116 
THE FERN PARADISE. 
rat will return from his hole; the trout will skim 
about on the surface of the river close to where 
we are sitting, if our shadow does not fall across 
the sunlit pool. As we sit and rest, we may 
listen, with a deep sense of enjoyment, to the soft 
buzzings of the insects which surround us; and 
watch the bushes, the grass, the ground, and the 
water. Everywhere there is life—fresh, delight¬ 
ful, enjoyable life. 
Such a scene as we have attempted to describe 
is not imaginary. It is real and tangible. Who 
that has visited Devonshire has not experienced 
the varied and varying sensations of a ramble so 
essentially Devonian ? 
After pursuing this river-side path for some 
little distance, we reached a waterfall, where a 
division in the river makes provision for the stream 
which drives the mill at Fingle Bridge. Close by 
the fall there is a light and open plantation of 
small trees, and underneath these a tiny forest of 
Ferns. Bracken in glorious luxuriance clothe 
the ground, and splendid forms of the Male Fern 
also abound in this wood. The dark stream, too, 
which flows by the wood is fringed with some 
