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20467	----	HANDBOOK OF THE TREES OF NEW ENGLAND _WITH RANGES THROUGHOUT THE UNITED STATES AND CANADA_ BY LORIN L. DAME, S.D. AND HENRY BROOKS _PLATES FROM ORIGINAL DRAWINGS_ BY ELIZABETH GLEASON BIGELOW BOSTON, U.S.A. GINN & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS The Athenæum Press 1904 COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY LORIN L. DAME AND HENRY BROOKS ALL RIGHTS RESERVED PREFACE. There is no lack of good manuals of botany in this country. There still seems place for an adequately illustrated book of convenient size for field use. The larger manuals, moreover, cover extensive regions and sometimes fail by reason of their universality to give a definite idea of plants as they grow within more limited areas. New England marks a meeting place of the Canadian and Alleghanian floras. Many southern plants, long after they have abandoned more elevated situations northward, continue to advance up the valleys of the Connecticut and Merrimac rivers, in which they ultimately disappear entirely or else reappear in the valley of the St. Lawrence; while many northern plants pushing southward maintain a more or less precarious existence upon the mountain summits or in the cold swamps of New England, and sometimes follow along the mountain ridges to the middle or southern states. In addition to these two floras, some southwestern and western species have invaded Vermont along the Champlain valley, and thrown out pickets still farther eastward. At or near the limit of a species, the size and habit of plants undergo great change; in the case of trees, to which this book is restricted, often very noticeable. There is no fixed, absolute dividing line between trees and shrubs. In accordance with the usual definition, a tree must have a single trunk, unbranched at or near the base, and must be at least fifteen feet in height. Trees that are native in New England, or native in other sections of the United States and thoroughly established in New England, are described and, for the most part, figured. Foreign trees, though locally established, are not figured. Trees may be occasionally spontaneous over a large area without really forming a constituent part of the flora. Even the apple and pear, when originating spontaneously and growing without cultivation, quickly become degenerate and show little tendency to possess themselves of the soil at the expense of the native growths. Gleditsia, for example, while clearly locally established, has with some hesitation been accorded pictorial representation. The geographical distribution is treated under three heads: Canada and Alaska; New England; south of New England and westward. With regard to the distribution outside of New England, the standard authorities have been followed. An effort extending through several years has been made to give the distribution as definitely as possible in each of the New England states, and while previous publications have been freely consulted, the present work rests mainly upon the observations of living botanists. All descriptions are based upon the habit of trees as they appear in New England, unless special mention is made to the contrary. The descriptions are designed to apply to trees as they grow in open land, with full space for the development of their characteristics under favorable conditions. In forest trees there is much greater uniformity; the trunks are more slender, taller, often unbranched to a considerable height, and the heads are much smaller. When the trunk tapers uniformly from the ground upward, the given diameter is taken at the base; when the trunk is reinforced at the base, the measurements are made above the swell of the roots; when reinforced at the ground and also at the branching point, as often in the American elm, the measurements are made at the smallest place between the swell of the roots and of the branches. A regular order has been followed in the description for the purpose of ready comparison. No explanation of the headings used seems necessary, except to state that the _habitat_ is used in the more customary present acceptation to indicate the place where a plant naturally grows, as in swamps or upon dry hillsides. Under the head of "Horticultural Value," the requisite information is given for an intelligent choice of trees for ornamental purposes. The order and names of families follow, in the main, Engler and Prantl. In accordance with the general tendency of New England botanists to conform to the best usage until an authoritative agreement has been reached with regard to nomenclature by an international congress, the Berlin rule has been followed for genera, and priority under the genus for species. Other names in use at the present day are given as synonyms and included in the index. Only those common names are given which are actually used in some part of New England, whether or not the same name is applied to different trees. It seems best to record what is, and not what ought to be. Common names that are the creation of botanists have been disregarded altogether. Any attempt to displace a name in wide use, even by one that is more appropriate, is futile, if not mischievous. The plates are from original drawings by Mrs. Elizabeth Gleason Bigelow, in all cases from living specimens, and they have been carefully compared with the plates in other works. So far as practicable, the drawings were made of life size, with the exception of the dissected portions of small flowers, which were enlarged. In this way, though not on a perfectly uniform scale, they are, when reduced to the necessary space, distinct in all their parts. So far as consistent with due precision, popular terms have been used in description, but not when such usage involved tedious periphrase. Especial mention should be made of those botanists whose assistance has been essential to a knowledge of the distribution of species in the New England states: Maine,--Mr. M. L. Fernald; New Hampshire,--Mr. Wm. F. Flint, Report of Forestry Commission; Vermont,--President Ezra Brainerd; Massachusetts,--trees about Northampton, Mrs. Emily Hitchcock Terry; throughout the Connecticut river valley, Mr. E. L. Morris; Rhode Island,--Professor W. W. Bailey, Professor J. F. Collins; Connecticut,--Mr. C. H. Bissell, Mr. C. K. Averill, Mr. J. N. Bishop. Dr. B. L. Robinson has given advice in general treatment and in matters of nomenclature; Dr. C. W. Swan and Mr. Charles H. Morss have made a critical examination of the manuscript; Mr. Warren H. Manning has contributed the "Horticultural Values" throughout the work; and Miss M. S. E. James has prepared the index. To these and to all others who have given assistance in the preparation of this work, the grateful thanks of the authors are due. CONTENTS. PAGES KEY TO THE TREES OF NEW ENGLAND ix LIST OF PLATES xi AUTHORITIES xiii ABBREVIATIONS xvii TEXT AND PLATES 1 APPENDIX 171 GLOSSARY 173 INDEX 179 KEY TO THE TREES OF NEW ENGLAND. I. LEAVES SIMPLE. =Leaves alternate= A Outline entire A C Outline slightly indented A D Outline lobed A E Lobes entire A E F Lobes slightly indented A E G Lobes coarsely toothed A E H =Leaves opposite= B A C Ovate to oval, obscurely toothed Tupelo A C Ovate to oval Persimmon A C Also 3-lobed Sassafras A C Sometimes opposite, clustered at the ends of the branchlets Dogwoods A D Tremulous habit, oval Poplars A D Lanceolate, finely serrate, sometimes entire Willows A D Ovate-oval, serrate, doubly serrate { Birches { Hornbeams A D Oval, serrate, oblong-lanceolate, veins { Beeches terminating in teeth { Chestnut A D Ovate-oblong, doubly serrate, surface rough Elms A D Ovate to ovate-lanceolate, serrate, surface slightly rough Hackberry A D Outline variable, ovate-oval, sometimes lobed (3-7), serrate-dentate Mulberry A D Ovate, serrate, oblong { Shadbush { Plums { Cherries A D Oval or oval-oblong, spines, evergreen Holly A D Broad-ovate, one-sided, serrate Linden A D Obovate, oval, lanceolate, oblong Chestnut oaks A D Broad-ovate to broad-elliptical, thorny Thorns A E F Lobes rounded Sassafras A E F Base truncate or heart-shaped Tulip tree A E F Obtuse, rounded lobes White oaks A E F 3-5-lobed, white-tomentose to glabrous beneath White poplar A E G 5-lobed, finely serrate Sweet gum A E G Irregularly 3-7-lobed, serrate-dentate with equal teeth Mulberry A E H Pointed or bristle-tipped lobes Black oaks A E H Coarse-toothed or pinnate-lobed, short lobes ending in sharp point Sycamore B Outline entire, ovate, veins prominent Flowering dogwood B Outline serrate, apex often tapering Sheep berry B Outline lobed Maples II. LEAVES COMPOUND. =Leaves pinnately compound= I Leaflets alternate I A Outlines of leaflets entire I A C Leaflets opposite I B =Leaves bi-pinnately compound= J I A Outlines of leaflets with two or three teeth at base. Ailanthus IA Outlines of leaflets serrate { Sumacs (except Poison sumac) { Mountain ashes { Walnuts { Hickories I A C Leaflets oval, apex obtuse Locusts (except Honey locust) I A C Leaflets oblong, apex acute Poison sumac I B Outlines of leaflets entire Ashes (except Mountain ashes) I B Outlines of leaflets serrate Ashes (except Mountain ashes) I B Leaflets irregularly or coarsely toothed, 3-lobed or nearly entire Box elder J Irregularly bi-pinnate, outlines of leaflets entire, thorns on stem and trunk Honey locust LIST OF PLATES. PLATE PAGE I. Larix Americana 4 II. Pinus Strobus 6 III. Pinus rigida 7 IV. Pinus Banksiana 9 V. Pinus resinosa 11 VI. Picea nigra 14 VII. Picea rubra 16 VIII. Picea alba 18 IX. Tsuga Canadensis 20 X. Abies balsamea 22 XI. Thuja occidentalis 24 XII. Cupressus thyoides 26 XIII. Juniperus Virginiana 28 XIV. Populus tremuloides 30 XV. Populus grandidentata 32 XVI. Populus heterophylla 34 XVII. Populus deltoides 35 XVIII. Populus balsamifera 37 XIX. Populus candicans 39 XX. Salix discolor 41 XXI. Salix nigra 43 XXII. Juglans cinerea 47 XXIII. Juglans nigra 49 XXIV. Carya alba 51 XXV. Carya tomentosa 53 XXVI. Carya porcina 55 XXVII. Carya amara 57 XXVIII. Ostrya Virginica 58 XXIX. Carpinus Caroliniana 60 XXX. Betula lenta 62 XXXI. Betula lutea 64 XXXII. Betula nigra 66 XXXIII. Betula populifolia 68 XXXIV. Betula papyrifera 70 XXXV. Fagus ferruginea 72 XXXVI. Castanea sativa, var. Americana 74 XXXVII. Quercus alba 77 XXXVIII. Quercus stellata 78 XXXIX. Quercus macrocarpa 80 XL. Quercus bicolor 82 XLI. Quercus Prinus 84 XLII. Quercus Muhlenbergii 85 XLIII. Quercus rubra 87 XLIV. Quercus coccinea 89 XLV. Quercus velutina 91 XLVI. Quercus palustris 93 XLVII. Quercus ilicifolia 94 XLVIII. Ulmus Americana 97 XLIX. Ulmus fulva 98 L. Ulmus racemosa 100 LI. Celtis occidentalis 102 LII. Morus rubra 103 LIII. Liriodendron Tulipifera 103 LIV. Sassafras officinale 108 LV. Liquidambar Styraciflua 109 LVI. Platanus occidentalis 111 LVII. Pyrus Americana 113 LVIII. Pyrus sambucifolia 115 LIX. Amelanchier Canadensis 117 LX. Cratægus mollis 121 LXI. Prunus nigra 123 LXII. Prunus Americana 124 LXIII. Prunus Pennsylvanica 125 LXIV. Prunus Virginiana 126 LXV. Prunus serotina 128 LXVI. Gleditsia triacanthos 130 LXVII. Robinia Pseudacacia 132 LXVIII. Rhus typhina 135 LXIX. Rhus Vernix 137 LXX. Ilex opaca 140 LXXI. Acer rubrum 142 LXXII. Acer saccharinum 144 LXXIII. Acer Saccharum 146 LXXIV. Acer Saccharum var. nigrum 147 LXXV. Acer spicatum 149 LXXVI. Acer Pennsylvanicum 151 LXXVII. Acer Negundo 153 LXXVIII. Tilia Americana 155 LXXIX. Cornus florida 157 LXXX. Cornus alternifolia 158 LXXXI. Nyssa sylvatica 160 LXXXII. Diospyros Virginiana 162 LXXXIII. Fraxinus Americana 164 LXXXIV. Fraxinus Pennsylvanica 165 LXXXV. Fraxinus Pennsylvanica. var. lanceolata 166 LXXXVI. Fraxinus nigra 168 LXXXVII. Viburnum Lentago 169 BOTANICAL AUTHORITIES. PAGE ATKINS, C. G. Pinus Banksiana, Lamb 8 AVERILL, C. K. v Populus balsamifera, L. (_Rhodora_, II, 35) 36 Prunus Americana, Marsh. 123 Quercus Muhlenbergii, Engelm. 84 BAILEY, L. H. Populus candicans, Ait. 37 BAILEY, W. W. Celtis occidentalis, L. 100 Fraxinus Pennsylvanica, _var._ lanceolata, Sarg. 166 BARTRAM, WILLIAM Quercus tinctoria (1791) 89 BATCHELDER, F. W. Betula nigra, L. 65 Salix discolor, Muhl. (Laconia, N. H.) 41 BATES, J. A. Pinus Banksiana, Lamb 8 Sassafras officinale, Nees 106 BISHOP, J. N. v Celtis occidentalis, L. 100 Fraxinus Pennsylvanica, Marsh. 164 Fraxinus Pennsylvanica, _var._ lanceolata, Sarg. 166 Juglans nigra, L. (_in lit._, 1896) 48 Morus rubra, L. 102 Populus heterophylla, L. 33 Quercus Muhlenbergii, Engelm. 84 Thuja occidentalis, L. 23 BISSELL, C. H. v Cratægus Crus-Galli, L. 117 Pinus sylvestris, L. (_in lit._, 1899) 12 Prunus Americana, Marsh. (_in lit._, 1900) 123 Rhus copallina 137 BRAINERD, EZRA Carya porcina, Nutt. 53 Cratægus punctata, Jacq. 118 Ulmus racemosa, Thomas 99 BREWSTER, WILLIAM Pinus Banksiana, Lamb 8 BRITTON, NATHANIEL LORD Acer Saccharum, _var._ nigrum 172 BROWNE, D. T. Ilex opaca (_Trees of North America_, 1846) 139 _Bulletin Torrey Botanical Club_, XVIII, 150 Pinus Banksiana, Lamb 8 CHAMBERLAIN, E. B. Ulmus fulva, Michx. (1898) 97 CHURCHILL, J. R. Prunus Americana, Marsh. 123 COLLINS, J. F. v Gleditsia triacanthos, L. 129 DAME. L. L. Cratægus Crus-Galli, L. 171 Salix fragilis, L. (_Typical Elms and other Trees of Massachusetts_, p. 85) 44 DAY, F. M. Pinus Banksiana, Lamb 8 DEANE, WALTER Sassafras officinale, Nees (1895) 106 DUDLEY, W. R. Populus heterophylla, L. 33 EGGLESTON, W.W. Carya porcina, Nutt. 53 Celtis occidentalis, L. 100 Morus rubra, L. 102 Platanus occidentalis, L. 110 Populus deltoides, Marsh. 34 Sassafras officinale, Nees. 106 Ulmus racemosa, Thomas. 99 ENGLER, ADOLPH v FERNALD, M. L. Fraxinus Pennsylvania, Marsh, _var._ lanceolata, Sarg. (_in lit._, Sept., 1901) 172 Gleditsia triacanthos, L. 129 Populus balsamifera, L. _var._ candicans, Gray (_Rhodora_. III, 233) 171 Salix balsamifera, Barratt. 171 Salix discolor, Muhl. (_in lit._, Sept., 1901) 171 FLAGG Morus rubra, L. 102 FLINT, W. F. v Acer Negundo, L. 151 Quercus alba, L. 75 _Flora of Vermont_ Betula lenta, L. (1900) 61 Cratægus Crus-Galli, L. (1900) 117 Fraxinus Pennsylvanica, Marsh. (1900) 164 Picea nigra, Link (1900) 12 Pinus rigida, Mill (1900) 6 Populus deltoides, Marsh. (1900) 34 Quercus alba, L. (1900) 75 FURBISH, MISS KATE Cratægus coccinea, L. (May, 1899) 119 Pinus Banksiana, Lamb 8 GOODALE, G. L. Pinus Banksiana. Lamb 8 GRANT Sassafras officinale, Nees 106 GRAY, ASA Ilex opaca, Ait. (_Manual of Botany_, 6th ed.) 138 HAINES, MRS. Pinus Banksiana, Lamb 8 HARGER, E. B. Picea nigra (_Rhodora_, II, 126) 13 HARPER, R. M. Liriodendron Tulipifera, L. (_Rhodora_ II, 122) 104 HARRINGTON, A. K. Picea alba, Link 17 HASKINS, T. H. Ulmus racemosa, Thomas (_Garden and Forest_, V, 86) 99 HOLMES, DR. EZEKIEL Nyssa sylvatica, Marsh 159 HOSFORD, F. H. Cratægus mollis, Scheele 120 HOYT, MISS FANNY E. Pinus Banksiana, Lamb 8 HUMPHREY, J. E. Picea alba, Link 17 Quercus palustris, Du Roi (_Amherst Trees_) 91 JACK, J. G. Cratægus coccinea, L. (1899-1900) 119 JESSUP, HENRY GRISWOLD Carya amara, Nutt 55 Ulmus racemosa, Thomas 99 JOSSELYN, JOHN Sassafras officinale, Nees (_New England Rarities_, 1672) 106 KNOWLTON, C. H. Pinus rigida, Mill. (_Rhodora_, II, 124) 6 MANNING, WARREN H. vi MATTHEWS, F. SCHUYLER Morus rubra. L. 102 MICHAUX, FILS, FRANÇOIS ANDRÉ Ulmus fulva (_Sylva of North America_, III, ed. 1853) 97 MORRIS, E. L. v MORSS, CHARLES H. vi OAKES, WILLIAM Morus rubra, L. 102 PARLIN, J. C. Sassafras officinale, Nees (1896) 106 PRANTL, KARL VON v PRINGLE, C. G. Pinus Banksiana, Lamb 8 Pyrus sambucifolia, Cham. & Schlecht 113 Quercus Muhlenbergii, Engelm 84 RAND, E. L. Pinus Banksiana 8 _Rhodora_, III, 234 Acer Saccharum, Marsh., _var._ barbatum, Trelease 172 Acer Saccharum, Marsh., _var._ nigrum, Britton 172 _Rhodora_, III, 58 Ilex opaca, Ait. 139 _Rhodora_, III, 234 Prunus Americana, Marsh 171 ROBBINS, JAMES W. Sassafras officinale, Nees 106 Ulmus racemosa, Thomas 99 ROBINSON, DR. B. L. vi ROBINSON, JOHN Cratægus coccinea, L. (1900) 119 ROBINSON, R. E. Pinus Banksiana, Lamb 8 RUSSELL, L. W. Diospyros Virginiana. L. 161 Quercus palustris, Du Roi 92 Quercus stellata. Wang 77 SARGENT, CHARLES S. Cratægus coccinea, L. (_Botanical Gazette_, XXXI, 12, 1901, by permission) 119 Cratægus mollis, Scheele (_Botanical Gazette_. XXXI, 7, 223, 1901) 121 SETCHELL, W. A. Populus heterophylla. L. 33 STONE, W. E. Quercus palustris. Du Roi (_Bull. Torr. Club_, IX, 57) 91 SWAN, DR. C. W. vi TERRY, MRS. EMILY H. Picea alba. Link 17 TRELEASE, WILLIAM Acer Saccharum, Marsh., _var._ barbatum 172 TUCKERMAN, EDWARD Betula papyrifera, _var._ minor, Marsh. 68 WAGHORNE, A. C. Cratægus coccinea, L. (1894) 119 ABBREVIATIONS. Ait.--Aiton, William. Barratt, Joseph. B. S. P.--Britton, Nathaniel Lord, Sterns, E. E., and Poggenburg, Justus F. Borkh.--Borkhausen, M. B. Carr.--Carrière, Éli Abel. Cham.--Chamisso, Adelbert von. Coulter, John Merle. DC.--De Candolle, Augustin Pyramus. Desf.--Desfontaines, René Louiche. Du Roi, Johann Philip. Ehrh.--Ehrhart, Friedrich. Engelm.--Engelmann, George. Gray, Asa. Jacq.--Jacquin, Nicholaus Joseph. Karst.--Karsten, Hermann Gustav Karl Wilhelm. Koch, Wilhelm Daniel Joseph. L.--Linnæus, Carolus. L. f.--Linnæus, fils, Carl von. Lam.--Lamarck, J. B. P. A. de Monet. Lamb, Aylmer Bourke. Link, Heinrich Friedrich. Marsh.--Marshall, Humphrey. Medic.--Medicus, Friedrich Casimir. Michx.--Michaux, André. Michaux, fils.--François André. Mill.--Miller, Philip. Moench, Konrad. Muhl.--Muhlenberg, H. Ernst. Nees--Nees von Esenbeck, C. G. Nutt.--Nuttall, Thomas. Peck, Charles H. Poggenburg, Justus F. Pursh, Friedrich Trangott. Roem.--Roemer, Johann Jacob. Sarg.--Sargent, Charles S. Scheele, A. Schlecht--Schlechtendal, D. F. L. von. Schr.--Schrader, Heinrich A. Spach, Eduard. Sterns, E. E. Sudw.--Sudworth, George B. Sweet, Robert. T. and G.--Torrey, John, and Gray, Asa. Thomas, David. Vent.--Ventenat, Étienne Pierre. Walt.--Walter, Thomas. Wang.--Wangenheim, F. A. J. von. Watson, Sereno. Waugh, Frank A. Willd.--Willdenow, Carl Ludwig. TREES OF NEW ENGLAND. PINOIDEÆ. PINE FAMILY. CONIFERS. ABIETACEÆ. CUPRESSACEÆ. Trees or shrubs, resinous; leaves simple, mostly evergreen, relatively small, entire, needle-shaped, awl-shaped, linear, or scale-like; stipules none; flowers catkin-like; calyx none; corolla none; ovary represented by a scale (ovuliferous scale) bearing the naked ovules on its surface. ABIETACEÆ. LARIX. PINUS. PICEA. TSUGA. ABIES. Buds scaly; leaves evergreen and persistent for several years (except in _Larix_), scattered along the twigs, spirally arranged or tufted, linear, needle-shaped, or scale-like; sterile and fertile flowers separate upon the same plant; stamens (subtended by scales) spirally arranged upon a central axis, each bearing two pollen-sacs surmounted by a broad-toothed connective; fertile flowers composed of spirally arranged bracts or cover-scales, each bract subtending an ovuliferous scale; cover-scale and ovuliferous scale attached at their bases; cover-scale usually remaining small, ovuliferous scale enlarging, especially after fertilization, gradually becoming woody or leathery and bearing two ovules at its base; cones maturing (except in _Pinus_) the first year; ovuliferous scales in fruit usually known as cone-scales; seeds winged; roots mostly spreading horizontally at a short distance below the surface. CUPRESSACEÆ. THUJA. CUPRESSUS. JUNIPERUS. Leaf-buds not scaly; leaves evergreen and persistent for several years, opposite, verticillate, or sometimes scattered, scale-like, often needle-shaped in seedlings and sometimes upon the branches of older plants; flowers minute; stamens and pistils in separate blossoms upon the same plant or upon different plants; stamens usually bearing 3-5 pollen-sacs on the underside; scales of fertile aments few, opposite or ternate; fruit small cones, or berries formed by coalescence of the fleshy cone-scales; otherwise as in _Abietaceæ_. Larix Americana, Michx. _Larix laricina, Koch._ TAMARACK. HACMATACK. LARCH. JUNIPER. =Habitat and Range.=--Low lands, shaded hillsides, borders of ponds; in New England preferring cold swamps; sometimes far up mountain slopes. Labrador, Newfoundland, and Nova Scotia, west to the Rocky mountains; from the Rockies through British Columbia, northward along the Yukon and Mackenzie systems, to the limit of tree growth beyond the Arctic circle. Maine, New Hampshire, and Vermont,--abundant, filling swamps acres in extent, alone or associated with other trees, mostly black spruce; growing depressed and scattered on Katahdin at an altitude of 4000 feet; Massachusetts,--rather common, at least northward; Rhode Island,--not reported; Connecticut,--occasional in the northern half of the state; reported as far south as Danbury (Fairfield county). South along the mountains to New Jersey and Pennsylvania; west to Minnesota. =Habit.=--The only New England conifer that drops its leaves in the fall; a tree 30-70 feet high, reduced at great elevations to a height of 1-2 feet, or to a shrub; trunk 1-3 feet in diameter, straight, slender; branches very irregular or in indistinct whorls, for the most part nearly horizontal; often ending in long spire-like shoots; branchlets numerous, head conical, symmetrical while the tree is young, especially when growing in open swamps; when old extremely variable, occasionally with contorted or drooping limbs; foliage pale green, turning to a dull yellow in autumn. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk reddish or grayish brown, separating at the surface into small roundish scales in old trees, in young trees smooth; season's shoots gray or light brown in autumn. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds small, globular, reddish. Leaves simple, scattered along the season's shoots, clustered on the short, thick dwarf branches, about an inch long, pale green, needle-shaped; apex obtuse; sessile. =Inflorescence.=--March to April. Flowers lateral, solitary, erect; the sterile from leafless, the fertile from leafy dwarf branches; sterile roundish, sessile; anthers yellow: fertile oblong, short-stalked; bracts crimson or red. =Fruit.=--Cones upon dwarf branches, erect or inclining upwards, ovoid to cylindrical, 1/2-3/4 of an inch long, purplish or reddish brown while growing, light brown at maturity, persistent for at least a year; scales thin, obtuse to truncate; edge entire, minutely toothed or erose; seeds small, winged. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy in New England; grows in any good soil, preferring moist locations; the formal outline of the young trees becomes broken, irregular, and picturesque with age, making the mature tree much more attractive than the European species common to cultivation. Rarely for sale in nurseries, but obtainable from collectors. To be successfully transplanted, it must be handled when dormant. Propagated from seed. =Note.=--The European species, with which the mature plant is often confused, has somewhat longer leaves and larger cones; a form common in cultivation has long, pendulous branches. [Illustration: PLATE I.--Larix Americana.] 1. Branch with sterile and fertile flowers. 2. Sterile flowers. 3. Different views of stamens. 4. Ovuliferous scale with ovules. 5. Fruiting branch. 6. Open cone. 7. Cone-scale with seeds. 8. Leaf. 9. Cross-section of leaf. PINUS. The leaves are of two kinds, primary and secondary; the primary are thin, deciduous scales, in the axils of which the secondary leaf-buds stand; the inner scales of those leaf-buds form a loose, deciduous sheath which encloses the secondary or foliage leaves, which in our species are all minutely serrulate. Pinus Strobus, L. WHITE PINE. =Habitat and Range.=--In fertile soils; moist woodlands or dry uplands. Newfoundland and Nova Scotia, through Quebec and Ontario, to Lake Winnipeg. New England,--common, from the vicinity of the seacoast to altitudes of 2500 feet, forming extensive forests. South along the mountains to Georgia, ascending to 2500 feet in the Adirondacks and to 4300 in North Carolina; west to Minnesota and Iowa. =Habit.=--The tallest tree and the stateliest conifer of the New England forest, ordinarily from 50 to 80 feet high and 2-4 feet in diameter at the ground, but in northern New England, where patches of the primeval forest still remain, attaining a diameter of 3-7 feet and a height ranging from 100 to 150 feet, rising in sombre majesty far above its deciduous neighbors; trunk straight, tapering very gradually; branches nearly horizontal, wide-spreading, in young trees in whorls usually of five, the whorls becoming more or less indistinct in old trees; branchlets and season's shoots slender; head cone-shaped, broad at the base, clothed with soft, delicate, bluish-green foliage; roots running horizontally near the surface, taking firm hold in rocky situations, extremely durable when exposed. =Bark.=--On trunks of old trees thick, shallow-channeled, broad-ridged; on stems of young trees and upon branches smooth, greenish; season's shoots at first rusty-scurfy or puberulent, in late autumn becoming smooth and light russet brown. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Leading branch-buds 1/4-1/2 inch long, oblong or ovate-oblong, sharp-pointed; scales yellowish-brown. Foliage leaves in clusters of five, slender, 3-5 inches long, soft bluish-green, needle-shaped, 3-sided, mucronate, each with a single fibrovascular bundle, sessile. =Inflorescence.=--June. Sterile flowers at the base of the season's shoots, in clusters, each flower about one inch long, oval, light brown; stamens numerous; connectives scale-like: fertile flowers near the terminal bud of the season's shoots, long-stalked, cylindrical; scales pink-margined. =Fruit.=--Cones, 4-6 inches long, short-stalked, narrow-cylindrical, often curved, finally pendent, green, maturing the second year; scales rather loose, scarcely thickened at the apex, not spiny; seeds winged, smooth. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; free from disease; grows well in almost any soil, but prefers a light fertile loam; in open ground retains its lower branches for many years. Good plants, grown from seed, are usually readily obtainable in nurseries; small collected plants from open ground can be moved in sods with little risk. Several horticultural forms are occasionally cultivated which are distinguished by variations in foliage, trailing branches, dense and rounded heads, and dwarfed or cylindrical habits of growth. PLATE II. PINUS STROBUS. 1. Branch with sterile flowers. 2. Stamen. 3. Branch with fertile flowers. 4. Bract and ovuliferous scale, outer side. 5. Ovuliferous scale with ovules, inner side. 6. Branch with cones. 7. Cross-section of leaf. Pinus rigida, Mill. PITCH PINE. HARD PINE. =Habitat and Range.=--Most common in dry, sterile soils, occasional in swamps. New Brunswick to Lake Ontario. Maine,--mostly in the southwestern section near the seacoast; as far north as Chesterville, Franklin county (C. H. Knowlton, _Rhodora_, II, 124); scarcely more than a shrub near its northern limits; New Hampshire,--most common along the Merrimac valley to the White mountains and up the Connecticut valley to the mouth of the Passumpsic, reaching an altitude of 1000 feet above the sea level; Vermont,--common in the northern Champlain valley, less frequent in the Connecticut valley (_Flora of Vermont_, 1900); common in the other New England states, often forming large tracts of woodland, sometimes exclusively occupying extensive areas. South to Virginia and along the mountains to northern Georgia; west to western New York, Ohio, Kentucky, and Tennessee. =Habit.=--Usually a low tree, from 30 to 50 feet high, with a diameter of 1-2 feet at the ground, but not infrequently rising to 70-80 feet, with a diameter of 2-4 feet; trunk straight or more or less tortuous, tapering rather rapidly; branches rising at a wide angle with the stem, often tortuous, and sometimes drooping at the extremities, distinctly whorled in young trees, but gradually losing nearly every trace of regularity; roughest of our pines, the entire framework rough at every stage of growth; head variable, open, often scraggly, widest near the base and sometimes dome-shaped in young trees; branchlets stout, terminating in rigid, spreading tufts of foliage. [Illustration: PLATE II.--Pinus Strobus.] =Bark.=--Bark of trunk in old trees thick, deeply furrowed, with broad connecting ridges, separating on the surface into coarse dark grayish or reddish brown scales; younger stems and branches very rough, separating into scales; season's shoots rough to the tips. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Leading branch-buds 1/2-3/4 inch long, narrow-cylindrical or ovate, acute at the apex, resin-coated; scales brownish. Foliage leaves in threes, 3-5 inches long, stout, stiff, dark yellowish-green, 3-sided, sharp-pointed, with two fibrovascular bundles; sessile; sheaths when young about 1/2 inch long. =Inflorescence.=--Sterile flowers at the base of the season's shoots, clustered; stamens numerous; anthers yellow: fertile flowers at a slight angle with and along the sides of the season's shoots, single or clustered. =Fruit.=--Cones lateral, single or in clusters, nearly or quite sessile, finally at right angles to the stem or twisted slightly downward, ovoid, ovate-conical; subspherical when open, ripening the second season; scales thickened at the apex, armed with stout, straight or recurved prickles. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; well adapted to exposed situations on highlands or along the seacoast; grows in almost any soil, but thrives best in sandy or gravelly moist loams; valuable among other trees for color-effects and occasional picturesqueness of outline; mostly uninteresting and of uncertain habit; subject to the loss of the lower limbs, and not readily transplanted; very seldom offered in quantity by nurserymen; obtainable from collectors, but collected plants are seldom successful. Usually propagated from the seed. [Illustration: PLATE III.--Pinus rigida.] 1. Branch with sterile flowers. 2. Stamen, front view. 3. Stamen, top view. 4. Branch with fertile flowers. 5. Fertile flower showing bract and ovuliferous scale, outer side. 6. Fertile flower showing ovuliferous scale with ovules, inner side. 7. Fruiting branch with cones one and two years old. 8. Open cone. 9. Seed. 10. Cross-section of leaf. =Pinus Banksiana, Lamb.= _Pinus divaricata. Sudw._ SCRUB PINE. GRAY PINE. SPRUCE PINE. JACK PINE. =Habitat and Range.=--Sterile, sandy soil: lowlands, boggy plains, rocky slopes. Nova Scotia, northwesterly to the Athabasca river, and northerly down the Mackenzie to the Arctic circle. Maine,--Traveller mountain and Grand lake (G. L. Goodale); Beal's island on Washington county coast, Harrington, Orland, and Cape Rosier (C. G. Atkins); Schoodic peninsula in Gouldsboro, a forest 30 feet high (F. M. Day, E. L. Rand, _et al._); Flagstaff (Miss Kate Furbush); east branch of Penobscot (Mrs. Haines); the Forks (Miss Fanny E. Hoyt); Lake Umbagog (Wm. Brewster); New Hampshire,--around the shores of Lake Umbagog, on points extending into the lake, rare (Wm. Brewster _in lit._, 1899); Welch mountains (_Bull. Torr. Bot. Club_, XVIII, 150); Vermont,--rare, but few trees at each station; Monkton in Addison county (R. E. Robinson); Fairfax, Franklin county (Bates); Starkesboro (Pringle). West through northern New York, northern Illinois, and Michigan to Minnesota. =Habit.=--Usually a low tree, 15-30 feet high and 6-8 inches in diameter at the ground, but under favorable conditions, as upon the wooded points and islands of Lake Umbagog, attaining a height of 50-60 feet, with a diameter of 10-15 inches. Extremely variable in habit. In thin soils and upon bleak sites the trunk is for the most part crooked and twisted, the head scrubby, stunted, and variously distorted, resembling in shape and proportions the pitch pine under similar conditions. In deeper soils, and in situations protected from the winds, the stem is erect, slender, and tapering, surmounted by a stately head with long, flexible branches, scarcely less regular in outline than the spruce. Foliage yellowish-green, bunched at the ends of the branchlets. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk in old trees dark brown, rounded-ridged, rough-scaly at the surface; branchlets dark purplish-brown, rough with the persistent bases of the fallen leaves; season's shoots yellowish-green, turning to reddish-brown. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Branch-buds light brown, ovate, apex acute or rounded, usually enclosed in resin. Leaves in twos, divergent from a short close sheath, about 1 inch in length and scarcely 1/12 inch in width, yellowish-green, numerous, stiff, curved or twisted, cross-section showing two fibrovascular bundles; outline narrowly linear; apex sharp-pointed; outer surface convex, inner concave or flat. =Inflorescence.=--June. Sterile flowers at the base of the season's shoots, clustered, oblong-rounded: fertile flowers along the sides or about the terminal buds of the season's shoots, single, in twos or in clusters; bracts ovate, roundish, purplish. =Fruit.=--Cones often numerous, 1-2 inches long, pointing in the general direction of the twig on which they grow, frequently curved at the tip, whitish-yellow when young, and brown at maturity; scales when mature without prickles, thickened at the apex; outline very irregular but in general oblong-conical. The open cones, which are usually much distorted, with scales at base closed, have a similar outline. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy in New England; slow growing and hard to transplant; useful in poor soil; seldom offered by nurserymen or collectors. Propagated from seed. [Illustration: PLATE IV.--Pinus Banksiana.] 1. Branch with sterile flowers. 2. Stamen, front view. 3. Stamen, top view. 4. Branch with fertile flowers. 5. Ovuliferous scale with ovules, inner side. 6. Fruiting branch. 7. Open cone. 8, 9. Variant leaves. 10, 11. Cross-sections of leaves. Pinus resinosa, Ait. RED PINE. NORWAY PINE. =Habitat and Range.=--In poor soils: sandy plains, dry woods. Newfoundland and New Brunswick, throughout Quebec and Ontario, to the southern end of Lake Winnipeg. Maine,--common, plains, Brunswick (Cumberland county); woods, Bristol (Lincoln county); from Amherst (western part of Hancock county) and Clifton (southeastern part of Penobscot county) northward just east of the Penobscot river the predominant tree, generally on dry ridges and eskers, but in Greenbush and Passadumkeag growing abundantly on peat bogs with black spruce; hillsides and lower mountains about Moosehead, scattered; New Hampshire,--ranges with the pitch pine as far north as the White mountains, but is less common, usually in groves of a few to several hundred acres in extent; Vermont,--less common than _P. Strobus_ or _P. rigida_, but not rare; Massachusetts,--still more local, in stations widely separated, single trees or small groups; Rhode Island,--occasional; Connecticut,--not reported. South to Pennsylvania; west through Michigan and Wisconsin to Minnesota. =Habit.=--The most beautiful of the New England pines, 50-75 feet high, with a diameter of 2-3 feet at the ground; reaching in Maine a height of 100 feet and upwards; trunk straight, scarcely tapering; branches low, stout, horizontal or scarcely declined, forming a broad-based, rounded or conical head of great beauty when young, becoming more or less irregular with age; foliage of a rich dark green, in long dense tufts at the ends of the branches. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk reddish-brown, in old trees marked by flat ridges which separate on the surface into thin, flat, loose scales; branchlets rough with persistent bases of leaf buds; season's shoots stout, orange-brown, smooth. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Leading branch-buds conical, about 3/4 inch long, tapering to a sharp point, reddish-brown, invested with rather loose scales. Foliage leaves in twos, from close, elongated, persistent, and conspicuous sheaths, about 6 inches long, dark green, needle-shaped, straight, sharply and stiffly pointed, the outer surface round and the inner flattish, both surfaces marked by lines of minute pale dots. =Inflorescence.=--Sterile flowers clustered at the base of the season's shoots, oblong, 1/2-3/4 inch long: fertile flowers single or few, at the ends of the season's shoots. =Fruit.=--Cones near extremity of shoot, at right angles to the stem, maturing the second year, 1-3 inches long, ovate to oblong conical; when opened broadly oval or roundish; scales not hooked or pointed, thickened at the apex. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy in New England; a tall, dark-foliaged evergreen, for which there is no substitute; grows rapidly in all well-drained soils and in exposed inland or seashore situations; seldom disfigured by insects or disease; difficult to transplant and not common in nurseries. Propagated from seed. [Illustration: PLATE V.--Pinus resinosa.] 1. Branch with sterile flowers. 2. Stamen, front view. 3. Stamen, top view. 4. Branch with fertile flowers and one-year-old cones. 5. Bract and ovuliferous scale, outer side. 6. Ovuliferous scale with ovules, inner side. 7. Fruiting branch showing cones of three different seasons. 8. Seeds with cone-scale. 9, 10. Cross-sections of leaves. = Pinus sylvestris, L.= SCOTCH PINE (sometimes incorrectly called the Scotch fir). Indigenous in the northern parts of Scotland and in the Alps, and from Sweden and Norway, where it forms large forests eastward throughout northern Europe and Asia. At Southington, Conn., many of these trees, probably originating from an introduced pine in the vicinity, were formerly scattered over a rocky pasture and in the adjoining woods, a tract of about two acres in extent. Most of these were cut down in 1898, but the survivors, if left to themselves, will doubtless multiply rapidly, as the conditions have proved very favorable (C. H. Bissell _in lit._, 1899). Like _P. resinosa_ and _P. Banksiana_, it has its foliage leaves in twos, with neither of which, however, is it likely to be confounded; aside from the habit, which is quite different, it may be distinguished from the former by the shortness of its leaves, which are less than 2 inches long, while those of _P. resinosa_ are 5 or 6; and from the latter by the position of its cones, which point outward and downward at maturity, while those of _P. Banksiana_ follow the direction of the twig. Picea nigra, Link. _Picea Mariana, B. S. P. (including Picea brevifolia, Peck)._ BLACK SPRUCE. SWAMP SPRUCE. DOUBLE SPRUCE. WATER SPRUCE. =Habitat and Range.=--Swamps, sphagnum bogs, shores of rivers and ponds, wet, rocky hillsides; not uncommon, especially northward, on dry uplands and mountain slopes. Labrador, Newfoundland, and Nova Scotia, westward beyond the Rocky mountains, extending northward along the tributaries of the Yukon in Alaska. Maine,--common throughout, covering extensive areas almost to the exclusion of other trees in the central and northern sections, occasional on the top of Katahdin (5215 feet); New Hampshire and Vermont,--common in sphagnum swamps of low and high altitudes; the dwarf form, var. _semi-prostrata_, occurs on the summit of Mt. Mansfield (_Flora of Vermont_, 1900); Massachusetts,--frequent; Rhode Island,--not reported; Connecticut,--rare; on north shore of Spectacle ponds in Kent (Litchfield county), at an elevation of 1200 feet; Newton (Fairfield county), a few scattered trees in a swamp at an altitude of 400 feet: (New Haven county) a few small trees at Bethany; at Middlebury abundant in a swamp of five acres (E. B. Harger, _Rhodora_, II, 126). South along the mountains to North Carolina and Tennessee; west through the northern tier of states to Minnesota. =Habit.=--In New England, usually a small, slender tree, 10-30 feet high and 5-8 inches in diameter; attaining northward and westward much greater dimensions; reduced at high elevation to a shrub or dwarf tree, 2 or 3 feet high; trunk tapering very slowly, forming a narrow-based, conical, more or less irregular head; branches rather short, scarcely whorled, horizontal or more frequently declining with an upward tendency at the ends, often growing in open swamps almost to the ground, the lowest prostrate, sometimes rooting at their tips and sending up shoots; spray stiff and rather slender; foliage dark bluish-green or glaucous. This tree often begins to blossom after attaining a height of 2-5 feet, the terminal cones each season remaining persistent at the base of the branches, sometimes for many years. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk grayish-brown, separating into rather close, thin scales; branchlets roughened with the footstalks of the fallen leaves; twigs in autumn dull reddish-brown with a minute, erect, pale, rusty pubescence, or nearly smooth. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds scaly, ovate, pointed, reddish-brown. Leaves scattered, needle-shaped, dark bluish-green, the upper sides becoming yellowish in the sunlight, the faces marked by parallel rows of minute bluish dots which sometimes give a glaucous effect to the lower surface or even the whole leaf on the new shoots, 4-angled, 1/4-3/4 of an inch long, straight or slightly incurved, blunt at the apex, abruptly tipped or mucronate, sessile on persistent, decurrent footstalks. =Inflorescence.=--April to May, a week or two earlier than the red spruce; sterile flowers terminal or axillary, on wood of the preceding year; about 3/8 inch long, ovate; anthers madder-red: fertile flowers at or near end of season's shoots, erect; scales madder-red, spirally imbricated, broader than long, margin erose, rarely entire. =Fruit.=--Cones, single or clustered at or near ends of the season's shoots, attached to the upper side of the twig, but turning downward by the twisting of the stout stalk, often persistent for years; 1/2-1-1/2 inches long; purplish or grayish brown at the end of the first season, finally becoming dull reddish or grayish brown, ovate, ovate-oval, or nearly globular when open; scales rigid, thin, reddish on the inner surface; margin rounded, uneven, eroded, bifid, or rarely entire. =Horticultural Value.