The fern paradise; a plea for the culture of ferns

Front matter

<--> * -———— _. 1

- ae

- -

SECTION I.— Continued

PAGE VI. THE MAIDENHAIR . ; ; ‘ 156 VII. THE ANNUAL MAIDENHAIR ; ; 161 VIII. THE MouUNTAIN PARSLEY FERN . é 163 IX. THE BRISTLE FERN . : : ; 167 X. THE MOONWORT : : i : I7I XI. THE ADDERS-TONGUE P ; : 173 XII. THE LITTLE ADDERS-TONGUE A ; 176 SECTION II.

FERN GROUPS.

FERN GROUPS 2 ; ; : ‘ ’ 181 CHAP. I. THE POLYPODIES . 3 ter ee 185 II. THE SHIELD FERNS. é . , 203 III. THE BLADDER FERNS ; ; : 215 IV. THE WoopsiAs . ; i 5 | ee V. THE BUCKLER FERNS : : - 231 VI. THE SPLEENWORTS . : é ; 255 VII. THe Fitmy FERNS . : ; 2 ee L’ENVOI ; 291

KEY TO FRONTISPIECE.

x. Scaly Spleenwort. 2. Sea Spleenwort, (frond.) 3. Common Maidenhair Spleenwort, (frond.) 4. Black Maidenhair Spleenwort, (frond.) 5. Lanceolate Spleenwort, (frond.) 6. Rue-leaved Spleenwort, (portion of frond.) 7. Forked Spleenwort, (frond.) 8. Lady Fern, (branch of frond.) 9. Soft Prickly Shield Fern, (branch of frond.) 10. Tunbridge Filmy Fern, (frond.) 11. Maidenhair, (portion of frond.) 12. Male Fern, (branch of frond.) 13. Prickly-toothed Buckler Fern, (branch of frond.) 14. Marsh Buckler Fern, (branch of frond.) 15. Hay-scented Buckler Fern, (branch of frond.) 16. Mountain Buckler Fern, (branch of frond.) 17. Common Polypody, (frond.) 18. Mountain Polypody, (small leaflet of frond.) x9. Three-branched Polypody, (pair of leaflets on branch of frond.) 20. Hard Fern, (barren frond.) 21. Royal Fern, (leaflet of branch of barren frond.) 22. Moonwort, (leaflet of barren frond.) 23. Adders-tongue, (barren frond and seed-bearing spike.) 24. Bracken, (portion of frond.)

25. Brittle Bladder Fern, (branch of frond.) 26. Broad Buckler Fern, (small branch of frond.)

gurt I,

————______

FERN LAND.

Introduction

IVEN the free air which, with its buoyant and life-giving power, roams in sweetness and purity over mountain and plain, hill-side, meadow, and stream, and wherever the free gifts of Nature, far away from the habitations of man, abound in spontaneous luxuriance. Given the sight of a river as it rolls through the valley from its mountain home, fresh from dews and vapours, unsullied by contact with towns and cities; or of a streamlet whose smaller volume winds its silvery thread through the moorland. Given the sight and sound of the gurgling brook, as it babbles and sparkles over stones and shallows, meandering by copse and through mead. Given the wild paths of the wood through which to wander free and untrammelled, surrounded by the wealth of glorious trees, soothed by the soft sounds of insect life, and charmed by the songs of birds. Given the sweet gifts of plants and shrubs, of grass and flowers, clothed each and all with rich and beautiful tints: gifts which the all-wise Creator has spread out upon the earth with a splendid liberality, offering them alike to rich and to poor. Given, we say, all these choice things, together with a healthy mind in a healthy body, and he who has them possesses the elements of physical enjoyment.

But all cannot share such enjoyment. To some, Nature is like a sealed book; and these cannot sip from the cup which, overflowing with pleasure, she holds up as a free gift to mankind. Pent up, perhaps, in the heart of a great city, walled in from all that is beautiful in Nature, their eyes are never gladdened by the sight of woods, green fields, and sweet wild-flowers ; their ears are never charmed by the songs of birds that roam free and untamed among their native covers. To them the fresh breeze laden with soft perfumes never comes.

