THE ASH-TBEE. 91 



of those plants which, without being structurally unisexual, after the 

 manner of the Amentiferce, such as the oak and the willow, are never- 

 theless, by non-development of some portion, unisexual very often in 

 effect. In other words, some individuals produce perfect or bisexual 

 flowers, while others are deficient in the pistilline or female portion. 

 Hence it is that in winter, when the "keys" hang upon most indi- 

 viduals in those dense brown clusters which are so strikingly charac- 

 teristic of this beautiful tree when leafless, certain other individuals 

 nre totally without them. They are generally at a considerable 

 height, few being procurable by the hand lifted from below ; and the 

 same of course is the condition of the flowers, which, like those of 

 poplars, often make us envy the birds, to whom no blossom is inacces- 

 sible. Many marks thus serve to isolate and distinguish the ash-tree, 

 and if more were needed, we have them in the peculiar curving upwards 

 of the extremities of the branches, at least when the tree is adult and 

 growing old ; in the flattened extremities of the twigs, and in the 

 sooty-black buds, which at all seasons are very remarkable. 



It is pleasing to observe for what very different situations the various 

 figures of trees severally adapt themselves. The ash shows nowhere 

 better than at the corner of a wood, where, by bringing off the heavi- 

 ness of other trees, it forms, by reason of its lightness, a sort of 

 transition from foliage to airy space. Hence, too, the exquisite effect 

 of ash-trees when they have shot up, from wind-conveyed seeds, among 

 ruins, such as those of roofless abbeys. The spectacle of a dismantled 

 abbey is always full of power for the soul. Art seems fast verging into 

 Nature; the walls arabesqued with ivy; every ledge and " coigne of 

 vantage" occupied by the sweet azure of the harebell, grasses, or 

 yellow hawkweeds ; the lines of massive pedestals that mark where 

 sprang the glorious pillars ; the broken lacework of the spaces where 

 once were windows ; all these things are touching and impressive ; 

 wonderful is it how all seem made more eloquent, when, disclosed here 

 and there, through crevice and aperture, we get glimpses of the delicate 

 foliage of the ash. No tree harmonises so well with dilapidation ; the 

 very hue seems a reflection of gray antiquity. 



THE MOUNTAIN-ASH. 



THE mountain-ash must not be associated with the genuine ash. 

 The name is a very unfortunate one, referring simply to the likeness, 

 slight as it really is, between the leaves. This likeness consists 