=--Best adapted to cool, moist soils; of little value under cultivation; young plants seldom preserving the broad-based, cone-like, symmetrical heads common in the spruce swamps, the lower branches dying out and the whole tree becoming scraggly and unsightly. Seldom offered by nurserymen. [Illustration: PLATE VI.--Picea nigra.] 1. Branch with sterile flowers. 2. Stamen, front view. 3. Stamen, side view. 4. Stamen, top view. 5. Branch with fertile flowers. 6. Cover-scale and ovuliferous scale, outer side. 7. Ovuliferous scale with ovules, inner side. 8. Fruiting branch. 9. Seed. 10. Leaf. 11. Cross-sections of leaves. =Picea rubra, Link.= _Picea rubens, Sarg. Picea nigra, var. rubra, Engelm._ RED SPRUCE. =Habitat and Range.=--Cool, rich woods, well-drained valleys, slopes of mountains, not infrequently extending down to the borders of swamps. Prince Edward island and Nova Scotia, along the valley of the St. Lawrence. Maine,--throughout: most common towards the coast and in the extreme north, thus forming a belt around the central area, where it is often quite wanting except on cool or elevated slopes; New Hampshire,--throughout; the most abundant conifer of upper Coos, the White mountain region where it climbs to the alpine area, and the higher parts of the Connecticut-Merrimac watershed; Vermont,--throughout; the common spruce of the Green mountains, often in dense groves on rocky slopes with thin soil; Massachusetts,--common in the mountainous regions of Berkshire county and on uplands in the northern sections, occasional southward; Rhode Island and Connecticut,--not reported. South along the Alleghanies to Georgia, ascending to an altitude of 4500 feet in the Adirondacks, and 4000-5000 feet in West Virginia; west through the northern tier of states to Minnesota. =Habit.=--A hardy tree, 40-75 feet high; trunk 1-2-1/2 feet in diameter, straight, tapering very slowly; branches longer than those of the black spruce, irregularly whorled or scattered, the lower often declined, sometimes resting on the ground, the upper rising toward the light, forming while the tree is young a rather regular, narrow, conical head, which in old age and in bleak mountain regions becomes, by the loss of branches, less symmetrical but more picturesque; foliage dark yellowish-green. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk smoothish and mottled on young trees, at length separating into small, thin, flat, reddish scales; in old trees striate with shallow sinuses, separating into ashen-white plates, often partially detached; spray reddish or yellowish white in autumn with minute, erect, pale rusty pubescence. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds scaly, conical, brownish, 1/3 inch long. Leaves solitary, at first closely appressed around the young shoots, ultimately pointing outward, those on the underside often twisting upward, giving a brush-like appearance to the twig, 1/2-3/4 inch long, straight or curved (curvature more marked than in _P. nigra_), needle-shaped, dark yellowish-green, 4-angled; apex blunt or more or less pointed, often mucronate; base blunt; sessile on persistent leaf-cushions. =Inflorescence.=--May. Sterile flowers terminal or axillary on wood of the preceding year, 1/2-3/4 inch long, cylindrical; anthers pinkish-red: fertile flowers lateral along previous season's shoots, erect; scales madder-purple, spirally imbricated, broader than long, margin entire or slightly erose. =Fruit.=--Cones; single or clustered, lateral along the previous season's shoots, recurved, mostly pointing downward at various angles, on short stalks, falling the first autumn but sometimes persistent a year longer, 1-2 inches long (usually larger than those of _P. nigra_), reddish-brown, mostly ovate; scales thin, stiff, rounded; margin entire or slightly irregular. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; adapts itself to a great variety of soils and lives to a great age. Its narrow-based conical form, dense foliage, and yellow green coloring form an effective contrast with most other evergreens. It grows, however, slowly, is subject to the loss of its lower branches and to disfigurement by insects. Seldom offered in nurseries. [Illustration: PLATE VII.--Picea rubra.] 1. Branch with sterile flowers. 2. Stamen, front view. 3. Stamen, side view. 4. Branch with fertile flowers. 5. Cover-scale and ovuliferous scale, outer side. 6. Ovuliferous scale with ovules, inner side. 7. Fruiting branch with cones of two seasons. 8. Seed. 9. Leaf. 10. Cross-sections of leaves. =Picea alba, Link.= _Picea Canadensis, B. S. P._ WHITE SPRUCE. CAT SPRUCE.[1] SKUNK SPRUCE.[2] LABRADOR SPRUCE. =Habitat and Range.=--Low, damp, but not wet woods; dry, sandy soils, high rocky slopes and exposed hilltops, often in scanty soil. [Footnote 1, 2: So called from the peculiarly unpleasant odor of the crushed foliage and young shoots,--a characteristic which readily distinguishes it from the _P. nigra_ and _P. rubra_.] Newfoundland and Nova Scotia, through the provinces of Quebec and Ontario to Manitoba and British Columbia, northward beyond all other trees, within 20 miles of the Arctic sea. Maine,--frequent in sandy soils, often more common than _P. rubra_, as far south as the shores of Casco bay; New Hampshire,--abundant around the shores of the Connecticut river, disappearing southward at Fifteen-Mile falls; Vermont,--restricted mainly to the northern sections, more common in the northeast; Massachusetts,--occasional in the mountainous regions of Berkshire county; a few trees in Hancock (A. K. Harrington); as far south as Amherst (J. E. Humphrey) and Northampton (Mrs. Emily H. Terry), probably about the southern limit of the species; Rhode Island and Connecticut,--not reported. West through the northern sections of the northern tier of states to the Rocky mountains. =Habit.=--A handsome tree, 40-75 feet high, with a diameter of 1-2 feet at the ground, the trunk tapering slowly, throwing out numerous scattered or irregularly whorled, gently ascending or nearly horizontal branches, forming a symmetrical, rather broad conical head, with numerous branchlets and bluish-green glaucous foliage spread in dense planes; gum bitter. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk pale reddish-brown or light gray, on very old trees ash-white; not as flaky as the bark of the red spruce, the scales smaller and more closely appressed; young trees and small branches much smoother, pale reddish-brown or mottled brown and gray, resembling the fir balsam; branchlets glabrous; shoots from which the leaves have fallen marked by the scaly, persistent leaf-cushions; new shoots pale fawn-color at first, turning darker the second season; bark of the tree throughout decidedly lighter than that of the red or black spruces. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds scaly, ovoid or conical, about 1/4 inch long, light brown. Leaves scattered, stout as those of _P. rubra_ or very slender, those on the lower side straight or twisted so as to appear on the upper side, giving a brush-like appearance to the twig, about 3/4 of an inch long; bluish-green, glaucous on the new shoots, needle-shaped, 4-angled, slightly curved, bluntish or sharp-pointed, often mucronate, marked on each side with several parallel rows of dots, malodorous, especially when bruised. =Inflorescence.=--April to May. Sterile flowers terminal or axillary, on wood of the preceding season; distinctly stalked; cylindrical, 1/2 an inch long; anthers pale red: fertile flowers at or near ends of season's shoots; scales pale red or green, spirally imbricated, broader than long; margin roundish, entire or nearly so; each scale bearing two ovules. =Fruit.=--Cones short-stalked, at or near ends of branchlets, light green while growing, pale brownish when mature, spreading, 1-2-1/2 inches long, when closed cylindrical, tapering towards the apex, cylindrical or ovate-cylindrical when open, mostly falling the first winter; scales broad, thin, smooth; margin rounded, sometimes straight-topped, usually entire. =Horticultural Value.=--A beautiful tree, requiring cold winters for its finest development, the best of our New England spruces for ornamental and forest plantations in the northern sections; grows rapidly in moist or well-drained soils, in open sun or shade, and in exposed situations. The foliage is sometimes infested by the red spider. Propagated from seed. [Illustration: PLATE VIII.--Picea alba.] 1. Branch with sterile flowers. 2. Stamen, front view. 3. Stamen, side view. 4. Branch with fertile flowers. 5. Cover-scale and ovuliferous scale, outer side. 6. Ovuliferous scale with ovules, inner side. 7. Fruiting branch. 8. Open cone. 9. Seed with ovuliferous scale. 10. Leaves. 11. Cross-sections of leaves. =Tsuga Canadensis, Carr.= HEMLOCK. =Habitat and Range.=--Cold soils, borders of swamps, deep woods, ravines, mountain slopes. Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, through Quebec and Ontario. Maine,--abundant, generally distributed in the southern and central portions, becoming rare northward, disappearing entirely in most of Aroostook county and the northern Penobscot region; New Hampshire,--abundant, from the sea to a height of 2000 feet in the White mountains, disappearing in upper Coos county; Vermont,--common, especially in the mountain forests; Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut,--common. South to Delaware and along the mountains to Georgia and Alabama, ascending to an altitude of 2000 feet in the Adirondacks; west to Michigan and Minnesota. =Habit.=--A large handsome tree, 50-80 feet high; trunk 2-4 feet in diameter, straight, tapering very slowly; branches going out at right angles, not disposed in whorls, slender, brittle yet elastic, the lowest declined or drooping; head spreading, somewhat irregular, widest at the base; spray airy, graceful, plume-like, set in horizontal planes; foliage dense, extremely delicate, dark lustrous green above and silver green below, tipped in spring with light yellow green. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk reddish-brown, interior often cinnamon red, shallow-furrowed in old trees; young trunks and branches of large trees gray brown, smooth; season's shoots very slender, buff or light reddish-brown, minutely pubescent. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Winter buds minute, red brown. Leaves spirally arranged but brought by the twisting of the leafstalk into two horizontal rows on opposite sides of the twig, about 1/2 an inch long, yellow green when young, becoming at maturity dark shining green on the upper surface, white-banded along the midrib beneath, flat, linear, smooth, occasionally minutely toothed, especially in the upper half; apex obtuse; base obtuse; leafstalk slender, short but distinct, resting on a slightly projecting leaf-cushion. =Inflorescence.=--Sterile flowers from the axils of the preceding year's leaves, consisting of globose clusters of stamens with spurred anthers: fertile catkins at ends of preceding year's branchlets, scales crimson. =Fruit.=--Cones, on stout footstalks at ends of branchlets, pointing downward, ripening the first year, light brown, about 3/4 of an inch long, ovate-elliptical, pointed; scales rounded at the edge, entire or obscurely toothed. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; grows almost anywhere, but prefers a good, light, loamy or gravelly soil on moist slopes; a very effective tree single or in groups, useful in shady places, and a favorite hedge plant; not affected by rust or insect enemies; in open ground retains its lower branches for many years. About twenty horticultural forms, with variations in foliage, of columnar, densely globular, or weeping habit, are offered for sale in nurseries. [Illustration: PLATE IX.--Tsuga Canadensis.] 1. Branch with flower-buds. 2. Branch with sterile flowers. 3. Sterile flowers. 4. Spurred anther. 5. Branch with fertile flowers. 6. Ovuliferous scale with ovule, inner side. 7. Fruiting branch. 8. Cover-scales with seeds. 9. Leaf. 10. Cross-section of leaf. =Abies balsamea, Mill.= FIR BALSAM. BALSAM. FIR. =Habitat and Range.=--Rich, damp, cool woods, deep swamps, mountain slopes. Labrador, Newfoundland, and Nova Scotia, northwest to the Great Bear Lake region. Maine,--very generally distributed, ordinarily associated with white pine, black spruce, red spruce, and a few deciduous trees, growing at an altitude of 4500 feet upon Katahdin; New Hampshire,--common in upper Coos county and in the White mountains, where it climbs up to the alpine area; in the southern part of the state, in the extensive swamps around the sources of the Contoocook and Miller's rivers, it is the prevailing timber; Vermont,--common; not rare on mountain slopes and even summits; Massachusetts,--not uncommon on mountain slopes in the northwestern and central portions of the state, ranging above the red spruces upon Graylock; a few trees here and there in damp woods or cold swamps in the southern and eastern sections, where it has probably been accidentally introduced; Rhode Island and Connecticut,--not reported. South to Pennsylvania and along high mountains to Virginia; west to Minnesota. =Habit.=--A slender, handsome tree, the most symmetrical of the New England spruces, with a height of 25-60 feet, and a diameter of 1-2 feet at the ground, reduced to a shrub at high altitudes; branches in young trees usually in whorls; branchlets mostly opposite. The branches go out from the trunk at an angle varying to a marked degree even in trees of about the same size and apparent age; in some trees declined near the base, horizontal midway, ascending near the top; in others horizontal or ascending throughout; in others declining throughout like those of the Norway spruce; all these forms growing apparently under precisely the same conditions; head widest at the base and tapering regularly upward; foliage dark bright green; cones erect and conspicuous. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk in old trees a variegated ashen gray, appearing smooth at a short distance, but often beset with fine scales, with one edge scarcely revolute, giving a ripply aspect; branches and young trees mottled or striate, greenish-brown and very smooth; branchlets from which the leaves have fallen marked with nearly circular leaf-scars; season's shoots pubescent; bark of trunk in all trees except the oldest with numerous blisters, containing the Canada balsam of commerce. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds small, roundish, resinous, grouped on the leading shoots. Leaves scattered, spirally arranged in rows, at right angles to twig, or disposed in two ranks like the hemlock; 1/2-1 inch long, dark glossy green on the upper surface, beneath silvery bluish-white, and traversed lengthwise by rows of minute dots, flat, narrowly linear; apex blunt, in young trees and upon vigorous shoots, often slightly but distinctly notched, or sometimes upon upper branches with a sharp, rigid point; sessile; aromatic. =Inflorescence.=--Early spring. Lateral or terminal on shoots of the preceding season; sterile flowers oblong-cylindrical, 1/4 inch in length; anthers yellow, red-tinged: fertile flowers on the upper side of the twig, erect, cylindrical; cover-scales broad, much larger than the purple ovuliferous scales, terminating in a long, recurved tip. =Fruit.=--Cones along the upper side of the branchlets, erect or nearly so in all stages of growth, purplish when young, 3-5 inches long, 1 inch or more wide; puberulous; cover-scales at maturity much smaller than ovuliferous scales, thin, obovate, serrulate, bristle-pointed; ovuliferous scales thin, broad, rounded; edge minutely erose, serrulate or entire; both kinds of scales falling from the axis at maturity; seeds winged, purplish. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy in New England, but best adapted to the northern sections; grows rapidly in open or shaded situations, especially where there is cool, moist, rich soil; easily transplanted; suitable for immediate effects in forest plantations, but not desirable for a permanent ornamental tree, as it loses the lower branches at an early period. Nurserymen and collectors offer it in quantity at a low price. Propagated from seed. [Illustration: PLATE X.--Abies balsamea.] 1. Branch with flower-buds. 2. Branch with sterile flowers. 3. Branch with fertile flowers. 4. Cover-scale and ovuliferous scale with ovules, inner side. 5. Fruiting branch. 6. Ovuliferous scales with ovules at maturity, inner side. 7. Cone-scale and ovuliferous scale at maturity, outer side. 8-9. Leaves. 10-11. Cross-sections of leaves. =Thuja occidentalis, L.= ARBOR-VITÆ. WHITE CEDAR. CEDAR. =Habitat and Range.=--Low, swampy lands, rocky borders of rivers and ponds. Southern Labrador to Nova Scotia; west to Manitoba. Maine,--throughout the state; most abundant in the central and northern portions, forming extensive areas known as "cedar swamps"; sometimes bordering a growth of black spruce at a lower level; New Hampshire,--mostly confined to the upper part of Coos county, disappearing at the White river narrows near Hanover; seen only in isolated localities south of the White mountains; Vermont,--common in swamps at levels below 1000 feet; Massachusetts,--Berkshire county; occasional in the northern sections of the Connecticut river valley; Rhode Island,--not reported; Connecticut,--East Hartford (J. N. Bishop). South along the mountains to North Carolina and East Tennessee; west to Minnesota. =Habit.=--Ordinarily 25-50 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-2 feet, in northern Maine occasionally 60-70 feet in height, with a diameter of 3-5 feet; trunk stout, more or less buttressed in old trees, tapering rapidly, often divided, inclined or twisted, ramifying for the most part near the ground, forming a dense head, rather small for the size of the trunk; branches irregularly disposed and nearly horizontal, the lower often much declined; branchlets many, the flat spray disposed in fan-shaped planes at different angles; foliage bright, often interspersed here and there with yellow, faded leaves. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk in old trees a dead ash-gray, striate with broad and flat ridges, often conspicuously spirally twisted, shreddy at the edge; young stems and large branches reddish-brown, more or less striate and shreddy; branchlets ultimately smooth, shining, reddish-brown, marked by raised scars; season's twigs invested with leaves. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Leaf-buds naked, minute. Leaves in opposite pairs, 4-ranked, closely adherent to the branchlet and completely covering it, keeled in the side pairs and flat in the others, scale-like, ovate (in seedlings needle-shaped), obtuse or pointed at the apex, glandular upon the back, exhaling when bruised a strong aromatic odor. =Inflorescence.=--April to May. Flowers terminal, dark reddish-brown; sterile and fertile, usually on the same plant, rarely on separate plants; anthers opposite; filaments short; ovuliferous scales opposite, with slight projections near the base, usually 2-ovuled. =Fruit.=--Cones, terminal on short branchlets, spreading or recurved, about 1/2 inch long, reddish-brown, loose-scaled, opening to the base at maturity; persistent through the first winter; scales 6-12, dry, oblong, not shield-shaped, not pointed; margin entire or nearly so; seeds winged all round. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy in New England; adapts itself to all soils and exposures, but prefers moist locations; grows slowly. Young trees have a narrowly conical outline, which spreads out at the base with age; retains its lower branches in open places, and is especially useful for hedges or narrow evergreen screens; little affected by insects; often disfigured, however, by dead branches and discolored leaves; is transplanted readily, and can be obtained in any quantity from nurserymen and collectors. The horticultural forms in cultivation range from thick, low, spreading tufts, through very dwarf, round, oval or conical forms, to tall, narrow, pyramidal varieties. Some have all the foliage tinged bright yellow, cream, or white; others have variegated foliage; another form has drooping branches. The bright summer foliage turns to a brownish color in winter. It is propagated from the seed and its horticultural forms from cuttings and layers. [Illustration: PLATE XI.--Thuja occidentalis.] 1. Flowering branch with the preceding year's fruit. 2. Branch. 3. Sterile flower. 4. Stamen. 5. Fertile flower. 6. Scale with ovules. =Cupressus thyoides, L.= _Chamæcyparis sphæroidea, Spach. Chamæcyparis thyoides, B. S. P._ WHITE CEDAR. CEDAR. =Habitat and Range.=--In deep swamps and marshes, which it often fills to the exclusion of other trees, mostly near the seacoast. Cape Breton island and near Halifax, Nova Scotia, perhaps introduced in both. Maine,--reported from the southern part of York county; New Hampshire,--limited to Rockingham county near the coast; Vermont,--no station known; Massachusetts,--occasional in central and eastern sections, very common in the southeast; Rhode Island,--common; Connecticut,--occasional in peat swamps. Southward, coast region to Florida and west to Mississippi. =Habit.=--20-50 feet high and 1-2 feet in diameter at the ground, reaching in the southern states an altitude of 90 and a diameter of 4 feet; trunk straight, tapering slowly, throwing out nearly horizontal, slender branches, forming a narrow, conical head often of great elegance and lightness; foliage light brownish-green; strong-scented; spray flat in planes disposed at different angles; wood permanently aromatic. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk thick, reddish, fibrous, shreddy, separating into thin scales, becoming more or less furrowed in old trees; branches reddish-brown; fine scaled; branches after fall of leaves, in the third or fourth year, smooth, purplish-brown; season's shoots at first greenish. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Leaf-buds naked, minute. Leaves mostly opposite, 4-ranked, adherent to the branchlet and completely covering it; keeled in the side pairs and slightly convex in the others, dull green, pointed at apex or triangular awl-shaped, mostly with a minute roundish gland upon the back. =Inflorescence.=--April. Flowers terminal, sterile and fertile, usually on the same plant, rarely on separate plants, fertile on short branchlets: sterile, globular or oblong, anthers opposite, filaments shield-shaped: fertile, oblong or globular; ovuliferous scales opposite, slightly spreading at top, dark reddish-brown. =Fruit.=--Cones, variously placed, 1/2 inch in diameter, roundish, purplish-brown, opening towards the center, never to the base; scales shield-shaped, woody; seeds several under each scale, winged. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England, growing best in the southern sections. Young trees are graceful and attractive, but soon become thin and lose their lower branches; valued chiefly in landscape planting for covering low and boggy places where other trees do not succeed as well. Seldom for sale in nurseries, but easily procured from collectors. Several unimportant horticultural forms are grown. [Illustration: PLATE XII.--Cupressus thyoides.] 1. Branch with flowers. 2. Sterile flower. 3. Stamen, back view. 4. Stamen, front view. 5. Fertile flower. 6. Ovuliferous scale with ovules. 7. Fruiting-branch. 8. Fruit. 9. Branch. =Juniperus Virginiana, L.= RED CEDAR. CEDAR. SAVIN. =Habitat and Range.=--Dry, rocky hills but not at great altitudes, borders of lakes and streams, sterile plains, peaty swamps. Nova Scotia and New Brunswick to Ontario. Maine,--rare, though it extends northward to the middle Kennebec valley, reduced almost to a shrub; New Hampshire,--most frequent in the southeast part of the state; sparingly in the Connecticut valley as far north as Haverhill (Grafton county); found also in Hart's location in the White mountain region; Vermont,--not abundant; occurs here and there on hills at levels less than 1000 feet; frequent in the Champlain and lower Connecticut valleys; Massachusetts,--west and center occasional, eastward common; Rhode Island and Connecticut,--common. South to Florida; west to Dakota, Nebraska, Kansas, and Indian Territory. =Habit.=--A medium-sized tree, 25-40 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 8-20 inches, attaining much greater dimensions southward; extremely variable in outline; the lower branches usually nearly horizontal, the upper ascending; head when young very regular, narrow-based, close and conical; in old trees frequently rather open, wide-spreading, ragged, roundish or flattened. In very exposed situations, especially along the seacoast, the trunk sometimes rises a foot or two and then develops horizontally, forming a curiously contorted lateral head. Under such conditions it occasionally becomes a dwarf tree 2-3 feet high, with wide-spreading branches and a very dense dome; spray close, foliage a sombre green, sometimes tinged with a rusty brownish-red; wood pale red, aromatic. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk light reddish-brown, fibrous, shredding off, now and then, in long strips, exposing the smooth brown inner bark; season's shoots green. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Leaf-buds naked, minute. Leaves dull green or brownish-red, of two kinds: 1. Scale-like, mostly opposite, each pair overlapping the pair above, 4-ranked, ovate, acute, sometimes bristle-tipped, more or less convex, obscurely glandular. 2. Scattered, not overlapping, narrowly lanceolate or needle-shaped, sharp-pointed, spreading. The second form is more common in young trees, sometimes comprising all the foliage, but is often found on trees of all ages, sometimes aggregated in dense masses. =Inflorescence.=--Early May. Flowers terminating short branches, sterile and fertile, more commonly on separate trees, often on the same tree; anthers in opposite pairs; ovuliferous scales in opposite pairs, slightly spreading, acute or obtuse; ovules 1-4. =Fruit.=--Berry-like from the coalescence of the fleshy cone-scales, the extremities of which are often visible, roundish, the size of a small pea, dark blue beneath a whitish bloom, 1-4-seeded. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; prefers sunny slopes and a loamy soil, but grows well in poor, thin soils and upon wind-swept sites; young plants increase in height 1-2 feet yearly and have a very formal, symmetrical outline; old trees often become irregular and picturesque, and grow very slowly; a long-lived tree; usually obtainable in nurseries and from collectors, but must frequently be transplanted to be moved with safety. If a ball of earth can be retained about the roots of wild plants, they can often be moved successfully. There are horticultural forms distinguished by a slender weeping or distorted habit, and by variegated bluish or yellowish foliage, occasionally found in American nurseries. The type is usually propagated from the seed, the horticultural forms from cuttings or by grafting. [Illustration: PLATE XIII.--Juniperus Virginiana.] 1. Branch with sterile and fertile flowers. 2. Sterile flower. 3. Stamen with pollen-sacs. 4. Fertile flower. 5. Fruiting branch. 6. Branch. 7. Branch with needle-shaped leaves. SALICACEÆ. WILLOW FAMILY. Trees or shrubs; leaves simple, alternate, undivided, with stipules either minute and soon falling or leafy and persistent; inflorescence from axillary buds of the preceding season, appearing with or before the leaves, in nearly erect, spreading or drooping catkins, sterile and fertile on separate trees; flowers one to each bract, without calyx or corolla; stamens one to many; style short or none; stigmas 2, entire or 2-4-lobed; fruit a 2-4-celled capsule. POPULUS. Inflorescence usually appearing before the leaves; flowers with lacerate bracts, disk cup-shaped and oblique-edged, at least in sterile flowers; stamens usually many, filaments distinct; stigmas mostly divided, elongated or spreading. SALIX. Inflorescence appearing with or before the leaves; flowers with entire bracts and one or two small glands; disks wanting; stamens few. =Populus tremuloides, Michx.= POPLAR. ASPEN. =Habitat and Range.=--In all soils and situations except in deep swamps, though more usual in dry uplands; sometimes springing up in great abundance in clearings or upon burnt lands. Newfoundland, Labrador, and Nova Scotia to the Hudson bay region and Alaska. New England,--common, reaching in the White mountain region an altitude of 3000 feet. South to New Jersey, along the mountains in Pennsylvania and Kentucky, ascending 3000 feet in the Adirondacks; west to the slopes of the Rocky mountains, along which it extends to Mexico and Lower California. =Habit.=--A graceful tree, ordinarily 35-40 feet and not uncommonly 50-60 feet high; trunk 8-15 inches in diameter, tapering, surmounted by a very open, irregular head of small, spreading branches; spray sparse, consisting of short, stout, leafy rounded shoots set at a wide angle; distinguished by the slenderness of its habit, the light color of trunk and branches, the deep red of the sterile catkins in early spring, and the almost ceaseless flutter of the delicate foliage. =Bark.=--Trunk pale green, smooth, dark-blotched below the branches, becoming ash-gray and roughish in old trees; season's shoots dark reddish-brown or green, shining; bitter. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds 1/8-1/4 inch long, reddish-brown and lustrous, usually smooth, ovate, acute, often slightly incurved at apex, the upper often appressed. Leaves 1-2-1/2 inches long, breadth usually equal to or exceeding the length, yellowish-green and ciliate when young, dark dull green above when mature, lighter beneath, glabrous on both sides, bright yellow in autumn; outline broadly ovate to orbicular, finely serrate or wavy-edged, with incurved, glandular-tipped teeth, apex rather abruptly acute or short-acuminate; base acute, truncate or slightly heart-shaped, 3-nerved; leafstalk slender, strongly flattened at right angles to the plane of the blade, bending to the slightest breath of air; stipules lanceolate, silky, soon falling. =Inflorescence.=--April to May. Sterile catkins 1-3 inches long, fertile at first about the same length, gradually elongating; bracts cut into several lanceolate or linear divisions, silky-hairy; stamens about 10; anthers red: ovary short-stalked; stigmas two, 2-lobed, red. =Fruit.=--June. Capsules, in elongated catkins, conical; seeds numerous, white-hairy. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England in the most exposed situations; grows almost anywhere, but prefers a moist, rich loam; grows rapidly; foliage and spray thin; generally short-lived; often used as a screen for slow-growing trees; type seldom found in nurseries, but one or two horticultural forms are occasionally offered. Propagated from seed or cuttings. [Illustration: PLATE XIV.--Populus tremuloides.] 1. Branch with sterile catkins. 2. Sterile flower. 3. Branch with fertile catkins. 4. Fertile flower. 5. Fruiting branch. 6. Branch with mature leaves. 7. Variant leaves. =Populus grandidentata, Michx.= POPLAR. LARGE-TOOTHED ASPEN. =Habitat and Range.=--In rich or poor soils; woods, hillsides, borders of streams. Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, southern Quebec, and Ontario. New England,--common, occasional at altitudes of 2000 feet or more. South to Pennsylvania and Delaware, along the mountains to Kentucky, North Carolina, and Tennessee; west to Minnesota. =Habit.=--A tree 30-45 feet in height and 1 foot to 20 inches in diameter at the ground, sometimes attaining much greater dimensions; trunk erect, with an open, unsymmetrical, straggling head; branches distant, small and crooked; branchlets round; spray sparse, consisting of short, stout, leafy shoots; in time and manner of blossoming, constant motion of foliage, and general habit, closely resembling _P. tremuloides._ =Bark.=--Bark of trunk on old trees dark grayish-brown or blackish, irregularly furrowed, broad-ridged, the outer portions separated into small, thickish scales; trunk of young trees soft greenish-gray; branches greenish-gray, darker on the underside; branchlets dark greenish-gray, roughened with leaf-scars; season's twigs in fall dark reddish-brown, at first tomentose, becoming smooth and shining. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds 1/8 inch long, mostly divergent, light chestnut, more or less pubescent, dusty-looking, ovate, acute. Leaves 3-5 inches long, two-thirds as wide, densely white-tomentose when opening, usually smooth on both sides when mature, dark green above, lighter beneath, bright yellow in autumn; outline roundish-ovate, coarsely and irregularly sinuate-toothed; teeth acutish; sinuses in shallow curves; apex acute; base truncate or slightly heart-shaped; leafstalks long, strongly flattened at right angles to the plane of the blade; stipules thread-like, soon falling. =Inflorescence.=--March to April. Sterile catkins 1-3 inches long, fertile at first about the same length, but gradually elongating; bracts cut into several lanceolate divisions, silky-hairy; stamens about 10; anthers red: ovaries short-stalked; stigmas two, 2-lobed, red. =Fruit.=--Fruiting catkins at length 3-6 inches long; capsule conical, acute, roughish-scurfy, hairy at tip: seeds numerous, hairy. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; grows almost anywhere, but prefers moist, rich loam; grows rapidly and is safely transplanted, but is unsymmetrical, easily broken by the wind, and short-lived; seldom offered by nurserymen, but readily procured from northern collectors of native plants. Useful to grow for temporary effect with permanent trees, as it will fail by the time the desirable kinds are well established. Propagated from seed or cuttings. =Note.=--Points of difference between _P. tremuloides_ and _P. grandidentata_. These trees may be best distinguished in early spring by the color of the unfolding leaves. In the sunlight the head of _P. tremuloides_ appears yellowish-green, while that of _P. grandidentata_ is conspicuously cotton white. The leaves of _P. grandidentata_ are larger and more coarsely toothed, and the main branches go off usually at a broader angle. The buds of _P. grandidentata_ are mostly divergent, dusty-looking, dull; of _P. tremuloides_, mostly appressed, highly polished with a resinous lustre. [Illustration: PLATE XV.--Populus grandidentata.] 1. Branch with sterile catkins. 2. Sterile flower, back view, 3. Sterile flower, front view. 4. Branch with fertile catkins. 5. Bract of fertile flower. 6. Fertile flower, front view. 7. Fruiting branch with mature leaves. 8. Fruit. 9. Fruit. =Populus heterophylla, L.= POPLAR. SWAMP POPLAR. COTTONWOOD. =Habitat and Range.=--In or along swamps occasionally or often overflowed; rare, local, and erratically distributed. Connecticut,--frequent in the southern sections; Bozrah (J. N. Bishop); Guilford, in at least three wood-ponds (W. E. Dudley _in lit._), New Haven, and near Norwich (W. A. Setchell). Following the eastern coast in wide belts from New York (Staten island and Long island) south to Georgia; west along the Gulf coast to western Louisiana, and northward along the Mississippi and Ohio basins to Arkansas, Indiana, and Illinois. =Habit.=--A slender, medium-sized tree, attaining a height of 30-50 feet, reaching farther south a maximum of 90 feet; trunk 9-18 inches in diameter, usually branching high up, forming a rather open hemispherical or narrow-oblong head; branches irregular, short, rising, except the lower, at a sharp angle; branchlets stout, roundish, varying in color, degree of pubescence, and glossiness, becoming rough after the first year with the raised leaf-scars; spray sparse. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk dark ash-gray, very rough, and broken into loosely attached narrow plates in old trees; in young trees light ash-gray, smooth at first, becoming in a few years roughish, low-ridged. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds conical, acute, more or less resinous. Leaves 3-6 inches long, two-thirds as wide, densely white-tomentose when young, at length dark green on the upper side, lighter beneath and smooth except along the veins; outline ovate, wavy-toothed; base heart-shaped, lobes often overlapping; apex obtuse; leafstalk long, round, downy; stipules soon falling. =Inflorescence.=--April to May. Sterile catkins when expanded 3-4 inches long, at length pendent; scales cut into irregular divisions, reddish; stamens numerous, anthers oblong, dark red: fertile catkins spreading, few and loosely flowered, gradually elongating; scales reddish-brown; ovary short-stalked; styles 2-3, united at the base; stigmas 2-3, conspicuous. =Fruit.=--Fruiting catkins spreading or drooping, 4-5 inches long: capsules usually erect, ovoid, acute, shorter than or equaling the slender pedicels: seeds numerous, white-hairy. =Horticultural Value.=--Not procurable in New England nurseries or from collectors; its usefulness in landscape gardening not definitely known. [Illustration: PLATE XVI.--Populus heterophylla.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Branch with sterile catkin. 3. Sterile flower. 4. Scale of sterile flower. 5. Branch with fertile catkin. 6. Fertile flower. 7. Fruiting branch with mature leaves. =Populus deltoides, Marsh.= _Populus monilifera, Ait._ COTTONWOOD. POPLAR. =Habitat and Range.=--In moist soil; river banks and basins, shores of lakes, not uncommon in drier locations. Throughout Quebec and Ontario to the base of the Rocky mountains. Maine,--not reported; New Hampshire,--restricted to the immediate vicinity of the Connecticut river, disappearing near the northern part of Westmoreland; Vermont,--western sections, abundant along the shores of the Hoosac river in Pownal and along Lake Champlain (W. W. Eggleston); in the Connecticut valley as far north as Brattleboro (_Flora of Vermont_, 1900); Massachusetts,--along the Connecticut and its tributaries; Rhode Island,--occasional; Connecticut,--occasional eastward, common along the Connecticut, Farmington, and Housatonic rivers. South to Florida; west to the Rocky mountains. =Habit.=--A stately tree, 75-100 feet in height; trunk 3-5 feet in diameter, light gray, straight or sometimes slightly inclined, of nearly uniform size to the point of branching, surmounted by a noble, broad-spreading, open, symmetrical head, the lower branches massive, horizontal, or slightly ascending, more or less pendulous at the extremities, the upper coarse and spreading, rising at a sharper angle; branchlets stout; foliage brilliant green, easily set in motion; the sterile trees gorgeous in spring with dark red pendent catkins. =Bark.=--In old trees thick, ash-gray, separated into deep, straight furrows with rounded ridges; in young trees light yellowish-green, smooth; season's shoots greenish, marked with pale longitudinal lines. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds large, conical, smooth, shining. Leaves 3-6 inches long, scarcely less in width, variable in color and shape, ordinarily dark green and shining above, lighter beneath, ribs raised on both sides; outline broadly ovate, irregularly crenate-toothed; apex abruptly acute or acuminate; base truncate, slightly heart-shaped or sometimes acute; stems long, slender, somewhat flattened at right angles to the plane of the blade; stipules linear, soon falling. =Inflorescence.=--April to May. In solitary, densely flowered catkins; bracts lacerate-fringed, each bract subtending a cup-shaped scale; stamens very numerous; anthers longer than the filaments, dark red: fertile catkins elongating to 5 or 6 inches; ovary ovoid; stigmas 3 or 4, nearly sessile, spreading. =Fruit.=--Capsules ovate, rough, short-stalked; seeds densely cottony. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy in southern-central New England; grows rapidly in almost any soil and is readily obtainable in nurseries. Where an immediate effect is desired, the cottonwood serves the purpose excellently and frequently makes very fine large individual trees, but the wood is soft and likely to be broken by wind or ice. Usually propagated from cuttings. [Illustration: PLATE XVII.--Populus deltoides.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Branch with sterile catkins. 3. Sterile flower, back view. 4. Sterile flower, front view. 5. Scale of sterile flower. 6. Fertile flower. 7. Fruiting catkin. 8. Branch with mature leaves. 9. Variant leaf. =Populus balsamifera, L.= BALSAM. POPLAR. BALM OF GILEAD. =Habitat and Range.=--Alluvial soils; river banks, valleys, borders of swamps, woods. Newfoundland and Nova Scotia west to Manitoba; northward to the coast of Alaska and along the Mackenzie river to the Arctic circle. Maine,--common; New Hampshire,--Connecticut river valley, generally near the river, becoming more plentiful northward; Vermont,--frequent; Massachusetts and Rhode Island,--not reported; Connecticut,--extending along the Housatonic river at New Milford for five or six miles, perhaps derived from an introduced tree (C. K. Averill, _Rhodora_, II, 35). West through northern New York, Michigan, Minnesota, Dakota (Black Hills), Montana, beyond the Rockies to the Pacific coast. =Habit.=--A medium-sized tree, 30-75 feet high, trunk 1-3 feet in diameter, straight; branches horizontal or nearly so, slender for size of tree, short; head open, narrow-oblong or oblong-conical; branchlets mostly terete; foliage thin. =Bark.=--In old trees dark gray or ash-gray, firm-ridged, in young trees smooth; branchlets grayish; season's shoots reddish or greenish brown, sparsely orange-dotted. