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Sorry should we be if such were to be the fate of all the 
Ferns of the Axe and its tributaries. We view them as one 
of our greatest ornaments. Our woods, our hedge-banks 
and our shady lanes derive much of their beauty from these 
elegant plants. Not only in the spring, but throughout the 
greatest part of the year, they add a softness and grace to 
the scenery, and draw the contemplative mind to admire 
the works of our great Creator. Surely the man must be 
devoid of taste who has no eyes to admire not only the 
humbler of these plants, which grow among our walls and 
bridges and ruins, but also the Lady Ferns and the Royal 
Flowering Ferns, which so abundantly adorn the neighbour- 
hood of the Axe. Beautiful as the river and its branches 
are, which wind their course through our lovely vales ; 
magnificent as our views are, which exhibit Dartmoor on 
the one hand, and the Somersetshire hills on the other ; 
interesting, too, as this country is in an historical point 
of view, whether we turn to the Roman or to the ancient 
British remains or to the troublous times of the Common- 
wealth ; we also beg to contend that the lover of nature 
may likewise find a rich treat, if he pay attention to the 
flowers and shrubs and ferns which grow in such profusion 
in this locality. In the metropolis we have artificial 
grottoes and arbours and rockwork covered with various 
plants, on which the water is made to bubble and trickle 
down. Here we have the glorious reality. Here we have 
the Great Artist Himself at work. Behold our shady lanes 
covered with branches of trees and woodbines intermixed — 
nature’s magnificent arbour. Mark the rockwork close to 
our streamlets, covered with mosses, lichens, and ferns, 
down which the water splashes and gurgles so sweetly and 
so grandly. May we not conclude by saying — 
“ Nature boon 
Poured forth profuse on kill and dale and plain 
Both where the morning sun first warmly smote 
The open field and where the unpierced shade 
Imbrowned the noontide hours.’* 
