedily devoured, together with whatever animal matter, in a state of decomposition, may be thrown ashore by the tide. Mr. Selby_states, that he has repeatedly observed one of these birds soar up to a considerable height in the air, with a cockle, or mussel in its bill, and then drop it upon the rock, in order to obtain the included mollusk. Such an act, indeed, seems to infer an instinct bordering upon intelligence, and to imply a notion of power, and of cause, and effect: it surprises us, because we scarcely expect it in a bird; but in forming a correct estimate of the principles leading to remarkable actions among animals of the lower orders, it must be remembered, that every action seems to imply the same; yet that, as may be proved, the appearance is not always to be trusted. The beaver, who constructs his dam and cabin, and who labours, with the rest of the community, in a common work for the general good, seems, in all this, to have a knowledge of cause and effect, of power and time; but the beaver is among the most unintelligent of animals, and is only directed, by that mysterious guide and impulse, implanted by the Creator in its very nature, which, for want of a better term, we call instinct: in the same way the bird builds her nest, the bee her cells; and so the crow may be led by instinct, without any effort of reasoning, to soar with a hard shell, and drop it on the rock, in order to break it into pieces. Toreturn from this digression. Though the hooded crow is thus indigenous in Scotland, strange to say, it is only a temporary visitant to our southern portion of the island, departing from our shores on the return of spring; during its stay, it frequents extensive downs, and the borders of the sea, feeding like the rest of its genus. As, however, there is no visible diminution of the numbers of those in the districts of Scotland, where

they abound, it has been inferred, that our winter visitors, of this species, come from Sweden, Norway, and other countries of northern Europe, a fact which, as Mr. Selby observes, is almost proved, by the circumstance of their generally arriving with the first flight of woodcocks, which birds always take advantage of a north-eastern breeze for their journey.

Look over head: high in the air a flock of wild geese are sailing along on vigorous pinions, and in two lines converging to a point, so as to form two sides of an acute triangle: sometimes, however, they sail in single file, forming one long line, and sometimes they change from one figure to the other. The species is most probably the bean goose, (Anser ferus ;) but this is not the origin of our domestic goose, which is, undoubtedly, descended from the grey-lag wild goose (Anser palustris.) According to the testimony of the older writers on ornithology, the latter bird was once very abundant in Britain, being a permanent resident, and breeding in our extensive fenny districts; but since the draining of their accustomed haunts, and the increased population of the country, they have nearly deserted our island, and are only to be occasionally met with in the winter in small flocks. On the contrary, the bean goose is very common, during the winter, arriving from its northern breeding places, in flocks, during the month of October. Their name, 'bean " is said to have reference to the peculiar form of the nail terminating the upper mandible of the beak; but it may refer to their predilection for beans, peas, and other leguminous seeds, which they seek with eagerness.

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goose,

The bean goose, and indeed the observation is applicable to all the species, is remarkable for its shyness and vigilance; the sense of hearing is very acute; it is very difficult for a person, however disguised, or however cautious he may be, to approach a flock of these birds while feeding; sentinels, occasionally relieved, are always on the watch, to give notice of approaching danger, which they do on the slightest suspicion, by a cry of alarm, and in a moment the whole flock are on the wing; up they soar, and away they fly, with a power and celerity, surprising to those who are only accustomed to the domestic goose, which flies seldom, and heavily. The bean goose flies at a great

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