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rPLE FAR ME 



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AGAZINE. 



MAY, 18G1 



PLATE I. 



GEMMA DI VERGY, 



AND THE BEAUTIES OF MAM HEAD. 



The beauties of Mamliead are susceptible of an 

 infinite variety of interpretation. The House — the 

 Grounds — the Church — the Gardens — the view 

 from here, and the quiet nook there — have each 

 their own pecuhar charm and attraction. One 

 pilgrim will seek the upland path that leads him to 

 the famous yew-tree in which the parson found a 

 pulpit, and under it his congregation due shelter, 

 while the pretty little kirk itself was repairing. 

 Another would pause on his way before the hardy 

 handsome ilex, rejoicing as when we saw them in 

 the welcome sunshine of a spring morning. The 

 more courteous visitor might make his first call at 

 the mansion, and command " the situation" at a 

 glance, as new beauties broke upon him at every 

 turn — the lovely landscape lying before him, stretch- 

 ing on to Exmouth in the distance, and promising 

 more and more for the yet unravelled riches of 

 Devonia. The very drive through the tall straight 

 firs, as they throw their solemn shade athwart you, 

 is something to remember, and at the moment 

 something more to suggest. The Pines, the Oaks, 

 the Elms, grandly though they grow, have still 

 scarcely the glory of the Magnolia terrace ; never, 

 perhaps, in more matured splendour than during 

 only last autumn. But we come alas 1 in a few 

 short months' time to be only too late. The 

 terrible winter, that spent its force in vain against 

 the wiry highlander and stalwart evergreen, wreaked 

 all his vengeance on the petted pride of the nur- 

 sery, and left that wondrous walk a dry shattered 

 ruin of dead sticks. Quickly and discreetly does 

 their hapless guardian turn us away to a pine- 

 apple that he really hopes to ripen " by Tuesday," 

 and with better heart does he talk of a flower or 

 two of orange blossom that he is jealously keeping 

 for the same eventful day. And so we stroll on 

 through vineries and conservatories, till we reach 

 once more the undulating open, and echo, with the 

 Goth of a husband, *' Well, Polly, it may be pic- 

 turesque enough, but I should like to know how the 

 deuce you are to ride over it !" 



And are these the beauties of Mamhead ? Was 

 it for this we turned our gaze from Powderham, 

 when we stopped, like the first swallow of the sea- 



OLD SERIES.] 



son, at the little Star-cross station ? Shall we go 

 armed like sturdy tourist with handy book and 

 curious pack, to " do" the home of Sir Lydston ? 

 Shall we wander on from hill to dale, through 

 darkening ride or winding path, a sight-seeing 

 stranger out for a holiday ? Nay ! hold thy hand, 

 good driver ! draw rein in this hollow ; for we care 

 not to go further. Our guide-book is a sheet- 

 calendar, the most beautiful "bit" in all yon domain 

 a loose box with a race-horse inside it ; while as to 

 botany, if you will have it, all our knowledge of 

 the science turns to a plant brought from Mel- 

 bourne, and grafted on to the Sweet-pea. We are 

 told it flourishes here-abouts ; though those con- 

 ventional cockneys talk of nothing, when they get 

 back, but the yew, and the ilex, and the Exe — as if 

 they had ever seen the beauties of Mamhead ! 



But we will, if you please, Mr. M'Kairnan ; for, 

 like the clod when he went to be married, we came 

 " a' purpose." And so we step out at the Stud 

 farm, and in the next minute or so we are by the 

 side of Masaniello, a horse Sir Lydston very hand- 

 somely gives his tenantry the service of. He is by 

 The Hero out of Ignorance, the dam of Ignoramus, 

 by The Little Known ; and it is not much to say of 

 him, that he is a great deal better-looking than his 

 sire— -the meanest, most " hackish" good race- 

 horse we almost ever remember. The son takes 

 after him in colour, and is in some other points a 

 flattering likeness of his father, but begets size and 

 substance from the dam, and promises to fill out 

 and furnish into a useful country stallion. Still, 

 this was scarcely what we came out to see, though 

 we hesitate ere we dare pass the threshold of the 

 companion-box. For here, as we feel, too surely 

 shall we find the equ* ne credite, Teucri— the 

 donum exitiale Minervoe — the fatal horse, that so 

 far would seem to have had a kind of curse hanging 

 over his fortunes. His breeder yet lives and 

 thrives, as we trust his present owner long may. 

 Let us then say that Gemma di Vergy enjoys a 

 peaceful home at last in that sweet sheltered vale; 

 but what an eventful life has it been between those 

 two eras of his hirth at Olton, and his manhood at 

 Mamhead ! When the murderer Palmer was 

 C C [VOL. LIV.— No. 5. 



