90 
THE FERN PARADISE. 
tion. 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 other wild growths that sprung 
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 rio-ht from the road to the water’s 
o 
surface, covered—in such splendid luxuriance as 
is everywhere to be seen in Devonshire—with tall, 
rich, delightful green grass intermingled with 
dark green fronds of the Hartstongue, and hand¬ 
some shuttlecock-shaped fronds of noble speci¬ 
mens of the Male Fern. The left banks of the 
brook hung far over the water, the bushes, ivy, 
and moss-covered branches of trees which crowned 
them affording cool, dark, and moist nooks for 
the Ferns, whose exquisite fronds, dropping 