Hard toil in city workshops, squalid homes in city

INTRODUCTION. 7 slums, privation and suffering of every kind, are their lot. Others there are—dwellers also in towns and cities—who can at times, though rarely, snatch a few hours from their toilsome labours for a brief glimpse at the beautiful in Nature. Others again there are who can devote longer periods to the relaxation and enjoyment afforded by a ramble across country meads and through country lanes, by the silvery waters of the flowing brook, and through the shady woodland.

There are still a great many others whose opportunities for enjoying the country are unlimited. Time and money are at their disposal, and if they do not live in the country, they can at any time and at any season transport themselves thither. To each and to all, to the rich as well as to the poor, and to one no more than to the other, God offers the bounties of the natural world. But how different are the degrees of appreciation of these bounties on the part of those who share them ! How keen is the enjoyment of those who can find—

‘* Books in the running brooks,

Sermons in stones, and good in everything !”

The book of Nature is indeed beautiful to those who can read it; but those who cannot read it all can read a part of it. Some of its stories are full of sweet simplicity. Page after page can sometimes be turned, and the reader will encounter nothing to dismay him; nothing even to puzzle him. But the simple study of Nature is too frequently made a hard task by those who profess to teach. Botany is one of the most beautiful of natural studies, because it tells us all about the glorious vegetation which springs up from the earth.

Yet are there not thousands who do not understand botany? To some the study is too difficult. Others can find no opportunities for pursuing it. But all would like to know something of the beautiful vegetable world ; something less—less formal, less difficult—than what is usually to be found in books, and something more than can be learned from the mute language—eloquent nevertheless in its muteness—of the plants themselves. Why is it that so few attempts are made to render popular the study of plants? Our artists on paper and canvas attempt to reproduce the gorgeous colouring

INTRODUCTION. 9 of Nature’s garments. Why cannot our writers give us word-painting in their description of plants, instead of using only the unpoetic language of science? Why cannot more of the grace and beauty with which the Creator has endowed the natural world be reproduced in books ?

Amongst the most graceful and beautiful of the many lovely forms of vegetable life are the ferns. Of plants they are the least prosaic. Representing the beauty of form as distinguished from the gorgeousness of colouring, they are endowed with a tender and romantic grace. To study them is one of the most popular of pursuits, to cultivate them has become a popular passion. But thousands more would be added to the great host of fern-lovers if fern-literature were not so difficult to understand, and so unattractive. |

The tourist makes a dive into a country lane. Charmed with the varied and glorious forms of fern-life which he meets, he resolves to study the objects which have had so pleasing a fascination for him. He obtains a fern-book; but after reading two or three pages he wearily throws it aside.

fe) THE FERN PARADISE, —

Should it chance to contain coloured engravings of his favourites, he may linger for a few moments over it; but when he has once scanned the artist’s efforts, he has seen all that he desires to see. | It is the old story. The language of science, as generally rendered by our scientific writers, is a language for the few, and science will never be popular until it is popularly taught. “The language of flowers” has been taught; cannot an attempt be made to teach the language of ferns ? These beautiful plants seem to be especially designed for universal cultivation, for even the tiniest of the species in each of the numerous wonderful and exquisitely formed seed-cases concealed at the back of its fronds bears countless myriads of seeds. The common kinds of ferns— common only in the sense of being plentiful—are to be found almost everywhere; but the home of our native ferns is Devonshire—“ the Garden of England.”

FERN LAND.

oY i

io am ms “- i=

Gf ANY rr 4,

CHA Pela Re 1),

FERN LAND.

MIDST all our English counties, Devonshire stands unrivalled for the exquisite loveli-

ness of its scenery. Few of those who have climbed its bold heights, crossed its rugged moorlands, and wandered through its shady woods and its delightful green lanes, will be inclined to dispute this assertion, however familiar they may be with English landscapes. It is the marvellous variety of its scenery which constitutes the peculiar charm of this county—the rugged boldness of its many hills contrasting with the soft grace of its valleys. Its majestic coast-lines tower grandly up against the sky, both on its north and on its south seaboard—now frowning with barren but lofty grandeur at the waves, now clothed from the highest point of the cliff to the water’s edge with one deep dark mass of vegetation. But there is not even a grand monotony in the lines of noble cliffs along the coast of Devonshire. There is no monotony at all, for the grand rocks sink at intervals, to give place to magnificent bays, which sweep gracefully from cliff’s point to cliff’s point, and help to fling over the coast scenery of this, the most beautiful of English counties, the same aspect of variety which is its most charming characteristic.

