Hollies. i o i 



repose, like that which is found in a southern cathedral 

 in July, when the light, the dim religious light, 

 comes through coloured glass, old and mellow. How 

 often have I, because of my admiration of the place 

 and the effect, lowered myself in the eyes of the 

 peasants, who declaim against those trees as "a-shuttin' 

 in the place so as 'tis never rightly light, and but 

 seldom dry, and allus as 'twere a-droppin' o' suthin' or 

 other damp leaves, or rain, or dew, or what not 

 such as is a'most terrifyin' to delicat' females as 'as to 

 be a-passin' of it, partikler in the dark?" 



Notwithstanding all such disadvantages, I would not 

 have my favourite hedgerow trees cut down. In some 

 places with which I am familiar, elms and sycamores 

 assert their own dignity, and occasionally a lime tree 

 glimmers in its lighter green. And in the more en- 

 closed and remote parts you will be sure to find due 

 share of nuts, especially the wild hazels, deliciously sweet, 

 and all the better for the rough cuttings the bushes 

 receive at the hedger's hands. Hollies are, as I have 

 already hinted, beyond praise, not so much the clipped 

 and trimmed specimens in the carefully attended to 

 shrubbery, but the holly of the common hedgerow. 

 How delightful in its permanency, preserving, like the 

 truly heroic nature, its chief charms for the period of 

 trial, when all else is stripped and bare, its red berries 

 shining in the dull light of winter, or throwing a faint 

 rosy tinge on the snow that feathers all the twigs 

 around, the little birds, in finding their dainty but 

 frugal breakfast, having with their sweet breasts cleared 

 the snow from the bunches of fruit, from which they 

 have picked their morning supply. 



Then we must not forget the elder, with its creamy 

 flowers in summer, and its bright berries in later 



