A PNOWT I,ANDSOAPE, 97 



mantle of ivy. Through the leafless branches of 

 these trees — through the interstices between 

 sturdy boles, twisted limbs, and the fretwork of 

 branches, we see the dark-green and steep sides 

 of Boxhill, flung into relief here and there by 

 patches of snow, not melted by the sun, which is 

 now shining brightly. But what can there be in 

 the bridge itself worth notice on this mid-Winter 

 day ? Let us see. Looking down over one of 

 its sides at the flowing water, there is, neverthe- 

 less, a picture to admire. The red brick bridge- 

 side is, in places, covered with deep-green moss 

 in varying shades from olive to brightest emerald, 

 and dappled with gold and crimson and orange 

 from clustering lichen. Crossing the bridge and 

 bending round to the right, we commence the 

 ascent of the hill. It is a steep climb. But the 

 climber is soon rewarded for the efEort. Ere he 

 has gone fifty yards upwards, he may turn and 

 feel the charm of that mysterious feeling which 

 overspreads the mind and gives a buoyant sense 

 of nameless pleasure, as one mounts to a height 

 from whence a view of sylvan beauty can be had 

 over a wide-spreading landscape. If we follow 