Those only who have explored the Devonshire coast along the Bristol Channel on the north, and along the English Channel on the south, and who are also familiar with the interior of the county, can properly realise the extreme magnificence of its landscapes. But we believe that thousands of the tourists who annually visit the western “Garden of England”—for Devonshire well deserves that name—whilst deeply impressed with the general loveliness of the county, nevertheless find it difficult to explain what it is that lends the peculiar character of softness and grace to the scenery. Here is the secret. The whole county is richly and luxu-

“a al ees ee riantly clothed with ferns. The number and variety of the most exquisite forms of these beautiful plants to be found in Devonshire are equalled by those of no other county in the United Kingdom. Devonshire is emphatically the “ paradise” of the British ferns. There they are in very truth at home. The soil and the air are adapted to them, and they adapt themselves to the whole aspect of the place. They clothe the hill-sides and the hill-tops ; they grow in the moist depths of the valleys; they fringe the _banks of the streams ; they are to be found in the recesses of the woods; they hang from rocks and walls and trees, and crowd into the towns and villages, fastening themselves with sweet familiarity even to the houses. | + Devonshire abounds in warm, moist, and shady nooks ; and ferns delight in warmth, moisture, and shade. Though they love the warmth, they avoid the sun, and when accidentally exposed to its full influence, their delicate fronds become shrivelled and discoloured. Yet these beautiful plants do occasionally coquet with the tiny sunbeam which may perchance find its way through some crevice in their cool rocky home, or through the thick foliage of the hedge-row under whose darkest shade they love to grow. But even the ferns are changeable in their moods, and fickle in their attachments, differing from one another in their habits and modes of growth. Some members of the lovely family will boldly grow in situations where, perched on rocky corners, away from the cool shelter of overhanging shrubs, they are exposed to the full blaze of the sun, and roughly blown upon by the wild force of the wind. Others only seek to bathe the tips of their delicate fronds in sunshine, hiding all beside under damp masses of foliage. Others again will bear the sunlight if they can just find a refuge for their roots in the damp hedge-bank, in the moist crevices of walls and ruins, or amidst the interlaced branches of trees. There are others still which hide where not even the tiniest ray of sunlight can pierce the dark retreat which they choose, and where they can revel in soft and humid warmth. But all ferns, even the sunniest of the modest family, love moisture and shade the best, and though they will sometimes grow in the full sunlight, become developed into their most mature forms in cool and shady situations.

It is, then, the beautiful and unrivalled forms of fern-life which fling over Devonshire scenery its almost indescribable charm. Peer at low tide into yon dark and dripping cavern which yawns upon the sea! The bright sunshine that dances upon the rippling waves pauses at the cavern’s mouth, as if not daring to penetrate its gloomy depths. But just one tiny gleam of light has ventured to cross the threshold, and sparkling on the dripping water, it flashes through the opaque blackness a kind of electric light. As the water falls, drip! drip! into the pool below, the light increases, and then—oh, glorious sight !—you see at the side and on the roof of this lonesome sea-cave the beautiful Sea-spleenwort (Asplenium marinumy), hiding its roots in the cavern-walls, and spreading out its bright green and shining fronds, that they may luxuriate in the dark humidity of its chosen retreat. Or peer over yonder cliff, whose inaccessible sides overhang the seething waves! Look closely into the shady cleft which nestles under yon projecting spur! There you may see, far out of your reach, one of the most rare and exquisite of the British ferns—the Maidenhair (Adzantum capillus-veneris). Could you venture near enough to grasp it in your hand, you would indeed recognise that it is one of the most beautiful of plants. Its fine black wiry frond-stems, like a dark maiden’s hair—it is most appropriately named,—rise in clusters from its crown, the main frond-stems being branched with smaller and more beautiful hair-like stems, which bear upon their tender points the delicate light-green fan-shaped leaflets.

