60 <auccn J&arg'g 



Here stands the tower which bears her name, and from 

 amid a mass of ruins at the base springs up a beautiful 

 ash, which rises to the highest story, and waves before her 

 window. Well might that tree be called Mary's Ash, for 

 the ash is the Venus of the forest, the most graceful of 

 all trees, and she was the loveliest of her kind. It seems 

 to grow there, a living thing, where all else tells of death 

 and ruin ; a beautiful and appropriate memorial of one 

 who was the fairest among women, in the days of her 

 sojourning. Unlike the oak of Winfield, which stands 

 in its strength, rugged and embossed, with upheaved 

 roots and strong boughs, fitted to resist the storms of ages ; 

 standing, perhaps, when Peverel of the Peak, leaving his 

 stronghold on the summit of the castle-rock, raised here 

 his tower in a fairer spot, deep forested, with green fields, 

 and ample hunting grounds. When, too, successive 

 chieftains enlarged the bold structure, and presided with 

 all the pomp and splendour of feudal magnificence. But 

 the ash had no root within the soil when Mary lived 

 here, when the Earl of Shrewsbury, his stately dame, 

 her maidens, and his men-at-arms, inhabited the castle. 

 The ash sprung up since Mary went away, and now its 

 leafless branches wave before the window where she used 

 to watch and weep. 



