Chatterbox, 1905 Part 119

M. H.

A STROLL AMONGST FERNS.

We cannot show in Britain such tall and beautiful natives of the fern tribe as may be found growing freely in tropical countries, but still we have some fine ferns belonging to our islands. These are much commoner in some parts than in others, and probably, many years ago, when a great part of the country was covered with damp forests or woods, there was a greater abundance of ferns generally than there is now. Indeed, even in the last few years, some ferns that used to be abundant have become quite scarce, often owing to the fact that unwise people dig them up, to carry the plants away from their haunts, and put them in gardens.

There are, fortunately, some ferns which such thefts do not harm, because they are plentiful. The well-known bracken, for instance, though quant.i.ties of it may be cut for wrapping or decoration, is not thereby thinned much, and it covers acres and acres of ground in some woodlands, especially about the western counties. The West of England is the home of ferns, big and small; but some southern counties, such as Suss.e.x and Hamps.h.i.+re, have a good display. In Scotland, again, glens or copses, often the haunts of wild deer, are green with a thick growth of bracken.

A well-known writer, who lives where ferns abound, says that the bracken is the fern of ferns in the British Islands. The shelter of it is a pleasure and a safeguard too, not only to the tall deer and their fawns, but to thousands of quadrupeds and birds, whose home is amid the copses, shady lanes, or moorlands. In sandy wastes, this fern only grows a foot high; along the paths in woods it will attain to six or seven feet, or grow taller still in a lofty hedge, or in a clump of supporting trees.

Even in the winter months the ferns have their uses; it is delightful, after walking over some moist lowland, to come upon a hilly ridge of ground, where, amongst the birches and the fragrant firs, the brown ferns grow freely.

Grand in its growth, but only to be found in a few places, is the Osmund or Royal Fern, which throws up a tall spike bearing the spores or seeds of the plant. Sometimes, in moist places, the crown of the root is a clump of more than a foot high, from which the stem rises. Of late years, this kingly fern has become still more rare, and happy is the fern-hunter who comes upon a specimen.

Who can help admiring the beautiful Lady Fern, which seems to be most at home when growing near a streamlet or pond? It is stately and graceful, with large fronds of clear green, and the tips of its sprays bend like plumes. What is called the Male Fern grows in hedges or banks, and indeed almost anywhere; a handsome cheery-looking plant, though of moderate size. It will even manage to live in a London back-garden, or area, and many cottagers have it amongst the flowers of their small garden plots. Occasionally, by the side of a copse, we may come upon a great bed of the male fern, which frequently keeps green all the winter.

Often, about the same spots where the male fern flourishes, the s.h.i.+eld Fern displays its fronds, larger and broader, but fewer in number, and prettily toothed along their edges. Fond of damp hollows or the sides of ditches is the handsome Hart's-tongue Fern, which will also, now and then, choose to grow on a cracked wall, or perhaps down a well.

We must not forget the Polypody, which delights to creep amongst the trees and bushes of a lane, and looks very fresh in June, keeping its fronds till some sharp frost brings them off. It took the name of Polypody from its jagged leaves, upon which the seeds or spores appear in bright orange spots. The humble Wall Rue and the Wall Spleenwort grow on walls chiefly, sometimes on rocky banks. The true Maiden-hair Fern is amongst the rarest of our native ferns. What is so commonly grown by gardeners, and used for bouquets and b.u.t.tonholes, is the Black Maiden-hair, a rather stronger plant.

THE CONTENTED PANSY.

'I wish,' said the Pansy, 'I had not been planted To catch the full force of the wind from the east; But, somehow, the gardener takes it for granted That that's not a hards.h.i.+p I mind in the least.

'Twas all very well while the laurel was growing, Her glittering leaves were a capital s.h.i.+eld; But now she is gone, and the chilly winds blowing Can whistle unchecked from the neighbouring field.

'The pinks and the roses are grandly protected, They're touched but by winds from the south and the west; Yet here, in exposure, I'm always expected To blossom in colours my brightest and best.

The sun on my home his warm light seldom squanders, And only when night is beginning to fall; While if through the garden the honey-bee wanders, He never looks twice at my corner at all.

'But light is my heart as the fairest of roses, For yesterday morning, in kindliest tone, I heard some one say, who was gathering posies, "I'm fond of that pansy that blossoms alone."

Just think of it! Some one has noticed me growing!

I don't want the wind from the south and the west, And, spite of the hurricane bitterly blowing, I'll blossom in colours the brightest and best.'

