240 BABBICOMBE TO HOPE'S NOSE. 



" Sumer is icumen in ; 



Lhude sing ' cuckoo ! ' 

 Groweth sede, and bloweth mede, 

 And spryngeth the wode nu. 



' Cuckoo ! cuckoo ! ' 

 Ne swik thu naver ! " 



An impudent magpie breaks the poetic spell with 

 his harsh cackle, and splutters out of that dark glade. 

 Magpie ! nay, magpies ! for there are two ! Of course 

 there are ; for who ever saw a magpie, without another 

 at his tail ? they always travel in pairs. Hech, sirs, 

 but maggy is a fine bird ! I never see him but I 

 fancy I see one of the splendid feathered denizens of 

 the tropics ; his bold contrasts of colour, his length of 

 tail, and its brilliant gloss of purple, green, and gold, 

 belong rather to the solemn forests on the Amazon, 

 or the sultry jungles of Borneo, than our chilly clime. 

 His voice though ! Well, that, I allow, is not melo- 

 dious ; but the parallel does not hold the less for that. 



Just below us is a little grove of ash and stunted 

 oak ; and through the midst of this, which is dark 

 with the united foliage over head, a track leads 

 through the tangled thicket to the rocks beneath. It 

 is just passable, and that is all ; for everywhere it is 

 overrun with briar and bramble, and huge crowns of 

 the male-fern are crowded here in immense numbers 

 and prodigious luxuriance. It is quite a sight to see 

 their great fronds of filagree-work radiating and arch- 

 ing on every side. Moreover, as the blind path de- 

 scends, it becomes more and more steep, and choked 

 up with loose blocks of stone; until at length you 



