TORBAY 
163 
around was peculiarly grand and wild. Strewn about the 
beach were huge fragments of rock, which during some 
terrible storms, or by the force of some convulsion of Nat ure, 
or perhaps by the slow eating away of the bonds which held 
them to their parent cliff, had fallen on to the strand, where 
they lay in terrible silence, which was broken, however, by 
the dull roar of the waves as they dashed heavily over the 
huge masses — a roar which was given back from the cavernous 
hollow of the cliff. Overhead the sea-gulls screamed, as 
they sailed safely above the din and danger of the great 
waves. 
It was in this neighbourhood that we found our first clump 
of True Maidenhair. From the hill above us a stream of 
water trickled over the surface of the limestone rock, and 
whilst carefully looking about we espied a baby frond of 
Maidenhair, so small, that had we not looked closely into the 
rock, we could not have noticed it. Our ‘ find ’ suggested a 
further search, and, clambering up the limestone cliff by the 
aid of some bushes, we came upon some hardy little tufts of 
the beautiful plant, snugly ensconced under the projecting 
shelter of a spur of limestone, and revelling in the moisture 
and shade produced by the oozing of a tiny stream over the 
cliff-side. 
We turn our steps away from the beautiful haunt of the 
Maidenhair, leave the bay, and, mounting to the high ground, 
find ourselves in the green mazes of a winding lane. Then 
we take a path 011 our left, which leads us again to the sea, 
and striking the coastguard’s path, we commence a tour along 
one of the most charming lines of coast around the whole of 
lovely Devon. Our path begins to fringe the top of a glorious 
cliff rising far above a steep and narrow inlet of the sea. 
Midway above this inlet we are constrained to pause, charmed 
by the loveliness of the scene. In front of us, and to the 
south-east, as we stand and gaze outwards is the blue expanse 