HOW HETAIS WORE HIS MEDAL.

A True Story.

Hetais was a French sailor, a carpenter of the _Ville de Paris_, and he and his s.h.i.+p-mates took part with our soldiers in the siege of Sebastopol in 1854, where Hetais, having shown great gallantry during one of the sorties, was adjudged that coveted decoration, the _medaille militaire_--a medal that is only given to privates and non-commissioned officers.

The presentation of this medal was to be made on a certain evening, and on the morning, as he and his mates were on duty in the trenches, the chief subject of conversation was the honour that had befallen Hetais.

He was a modest, brave-hearted fellow, and though much pleased at the prospect of his medal, was pleased, too, to think of the treat he meant to give his comrades to celebrate the event.

'Look here,' he said to his particular chum, 'I have just drawn out all the money owing to me, and I mean you fellows to have a good, hot supper to-night at the canteen, and I foot the bill!' and as he spoke he pulled out a handful of silver from his pocket and showed it with a laugh to his friend.

Hot suppers were a rarity in that camp, and the very thought of such a treat was cheering to the half-starved men.

'You are a good fellow, Hetais,' said one of the men, 'and you deserve your luck.'

'Hold your tongue, you silly fellow,' said Hetais, with a good-natured thump on the speaker's back. 'Get on with your coffee-making, and do not talk nonsense!'

'All right,' said the man, cautiously lifting his head above the shelter of the trench, so as to see what the Russians were about. 'The "Moscos"'

(so the French termed the enemy) 'seem keeping quiet to-day, and we shall be able to enjoy our coffee in peace,' he continued.

A fire was lighted, and the water put on to boil in a saucepan, the men all sitting round in eagerness, for it was bitterly cold in the trenches, and a hot cup, or rather tin, of coffee seemed to warm and cheer them better than anything else.

'Now then,' at last said the coffee-maker, 'hold out your mess-tins, and we will divide fairly.'

Every man held out his mess-tin--but not one drop of coffee was to be drunk by any of them, for at that very moment a bomb from the Russian battery landed in their midst, upsetting the saucepan of coffee and exploding in the midst of the little crowd of men.

It seemed as if none could escape! Yet, strange to say--for this is a true story--of all that group, no one was hurt, except the brave Hetais, whose head had been all but blown away by the bursting of the bomb.

It is impossible to describe the grief and consternation of his comrades, who felt, one and all, that each could have been better spared than the man who lay dead at their feet.

Just then the officer in charge of the party came up, and the senior man told him how Hetais had met his death. The officer was no less sorry than the men, for Hetais was popular with all ranks.

'Poor fellow! he was a brave man if there ever was one,' said the officer. 'Carry his body back to camp, my lads; he shall be honoured in death, if he has just missed it in life,' for the officer was thinking of the medal and the ceremony of presentation which was to have taken place that evening.

The men extemporised a sort of bier out of a litter on which the dead man was lying and their muskets, and thus they reverently carried him back to camp, the relief party presenting arms as the funeral procession pa.s.sed by them.

When the General in command was informed of the death of Hetais, he issued the following order to the troops:

'I was to have presented Hetais, of the _Ville de Paris_, with the _medaille militaire_, and his untimely death must not deprive him of this honour. I shall fasten the medal on him at his burial.'

A few hours later, all the sailors and soldiers who could be spared from the trenches were drawn up in a hollow square outside the camp around the body of Hetais, who, wrapped in his cloak, slept his last calm sleep on the rough litter in which he had been carried from the trenches.

The deep silence was at last broken by the loud voice of the commanding officer: 'Present arms!' Then he took off his helmet, and followed by another officer, who carried the medal, he advanced towards the bier, and read out the brief account of the gallant action which had gained Hetais his medal.

Then, taking the medal from the hand of the subaltern, he fastened it on to the cloak of the sailor, and, turning to the a.s.sembled soldiers and sailors, he thus addressed them:

'A glorious death has ended a n.o.ble life,' he said, in a loud, clear voice, which could be heard by all; 'but death, though it has robbed us of a brave comrade, shall not rob him of the honour due to his services.

In the name of the General commanding the forces in the East, I confer on our dead comrade the _medaille militaire_!'

Then all ranks pa.s.sed in turn, bare-headed, past the still figure of Hetais, lying all unconscious of the honour done to him; and thus were the last honours paid to a brave man.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "The commanding officer advanced towards the bier."]

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'How would you like to earn twenty pounds reward?'"]