THE HAWTHORN-TREE.
[Cratægus.[F] Nat. Ord.—Rosaceæ; Linn.—Icosand. Pentag.]
[F] Cratægus. Calyx superior, monosepalous, 5-cleft. Petals 5. Styles 2 to 5. Fruit a small pome, oval or round, concealing the upper end of the bony carpels. Flowers in cymes. Leaves lobed.
The Hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whispering lovers made.
High as we admit Gilpin's taste for the picturesque to be, we are compelled to differ from him in his opinion of the Hawthorn. He observes that it has little claim to picturesque beauty; he complains that its shape is bad, that it does not taper and point like the holly, but is a matted, round, and heavy bush. We are glad to find, however, that Sir T. Lauder thinks differently; he remarks, that "even in a picturesque point of view, it is not only an interesting object by itself, but produces an interesting combination, or contrast, as things may be, when grouped with other trees. We have seen it," he adds, "hanging over rocks, with deep shadows over its foliage, or shooting from their sides in the most fantastic forms, as if to gaze at its image in the deep pool below. We have seen it contrasting its tender green and its delicate leaves with the brighter and deeper masses of the holly and the alder. We have seen it growing under the shelter, though not under the shade, of some stately oak, embodying the idea of beauty protected by strength. Our eyes have often caught the motion of the busy mill-wheel, over which its blossoms were clustering. We have seen it growing grandly on the green of the village school, the great object of general attraction to the young urchins, who played in idle groups about its roots, and perhaps the only thing remaining to be recognised when the schoolboy returns as the man. We have seen its aged boughs overshadowing one half of some peaceful woodland cottage, its foliage half concealing the window, whence the sounds of happy content and cheerful mirth came forth. We know that lively season
When the milkmaid singeth blithe,
And the mower whets his scythe,
And every shepherd tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the dale.