MOORLAND IDYLLS. 



season your green sprouting top was browsed 

 down by wandering cattle or gnawing rabbits ; 

 you had some thirty rings of annual growth, 

 I take it, in your stunted rootstock, just 

 below the level of the soil, before you could 

 push yourself up three inches towards the 

 free and open air of heaven. Year after 

 year, as you strove to rise, those ever-present 

 assailants cropped you close and stunted 

 you ; yet still you persevered, and nathless 

 so endured, till, in one lucky season, you 

 made just enough growth, under the sun's 

 warm rays, to overtop and outwit their 

 continual aggression. Then, for a while, 

 you grew apace; you put forth lush green 

 buds, and you looked like a sturdy young 

 tree indeed, with branches sprouting from 

 each side, when, with infinite pains, you 

 had reached to the height of a man's 

 shoulder. 



But your course was still chequered. Life 

 is hard on the hilltops. You had to stand 

 stress and strain of wind and weather. Like 



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