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CHAPTER IX. 
Hidden close from human eye 
Violets do love to lie, 
Only for the tell-tale air 
No one could discover Avhere ; 
But there's an Eye Which on them dwells 
With sunshine, soft and true, — 
A Hand Which fills their purple bells 
With drops of morning dew. 
Tho' they love the shady nook. 
And with bee and babbling brook 
Communing, with fragrant sigh, 
Live, and bloom, and breathe, and die ; 
No gloomy anchorites are they, 
In lonely severance sad. 
But in their gentle, quiet way. 
They make God's creatures glad. — Monsell. 
In writing my experiences of Fern-hunting in 
Cornwall, my pen Las a lingering habit, and my 
thoughts wander away from the Ferns to the 
people with whom I was thrown into pleasant 