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds 3/4 inch long, appressed or slightly divergent, conical, slender, acute, resin-coated, sticky, fragrant when opening. Leaves 3-6 inches long, about one-half as wide, yellowish when young, when mature bright green, whitish below; outline ovate-lanceolate or ovate, finely toothed, gradually tapering to an acute or acuminate apex; base obtuse to rounded, sometimes truncate or heart-shaped; leafstalk much shorter than the blade, terete or nearly so; stipules soon falling. The leaves of var. _intermedia_ are obovate to oval; those of var. _latifolia_ closely approach the leaves of _P. candicans_. =Inflorescence.=--April. Sterile 3-4 inches long, fertile at first about the same length, gradually elongating, loosely flowered; bracts irregularly and rather narrowly cut-toothed, each bract subtending a cup-shaped disk; stamens numerous; anthers red: ovary short-stalked; stigmas two, 2-lobed, large, wavy-margined. =Fruit.=--Fruiting catkins drooping, 4-6 inches long: capsules ovoid, acute, longer than the pedicels, green: seeds numerous, hairy. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; grows in all excepting very wet soils, in full sun or light shade, and in exposed situations; of rapid growth, but subject to the attacks of borers, which kill the branches and make the head unsightly; also spreads from the roots, and therefore not desirable for ornamental plantations; most useful in the formation of shelter-belts; readily transplanted but not common in nurseries. Propagated from cuttings. [Illustration: PLATE XVIII.--Populus balsamifera.] 1. Branch with sterile flowers. 2. Sterile flower, back view. 3. Sterile flower, side view. 4. Scales of sterile flower. 5. Branch with fertile catkins. 6. Fertile flower. 7. Fruiting catkins, mature. 8. Branch with mature leaves. =Populus candicans, Ait.= _Populus balsamifera_, var. _candicans, Gray._ BALM OF GILEAD. =Habitat and Range.=--In a great variety of soils; usually in cultivated or pasture lands in the vicinity of dwellings; infrequently found in a wild state. The original site of this tree has not been definitely agreed upon. Professor L. H. Bailey reports that it is indigenous in Michigan, and northern collectors find both sexes in New Hampshire and Vermont; while in central and southern New England the staminate tree is rarely if ever seen, and the pistillate flowers seldom if ever mature perfect fruit. The evidence seems to indicate a narrow belt extending through northern New Hampshire, Vermont and Michigan, with the intermediate southern sections of the Province of Ontario as the home of the Balm of Gilead. Nova Scotia and New Brunswick,--occasional; Ontario,--frequent. New England,--occasional throughout. South to New Jersey; west to Michigan and Minnesota. =Habit.=--A medium-sized tree, 40-60 feet high; trunk 1-3 feet in diameter, straight or inclined, sometimes beset with a few crooked, bushy branchlets; head very variable in shape and size; solitary in open ground, commonly _broad-based, spacious, and pyramidal_, among other trees more often rather small; loosely and irregularly branched, with sparse, coarse, and often crooked spray; _foliage dark green, handsome, and abundant_; all parts characterized by a strong and peculiar resinous fragrance. A single tree multiplying by suckers often becomes parent of a grove covering half an acre, more or less, made up of trees of all ages and sizes. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk and lower portions of large branches dark gray, rough, irregularly striate and firm in old trees; in young trees and upon smaller branches smooth, soft grayish-green, often flanged by prominent ridges running down the stalk from the vertices of the triangular leaf-scars; season's shoots often flanged, shining reddish or olive green, with occasional longitudinal gray lines, viscid. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds dark reddish-brown, rather closely set along the stalk, conical or somewhat angled, narrow, often falcate, sharp-pointed, resinous throughout, viscid, aromatic, exhaling a powerful odor when the scales expand, terminal about 3/4 inch long. Leaves 4-6 inches long and nearly as wide, yellowish-green at first, becoming dark green and smooth on the upper surface with the exception of a _minute pubescence along the veins_, dull light green beneath, finely serrate with incurved glandular points, usually ciliate with minute stiff, whitish hairs; base heart-shaped; apex short-pointed; petioles about 1-1-1/2 inches long, _more or less hairy_, somewhat flattened at right angles to the blade; stipules short, ovate, acute, soon falling. =Inflorescence.=--Similar to that of _P. balsamifera_. =Fruit.=--Similar to that of _P. balsamifera_. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; has an attractive foliage and grows rapidly in all soils and situations, but the branches are easily broken by the wind, and its habit of suckering makes it objectionable in ornamental ground; occasionally offered by nurserymen and collectors. Propagated from cuttings. [Illustration: PLATE XIX.--Populus candicans.] 1. Winter bud. 2. Branch with fertile catkins. 3. Fertile flower. 4. Fruiting branch. =Populus alba, L.= ABELE. WHITE POPLAR. SILVER-LEAF POPLAR. =Range.=--Widely distributed in the Old World, extending in Europe from southern Sweden to the Mediterranean, throughout northern Africa, and eastward in Asia to the northwestern Himalayas. Introduced from England by the early settlers and soon established in the colonial towns, as in Plymouth and Duxbury, on the western shore of Massachusetts bay. Planted or spontaneous over a wide area. New Brunswick and Nova Scotia,--occasional. New England,--occasional throughout, local, sometimes common. Southward to Virginia. =Habit.=--A handsome tree, resembling _P. grandidentata_ more than any other American poplar, but of far nobler proportions; 40-75 feet high and 2-4 feet in diameter at the ground; growing much larger in England; head large, spreading; round-topped, in spring enveloped in a dazzling cloud of cotton white, which resolves itself later into two conspicuously contrasting surfaces of dark green and silvery white. =Bark.=--Light gray, smooth upon young trees, in old trees furrowed upon the trunk. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds not viscid, cottony. Leaves 1-4 inches long, densely white-tomentose while expanding, when mature dark green above and white-tomentose to glabrous beneath; outline ovate or deltoid, 3-5-lobed and toothed or simply toothed, teeth irregular; base heart-shaped or truncate; apex acute to obtuse; leafstalk long, slender, compressed; stipules soon falling. =Inflorescence and Fruit.=--April to May. Sterile catkins 2-4 inches long, cylindrical, fertile at first shorter,--stamens 6-16; anthers purple: capsules 1/4 inch long, narrow-ovoid; seeds hairy. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy. Thrives even in very poor soils and in exposed situations; grows rapidly in good soils; of distinctive value in landscape gardening but not adapted for planting along streets and upon lawns of limited area on account of its habit of throwing out numerous suckers and its liability to damage from heavy winds. The sides of country roads where the abele has been planted are sometimes obstructed for a considerable distance by the thrifty shoots from underground. =Salix discolor. Muhl.= PUSSY WILLOW. GLAUCOUS WILLOW. =Habitat and Range.=--Low, wet grounds; banks of streams, swamps, moist hillsides. Nova Scotia to Manitoba. Maine,--abundant; common throughout the other New England states. South to North Carolina; west to Illinois and Missouri. =Habit.=--Mostly a tall shrub with several stems, but occasionally assuming a tree-like habit, with a height of 15-20 feet and trunk diameter of 5-10 inches; one tree reported at Laconia, N. H., 35 feet high (F. W. Batchelder); branches few, stout, ascending, forming a very open, hemispherical head. =Bark.=--Trunk reddish-brown; branches dark-colored; branchlets light green, orange-dotted. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds ovate-conical; apex obtuse to acute. Leaves simple, alternate, 2-4 inches long, smooth and bright green above, smooth and whitish beneath when fully grown; outline ovate-lanceolate to narrowly oblong-oval, crenulate-serrate to entire; apex acute, base acute and entire; leafstalk short; stipules toothed or entire. =Inflorescence.=--March to April. Appearing before the leaves in catkins, sterile and fertile on separate plants, occasionally both kinds on the same plant, sessile,--sterile spreading or erect, oblong-cylindrical, silky; calyx none; petals none; bracts entire, reddish-brown turning to black, oblong to oblong-obovate, with long, silky hairs; stamens 2; filaments distinct: fertile catkins spreading; bracts oblong to ovate, hairy; style short; stigma deeply 4-lobed. =Fruit.=--Fruiting catkins somewhat declined: capsules ovate-conical, tomentose, stem two-thirds the length of the scale: seeds numerous. =Horticultural Value.=--Picturesque in blossom and fruit; its value dependent chiefly upon its matted roots for holding wet banks, and its ability to withstand considerable shade. Sold by plant collectors; easily propagated from cuttings. [Illustration: PLATE XX.--Salix discolor.] 1. Leaf-buds. 2. Branch with sterile catkins. 3. Sterile flower. 4. Branch with fertile catkins. 5. Fertile flower. 6. Fruiting branch. 7. Mature leaves. =Salix nigra, Marsh.= BLACK WILLOW =Habitat and Range.=--In low grounds, along streams or ponds, river flats. New Brunswick to western Ontario. New England,--occasional throughout, frequent along the larger streams. South to Florida; west to Dakota, Nebraska, Kansas, Indian territory, Louisiana, Texas, southern California, and south into Mexico. =Habit.=--A large shrub or small tree, 25-40 feet high and 10-15 inches in trunk diameter, attaining great size in the Ohio and Mississippi valleys and the valley of the lower Colorado; trunk short, surmounted by an irregular, open, often roundish head, with stout, spreading branches, slender branchlets, and twigs brittle towards their base. _S. nigra_, var. _falcata_, Pursh., covers about the same range as the type and differs chiefly in its narrower, falcate leaves. =Bark.=--Trunk rough, in young trees light brown, in old trees dark-colored or nearly black, deeply and irregularly ridged, separated on the surface into thick, plate-like scales; branchlets reddish-brown; twigs bronze olive. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds narrowly conical, acute. Leaves simple, alternate, appearing much later than those of _S. discolor_, 2-5 inches long, somewhat pubescent on both sides when young, when mature green and smooth above, paler and sometimes pubescent along the veins beneath; outline narrowly lanceolate, finely serrate; apex acute or acuminate, often curved; base acutish to rounded or slightly heart-shaped; petiole short, usually pubescent; stipules large and persistent, or small and soon falling. =Inflorescence.=--April to May. Appearing with the leaves from the axils of the short, lateral shoots, in catkins, sterile and fertile on different trees, stalked,--sterile spreading, narrowly cylindrical; calyx none; corolla none; bracts entire, rounded to oblong, villous, ciliate; stamens about 5: fertile catkins spreading; calyx none; corolla none; bracts ovate to narrowly oblong, acute, villous; ovary short-stalked, with two small glands at its base, ovate-conical, sometimes obovate, smooth; stigmas 2, short. =Fruit.=--Fertile catkins drooping: capsules ovate-conical, short-stemmed, minutely granular; style very short: seeds numerous. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy in New England; grows rapidly in all soils, particularly useful in very wet situations; seriously affected by insects; occasionally offered in nurseries; transplanted readily; propagated from cuttings. [Illustration: PLATE XXI.--Salix nigra.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Branch with sterile catkins. 3. Sterile flower, side view. 4. Sterile flower, front view. 5. Branch with fertile catkins. 6. Fertile flower, side view. 7. Fertile flower, front view. 8. Fruiting branch. 9. Fruit enlarged. =Salix fragilis and Salix alba.= The _fragilis_ and _alba_ group of genus _Salix_ gives rise to puzzling questions of determination and nomenclature. Pure _fragilis_ and pure _alba_ are perfectly distinct plants, _fragilis_ occasional, locally rather common, and _alba_ rather rare within the limits of the United States. Each species has varieties; the two species hybridize with each other and with native species, and the hybrids themselves have varietal forms. This group affords a tempting field for the manufacture of species and varieties, about most of which so little is known that any attempt to assign a definite range would be necessarily imperfect and misleading. The range as given below in either species simply points out the limits within which any one of the various forms of that species appears to be spontaneous. =Salix fragilis, L.= CRACK WILLOW. BRITTLE WILLOW. =Habitat and Range.=--In low land and along river banks. Indigenous in southwestern Asia, and in Europe where it is extensively cultivated; introduced into America probably from England for use in basket-making, and planted at a very early date in many of the colonial towns; now extensively cultivated, and often spontaneous in wet places and along river banks, throughout New England and as far south as Delaware. =Habit.=--Tree often of great size; attaining a maximum height of 60-90 feet; head open, wide-spreading; branches except the lowest rising at a broad angle; branchlets reddish or yellowish green, smooth and polished, very brittle at the base. In 1890 there was standing upon the Groome estate, Humphreys Street, Dorchester, Mass., a willow of this species about 60 feet high, 28 feet 2 inches in girth five feet from the ground, with a spread of 110 feet (_Typical Elms and other Trees of Massachusetts_, p. 85). =Bark.=--Bark of the trunk gray, smooth in young trees, in old trees very rough, irregularly ridged, sometimes cleaving off in large plates. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds about 1/3 inch long, reddish-brown, narrow-conical. Leaves simple, alternate, 2-6 inches long, smooth, dark green and shining above, pale or glaucous beneath and somewhat pubescent when young; outline lanceolate, glandular-serrate; apex long-acuminate; tapering to an acute or obtuse base; leafstalk short, glandular at the top; stipules half-cordate when present, soon falling. =Inflorescence.=--April to May. Catkins appearing with the leaves, spreading, stalked,--sterile 1-2 inches long; stamens 2-4, usually 2; filaments distinct, pubescent below; ovary abortive: fertile catkins slender; stigma nearly sessile; capsule long-conical, smooth, short-stalked. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; grows best near streams, but adapts itself readily to all rich, damp soils. A handsome ornamental tree when planted where its roots can find water, and its branches space for free development. Readily propagated from slips. SALIX ALBA, L. WHITE WILLOW. =Habitat and Range.=--Low, moist grounds; along streams. Probably indigenous throughout Europe, northern Africa, and Asia as far south as northwestern India. Extensively introduced in America, and often spontaneous over large areas. New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, and Ontario. New England,--sparingly throughout. South to Delaware; extensively introduced in the western states. =Habit.=--A large tree, 50-80 feet in height; trunk usually rather short and 2-7 feet in diameter; head large, not as broad-spreading as that of _S. fragilis_; branches numerous, mostly ascending. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk in old trees gray and coarsely ridged, in young trees smooth; twigs smooth, olive. =Leaves.=--Leaves simple, alternate, 2-4 inches long, _silky-hairy on both sides when young, when old still retaining more or less pubescence, especially on the paler under surface_; outline narrowly lanceolate or elliptic-lanceolate, glandular-serrate, tapering to a long pointed apex and to an acute base; leafstalk short, usually without glands; stipules ovate-lanceolate, soon falling. =Note.=--Var. _vitellina_, Koch., by far the most common form of this willow; mature leaves glabrous above; twigs _yellow_. Var. _cærulea_, Koch.; mature leaves bluish-green, glabrous above, glaucous beneath; twigs _olive_. =Inflorescence.=--April to May. Catkins appearing with the leaves, slender, erect, stalked; scales linear; stamens 2; filaments distinct, hairy below the middle; stigma nearly sessile, deeply cleft; capsule glabrous, sessile or nearly so. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; grows best in moist localities; extensively cultivated to bind the soil along the banks of streams. Easily propagated from slips. JUGLANDACEÆ. WALNUT FAMILY. =Juglans cinerea, L.= BUTTERNUT. OILNUT. LEMON WALNUT. =Habitat and Range.=--Roadsides, rich woods, river valleys, fertile, moist hillsides, high up on mountain slopes. New Brunswick, throughout Quebec and eastern Ontario. Maine,--common, often abundant; New Hampshire,--throughout the Connecticut valley, and along the Merrimac and its tributaries, to the base of the White mountains; Vermont,--frequent; Massachusetts,--common in the eastern and central portions, frequent westward; Rhode Island and Connecticut,--common. South to Delaware, along the mountains to Georgia and Alabama; west to Minnesota, Kansas, and Arkansas. =Habit.=--Usually a medium-sized tree, 20-45 feet in height, with a disproportionately large trunk, 1-4 feet in diameter; often attaining under favorable conditions much greater dimensions. It ramifies at a few feet from the ground and throws out long, rather stout, and nearly horizontal branches, the lower slightly drooping, forming for the height of the tree a very wide-spreading head, with a stout and stiffish spray. At its best the butternut is a picturesque and even beautiful tree. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk dark gray, rough, narrow-ridged and wide-furrowed in old trees, in young trees smooth, dark gray; branchlets brown gray, with gray dots and prominent leaf-scars; season's shoots greenish-gray, faint-dotted, with a clammy pubescence. The bruised bark of the nut stains the skin yellow. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds flattish or oblong-conical, few-scaled, 2-4 buds often superposed, the uppermost largest and far above the axil. Leaves pinnately compound, alternate, 1-1-1/2 feet long, viscid-pubescent throughout, at least when young; rachis enlarged at base; stipules none; leaflets 9-17, 2-4 inches long, about half as wide, upper surface rough, yellowish when unfolding in spring, becoming a dark green, lighter beneath, yellow in autumn; outline oblong-lanceolate, serrate; veins prominent beneath; apex acute to acuminate; base obtuse to rounded, somewhat inequilateral, sessile, except the terminal leaflet; stipels none. =Inflorescence.=--May. Appearing while the leaves are unfolding, sterile and fertile flowers on the same tree,--the sterile from terminal or lateral buds of the preceding season, in single, unbranched, stout, green, cylindrical, drooping catkins 3-6 inches long; calyx irregular, mostly 6-lobed, borne on an oblong scale; corolla none; stamens 8-12, with brown anthers: fertile flowers sessile, solitary, or several on a common peduncle from the season's shoots; calyx hairy, 4-lobed, with 4 small petals at the sinuses; styles 2, short; stigmas 2, large, feathery, diverging, rose red. =Fruit.=--Ripening in October, one or several from the same footstalk, about 3 inches long, oblong, pointed, green, downy, and sticky at first, dark brown when dry: shells sculptured, rough: kernel edible, sweet but oily. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; grows in any well-drained soil, but prefers a deep, rich loam; seldom reaches its best under cultivation. Trees of the same age are apt to vary in vigor and size, dead branches are likely to appear early, and sound trees 8 or 10 inches in diameter are seldom seen; the foliage is thin, appears late and drops early; planted in private grounds chiefly for its fruit; only occasionally offered in nurseries, collected plants seldom successful. Best grown from seed planted where the tree is to stand, as is evident from many trees growing spontaneously. [Illustration: PLATE XXII.--Juglans cinerea.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Sterile flower, side view. 4. Fertile flower. 5. Fruit. 6. Leaf. =Juglans nigra, L.= BLACK WALNUT. =Habitat and Range.=--Rich woods. Maine, New Hampshire, and Vermont,--not reported native; Massachusetts,--rare east of the Connecticut river, occasional along the western part of the Connecticut valley to the New York line; Rhode Island,--doubtfully native, Apponaug (Kent county) and elsewhere; Connecticut,--frequent westward, Darien (Fairfield county); Plainville (Hartford county, J. N. Bishop _in lit._, 1896); in the central and eastern sections probably introduced. South to Florida; west to Minnesota, Kansas, Arkansas, and Texas. =Habit.=--A large tree, 50-75 feet high, with a diameter above the swell of the roots of 2-5 feet; attaining in the Ohio valley a height of 150 feet and a diameter of 6-8 feet; trunk straight, slowly tapering, throwing out its lower branches nearly horizontally, the upper at a broad angle, forming an open, spacious, noble head. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk in old trees thick, blackish, and deeply furrowed; large branches rough and more or less furrowed; branchlets smooth; season's twigs downy. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds small, ovate or rounded, obtuse, more or less pubescent, few-scaled. Leaves pinnately compound, alternate; rachis smooth and swollen at base, but less so than that of the butternut; stipules none; leaflets 13-21 (the odd leaflet at the apex often wanting), opposite or alternate, 2-5 inches long, about half as wide; dark green and smooth above, lighter and slightly glandular-pubescent beneath, turning yellow in autumn; outline ovate-lanceolate; apex taper-pointed; base oblique, usually rounded or heart-shaped; stemless or nearly so, except the terminal leaflet; stipels none. Aromatic when bruised. =Inflorescence.=--May. Appearing while the leaves are unfolding, sterile and fertile flowers on the same tree,--the sterile along the sides or at the ends of the preceding year's branches, in single, unbranched, green, stout, cylindrical, pendulous catkins, 3-6 inches long; perianth of 6 rounded lobes, stamens numerous, filaments very short, anthers purple: fertile flowers in the axils of the season's shoots, sessile, solitary or several on a common peduncle; calyx 4-toothed, with 4 small petals at the sinuses; stigmas 2, reddish-green. =Fruit.=--Ripening in October at the ends of the branchlets, single, or two or more together; round, smooth, or somewhat roughish with uneven surface, not viscid, dull green turning to brown: husk not separating into sections: shell irregularly furrowed: kernel edible. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy in central and southern New England; grows well in most situations, but in a deep rich soil it forms a large and handsome tree. Readily obtainable in western nurseries; transplants rather poorly, and collected plants are of little value. Its leaves appear late and drop early, and the fruit is often abundant. These disadvantages make it objectionable in many cases. Grown from seed. [Illustration: PLATE XXIII.--Juglans nigra.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Sterile flower, front view. 4. Sterile flower, back view. 5. Fertile flower. 6. Fruiting branch. =Carya alba, Nutt.= _Hicoria ovata, Britton._ SHAGBARK. SHAGBARK OR SHELLBARK HICKORY. WALNUT. =Habitat and Range.=--In various soils and situations, fertile slopes, brooksides, rocky hills. Valley of the St. Lawrence. Maine,--along or near the coast as far north as Harpswell (Cumberland county); New Hampshire,--common as far north as Lake Winnepesaukee; Vermont,--occasional along the Connecticut to Windsor, rather common in the Champlain valley and along the western slopes of the Green mountains; Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut,--common. South to Delaware and along the mountains to Florida; west to Minnesota, Kansas, Indian territory, and Texas. =Habit.=--The tallest of the hickories and proportionally the most slender, from 50 to 75 feet in height, and not more than 2 feet in trunk diameter; rising to a great height in the Ohio and Indiana river bottoms. The trunk, shaggy in old trees, rises with nearly uniform diameter to the point of furcation, throwing out rather small branches of unequal length and irregularly disposed, forming an oblong or rounded head with frequent gaps in the continuity of the foliage. =Bark.=--Trunk in young trees and in the smaller branches ash-gray, smoothish to seamy; in old trees, extremely characteristic, usually shaggy, the outer layers separating into long, narrow, unequal plates, free at one or both ends, easily detachable; branchlets smooth and gray, with conspicuous leaf-scars; season's shoots stout, more or less downy, numerous-dotted. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds tomentose, ovate to oblong, terminal buds large, much swollen before expanding; inner scales numerous, purplish-fringed, downy, enlarging to 5-6 inches in length as the leaves unfold. Leaves pinnately compound, alternate, 12-20 inches long; petiole short, rough, and somewhat swollen at base; stipules none; leaflets usually 5, sometimes 3 or 7, 3-7 inches long, dark green above, yellowish-green and downy beneath when young, the three upper large, obovate to lanceolate, the two lower much smaller, oblong to oblong-lanceolate, all finely serrate and sharp-pointed; base obtuse, rounded or acute, mostly inequilateral; nearly sessile save the odd leaflet; stipels none. =Inflorescence.=--May. Sterile and fertile flowers on the same tree, appearing when the leaves are fully grown,--sterile at the base of the season's shoots, in slender, green, pendulous catkins, 4-6 inches long, usually in threes, branching umbel-like from a common peduncle; flower-scales 3-parted, the middle lobe much longer than the other two, linear, tipped with long bristles; calyx adnate to scale; stamens mostly in fours, anthers yellow, bearded at the tip: fertile flowers single or clustered on peduncles at the ends of the season's shoots; calyx 4-toothed, hairy, adherent to ovary; corolla none; stigmas 2, large, fringed. =Fruit.=--October. Spherical, 3-6 inches in circumference: husks rather thin, firm, green turning to brown, separating completely into 4 sections: nut variable in size, subglobose, white, usually 4-angled: kernel large, sweet, edible. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; prefers light, well-drained, loamy soil; when well established makes a moderately rapid growth; difficult to transplant, rarely offered in nurseries; collected plants seldom survive; a fine tree for landscape gardening, but its nuts are apt to make trouble in public grounds. Propagated from a seed. A thin-shelled variety is in cultivation. [Illustration: PLATE XXIV.--Carya alba.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Sterile flower, front view. 4. Sterile flower, back view. 5. Fertile flower. 6. Fruiting branch. =Carya tomentosa, Nutt.= _Hicoria alba, Britton._ MOCKERNUT. WHITE-HEART HICKORY. WALNUT. Habitat and Range.--In various soils; woods, dry, rocky ridges, mountain slopes. Niagara peninsula and westward. Maine and Vermont,--not reported; New Hampshire,--sparingly along the coast; Massachusetts,--rather common eastward; Rhode Island and Connecticut,--common. South to Florida, ascending 3500 feet in Virginia; west to Kansas, Nebraska, Missouri, Indian territory, and Texas. =Habit.=--A tall and rather slender tree, 50-70 feet high, with a diameter above the swell of the roots of 2-3 feet; attaining much greater dimensions south and west; trunk erect, not shaggy, separating into a few rather large limbs and sending out its upper branches at a sharp angle, forming a handsome, wide-spreading, pyramidal head. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk dark gray, thick, hard, close, and rough, becoming narrow-rugged-furrowed; crinkly on small trunks and branches; leaf-scars prominent; season's shoots stout, brown, downy or dusty puberulent, dotted, resinous-scented. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds large, yellowish-brown, ovate, downy. Leaves pinnately compound, alternate, 15-20 inches long; rachis large, downy, swollen at the base; stipules none; leaflets 7-9, opposite, large, yellowish-green and smooth above, beneath paler and thick-downy, at least when young, turning to a clear yellow or russet brown in autumn, the three upper obovate, the two lower ovate, all the leaflets slightly serrate or entire, pointed, base acute to rounded, nearly sessile except the odd one. Aromatic when bruised. =Inflorescence.=--May. Sterile and fertile flowers on the same tree, appearing when the leaves are fully grown,--sterile at the base of the season's shoots, in slender, pendulous, downy catkins, 4-8 inches long, usually in threes, branching umbel-like from a common peduncle; scales 3-lobed, hairy; calyx adnate; stamens 4 or 5, anthers red, bearded at the tip: fertile flowers on peduncles at the end of the season's shoots; calyx toothed, hairy, adherent to ovary; corolla none; stigmas 2, hairy. =Fruit.=--October. Generally sessile on terminal peduncles, single or in pairs, as large or larger than the fruit of the shagbark, or as small as that of the pignut, oblong-globose to globose: husk hard and thick, separating in 4 segments nearly to the base, strong-scented: nut globular, 4-ridged near the top, thick-shelled: kernel usually small, sweet, edible. The superior size of the fruit and the smallness of the kernel probably give rise to the common name, "mockernut." =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; prefers a rich, well-drained soil, but grows well in rocky, ledgy, exposed situations, and is seldom disfigured by insect enemies. Young trees have large, deep roots, and are difficult to transplant successfully unless they have been frequently transplanted in nurseries, from which, however, they are seldom obtainable. Propagated from seed. [Illustration: PLATE XXV.--Carya tomentosa.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Sterile flower, front view. 4. Sterile flower, side view. 5. Sterile flower, top view. 6. Fertile flower, side view. 7. Fruiting branch. =Carya porcina, Nutt.= _Hicoria glabra, Britton_. PIGNUT. WHITE HICKORY. =Habitat and Range.=--Woods, dry hills, and uplands. Niagara peninsula and along Lake Erie. Maine,--frequent in the southern corner of York county; New Hampshire,--common toward the coast and along the lower Merrimac valley; abundant on hills near the Connecticut river, but only occasional above Bellows Falls; Vermont,--Marsh Hill, Ferrisburgh (Brainerd); W. Castleton and Pownal (Eggleston); Massachusetts,--common eastward; along the Connecticut river valley and some of the tributary valleys more common than the shagbark; Rhode Island and Connecticut,--common. South to the Gulf of Mexico; west to Minnesota, Nebraska, Kansas, Indian territory, and Texas. =Habit.=--A stately tree, 50-65 feet high, reaching in the Ohio basin a height of 120 feet; trunk 2-5 feet in diameter, gradually tapering, surmounted by a large, oblong, open, rounded, or pyramidal head, often of great beauty. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk dark ash-gray, uniformly but very coarsely roughened, in old trees smooth or broken into rough and occasionally projecting plates; branches gray; leaf-scars rather prominent; season's shoots smooth or nearly so, purplish changing to gray, with numerous dots. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Lateral buds smaller than in _C. tomentosa_, oblong, pointed; terminal, globular, with rounded apex; scales numerous, the inner reddish, lengthening to 1 or 2 inches, not dropping till after expansion of the leaves. Leaves pinnately compound, alternate, 10-18 inches long; petiole long and smooth; stipules none; leaflets 5-7, opposite, 2-5 inches long, yellowish-green above, paler beneath, turning to an orange brown in autumn, smooth on both sides; outline, the three upper obovate, the two lower oblong-lanceolate, all taper-pointed; base obtuse, sometimes acute, especially in the odd leaflet. =Inflorescence.=--May. Sterile and fertile flowers on the same tree, appearing when the leaves are fully grown,--sterile at the base of the season's shoots, in pendulous, downy, slender catkins, 3-5 inches long, usually in threes, branching umbel-like from a common peduncle; scales 3-lobed, nearly glabrous, lobes of nearly equal length, pointed, the middle narrower; stamens mostly 4, anthers yellowish, beset with white hairs: fertile flowers at the ends of the season's shoots; calyx 4-toothed, pubescent, adherent to the ovary; corolla none; stigmas 2. =Fruit.=--October. Single or in pairs, sessile on a short, terminal stalk, shape and size extremely variable, pear-shaped, oblong, round, or obovate, usually about 1-1/2 inches in diameter: husk thin, green turning to brown, when ripe parting in four sections to the center and sometimes nearly to the base: nut rather thick-shelled, not ridged, not sharp-pointed: kernel much inferior in flavor to that of the shagbark. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; grows in all well-drained soils, but prefers a deep, rich loam; a desirable tree for ornamental plantations, especially in lawns, as the deep roots do not interfere with the growth of grass above them; ill-adapted, like all the hickories, for streets, as the nuts are liable to cause trouble; less readily obtainable in nurseries than the shellbark hickory and equally difficult to transplant. Propagated from the seed. [Illustration: PLATE XXVI.--Carya porcina.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3, 4. Sterile flower, back view. 5. Fertile flower, side view. 6. Fruiting branch. =Carya amara, Nutt.= _Hicoria minima, Britton_. BITTERNUT. SWAMP HICKORY. =Habitat and Range.=--In varying soils and situations; wet woods, low, damp fields, river valleys, along roadsides, occasional upon uplands and hill slopes. From Montreal west to Georgian bay. Maine,--southward, rare; New Hampshire,--eastern limit in the Connecticut valley, where it ranges farther north than any other of our hickories, reaching Well's river (Jessup); Vermont,--occasional west of the Green mountains and in the southern Connecticut valley; Massachusetts,--rather common, abundant in the vicinity of Boston; Rhode Island and Connecticut,--common. South to Florida, ascending 3500 feet in Virginia; west to Minnesota, Nebraska, Kansas, Indian territory, and Texas. =Habit.=--A tall, slender tree, 50-75 feet high and 1 foot-2-1/2 feet in diameter at the ground, reaching greater dimensions southward. The trunk, tapering gradually to the point of branching, develops a capacious, spreading head, usually widest near the top, with lively green, finely cut foliage of great beauty, turning to a rich orange in autumn. Easily recognized in winter by its flat, yellowish buds. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk gray, close, smooth, rarely flaking off in thin plates; branches and branchlets smooth; leaf-scars prominent; season's shoots yellow, smooth, yellow-dotted. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Terminal buds long, yellow, flattish, often scythe-shaped, pointed, with a granulated surface; lateral buds much smaller, often ovate or rounded, pointed. Leaves pinnately compound, alternate, 12-15 inches long; rachis somewhat enlarged at base; stipules none; leaflets 5-11, opposite, 5-6 inches long, 1-2 inches wide, bright green and smooth above, paler and smooth or somewhat downy beneath, turning to orange yellow in autumn; outline lanceolate, or narrowly oval to oblong-obovate, serrate; apex taper-pointed to scarcely acute; base obtuse or rounded except that of the terminal leaflet, which is acute; sessile and inequilateral, except in terminal leaflet, which has a short stem and is equal-sided; sometimes scarcely distinguishable from the leaves of _C. porcina_; often decreasing regularly in size from the upper to the lower pair. =Inflorescence.=--May. Sterile and fertile flowers on the same tree, appearing when the leaves are fully grown,--sterile at the base of the season's shoots, or sometimes from the lateral buds of the preceding season, in slender, pendulous catkins, 3-4 inches long, usually in threes, branching umbel-like from a common peduncle; scale 3-lobed, hairy-glandular, middle lobe about the same length as the other two but narrower, considerably longer toward the end of the catkin; stamens mostly 5, anthers bearded at the tip: fertile flowers on peduncles at the end of the season's shoots; calyx 4-lobed, pubescent, adherent to the ovary; corolla none; stigmas 2. =Fruit.=--October. Single or in twos or threes at the ends of the branchlets, abundant, usually rather small, about 1 inch long, the width greater than the length; occasionally larger and somewhat pear-shaped: husk separating about to the middle into four segments, with sutures prominently winged at the top or almost to the base, or nearly wingless: nut usually thin-shelled: kernel white, sweetish at first, at length bitter. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; grows almost anywhere, but prefers a rich, loamy or gravelly soil. A most graceful and attractive hickory, which is transplanted more readily and grows rather more rapidly than the shagbark or pignut, but more inclined than either of these to show dead branches. Seldom for sale by nurserymen or collectors. Grown readily from seed. [Illustration: PLATE XXVII.--Carya amara.] 1. Winter bud. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Sterile flower, back view. 4. Sterile flower, front view. 5. Fertile flower. 6. Fruiting branch. BETULACEÆ. BIRCH FAMILY. =Ostrya Virginica, Willd.= _Ostrya Virginiana, Willd._ HOP HORNBEAM. IRONWOOD. LEVERWOOD. =Habitat and Range.=--In rather open woods and along highlands. Nova Scotia to Lake Superior. Common in all parts of New England. Scattered throughout the whole country east of the Mississippi, ranging through western Minnesota to Nebraska, Kansas, Indian territory, and Texas. =Habit.=--A small tree, 25-40 feet high and 8-12 inches in diameter at the ground, sometimes attaining, without much increase in height, a diameter of 2 feet; trunk usually slender; head irregular, often oblong or loosely and rather broadly conical; lower branches sometimes slightly declining at the extremities, but with branchlets mostly of an upward tendency; spray slender and rather stiff. Suggestive, in its habit, of the elm; in its leaves, of the black birch; and in its fruit, of clusters of hops. =Bark.=--Trunk and large limbs light grayish-brown, very narrowly and longitudinally ridged, the short, thin segments in old trees often loose at the ends; the smaller branches, branchlets, and in late fall the season's shoots, dark reddish-brown. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds small, oblong, pointed, invested with reddish-brown scales. Leaves simple, alternate, roughish, 2-4 inches long, 1-2 inches wide, more or less appressed-pubescent on both sides, dark green above, lighter beneath; outline ovate to oblong-ovate, sharply and for the most part doubly serrate; apex acute to acuminate; base slightly and narrowly heart-shaped, rounded or truncate, mostly with unequal sides; leafstalks short, pubescent; stipules soon falling. =Inflorescence.=--April to May. Sterile flowers from wood of the preceding season, lateral or terminal, in drooping, cylindrical catkins, usually in threes; scales broad, laterally rounded, sharp-pointed, ciliate, each subtending several nearly sessile stamens, filaments sometimes forked, with anthers bearded at the tip: fertile catkins about 1 inch in length, on short leafy shoots, spreading; bracts lanceolate, tapering to a long point, ciliate, each subtending two ovaries, each ovary with adherent calyx, enclosed in a hairy bractlet; styles 2, long, linear. =Fruit.=--Early September. A small, smooth nut, enclosed in the distended bract; the aggregated fruit resembling a cluster of hops. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; prefers dry or well-drained slopes in gravelly or rocky soil; graceful and attractive, but of rather slow growth; useful in shady situations and worthy of a place in ornamental plantations, but too small for street use. Seldom raised by nurserymen; collected plants moved with difficulty. Propagated from seed. [Illustration: PLATE XXVIII.--Ostrya Virginica.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Sterile flower, back view. 4. Sterile flower, front view. 5. Fertile catkin. 6. Fertile flower. 7. Fruiting branch. =Carpinus Caroliniana, Walt.= HORNBEAM. BLUE BEECH. IRONWOOD. WATER BEECH. =Habitat and Range.=--Low, wet woods, and margins of swamps. Province of Quebec to Georgian bay. Rather common throughout New England, less frequent towards the coast. South to Florida; west to Minnesota, Nebraska, Kansas, Indian territory, and Texas. =Habit.=--A low, spreading tree, 10-30 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 6-12 inches, rarely reaching 2 feet; trunk short, often given a fluted appearance by projecting ridges running down from the lower branches to the ground; in color and smoothness resembling the beech; lower branches often much declined, upper going out at various angles, often zigzag but keeping the same general direction; head wide, close, flat-topped to rounded, with fine, slender spray. =Bark.