NOVEMBER 165 



Spindle- tree, whose green stems and twigs look strangely 

 green in winter. The Thorns stand some singly, 

 some in close companionship, impenetrable masses 

 of short-twigged prickly growth, with here and there 

 a wild Rose shooting straight up through the crowded 

 branches. One thinks how lovely it will be in early 

 June, when the pink Rose-wreaths are tossing out of 

 the foamy sea of white Thorn blossom. The Hollies 

 are towering masses of health and vigour. Some of 

 the groups of Thorn and Holly are intermingled ; all 

 show beautiful arrangements of form and colour, such 

 as are never seen in planted places. The track in the 

 narrow valley trends steadily upwards and bears a 

 little to the right. High up on the left-hand side is 

 an old wood of Scotch Fir. A few detached trees come 

 half-way down the valley bank to meet the gnarled, 

 moss-grown Thorns and the silver-green Junipers. As 

 the way rises some Birches come in sight, also at home 

 in the sandy soil. Their graceful, lissome spray moving 

 to the wiad looks active among the stifPer trees, and 

 their white stems shine out in startling contrast to 

 the other dusky foliage. So the narrow track leads 

 on, showing the same kinds of tree and bush in end- 

 less variety of beautiful grouping, under the sombre 

 half-light of the winter day. It is afternoon, and as 

 one mounts higher a pale bar of yellow light gleams 

 between the farther tree-stems, but aU above is grey, 

 with angry, blackish drifts of ragged wrack. Now the 

 valley opens out to a nearly level space of rough 



