OF SEA-ANEMONES. 25 



Let us go. Suppose we leave the Promenade and 

 the Tunnels to our friends — especially him of the 

 "practical" mind — and climb yonder range of hills, 

 where seven Torrs, like seven fair jewels in a king's 

 crown, sun-emblazoned, beautiful, girdle this pleasant 

 valley, and hush the din of the shore -breakers on 

 stormy winter nights. Across the fern-hidden, wan- 

 dering, many-voiced Wilder. Past the hazles and 

 the hawthorns, and the meadow-grass, where the 

 corn-crake shrills in the land, day and night, his 

 dry and carking ditty. Under the furze copse, 

 where the heavy-scented glories of its golden blos- 

 soms are gleaming, where the crisp purple heather 

 and the climbing scarlet tangles of the dodder and 

 the fresh green volutes of the young fern-leaves, 

 yield a home and a happy "pleasaunce" to the in- 

 sects, and the birds, and the countless, restless 

 troops of the rabbits, who, among the well-known 

 mazes, hold perpetual holiday. Another step, and 

 we stand on the verge of a precipice, and look down 

 upon the grey rocks, a hundred feet beneath us, and 

 faintly hear the quiet breathings of the sunlit sea. 

 We will follow this sheep-track, which winds round 

 the edge of the cliff — a dangerous path enough on 

 winter evenings when a heavy gale is blowing from 

 the westward, and the long Atlantic rollers are 

 breaking in foam-clouds on the shore. But there is 

 no hazard on this quiet afternoon, so onwards, rapidly 

 and fearlessly ; and now we descend the triangular 



D 



