86 My Wood. 



through the network of branches, the bole of an oak 

 which looks white and hoary, as though it had been 

 dusted with whitish powder. This is the sign of age, 

 and a suggestion to the woodman to operate ; for oaks, 

 like men, do turn grey with age. 



There is a birch, queen of the woods in very truth, 

 beginning to put forth the first tender tresses, to grow 

 luxuriantly in the summer; and the bark seems to 

 brighten and shine responsive, with a flicker in a 

 wavering silvery lustre, lightly dappled with gold, as 

 the rays of the sun steal in and fall, now and then, 

 in patches full upon it. The proprietor has shown 

 his taste and skill in dotting in here and there these 

 lovely trees ; but like a delicate family, they are apt 

 to succumb to rough treatment, and here and there 

 you see that they have been blown down. Sometimes, 

 even in the prone condition, the tree will continue to 

 draw from the portion of the root still in earth sus- 

 tenance sufficient to sustain its leaves, a parable of 

 life in some of its most touching aspects, of the dis- 

 appointed, the fallen, the degraded, who still draw 

 as much of strength from their native soil as to put 

 forth green leaves of hope and cheer, though so sadly 

 down in the world and deserted. 



The ashes are often spoken of as though they were 

 slow to display their charms, and we cannot help re- 

 calling Lord Tennyson's beautiful sentiment in that, 

 perhaps, loveliest of his songs in " The Princess " : 



" Why llngereth she to clothe her heart with love, 

 Delaying as the tender ash delays, 

 To clothe herself when all the woods are green." 



But the ash has been declared in mild seasons here 

 to be in full flower early in April ; and it is certainly not 



