Trees, Shown to the Children

We cannot think of the Hawthorn as one of our noble forest trees, like the Oak and the Beech; it is dear to us as a village tree, a friendly, bushy tree which has grown in our garden, or in the fields and meadows close to our country cottages. We remember the long sunny May days when we gathered armfuls of its lovely blossoms, and the frosty autumn mornings when its berries shone like rubies on the bare, wind-stripped branches. It has always been in close touch with our lives, and it has left many pictures graven deep in our memory.

The Hawthorn (1), or May, or White-thorn, as it is often called from the colour of its flowers, has been known to us since very long ago. When the hero Ulysses came home from his weary wanderings, he found his old father alone; all the servants had gone to the woods to get young Hawthorn trees to make a hedge, and the old man was busy digging trenches in which to plant them.