CHAPTER XXIV. 



LICHENS. 



'• AYhen in the grass sweet voices talk, 

 And strains of tiny music swell 

 From every moss-cup of the rock, 

 From every nameless blossom's well." — Bryant. 



XCE more we were wandering in that lovely 

 Cornish district during the bright winter 

 weather. We turned from the sea shore and 

 pursued the river banks, entering, ere long, the Trelawnv 

 woods, whose forest of naked branches seemed suited to 

 the possession of that noted Cornish name, and brought 

 to our mind the popular refrain, adopted on behalf of a 

 rebel Trelawny — 



"And shall Trelawnv die ! 

 And must Trelawny die ! 

 Then forty thousand Cornish men 

 Shall know the reason why." 



But it is doing an injustice to the crowded oaks and 

 elms of those Trelawnv woods to call their branches 

 " naked,'' for they were draped with lichens, just such as 

 Bryant describes in the Canadian forests — 



" Here are old trees, old oaks, and gnarled pines. 



That stream with grey green mosses." 



P 



