THE ASH. 



IT is interesting to note the changes that take place 

 from one season to another in the comparative beauty 

 of certain trees. The Ash, for example, during the early 

 part of October, is one of the most beautiful trees of the 

 forest, exceeded only by the maple in variety of tinting. 

 In summer, too, but few trees surpass it in quality of 

 foliage, disposed in flowing irregular masses, light and 

 airy, but not thin, though allowing the branches to be 

 traced through it, even to their extremities. It has a 

 well-rounded head, neither so regular as to be formal, nor 

 so broken as to detract from its peculiar grace. When 

 standing with other trees in midsummer, in the border 

 of a wood, or mingled with the standards by the roadside, 

 the Ash would be sure to attract admiration. But no 

 sooner have the leaves fallen from its branches than it 

 takes rank below almost all other trees, presenting a stiff, 

 blunt, and awkward spray, and an entire want of that 

 elegance it affects at other seasons. 



The Ash is a favorite in Europe, though deficient there 

 in autumnal tints. It is a tree of the first magnitude, 

 and has been styled in classical poetry the Venus of the 

 forest, from the general beauty of its proportions and 

 flowing robes. The English, however, complain of the 

 Ash, on account of its tardy leafing in the spring and its 

 premature denudation in the autumn. "Its leaf," says 

 Gilpin, "is much tenderer than that of the oak, and 

 sooner receives impression from the winds and frost. In- 

 stead of contributing its tint, therefore, in the wane of 