Wandering through the cool lanes of Devonshire you may, too, meet with the fragrant hay-scented Buckler Fern (Lastrea emula), which emits so beautiful an odour when pressed in the hand; with the delicately and transparently-leaved Marsh Buckler Fern (Lastrea thelypteris);, with the. Mountain Buckler Fern (Lastrea montana), whose silvery fronds make the air fragrant when you tread upon them in their incipient unrolled state. But these varieties are not to be commonly encountered in every Devonshire lane. And still rarer—though found in Devonshire—are the Lanceolate Spleenwort (Asplenium lanceolatum), the tiny Forked Spleenwort (Asplenium septentrionale), the Tunbridge Filmy Fern (Hymenophyllum Tunbridgense), and Wilson’s Filmy Fern (Hymenophyllum Witsont). The Moonwort (Botrychium lunaria), and the Common Adders-tongue (Ophzoglossum viutgatum), are also ferns of Devonshire growth. Wedo but enumerate these, and pass on to speak of some of the ferns which may be seen in almost every | Devonshire lane, and which, although common in the sense of being plentiful, are nevertheless amongst the most beautiful of the British ferns. Yet beautiful as are the varieties of which we shall speak, they are within the reach of all who may choose to gather them, and that is our reason for devoting especial attention to these varieties. Gentle reader, will you follow us in imagination whilst we endeavour to describe to you some Devonshire lanes which are familiar to us? And please remember that, exquisitely beautiful as they are, they are nevertheless but types of thousands of other lanes that the ordinary tourist may find for himself, in his rambles after ferns in “the F ernparadise” of England. When we have attempted to describe these lanes, and have noted the ferns which we shall find in them, we will try to show you how every one may have in his own home, wherever that may be, a real “ fern-paradise.”

A PARADISE OF FERNS.

ee

”

‘ res

: 5

R :

CRUAsber ie

A PARADISE OF FERNS.

WAY into the heart of a Devonshire lane! The time is midsummer, and the hot sun is pouring down his rays with burning intensity. But in yonder lane trees on each hedge that bounds the narrow pathway shoot up against the sky, and folding over at the top, shut out with their glorious masses of leaves the fiery heat. Beneath, the coolness is delicious, and the verdant foliage which bounds the view on every side, tempts the enamoured tourist to plunge into the depths of this cool retreat. But the walk through it must be a saunter, because its many and varied forms of fern-life should be examined to be enjoyed. We will not generalise. We will paint no imaginary picture, but we will just describe our own impressions of two Devonshire lanes which, amongst scores of others, we recently visited during the summer. We might be pardoned for giving a glowing description of the scenery of our native county; but ours will be no “glowing” description in the sense in which the word is used to mean exaggerated. No verbal description can accurately convey to the mind a fair and true picture of the exquisite loveliness of the green lanes to which we refer. The most brilliant word-painting would pale before the reality. Roughly, during our summer visit to Devonshire, we noted down our impressions of what we saw, and we will endeavour to reproduce those impressions on paper.

We must premise that, although the town in South Devon, of which we would speak, can of itself claim no especial notice, the scenery in its neighbourhood is surpassed by that of no other part of Devonshire. It is on “the English Rhine” ; for the Dart is the only English river which can claim that high distinctive title.

From the brow of a hill whose summit, about a mile from the town, commands a magnificent prospect of hill, dale, and river, two lanes run down, uniting in a point at the hill-top, but spreading away from each other as they sweep. downwards towards the river’s brink.

On leaving the town in the vicinity of the Quay the road turns round to the right, passes between high moss-covered walls, and after a short and sharp ascent for a few yards, suddenly wheels round to the left, and narrows into the dimensions of a lane. Turning for a moment before continuing the ascent, we get a lovely peep of the cluster of houses lying just a little below us, with the church spire rising grandly up in their midst.

Now—wending upwards—the path narrows still more between high hedges which rise on each side. Two or three more graceful bendings to right and to left, and then our lane suddenly widens as if to invite the tourist to pause in his ascent, and turn round, —

The view will well repay a look, for a charming sight is spread out below—hill-side and valley, town and river.

Upwards—narrowing as it goes—winds the lane.

