TREES AND FLOWERS 123 



the Aspen, before it comes into leaf, and I anxiously watch for 

 the scales to unroll, and the first catkin to appear. I look forward 

 with pleasant anticipation to its full-flowering, when, to my 

 amazement, the magical happens, for, within twenty-four hours, 

 the long red-stamened catkins develop, and, as the wind springs 

 up in the night, the tree is soon entirely stripped of its wealth 

 of male blossoms. A pang of disappointment steals into my heart, 

 for I again see the tall spreading Poplar almost as bare as in 

 mid-Winter, and now 'tis Spring ; but I had forgotten its folia- 

 tion when I was tinged with remorse, and soon, with the coming 

 of May, the long-stalked, heart-shaped leaves begin to peep out 

 from their snug cradles. Then, as they develop, and the wind 

 blows, the whole tree whispers a soothing song of hope, of 

 Summer's happy days, and Autumn's harvest moon. 



Other trees are friends of mine, the Maple, Elm, Horse Chestnut, 

 Sycamore, and Fir. The Elm is a characteristic tree of North 

 Hertfordshire, and, although it has a bad habit of sudden snap- 

 ping, or of not being able to withstand a blizzard, this heavily- 

 foliaged monarch of our country lanes, which, we are told, 

 wandered to us from Italy, is a romantic figure even in Winter, 

 or when, in early Spring, the tufts of crimson flowers proclaim 

 to the passer-by that all is well for the great awakening. 



When I look at an Elm, that tall bosky figure, I see a shepherd 

 who is piping the airs of Italy, though, perchance, the tree is 

 English-born after all. Tall and graceful, with closely curling 

 hair, shaggy cloak, and bushy leggings, featured with gentle 

 dignity and calm, there he stands, and in the grateful shade his 

 flock is resting from the noonday sun. 



The pastoral side of English life has, during the centuries, 

 been embodied by the gracious figure of the Elm ; it has become 

 an essential part of our national possessions, for it flourishes 

 on many a village green, and our lanes and waysides would be 

 altered beyond recognition without its familiar presence. Of 

 this we had ample evidence in the great blizzard of March 28th, 

 1916, when whole lane sides and favourite meadows were swept 

 clear of the Elm, and which for centuries had found an abiding 

 place in homely Hertfordshire. 



This tree's welcome green in the heat of Summer, and its 

 golden fleece in Autumn, its quiet homeliness, so reminiscent of 

 rural England, and, withal, its refined dignity, are features 

 which those who are brought into daily contact with it cannot 

 fail to notice. 



