CHAPTER XI. 



V B I B C H. 



Betula alba. 



" On the green slope 

 Of a romantic glade we sat us down, 

 Amid the fragrance of the yellow broom, 

 While o'er our head the weeping birch-tree streams 

 Its branches, arching like a mountain shower." 



Wikon. 



I HAVE stood for ages, said a very old birch-tree, that clung 

 with her strong roots to a rugged bank, overlooking the 

 vale country near Dudcombe. My usual haunts are rocks 

 and waterfalls, though affecting at times moist hedges and 

 damp woods. You can hear a little stream rippling through 