=--Trunk smooth, close, dark bluish-gray; branchlets grayish; season's shoots light green turning brown, more or less hairy. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Leaf-buds small, oval or ovoid, acute to obtuse. Leaves simple, alternate, 2-3 inches long, dull green above, lighter beneath, turning to scarlet or crimson in autumn; outline ovate or slightly obovate oblong or broadly oval, irregularly and sharply doubly serrate; veins prominent and pubescent beneath, at least when young; apex acuminate to acute; base rounded, truncate, acute, or slightly and unevenly heart-shaped; leafstalk rather short, slender, hairy; stipules pubescent, falling early. =Inflorescence.=--May. Sterile flowers from growth of the preceding season in short, stunted-looking, lateral catkins, mostly single; scales ovate or rounded, obtuse, each subtending several stamens; filaments very short, mostly 2-forked; anthers bearded at the tip: fertile flowers at the ends of leafy shoots of the season, in loose catkins; bractlets foliaceous, each subtending a green, ovate, acute, ciliate, deciduous scale, each scale subtending two pistils with long reddish styles. =Fruit.=--In terminal catkins made conspicuous by the pale green, much enlarged, and leaf-like 3-lobed bracts, each bract subtending a dark-colored, sessile, striate nutlet. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; prefers moist, rich soil, near running water, on the edges of wet land or on rocky slopes in shade. Its irregular outline and curiously ridged trunk make it an interesting object in landscape plantations. It is not often used, however, because it is seldom grown in nurseries, and collected plants do not bear removal well. Propagated from the seed. [Illustration: PLATE XXIX.--Carpinus Caroliniana.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Sterile flower, back view. 4. Sterile flower, front view. 5. Fertile catkin. 6. Fertile flower. 7. Fruiting branch. =BETULA.= Inflorescence.--In scaly catkins, sterile and fertile on the same tree, appearing with or before the leaves from shoots of the previous season,--sterile catkins terminal and lateral, formed in summer, erect or inclined in the bud, drooping when expanded in the following spring; sterile flowers usually 3, subtended by a shield-shaped bract with 2 bractlets; each flower consisting of a 1-scaled calyx and 2 anthers, which appear to be 4 from the division of the filaments into two parts, each of which bears an anther cell: fertile catkins erect or inclined at the end of very short leafy branchlets; fertile flowers subtended by a 3-lobed bract falling with the nuts; bractlets none; calyx none; corolla none; consisting of 2-3 ovaries crowned with 2 spreading styles. =Betula lenta, L.= BLACK BIRCH. CHERRY BIRCH. SWEET BIRCH. =Habitat and Range.=--Moist grounds; rich woods, old pastures, fertile hill-slopes, banks of rivers. Newfoundland and Nova Scotia to the Lake Superior region. Maine,--frequent; New Hampshire,--in the highlands of the southern section, and along the Connecticut river valley to a short distance north of Windsor; Vermont,--frequent in the western part of the state, and in the southern Connecticut valley (_Flora of Vermont_, 1900); Massachusetts and Rhode Island,--frequent throughout, especially in the highlands, less often near the coast; Connecticut,--widely distributed, especially in the Connecticut river valley, but not common. South to Delaware, along the mountains to Florida; west to Minnesota and Kansas. =Habit.=--A medium-sized or rather large tree, 50-75 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-4 feet, often conspicuous along precipitous ledges, springing out of crevices in the rocks and assuming a variety of picturesque forms. In open ground the dark trunk develops a symmetrical, wide-spreading, hemispherical head broadest at its base, the lower limbs horizontal or drooping sometimes nearly to the ground. The limbs are long and slender, often more or less tortuous, and separated ultimately into a delicate, polished spray. Distinguished by its long purplish-yellow, pendulous catkins in spring, and in summer by its glossy, bright green, and abundant foliage, which becomes yellow in autumn. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk on old trees very dark, separating and cleaving off in large, thickish plates; on young trees and on branches a dark reddish-brown, not separating into thin layers, smooth, with numerous horizontal lines 1-3 inches long; branchlets reddish-brown, shining, with shorter lateral lines; season's shoots with small, pale dots. Inner bark very aromatic, having a strong checkerberry flavor,--hence the common name, "checkerberry birch"; called also "cherry birch," from the resemblance of its bark to that of the garden cherry. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds reddish-brown, oblong or conical, pointed, inner scales whitish, elongating as the bud opens. Leaves simple, in alternate pairs, 3-4 inches long and one-half as wide, shining green above and downy when young, paler beneath and silvery-downy along the prominent, straight veins; outline ovate-oval, ovate-oblong, or oval; sharply serrate to doubly serrate; apex acute to acuminate; base heart-shaped to obtuse; leafstalk short, often curved, hairy when young; stipules soon falling. =Inflorescence.=--April to May. Sterile catkins 3-4 inches long, slender, purplish-yellow; scales fringed: fertile catkins erect or suberect, sessile or nearly so, 1/2-1 inch long, oblong-cylindrical; bracts pubescent; lateral lobes wider than in _B. lutea._ =Fruit.=--Fruiting catkins oblong-cylindrical, nearly erect; bracts with 3 short, nearly equal diverging lobes: nut obovate-oblong, wider than its wings; upper part of seed-body usually appressed-pubescent. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; grows everywhere from swamps to hilltops, but prefers moist rocky slopes and a loamy or gravelly soil; occasionally offered by nurserymen; both nursery and collected plants are moved without serious difficulty; apt to grow rather unevenly. [Illustration: PLATE XXX.--Betula lenta.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Sterile flower, back view. 4. Sterile flower, front view. 5. Fertile flower. 6. Fruiting branch. 7. Fruit. 8. Mature leaf. =Betula lutea, Michx. f.= YELLOW BIRCH. GRAY BIRCH. =Habitat and Range.=--Low, rich woodlands, mountain slopes. Newfoundland and Nova Scotia to Rainy river. New England,--abundant northward; common throughout, from borders of lowland swamps to 1000 feet above the sea level; more common at considerable altitudes, where it often occurs in extensive patches or belts. South to the middle states, and along the mountains to Tennessee and North Carolina; west to Minnesota. =Habit.=--A large tree, at its maximum in northern New England 60-90 feet high and 2-4 feet in diameter at the base. In the forest the main trunk separates at a considerable height into a few large branches which rise at a sharp angle, curving slightly, forming a rather small, irregular head, widest near the top; while in open ground the head is broad-spreading, hemispherical, with numerous rather equal, long and slender branches, and a fine spray with drooping tendencies. In the sunlight the silvery-yellow feathering and the metallic sheen of trunk and branches make the yellow birch one of the most attractive trees of the New England forest. =Bark.=--Bark of trunks and large limbs in old trees gray or blackish, lustreless, deep-seamed, split into thick plates, standing out at all sorts of angles; in trees 6-8 inches in diameter, scarf-bark lustrous, parted in ribbon-like strips, detached at one end and running up the trunk in delicate, tattered fringes; season's shoots light yellowish-green, minutely buff-dotted, woolly-pubescent, becoming in successive seasons darker and more lustrous, the dots elongating into horizontal lines. Aromatic but less so than the bark of the black birch; not readily detachable like the bark of the canoe birch. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds conical, 1/4 inch long, mostly appressed, tips of scales brownish. Leaves simple, in alternate pairs or scattered singly along the stem; 3-5 inches long, 1/2-2 inches wide, dull green on both sides, paler beneath and more or less pubescent on the straight veins; outline oval to oblong, for the most part doubly serrate; apex acuminate or acute; base heart-shaped, obtuse or truncate; leafstalk short, grooved, often pubescent or woolly; stipules soon falling. =Inflorescence.=--April to May. Sterile catkins 3-4 inches long, purplish-yellow; scales fringed: fertile catkins sessile or nearly so, about 1 inch long, cylindrical; bracts 3-lobed, nearly to the middle, pubescent, lobes slightly spreading. =Fruit.=--Fruiting catkins oblong or oblong-ovoid, about 1 inch long and two-thirds as thick, erect: nut oval to narrowly obovate, tapering at each end, pubescent on the upper part, about the width of its wing. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; grows in wet or dry situations, but prefers wet, peaty soil, where its roots can find a constant supply of moisture; similar to the black birch, equally valuable in landscape-gardening, but less desirable as a street tree; transplanted without serious difficulty. Differences between black birch and yellow birch: =Black Birch.=--Bark reddish-brown, not separable into thin layers; leaves bright green above, finely serrate; fruiting catkins cylindrical; bark of twigs decidedly aromatic. =Yellow Birch.=--Bark yellow, separable into thin layers; leaves dull green above; serration coarser and more decidedly doubly serrate; fruiting catkins ovoid or oblong-ovoid; flavor of bark less distinctly aromatic. [Illustration: PLATE XXXI.--Betula lutea.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flower-buds. 3. Flowering branch. 4-6. Sterile flowers. 7. Fertile flower. 8. Bract. 9. Fruiting branch. 10. Fruit. =Betula nigra, L.= RED BIRCH. RIVER BIRCH. =Habitat and Range.=--Along rivers, ponds, and woodlands inundated a part of the year. Doubtfully and indefinitely reported from Canada. No stations in Maine, Vermont, Rhode Island, or Connecticut; New Hampshire,--found sparingly along streams in the southern part of the state; abundant along the banks of Beaver brook, Pelham (F. W. Batchelder); Massachusetts,--along the Merrimac river and its tributaries, bordering swamps in Methuen and ponds in North Andover. South, east of the Alleghany mountains, to Florida; west, locally through the northern tier of states to Minnesota and along the Gulf states to Texas; western limits, Nebraska, Kansas, Indian territory, and Missouri. =Habit.=--A medium-sized tree, 30-50 feet high, with a diameter at the ground of 1-1-1/2 feet; reaching much greater dimensions southward. The trunk, frequently beset with small, leafy, reflexed branchlets, and often only less frayed and tattered than that of the yellow birch, develops a light and feathery head of variable outline, with numerous slender branches, the upper long and drooping, the reddish spray clothed with abundant dark-green foliage. =Bark.=--Reddish, more or less separable into layers, fraying into shreddy, cinnamon-colored fringes; in old trees thick, dark reddish-brown, and deeply furrowed; branches dark red or cinnamon, giving rise to the name of "red birch"; season's shoots downy, pale-dotted. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds small, mostly appressed near the ends of the shoots, tapering at both ends. Leaves simple, alternate, 3-4 inches long, two-thirds as wide, dark green and smooth above, paler and soft-downy beneath, turning bright yellow in autumn; outline rhombic-ovate, with unequal and sharp double serratures; leafstalk short and downy; stipules soon falling. =Inflorescence.=--April to May. Sterile catkins usually in threes, 2-4 inches long, scales 2-3-flowered: fertile catkins bright green, cylindrical, stalked; bracts 3-lobed, the central lobe much the longest, tomentose, ciliate. =Fruit.=--June. Earliest of the birches to ripen its seed; fruiting catkins 1-2 inches long, cylindrical, erect or spreading; bracts with the 3 lobes nearly equal in width, spreading, the central lobe the longest: nut ovate to obovate, ciliate. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; grows in all soils, but prefers a station near running water; young trees grow vigorously and become attractive objects in landscape plantations; especially useful along river banks to bind the soil; retains its lower branches better than the black or yellow birches. Seldom found in nurseries, and rather hard to transplant; collected plants do fairly well. [Illustration: PLATE XXXII.--Betula nigra.] 1. Leaf-buds. 2. Flower-buds. 3. Branch with sterile and fertile catkins. 4. Sterile flower. 5. Fertile flower. 6. Scale of fertile flower. 7. Fruit. 8. Fruiting branch. =Betula populifolia, Marsh.= WHITE BIRCH. GRAY BIRCH. OLDFIELD BIRCH. POPLAR BIRCH. POVERTY BIRCH. SMALL WHITE BIRCH. =Habitat and Range.=--Dry, gravelly soils, occasional in swamps and frequent along their borders, often springing up on burnt lands. Nova Scotia to Lake Ontario. Maine,--abundant; New Hampshire,--abundant eastward, as far north as Conway, and along the Connecticut to Westmoreland; Vermont,--common in the western and frequent in the southern sections; Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut,--common. South, mostly in the coast region, to Delaware; west to Lake Ontario. =Habit.=--A small tree, 20-35 feet high, with a diameter at the ground of 4-8 inches, occasionally much exceeding these dimensions; under favorable conditions, of extreme elegance. The slender, seldom erect trunk, continuous to the top of the tree, throws out numerous short, unequal branches, which form by repeated subdivisions a profuse, slender spray, disposed irregularly in tufts or masses, branches and branchlets often hanging vertically or drooping at the ends. Conspicuous in winter by the airy lightness of the narrow open head and by the contrast of the white trunk with the dark spray; in summer, when the sun shines and the air stirs, by the delicacy, tremulous movement, and brilliancy of the foliage. =Bark.=--Trunk grayish-white, with triangular, dusty patches below the insertion of the branches; not easily separable into layers; branches dark brown or blackish; season's shoots brown, with numerous small round dots becoming horizontal lines and increasing in length with the age of the tree. The white of the bark does not readily come off upon clothing. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds somewhat diverging from the twig; narrow conical or cylindrical, reddish-brown. Leaves simple, alternate, single or in pairs, 3-4 inches long, two-thirds as wide, bright green above, paler beneath, smooth and shining on both sides, turning to a pale shining yellow in autumn, resinous, glandular-dotted when young; outline triangular, coarsely and irregularly doubly serrate; apex taper-pointed; base truncate, heart-shaped, or acute; leafstalks long and slender; stipules dropping early. =Inflorescence.=--May. Sterile catkins usually solitary or in pairs, slender-cylindrical, 2-3 inches long: fertile catkins erect, green, stalked; bracts minutely pubescent. =Fruit.=--Fruiting catkins erect or spreading, cylindrical, about 1-1/4 inches long and 1/2 inch in diameter, stalked; scales 3-parted above the center, side lobes larger, at right angles or reflexed: nuts small, ovate to obovate, narrower than the wings, combined wings from broadly obcordate to butterfly-shape, wider than long. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England, growing in every kind of soil, finest specimens in deep, rich loam. Were this tree not so common, its graceful habit and attractive bark would be more appreciated for landscape gardening; only occasionally grown by nurserymen, best secured through collectors; young collected plants, if properly selected, will nearly all live. [Illustration: PLATE XXXIII.--Betula populifolia.] 1. Branch with sterile and fertile catkins. 2. Sterile flower, back view. 3. Fertile flower. 4. Scale of fertile flower. 5. Fruiting branch. 6. Fruit. =Betula papyrifera, Marsh.= CANOE BIRCH. WHITE BIRCH. PAPER BIRCH. =Habitat and Range.=--Deep, rich woods, river banks, mountain slopes. Canada, Atlantic to Pacific, northward to Labrador and Alaska, to the limit of deciduous trees. Maine,--abundant; New Hampshire,--in all sections, most common on highlands up to the alpine area of the White mountains, above the range of the yellow birch; Vermont,--common; Massachusetts,--common in the western and central sections, rare towards the coast; Rhode Island,--not reported; Connecticut,--occasional in the southern sections, frequent northward. South to Pennsylvania and Illinois; west to the Rocky mountains and Washington on the Pacific coast. Var. _minor_, Tuckerman, is a dwarf form found upon the higher mountain summits of northern New England. =Habit.=--A large tree, 50-75 feet high, with a diameter of 1-3 feet; occasionally of greater dimensions. The trunk develops a broad-spreading, open head, composed of a few large limbs ascending at an acute angle, with nearly horizontal secondary branches and a slender, flexible spray without any marked tendency to droop. Characterized by the dark metallic lustre of the branchlets, the dark green foliage, deep yellow in autumn, and the chalky whiteness of the trunk and large branches; a singularly picturesque tree, whether standing alone or grouped in forests. =Bark.=--Easily detachable in broad sheets and separable into thin, delicately colored, paper-like layers, impenetrable by water, outlasting the wood it covers. Bark of trunk and large branches chalky-white when fully exposed to the sun, lustreless, smooth or ragged-frayed, in very old forest trees encrusted with huge lichens, and splitting into broad plates; young trunks and smaller branches smooth, reddish or grayish brown, with numerous roundish buff dots which enlarge from year to year into more and more conspicuous horizontal lines. The white of the bark readily rubs off upon clothing. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds small, ovate, flattish, acute to rounded. Leaves simple, alternate, 3-5 inches long, two-thirds as wide, dark green and smooth above, beneath pale, hairy along the veins, sometimes in young trees thickly glandular-dotted on both sides; outline ovate, ovate-oblong, or ovate-orbicular, more or less doubly serrate; apex acute to acuminate; base somewhat heart-shaped, truncate or obtuse; leafstalk 1-2 inches long, grooved above, downy; stipules falling early. =Inflorescence.=--April to May. Sterile catkins mostly in threes, 3-4 inches long: fertile catkins 1-1-1/2 inches long, cylindrical, slender-peduncled, erect or spreading; bracts puberulent. =Fruit.=--Fruiting catkins 1-2 inches long, cylindrical, short-stalked, spreading or drooping: nut obovate to oval, narrower than its wings; combined wings butterfly-shaped, nearly twice as wide as long. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; prefers a well-drained loam or gravelly soil, but does fairly well in almost any situation; young trees rapid growing and vigorous, but with the same tendency to grow irregularly that is shown by the black and yellow birches; transplanted without serious difficulty; not offered by many nurserymen, but may be obtained from northern collectors. [Illustration: PLATE XXXIV.--Betula papyrifera.] 1. Leaf-buds. 2. Flower-buds. 3. Flowering branch. 4. Sterile flower, front view. 5. Fertile flower, front view. 6. Scale of fertile flower. 7. Fruiting branch. 8. Fruit. =Alnus glutinosa, Medic.= EUROPEAN ALDER. This is the common alder of Great Britain and central Europe southward, growing chiefly along water courses, in boggy grounds and upon moist mountain slopes; introduced into the United States and occasionally escaping from cultivation; sometimes thoroughly established locally. In Medford, Mass., there are many of these plants growing about two small ponds and upon the neighboring lowlands, most of them small, but among them are several trees 30-40 feet in height and 8-12 inches in diameter at the ground, distinguishable at a glance from the shrubby native alders by their greater size, more erect habit, and darker trunks. FAGACEÆ. BEECH FAMILY. =Fagus ferruginea, Ait.= _Fagus Americana, Sweet. Fagus atropunicea, Sudw._ BEECH. =Habitat and Range.=--Moist, rocky soil. Nova Scotia through Quebec and Ontario. Maine,--abundant; New Hampshire,--throughout the state; common on the Connecticut-Merrimac watershed, enters largely into the composition of the hardwood forests of Coos county; Vermont,--abundant; Massachusetts,--in western sections abundant, common eastward; Rhode Island and Connecticut,--common. South to Florida; west to Wisconsin, Missouri, and Texas. =Habit.=--A tree of great beauty, rising to a height of 50-75 feet, with a diameter at the ground of 1-1/2-4 feet; under favorable conditions attaining much greater dimensions; trunk remarkably smooth, sometimes fluted, in the forests tall and straight, in open situations short and stout; head symmetrical, of various shapes,--rounded, oblong, or even obovate; branches numerous, mostly long and slender, curving slightly upward at their tips, near the point of branching horizontal or slightly drooping, beset with short branchlets which form a flat, dense, and beautiful spray; roots numerous, light brown, long, and running near the surface. Tree easily distinguishable in winter by the dried brownish-white leaves, spear-like buds, and smooth bark. =Bark.=--Trunk light blue gray, smooth, unbroken, slightly corrugated in old trees, often beautifully mottled in blotches or bands and invested by lichens; branches gray; branchlets dark brown and smooth; spray shining, reddish-brown; season's shoots a shining olive green, orange-dotted. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds conspicuous, long, very slender, tapering slowly to a sharp point; scales rich brown, lengthening as the bud opens. Leaves set in plane of the spray, simple, alternate, 3-5 inches long, one-half as wide, silky-pubescent with fringed edges when young, nearly smooth when fully grown, green on both sides, turning to rusty yellows and browns in autumn, persistent till mid-winter; outline oval, serrate; apex acuminate; base rounded; veins strong, straight, terminating in the teeth; leafstalk short, hairy at first; stipules slender, silky, soon falling. =Inflorescence.=--May. Appearing with the leaves from the season's shoots, sterile flowers from the lower axils, in heads suspended at the end of silky threads 1-2 inches long; calyx campanulate, pubescent, yellowish-green, mostly 6-lobed; petals none; stamens 6-16; anthers exserted; ovary wanting or abortive: fertile flowers from the upper axils, usually single or in pairs, at the end of a short peduncle; involucre 4-lobed, fringed with prickly scales; calyx with six awl-shaped lobes; ovary 3-celled; styles 3. =Fruit.=--A prickly bur, thick, 4-valved, splitting nearly to the base when ripe: nut sharply triangular, sweet, edible. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; grows well in any good soil, but prefers deep, rich, well-drained loam; usually obtainable in nurseries; when frequently transplanted, safely moved. Its clean trunk and limbs, deep shade, and freedom from insect pests make it one of the most attractive of our large trees for use, summer or winter, in landscape gardening; few plants, however, will grow beneath it; the bark is easily disfigured; it has a bad habit of throwing out suckers and is liable to be killed by any injury to the roots. Propagated from the seed. The purple beech, weeping beech, and fern-leaf beech are well-known horticultural forms. [Illustration: PLATE XXXV.--Fagus ferruginea.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Sterile flower. 4. Fertile flower. 5. Fruiting branch. 6. Section of fruit. 7. Nut. =Castanea sativa, var. Americana, Watson and Coulter.= _Castanea dentata, Borkh. Castanea vesca, var. Americana, Michx._ CHESTNUT. =Habitat and Range.=--In strong, well-drained soil; pastures, rocky woods, and hillsides. Ontario,--common. Maine,--southern sections, probably not indigenous north of latitude 44° 20'; New Hampshire,--Connecticut valley near the river, as far north as Windsor, Vt.; most abundant in the Merrimac valley south of Concord, but occasional a short distance northward; Vermont,--common in the southern sections, especially in the Connecticut valley; occasional as far north as Windsor (Windsor county), West Rutland (Rutland county), Burlington (Chittenden county); Massachusetts,--rather common throughout the state, but less frequent near the sea; Rhode Island and Connecticut,--common. South to Delaware, along the mountains to Alabama; west to Michigan, Indiana, and Tennessee. =Habit.=--A tree of the first magnitude, rising to a height of 60-80 feet and reaching a diameter of 5-6 feet above the swell of the roots, with a spread sometimes equaling or even exceeding the height; attaining often much greater proportions. The massive trunk separates usually a few feet from the ground into several stout horizontal or ascending branches, the limbs higher up, horizontal or rising at a broad angle, forming a stately, open, roundish, or inversely pyramidal head; branchlets slender; spray coarse and not abundant; foliage bright green, dense, casting a deep shade; flowers profuse, the long, sterile catkins upon their darker background of leaves conspicuous upon the hill slopes at a great distance. A tree that may well dispute precedence with the white or red oak. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk in old trees deeply cleft with wide ridges, hard, rough, dark gray; in young trees very smooth, often shining; season's shoots green or purplish-brown, white-dotted. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds small, ovate, brown, acutish. Leaves simple, alternate, 5-10 inches long, 1-3 inches wide, bright clear green above, paler beneath and smooth on both sides; outline oblong-lanceolate, sharply and coarsely serrate; veins straight, terminating in the teeth; apex acuminate; base acute or obtuse; leafstalk short; stipules soon falling. =Inflorescence.=--June to July. Appearing from the axils of the season's shoots, after the leaves have grown to their full size; sterile catkins numerous, clustered or single, erect or spreading, 4-10 inches long, slender, flowers pale yellowish-green or cream-colored; calyx pubescent, mostly 6-parted; stamens 15-20; odor offensive when the anthers are discharging their pollen: fertile flowers near the base of the upper sterile catkins or in separate axils, 1-3 in a prickly involucre; calyx 6-toothed; ovary ovate, styles as many as the cells of the ovary, exserted. =Fruit.=--Burs round, thick, prickly, 2-4 inches in diameter, opening by 4 valves: nuts 1-5, dark brown, covered with whitish down at apex, flat on one side when there are several in a cluster, ovate when only one, sweet and edible. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; prefers fertile, well-drained, gravelly or rocky soil; rather difficult to transplant; usually obtainable in nurseries. Its vigorous and rapid growth, massive, broad-spreading head and attractive flowers make it a valuable tree for landscape gardening, but in public places the prickly burs and edible fruit are a serious disadvantage. Propagated from the seed. [Illustration: PLATE XXXVI.--Castanea sativa, var. Americana.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Sterile flower. 4. Fertile flower. 5. Fruit. 6. Nut. =QUERCUS.= Inflorescence appearing with the leaves in spring; sterile catkins from terminal or lateral buds on shoots of the preceding year, bracted, usually several in a cluster, unbranched, long, cylindrical, pendulous; bracts of sterile flowers minute, soon falling; calyx parted or lobed; stamens 3-12, undivided: fertile flowers terminal or axillary upon the new shoots, single or few-clustered, bracted, erect; involucre scaly, becoming the cupule or cup around the lower part of the acorn; ovary 3-celled; stigma 3-lobed. WHITE OAKS. Leaves with obtuse or rounded lobes or teeth; cup-scales thickened or knobbed at base; stigmas sessile or nearly so; fruit maturing the first year. BLACK OAKS. Leaves with pointed or bristle-tipped lobes and teeth; cup-scales flat; stigmas on spreading styles; fruit maturing the second year. =Quercus alba, L.= WHITE OAK. =Habitat and Range.=--Light loams, sandy plains, and gravelly ridges, often constituting extensive tracts of forest. Quebec and Ontario. Maine,--southern sections; New Hampshire,--most abundant eastward; in the Connecticut valley confined to the hills in the immediate vicinity of the river, extending up the tributary streams a short distance and disappearing entirely before reaching the mouth of the Passumpsic (W. F. Flint); Vermont,--common west of the Green mountains, less so in the southern Connecticut valley (_Flora of Vermont_, 1900); Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut,--common. South to the Gulf of Mexico; west to Minnesota, Nebraska, Kansas, Arkansas, and Texas. =Habit.=--A tree of the first rank, 50-75 feet high and 1-6 feet in diameter above the swell of the roots, exhibiting considerable diversity in general appearance, trunk sometimes dissolving into branches like the American elm, and sometimes continuous to the top. The finest specimens in open land are characterized by a rather short, massive trunk, with stout, horizontal, far-reaching limbs, conspicuously gnarled and twisted in old age, forming a wide-spreading, open head of striking grandeur, the diameter at the base of which is sometimes two or three times the height of the tree. =Bark.=--Trunk and larger branches light ash-gray, sometimes nearly white, broken into long, thin, loose, irregular, soft-looking flakes; in old trees with broad, flat ridges; inner bark light; branchlets ash-gray, mottled; young shoots grayish-green, roughened with minute rounded, raised dots. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds 1/8 to 1/4 inch long, round-ovate, reddish-brown. Leaves simple, alternate, 3-7 inches long, 2-4 inches wide, delicately reddish-tinted and pubescent upon both sides when young; at maturity glabrous, light dull or glossy green above, paler and somewhat glaucous beneath, turning to various reds in autumn; outline obovate to oval; lobes 5-9; ascending, varying greatly in different trees; when few, short and wide-based, with comparatively shallow sinuses; when more in number, ovate-oblong, with deeper sinuses, or somewhat linear-oblong, with sinuses reaching nearly to midrib; apex of lobe rounded; base of leaf tapering; leafstalks short; stipules linear, soon falling. The leaves of this species are often persistent till spring, especially in young trees. =Inflorescence.=--May. Appearing when the leaves are half grown; sterile catkins 2-3 inches long, with slender, usually pubescent thread; calyx yellow, pubescent; lobes 5-9, pointed: pistillate flowers sessile or short-peduncled, reddish, ovate-scaled. =Fruit.=--Maturing in the autumn of the first year, single, or more frequently in pairs, sessile or peduncled: cup hemispherical to deep saucer-shaped, rather thin; scales rough-knobby at base: acorn varying from 1/2 inch to an inch in length, oblong-ovoid: meat sweet and edible, said to be when boiled a good substitute for chestnuts. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy in New England; grows well in all except very wet soils, in all open exposures and in light shade; like all oaks, difficult to transplant unless prepared by frequent transplanting in nurseries, from which it is not readily obtainable in quantity; grows very slowly and nearly uniformly up to maturity; comparatively free from insect enemies but occasionally disfigured by fungous disease which attacks immature leaves in spring. Propagated from seed. [Illustration: PLATE XXXVII.--Quercus alba.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3-4. Sterile flower, front view. 5. Fertile flower, side view. 6. Fruiting branch. 7-8. Variant leaves. =Quercus stellata, Wang.= _Q. obtusiloba, Michx. Q. minor, Sarg_. POST OAK. BOX WHITE OAK. =Habitat and Range.= Doubtfully reported from southern Ontario. In New England, mostly in sterile soil near the sea-coast; Massachusetts,--southern Cape Cod from Falmouth to Brewster, the most northern station reported, occasional; the islands of Naushon, Martha's Vineyard where it is rather common, and Nantucket where it is rare; Rhode Island,--along the shore of the northern arm of Wickford harbor (L. W. Russell); Connecticut,--occasional along the shores of Long Island sound west of New Haven. South to Florida; west to Kansas, Indian territory, and Texas. =Habit.=--Farther south, a tree of the first magnitude, reaching a height of 100 feet, with a trunk diameter of 4 feet; in southern New England occasionally attaining in woodlands a height of 50-60 feet; at its northern limit in Massachusetts, usually 10 to 35 feet in height, with a diameter at the ground of 6-12 inches. The trunk throws out stout, tough, and often conspicuously crooked branches, the lower horizontal or declining, forming a disproportionately large head, with dark green, dense foliage. Near the shore the limbs often grow very low, stretching along the ground as if from an underground stem. =Bark.=--Resembling that of the white oak, but rather a darker gray, rougher and firmer; upon old trunks furrowed and cut into oblongs; small limbs brownish-gray, rough-dotted; season's shoots densely tawny-tomentose. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds small, rounded or conical, brownish, scales minutely pubescent or scurfy. Leaves simple, alternate, 3-8 inches long, two-thirds as wide, thickish, yellowish-green and tomentose upon both sides when young, becoming a deep, somewhat glossy green above, lighter beneath, both sides still somewhat scurfy; general outline of leaf and of lobes, and number and shape of the latter, extremely variable; type-form 5-lobed, all the lobes rounded, the three upper lobes much larger, more or less subdivided, often squarish, the two lower tapering to an acute, rounded, or truncate base; sinuses deep, variable, often at right angles to the midrib; leafstalk short, tomentose; stipules linear, pubescent, occasionally persistent till midsummer. The leaves are often arranged at the tips of the branches in star-shaped clusters, giving rise to the specific name _stellata_. =Inflorescence.=--May. Sterile catkins 1-3 inches long, connecting thread woolly; calyx 4-8 parted, lobes acute, densely pubescent, yellow; stamens 4-8, _anthers with scattered hairs_: pistillate flowers single or in clusters of 2, 3, or more, sessile or on a short stem; stigma red. =Fruit.=--Maturing the first season, single and sessile, or nearly so, or in clusters of 2, 3, or more, on short footstalks: cup top-shaped or cup-shaped, 1/3-1/2 the length of the acorn, about 3/4 inch wide, thin; scales smooth or sometimes hairy along the top, acutish or roundish, slightly thickened at base: acorn 1/2-1 inch long, sweet. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy in New England; prefers a good, well-drained, open soil; quite as slow-growing as the white oak; seldom found in nurseries and difficult to transplant. Propagated from the seed. [Illustration: PLATE XXXVIII.--Quercus stellata.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Sterile flower, back view. 4. Sterile flower, front view. 5. Fertile flower. 6. Fruiting branch. =Quercus macrocarpa, Michx.= BUR OAK. OVER-CUP OAK. MOSSY-CUP OAK. =Habitat and Range.=--Deep, rich soil; river valleys. Nova Scotia to Manitoba, not attaining in this region the size of the white oak, nor covering as large areas. Maine,--known only in the valleys of the middle Penobscot (Orono) and the Kennebec (Winslow, Waterville); Vermont,--lowlands about Lake Champlain, especially in Addison county, not common; Massachusetts,--valley of the Ware river (Worcester county), Stockbridge and towns south along the Housatonic river (Berkshire county); Rhode Island,--no station reported; Connecticut,--probably introduced in central and eastern sections, possibly native near the northern border. South to Pennsylvania and Tennessee; west to Montana, Nebraska, Kansas, Indian territory, and Texas. =Habit.=--A medium-sized tree, 40-60 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-3 feet; attaining great size in the Ohio and Mississippi river basins; trunk erect, branches often changing direction, ascending, save the lowest, which are often nearly horizontal; branchlets numerous, on the lowest branches often declined or drooping; head wide-spreading, rounded near the center, very rough in aspect; distinguished in summer by the luxuriance of the dark-green foliage and in autumn by the size of its acorns. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk and branches ash-gray, but darker than that of the white oak, separating on old trees into rather firm, longitudinal ridges; bark of branches sometimes developed into conspicuous corky, wing-like layers; season's shoots yellowish-brown, minutely hairy, with numerous small, roundish, raised dots. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds brown, 1/16 to 1/8 inch long, conical, scattered along the shoots and clustered at the enlarged tips. Leaves simple, alternate, 6-9 inches long, 3-4 inches broad, smooth and dark green above, lighter and downy beneath; outline obovate to oblong, varying from irregularly and deeply sinuate-lobed, especially near the center, to nearly entire, base wedge-shaped; stalk short; stipules linear, pubescent. =Inflorescence.=--May. Sterile catkins 3-5 inches long; calyx mostly 5-parted, yellowish-green; divisions linear-oblong, more or less persistent; stamens 10; anthers yellow, glabrous: pistillate flowers sessile or short-stemmed; scales reddish; stigma red. =Fruit.=--Maturing the first season; extremely variable; sessile or short-stemmed: cup top-shaped to hemispherical, 3/4-2 inches in diameter, with thick, close, pointed scales, the upper row often terminating in a profuse or sparing hairy or leafy fringe: acorn ovoid, often very large, sometimes sunk deeply and occasionally entirely in the cup. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy in New England; in general appearance resembling the swamp white oak, but better adapted to upland; grows rather slowly in any good, well-drained soil; difficult to transplant; seldom disfigured by insects or disease; occasionally grown in nurseries. Propagated from seed. A narrower-leafed form with small acorns (var. _olivæformis_) is occasionally offered. [Illustration: PLATE XXXIX.--Quercus macrocarpa.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Sterile flower, back view. 4. Sterile flower, front view. 5. Fertile flowers. 6. Fruiting branch. =Quercus bicolor, Willd.= _Quercus platanoides, Sudw._ SWAMP WHITE OAK. =Habitat and Range.=--In deep, rich soil; low, moist, fertile grounds, bordering swamps and along streams. Quebec to Ontario, where it is known as the blue oak. Maine,--York county; New Hampshire,--Merrimac valley as far as the mouth of the Souhegan, and probably throughout Rockingham county; Vermont,--low grounds about Lake Champlain; Massachusetts,--frequent in the western and central sections, common eastward; Rhode Island and Connecticut,--common. South to Delaware and along the mountains to northern Georgia; west to Minnesota, Iowa, east Kansas, and Arkansas. =Habit.=--A medium-sized tree, 40-60 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 2-3 feet; attaining southward of the Great Lakes and in the Ohio basin much greater dimensions; roughest of all the oaks, except the bur oak, in general aspect; trunk erect, continuous, in young trees often beset at point of branching with down-growing, scraggly branchlets, surmounted by a rather regular pyramidal head, the lower branches horizontal or declining, often descending to the ground, with a short, stiff, abundant, and bushy spray; smaller twigs ridgy, widening beneath buds; foliage a dark shining green; heads of large trees less regular, rather open, with a general resemblance to the head of the white oak, but narrower at the base, with less contorted limbs. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk and larger branches thick, dark grayish-brown, longitudinally striate, with flaky scales; bark of young stems, branches, and branchlets darker, separating in loose scales which curl back, giving the tree its shaggy aspect; season's shoots yellowish-green. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds brown, roundish-ovate, obtuse. Leaves simple, alternate, 3-8 inches long, 2-4 wide, downy on both sides when unfolding, at maturity thick and firm, smooth and dark shining green above, slightly to conspicuously whitish-downy beneath, in autumn brownish-yellow; obovate, coarsely and deeply crenate or obtusely shallow-lobed, when opening sometimes pointed and tapering to a wedge-shaped base, often constricted near the center; leafstalk short; stipules linear, soon falling. =Inflorescence.=--May. Sterile catkins 2-3 inches long, thread hairy; calyx deeply 3-7-parted, pale yellow, hairy; stamens 5-8; anthers yellow, glabrous: pistillate flowers tomentose, on rather long, hairy peduncles; stigmas red. =Fruit.=--Variable, on stems 1-3 inches long, maturing the first season, single or frequently in twos: cup rounded, rather thin, deep, rough to mossy, often with fringed margins: acorn about 1 inch long, oblong-ovoid, more or less tapering: meat sweet, edible. