THE GARDEN. 237 



that overgrown rose-trees, and rampant honey- 

 suckles were the only obstacles we encountered. 

 Many a nettle thrust its aspiring shoots into our 

 very faces ; and not a few sturdy thistles poig- 

 narded our ancles. A more annoying, vexatious, 

 perplexing task could hardly be imagined ; only 

 that «it every step, we were compelled to cry out, 

 " If it were but weeded, and pruned, and dressed, 

 what a paradise it would be !" 



I well recollect, too, the unexpected termination 

 of this strange xamble. We arrived at a spot 

 where the luxuriant growth of all descriptions of 

 garden trees, laburnum, lilac, arbutus, laurel, and 

 an endless etcetera, no longer shut out the sky from 

 our Mew, but opened to us a little grassy knoll, 

 surmounted by an ancient yew, of beautiful form, 

 round the trunk of which was the wreck of a ru- 

 ral seat. We ascended the gentle slope, and at- 

 tempted to pass round the tree ; but ah, what a 

 start did I give on accomplishing the half of my 

 purpose ! Beyond that tree, not a leaf of vegeta 

 tion was to be perceived, excepting the grass and 

 hawthorn shoots that clad a precipitous descent, of 

 a few yards, beyond which lay a strip of bright 

 vellow sand, and then the ocean, the grand, the 

 glorious German ocean, stretching away to the 

 horizon, in the deep blue of unbroken repose ; save 

 where the thousands of little silvery billows, gem- 

 med into unspeakable beauty, by the slanting rays 



