FOKDINGBEIDGE TO BE AM SHAW. 129 



of some magnificent prospect, the sudden glory of 

 which makes us pause almost spellbound with 

 \dmiration. 



As we turn into the descending road towards 

 Bramshaw it seems as if all the colouring 

 spread upon the wide-extending, open and 

 heathery moorlands through which we have been 

 wandering were compressed into a small space, for 

 the enjoyment here is pre-eminently for the eye 

 alone. It is veritable fairyland. The purple of the 

 bordering Heather ; the gold of the Dwarf Furze ; 

 the feathery grace of the Bracken, dyed in green 

 and red and amber and orange ; the glint of the 

 Holly, the deep, glossy green of which sets off 

 with singular beauty the bright red berries ; the 

 gold and green and bronze of the autumnal Oak 

 leaves and the fiery glow of the fading Beech all 

 unite to make a picture of surpassing loveliness 

 which yet, in spite of its wealth of colour, does 

 not dazzle but charms the eye. 



Our way goes down, down, into the very bosom 

 of the woods. And now the silence of Nature is 

 broken by the gurgle of running water along the 

 wayside. Looking down to follow the course of 