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; grows in any good soil, wet or dry, but prefers a position on the edge of moist or boggy land, where its roots can find a constant supply of water; growth fairly rapid; seldom affected by insects or disease; occasionally offered by nurserymen and rather less difficult to transplant than most of the oaks. Its sturdy, rugged habit and rich dark green foliage make it a valuable tree for ornamental plantations or even for streets. [Illustration: PLATE XL.--Quercus bicolor.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Sterile flower, side view. 4. Sterile flower, front view. 5. Fertile flowers. 6. Fruiting branch. =Quercus Prinus, L.= CHESTNUT OAK. ROCK CHESTNUT OAK. =Habitat and Range.=--Woods, rocky banks, hill slopes. Along the Canadian shore of Lake Erie. Maine,--Saco river and Mt. Agamenticus, near the southern coast (York county); New Hampshire,--belts or patches in the eastern part of the state and along the southern border, Hinsdale, Winchester, Brookline, Manchester, Hudson; Vermont,--western part of the state throughout, not common; abundant at Smoke mountain at an altitude of 1300 feet, and along the western flank of the Green mountains, at least in Addison county; Massachusetts,--eastern sections, Sterling, Lancaster, Russell, Middleboro, rare in Medford and Sudbury, frequent on the Blue hills; Rhode Island,--locally common; Connecticut,--common. South to Delaware and along the mountains to Georgia, extending nearly to the summit of Mt. Pisgah in North Carolina; west to Kentucky, Tennessee, and Alabama. =Habit.=--A small or medium-sized tree, 25-50 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-2-1/2 feet, assuming noble proportions southward, often reaching a height of 75-100 feet and trunk diameter of 5-6 feet; trunk tall, straight, continuous to the top of the tree, scarcely tapering to the point of ramification, surmounted by a spacious, open head. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk and large branches deep gray to dark brown or blackish, in firm, broad, continuous ridges, with small, close surface scales; bark of young trees and of branchlets smooth, brown, and more or less lustrous; season's shoots light brown. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds ovate to cylindrical, mostly acute, brownish. Leaves simple, alternate, 5-8 inches long, 2-5 inches wide, dark green and smooth above, paler and more or less downy beneath; outline obovate to oval, undulate-crenate; apex blunt-pointed; base wedge-shaped, obtuse or slightly rounded, often unequal-sided; veins straight, parallel, prominent beneath; leafstalk 1/2-1-1/2 inches long; stipules linear, soon falling. =Inflorescence.=--May. Sterile catkins 2-3 inches long; calyx 5-9-parted, yellow, hairy; divisions oblong, densely pubescent; stamens 5-9; anthers yellow, glabrous: pistillate flowers with hairy scales and dark red stigmas. =Fruit.=--Seldom abundant, maturing the first season, variable in size, on stems usually equal to or shorter than the leaf-stems: cup thin, hemispheric or somewhat top-shaped, deep; scales small, knobby-thickened at the base: acorns 3/4-1-1/2 inches long, ovoid-conical, sweet. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; prefers a light gravelly or stony soil; rapid-growing and free from disease; more easily and safely transplanted than most oaks; occasionally offered by nurserymen, who propagate it from the seed. Its vigorous, clean habit of growth and handsome foliage should give it a place in landscape gardening and street use. [Illustration: PLATE XLI.--Quercus Prinus.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Sterile flower, back view. 4. Sterile flower, front view. 5. Fertile flowers. 6. Fruiting branch. 7. Variant leaf. =Quercus Muhlenbergii, Engelm.= _Quercus acuminata, Sarg._ CHESTNUT OAK. =Habitat and Range.=--Dry hillsides, limestone ridges, rich bottoms. Ontario. Vermont,--Gardner's island, Lake Champlain; Ferrisburg (Pringle); Connecticut,--frequent (J. N. Bishop, 1895); on the limestone formation in the neighborhood of Kent (Litchfield county, C. K. Averill); often confounded by collectors with _Q. Prinus_; probably there are other stations. Not authoritatively reported from the other New England states. South to Delaware and District of Columbia, along the mountains to northern Alabama; west to Minnesota, Nebraska, Kansas, Indian territory, and Texas. =Habit.=--A medium-sized tree, 30-40 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-2 feet, attaining much greater dimensions in the basins of the Ohio, Mississippi, and their tributaries; trunk in old trees enlarged at the base, erect, branches rather short for the genus, forming a narrow oblong or roundish head. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk and large branches grayish or pale ash-colored, comparatively thin, flaky; branchlets grayish-brown; season's shoots in early summer purplish-green with pale dots. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds ovate, acute to obtuse, brownish. Leaves simple, alternate; in the typical form as recognized by Muhlenburg, 3-6 inches long, 1-1/2-2 inches wide, glossy dark green above, pale and minutely downy beneath; outline lanceolate or lanceolate-oblong, with rather equal, coarse, sharp, and often inflexed teeth; apex acuminate; base wedge-shaped or acute; stipules soon falling. There is also a form of the species in which the leaves are much larger, 5-7 inches in length and 3-5 inches in width, broadly ovate or obovate, with rounded teeth; distinguishable from _Q. Prinus_ only by the bark and fruit. =Inflorescence.=--May. Appearing with the leaves; sterile catkins 2-4 inches long; calyx yellow, hairy, segments 5-8, ciliate; stamens 5-8, anthers yellow: pistillate flowers sessile or on short spikes; stigma red. =Fruit.=--Maturing the first season, sessile or short-peduncled: cup covering about half the nut, thin, shallow, with small, rarely much thickened scales: acorn ovoid or globose, about 3/4 inch long. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy in New England; grows in all good dry or moist soils, in open or partly shaded situations; maintains a nearly uniform rate of growth till maturity, and is not seriously affected by insects. It forms a fine individual tree and is useful in forest plantations. Propagated from seed. [Illustration: PLATE XLII.--Quercus Muhlenbergii.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Sterile flower. 4. Fertile flowers. 5. Fruiting branch. =Quercus prinoides, Willd.= SCRUB WHITE OAK. SCRUB CHESTNUT OAK. More or less common throughout the states east of the Mississippi; westward apparently grading into _Q. Muhlenbergii_, within the limits of New England mostly a low shrub, rarely assuming a tree-like habit. The leaves vary from rather narrow-elliptical to broadly obovate, are rather regularly and coarsely toothed, bright green and often lustrous on the upper surface. =Quercus rubra, L.= RED OAK. =Habitat and Range.=--Growing impartially in a great variety of soils, but not on wet lands. Nova Scotia and New Brunswick to divide west of Lake Superior. Maine,--common, at least south of the central portions; New Hampshire,--extending into Coos county, far north of the White mountains; Vermont, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut,--common; probably in most parts of New England the most common of the genus; found higher up the slopes of mountains than the white oak. South to Tennessee, Virginia, and along mountain ranges to Georgia; reported from Florida; west to Minnesota, Nebraska, Kansas, and Texas. =Habit.=--The largest of the New England oaks, 50-85 feet high, with a diameter of 2-6 feet above the swell of the roots; occasionally attaining greater dimensions; trunk usually continuous to the top of the tree, often heavily buttressed; point of branching higher than in the white oak; branches large, less contorted, and rising at a sharper angle, the lower sometimes horizontal; branchlets rather slender; head extremely variable, in old trees with ample space for growth, open, well-proportioned, and imposing; sometimes oblong in outline, wider near the top, and sometimes symmetrically rounded, not so broad, however, as the head of the white oak; conspicuous in summer by its bright green, abundant foliage, which turns to dull purplish-red in autumn. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk and lower parts of branches in old trees dark gray, firmly, coarsely, and rather regularly ridged, smooth elsewhere; in young trees greenish mottled gray, smooth throughout; season's shoots at first green, taking a reddish tinge in autumn, marked with pale, scattered dots. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds ovate, conical, sharp-pointed. Leaves simple, alternate, 4-8 inches long, 3-5 inches broad, bright green above, paler beneath, dull brown in autumn; outline oval or obovate, sometimes scarcely distinguishable by the character of its lobing from _Q. tinctoria_; in the typical form, lobes broadly triangular or oblong, with parallel sides bristle-pointed; leafstalks short; stipules linear, soon falling. =Inflorescence.=--Earliest of the oaks, appearing in late April or early May, when the leaves are half-grown; sterile catkins 3-5 inches long; calyx mostly 4-lobed; lobes rounded; stamens mostly 4; anthers yellow: pistillate flowers short-stemmed; calyx lobes mostly 3 or 4; stigmas long, spreading. =Fruit.=--Maturing in the second year, single or in pairs, sessile or short-stalked: cup sometimes turbinate, usually saucer-shaped with a flat or rounded base, often contracted at the opening and surmounted by a kind of border; scales closely imbricated, reddish-brown, more or less downy, somewhat glossy, triangular-acute to obtuse, pubescent: acorn nearly cylindrical or ovoid, tapering to a broad, rounded top. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; grows in all well-drained soils, but prefers a rich, moist loam; more readily obtainable than most of our oaks; in common with other trees of the genus, nursery trees must be transplanted frequently to be moved with safety; grows rapidly and is fairly free from disfiguring insects; the oak-pruner occasionally lops off its twigs. When once established, it grows as rapidly as the sugar maple, and is worthy of much more extended use in street and landscape plantations. Propagated from the seed. [Illustration: PLATE XLIII.--Quercus rubra.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Sterile flower. 4. Fertile flowers, side view. 5. Fruiting branch. =Quercus coccinea, Wang.= SCARLET OAK. =Habitat and Range.=--Most common in dry soil. Ontario. Maine,--valley of the Androscoggin, southward; New Hampshire and Vermont,--not authoritatively reported by recent observers; Massachusetts,--more common in the eastern than western sections, sometimes covering considerable areas; Rhode Island and Connecticut,--common. South to the middle states and along the mountains to North Carolina and Tennessee; reported from Florida; west to Minnesota, Nebraska, and Missouri. =Habit.=--A medium-sized tree, 30-50 feet high and 1-3 feet in trunk diameter; attaining greater dimensions southward; trunk straight and tapering, branches regular, long, comparatively slender, not contorted, the lower nearly horizontal, often declined at the ends; branchlets slender; head open, narrow-oblong or rounded, graceful; foliage deeply cut, shining green in summer and flaming scarlet in autumn; the most brilliant and most elegant of the New England oaks. =Bark.=--Trunk in old trees dark gray, roughly and firmly ridged; inner bark red; young trees and branches smoothish, often marked with dull red seams and more or less mottled with gray. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds small, reddish-brown, ovate to oval, acutish, partially hidden by enlarged base of petiole. Leaves simple, alternate, extremely variable, more commonly 3-6 inches long, two-thirds as wide, bright green and shining above, paler beneath, smooth on both sides but often with a tufted pubescence on the axils beneath, turning scarlet in autumn, deeply lobed, the rounded sinuses sometimes reaching nearly to the midrib; lobes 5-9, rather slender and set at varying angles, sparingly toothed and bristly tipped; apex acute; base truncate to acute; leafstalk 1-1-1/2 inches long, slender, swollen at base. =Inflorescence.=--Early in May. Appearing when the leaves are half grown; sterile catkins 2-4 inches long; calyx most commonly 4-parted; pubescent; stamens commonly 4, exserted; anthers yellow, glabrous: pistillate flowers red; stigmas long, spreading, reflexed. =Fruit.=--Maturing in the autumn of the second year, single or in twos or threes, sessile or on rather short footstalks: cup top-shaped or cup-shaped, about half the length of the acorn, occasionally nearly enclosing it, smooth, more or less polished, thin-edged; scales closely appressed, firm, elongated, triangular, sides sometimes rounded, homogeneous in the same plant: acorn 1/2-3/4 inch long, variable in shape, oftenest oval to oblong: kernel white within; less bitter than kernel of the black oak. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; grows in any light, well-drained soil, but prefers a fertile loam. Occasionally offered by nurserymen, but as it is disposed to make unsymmetrical young trees it is not grown in quantity, and it is not desirable for streets. Its rapid growth, hardiness, beauty of summer foliage, and its brilliant colors in autumn make it desirable in ornamental plantations. Propagated from the seed. [Illustration: PLATE XLIV.--Quercus coccinea.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Sterile flowers, side view. 4. Fertile flower, side view. 5. Fruiting branch. =Quercus velutina, Lam.= _Quercus tinctoria, Bartram. Quercus coccinea_, var. _tinctoria, Gray._ BLACK OAK. YELLOW OAK. =Habitat and Range.=--Poor soils; dry or gravelly uplands; rocky ridges. Southern and western Ontario. Maine,--York county; New Hampshire,--valley of the lower Merrimac and eastward, absent on the highlands, reappearing within three or four miles of the Connecticut, ceasing at North Charlestown; Vermont,--western and southeastern sections; Massachusetts,--abundant eastward; Rhode Island and Connecticut,--frequent. South to the Gulf states; west to Minnesota, Kansas, Indian territory, and Texas. =Habit.=--One of our largest oaks, 50-75 feet high and 2-4 feet in diameter, exceptionally much larger, attaining its maximum in the Ohio and Mississippi basins; resembling _Q. coccinea_ in the general disposition of its mostly stouter branches; head wide-spreading, rounded; trunk short; foliage deep shining green, turning yellowish or reddish brown in autumn. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk dark gray or blackish, often lighter near the seashore, thick, usually rough near the ground even in young trees, in old trees deeply furrowed, separating into narrow, thick, and firmly adherent block-like strips; inner bark thick, yellow, and bitter; branches and branchlets a nearly uniform, mottled gray; season's shoots scurfy-pubescent. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds 1/8-1/4 inch long, bluntish to pointed, conspicuously clustered at ends of branches. Leaves simple, alternate, of two forms so distinct as to suggest different species, _a_ (Plate XLV, 8) varying towards _b_ (Plate XLV, 6), and _b_ often scarcely distinguishable from the leaf of the scarlet oak; in both forms outline obovate to oval, lobes usually 7, densely woolly when opening, more or less pubescent or scurfy till midsummer or later, dark shining green above, lighter beneath, becoming brown or dull red in autumn. Form _a_, sinuses shallow, lobes broad, rounded, mucronate. Form _b_, sinuses deep, extending halfway to the midrib or farther, oblong or triangular, bristle-tipped. =Inflorescence.=--Early in May. Appearing when the leaves are half grown; sterile catkins 2-5 inches long, with slender, pubescent threads; calyx usually 3-4-lobed; lobes ovate, acute to rounded, hairy-pubescent; stamens 3-7, commonly 4-5; anthers yellow: pistillate flowers reddish, pubescent, at first nearly sessile; stigmas 3, red, divergent, reflexed. =Fruit.=--Maturing the second year; nearly sessile or on short footstalks: cup top-shaped to hemispherical; scales less firm than in _Q. coccinea_, tips papery and transversely rugulose, obtuse or rounded, or some of them acutish, often lacerate-edged, loose towards the thick and open edge of the cup: acorn small: kernel yellow within and bitter. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; grows in well-drained soils, but prefers a rich, moist loam; of vigorous and rapid growth when young, but as it soon begins to show dead branches and becomes unsightly, it is not a desirable tree to plant, and is rarely offered by nurserymen. Propagated from seed. =Note.=--Apparently runs into _Q. coccinea_, from which it may be distinguished by its rougher and darker trunk, the yellow color and bitter taste of the inner bark, its somewhat larger and more pointed buds, the greater pubescence of its inflorescence, young shoots and leaves, the longer continuance of scurf or pubescence upon the leaves, the yellow or dull red shades of the autumn foliage, and by the yellow color and bitter taste of the nut. [Illustration: PLATE XLV.--Quercus velutina.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Sterile flower, 4-lobed calyx. 4. Sterile flower, 3-lobed calyx. 5. Fertile flower. 6. Fruiting branch. 7. Fruit. 8. Variant leaf. =Quercus palustris, Du Roi.= PIN OAK. SWAMP OAK. WATER OAK. =Habitat and Range.=--Low grounds, borders of forests, wet woods, river banks, islets in swamps. Ontario. Northern New England,--no station reported; Massachusetts,--Amherst (Stone, _Bull. Torrey Club_, IX, 57; J. E. Humphrey, _Amherst Trees_); Springfield, south to Connecticut, rare; Rhode Island,--southern portions, bordering the great Kingston swamp, and on the margin of the Pawcatuck river (L. W. Russell); Connecticut,--common along the sound, frequent northward, extending along the valley of the Connecticut river to the Massachusetts line. South to the valley of the lower Potomac in Virginia; west to Minnesota, east Kansas, Missouri, Arkansas, and Indian territory. =Habit.=--A medium-sized tree, 40-50 feet high, with trunk diameter of 1-2 feet, occasionally reaching a height of 60-70 feet (L. W. Russell), but attaining its maximum of 100 feet in height and upward in the basins of the Ohio and Mississippi rivers; trunk rather slender, often fringed with short, drooping branchlets, lower tier of branches short and mostly descending, the upper long, slender, and often beset with short, lateral shoots, which give rise to the common name; head graceful, open, rounded and symmetrical when young, in old age becoming more or less irregular; foliage delicate; bright shining green in autumn, often turning to a brilliant scarlet. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk dark, furrowed and broken in old trees, in young trees grayish-brown, smoothish; branchlets shining, light brown. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds short, conical, acute. Leaves simple, alternate, 3-5 inches long, bright green, smooth and shining above, duller beneath, with tufted hairs in the angles of the veins; outline broadly obovate to ovate; lobes divergent, triangular, toothed or entire, bristle-pointed; sinuses broad, rounded; leafstalk slender; stipules linear, soon falling. =Inflorescence.=--May. Appearing when the leaves are half grown; sterile catkins 2-4 inches long; segments of calyx mostly 4 or 5, obtuse or rounded, somewhat lacerate; stamens mostly 4 or 5, anthers yellow, glabrous: pistillate flowers with broadly ovate scales; stigmas stout, red, reflexed. =Fruit.=--Abundant, maturing the second season, short-stemmed: cup saucer-shaped, with firm, appressed scales, shallow: acorns ovoid to globose, about 1/2 inch long, often striate, breadth sometimes equal to entire length of fruit. =Horticultural Value.=--Probably hardy throughout New England; grows in wet soils, but prefers a rich, moist loam; of rapid and uniform growth, readily and safely transplanted, and but little disfigured by insects; obtainable in leading nurseries. Propagated from the seed. [Illustration: PLATE XLVI.--Quercus palustris.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Sterile flower, side view. 4. Fertile flower, side view. 5. Fruiting branch. =Quercus ilicifolia, Wang.= _Quercus nana, Sarg. Quercus pumila, Sudw._ SCRUB OAK. BEAR OAK. =Habitat and Range.=--In poor soils; sandy plains, gravelly or rocky hills. Maine,--frequent in eastern and southern sections and upon Mount Desert island; New Hampshire,--as far north as Conway, more common near the lower Connecticut; Vermont,--in the eastern and southern sections as far north as Bellows Falls; Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut,--too abundant, forming in favorable situations dense thickets, sometimes covering several acres. South to Ohio and the mountain regions of North Carolina and Kentucky; west to the Alleghany mountains. =Habit.=--Shrub or small tree, usually 3-8 feet high, but frequently reaching a height of 15-25 feet; trunk short, sometimes in peaty swamps 10-13 inches in diameter near the ground, branches much contorted, throwing out numerous branchlets of similar habit, forming a stiff, flattish head; beautiful for a brief week in spring by the delicate greens and reds of the opening leaves and reds and yellows of the numerous catkins. Sometimes associated with _Q. prinoides_. =Bark.=--Old trunks dark gray, with small, closely appressed scales; small trunks and branches grayish-brown, not furrowed or scaly; younger branches marked with pale yellow, raised dots; season's shoots yellowish-green, with a tawny, scurfy pubescence. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds 1/8-1/4 inch long, ovoid or conical, covered with imbricated, brownish, minutely ciliate scales. Leaves simple, alternate, 3-4 inches long and 2-3 inches broad; when unfolding reddish above and woolly on both sides, when mature yellowish-green and somewhat glossy above, smooth except on the midrib, rusty-white, and pubescent beneath; very variable in outline and in the number (3-7) and shape of lobes, sometimes entire, oftenest obovate with 5 bristle-tipped angular lobes, the two lower much smaller; base unequal, wedge-shaped, tip obtuse or rounded; leafstalk short; stipules linear, soon falling. =Inflorescence.=--Early in May. Appearing when the leaves are half grown; sterile catkins 2-4 inches long; calyx pubescent, lobes oftenest 2-3, rounded; stamens 3-5; anthers red or yellow: pistillate flowers numerous; calyx lobes ovate, pointed, reddish, pubescent; stigmas 3, reddish, recurved, spreading. =Fruit.=--Abundant, maturing in the autumn of the second year, clustered along the branchlets on stout, short stems: cup top-shaped or hemispherical: acorn about 1/2 inch long, varying greatly in shape, mostly ovoid or spherical, brown, often striped lengthwise. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy in New England; grows well in dry, gravelly, ledgy, or sandy soil, where few other trees thrive; useful in such situations where a low growth is required; but as it is not procurable in quantity from nurseries, it must be grown from the seed. The leaves are at times stripped off by caterpillars, but otherwise it is not seriously affected by insects or fungous diseases. [Illustration: PLATE XLVII.--Quercus ilicifolia.] 1. Flowering branch. 2. Sterile flower, side view. 3. Fertile flowers, side view. 4. Fruiting branch. 5. Variant leaves. ULMACEÆ. ELM FAMILY. =Ulmus Americana, L.= ELM. AMERICAN ELM. WHITE ELM. =Habitat and Range.=--Low, moist ground; thrives especially on rich intervales. From Cape Breton to Saskatchewan, as far north as 54° 30'. Maine,--common, most abundant in central and southern portions; New Hampshire,--common from the southern base of the White mountains to the sea; in the remaining New England states very common, attaining its highest development in the rich alluvium of the Connecticut river valley. South to Florida; west to Dakota, Nebraska, Kansas, and Texas. =Habit.=--In the fullness of its vigor the American elm is the most stately and graceful of the New England trees, 50-110 feet high and 1-8 feet in diameter above the swell of the roots; characterized by an erect, more or less feathered or naked trunk, which loses itself completely in the branches, by arching limbs, drooping branchlets set at a wide angle, and by a spreading head widest near the top. Modifications of these elements give rise to various well-marked forms which have received popular names. 1. In the vase-shaped tree, which is usually regarded as the type, the trunk separates into several large branches which rise, slowly diverging, 40-50 feet, and then sweep outward in wide arches, the smaller branches and spray becoming pendent. 2. In the umbrella form the trunk remains entire nearly to the top of the tree, when the branches spread out abruptly, forming a broad, shallow arch, fringed at the circumference with long, drooping branchlets. 3. The slender trunk of the plume elm rises, usually undivided, a considerable height, begins to curve midway, and is capped with a one-sided tuft of branches and delicate, elongated branchlets. 4. The drooping elm differs from the type in the height of the arch and greater droop of the branches, which sometimes sweep the ground. 5. In the oak form the limbs are more or less tortuous and less arching, forming a wide-spreading, rounded head. In all forms short, irregular, pendent branchlets are occasional along the trunks. The trees most noticeably feathered are usually of medium size, and have few large branches, the superfluous vitality manifesting itself in a copious fringe, which sometimes invests and obliterates the great pillars which support the masses of foliage. Conspicuous at all seasons of the year,--in spring when its brown buds are swollen to bursting, or when the myriads of flowers, insignificant singly, give in the sunlight an atmosphere of purplish-brown; when clothed with light, airy masses of deep green in summer or pale yellow in autumn, or in winter when the great trunk and mighty sweep of the arching branches distinguish it from all other trees. The roots lie near the surface and run a great distance. =Bark.=--Dark gray, irregularly and broadly striate, rather firmly ridged, in very old trees sometimes partially detached in plates; branches ash-gray, smooth; branchlets reddish-brown; season's shoots often pubescent, light brown in late fall. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds ovate, brown, flattened, obtuse to acute, smooth. Leaves simple, alternate, 2-5 inches long, 2-3 inches wide, dark green and roughish above, lighter and downy at first beneath; outline ovate or oval to obovate-oblong, sharply and usually doubly serrate; apex abruptly pointed; base half acute, half rounded, produced on one side, often slightly heart-shaped or obtuse; veins straight and prominent; leafstalk stout, short; stipules small, soon falling. Leaves drop in early autumn. =Inflorescence.=--April. In loose lateral clusters along the preceding season's shoots; flowers brown or purplish, mostly perfect, with occasional sterile and fertile on the same tree; stems slender; calyx 7-9-lobed, hairy or smooth; stamens 7-9, filaments slender, anthers exserted, brownish-red; ovary flat, green, ciliate; styles 2. =Fruit.=--Ripening in May, before the leaves are fully grown, a samara, 1/2 inch in diameter, oval or ovate, smooth on both sides, hairy on the edge, the notch in the margin closed or partially closed by the two incurved points. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; grows in any soil, but prefers a deep, rich loam; the ideal street tree with its high, overarching branches and moderate shade; grows rapidly, throws out few low branches, bears pruning well; now so seriously affected by numerous insect enemies that it is not planted as freely as heretofore; objectionable on the borders of gardens or mowing land, as the roots run along near the surface for a great distance. Very largely grown in nurseries, usually from seed, sometimes from small collected plants. Though so extremely variable in outline, there are no important horticultural forms in cultivation. [Illustration: PLATE XLVIII.--Ulmus Americana.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Flower, side view. 4. Fruiting branch. 5. Mature leaf. =Ulmus fulva, Michx.= _Ulmus pubescens, Walt._ SLIPPERY ELM. RED ELM. =Habitat and Range.=--Rich, low grounds, low, rocky woods and hillsides. Valley of the St. Lawrence, apparently not abundant. Maine,--District of Maine (Michaux, _Sylva of North America_, ed. 1853, III, 53), rare; Waterborough (York county, Chamberlain, 1898); New Hampshire,--valley of the Connecticut, usually disappearing within ten miles of the river; ranges as far north as the mouth of the Passumpsic; Vermont,--frequent; Massachusetts,--rare in the eastern sections, frequent westward; Rhode Island.--infrequent; Connecticut,--occasional. South to Florida; west to North Dakota and Texas. =Habit.=--A small or medium-sized tree, 40-60 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-2-1/2 feet; head in proportion to the height of the tree, the widest spreading of the species, characterized by its dark, hairy buds and rusty-green, dense and rough foliage. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk brown and in old trees deeply furrowed; larger branches grayish-brown, somewhat striate; branchlets grayish-brown, rough, marked with numerous dots, downy; season's shoots light gray and very rough; inner bark mucilaginous, hence the name "slippery elm." =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds ovate to rounded-cylindrical, acute or obtuse, very dark, densely tomentose, very conspicuous just before unfolding. Leaves simple, alternate, 4-8 inches long, 3-4 inches wide, thickish, minutely hairy above and woolly beneath when young, at maturity pale rusty-green and very rough both ways upon the upper surface, scarcely less beneath, rough and hairy along the ribs; sweet-scented when dried; outline oblong, ovate-oblong, or oval, doubly serrate; apex acuminate; base more or less heart-shaped or obtuse, inequilateral; leafstalk short, rough, hairy; stipules small, soon falling. =Inflorescence.=--March to April. Preceding the leaves, from the lateral buds of the preceding season, in clusters of nearly sessile, purplish flowers; sterile, fertile, and perfect on the same tree; calyx 5-9-lobed, downy; corolla none; stamens 5-9, anthers dark red; ovary flattened; styles two, purple, downy. =Fruit.=--A samara, winged all round, 3/4 inch in diameter, roundish, pubescent over the seed, not fringed, larger than the fruit of _U. Americana_. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; does well in various situations, but prefers a light, sandy or gravelly soil near running water; grows more rapidly than _U. Americana_, and is less liable to the attacks of insects; its large foliage and graceful outline make it worthy of a place in ornamental plantations. Propagated from seed. [Illustration: PLATE XLIX.--Ulmus fulva.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch, 3. Flower, top view. 4. Flower, side view, part of perianth and stamens removed. 5. Pistil. 6. Fruiting branch. =Ulmus racemosa, Thomas.= CORK ELM. ROCK ELM. =Habitat and Range.=--Dry, gravelly soils, rich soils, river banks. Quebec through Ontario. Maine,--not reported; New Hampshire,--rare and extremely local; Meriden and one or two other places (Jessup); Vermont,--rare, Bennington, Pownal (Robbins), Knowlton (Brainerd), Highgate (Eggleston); comparatively abundant in Champlain valley and westward (T. H. Haskins, _Garden and Forest_, V, 86); Massachusetts,--rare; Rhode Island and Connecticut,--not reported native. South to Tennessee; west to Minnesota, Iowa, Nebraska and Missouri. =Habit.=--A large tree, scarcely inferior at its best to _U. Americana_, 50-75 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 2-3 feet; reaching in southern Michigan a height of 100 feet and a diameter of 5 feet; trunk rather slender; branches short and stout, often twiggy in the interior of the tree; branchlets slender, spreading, sometimes with a drooping tendency; head rather narrow, round-topped. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk brownish-gray, in old trees irregularly separated into deep, wide, flat-topped ridges; branches grayish-brown; leaf-scars conspicuous; season's shoots light brown, more or less pubescent or glabrous, oblong-dotted; branches and branchlets often marked lengthwise with corky, wing-like ridges. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds ovate to oblong, pointed, scales downy-ciliate, pubescent. Leaves simple, alternate, 3-4 inches long, half as wide, glabrous above, minutely pubescent beneath; outline ovate, doubly serrate (less sharp than the serratures in _U. Americana_); apex acuminate; base inequilateral, produced and rounded on one side, acute or slightly rounded on the other; veins straight; leafstalk short, stout; stipules soon falling. =Inflorescence.=--April to May. Appearing before the leaves from lateral buds of the preceding season, in drooping racemes; calyx lobes 7-8, broad-triangular, with rounded edges and a mostly obtuse apex: pedicels thread-like, jointed; stamens 5-10, exserted, anthers purple, ovary 2-styled: stigmas recurved or spreading. =Fruit.=--Samara ovate, broadly oval, or obovate, pubescent, margin densely fringed, resembling fruit of _U. Americana_ but somewhat larger. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; prefers a moist, rich soil, in open situations; less variable in habit than the American elm and a smaller tree with smaller foliage, scarcely varying enough to justify its extensive use as a substitute. Not often obtainable in nurseries, but readily transplanted, and easily propagated from the seed. [Illustration: PLATE L.--Ulmus racemosa.] 1. Winter buds, at the time the flowers open. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Flower, side view. 4. Flower, side view, perianth and stamens partly removed. 5. Fruiting branch. CELTIS OCCIDENTALIS, L. HACKBERRY. NETTLE TREE. HOOP ASH. SUGAR BERRY. =Habitat and Range.=--In divers situations and soils; woods, river banks, near salt marshes. Province of Quebec to Lake of the Woods, occasional. Maine,--not reported; New Hampshire,--sparingly along the Connecticut valley, as far as Wells river; Vermont,--along Lake Champlain, not common; Norwich and Windsor on the Connecticut (Eggleston); Massachusetts,--occasional throughout the state; Rhode Island,--common (Bailey); Connecticut,--common (J. N. Bishop). South to the Gulf states; west to Minnesota and Missouri. =Habit.=--A small or medium-sized tree, 20-45 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 8 inches to 2 feet; attaining farther south a maximum of 100 feet in height, with a trunk diameter of 4-6 feet; variable; most commonly the rough, straight trunk, sometimes buttressed at the base, branches a few feet from the ground, sending out a few large limbs and numerous slender, horizontal or slightly drooping and more or less tortuous branches; head wide-spreading, flattish or often rounded, with deep green foliage which lasts into late autumn with little change in color, and with cherry-like fruit which holds on till the next spring. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk in young trees grayish, rough, unbroken, in old trees with deep, short ridges; main branches corrugated; secondary branches close and even; branchlets pubescent; season's shoots reddish-brown, often downy, more or less shining. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds small, ovate, acute, scales chestnut brown. Leaves simple, alternate, extremely variable in size, outline, and texture, usually 2-4 inches long, two-thirds as wide, thin, deep green, and scarcely rough above, more or less pubescent beneath, with numerous and prominent veins, outline ovate to ovate-lanceolate, sharply serrate above the lower third; apex usually narrowly and sharply acuminate; base acutish, inequilateral, 3-nerved, entire; leafstalk slender; stipules lanceolate, soon falling. =Inflorescence.=--May. Appearing with the leaves from the axils of the season's shoots, sterile and fertile flowers usually separate on the same tree; flowers slender-stemmed, the sterile in clusters at the base of the shoot, the fertile in the axils above, usually solitary; calyx greenish, segments oblong; stamens 4-6, in the fertile flowers about the length of the 4 lobes, in the sterile exserted; ovary with two long, recurved stigmas. =Fruit.=--Drupes, on long slender stems, globular, about the size of the fruit of the wild red cherry, purplish-red when ripe, thin-meated, edible, lasting through the winter. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; grows in all well-drained soils, but prefers a deep, rich, moist loam. Young trees grow rather slowly and are more or less distorted, and trees of the same age often vary considerably in size and habit; hence it is not a desirable street tree, but it appears well in ornamental grounds. A disease which seriously disfigures the tree is extending to New England, and the leaves are sometimes attacked by insects. Occasionally offered by nurserymen and easily transplanted. [Illustration: PLATE LI.--Celtis occidentalis.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Sterile flower. 4. Fertile flower. 5. Fruiting branch. MORACEÆ. MULBERRY FAMILY. =Morus rubra, L.= MULBERRY. =Habitat and Range.=--Banks of rivers, rich woods. Canadian shore of Lake Erie. A rare tree in New England. Maine,--doubtfully reported; New Hampshire,--Pemigewasset valley, White mountains (Matthews); Vermont,--northern extremity of Lake Champlain, banks of the Connecticut (Flagg), Pownal (Oakes), North Pownal (Eggleston); Massachusetts,--rare; Rhode Island,--no station reported; Connecticut,--rare; Bristol, Plainville, North Guilford, East Rock and Norwich (J. N. Bishop). South to Florida; west to Michigan, South Dakota, and Texas. =Habit.=--A small tree, 15-25 feet in height, with a trunk diameter of 8-15 inches; attaining much greater dimensions in the Ohio and Mississippi basins; a wide-branching, rounded tree, characterized by a milky sap, rather dense foliage, and fruit closely resembling in shape that of the high blackberry. =Bark.=--Trunk light brown, rough, and more or less furrowed according to age; larger branches light greenish-brown; season's shoots gray and somewhat downy. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds ovate, obtuse. Leaves simple, alternate, 4-8 inches long, two-thirds as wide, rough above, yellowish-green and densely pubescent when young; at maturity dark green and downy beneath, turning yellow in autumn; conspicuously reticulated; outline variable, ovate, obovate, oblong or broadly oval, serrate-dentate with equal teeth, or irregularly 3-7-lobed; apex acuminate; base heart-shaped to truncate; stalk 1-2 inches long; stipules linear, serrate, soon falling. =Inflorescence.=--May. Appearing with the leaves from the season's shoots, in axillary spikes, sterile and fertile flowers sometimes on the same tree, sometimes on different trees,--sterile flowers in spreading or pendulous spikes, about 1 inch long; calyx 4-parted; petals none; stamens 4, the inflexed filaments of which suddenly straighten themselves as the flower expands: fertile spikes spreading or pendent; calyx 4-parted, becoming fleshy in fruit; ovary sessile; stigmas 2, spreading. =Fruit.=--July to August. In drooping spikes about 1 inch long and 1/2 inch in diameter; dark purplish-red, oblong, sweet and edible; apparently a simple fruit but really made up of the thickened calyx lobes of the spike. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy in southern New England; grows rapidly in a good, moist soil in sun or shade; the large leaves start late and drop early; useful where it is hardy, in low tree plantations or as an undergrowth in woods; readily transplanted, but seldom offered for sale by nurserymen or collectors; propagated from seed. [Illustration: PLATE LII.--Morus rubra.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Branch with sterile flowers. 3. Sterile flower with stamens incurved. 4. Sterile flower expanded. 5. Branch with fertile flowers. 6. Fertile flower, side view. 7. Fruiting branch. =Morus alba, L.= Probably a native of China, where its leaves have from time immemorial furnished food for silkworms; extensively introduced and naturalized in India and central and southern Europe; introduced likewise into the United States and Canada from Ontario to Florida; occasionally spontaneous near dwellings, old trees sometimes marking the sites of houses that have long since disappeared. It may be distinguished from _M. rubra_ by its smooth, shining leaves, its whitish or pinkish fruit, and its greater susceptibility to frost. MAGNOLIACEÆ. MAGNOLIA FAMILY. =Liriodendron Tulipifera, L.= TULIP TREE. WHITEWOOD. POPLAR. =Habitat and Range.=--Prefers a rich, loamy, moist soil. Vermont,--valley of the Hoosac river in the southwestern corner of the state; Massachusetts,--frequent in the Connecticut river valley and westward; reported as far east as Douglas, southeastern corner of Worcester county (R. M. Harper, _Rhodora_, II, 122); Rhode Island and Connecticut,--frequent, especially in the central and southern portions of the latter state. South to the Gulf states; west to Wisconsin; occasional in the eastern sections of Missouri and Arkansas; attains great size in the basins of the Ohio and its tributaries, and southward along the Mississippi river bottoms. =Habit.