The Ground-Ash, by Mary 
Russell Mitford 
 
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Title: The Ground-Ash 
Author: Mary Russell Mitford 
Release Date: October 2, 2007 [EBook #22846] 
Language: English 
Character set encoding: ASCII 
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE 
GROUND-ASH *** 
 
Produced by David Widger 
 
THE GROUND-ASH 
By Mary Russell Mitford 
Amongst the many pleasant circumstances attendant on a love of
flowers--that sort of love which leads us into the woods for the earliest 
primrose, or to the river side for the latest forget-me-not, and carries us 
to the parching heath or the watery mere to procure for the cultivated, 
or, if I may use the expression, the tame beauties of the parterre, the 
soil that they love; amongst the many gratifications which such pursuits 
bring with them, such as seeing in the seasons in which it shows best, 
the prettiest, coyest, most unhackneyed scenery, and taking, with just 
motive enough for stimulus and for reward, drives and walks which 
approach to fatigue, without being fatiguing; amongst all the delights 
consequent on a love of flowers, I know none greater than the half 
unconscious and wholly unintended manner in which such expeditions 
make us acquainted with the peasant children of remote and 
out-of-the-way regions, the inhabitants of the wild woodlands and still 
wilder commons of the hilly part of the north of Hampshire, which 
forms so strong a contrast with this sunny and populous county of 
Berks, whose very fields are gay and neat as gardens, and whose roads 
are as level and even as a gravel-walk. 
Two of the most interesting of these flower-formed acquaintances, 
were my little friends Harry and Bessy Leigh. 
Every year I go to the Everley woods to gather wild lilies of the valley. 
It is one of the delights that May--the charming, ay, and the merry 
month of May, which I love as fondly as ever that bright and joyous 
season was loved by our older poets--regularly brings in her train; one 
of those rational pleasures in which (and it is the great point of 
superiority over pleasures that are artificial and worldly) there is no 
disappointment About four years ago, I made such a visit. The day was 
glorious, and we had driven through lanes perfumed by the fresh green 
birch, with its bark silvery and many-tinted, and over commons where 
the very air was loaded with the heavy fragrance of the furze, an odour 
resembling in richness its golden blossoms, just as the scent of the 
birch is cool, refreshing, and penetrating, like the exquisite colour of its 
young leaves, until we reached the top of the hill, where, on one side, 
the enclosed wood, where the lilies grow, sank gradually, in an 
amphitheatre of natural terraces, to a piece of water at the bottom; 
whilst on the other, the wild open heath formed a sort of promontory
overhanging a steep ravine, through which a slow and sluggish stream 
crept along amongst stunted alders, until it was lost in the deep recesses 
of Lidhurst Forest, over the tall trees of which we literally looked down. 
We had come without a servant; and on arriving at the gate of the wood 
with neither human figure nor human habitation in sight, and a 
high-blooded and high-spirited horse in the phaeton, we began to feel 
all the awkwardness of our situation. My companion, however, at 
length espied a thin wreath of smoke issuing from a small clay-built hut 
thatched with furze, built against the steepest part of the hill, of which 
it seemed a mere excrescence, about half way down the declivity; and, 
on calling aloud, two children, who had been picking up dry stumps of 
heath and gorse, and collecting them in a heap for fuel at the door of 
their hovel, first carefully deposited their little load, and then came 
running to know what we wanted. 
If we had wondered to see human beings living in a habitation, which, 
both for space and appearance, would have been despised by a pig of 
any pretension, as too small and too mean for his accommodation, so 
we were again surprised at the strange union of poverty and content 
evinced by the apparel and countenances of its young inmates. The 
children, bareheaded and barefooted, and with little more clothing than 
one shabby-looking garment, were yet as fine, sturdy, hardy, ruddy, 
sunburnt urchins, as one should see on a summer day. They were clean, 
too: the stunted bit of raiment was patched, but not ragged; and    
    
		
	
	
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