AN OCTOBER DIARY. 819 



vessels of the wild roses. Do none of our resident 

 birds ever eat them ? If so, their brilliant color goes 

 for naught, unless evolved to attract those irregular 

 visitors from the north that are fond of rose seeds the 

 cross-bills. 



I opened scores of these seed-vessels and found but 

 one that was wormy ; the seeds have a pleasant sub-acid 

 flavor, and it seemed very strange that not a bird was 

 there to feast upon them. Surely they are preferable 

 to the berries of the poke and the sour fruit of the 

 gum-tree; and yet the omnivorous crow passes them 

 by when starving during snow-storms. 



The ash does not flourish on the hillside. It grows 

 in moderate abundance, but never becomes a marked 

 tree. Ashes, with us, are always to be sought — never, 

 like oaks, elms, or hickories, do they intrude upon you. 

 The leaves of one that I saw to-day were a bright 

 chrome yellow ; the foliage of another was maroon ; 

 the leaves of a third were scarlet, and a half-dozen sap- 

 lings were unaltered in hue, being brightly green as in 

 early June. So little difference appeared in the sur- 

 roundings that I was puzzled to know why there 

 should be so great a variation in the color of the leaves. 

 I studied other trees in this respect, but saw no differ- 

 ence at all equal to it. 



By referring to notes, jotted down in years past, I 

 find great irregularity in the time of the leaves appear- 

 ing in spring. Of every half-dozen trees, some were 

 late, some early ; and therefore the well-known couplet, 



" The oak before the ash — there'll be a splash; 

 The ash before the oak — there'll be a soak," 



