A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 



clue time as red campion and herb-robert, as 

 faint-scented may and tall military spikes 

 of purple foxglove. 



But when you sow or transplant these 

 lush herbs of the hedgerow on to the bare 

 and open heath, they come into competition 

 at once with other and far hardier upland 

 bushes. The plants of the moor are indeed 

 unlike such pampered odalisques of the deep 

 banks and rich lowlands. Stern children of 

 the heights, their stems are hard and wiry, 

 their leaves small and dry ; their flowers 

 feel like tissue-paper ; their growing shoots 

 have none of that luxuriant tenderness, that 

 translucent delicacy, which characterizes the 

 long sprays of hedgerow dogrose and hedge- 

 row bramble. All is arid and parsimonious, 

 as in some Highland cottage. Our daintily 

 bred foxgloves, decayed gentlewomen, 

 stunted and dwarfed in that inhospitable 

 soil, can scarce find nutriment in the thirsty 

 sand to send up a feeble parody of their 

 purple spikes ; in long droughts they droop 



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