110 | AMERICAN FERN JOURNAL 
we were apparently in the heart of a rather open — 
cedar forest. All around were fine specimens of these 
' trees, some with a dark olive foliage, others of a lighter 
green and many of them profusely covered with clusters 
of beautiful grey-blue berries. Mossy ledges protruded 
from the higher parts of the ground, their sloping tops 
and sides adorned with great sheets of the Polypody. 
All about were barberry bushes with their pendent 
clusters of crimson fruit, and at my feet was the decayed 
stump of what was once a big tree, now completely 
covered with gay red-tipped coral-moss. But most 
wonderful of all, I saw for the first time growing on 
the sides of the rocky knolls, the rosettes of the Ebony 
“Spleenwort, surmounted by the tall, graceful fertile fronds 
with their polished dark brown stems. It was a case 
of love at first sight, and right then and there began 
my interest in our native ferns which was destined to 
later become a veritable hobby. 
In the literature of England and Scotland we find 
many references to the beauty of the ferns or to some 
romantic superstition connected with them. — 
In Guy Mannering, for instance, the farmer of 
Charlie’s Hope, honest Dandie Dinmont, after telling 
Harry Bertram that the sheriff is searching every- 
where for the gipsy, Meg Merilies, and that a reward 
of fifty pounds has been offered for her apprehension, 
says “But she’ll no be taen unless she likes for a’ that.” 
“And how comes that?” asks Bertram. ‘Oh, I dinna 
ken,”’ replies Dinmont, “J daur say it’s nonsense, but 
they say she has gathered the fern seed and can gang 
ony gate she likes like Jock-the-Giant-killer wi’ his coat 
0’ darkness and his shoon o’ swiftness. ”’ 
Any one who has read Blackmore’s superb novel 
“Lorna Doone” will remember how narrowly John 
Ridd escaped a violent death at the hands of his mor- 
tal enemies, the Doones of Bagworthy, when those 
