46 
THE FERN PARADISE. 
further on, we reach a point in the road where 
a rushing stream comes out of and flows for some 
distance by the side of the wood. The scenery 
at this spot is beautiful almost beyond descrip- 
tion. All who admire sylvan loveliness should visit 
it. A rude rustic bridge crosses the stream and 
gives access to a narrow, steep and winding path 
which leads up into the dusky recesses of the 
wood. When we travelled the route we are de- 
scribing, it was May. On the right of the rustic 
bridge, and almost overshadowing it, a large haw- 
thorn bush was white with blossom, and scented 
the air all around with its delicious fragrance. 
Below us, the stream was rapidly eddying, waving 
the weeds and wild growth that sprung up from its 
bed. Just in front, a sudden fall in the level of 
the stream caused the gurgle and foamy splash of 
a tiny waterfall. A sloping bank led down on the 
right from the road to the water’s surface, covered 
— in such splendid luxuriance as is everywhere 
to be seen in Devonshire — with tall, rich, delight- 
ful green grass intermingled with the dark green 
fronds of the Hartstongue, and the handsome 