=--A medium-sized tree, 50-70 feet high; trunk 2-3 feet in diameter, straight, cylindrical; head rather open, more or less cone-shaped, in the dense forest lifted high and spreading; branches small for the size of the tree, set at varying angles, often decurrent, becoming scraggly with age. The shapely trunk, erect, showy blossoms, green, cone-like fruit, and conspicuous bright green truncate leaves give the tulip tree an air of peculiar distinction. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk ashen-gray and smoothish in young trees, becoming at length dark, seamed, and furrowed; the older branches gray; the season's shoots of a shining chestnut, with minute dots and conspicuous leaf-scars; glabrous or dusty-pubescent; bark of roots pale brown, fleshy, with an agreeable aromatic smell and pungent taste. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Terminal buds 1/2-1 inch long; narrow-oblong; flattish; covered by two chestnut-brown dotted scales, which persist as appendages at the base of the leafstalk, often enclosing several leaves which develop one after the other. Leaves simple, alternate, lobed; 3-5 inches long and nearly as broad, dark green and smooth on the upper surface, lighter, with minute dusty pubescence beneath, becoming yellow and russet brown in autumn; usually with four rounded or pointed lobes, the two upper abruptly cut off at the apex, and separated by a slight indentation or notch more or less broad and shallow at the top; all the lobes entire, or 2-3 sublobed, or coarsely toothed; base truncate, acute or heart-shaped; leafstalks as long or longer than the blade, slender, enlarged at the base; stipules 1-2 inches long, pale yellow, oblong, often persisting till the leaf is fully developed. =Inflorescence.=--Late May or early June. Flowers conspicuous, solitary, terminal, held erect by a stout stem, tulip-shaped, 1-1/2-2 inches long, opening at the top about 2 inches. There are two triangular bracts which fall as the flower opens; three greenish, concave sepals, at length reflexed; six greenish-yellow petals with an orange spot near the base of each; numerous stamens somewhat shorter than the petals; and pistils clinging together about a central axis. =Fruit.=--Cone-like, formed of numerous carpels, often abortive, which fall away from the axis at maturity; each long, flat carpel encloses in the cavity at its base one or two orange seeds which hang out for a time on flexible, silk-like threads. =Horticultural Value.=--An ornamental tree of great merit; hardy except in the coldest parts of New England; difficult to transplant, but growing rapidly when established; comes into leaf rather early and holds its foliage till mid-fall, shedding it in a short time when mature; adapts itself readily to good, light soils, but grows best in moist loam. It has few disfiguring insect enemies. Mostly propagated by seed, but sometimes successfully collected; for sale in the leading nurseries and usually obtainable in large quantities. Of abnormal forms offered by nurserymen, one has an upright habit approaching that of the Lombardy poplar; another has variegated leaves, and another leaves without lobes. [Illustration: PLATE LIII.--Liriodendron Tulipifera.] 1. Winter bud, terminal. 2. Opening leaf-bud with stipules. 3. Flowering branch. 4. Fruit. 5. Fruit with many carpels removed. 6. Carpel with seeds. LAURACEÆ. LAUREL FAMILY. =Sassafras officinale, Nees.= _Sassafras Sassafras, Karst._ SASSAFRAS. =Habitat and Range.=--In various soils and situations; sandy or rich woods, along the borders of peaty swamps. Provinces of Quebec and Ontario. Maine,--this tree grows not beyond Black Point (Scarboro, Cumberland county) eastward (Josselyn's _New England Rarities_, 1672); not reported again by botanists for more than two hundred years; rediscovered at Wells in 1895 (Walter Deane) and North Berwick in 1896 (J. C. Parlin); New Hampshire,--lower Merrimac valley, eastward to the coast and along the Connecticut valley to Bellows Falls; Vermont,--occasional south of the center; Pownal (Robbins, Eggleston); Hartland and Brattleboro (Bates), Vernon (Grant); Massachusetts,--common especially in the eastern sections; Rhode Island and Connecticut,--common. South to Florida; west to Michigan, Iowa, Kansas, and Texas. =Habit.=--Generally a shrub or small tree but sometimes reaching a height of 40-50 feet and a trunk diameter of 2-4 feet; attaining a maximum in the southern and southwestern states of 80-100 feet in height and a trunk diameter of 6-7 feet; head open, flattish or rounded; branches at varying angles, stout, crooked, and irregular; spray bushy; marked in winter by the contrasting reddish-brown of the trunk, the bright yellowish-green of the shoots and the prominent flower-buds, in early spring by the drooping racemes of yellow flowers, in autumn by the rich yellow or red-tinted foliage and handsome fruit, at all seasons by the aromatic odor and spicy flavor of all parts of the tree, especially the bark of the root. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk deep reddish-brown, deeply and firmly ridged in old trees, in young trees greenish-gray, finely and irregularly striate, the outer layer often curiously splitting, resembling a sort of filagree work; branchlets reddish-brown, marked with warts of russet brown; season's shoots at first minutely pubescent, in the fall more or less mottled, bright yellowish-green. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Flower-buds conspicuous, terminal, ovate to elliptical, the outer scales rather loose, more or less pubescent, the inner glossy, pubescent; lateral buds much smaller. Leaves simple, alternate, often opposite, 3-5 inches long, two-thirds as wide, downy-tomentose when young, at maturity smooth, yellowish-green above, lighter beneath, with midrib conspicuous and minutely hairy; outline of two forms, one oval to oblong, entire, usually rounded at the apex, wedge-shaped at base; the other oval to obovate, mitten-shaped or 3-lobed to about the center, with rounded sinuses; apex obtuse or rounded; base wedge-shaped; leafstalk about 1 inch long; stipules none. =Inflorescence.=--April or early May. Appearing with the leaves in slender, bracted, greenish-yellow, corymbous racemes, from terminal buds of the preceding season, sterile and fertile flowers on separate trees,--sterile flowers with 9 stamens, each of the three inner with two stalked orange-colored glands, anthers 4-celled, ovary abortive or wanting: fertile flowers with 6 rudimentary stamens in one row; ovary ovoid; style short. =Fruit.=--Generally scanty, drupes, ovoid, deep blue, with club-shaped, bright red stalk. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; adapted to a great variety of soils, but prefers a stony, well-drained loam or gravel. Its irregular masses of foliage, which color so brilliantly in the fall, make it an extremely interesting tree in plantations, but it has always been rare in nurseries and difficult to transplant; suckers, however, can be moved readily. Propagated easily from seed. [Illustration: PLATE LIV.--Sassafras officinale.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Branch with sterile flowers. 3. Sterile flower. 4. Branch with fertile flowers. 5. Fertile flower. 6. Fruiting branch. HAMAMELIDACEÆ. WITCH HAZEL FAMILY. =Liquidambar Styraciflua, L.= SWEET GUM. =Habitat and Range.=--Low, wet soil, swamps, moist woods. Connecticut,--restricted to the southwest corner of the state, not far from the seacoast; Darien to Five Mile river, probably the northeastern limit of its natural growth. South to Florida; west to Missouri and Texas. =Habit.=--Tree 40-60 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 10 inches to 2 feet, attaining a height of 150 feet and a diameter of 3-5 feet in the Ohio and Mississippi valleys; trunk tall and straight; branches rather small for the diameter and height of the tree, the lower mostly horizontal or declining; branchlets beset with numerous short, rather stout, curved twigs; head wide-spreading, ovoid or narrow-pyramidal, symmetrical; conspicuous in summer by its deep green, shining foliage, in autumn by the splendor of its coloring, and in winter by the long-stemmed, globular fruit, which does not fall till spring. =Bark.=--Trunk gray or grayish-brown, in old trees deeply furrowed and broken up into rather small, thickish, loose scales; branches brown-gray; branchlets with or without prominent corky ridges on the upper side; young twigs yellowish. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds ovate, reddish-brown, glossy, acute. Leaves simple, alternate, regular, 3-4 inches in diameter, dark green turning to reds, purples, and yellows in autumn, cut into the figure of a star by 5-7 equal, pointed lobes, glandular-serrate, smooth, shining on the upper surface, fragrant when bruised; base more or less heart-shaped; stalk slender. =Inflorescence.=--May. Developing from a bud of the season; sterile flowers in an erect or spreading, cylindrical catkin; calyx none; petals none, stamens many, intermixed with minute scales: fertile flowers numerous, gathered in a long peduncled head; calyx consisting of fine scales; corolla none; pistil with 2-celled ovary and 2 long styles. =Fruit.=--In spherical, woody heads, about 1 inch in diameter, suspended by a slender thread: a sort of aggregate fruit made up of the hardened, coherent ovaries, holding on till spring, each containing one or two perfect seeds. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy along the southern shores of New England; grows in good wet or dry soils, preferring clays. Young plants are tender in Massachusetts, but if protected a few seasons until well established make hardy trees of medium size. It is offered by nurserymen, but must be frequently transplanted to be moved with safety; rate of growth rather slow and nearly uniform to maturity. Propagated from seed. [Illustration: PLATE LV.--Liquidambar styraciflua.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Sterile flower. 4. Fertile flower. 5. Fruiting branch. PLATANACEÆ. PLANE-TREE FAMILY. =Platanus occidentalis, L.= BUTTONWOOD. SYCAMORE. BUTTONBALL. PLANE TREE. =Habitat and Range.=--Near streams, river bottoms, and low, damp woods. Ontario. Maine,--apparently restricted to York county; New Hampshire,--Merrimac valley towards the coast; along the Connecticut as far as Walpole; Vermont,--scattering along the river shores, quite abundant along the Hoosac in Pownal (Eggleston); Massachusetts,--occasional; Rhode Island and Connecticut,--rather common. South to Florida; west to Minnesota, Nebraska, Kansas, and Texas. =Habit.=--A tree of the first magnitude, 50-100 feet and upwards in height, with a diameter of 3-8 feet; reaching in the rich alluvium of the Ohio and Mississippi valleys a maximum of 125 feet in height and a diameter of 20 feet; the largest tree of the New England forest, conspicuous by its great height, massive trunk and branches, and by its magnificent, wide-spreading, dome-shaped or pyramidal, open head. The sunlight, streaming through the large-leafed, rusty foliage, reveals the curiously mottled patchwork bark; and the long-stemmed, globular fruit swings to every breeze till spring comes again. The lower branches are often very long and almost horizontal, and the branchlets frequently have a tufted, broom-like appearance, due probably to the action of a fungous disease on the young growth. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk and large branches dark greenish-gray, sometimes rough and closely adherent, but usually flaking off in broad, thin, brittle scales, exposing the green or buff inner bark, which becomes nearly white on exposure; branchlets light brown, sometimes ridgy towards the ends, marked with numerous inconspicuous dots. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds short, ovate, obtuse, enclosed in the swollen base of a petiole, and, after the fall of the leaf, encircled by the leaf-scar. Leaves simple, alternate, 5-6 inches long, 7-10 wide, pubescent on both sides when young, at maturity light rusty-green above, light green beneath, finally smooth, turning yellow in autumn, coriaceous; outline reniform; margin coarse-toothed or sinuate-lobed, the short lobes ending in a sharp point; base heart-shaped to nearly truncate; leafstalk 1-2 inches long, swollen at the base; stipules sheathing, often united, forming a sort of ruffle. =Inflorescence.=--May. In crowded spherical heads; flowers of both kinds with insignificant calyx and corolla,--sterile heads from terminal or lateral buds of the preceding season, on short and pendulous stems; stamens few, usually 4, anthers 2-celled: fertile heads from shoots of the season, on long, slender stems, made up of closely compacted ovate ovaries with intermingled scales, ovaries surmounted by hairy one-sided recurved styles, with bright red stigmas. =Fruit.=--In heads, mostly solitary, about 1 inch in diameter, persistent till spring: nutlets small, hairy, 1-seeded. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; prefers a deep, rich, loamy soil near water, but grows in almost any situation; of more rapid growth than almost any other native tree, and formerly planted freely in ornamental grounds and on streets, but fungous diseases disfigure it so seriously, and the late frosts so often kill the young leaves that it is now seldom obtainable in nurseries; usually propagated from seed. The European plane, now largely grown in some nurseries, is a suitable substitute. [Illustration: PLATE LVI.--Platanus occidentalis.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch with sterile and fertile heads. 3. Stamen. 4. Pistil. 5. Fruiting branch. 6. Stipule. 7. Bud with enclosing base of leafstalk. POMACEÆ. APPLE FAMILY. Trees or shrubs; leaves simple or pinnate, mostly alternate, with stipules free from the leafstalk and usually soon falling; flowers regular, perfect; calyx 5-lobed; calyx-tube adnate to ovary; petals 5, inserted on the disk which lines the calyx-tube; stamens usually many, distinct, inserted with the petals; carpels of the ovary 1-5, partially or entirely united with each other; ovules 1-2 in each carpel; styles 1-5; fruit a fleshy pome, often berry-like or drupe-like, formed by consolidation of the carpels with the calyx-tube. PYRUS. MALUS. AMELANCHIER. CRATÆGUS. =Pyrus Americana, DC.= _Sorbus Americana, Marsh._ MOUNTAIN ASH. =Habitat and Range.=--River banks, cool woods, swamps, and mountains. Newfoundland to Manitoba. Maine,--common; New Hampshire,--common along the watersheds of the Connecticut and Merrimac rivers and on the slopes of the White mountains; Vermont,--abundant far up the slopes of the Green mountains; Massachusetts,--Graylock, Wachusett, Watatic, and other mountainous regions; rare eastward; Rhode Island and Connecticut,--occasional in the northern sections. South, in cold swamps and along the mountains to North Carolina; west to Michigan and Minnesota. =Habit.=--A small tree, 15-20 feet high, often attaining in the woods of northern Maine and on the slopes of the White mountains a height of 25-30 feet, with a trunk diameter of 12-15 inches; reduced at its extreme altitudes to a low shrub; head, in open ground, pyramidal or roundish; branches spreading and slender. =Bark.=--Closely resembling bark of _P. sambucifolia_. =Winter Buds and Leaves.,=--Buds more or less scythe-shaped, acute, smooth, glutinous. Leaves pinnately compound, alternate; stem grooved, enlarged at base, reddish-brown above; stipules deciduous; leaflets 11-19, 2-4 inches long, bright green above, paler beneath, smooth, narrow-oblong or lanceolate, the terminal often elliptical, finely and sharply serrate above the base; apex acuminate; base roundish to acute and unequally sided; sessile or nearly so, except in the odd leaflet. =Inflorescence.=--In terminal, densely compound, large and flattish cymes; calyx 5-lobed; petals 5, white, roundish, short-clawed; stamens numerous; ovary inferior; styles 3. =Fruit.=--Round, bright red, about the size of a pea, lasting into winter. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; prefers a good, well-drained soil; rate of growth slow and nearly uniform. It is readily transplanted and would be useful on the borders of woods, in plantations of low trees, and in seaside exposures. Rare in nurseries and seldom for sale by collectors. The readily obtainable and more showy European _P. aucuparia_ is to be preferred for ornamental purposes. [Illustration: PLATE LVII.--Pyrus Americana.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Flower with part of perianth and stamens removed. 4. Petal. 5. Fruiting branch. =Pyrus sambucifolia, Cham. & Schlecht.= _Sorbus sambucifolia, R[oe]m._ MOUNTAIN ASH. =Habitat and Range.=--Mountain slopes, cool woods, along the shores of rivers and ponds, often associated with _P. Americana_, but climbing higher up the mountains. From Labrador and Nova Scotia west to the Rocky mountains, then northward along the mountain ranges to Alaska. Maine,--abundant in Aroostook county, Piscataquis county, Somerset county at least north to the Moose river, along the boundary mountains, about the Rangeley lakes and locally on Mount Desert Island; New Hampshire,--in the White mountain region; Vermont,--Mt. Mansfield, Willoughby mountain (Pringle); undoubtedly in other sections of these states; to be looked for along the edges of deep, cool swamps and at considerable elevations. South of New England, probably only as an escape from cultivation; west through the northern tier of states to the Rocky mountains, thence northward along the mountain ranges to Alaska and south to New Mexico and California. =Habit.=--A shrub 3-10 feet high, or small tree rising to a height of 15-25 feet, reaching its maximum in northern New England, where it occasionally attains a height of 30-35 feet, with a trunk diameter of 15 inches. It forms an open, wide-spreading, pyramidal or roundish head, resembling the preceding species in the color of bark, in foliage and fruit. Whether these are two distinct species is at the present problematical, as there are many intermediate forms, and the same tree sometimes furnishes specimens that would indubitably be referred to different species. =Bark.=--On old trees light brown and roughish on the trunk, separating into small scales curling up on one side; large limbs light-colored, smoothish, often conspicuously marked with coarse horizontal blotches and leaf-scars; season's shoots light brown, smooth, silvery dotted. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Terminal bud 1 inch long, lateral 1/2 inch, appressed, brownish, scythe-shaped, acute, more or less glutinous. Leaves pinnately compound, alternate, stems grooved and reddish above, enlarged at base; stipules deciduous; leaflets 7-15, the odd one stalked, 1-3 inches long, 1/2-1 inch wide, bright green above, paler beneath, smooth, mostly ovate-oblong, serrate above the base; apex rounded or more usually tapering suddenly to a short point, or rarely acuminate; base inequilateral. =Inflorescence.=--In broad, compound cymes at the ends of the branches; flowers white and rather larger than those of _P. Americanus_; calyx 5-lobed; petals 5, ovate, short-clawed; stamens numerous; pistil 3-styled. =Fruit.=--In broad cymes; berries bright red, roundish, rather larger than those of _P. Americana_, holding on till winter. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy in New England, though of shrub-like proportions in the southern sections; grows in exposed situations inland, and along the seashore. The dwarf habit, graceful foliage, and showy fruit give it an especial value in artificial plantations; but it is seldom for sale in nurseries and only occasionally by collectors. It is readily transplanted and is propagated by seed. =Note.=--In the European mountain ash, _P. aucuparia_, the leaves have a blunter apex than is usually found in either of the American species, and have a more decided tendency to double serration. [Illustration: PLATE LVIII.--Pyrus sambucifolia.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Flower with part of perianth and stamens removed. 4. Fruiting branch. =Pyrus communis, L.= PEAR TREE. The common pear, introduced from Europe; a frequent escape from cultivation throughout New England and elsewhere; becomes scraggly and shrubby in a wild state. =Pyrus Malus, L.= _Malus Malus, Britton_. APPLE TREE. The common apple; introduced from Europe; a more or less frequent escape wherever extensively cultivated, like the pear showing a tendency in a wild state to reversion. =Amelanchier Canadensis, Medic.= SHADBUSH. JUNE-BERRY. =Habitat and Range.=--Dry, open woods, hillsides. Newfoundland and Nova Scotia to Lake Superior. New England,--throughout. South to the Gulf of Mexico; west to Minnesota, Kansas, and Louisiana. =Habit.=--Shrub or small tree, 10-25 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 6-10 inches, reaching sometimes a height of 40 feet and trunk diameter of 18 inches; head rather wide-spreading, slender-branched, open; conspicuous in early spring, while other trees are yet naked, by its profuse display of loose spreading clusters of white flowers, and the delicate tints of the silky opening foliage. =Bark.=--Trunk and large branches greenish-gray, smooth; branchlets purplish-brown, smooth. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds small, oblong-conical, pointed. Leaves 2-3-1/2 inches long, about half as wide, slightly pubescent when young, dark bluish-green above at maturity, lighter beneath; outline varying from ovate to obovate, finely and sharply serrate; apex pointed or mucronate, often abruptly so; base somewhat heart-shaped or rounded; leafstalk about 1 inch long; stipules slender, silky, ciliate, soon falling. =Inflorescence.=--April to May. Appearing with the leaves at the end of the branchlets in long, loose, spreading or drooping, nearly glabrous racemes; flowers large; calyx 5-cleft, campanulate, pubescent to nearly glabrous; segments lanceolate, acute, reflexed; petals 5, whole, narrow-oblong or oblong-spatulate, about 1 inch long, two to three times the length of the calyx; stamens numerous: ovary with style deeply 5-parted. =Fruit.=--June to July. In drooping racemes, globose, passing through various colors to reddish, purplish, or black purple, long-stemmed, sweet and edible without decided flavor. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; grows in all soils and situations except in wet lands, but prefers deep, rich, moist loam; very irregular in its habit of growth, sometimes forming a shrub, at other times a slender, unsymmetrical tree, and again a symmetrical tree with well-defined trunk. Its beautiful flowers, clean growth, attractive fruit and autumn foliage make it a desirable plant in landscape plantations where it can be grouped with other trees. Occasionally in nurseries; procurable from collectors. [Illustration: PLATE LIX.--Amelanchier Canadensis.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Flower with part of perianth and stamens removed. 4. Fruiting branch. CRATÆGUS. A revision of genus _Cratægus_ has long been a desideratum with botanists. The present year has added numerous new species, most of which must be regarded as provisional until sufficient time has elapsed to note more carefully the limits of variation in previously existing species and to eliminate possible hybrids. During the present period of uncertainty it seems best to exclude most of the new species from the manuals until their status has been satisfactorily established by raising plants from the seed, or by prolonged observation over wide areas. =Cratægus Crus-Galli, L.= COCKSPUR THORN. Rich soils, edge of swamps. Quebec to Manitoba. Found sparingly in western Vermont (_Flora of Vermont_, 1900); southern Connecticut (C. H. Bissell). South to Georgia; west to Iowa. A small tree, 10-25 feet in height and 6-12 inches in trunk diameter; best distinguished by its thorns and leaves. Thorns numerous, straight, long (2-4 inches), slender; leaves thick, smooth, dark green, shining on the upper surface, pale beneath, turning dark orange red in autumn; outline obovate-oblanceolate, serrate above, entire or nearly so near base; apex acute or rounded; base decidedly wedge-shaped shaped; leafstalks short. Fruit globose or very slightly pear-shaped, remaining on the tree throughout the winter. Hardy throughout southern New England; used frequently for a hedge plant. =Cratægus punctata, Jacq.= Thickets, hillsides, borders of forests. Quebec and Ontario. Small tree, common in Vermont (Brainerd) and occasional in the other New England states. South to Georgia. Thorns 1-2 inches long, sometimes branched; leaves 1-2-1/2 inches long, smooth on the upper surface, finally smooth and dull beneath; outline obovate, toothed or slightly lobed above, entire or nearly so beneath, short-pointed or somewhat obtuse at the apex, wedge-shaped at base; leafstalk slender, 1-2 inches long; calyx lobes linear, entire; fruit large, red or yellow. =Cratægus coccinea, L.= In view of the fact of great variation in the bark, leaves, inflorescence, and fruit of plants that have all passed in this country as _C. coccinea_, and in view of the further uncertainty as to the plant on which the species was originally founded, it seems "best to consider the specimen in the Linnæan herbarium as the type of _C. coccinea_ which can be described as follows: "Leaves elliptical or on vigorous shoots mostly semiorbicular, acute or acuminate, divided above the middle into numerous acute coarsely glandular-serrate lobes, cuneate and finely glandular-serrate below the middle and often quite entire toward the base, with slender midribs and remote primary veins arcuate and running to the points of the lobes, at the flowering time membranaceous, coated on the upper surface and along the upper surface of the midribs and veins with short soft white hairs, at maturity thick, coriaceous, dark green and lustrous on the upper surface, paler on the lower surface, glabrous or nearly so, 1-1/2-2 inches long and 1-1-1/2 inches wide, with slender glandular petioles 3/4-1 inch long, slightly grooved on the upper surface, often dark red toward the base, and like the young branchlets villous with pale soft hairs; stipules lanceolate to oblanceolate, conspicuously glandular-serrate with dark red glands, 1/2-3/4 inch long. Flowers 1/2-3/4 inch in diameter when fully expanded, in broad, many-flowered, compound tomentose cymes; bracts and bractlets linear-lanceolate, coarsely glandular-serrate, caducous; calyx tomentose, the lobes lanceolate, glandular-serrate, nearly glabrous or tomentose, persistent, wide-spreading or erect on the fruit, dark red above at the base; stamens 10; anthers yellow; styles 3 or 4. Fruit subglobose, occasionally rather longer than broad, dark crimson, marked with scattered dark dots, about 1/2 inch in diameter, with thin, sweet, dry yellow flesh; nutlets 3 or 4, about 1/4 inch long, conspicuously ridged on the back with high grooved ridges. "A low, bushy tree, occasionally 20 feet in height with a short trunk 8-10 inches in diameter, or more frequently shrubby and forming wide dense thickets, and with stout more or less zigzag branches bright chestnut brown and lustrous during their first year, ashy-gray during their second season and armed with many stout, chestnut-brown, straight or curved spines 1-1-1/2 inches long. Flowers late in May. Fruit ripens and falls toward the end of October, usually after the leaves. "Slopes of hills and the high banks of salt marshes usually in rich, well-drained soil, Essex county, Massachusetts, John Robinson, 1900; Gerrish island, Maine, J. G. Jack, 1899-1900; Brunswick, Maine, Miss Kate Furbish, May, 1899; Newfoundland, A. C. Waghorne, 1894."[1] [Footnote 1: Prof. C. S. Sargent in _Bot. Gaz._, XXXI, 12. By permission of the publishers.] =Cratægus mollis, Scheele.= _Cratægus subvillosa, Schr. Cratægus coccinea,_ var. _mollis, T. & G._ THORN. =Habitat and Range.=--Bordering on low lands and along streams. Provinces of Quebec and Ontario. Maine,--as far north as Mattawamkeag on the middle Penobscot, Dover on the Piscataquis, and Orono on the lower Penobscot; reported also from southern sections; Vermont,--Charlotte (Hosford); Massachusetts,--in the eastern part infrequent; no stations reported in the other New England states. South to Pennsylvania, Louisiana, and Texas; west to Michigan and Missouri. =Habit.=--Shrub or often a small tree, 20-30 feet high, with trunk 6-12 inches in diameter, often with numerous suckers; branches at 4-6 feet from the ground, at an acute angle with the stem, lower often horizontal or declining; head spreading, widest at base, spray short, angular, and bushy; thorns slender, 1-3 inches long, straight or slightly recurved. =Bark.=--Bark of the whole tree, except the ultimate shoots, light gray, on the trunk and larger branches separating lengthwise into thin narrow plates, in old trees dark gray and more or less shreddy; season's shoots reddish or yellowish-brown, glossy. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds small, ovate, reddish-brown, shining; scales broad, glandular-edged. Leaves simple, alternate, 3-5 inches long, light green above, lighter beneath, broad-ovate to broad-elliptical; rather regularly and slightly incised with fine, glandular-tipped teeth; apex acute; base wedge-shaped, truncate, or subcordate; roughish above and slightly pubescent beneath, especially along the veins; leaf-stalk pubescent; stipules linear, glandular-edged, deciduous. =Inflorescence.=--May to June. In cymes from the season's growth; flowers white, 3/4 inch broad, ill-smelling; calyx lobes 5, often incised, pubescent; petals roundish; stamens indefinite, styles 3-5; flower stems pubescent; bracts glandular. =Fruit.=--A drupe-like pome, 1/2-1 inch long, bright scarlet, larger than the fruit of the other New England species; ripens and falls in September. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy in New England. An attractive and useful tree in low plantations; rarely for sale by nurserymen or collectors; propagated from the seed. [Illustration: PLATE LX.--Cratægus mollis.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Branch with thorns. 3. Flowering branch. 4. Flower with part of perianth and stamens removed. 5. Fruiting branch. =Note.=--The New England plants here put under the head of _Cratægus mollis_ have been referred by Prof. C. S. Sargent to _Cratægus submollis_ (_Bot. Gaz_., XXXI, 7, 1901). The new species differs from the true _Cratægus mollis_ in its smaller ovate leaves with cuneate base and more or less winged leafstalk, in the smaller number of its stamens, usually 10, and in its pear-shaped orange-red fruit, which drops in early September. It is also probable that _C. Arnoldiana_, Sargent, new species, has been collected in Massachusetts as _C. mollis_. It differs from _C. submollis_ "in its broader, darker green, more villose leaves which are usually rounded, not cuneate at the base, in its smaller flowers, subglobose, not oblong or pear-shaped, crimson fruit with smaller spreading calyx lobes, borne on shorter peduncles and ripening two or three weeks earlier, and by its much more zigzag and more spiny branches, which make this tree particularly noticeable in winter, when it may readily be recognized from all other thorn trees."--C. S. Sargent in _Bot. Gaz._, XXXI, 223, 1901. DRUPACEÆ. PLUM FAMILY. Trees or shrubs; bark exuding gum; bark, leaves, and especially seeds of several species abounding in prussic acid; leaves simple, alternate, mostly serrate; stipules small, soon falling; leafstalk often with one to several glands; flowers in umbels, racemes, or solitary, regular; calyx tube free from the ovary, 5-lobed; petals 5, inserted on the calyx; stamens indefinite, distinct, inserted with the petals; pistil 1, ovary with 1 carpel, 1-seeded; fruit a more or less fleshy drupe. =Prunus nigra, Ait.= _Prunus Americana_, var. _nigra, Waugh._ WILD PLUM. RED PLUM. HORSE PLUM. CANADA PLUM. =Habitat and Range.=--Native along streams and in thickets, often spontaneous around dwellings and along fences. From Newfoundland through the valley of the St. Lawrence to Lake Manitoba. Maine,--abundant in the northern sections and common throughout; New Hampshire and Vermont,--frequent, especially in the northern sections; Massachusetts,--occasional; Rhode Island and Connecticut,--not reported. Rare south of New England; west to Wisconsin. =Habit.=--A shrub or small tree, 20-25 feet high; trunk 5-8 inches in diameter; branches stout, ascending, somewhat angular, with short, rigid branchlets, forming a stiff, narrow head. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk grayish-brown, smooth in young trees, in old trees separating into large plates; smaller branches dark brown, season's shoots green. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds small, ovate, acute, dark brown. Leaves 3-5 inches long, light green on the upper side, paler beneath, pubescent when young; outline ovate-obovate or orbicular, crenulate-serrate; teeth not bristle-tipped; apex abruptly acuminate; base wedge-shaped, rounded, somewhat heart-shaped, or narrowing to a short petiole more or less red-glandular near the blade; stipules usually linear, ciliate, soon falling. =Inflorescence.=--Appearing in May before the leaves, in lateral, 2-3-flowered, slender-stemmed umbels; flowers about an inch broad, white when expanding, turning to pink; calyx 5-lobed, glandular; petals 5, obovate-oblong, contracting to a claw; stamens numerous; style 1, stigma 1. =Fruit.=--A drupe, oblong-oval, 1-1-1/2 inches long, orange or orange-red, skin tough, flesh adherent to the flat stone and pleasant to the taste. The fruit toward the southern limit of the species is often abortive, or develops through the growth of a fungus into monstrous forms. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England, and will grow, when not shaded, in almost any dry or moist soil. It has a tendency to sucker freely, forming low, broad thickets, especially attractive from their early spring flowers and handsome autumn leaves. [Illustration: PLATE LXI.--Prunus nigra.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Flower with petals removed. 4. Petal. 5. Fruiting branch. 6. Stone. =Prunus Americana, Marsh.= A rare plant in New England, scarcely attaining tree-form. The most northern station yet reported is along the slopes of Graylock, Massachusetts, where a few scattered shrubs were discovered in 1900 (J. R. Churchill). In Connecticut it seems to be native in the vicinity of Southington, shrubs, and small trees 10-15 feet high (C. H. Bissell _in lit._, 1900); New Milford and Munroe, small trees (C. K. Averill). Distinguished from _P. nigra_ by its sharply toothed leaves, smaller blossoms (the petals of which do not turn pink), and by its globose fruit. [Illustration: PLATE LXII.--Prunus Americana.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Flower with part of perianth and stamens removed. 4. Petal. 5. Flowering branch. 6. Stone. =Prunus Pennsylvanica, L. f.= RED CHERRY. PIN CHERRY. PIGEON CHERRY. BIRD CHERRY. =Habitat and Range.=--Roadsides, clearings, burnt lands, hill slopes, occasional in rather low grounds. From Labrador to the Rocky mountains, through British Columbia to the Coast Range. Throughout New England; very common in the northern portions, as high up as 4500 feet upon Katahdin, less common southward and near the seacoast. South to North Carolina; west to Minnesota and Missouri. =Habit=.--A slender tree, seldom more than 30 feet high; trunk 8-10 inches in diameter, erect; branches at an angle of 45° or less; head rather open, roundish or oblong, characterized in spring by clusters of long-stemmed white flowers, and in autumn by a profusion of small red fruit. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk in fully grown trees dark brownish-red, conspicuously marked with coarse horizontal lines; the outer layer peeling off in fine scales, disclosing a brighter red layer beneath; in young trees very smooth and shining throughout; lines very conspicuous in the larger branches; branchlets brownish-red with small horizontal lines; spray and season's shoots polished red, with minute orange dots. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds small, broad-conical, acute. Leaves numerous, 3-4 inches long, 1-2 inches wide, light green and shining on both sides, ovate-lanceolate, oval or oblong-lanceolate, finely serrate; teeth sharp-pointed, sometimes incurved; apex acuminate; base obtuse or roundish; midrib depressed above; leafstalks short, channeled; stipules falling early. =Inflorescence.=--June. Appearing with the leaves, in lateral clusters, the flowers on long, slender, somewhat branching stems; calyx 5-cleft; segments thin, reflexed; petals 5, white, obovate, short-clawed; stamens numerous; pistil 1; style 1. =Fruit.=--About the size of a pea, round, light red, thin-meated and sour: stone oval or ovate. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; prefers a light gravelly loam, but grows in poor soils and exposed situations; habit so uncertain and tendency to sprout so decided that it is not wise to use it in ornamental plantations; sometimes very useful in sterile land. A variety with transparent yellowish fruit is occasionally met with, but is not yet in cultivation. [Illustration: PLATE LXIII.--Prunus Pennsylvanica.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Flower with part of perianth and stamens removed. 4. Petal. 5. Fruiting branch. =Prunus Virginiana, L.= CHOKECHERRY. =Habitat and Range.=--In varying soils; along river banks, on dry plains, in woods, common along walls, often thickets. From Newfoundland across the continent, as far north on the Mackenzie river as 62°. Common throughout New England; at an altitude of 4500 feet upon Mt. Katahdin. South to Georgia; west to Minnesota and Texas. =Habit.=--Usually a shrub a few feet high, but occasionally a tree 15-25 feet in height, with a trunk diameter of 5-6 inches; head, in open places, spreading, somewhat symmetrical, with dull foliage, but very attractive in flower and fruit, the latter variable in color and quantity. =Bark.=--Trunk and branches dull gray, darker on older trees, rough with raised buff-orange spots; branchlets dull grayish or reddish brown; season's shoots lighter, minutely dotted. Bitter to the taste. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds 1-1-1/4 inches long, conical, sharp-pointed, brown, slightly divergent from the stem. Leaves 2-5 inches long and two-thirds as wide, dull green on the upper side, lighter beneath, obovate or oblong, thin, finely, sharply, and often doubly serrate; apex abruptly pointed; base roundish, obtuse or slightly heart-shaped; leafstalk round, grooved, with two or more glands near base of leaf; stipules long, narrow, ciliate, falling when the leaves expand. =Inflorescence.=--Appearing in May, a week earlier than _P. serotina_, terminating lateral, leafy shoots of the season in numerous handsome, erect or spreading racemes, 2-4 inches long; flowers short-stemmed, about 1/3 inch across; petals white, roundish; edge often eroded; calyx 5-cleft with thin reflexed lobes, soon falling; stamens numerous; pistil 1; style 1. =Fruit.=--In drooping racemes; varying from yellow to nearly black, commonly bright red, edible, but more or less astringent; stem somewhat persistent after the cherry falls. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; grows in almost any soil, but prefers a deep, rich, moist loam. Vigorous young trees are attractive, but in New England they soon begin to show dead branches, and are so seriously affected by insects and fungous diseases that it is not wise to use them in ornamental plantations, or to permit them to remain on the roadside. [Illustration: PLATE LXIV.--Prunus Virginia.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Flower with part of perianth and stamens removed. 4. A petal. 5. Fruiting branch. =Prunus serotina, Ehrh.= RUM CHERRY. BLACK CHERRY. =Habitat and Range.=--In all sorts of soils and exposures; open places and rich woods. Nova Scotia to Lake Superior. Maine,--not reported north of Oldtown (Penobscot county); frequent throughout the other New England states. South to Florida; west to North Dakota, Kansas, and Texas, extending through Mexico, along the Pacific coast of Central America to Peru. =Habit.=--Usually a medium-sized tree, 30-50 feet in height, with a trunk diameter varying from 8 or 10 inches to 2 feet; attaining much greater dimensions in the middle and southern states; branches few, large, often tortuous, subdividing irregularly; head open, widest near the base, rather ungraceful when naked, but very attractive when clothed with bright green, polished foliage, profusely decked with white flowers, or laden with drooping racemes of handsome black fruit. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk deep reddish-brown and smooth in young trees, in old trees very rough, separating into close, thick, irregular, blackish scales; branches dark reddish-brown, marked with small oblong, raised dots. Bitter to the taste. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds ovate, 1/8 inch long, covered with imbricated brown scales. Leaves 2-5 inches long, about half as wide, dark green above and glossy when full grown, paler below, turning in autumn to orange, deep red, or pale yellow, firm, smooth on both sides, elliptical, oblong, or lanceolate-oblong; finely serrate with short, incurved teeth; apex sharp; base acute or roundish; meshes of veins minute; petioles 1/2 inch long, with usually two or more glands near the base of the leaf; stipules glandular-edged, falling as the leaf expands. =Inflorescence.=--May to June. From new leafy shoots, in simple, loose racemes, 4-5 inches long; flowers small; calyx with 5 short teeth separated by shallow sinuses, persistent after the cherry falls; petals 5, spreading, white, obovate; stamens numerous; pistil one; style single. =Fruit.=--September. Somewhat flattened vertically, 1/4 inch in diameter; purplish-black, edible, slightly bitter. