THE EFFECT OF TREES 



comes ; the sky is darker ; the trees stick up looking 

 black, like drawings in pen and ink. Flakes, white 

 flakes, twenty, forty, then a rush — a thousand ; the sky 

 full of tiny white flakes, the air full of them whirling 

 down. All sounds begin to be muffled. Horses hoofs 

 beat with a thud on the ground. The sound of voices 

 in the air is deadened. The voices of men encouraging 

 horses sound sharp now and again, or a whip cracks 

 like a shot. The square is covered with snow, every 

 twig is outlined in white, black patches of bark show 

 here and there, and emphasise the dead whiteness. 

 When it has stopped snowing and a watery light comes 

 from the sun all the trees gleam wonderfully, looking 

 like fairy trees. And people passing through the 

 square making beaten tracks in the snow saying, " It 

 is Winter." 



In a country garden there is a tree stands on the end 

 of a lawn. It is an Acacia tree, old, gnarled, and twisted, 

 with Ivy round it, deep Ivy in which thrushes build 

 year after year ; there is a stone near by on which the 

 thrushes break the shells of snails, the " tap, tap," of 

 the birds at work is one of the peaceful sounds that 

 break the silence of the garden. 



Under the tree is an oblong mark of pressed grass 

 greener than the rest of the lawn, where the garden- 

 roller rests. And there is a seat under the tree, and a 

 wooden foot-rest by it. 



Touch the tree and you go back at once to a picture 

 of a boy, the boy who helped to plant it over a hundred 

 and fifty years before. If you look from the tree across 

 the lawn to the house you will see the very door by 

 which he came out with his father to plant the tree. 



The house and the tree have grown old together, both 

 of them have mellowed with the garden and wear a look 



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