And now, for a moment, the bright valley which we have left below us is forgotten in the new sight which refreshes the eye. Hitherto the sunlight has shone upon the path; but here our lane becomes suddenly darkened as it creeps under the shadow of higher hedge-banks, and of overhanging trees. Just one glance through a breach in the shady mound which helps to shut out the sunshine, and the eye will catch a lovely glimpse of the hill-side sloping down into the valley below. The bright peep charmingly contrasts with the dark depths of the lane. But in this dark and cool retreat fern-life is predominant. On the right the thick hedge is covered with an almost impenetrable mass of bushes, which rise high above its top, shedding upon it the dimness of evening twilight. Growing out against the dark background of bushes are some luxuriant specimens of the Common Hartstongue (Scolopendrium vulgare), one of the most easily recognisable of the British ferns, with its crumpled tongue-shaped frond, growing sometimes to the length—stem and frond together—of three feet. The thick and rich-looking yet leathery texture of the fronds of the Hartstongue, with their deep and shining green colour, make them look exquisitely cool and refreshing, rising up out of the dark hedge-bank as they do in. thick and clustering tufts—sometimes almost erect, at other times eracefully bending backwards their shining leathery tips... Underneath the curling tongue-shaped fronds, lie the curious rows of seeds (spores), whose rich reddish-brown colour beautifully contrasts with the deep shining green of the frond.

The Hartstongue is a bold free plant. You will find it growing almost everywhere in Devonshire: on the tops and at the sides of walls; hanging from old ruins; growing out from the sides of cliffs and deserted quarries; dropping down its long green fronds into the cool and limpid water of road-side wells hewn out of the rock : often exposed to the full blaze of the sun, but always in such cases dwindled ‘down to a tiny size. The Hartstongue is to be found in almost every conceivable form, from a tiny thing of half an inch in length, when growing ona bare dry wall, to a plant which is one rich thick mass of delightful curling fronds, each one a yard long, when growing in a moist bed of leaf-mould in the dark recess of some hedge.

Far out of our reach on the top of the high hedge-bank, are some noble specimens of the Male Fern (Lastrea filix-mas), so called from its erect and robust manner of growth. From the crown, densely covered with rust-coloured scales, spring up a close circle of beautiful fronds, whose under surface is thickly covered with the scales which are so prominent a characteristic of this noble-looking fern. There it grows, perched shuttle-cock fashion on the top of the hedge, the points of its fronds gracefully turned outwards, its crown resting just above the surface of leaf-mould, into the depths of which its long fine roots are plunged. The whole plant rests under the cool shadow of the trees. For years this hedge-bank has evidently been left untouched, and the annual crops of leaves falling from tree and bush, have piled up on it a rich mass of pure vegetable mould, in which the ferns delight to grow.

In this same spot, and growing side by side with the Hartstongue and Male Fern, are to be found specimens of two other of the large-growing species of the British ferns—the Broad Buckler Fern (Lastrea dilatata), and the Soft Prickly Shield Fern (Polystichum angulare). Both, when finely grown, are most splendid objects. The former is one of the most handsome of our native ferns, its broad arching fronds sweeping upwards and outwards with exquisite grace, and sometimes attaining like the Male Fern, to which it is closely allied, a height of four or five feet. The chief characteristic of the Soft Prickly Shield Fern is the minute and beautiful manner in which its fronds are divided into small angular-shaped saw-edged leaflets. It is often densely clothed with rich brown scales, which contrast finely with the dark deep green of its fronds. )

Turning now away from the dark shelter of overhanging trees, the pathway, wending upwards still, passes between high hedges, whose dark and tangled vegetation almost meets overhead. Hete, shooting up majestically from the deep rich soil of the hedge-bank, are some Brakes (Peeris aguilina). These are the giants of the British fern family, growing in their branching tree-like form to a height sometimes of ten feet. Peering into the dark depths of the hedges on either side, we discover trailing out of the close masses of ivy which encircle the gnarled and matted roots of the trees, the pretty fronds of the Polypody (Polypodium vulgare). The Polypody, like the Hartstongue, will grow almost anywhere—on walls, in hedge-banks, and on trees; but it becomes a puny plant when growing in dry, hot, and exposed situations. It delights most to nestle amongst the twisted branches of the pollard-tree. There its creeping fleshy roots, feeding on the rich leaf-mould which collects in the crevices between the matted roots of ivy, love to hide, and from these moist nooks are sent out numerous tufts of bright green, narrow, lance-shaped fronds—a stem, a midrib with alternate lance-shaped leaflets, each leaflet midribbed in its turn, and beautifully veined throughout; the round golden masses of spores—each mass collected in lines on the backs of the leaflets

—giving to the plant a beautiful appearance.

