AMONG THE TREES. 



THE ASH. 



In one portion of the large lawn, 

 grew a fine specimen of an Ash tree ; 

 its wide canopy offering a refreshing 

 shade on those hot days in mid-July 

 when to breathe seemed an effort. 

 Rustic chairs stood beneath its shelter; 

 there, too, swung a hammock whose 

 strong and graceful meshes supported 

 in indolent ease the forms of those who 

 took advantage of its unspoken invita- 

 tion to rest. 



On one of those glorious days in 

 golden October when the crickets chirp 

 all day, when the orioles with their bril- 

 liant plumage; when the bluebirds, who 

 carry a portion of the heavens on their 

 backs, have flown to the far, sweet south 

 and only a few belated robins remind us 

 of the days when our woods and lawns 

 were filled with the music of the feath- 

 ered choiristers — on one of those days 

 so filled with Nature's wonderful 

 beauty, Mabel sought the shade of the 

 Ash tree and reclining lazily in the 

 hammock, looked up into its broad can- 

 opy. The chirp of the crickets fell 

 soothingly on her ears. 



"How delightful it is! I do love to 

 hear the crickets ; all summer I listen 

 and wait for them, although I know 

 their coming is a true sign of waning 

 summer. Here is another sign of de- 

 parting summer in this beautiful Ash, 

 for its long, feathery foliage, so much 

 like the walnut in the shape of its leaves, 

 is already showing a lilac tint ; soon it 

 will be a great head of purple as it was 

 last year." 



A light breeze was blowing and dead 

 leaves were scurrying about as if in play. 

 The Ash bent its branches and swayed 

 gracefully, while a sound like the gentle 

 wash of the waves on the beach seemed 

 to take the form of words : 



"Is it my turn, fair maid, to tell you 

 the history of our family?" 



"I would love to hear it if it is not 

 too prosaic ; I feel in rather a languid 

 mood to-day." 



"It's the weather. That's the way 

 October affects the majority of people ; 

 they seem to have a desire to go off to 

 some woods and saunter about, listening 

 to the rustle of the dead leaves beneath 

 their feet, or to watch the leaves slowly 

 falling, one by one, as they idly sit and 

 dream. Well, one might as well enjoy 

 these lovely days. Nature is but rest- 

 ing, soon she will be blustering and 

 storming, and Man will be wrapping up 

 in warm clothing or sitting comfortably 

 beside the glowing hearth." 



"Oh, do not talk of those days, let 

 us enjoy the .present ! What about your 

 family history? Is it dull?" 



"By no means. Our history is the 

 most fanciful of all trees. We can date 

 our days back to the tertiary period as 

 some other trees, and can also lay just 

 claim of having lived within the Arctic 

 Circle, yet we can make a boast which 

 no other tree can, for curious myths 

 and traditions among many nations 

 gravely ascribe the descent of the hu- 

 man race from an Ash tree." 



"That is indeed strange; I'm sure I 

 would like to hear that legend." 



'The most remarkable of all these 

 legends belongs to the Norse and is 

 called the Tree of the Universe.' In 

 the legend, the tree springs from the 

 earth and its trunk rises to the sky; its 

 wide-spreading branches overshadow 

 the earth and support the heavens. This 

 mighty tree is sustained and nourished 

 by three roots only, which perform their 

 part well, and you will not wonder when 

 you learn from whence they derive their 

 nourishment. The first root extends 

 into Asgard, the home of the gods ; be- 

 neath it continually bubbles a fountain 

 with whose waters the tree is sprinkled. 

 By its side is a magnificent hall where 

 dwell three maidens — Urd, the past; 

 Verdandi, the present; Skuld, the fu- 

 ture — the Scandinavian Fates who direct 

 and sway the destinies of men. 



"The second root enters Jotunheim, 



149 



