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All mounted the ridge, halted and deployed. The guns were posted advantageously, the 6th, the 7th, and the 2d Virginia Cavalry in two ranks along the ridge. Wide-spreading beech boughs, growing low, small oak scrub and branchy dogwood made a screen of the best; they looked down, hidden, upon a gentle slope and the Port Republic road. Ashby's post was in front of the silver bole of a great beech.
The uplands before me were barred by what I at first took to be long horizontal layers of fleecy cloud. On a nearer approach, these turned out to be the long branchy arms of the vine.
Generally the Aronia Thorn forms a rather upright and branchy specimen of neat proportions, and when studded with its milk-white flowers may be included amongst the most distinct and ornamental of the family. C. COCCINEA. Scarlet-fruited Thorn. North America, 1683.
"This is the tree that they planted when father was born," I say, presently, in a stiff, cicerone manner, pointing to a straight and strong young oak, which is lifting its branchy head, and the fine net-work of its brown twigs, to the cold, pale sky. Sir Roger leans his arms on the top of the palings that surround the tree.
But, in a measure her movements were no longer dependent upon her own volition. They walked slowly along the broad roadway which bordered the lake until they came to a branchy maple, and here they seated themselves on the grassy turf in the shadow of the tree. "Tell me about yourself," she said. "How do you like it here, and how are you getting on?
The tempest crackles on the leads, And, ringing, spins from brand and mail; But o'er the dark a glory spreads, And gilds the driving hail. I leave the plain, I climb the height; No branchy thicket shelter yields; But blessed forms in whistling storms Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields.
Pain trembled in his weary limbs, Pain filled his patient eye, Pain-crushed amid the shadowy fern His branchy crown did lie. Where were his comrades? where his mate? All from his death-bed gone! And he, thus struck and desolate, Suffered and bled alone. Did he feel what a man might feel, Friend-left, and sore distrest? Did Pain's keen dart, and Grief's sharp sting Strive in his mangled breast?
He glanced about him, in the semi-obscurity he was able to discern the sheen of the lake with its white burden of water-lilies, and the branchy outlines of the moonlit garden, ... and ... yes! it was Lysia whose grasp lay so warmly on his arm, ... Lysia whose lovely, tempting face was so perilously near his own, Lysia whose smile colored the soft gloom with such alluring lustre! ... His heart beat, his blood burned, he strove in vain to imagine what fate was now in store for him.
He would have known little snaky paths, narrow enough to be filled by his own small feet, or a goat's; and he would have wondered where they went, and have marvelled again to find that, wherever they went, they came at last, through loops and twists of the branchy wood, to his own door.
Gideon Spilett was at first surprised at the odor which exhaled from certain plants with straight stalks, round and branchy, bearing grape-like clusters of flowers and very small berries. The reporter broke off one or two of these stalks and returned to the lad, to whom he said, "What can this be, Herbert?" "Well, Mr.
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