MOORLAND IDYLLS. 



Douglas pines which the nursery gardener 

 plants out as " specimen trees " on the 

 smooth velvety sward of some lawn in the 

 lowlands. No, no ; my Scotch fir is gnarled 

 and broken-boughed, a great gaunt soldier, 

 scarred from many an encounter with fierce 

 wintry winds, and holding its own even 

 now, every January that passes, by dint of 

 hard struggling against enormous odds with 

 obstinate endurance. Life, for it, is a battle. 

 And I love it for its scars, its toughness, 

 its audacity. It has chosen for its post the 

 highest summit of the ridge, where north- 

 east and south-west alternately assault it ; 

 and it meets their assaults with undiminished 

 courage, begotten of long familiarity with 

 fire and flood, with lightning and tempest. 



Has it never occurred to you how such 

 a tree must grow ? what attacks it must 

 endure, what assaults of the evil one it must 

 continually fight against ? Its whole long 

 life is one endless tale of manful struggle 

 and dear-bought victory. What survives 



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