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy in New England; in rich soil in open situations young trees grow very rapidly, old trees rather slowly. Seldom used for ornamental purposes, but serves well as a nurse tree for forest plantations, or where quick results and a luxurious foliage effect is desired, on inland exposures or near the seacoast. The branches are very liable to disfigurement by the black-knot and the foliage by the tent-caterpillar. Large plants are seldom for sale, but seedlings may be obtained in large quantities and at low prices. A weeping horticultural form is occasionally offered. Propagated from seed. [Illustration: PLATE LXV.--Prunus serotina.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Flower with part of perianth and stamens removed. 4. A petal. 5. Fruiting branch. 6. Mature leaf. =Prunus Avium, L.= MAZARD CHERRY. Introduced from England; occasionally spontaneous along fences and the borders of woodlands. As an escape, 25-50 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-2 feet; head oblong or ovate; branches mostly ascending. Leaves ovate to obovate, more or less pubescent beneath, serrate, 3-5 inches long; leafstalk about 1/2 inch long, often glandular near base of leaf; inflorescence in umbels; flowers white, expanding with the leaves; fruit dark red, sweet, mostly inferior or blighted. LEGUMINOSÆ. PULSE FAMILY. =Gleditsia triacanthos, L.= HONEY LOCUST. THREE-THORNED ACACIA. =Habitat and Range.=--In its native habitat growing in a variety of soils; rich woods, mountain sides, sterile plains. Southern Ontario. Maine,--young trees in the southern sections said to have been produced from self-sown seed (M. L. Fernald); New Hampshire and Vermont,--introduced; Massachusetts,--occasional; Rhode Island,--introduced and fully at home (J. F. Collins); Connecticut,--not reported. Probably sparingly naturalized in many other places in New England. Spreading by seed southward; indigenous along the western slopes of the Alleghanies in Pennsylvania; south to Georgia and Alabama; west from western New York through southern Ontario (Canada) and Michigan to Nebraska, Kansas, Indian territory, and Texas. =Habit.=--A medium-sized tree, reaching a height of 40-60 feet and a trunk diameter of 1-3 feet; becoming a tree of the first magnitude in the river bottoms of Ohio, Kentucky, and Tennessee; trunk dark and straight, the upper branches going off at an acute angle, the lower often horizontal, both trunk and larger branches armed above the axils with stout, sharp-pointed, simple, three-pronged or numerously branched thorns, sometimes clustered in forbidding tangles a foot or two in length; head wide-spreading, very open, rounded or flattish, with extremely delicate, fern-like foliage lying in graceful planes or masses; pods flat and pendent, conspicuous in autumn. =Bark.=--Trunk and larger branches a sombre iron gray, deepening on old trees almost to black; yellowish-brown in second year's growth; season's shoots green, marked with short buff, longitudinal lines; branchlets rough-dotted. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Winter buds minute, in clusters of three or four, the upper the largest. Leaves compound, once to twice pinnate, both forms often in the same leaf, alternate, 6 inches to 1 foot long, rachis abruptly enlarged at base and covering the winter buds: leaflets 18-28, 3/4-1-1/4 inches long, about one-third as wide, yellowish-green when unfolding, turning to dark green above, slightly lighter beneath, yellow in autumn; outline lanceolate, oblong to oval, obscurely crenulate-serrate; apex obtuse, scarcely mucronate; base mostly rounded; leafstalks and leaves downy, especially when young. =Inflorescence.=--Early June. From lateral or terminal buds on the old wood, in slender, pendent, greenish racemes scarcely distinguishable among the young leaves; sterile and fertile flowers on different trees or on the same tree and even in the same cluster; calyx somewhat campanulate, 3-5-cleft; petals 3-5, somewhat wider than the sepals, and inserted with the 3-10 stamens on the calyx: pistil in sterile flowers abortive or wanting, conspicuous in the fertile flowers. Parts of the flower more or less pubescent, arachnoid-pubescent within, near the base. =Fruit.=--Pods dull red, 1-1-1/2 feet long, flat, pendent, and often twisted, containing several flat brown seeds. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England, grows in any well-drained soil, but prefers a deep, rich loam; transplants readily, grows rapidly, is long-lived, free from disease, and makes a picturesque object in ornamental plantations, but is objectionable in public places and highly finished grounds on account of the stiff spines, which are a source of danger to pedestrians, and also on account of the long strap-shaped pods, which litter the ground. There is a thornless form which is better adapted than the type for ornamental purposes. The type is sometimes offered in nurseries at a low price by the quantity. Propagated from seed. [Illustration: PLATE LXVI.--Gleditsia triacanthos.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Winter buds with thorns. 3. Flowering branch. 4. Sterile flower, enlarged. 5. Flowering branch, flowers mostly fertile. 6. Fertile flower, enlarged. 7. Fruiting branch. 8. Leaf partially twice pinnate. =Robinia Pseudacacia, L.= LOCUST. =Habitat and Range.=--In its native habitat growing upon mountain slopes, along the borders of forests, in rich soils. Naturalized from Nova Scotia to Ontario. Maine,--thoroughly at home, forming wooded banks along streams; New Hampshire,--abundant enough to be reckoned among the valuable timber trees; Vermont,--escaped from cultivation in many places; Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut,--common in patches and thickets and along the roadsides and fences. Native from southern Pennsylvania along the mountains to Georgia; west to Iowa and southward. =Habit.=--Mostly a small tree, 20-35 feet high, under favorable conditions reaching a height of 50-75 feet; trunk diameter 8 inches to 2 1/2 feet; lower branches thrown out horizontally or at a broad angle, forming a few-branched, spreading top, clothed with a tender green, delicate, tremulous foliage, and distinguished in early June by loose, pendulous clusters of white fragrant flowers. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk dark, rough and seamy even in young trees, and armed with stout prickles which disappear as the tree matures; in old trees coarsely, deeply, and firmly ridged, not flaky; larger branches a dull brown, rough; branchlets grayish-brown, armed with prickles; season's shoots green, more or less rough-dotted, thin, and often striped. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Winter buds minute, partially sunken within the leaf-scar. Leaves pinnately compound, alternate; petiole swollen at the base, covering bud of the next season; often with spines in the place of stipules; leaflets 7-21, opposite or scattered, 3/4-1-1/4 inches long, about half as wide, light green; outline ovate or oval-oblong; apex round or obtuse, tipped with a minute point; base truncate, rounded, obtuse or acutish; distinctly short-stalked; stipellate at first. =Inflorescence.=--Late May or early June. Showy and abundant, in loose, pendent, axillary racemes; calyx short, bell-shaped, 5-cleft, the two upper segments mostly coherent; corolla shaped like a pea blossom, the upper petal large, side petals obtuse and separate; style and stigma simple. =Fruit.=--A smooth, dark brown, flat pod, about 3 inches long, containing several small brown flattish seeds, remaining on the tree throughout the winter. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England in all dry, sunny situations, of rapid growth, spreading by underground stems, ordinarily short-lived and subject to serious injury by the attacks of borers. Occasionally procurable in large quantities at a low rate. In Europe there are many horticultural forms, a few of which are occasionally offered in American nurseries. The type is propagated from seed, the forms by grafting. [Illustration: PLATE LXVII.--Robinia Pseudacacia.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Flower with corolla removed. 4. Fruiting branch. =Robinia viscosa, Vent.= CLAMMY LOCUST. This tree appears to be sparingly established in southern Canada and at many points throughout New England. Common in cultivation and occasionally established through the middle states; native from Virginia along the mountains of North Carolina, South Carolina, and Georgia. Easily distinguished from _R. Pseudacacia_ by its smaller size, glandular, viscid branchlets, later period of blossoming, and by its more compact, usually upright, scarcely fragrant, rose-colored flower-clusters. SIMARUBACEÆ. AILANTHUS FAMILY. =Ailanthus glandulosus, Desf.= AILANTHUS. TREE-OF-HEAVEN. CHINESE SUMAC. Sparsely and locally naturalized in southern Ontario, New England, and southward. A native of China; first introduced into the United States on an extensive scale in 1820 at Flushing, Long Island; afterwards disseminated by nursery plants and by seed distributed from the Agricultural Department at Washington. Its rapid growth, ability to withstand considerable variations in temperature, and its dark luxuriant foliage made it a great favorite for shade and ornament. It was planted extensively in Philadelphia and New York, and generally throughout the eastern sections of the country. When these trees began to fill the ground with suckers and the vile-scented sterile flowers poisoned the balmy air of June and the water in the cisterns, occasioning many distressing cases of nausea, a reaction set in and hundreds of trees were cut down. The female trees, against the blossoms of which no such objection lay, were allowed to grow, and have often attained a height of 50-75 feet, with a trunk diameter of 3-5 feet. The fruit is very beautiful, consisting of profuse clusters of delicate pinkish or greenish keys. The tree is easily distinguished by its ill-scented compound leaves, often 2-3 feet long, by the numerous leaflets, sometimes exceeding 40, each ovate, or ovate-lanceolate, with one or two teeth near the base, by its vigorous growth from suckers, and in winter by the coarse, blunt shoots and conspicuous, heart-shaped leaf-scars. ANACARDIACEÆ. SUMAC FAMILY. =Rhus typhina, L.= _Rhus hirta, Sudw._ STAGHORN SUMAC. =Habitat and Range.=--In widely varying soils and localities; river banks, rocky slopes to an altitude of 2000 feet, cellar-holes and waste places generally, often forming copses. From Nova Scotia to Lake Huron. Common throughout New England. South to Georgia; west to Minnesota and Missouri. =Habit.=--A shrub, or small tree, rarely exceeding 25 feet in height; trunk 8-10 inches in diameter; branches straggling, thickish, mostly crooked when old; branchlets forked, straight, often killed at the tips several inches by the frost; head very open, irregular, characterized by its velvety shoots, ample, elegant foliage, turning in early autumn to rich yellows and reds, and by its beautiful, soft-looking crimson cones. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk light brown, mottled with gray, becoming dark brownish-gray and more or less rough-scaly in old trees; the season's shoots densely covered with velvety hairs, like the young horns of deer (giving rise to the common name), the pubescence disappearing after two or three years; the extremities dotted with minute orange spots which enlarge laterally in successive seasons, giving a roughish feeling to the branches. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds roundish, obtuse, densely covered with tawny wool, sunk within a large leaf-scar. Leaves pinnately compound, 1-2 feet long; stalk hairy, reddish above, enlarged at base covering the axillary bud; leaflets 11-31, mostly in opposite pairs, the middle pair longest, nearly sessile except the odd one, 2-4 inches long; dark green above, light and often downy beneath; outline narrow to broad-oblong or broad-lanceolate, usually serrate, rarely laciniate, long-pointed, slightly heart-shaped or rounded at base; stipules none. =Inflorescence.=--June to July. Flowers in dense terminal, thyrsoid panicles, often a foot in length and 5-6 inches wide; sterile and fertile mostly on separate trees, but sterile, fertile, and perfect occasionally on the same tree; calyx small, the 5 hairy, ovate-lanceolate sepals united at the base and, in sterile flowers, about half the length of the usually recurved petals; stamens 5, somewhat exserted; ovary abortive, smooth; in the fertile flowers the sepals are nearly as long as the upright petals; stamens short; ovary pubescent, 1-celled, with 3 short styles and 3 spreading stigmas. =Fruit.=--In compound terminal panicles, 6-10 or 12 inches long, made up of small, dryish, smooth-stoned drupes densely covered with acid, crimson hairs, persistent till spring. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England. Grows in any well-drained soil, but prefers a deep, rich loam. The vigorous growth, bold, handsome foliage, and freedom from disease make it desirable for landscape plantations. It spreads rapidly from suckers, a single plant becoming in a few years the center of a broad-spreading group. Seldom obtainable in nurseries, but collected plants transplant easily. The cut-leaved form is cultivated in nurseries for the sake of its exceedingly graceful and delicate foliage. [Illustration: PLATE LXVIII.--Rhus typhina.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Branch with staminate flowers. 3. Staminate flower. 4. Branch with pistillate flowers. 5. Pistillate flower. 6. Fruit cluster. 7. Fruit. =Rhus Vernix, L.= _Rhus venenata, DC._ DOGWOOD. POISON SUMAC. POISON ELDER. =Habitat and Range.=--Low grounds and swamps; occasional on the moist slopes of hills. Infrequent in Ontario. Maine,--local and apparently restricted to the southwestern sections; as far north as Chesterville (Franklin county); Vermont,--infrequent; common throughout the other New England states, especially near the seacoast. South to northern Florida; west to Minnesota and Louisiana. =Habit.=--- A handsome shrub or small tree, 5-20 feet high; trunk sometimes 8-10 inches in diameter; broad-topped in the open along the edge of swamps; conspicuous in autumn by its richly colored foliage and diffusely panicled, pale, yellowish-white fruit. =Bark.=--Trunk and branches mottled gray, roughish with round spots; branchlets light brown; season's shoots reddish at first, turning later to gray, thickly beset with rough yellowish warts; leaf-scars prominent, triangular. =Buds and Leaves.=--Buds small, roundish. Leaves pinnately compound, alternate; rachis abruptly widened at base; leaflets 5-13, opposite, short-stalked except the odd one, 2-3 inches long, 1-2 inches wide, smooth, light green and mostly glossy when young, becoming dark green and often dull, obovate to oval or ovate; entire, often wavy-margined; apex acute, acuminate, or obtuse; base mostly obtuse or rounded; veins prominent, often red; stipules none. =Inflorescence.=--Early in July. Near the tips of the branches, in loose, axillary clusters of small greenish flowers; sterile, fertile, and perfect flowers on the same tree, or occasionally sterile and fertile on separate trees; calyx deeply 5-parted, divisions ovate, acute; petals 5, oblong; stamens 5, exserted in the sterile flowers; ovary globose, styles 3. =Fruit.=--Drupes about as large as peas, smooth, more or less glossy, whitish; stone ridged; strongly resembling the fruit of _R. Toxicodendron_ (poison ivy). =Horticultural Value.=--No large shrub or small tree, so attractive as this, does so well in wet ground; it grows also in any good soil, but it is seldom advisable to use it, on account of its noxious qualities. It can be obtained only from collectors of native plants. =Note.=--This sumac has the reputation of being the most poisonous of New England plants. The treacherous beauty of its autumn leaves is a source of grief to collectors. Many are seriously affected, without actual contact, by the exhalation of vapor from the leaves, by grains of pollen floating in the air, and even by the smoke of the burning wood. It is easily distinguished from the other sumacs. The leaflets are not toothed like those of _R. typhina_ (staghorn sumac) and _R. glabra_ (smooth sumac); it is not pubescent like _R. typhina_ and _R. copallina_ (dwarf sumac); the rachis of the compound leaf is not wing-margined as in _R. copallina_; the panicles of flower and fruit are not upright and compact, but drooping and spreading; the fruit is not red-dotted with dense crimson hairs, but is smooth and whitish. Unlike the other sumacs, it grows for the most part in lowlands and swamps. In the vicinity of Southington, southern Connecticut, _Rhus copallina_ is occasionally found with a trunk 5 or 6 inches in diameter (C. H. Bissell). [Illustration: PLATE LXIX.--Rhus Vernix.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Branch with sterile flowers. 3. Sterile flower. 4. Branch with fertile flowers. 5. Fertile flower. 6. Fruiting branch. AQUIFOLIACEÆ. HOLLY FAMILY. =Ilex opaca, Ait.= HOLLY. AMERICAN HOLLY. =Habitat and Range.=--Generally found in somewhat sheltered situations in sandy loam or in low, moist soil in the vicinity of water. Maine,--reported on the authority of Gray's _Manual_, sixth edition, in various botanical works, but no station is known; New Hampshire and Vermont,--no station reported; Massachusetts,--occasional from Quincy southward upon the mainland and the island of Naushon; rare in the peat swamps of Nantucket; Rhode Island,--common in South Kingston and Little Compton and sparingly found upon Prudence and Conanicut islands in Narragansett bay; Connecticut,--mostly restricted to the southwestern sections. Southward to Florida; westward to Missouri and the bottom-lands of eastern Texas. =Habit.=--A shrub or small tree, exceptionally reaching a height of 30 feet, with a trunk diameter of 15-18 inches, but attaining larger proportions south and west; head conical or dome-shaped, compact; branches irregular, mostly horizontal, clothed with a spiny evergreen foliage. The fertile trees are readily distinguished through late fall and early winter by the conspicuous red berries. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk thick, smooth on young trees, roughish, dotted on old, of a nearly uniform ash-gray on trunk and branches; the young shoots more or less downy, bright greenish-yellow, becoming smooth and grayish at the end of the season. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds short, roundish, generally obtuse, scales minutely ciliate. Leaves evergreen, simple, alternate, 2-4 inches long, 1-1/2-3 inches wide, flat when compared with those of the European holly, thickish, smooth on both sides, yellowish-green, scarcely glossy on the upper surface, paler beneath, elliptical, oval or oval-oblong; apex acutish, spine-tipped; base acutish or obtuse; margin wavy and concave between the large spiny teeth, sometimes with one or two teeth or entire; midrib prominent beneath; leafstalks short, grooved; stipules minute, awl-shaped, becoming blackish, persistent. =Inflorescence.=--Flowers in June along the base of the season's shoots; sterile and fertile flowers usually on separate trees,--the sterile in loose, few-flowered clusters, the fertile mostly solitary; peduncles and pedicels slender, bracted midway; calyx persistent, with 4 pointed, ciliate teeth; corolla white, monopetalous, with 4 roundish, oblong divisions; stamens 4, alternating with and shorter than the lobes of the corolla in the fertile flowers, but longer in the sterile; ovary green, nearly cylindrical, surmounted by the sessile, 4-lobed stigma. Parts of the flower sometimes in fives or sixes. =Fruit.=--A dull red, berry-like drupe, with 4 nutlets, ribbed or grooved on the convex back, ripening late, and persistent into winter. A yellow-fruited form reported at New Bedford, Mass. (_Rhodora_, III, 58). =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy in southern New England; though preferring moist, gravelly loam, it does fairly well in dry soil; of slow growth; useful to form low plantation in shade and to enrich the undergrowth of woods; occasionally sold by collectors but rare in nurseries; nursery plants must be frequently transplanted to be moved successfully; only a small percentage of ordinary collected plants live. The seed seldom germinates in less than two years. =Notes.=--The cultivated European holly, which the American tree closely resembles, may be distinguished by its deeper green, glossier, and more wave-margined leaves and the deeper red of its berries. "There are several fine specimens of the _Ilex opaca_ on the farm of Col. Minot Thayer in Braintree, Mass., which are about a foot in diameter a yard above the ground and 25 feet in height. They have maintained their present dimensions for more than fifty years."--D. T. Browne's _Trees of North America_, published in 1846. This estate is now owned by Mr. Thomas A. Watson. Several of these trees have been cut down, but one of them is still standing and of substantially the dimensions given above. It must have reached the limit of growth a hundred years ago and now shows very evident signs of decrepitude. This may be due, however, to the loss of a square foot or more of bark from the trunk. [Illustration: PLATE LXX.--Ilex opaca.] 1. Branch with staminate flowers. 2. Staminate flower. 3. Pistillate flower. 4. Fruiting branch. ACERACEÆ. MAPLE FAMILY. =Acer rubrum, L.= RED MAPLE. SWAMP MAPLE. SOFT MAPLE. WHITE MAPLE. =Habitat and Range.=--Borders of streams, low lands, wet forests, swamps, rocky hillsides. Nova Scotia to the Lake of the Woods. Common throughout New England from the sea to an altitude of 3000 feet on Katahdin. South to southern Florida; west to Dakota, Nebraska, and Texas. =Habit.=--A medium-sized tree, 40-50 feet high, rising occasionally in swamps to a height of 60-75 feet; trunk 2-4 feet in diameter, throwing out limbs at varying angles a few feet from the ground; branches and branchlets slender, forming a bushy spray, the tips having a slightly upward tendency; head compact, in young trees usually rounded and symmetrical, widest just above the point of furcation. In the first warm days of spring there shimmers amid the naked branches a faint glow of red, which at length becomes embodied in the abundant scarlet, crimson, or yellow of the long flowering stems; succeeded later by the brilliant fruit, which is outlined against the sober green of the foliage till it pales and falls in June. The colors of the autumn leaves vie in splendor with those of the sugar maple. =Bark.=--In young trees smooth and light gray, becoming very dark and ridgy in large trunks, the surface separating into scales, and in very old trees hanging in long flakes; young shoots often bright red in autumn, conspicuously marked with oblong white spots. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds aggregated at or near the ends of the preceding year's shoots, about 1/8 inch long; protected by dark reddish scales; inner scales lengthening with the growth of the shoot. Leaves simple, opposite, 3-4 inches long, green and smooth above, lighter and more or less pubescent beneath, especially along the veins; turning crimson or scarlet in early autumn; ovate, 3-5-lobed, the middle lobe generally the longest, the lower pair (when 5 lobes are present) the smallest; unequally sharp-toothed, with broad, acute sinuses; apex acute; base heart-shaped, truncate, or obtuse; leafstalk 1-3 inches long. The leaves of the red maple vary greatly in size, outline, lobing, and shape of base. =Inflorescence.=--April 1-15. Appearing before the leaves in close clusters encircling the shoots of the previous year, varying in color from dull red or pale yellow to scarlet; the sterile and fertile flowers mostly in separate clusters, sometimes on the same tree, but more frequently on different trees; calyx lobes oblong and obtuse; petals linear-oblong; pedicels short; stamens 5-8, much longer than the petals in the sterile and about the same length in the fertile flowers; the smooth ovary surmounted by a style separating into two much-projecting stigmatic lobes. =Fruit.=--Fruit ripe in June, hanging on long stems, varying from brown to crimson; keys about an inch in length, at first convergent, at maturity more or less divergent. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; found in a wider range of soils than any other species of the genus, but seeming to prefer a gravelly or peaty loam in positions where its roots can reach a constant supply of moisture. It is more variable than any other of the native maples and consequently is not so good a tree for streets, where a symmetrical outline and uniform habit are required. It is transplanted readily, but recovers its vigor more slowly than does the sugar or silver maple and is usually of slower growth. Its variable habit makes it an exceedingly interesting tree in the landscape. [Illustration: PLATE LXXI.--Acer rubrum.] 1. Leaf-buds. 2. Flower-buds. 3. Branch with sterile flowers. 4. Sterile flower. 5. Branch with sterile and fertile flowers. 6. Fertile flower. 7. Fruiting branch. 8. Variant leaves. =Acer saccharinum, L.= _Acer dasycarpum, Ehrh._ SILVER MAPLE. SOFT MAPLE. WHITE MAPLE. RIVER MAPLE. =Habitat and Range.=--Along streams, in rich intervale lands, and in moist, deep-soiled forests, but not in swamps. Infrequent from New Brunswick to Ottawa, abundant from Ottawa throughout Ontario. Occasional throughout the New England states; most common and best developed upon the banks of rivers and lakes at low altitudes. South to the Gulf states; west to Dakota, Nebraska, Kansas, and Indian territory; attaining its maximum size in the basins of the Ohio and its tributaries; rare towards the seacoast throughout the whole range. =Habit.=--A handsome tree, 50-60 feet in height; trunk 2-5 feet in diameter, separating a few feet from the ground into several large, slightly diverging branches. These, naked for some distance, repeatedly subdivide at wider angles, forming a very wide head, much broader near the top. The ultimate branches are long and slender, often forming on the lower limbs a pendulous fringe sometimes reaching to the ground. Distinguished in winter by its characteristic graceful outlines, and by its flower-buds conspicuously scattered along the tips of the branchlets; in summer by the silvery-white under-surface of its deeply cut leaves. It is among the first of the New England trees to blossom, preceding the red maple by one to three weeks. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk smooth and gray in young trees, becoming with age rougher and darker, more or less ridged, separating into thin, loose scales; young shoots chestnut-colored in autumn, smooth, polished, profusely marked with light dots. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Flower-buds clustered near the ends of the branchlets, conspicuous in winter; scales imbricated, convex, polished, reddish, with ciliate margins; leaf-buds more slender, about 1/8 inch long, with similar scales, the inner lengthening, falling as the leaf expands. Leaves simple, opposite, 3-5 inches long, of varying width, light green above, silvery-white beneath, turning yellow in autumn; lobes 3, or more usually 5, deeply cut, sharp-toothed, sharp-pointed, more or less sublobed; sinuses deep, narrow, with concave sides; base sub-heart-shaped or truncate; stems long. =Inflorescence.=--March to April. Much preceding the leaves; from short branchlets of the previous year, in simple, crowded umbels; flowers rarely perfect, the sterile and fertile sometimes on the same tree and sometimes on different trees, generally in separate clusters, yellowish-green or sometimes pinkish; calyx 5-notched, wholly included in bud-scales; petals none; sterile flowers long, stamens 3-7 much exserted, filaments slender, ovary abortive or none: fertile flowers broad, stamens about the length of calyx-tube, ovary woolly, with two styles scarcely united at the base. =Fruit.=--Fruit ripens in June, earliest of the New England maples. Keys large, woolly when young, at length smooth, widely divergent, scythe-shaped or straight, yellowish-green, one key often aborted. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy in cultivation throughout New England. The grace of its branches, the beauty of its foliage, and its rapid growth make it a favorite ornamental tree. It attains its finest development when planted by the margin of pond or stream where its roots can reach water, but it grows well in any good soil. Easily transplanted, and more readily obtainable at a low price than any other tree in general use for street or ornamental purposes. The branches are easily broken by wind and ice, and the roots fill the ground for a long distance and exhaust its fertility. [Illustration: PLATE LXXII.--Acer saccharinum.] 1. Leaf-buds. 2. Flower-buds. 3. Branch with sterile flowers. 4. Branch with fertile flowers. 5. Branch with sterile and fertile flowers. 6. Sterile flower. 7. Fertile flower. 8. Perfect flower. 9. Fruiting branch. =Acer Saccharum, Marsh.= _Acer saccharinum, Wang._ _Acer barbatum, Michx._ ROCK MAPLE. SUGAR MAPLE. HARD MAPLE. SUGAR TREE. =Habitat and Range.=--Rich woods and cool, rocky slopes. Nova Scotia and Newfoundland, westward to Lake of the Woods. New England,--abundant, distributed throughout the woods, often forming in the northern portions extensive upland forests; attaining great size in the mountainous portions of New Hampshire and Vermont, and in the Connecticut river valley; less frequent toward the seacoast. South to the Gulf states; west to Minnesota, Nebraska, Kansas, and Texas. =Habit.=--A noble tree, 50-90 feet in height; trunk 2-5 feet in diameter, stout, erect, throwing out its primary branches at acute angles; secondary branches straight, slender, nearly horizontal or declining at the base, leaving the stem higher up at sharper and sharper angles, repeatedly subdividing, forming a dense and rather stiff spray of nearly uniform length; head symmetrical, varying greatly in shape; in young trees often narrowly cylindrical, becoming pyramidal or broadly egg-shaped with age; clothed with dense masses of foliage, purple-tinged in spring, light green in summer, and gorgeous beyond all other trees of the forest, with the possible exception of the red maple, in its autumnal oranges, yellows, and reds. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk and principal branches gray, very smooth, close and firm in young trees, in old trees becoming deeply furrowed, often cleaving up at one edge in long, thick, irregular plates; season's shoots at length of a shining reddish-brown, smooth, numerously pale-dotted, turning gray the third year. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds sharp-pointed, reddish-brown, minutely pubescent, terminal 1/4 inch long, lateral 1/8 inch, appressed, the inner scales lengthening with the growth of the shoot. Leaves simple, opposite, 3-5 inches long, with a somewhat greater breadth, purplish and more or less pubescent when opening, at maturity dark green above, paler, with or without pubescence beneath, changing to brilliant reds and yellows in autumn; lobes sometimes 3, usually 5, acuminate, sparingly sinuate-toothed, with shallow, rounded sinuses; base subcordate, truncate, or wedge-shaped; veins and veinlets conspicuous beneath; leafstalks long, slender. =Inflorescence.=--April 1-15. Appearing with the leaves in nearly sessile clusters, from terminal and lateral buds; flowers greenish-yellow, pendent on long thread-like, hairy stems; sterile and fertile on the same or on different trees, usually in separate, but not infrequently in the same cluster; the 5-lobed calyx cylindrical or bell-shaped, hairy; petals none; stamens 6-8, in sterile flowers much longer than the calyx, in fertile scarcely exserted; ovary smooth, abortive in sterile flowers, in fertile surmounted by a single style with two divergent, thread-like, stigmatic lobes. =Fruit.=--Keys usually an inch or more in length, glabrous, wings broad, mostly divergent, falling late in autumn. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England. Its long life, noble proportions, beautiful foliage, dense shade, moderately rapid growth, usual freedom from disease or insect disfigurement, and adaptability to almost any soil not saturated with water make it a favorite in cultivation; readily obtainable in nurseries, transplants easily, recovers its vigor quickly, and has a nearly uniform habit of growth. =Note.=--Not liable to be taken for any other native maple, but sometimes confounded with the cultivated Norway maple, _Acer platanoides_, from which it is easily distinguished by the milky juice which exudes from the broken petiole of the latter. The leaves of the Norway maple are thinner, bright green and glabrous beneath, and its keys diverge in a straight line. [Illustration: PLATE LXXIII.--Acer saccharum.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Sterile flower. 4. Fertile flower, part of perianth and stamens removed. 5. Fruiting branch. =Acer saccharum, Marsh., var. nigrum, Britton.= _Acer nigrum, Michx. Acer saccharinum,_ var. _nigrum, T. & G. Acer barbatum,_ var. _nigrum, Sarg._ BLACK MAPLE. =Habitat and Range.=--Low, damp ground on which, in New England at least, the sugar maple is rarely if ever seen, or upon moist, rocky slopes. Apparently a common tree from Ottawa westward throughout Ontario. The New England specimens, with the exception of those from the Champlain valley, appear to be dubious intermediates between the type and the variety. Maine,--the Rangeley lake region; New Hampshire,--occasional near the Connecticut river; Vermont,--frequent in the western part in the Champlain valley, occasional in all other sections, especially in the vicinity of the Connecticut; Massachusetts,--occasional in the Connecticut river valley and westward, doubtfully reported from eastern sections; Rhode Island,--doubtful, resting on the authority of Colonel Olney's list; Connecticut,--doubtfully reported. South along the Alleghanies to the Gulf states; west to the 95th meridian. The extreme forms of _nigrum_ show well-marked varietal differences; but there are few, if any, constant characters. Further research in the field is necessary to determine the status of these interesting plants. =Habit.=--The black maple is somewhat smaller than the sugar maple, the bark is darker and the foliage more sombre. It generally has a symmetrical outline, which it retains to old age. =Leaves.=--The fully grown leaves are often larger than those of the type, darker green above, edges sometimes drooping, width equal to or exceeding the length, 5-lobed, margin blunt-toothed, wavy-toothed, or entire, the two lower lobes small, often reduced to a curve in the outline, broad at the base, which is usually heart-shaped; texture firm; the lengthening scales of the opening leaves, the young shoots, the petioles, and the leaves themselves are covered with a downy to a densely woolly pubescence. As the parts mature, the woolliness usually disappears, except along the midrib and principal veins, which become almost glabrous. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England, preferring a moist, fertile, gravelly loam; young trees are rather more vigorous than those of the sugar maple, and easily transplanted. Difficult to secure, for it is seldom offered for sale or recognized by nurseries, although occasionally found mixed with the sugar maple in nursery rows. [Illustration: PLATE LXXIV.--Acer Saccharum, var. nigrum.] 1. Fruiting branch. =Acer spicatum, Lam.= MOUNTAIN MAPLE. =Habitat and Range.=--In damp forests, rocky highland woods, along the sides of mountain brooks at altitudes of 500-1000 feet. From Nova Scotia and Newfoundland to Saskatchewan. Maine,--common, especially northward in the forests; New Hampshire and Vermont,--common; Massachusetts,--rather common in western and central sections, occasional eastward; Rhode Island,--occasional northward; Connecticut,--occasional in northern and central sections; reported as far south as North Branford (New Haven county). Along mountain ranges to Georgia. =Habit.=--Mostly a shrub, but occasionally attaining a height of 25 feet, with a diameter, near the ground, of 6-8 inches; characterized by a short, straight trunk and slender branches; bright green foliage turning a rich red in autumn, and long-stemmed, erect racemes of delicate flowers, drooping at length beneath the weight of the maturing keys. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk thin, smoothish, grayish-brown; primary branches gray; branchlets reddish-brown streaked with green, retaining in the second year traces of pubescence; season's shoots yellowish-green, reddish on the upper side when exposed to the sun, minutely pubescent. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds small, flattish, acute, slightly divergent from the stem. Leaves simple, opposite, 4-5 inches long, two-thirds as wide, pubescent on both sides when unfolding, at length glabrous on the upper surface, 3-lobed above the center, often with two small additional lobes at the base, coarsely or finely serrate, lobes acuminate; base more or less heart-shaped; veining 3-5-nerved, prominent, especially on the lower side, furrowed above; leafstalks long, enlarged at the base. =Inflorescence.=--June. Appearing after the expansion of the leaves, in long-stemmed, terminal, more or less panicled, erect or slightly drooping racemes; flowers small and numerous, both kinds in the same raceme, the fertile near the base; all upon very slender pedicels; lobes of calyx 5, greenish, downy, about half as long as the alternating linear petals; stamens usually 8, in the sterile flower nearly as long as the petals, in the fertile much shorter; pistil rudimentary, hairy in the sterile flower; in the fertile the ovary is surmounted by an erect style with short-lobed stigma. =Fruit.=--In long racemes, drooping or pendent; the keys, which are smaller than those of any other American maple, set on hair-like pedicels, and at a wide but not constant angle; at length reddish, with a small cavity upon one side. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy in cultivation throughout New England; prefers moist, well-drained, gravelly loam in partial shade, but grows well in any good soil; easily transplanted, but recovers its vigor rather slowly; foliage free from disease. Seldom grown in nurseries, but readily obtainable from northern collectors of native plants. [Illustration: PLATE LXXV.--Acer spicatum.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Sterile flower. 4. Abortive ovary in sterile flower. 5. Fertile flower with part of the perianth and stamens removed. 6. Fruiting branch. =Acer Pennsylvanicum, L.= STRIPED MAPLE. MOOSEWOOD. WHISTLEWOOD. =Habitat and Range.=--Cool, rocky or sandy woods. Nova Scotia to Lake Superior. Maine,--abundant, especially northward in the forests; New Hampshire and Vermont,--common in highland woods; Massachusetts,--common in the western and central sections, rare towards the coast; Rhode Island,--frequent northward; Connecticut,--frequent, reported as far south as Cheshire (New Haven county). South on shaded mountain slopes and in deep ravines to Georgia; west to Minnesota. =Habit.=--Shrub or small tree, 15-25 feet high, with a diameter at the ground of 5-8 inches; characterized by a slender, beautifully striate trunk and straight branches; by the roseate flush of the opening foliage, deepening later to a yellowish-green; and by the long, graceful, pendent racemes of yellowish flowers, succeeded by the abundant, drooping fruit. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk and branches deep reddish-brown or dark green, conspicuously striped longitudinally with pale and blackish bands; roughish with light buff, irregular dots; the younger branches marked with oval leaf-scars and the linear scars of the leaf-scales; the season's shoots smooth, light green, mottled with black. In spring the bark of the small branches is easily separable, giving rise to the name "whistle wood." =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Terminal bud long, short-stalked, obscurely 4-sided, tapering to a blunt tip; lateral buds small and flat; opening foliage roseate. Leaves simple, opposite; 5-6 inches long and nearly as broad; the upper leaves much narrower; when fully grown light green above, paler beneath, finally nearly glabrous, yellow in autumn, divided above the center into three deep acuminate lobes, finely, sharply, and usually doubly serrate; base heart-shaped, truncate, or rounded; leafstalks 1-3 inches long, grooved, the enlarged base including the leaf-buds of the next season. =Inflorescence.=--In simple, drooping racemes, often 5-6 inches long, appearing after the leaves in late May or early June; the sterile and fertile flowers mostly in separate racemes on the same tree; the bell-shaped flowers on slender pedicels; petals and sepals greenish-yellow; sepals narrowly oblong, somewhat shorter than the obovate petals; stamens usually 8, shorter than the petals in the sterile flower, rudimentary in the fertile, the pistil abortive or none in the sterile flower, in the fertile terminating in a recurved stigma. =Fruit.=--In long, drooping racemes of pale green keys, set at a wide but not uniform angle; distinguished from the other maples, except _A. spicatum_, by a small cavity in the side of each key; abundant; ripening in August. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy, under favorable conditions, throughout New England. Prefers a rich, moist soil near water, in shade; but grows well in almost any soil when once established, many young plants failing to start into vigorous growth. Occasionally grown by nurserymen, but more readily obtainable from northern collectors of native plants. [Illustration: PLATE LXXVI.