THE HOLLY. 



105 



far off in the depths of the forest, reflecting light from its 

 polished mail as brilliantly as if every leaf were a mirror, 

 at any season we should be sorry to miss it from our 

 woodlands. But, welcome as the Holly is at all seasons, 



it belongs more particularly to winter, for then the bright 

 joyous appearance of its crimson berries, which from our 

 earliest vears have been associated in our minds with the 



