Arbutus. 
(THEE ONLY DO I LOVE.) 
T HE Arbutus , or strawberry-tree, as it is frequently called 
in England and France, because of the resemblance of 
its fruit to a strawberry, is one of those rare and delightful 
objects on which Nature, with a lavish profusion, showers at 
one time bud, blossom, and fruit. 
This beautiful symbol of inseparable love requires a whole 
twelvemonth to perfect its fruit, so that in the autumn of the 
year, when other trees and flowers are shedding their withered 
leaves and petals on the ground, the lovely arbutus may be 
seen, with its rich red strawberry-like fruit—clusters of waxen- 
hued blossoms, their vine-coloured stems, and its green leaves, 
resembling those of the bay — all flourishing in unstinted 
abundance, thus realizing the poetic fiction of fruit and flowers 
growing together. 
Surely this sweet emblem of a sweeter theme passed through 
the mind of Thomson, when, in his “ Seasons,” he talked of 
how 
“Great Spring, before, 
Greened all the year; and fruit and blossoms blushed 
In social sweetness on the selfsame bough.” 
Sir Arthur Elton, it is presumed, is the author of the follow¬ 
ing truthful description of this botanical phenomenon : 
“ The leafy arbute spreads 
A snow of blossoms, and on every bough 
Its vermeil fruitage glitters to the sun.” 
The fruit of the common arbutus is called uncdo; and Pliny 
is said to have given it that name because it was so bitter that 
only one could be eaten at a time. In Spain and Italy, how¬ 
ever, the country-people eat them, and in the early ages it 
