A PARADISE OF FERNS. 
77 
dense tufts; but it is to be found in perfection 
only in very moist and sliady situations. 
Now, as we go downwards, we pass over a tiny 
stream crossed by a rude bridge; and here over¬ 
head the tangled bushes again meet, throwing on 
bridge and stream a dark shadow. Down almost 
by the water’s edge, revelling in the moist and 
shady situation, are growing innumerable little 
tufts of the Scaly Spleenwort (Asjolenmm ceterach). 
The Scaly Spleenwort is, in truth, a charming 
little plant. The upper surface of the simple 
saw-edged frond is dark green; its texture is like 
velvet. Underneath, the surface of the frond is 
completely swathed in rich brown scales, where, 
snugly hiding, lie the spores. 
Here, as we reach the end of this green lane, 
the singular grace and the exceeding loveliness of 
the scene appear to blend in one harmonious 
whole. We lean over the rude parapet of the 
bridge. Trees above us cast cool shadows upon 
all round and underneath them. Gurgling and 
sparkling along below us the brook babbles on its 
way; now foaming in playful fancy over its tiny 
stones; now smoothly resting in mimic pools; 
F 
