128 Idylls of the Field. 



no fear of exterminating that. It grows mostly beyond 

 the reach of the casual visitor. Maidenhair there is 

 not, and probably never was ; but ferns of many kinds 

 fringe the rocky cornices with their graceful fronds. 



But the gorge has other tenants. Crowds of jack- 

 daws haunt its rocky niches ; and the Babel of their 

 thousand tongues, and the flutter of their dusky wings 

 as they float far up against the blue sky, are for a great 

 part of the year features never absent from it. Among 

 the dark plumage of the daws flash the grey wings of 

 the rock-dove ; and the scream of the kestrel every 

 now and then breaks in upon the chattering chorus. 



Years ago the lordly peregrine kept his castle with 

 the rest ; but both he and the raven, though not un- 

 known, seldom revisit now their ancient haunts. 



The limestone of the Mendips is pierced by many 

 caves, some of which, like that of Goatchurch at 

 Burrington, are long and intricate. Despoiled of 

 their beauty long ago, and having yielded rich harvests 

 of bones to Beard, Dawkins, and other cave-hunters, 

 there is little in them now to tempt the explorer. 



A better fate has attended the cavern at Cheddar, 

 which, half a century ago, was discovered by accident 

 in digging foundations for a stable. Its treasures have 

 been guarded with such care, that, it is no exaggeration 

 to say, there are few more beautiful caverns in the 

 world than this pride of a little West-Country village. 



There are few allusions to the cliffs in old writers, 

 who, indeed, seldom troubled themselves about the 



