30 LOCH C RE RAN. 



One of the peculiarities of the human mind is a love 

 of dexterous imitation, and this takes various forms. Per- 

 haps the most unpleasant is the imitation of natural 

 objects in unnatural substances, and we acknowledge the 

 same feeling towards an imitation sealskin that a bull is 

 supposed to bear towards a red cloak. Yet the mind is 

 pleased with a dexterous copy all the same, and perhaps 

 the pleasing feeling that we have discovered the analogy, 

 or at least that we fully appreciate it, adds to the agree- 

 able sensation produced by a really beautiful form. 



The Polypodies, known familiarly as the oak and beech 

 ferns, are common enough all about us, and, from being 

 thus common, attract no attention, although none the less 

 beautiful on that account. But the parsley fern (Allosorus 

 crispus), or rock brakes, is less familiar to the eye any- 

 where, and is seldom to be found in Scotland except in 

 confined localities. We have often resolved to hunt up 

 this fine plant in its " native wilds," and as our stout young 

 friend is on the hunting path, we must make up our minds 

 to give a day to the chase. The sun has been shy all the 

 summer, so we cannot expect a dry walk, but will ignom- 

 iniously keep to the road as long as possible ere starting 

 off towards the rock haunts of the pretty plant that has 

 stolen its graceful fronds from our kale yardie and 

 keeps demurely among the hills, as if afraid to be found 

 out. Away up in Glen Dubh, that black glen among the 

 hills, on which an eternal gloom seems settled as we look 

 up from below, and where a heavy mist seems ever hang- 

 ing to damp the spirits of the unhappy visitant, we must 

 seek it. We are traversing a rude road towards the glen, 

 wondering what sort of vehicle can hold together over the 

 rocks and through the bogs, and occasionally forced to 

 consider which road to take when it divides. But we 



