244 FROM A MIDDLESEX GARDEN 



Yet how beautiful were the trees a short time since, when 

 clothed in their emerald garb (for the glorious tints with 

 which they are now adorned is very brief), not beautiful 

 only with their different foliage, but in their motion. A 

 Nature lover observes there are those which derive some part 

 of their beauty from their power of motion. Of some kinds 

 this is true. There is real beauty and solace in the quiver 

 of the aspen, and in the waft of the tresses of the weeping 

 willow. Their movement is in keeping with their place by 

 running streams. 



" Willows whiten, aspens quiver, 

 Little breezes dusk and shiver 

 Through the wave that runs for ever, 

 By the island and the river." 



How graceful, too, is the gentle sway of the cloud-kissed 

 poplar, and the rhythmic swing of the Lombardy poplar, the 

 leaves of which are for ever rustling and glowing in the 

 gentlest breeze and in the faintest ray of sunshine. The air 

 is aromatic with decaying leaves and lingering flowers. 



In the orchard apple-tide and pear-tide is over; the 

 luscious fruit, like the corn, is stowed away. In the garden 

 the sunflower still stays, although its eye grows dimmer day 

 by day. 



