272 
THE FERN PARADISE. 
checkered with fleecy white clouds. You follow 
the course of the current, watching some foam 
spot as it eddies along, and disappears beneath 
the arch over which you are leaning. As you 
gaze intently into the stream, your cheeks are 
fanned by the brisk moorland breeze, which 
comes fresh laden with the sweet perfumes of 
wild flowers. But the breeze has stirred the 
tiny life which clings to the stony sides of the 
bridge ; and your eyes are suddenly rivetted 
by waving tufts of purple and green — a mimic 
forest of fern-fronds clothing the arches of stone 
and mortar. Examine the exquisite arrange- 
ments of these beautiful fronds, — green gems on 
stalks like maiden’s hair. O bountiful Creator, 
to spread out such rich treasures as these ! to 
make the dry, hard stones live with their charm- 
ing dress of glorious green ! 
Thousands of sights like these may be seen 
in the wild, rocky moorlands, on bridges which 
span the moorland streams. But much as it 
loves the wild home of Nature, and the damp 
rock in the moorland valley, the beautiful fronds 
