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its unwitliering leaf and coral berries, suggesting a 
thousand images, “ pleasant,” not “ mournful to the 
soul;” and when its blushing wreaths, as is not 
unfrequently the case, are seen shining beneath a 
transparent incrustation of frost, they possess a magic 
beauty, and look as if they belonged to Fairy-land. The 
effect is happily alluded to by Phillips. He, however, 
especially names the hawthorn; but the description holds 
good with respect to all scarlet-berried trees: — 
“ Soon as the silent shades of night withdrew, 
The ruddy morn disclosed at once to view 
The face of nature in a rich disguise, 
And brighten’d every object to my eyes; 
For every shrub, and every blade of grass, 
And every pointed thorn seem’d wrought in glass: 
In pearls and rubies rich the hawthorns show, 
While through the ice the crimson berries glow.” 
The holly is a hardy but slow-growing tree. Evelyn, 
its most enthusiastic admirer, says on this point—“ True 
it is that time must bring this tree to perfection; it does 
so to all tilings else; but,” he adds, “ we stay seven 
years for a tolerable quick: it is worth staying thrice 
seven for this, which has no competitor.” His rhapsody 
on the hedge at Say’s Court is too much quoted to need 
