ILFRACOMBE LANES. 75 



where several gateways meet, and here the exquisite wild- 

 flowers, everywhere so abundant, seem more than ever luxuri- 

 ant. What a i^ci-fect bit of foreground is that ! A few lough 

 mossy trunks lying against the tufts of fern, and a quiet donkey 

 stretched across the lane in "maiden meditation, fancy free ;" 

 it is one of those exquisite nothings which somehow affect 

 you more than a fine landscape. At least it so affected us ; 

 and this was surpassed a little further on, when we came to 

 a spot where a brook runs brawling across the lane, and a 

 wooden bridge allows those to pass who prefer not wetting 

 their feet. A rough hurdle is fixed up where the brook 

 gushes from the field into the lane, over brovm stones, which 

 it polishes into agate. Against the little bridge rises a tree, 

 and all round its roots by the brook- side are varied tufts of 

 fern, and gems of wild-flowers. How I wished to be a painter 

 that I might sketch sucli " bits " as these, and not let enthu- 

 siasm evaporate in ohs ! From this brook a step or two 

 brought us to a shabby house, bearing the reputation of 

 being haunted, its broken windows rag-mended. I never 

 saw the ghost ; but I always saw a huge, divinely-awkward 

 puppy, as happy and affectionate as puppies usually are. I 

 could not get my companions to sympathise with me in my 

 love for puppies in general, or in my wish to encourage the 

 advances of this one in particular. Be gustihus. There are 

 people who don't like poetry ; there are others indifferent to 

 puppies. After a valedictory caress to tliis floppy acquaint- 

 ance, we passed on into the woods, and while seated under 

 deKcious *' umbrageosity," I soothed myself with a Latakia 

 cigar, and contemplated a beautiful caterpillar spending its 