Our lane still winds onwards and upwards, now widening as if to afford a prospect of the rich scenery lying below us, now sinking between high hedges, which get higher and higher as the steep path contends with the steeper hill. At length we reach the brow of the acclivity, and turning round, we can command one of the finest prospects in all England. Away straight below us lie clustering houses, beautifully embowered in orchards and fruit-gardens, with the church spire rising calmly up above the whole. On the right of the town, still away below us, the eye delightedly rests on a wide extent of undulating meadows and tree-covered uplands. Beyond, the wooded uplands rise steeper and steeper, until in the dim horizon-a line of lofty hills, looming grandly up against the sky, bounds the view. Far away in the same direction, the sunlight is reflected from the silvery stream of the Dart, where, flowing at the feet of two wooded hills, it brightly contrasts with the dark lines of trees.

To the left of the town, in the dim distance, are seen the wild moorlands stretching away far over the country. There the lovely Dart takes its rise, expanding its tiny stream as it moves onward, until, swollen to a torrent, it roars through deep ravines, foams over rocks and boulders, and still coming on! on! by wood-crowned heights and smiling upland meadows, it rolls into sight. Everywhere too, as far as the eye can reach, there is a grand network of green lanes, giving a marvellous aspect of diversity to the whole scene.

Two or three steps from the brow of the hill whence this noble prospect is obtained, a> turning round to the right will lead back to the town, through a lane which is indeed a veritable paradise of ferns. The narrow pathway winds downwards for a full mile between two tall hedges, whose topmost branches here and there meet overhead, forming a natural archway, so densely interwoven in some places as almost to exclude the daylight; now widening sufficiently to form a delightful green vista, now narrowing until the hedges on each side almost meet, and there is only sufficient room for the tourist to brush between the luxuriant masses of vegetation which spring out from the hedge-banks. During one part of the way the lane runs at the foot of a dark wood. Then continuing its course it seems almost to sink down into the depths of the earth, whilst high fern-covered banks rise on each side. For a part of the distance a limpid stream trickles down the declivity. The ground is literally carpeted with grass and wild flowers ; and everywhere, hanging out of the pollard trunks, densely clothing the hedge-banks, and growing along the edge of the trickling stream, ferns are to be found in countless numbers In places where the path has been cut deeply through the soft slate rock, the high banks of the cutting rise upwards almost perpendicularly, excluding the sunshine ; and there, in the moist interstices between the soft fragments of stone, are numerous species of the rock-loving ferns, luxuriating most in places where the water is percolating through the surface of the embankment. Growing in positions where its tiny crown secures protection under some small jutting point of rock, is the little Wall-rue (A sp/enium ruta muraria), a very diminutive fern, with pretty little fronds. It has a great love for rotten stone and mortar, and is often found growing on the sides of houses. It is a very hardy little fern, and will thrive in the sunshine, but most loves moist and sheltered nooks.

Growing by the side of the Wall-rue is the beautiful Maidenhair Spleenwort (Asplenium trichomanes). Its fibrous wiry roots insinuate themselves into the crevices between the stones, and its crown throws up a dense mass of beautiful little fronds, with stems like shining black hairs, and with little bright green, round, saw-edged leaflets alternately placed on each side of the stems, along the greater part oftheir length. Following the downward course of the lane we come, in the most cool, damp, and shady places, upon numbers of the Lady Fern (Athyrium filix-femina), perhaps the most graceful of the larger British ferns. Its drooping feathery fronds are indeed, when finely grown, most exquisitely beautiful, and the entire plant forms the most conspicuous ornament of the places in which it delights to grow. It throws up its fronds oftentimes in dense tufts; but it is to be found in perfection only in very moist and shady situations.

Now, as we go downwards, we pass over a tiny stream crossed by a rude bridge; and here overhead the tangled bushes again meet, throwing on bridge and stream a dark shadow. Down almost _ by the water’s edge, revelling in the moist and shady situation, are growing innumerable little tufts of the Scaly Spleenwort (A splentum ceterach). The Scaly Spleenwort is in truth a most lovely little plant. The upper surface of the simple saw-edged frond is dark green; its texture is like velvet. Underneath, the surface of the frond is completely swathed in rich brown scales, where, snugly hiding, lie the spores.