"
"That's better, avic. Tennyson's got the shale there, I see. But rag and
trap and tuff is the word, and tough the whole business is. Just look at
that living blue bell, there, it's worth all the stony names of rock and
fossil.
Let the proud Indian boast of his jessamine bowers,
His garlands of roses and moss-covered dells,
While humbly I sing of those sweet little flowers,
The blue bells of Scotland, the Scottish blue bells.
We'll shout in the chorus forever and ever,
The blue bells of Scotland, the Scottish blue bells."
"You are a nice botanist, Mr. Coristine, to confound that campanula with
the Scottish blue-bell, which is a scilla, or wild hyacinth."
"Poetic license, my dear friend, poetic license! Hear this now:--
Let the Blue Mountains boast of their shale that's bituminous,
Full of trilobites, graptolites and all the rest,
It may not be so learned, or ancient, or luminous,
But the little campanula's what I love best.
So we'll shout in the chorus forever and ever,
The little campanula's worth all the rest.
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