--Acer Pennsylvanicum.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Sterile flower. 4. Fertile flower with part of the perianth removed. 5. Fruiting branch. =Acer Negundo, L.= _Negundo aceroides, Moench. Negundo Negundo, Karst._ BOX ELDER. ASH-LEAVED MAPLE. =Habitat and Range.=--In deep, moist soil; river valleys and borders of swamps. Infrequent from eastern Ontario to Lake of the Woods; abundant from Manitoba westward to the Rocky mountains south of 55° north latitude. Maine,--along the St. John and its tributaries, especially in the French villages, the commonest roadside tree, brought in from the wild state according to the people there; thoroughly established young trees, originating from planted specimens, in various parts of the state; New Hampshire,--occasional along the Connecticut, abundant at Walpole; extending northward as far as South Charlestown (W. F. Flint _in lit._); Vermont,--shores of the Winooski river and of Lake Champlain; Connecticut,--banks of the Housatonic river at New Milford, Cornwall Bridge, and Lime Rock station. South to Florida; west to the Rocky and Wahsatch mountains, reaching its greatest size in the river bottoms of the Ohio and its tributaries. =Habit.=--A small but handsome tree, 30-40 feet high, with a diameter of 1-2 feet. Trunk separating at a small height, occasionally a foot or two from the ground, into several wide-spreading branches, forming a broad, roundish, open head, characterized by lively green branchlets and foliage, delicate flowers and abundant, long, loose racemes of yellowish-green keys hanging till late autumn, the stems clinging throughout the winter. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk when young, smooth, yellowish-green, in old trees becoming grayish-brown and ridgy; smaller branchlets greenish-yellow; season's shoots pale green or sometimes reddish-purple, smooth and shining or sometimes glaucous. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds small, ovate, enclosed in two dull-red, minutely pubescent scales. Leaves pinnately compound, opposite; leaflets usually 3, sometimes 5 or 7, 2-4 inches long, 1-1/2-2-1/2 inches broad, light green above, paler beneath and woolly when opening, slightly pubescent at maturity, ovate or oval, irregularly and remotely coarse-toothed mostly above the middle, 3-lobed or nearly entire; apex acute; base extremely variable; veins prominent; petioles 2-3 inches long, enlarging at the base, leaving, when they fall, conspicuous leaf-scars which unite at an angle midway between the winter buds. =Inflorescence.=--April 1-15. Flowers appearing at the ends of the preceding year's shoots as the leaf-buds begin to open, small, greenish-yellow; sterile and fertile on separate trees,--the sterile in clusters, on long, hairy, drooping, thread-like stems; the calyx hairy, 5-lobed, with about 5 hairy-stemmed, much-projecting linear anthers; pistil none: the fertile in delicate, pendent racemes, scarcely distinguishable at a distance from the foliage; ovary pubescent, rising out of the calyx; styles long, divergent; stamens none. =Fruit.=--Loose, pendent, greenish-yellow racemes, 6-8 inches long, the slender-pediceled keys joined at a wide angle, broadest and often somewhat wavy near the extremity, dropping in late autumn from the reddish stems, which hang on till spring. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; flourishes best in moist soil near running water or on rocky slopes, but accommodates itself to almost any situation; easily transplanted. Plants of the same age are apt to vary so much in size and habit as to make them unsuitable for street planting. An attractive tree when young, especially when laden with fruit in the fall. There are several horticultural varieties with colored foliage, some of which are occasionally offered in nurseries. A western form, having the new growth covered with a glaucous bloom, is said to be longer-lived and more healthy than the type. [Illustration: PLATE LXXVII.--Acer Negundo.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Branch with sterile flowers. 3. Sterile flower. 4. Branch with fertile flowers. 5. Fertile flower. 6. Fruiting branch. TILIACEÆ. LINDEN FAMILY. =Tilia Americana, L.= BASSWOOD. LINDEN. LIME. WHITEWOOD. =Habitat and Range.=--In rich woods and loamy soils. Southern Canada from New Brunswick to Lake Winnipeg. Throughout New England, frequent from the seacoast to altitudes of 1000 feet; rare from 1000 to 2000 feet. South along the mountains to Georgia; west to Kansas, Nebraska, and Texas. =Habit.=--A large tree, 5O-75 feet high, rising in the upper valley of the Connecticut river to the height of 100 feet; trunk 2-4 feet in diameter, erect, diminishing but slightly to the branching point; head, in favorable situations, broadly ovate to oval, rather compact, symmetrical; branches mostly straight, striking out in different trees at varying angles; the numerous secondary branches mostly horizontal, slender, often drooping at the extremities, repeatedly subdividing, forming a dense spray set at broad angles. Foliage very abundant, green when fully grown, almost impervious to sunlight; the small creamy flowers in numerous clusters; the pale, odd-shaped bracts and pea-like fruit conspicuous among the leaves till late autumn. =Bark.=--Dark gray, very thick, smooth in young trees, later becoming broadly and firmly ridged; in old trees irregularly furrowed; branches, especially upon the upper side, dark brown and blackish; the season's shoots yellowish-green to reddish-brown, and numerously rough-dotted. The inner bark is fibrous and tough. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Leaf-buds small, conical, brownish red, contrasting strongly with the dark stems. Leaves simple, alternate, 4-5 inches long, three-fourths as wide, green and smooth on both sides, thickish, paler beneath, broad-ovate, one-sided, serrate, the point often incurved; apex acuminate or acute; base heart-shaped to truncate; midrib and veins conspicuous on the under surface with minute, reddish tufts of down at the angles; stems smooth, 1-1-1/2 inches long; stipules soon falling. =Inflorescence.=--Late June or early July. In loose, slightly fragrant, drooping cymes, the peduncle attached about half its length to a narrowly oblong, yellowish bract, obtuse at both ends, free at the top, and tapering slightly at the base, pedicels slender; calyx of 5 colored sepals united toward the base; corolla of 5 petals alternate with the sepals, often obscurely toothed at the apex; 5 petal-like scales in front of the petals and nearly as long; calyx, petals, and scales yellowish-white; stamens indefinite, mostly in clusters inserted with the scales; anthers 2-celled, ovary 5-celled; style 1; stigma 5-toothed. =Fruit.=--About the size of a pea, woody, globose, pale green, 1-celled by abortion: 1-2 seeds. =Horticultural Value.=--Useful as an ornamental or street tree; hardy throughout New England, easily transplanted, and grows rapidly in almost any well-drained soil; comes into leaf late and drops its foliage in early fall. The European species are more common in nurseries. They are, however, seriously affected by wood borers, while the native tree has few disfiguring insect enemies. Usually propagated from the seed. A horticultural form with weeping branches is sometimes cultivated. =Note.=--There is so close a resemblance between the lindens that it is difficult to distinguish the American species from each other, or from their European relatives. American species sometimes found in cultivation: _Tilia pubescens, Ait._, is distinguished from _Americana_ by its smaller, thinner leaves and densely pubescent shoots. _Tilia heterophylla, Vent._, is easily recognized by the pale or silver white under-surface of the leaves. There are several European species more or less common in cultivation, indiscriminately known in nurseries as _Tilia Europæa_. They are all easily distinguished from the American species by the absence of petal-like scales. [Illustration: PLATE LXXVIII.--Tilia Americana.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Flower enlarged. 4. Pistil with cluster of stamens, petaloid scale, petal, and sepal. 5. Fruiting branch. CORNACEÆ. DOGWOOD FAMILY. =Cornus florida, L.= FLOWERING DOGWOOD. BOXWOOD. =Habitat and Range.=--Woodlands, rocky hillsides, moist, gravelly ridges. Provinces of Quebec and Ontario. Maine,--Fayette Ridge, Kennebec county; New Hampshire,--along the Atlantic coast and very near the Connecticut river, rarely farther north than its junction with the West river; Vermont,--southern and southwestern sections, rare; Massachusetts,--occasional throughout the state, common in the Connecticut river valley, frequent eastward; Rhode Island and Connecticut,--common. South to Florida; west to Minnesota and Texas. =Habit.=--A small tree, 15-30 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 6-10 inches. The spreading branches form an open, roundish head, the young twigs curving upwards at their extremities. In spring, when decked with its abundant, showy white blossoms, it is the fairest of the minor trees of the forest; in autumn, scarcely less beautiful in the rich reds of its foliage and fruit. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk in old trees blackish, broken-ridged, rough, often separating into small, firm, 4-angled or roundish plates; branches grayish, streaked with white lines; season's twigs purplish-green, downy; taste bitter. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Terminal leaf-buds narrowly conical, acute; flower-buds spherical or vertically flattened, grayish. Leaves simple, opposite, 3-5 inches long, two-thirds as wide, dark green above, whitish beneath, turning to reds, purples, and yellows in the autumn, ovate to oval, nearly smooth, with minute appressed pubescence on both surfaces; apex pointed; base acutish; veins distinctly indented above, ribs curving upward and parallel; leafstalk short-grooved. =Inflorescence.=--May to June. Appearing with the unfolding leaves in close clusters at the ends of the branches, each cluster subtended by a very conspicuous 4-leafed involucre (often mistaken for the corolla and constituting all the beauty of the blossom), the leaves of which are white or pinkish, 1-1/2 inches long, obovate, curiously notched at the rounded end. The real flowers are insignificant, suggesting the tubular disk flowers of the Compositæ; calyx-tube coherent with the ovary, surmounting it by 4 small teeth; petals greenish-yellow, oblong, reflexed; stamens 4; pistil with capitate style. =Fruit.=--Ovoid, scarlet drupes, about 1/2 inch long, united in clusters, persistent till late autumn or till eaten by the birds. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy in southern and southern-central New England, but liable farther north to be killed outright or as far down as the surface of the snow; not only one of the most attractive small trees on account of its flowers, habit, and foliage, but one of the most useful for shady places or under tall trees. The species, a red-flowering and also a weeping variety are obtainable in leading nurseries. Collected plants can be made to succeed. It is a plant of rather slow growth. [Illustration: PLATE LXXIX.--Cornus florida.] 1. Leaf-buds. 2. Flower-buds. 3. Flowering branch. 4. Flower. 5. Fruiting branch. =Cornus alternifolia, L. f.= DOGWOOD. GREEN OSIER. =Habitat and Range.=--Hillsides, open woods and copses, borders of streams and swamps. Nova Scotia and New Brunswick along the valley of the St. Lawrence river to the western shores of Lake Superior. Common throughout New England. South to Georgia and Alabama; west to Minnesota. =Habit.=--A shrub or small tree, 6-20 feet high, trunk diameter 3-6 inches; head usually widest near the top, flat; branches nearly horizontal with lateral spray, the lively green, dense foliage lying in broad planes. =Bark.=--Trunk and larger branches greenish, warty, streaked with gray; season's shoots bright yellowish-green or purplish, oblong-dotted. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds small, acute. Leaves simple, alternate or sometimes opposite, clustered at the ends of the branchlets, 2-4 inches long, dark green on the upper side, paler beneath, with minute appressed pubescence on both sides, ovate to oval, almost entire; apex long-pointed; base acutish or rounded; veins indented above, ribs curving upward and parallel; petiole long, slender, and grooved. =Inflorescence.=--June. From shoots of the season, in irregular open cymes; calyx coherent with ovary, surmounting it by 4 minute teeth; corolla white or pale yellow, with the 4 oblong petals at length reflexed: stamens 4, exserted; style short, with capitate stigma. =Fruit.=--October. Globular, blue or blue black, on slender, reddish stems. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England, adapting itself to a great variety of situations, but preferring a soil that is constantly moist. Nursery or good collected plants are easily transplanted. A disease, similar in its effect to the pear blight, so often disfigures it that it is not desirable for use in important plantations. [Illustration: PLATE LXXX.--Cornus alternifolia.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Flower with one petal and two stamens removed, side view. 4. Flower, view from above. 5. Fruiting branch. =Nyssa sylvatica, Marsh.= TUPELO. SOUR GUM. PEPPERIDGE. =Habitat and Range.=--In rich, moist soil, in swamps and on the borders of rivers and ponds. Ontario. Maine,--Waterville on the Kennebec, the most northern station yet reported (Dr. Ezekiel Holmes); New Hampshire,--most common in the Merrimac valley, seldom seen north of the White mountains; Vermont,--occasional; Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut,--rather common. South to Florida; west to Michigan, Missouri, and Texas. =Habit.=--Tree 20-50 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-2 feet, rising in the forest to the height of 60-80 feet; attaining greater dimensions farther south; lower branches horizontal or declining, often touching the ground at their tips, the upper horizontal or slightly rising, angular, repeatedly subdividing; branchlets very numerous, short and stiff, making a flat spray; head extremely variable, unique in picturesqueness of outline; usually broad-spreading, flat-topped or somewhat rounded; often reduced in Nantucket and upon the southern shore of Cape Cod to a shrub or small tree of 10-15 feet in height, forming low, dense, tangled thickets. Foliage very abundant, dark lustrous green, turning early in the fall to a brilliant crimson. =Bark.=--Trunk of young trees grayish-white, with irregular and shallow striations, in old trees darker, breaking up into somewhat hexagonal or lozenge-shaped scales; branches smooth and brown; season's shoots reddish-green, with a few minute dots. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds ovoid, 1/8-1/4 inch long, obtuse. Leaves simple, irregularly alternate, often apparently whorled when clustered at the ends of the shoots, 2-5 inches long, one-half as wide; at first bright green beneath, dullish-green above, becoming dark glossy green above, paler beneath, obovate or oblanceolate to oval; entire, few or obscurely toothed, or wavy-margined above the center; apex more or less abruptly acute; base acutish; firm, smooth, finely sub-veined; stem short, flat, grooved, minutely ciliate, at least when young; stipules none. =Inflorescence.=--May or early June. Appearing with the leaves in axillary clusters of small greenish flowers, sterile and fertile usually on separate trees, sometimes on the same tree,--sterile flowers in simple or compound clusters; calyx minutely 5-parted, petals 5, small or wanting; stamens 5-12, inserted on the outside of a disk; pistil none: fertile flowers larger, solitary, or several sessile in a bracted cluster; petals 5, small or wanting; calyx minutely 5-toothed. =Fruit.=--Drupes 1-several, ovoid, blue black, about 1/2 inch long, sour: stone striated lengthwise. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; adapts itself readily to most situations but prefers deep soil near water. Seldom offered in nurseries and difficult to transplant unless frequently root-pruned or moved; collected plants do not thrive well; seedlings are raised with little difficulty. Few trees are of greater ornamental value. [Illustration: PLATE LXXXI.--Nyssa sylvatica.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Branch with sterile flowers. 3-4. Sterile flowers. 5. Branch with fertile flowers. 6. Fertile flower. 7. Fruiting branch. EBENACEÆ. EBONY FAMILY. =Diospyros Virginiana, L.= PERSIMMON. =Habitat and Range.=--Rhode Island,--occasional but doubtfully native; Connecticut,--at Lighthouse Point, New Haven, near the East Haven boundary line, there is a grove consisting of about one hundred twenty-five small trees not more than a hundred feet from the water's edge, in sandy soil just above the beach grass, exposed to the buffeting of fierce winds and the incursions of salt water, which comes up around them during the heavy winter storms. These trees are not in thriving condition; several are dead or dying, and no new plants are springing up to take their places. A cross-section of the trunk of a dead tree, as large as any of those living, shows about fifty annual rings. There is no reason to suppose that the survivors are older. This station is said to have been known as early as 1846, at which date the ground where they stand was grassy and fertile. These trees, if standing at that time, must assuredly have been in their infancy. The encroachment of the sea and subsequent change of conditions account well enough for the present decrepitude, but their general similarity in size and apparent age point rather to introduction than native growth. South to Florida, Alabama, and Louisiana; west to Iowa, Kansas, and Texas. =Habit.=--One of the Rhode Island trees measured 3 feet 11 inches girth at the base, and gradually tapered to a height of more than 40 feet (L. W. Russell). The trees at New Haven are 15-20 feet in height, with a trunk diameter of 6-10 inches, trunk and limbs much twisted by the winds. Their branches, beginning to put out at a height of 6-8 feet, lie in almost horizontal planes, forming a roundish, open head. =Bark.=--Trunk in old trees dark, rough, deeply furrowed, separating into small, firm sections; large limbs dark reddish-brown; season's shoots green, turning to brown. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds oblong, conical, short. Leaves simple, alternate, 3-6 inches long, about half as wide, dark green and mostly glossy above, somewhat lighter and minutely downy (at least when young) beneath, ovate to oval, entire; apex acute to acuminate; base acute, rounded or truncate; leafstalk short; stipules none. =Inflorescence.=--June. Sterile and fertile flowers on separate or on the same trees; not conspicuous, axillary; sterile often in clusters, fertile solitary; calyx 4-6-parted; corolla 4-6-parted; about 1/2 inch long, pale yellow, thickish, urn-shaped, constricted at the mouth and somewhat smaller in the sterile flowers; stamens 16 in the sterile flowers, in fertile flowers 8 or less, imperfect; styles 4, ovary 8-celled. =Fruit.=--A berry, ripe in late fall, roundish, about an inch in diameter, larger farther south, with thick, spreading, persistent calyx, yellow to yellowish-brown, very astringent when immature, edible and agreeable to the taste after exposure to the frost; several-seeded. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy along the south shore of New England; prefers well-drained soil in open situations; free from disfiguring enemies; occasionally cultivated in nurseries but difficult to transplant. Propagated from seed. [Illustration: PLATE LXXXII.--Diospyros Virginiana.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Branch with sterile flowers. 3. Vertical section of sterile flower. 4. Branch with fertile flowers. 5. Section of fertile flower. 6. Fruiting branch. OLEACEÆ. OLIVE FAMILY. Fraxinus Americana, L. WHITE ASH. =Habitat and Range.=--Rich or moist woods, fields and pastures, near streams. Newfoundland and Nova Scotia to Ontario. Maine,--very common, often forming large forest areas; in the other New England states, widely distributed, but seldom occurring in large masses. South to Florida; west to Minnesota, Nebraska, Kansas, and Texas. =Habit.=--A tall forest tree, 50-75 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 2-3 feet; rising in the rich bottom lands of the Ohio river 100 feet or more, often in the forest half its height without a limb. In open ground the trunk, separating at a height of a few feet, throws off two or three large limbs, and is soon lost amid the slender, often gently curving branches, forming a rather open, rounded head widest at or near the base, with light and graceful foliage, and a stout, rather sparse, glabrous, and sometimes flattish spray. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk in mature trees easily distinguishable at some distance by the characteristic gray color and uniform striation; ridges prominent, narrow, flattish, firm, without surface scales but with fine transverse seams; furrows fine and strong, sinuous, parallel or connecting at intervals; large limbs more or less furrowed; smaller branches smooth and grayish-green; season's shoots polished olive green; leaf-scars prominent. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds short, rather prominent, smooth, dark or pale rusty brown. Leaves pinnately compound, opposite, 6-12 inches long; petiole smooth and grooved; leaflets 5-9, 2-5 inches long, deep green and smooth above, paler and smooth, or slightly pubescent (at least when young) beneath; ovate to lance-oblong, entire or somewhat toothed; apex pointed; base obtuse, rounded or sometimes acute; leaflet stalks short, smooth; stipules and stipels none. =Inflorescence.=--May. In loose panicles from lateral or terminal buds of the previous season's shoots, sterile and fertile flowers for the most part on separate trees, numerous, inconspicuous; calyx in sterile flowers 4-toothed, petals none, stamens 2-4, anthers oblong; calyx in fertile flowers unequally 4-toothed or nearly entire, persistent; petals none, stamens none, pistil 1, style 1, stigma 2-cleft. =Fruit.=--Ripening in early fall, and hanging in clusters into the winter; a samara or key 1-2 inches long, body nearly terete, marginless below, dilating from near the tip into a wing two or three times as long as the body. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; prefers a rich, moist, loamy soil, but grows in any well-drained situation; easily transplanted, usually obtainable in nurseries, and can be collected successfully. It is one of the most desirable native trees for landscape and street plantations, on account of its rapid and clean growth, freedom from disease, moderate shade, and richly colored autumn foliage. As the leaves appear late in spring and fall early in autumn, it is desirable to plant with other trees of different habit. Propagated from seed. [Illustration: PLATE LXXXIII.--Fraxinus Americana.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Branch with sterile flowers. 3. Sterile flowers. 4. Branch with fertile flowers. 5. Fertile flower. 6. Fruiting branch. =Fraxinus Pennsylvanica, Marsh.= _Fraxinus pubescens, Lam._ RED ASH. BROWN ASH. RIVER ASH. =Habitat and Range.=--River banks, swampy lowlands, margins of streams and ponds. New Brunswick to Manitoba. Maine,--infrequent; New Hampshire,--occasional, extending as far north as Boscawen in the Merrimac valley; Vermont,--common along Lake Champlain and its tributaries (_Flora of Vermont_, 1900); occasional in other sections; Massachusetts and Rhode Island,--sparingly scattered throughout; Connecticut,--reported from East Hartford, Westville, Canaan, and Lisbon (J. N. Bishop). South to Florida and Alabama; west to Dakota, Nebraska, Kansas, and Missouri. =Habit.=--Medium-sized to large tree, 30-70 feet high, with trunk 1-3 feet in diameter; erect, branches spreading, broad-headed; in general appearance resembling the white ash. =Bark.=--Trunk dark gray or brown, smooth in young trees, furrowed in old, furrows rather shallower than in the white ash; branches grayish; young shoots greenish-gray with a rusty-velvety or scurfy pubescence lasting often into the second year. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds rounded, dark reddish-brown, more or less downy, smaller than those of the white ash, partially covered by the swollen petiole. Leaves pinnately compound, opposite, 9-15 inches long; petiole short, downy, enlarged at base; leaflets 7-9, opposite, 3-5 inches long, about one half as wide, light green and smooth above, paler and more or less downy beneath; outline extremely variable, ovate, narrow-oblong, elliptical or sometimes obovate, entire or slightly toothed; apex acute to acuminate; base acute or rounded; leaflet stalks short, grooved, downy; stipules and stipels none. =Inflorescence.=--May. Similar to that of the white ash. =Fruit.=--Ripening in early fall, and hanging in clusters into the winter; samara or key about 1-1/2 inches long; body of the fruit narrowly cylindrical, the edges gradually widening from about the center into linear or spatulate wings, obtuse or rounded at the ends, sometimes mucronate. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; grows readily in any good soil, but prefers a wet or moist, rich loam; almost as rapid growing when young as the white ash, and is not seriously affected by insects or fungous diseases; worthy of a place in landscape plantations and on streets, but not often found in nurseries; propagated from seed. [Illustration: PLATE LXXXIV.--Fraxinus Pennsylvanica.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Branch with sterile flowers. 3. Sterile flowers. 4. Branch with fertile flowers. 5. Fertile flower. 6. Fruiting branch. 7. Mature leaf. =Fraxinus Pennsylvanica, var. lanceolata, Sarg.= _Fraxinus viridis, Michx. f. Fraxinus lanceolata, Borkh._ GREEN ASH. River valleys and wet woods. Ontario to Saskatchewan. Maine,--common along the Penobscot river from Oldtown to Bangor; Vermont,--along Lake Champlain; Gardner's island, and the north end of South Hero; Rhode Island (Bailey); Connecticut,--frequent (J. N. Bishop, _Report of Connecticut Board of Agriculture_, 1895). South along the mountains to Florida; west to the Rocky mountains. The claims to specific distinction rest mainly upon the usual absence of pubescence from the young shoots, leaves and petioles, the color of the leaves (which is bright green above and scarcely less so beneath), the usually more distinct serratures above the center, and a rather more acuminate apex. Apparently an extreme form of _F. pubescens_, connected with it by numerous intermediate forms through the entire range of the species. [Illustration: PLATE LXXXV.--Fraxinus Pennsylvanica, var. lanceolata.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Fruiting branch. =Fraxinus nigra, Marsh.= _Fraxinus sambucifolia, Lam._ BLACK ASH. SWAMP ASH. BASKET ASH. HOOP ASH. BROWN ASH. =Habitat and Range.=--Wet woods, river bottoms, and swamps. Anticosti through Ontario. Maine,--common; New Hampshire,--south of the White mountains; Vermont,--common; Massachusetts,--more common in central and western sections; Rhode Island,--infrequent; Connecticut,--occasional throughout. South to Delaware and Virginia; west to Arkansas and Missouri. =Habit.=--A tall tree reaching a height of 60-80 feet, with a trunk diameter of 1-2 feet; attaining greater dimensions southward. In swamps, when shut in by other trees, the trunk is straight, very slender, scarcely tapering to point of branching, in open situations under favorable conditions forming a large, round, open head. Easily distinguished from the other ashes by its sessile leaflets. =Bark.=--Bark of trunk a soft ash-gray, in old trees marked by parallel ridges separating into fine, thin, close flakes; limbs light gray, rough-warted, the smaller with conspicuous leaf-scars; season's shoots olive green, stout; flattened at apex, with small, black, vertical dots. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Buds roundish, pointed, very dark, the terminal 1/8 inch long. Leaves compound, opposite, 12-15 inches long; stipules none; stem grooved and smooth; leaflets 7-11, more frequently 9, 3-5 inches long, 1-1/2-2 inches wide, green on both sides, lighter beneath and more or less hairy on the veins; outline variable, more usually oblong-lanceolate, sharply serrate; apex acuminate; base obtuse to rounded, sessile except the odd leaflets; stipels none. =Inflorescence.=--May. Appearing before the leaves in loose panicles from lateral or terminal buds of the preceding season, sterile and fertile flowers on different trees; bracted; calyx none; petals none. =Fruit.=--August to September. Samaras, in panicles, rather more than 1 inch long, rounded at both ends: body entirely surrounded by the wing. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; grows in any good soil, but prefers swamp or wet land. Its very tall, slender habit makes it a useful tree in some positions, but it is not readily obtainable in nurseries and is seldom used. Propagated from the seed. [Illustration: PLATE LXXXVI.--Fraxinus nigra.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Branch with sterile flowers. 3. Sterile flower. 4. Branch with fertile flowers. 5. Fertile flower. 6. Fruiting branch. 7. Fruit. CAPRIFOLIACEÆ. HONEYSUCKLE FAMILY. =Viburnum Lentago, L.= SHEEP BERRY. SWEET VIBURNUM. NANNY PLUM. =Habitat and Range.=--Rich woods, thickets, river valleys, along fences. Province of Quebec to Saskatchewan. Frequent throughout New England. South along the mountains to Georgia and Kentucky; west to Minnesota, Nebraska, and Missouri. =Habit.=--A shrub or small tree, 10-25 feet in height with numerous branches forming a wide-spreading, compact rounded head; conspicuous by rich foliage, profuse, fragrant yellowish-white flowers, and long, drooping clusters of crimson fruit which deepen to a rich purple when fully ripe. =Bark.=--Trunk and larger branches dark purplish or reddish brown, separating in old trees into small, firm sections; branchlets grayish-brown; season's shoots reddish-brown, dotted, more or less scurfy. =Winter Buds and Leaves.=--Leaf-buds long, narrow, covered with scurfy, brown, leaf-like scales; flower-buds much longer, swollen at the base, with two leaf-like scales extended into a long, spire-like point. Leaves simple, opposite, 2-4 inches long, upper surface bright green, lower paler and set with rusty scales, ovate to oblong-ovate or orbicular, sharply and finely serrate, smooth, tapered or abruptly pointed; base acute to rounded or truncate; stem slender, wavy-margined, channeled above; stipules none. =Inflorescence.=--May or early June. Terminal, in broad, flat-topped, compound, sessile cymes; calyx-tube adherent to the ovary, 5-toothed; corolla white, salver-shaped, segments 5, oval, reflexed; stamens 5, projecting, anthers yellow; pistil truncate. =Fruit.=--Profuse, in clusters; drupes 1/2 inch long, oval, crimson when ripening, deep purple when fully ripe, edible, sweet: stone flat, oval, rough, obscurely striate lengthwise. =Horticultural Value.=--Hardy throughout New England; prefers a rich soil in open places or in light shade. Its showy flowers, healthy foliage, and vigorous growth make it a desirable plant for high shrub plantations, and as an undergrowth in open woods. Offered for sale by collectors and occasionally by nurserymen; easily transplanted; propagated from seed or from cuttings. [Illustration: PLATE LXXXVII.--Viburnum Lentago.] 1. Winter buds. 2. Flowering branch. 3. Flower. 4. Flower, side view. 5. Flower with petals and stamens removed. 6. Fruiting branch. APPENDIX. The range of several trees as given in the text has been extended by discoveries made during the summer of 1901, but reported too late for incorporation in its proper place. _Populus balsamifera_, L., var. _candicans_, Gray.--One of the commonest and stateliest trees in the alluvium of the Connecticut and the Cold rivers; with negundo, river maple, and white and slippery elm, forming a tall and dense forest along the Connecticut at the foot of Fall mountain, and opposite Bellows Falls. The densely pubescent petioles and the ciliate margins of the broad cordate leaves at once distinguish this tree from the usually smaller but more common _P. balsamifera_ ("Some Trees and Shrubs of Western Cheshire County, N. H." Mr. M. L. Fernald, in _Rhodora_, III, 233). The above is the _Populus candicans_, Ait., of the text. _Salix discolor_, Muhl.--There are many fine trees at Fort Kent, Maine, one with trunk 13 inches in diameter. (M. L. Fernald _in lit._, September, 1901.) _Salix balsamifera_, Barrett.--A handsome tree at Fort Kent, 25-30 feet high, with trunk 4-6 inches in diameter. (M. L. Fernald _in lit._, September, 1901.) _Cratægus Crus-Galli_, L.--Nantucket, Massachusetts. Young trees were set out in 1830, enclosing an oblong of about an acre and a half. The most flourishing of these have obtained a height of about 30 feet and a trunk diameter near the ground of 10-12 inches. Now established, probably through the agency of birds, along swamps and upon hill-slopes. (L. L. D.) _Prunus Americana_, Marsh.--One clump of small trees in a thicket at Alstead Centre, N. H., has the characteristic spherical fruit of this species. _P. nigra_, Ait., with oblong, laterally flattened fruit, is abundant. (_Rhodora_, III, 234.) _Acer Saccharum_, Marsh., var. _barbatum_, Trelease.--Characteristic trees (Cheshire County, N. H.), with small, firm, deep green, three-lobed leaves, appear very distinct, but many transitions are noted between this and the typical _Acer Saccharum_. (_Rhodora_, III, 234.) _Acer Saccharum_, Marsh., var. _nigrum_, Britton.--Occasional in alluvium of the Cold river (Cheshire county, N. H.). The large, dark green, "flabby" leaves, with closed sinuses and with densely pubescent petioles and lower surfaces, quickly distinguish this tree from the ordinary forms of the sugar maple. (_Rhodora_, III. 234.) _Fraxinus Pennsylvanica_. Marsh., var. _lanceolata_, Sarg.--Common along the Connecticut at Walpole, N. H. (M. L. Fernald _in lit._, September, 1901.) GLOSSARY. =Abortive.= Defective or barren, through non-development of a part. =Acuminate.= Long-pointed. =Acute.= Ending with a sharp but not prolonged point. =Adherent.= Growing fast to; adnate anther, attached for its whole length to the ovary. =Adnate.= Essentially same as adherent, with the added idea of congenital adhesion. =Aggregate fruits.= Formed by crowding together all the carpels of the same flower; as in the blackberry. =Ament.= Name given to such flower-clusters as those of the willow, birch, poplar, etc. =Anther.= The part of the stamen which bears the pollen. =Appressed.= Lying close against another organ. =Ascending.= Rising upward, or obliquely upward. =Axil.= Angle formed on the upper side between the leaf stem or flower stem and the branch from which it springs. =Bract.= Reduced leaf subtending a flower or flower-cluster. =Branches, primary.= The leading or main branches thrown out directly from the trunk, giving a general shape to the head. =Branches, secondary.= Never directly from the trunk but from other branches. =Buttressed.= Supported against strain in any direction by a conspicuous ridge-like enlargement of the trunk vertically to the roots. Several of these buttresses often give a tree a square appearance. =Caducous.= Dropping off very early after development. =Calyx.= The outer set of the leaves of the flower. =Campanulate.= Bell-shaped. =Capitate.= Head-shaped or collected in a head. =Capsule.= A dry compound fruit. =Carpel.= A simple pistil. =Catkin.= See ament. =Ciliate.= Margin with hairs or bristles. =Coherent.= One organ uniting with another. =Compound.= See leaf, ovary, etc. =Connate.= Similar organs, more or less grown together. =Connective.= The part of the anther connecting its two cells. =Coriaceous.= Thick, leathery in texture. =Corolla.= Leaves of the flower within the calyx. =Corymb.= That sort of flower-cluster in which the flower stems arranged along the central axis elongate, forming a broad convex or level top, the flowers opening successively from the outer edge towards the center. =Crenate.= Edge with rounded teeth. =Crenulate.= Edge with small rounded teeth. =Cyme.= Flat-topped or convex flower-cluster, the central flower opening first; blossoming outward. =Deciduous.= Falling off, as leaves in autumn, or calyx and corolla before fruit grows. =Declining.= Bent downwards. =Decurrent.= Leaves prolonged on the stem beneath the insertion: branchlets springing out beneath the point of furcation, as the feathering along the trunk of elms, etc. =Dentate.= With teeth pointing outwards. =Disk.= Central part of a head of flowers; fleshy expansion of the receptacle of a flower; any rounded, flat surface. =Drupe.= A stone fruit; soft externally with a stone at the center, as the cherry and peach. =Erose.= Eroded, as if gnawed. =Exserted.= Protruding, projecting out of. =Falcate.= Scythe-shaped. =Fertile.= Flowers containing the pistil, capable of producing fruit. Anthers in such blossoms, if any, are generally abortive. =Fibrovascular.= Bundle or tissue, formed of wood fibers, ducts, etc. =Filament.= Part of stamen supporting anther. =Fungus.= A division of cryptogamous plants, including mushrooms, etc. =Furcation.= Branching. =Glabrous.= Smooth without hairiness or roughness. =Glandular.= Bearing glands or appendages having the appearance of glands. =Glaucous.= Covered with a bloom: bluish hoary. =Globose= or =globous.= Spherical or nearly so. =Habit.= The general appearance of a plant. =Habitat.= The place where a plant naturally grows, as in swamps, in water, upon dry hillsides, etc. =Hybrid.= A cross between two species. =Imbricated.= Overlapping. =Inflorescence.= Mode of disposition of flowers; sometimes applied to the flower-cluster itself. =Involucre.= Bracts subtending a flower or a cluster of flowers. =Keeled.= Having a central dorsal ridge like the keel of a boat. =Key.= A winged fruit; a samara. =Lacerate.= Irregularly cleft, as if torn. =Lanceolate.= Lance-shaped, broadest above the base, gradually narrowing to the apex. =Leaf.= Consisting when botanically complete of a blade, usually flat, a footstalk and two appendages at base of the footstalk; often consisting of blade only. =Leaf, compound.= Having two to many distinct blades on a common leafstalk or rachis. These blades may be sessile or have leafstalks of their own. =Leaf, pinnately compound.= With the leaflets arranged along the sides of the rachis. =Leaf, palmately compound.= With leaflets all standing on summit of petiole. =Leaf-cushions.= Organs resembling persistent decurrent footstalks, upon which leaves of spruces, etc., stand; sterigmata. =Leaf-scar.= The scar left on the twig where the petiole was attached. =Lenticel.= Externally appearing upon the bark as spots, warts, and perpendicular or transverse lines. =Linear.= Long and narrow with sides nearly parallel. =Monopetalous.= Having petals more or less united. =Mucronate.= Abruptly tipped with a small, sharp point. =Nerved.= Having prominent unbranched ribs or veins. =Obcordate.= Inversely heart-shaped. =Obovate.= Ovate with the broader end towards the apex. =Obtuse.= Blunt or rounded at the end. =Orbicular.= Having a circular or nearly circular outline. =Ovary.= The part of the pistil containing the ovules. =Ovoid.= A solid with an oval or ovate outline. =Ovuliferous.= Bearing ovules. =Panicle.= General term for any loose and irregular flower-cluster, commonly of the racemose type, with pedicellate flowers. =Pedicel.= The stalk of a single flower in the ultimate divisions of an inflorescence. =Peduncle.= The stem of a solitary flower or of a cluster. =Perfect.= Having both pistils and stamens. =Perianth.= The floral envelope consisting of calyx, corolla, or both. =Persistent.= Not falling for a long time. =Petal.= A division of the corolla. =Petiole.= The stalk of a leaf. =Petiolule.= The stalk of a leaflet in a compound leaf. =Pistil.= The seed-bearing organ of the flower. =Pistillate.= Provided with pistils; usually applied to flowers without stamens. =Pollen.= The fertilizing grains contained in the anthers. =Puberulent.= Minutely pubescent. =Pubescent.= Covered with short soft or downy hairs. =Raceme.= A simple cluster of pediceled flowers upon a common axis. =Rachis.= The main axis of a compound leaf, of a raceme or of a spike. =Ramification.= Branching. =Range.= The geographical extent and limits of a species. =Reflexed.= Turned backward. =Reticulated.= Netted; in the form of a network. =Revolute.= Rolled backward from the margin or apex. =Samara.= Key fruit; winged fruit, like that of the ash or maple. =Scarf-bark.= The thin, outermost layer which often peels off. =Segment.= One of the divisions into which a plane organ, such as a leaf, may be divided. =Sepal.= A calyx leaf. =Serrate.= With teeth inclining forward. =Serrulate.= With small teeth inclining forward. =Sessile.= Not stalked, as when the leaf blade or flower rests directly upon the twig. =Simple leaf.= Not compound, having one blade not jointed with its stem. =Sinuate.= Strongly wavy-margined. =Sinus.= Interval between two lobes or divisions of a leaf; sometimes sharp-angular, sometimes rounded. =Spatulate.= Gradually narrowed downward from a rounded summit. =Spike.= A cluster of sessile or nearly sessile lateral flowers on an elongated axis. =Spray.= The smaller branches and ultimate branchlets of a tree taken as a whole. =Stamens.= The pollen-bearing organs of a flower, each stamen consisting of a filament (stem) and anther which contains the pollen. =Staminate.= Having stamens. =Sterile.= Variously applied: to flowers with stamens only; to stamens without anthers; to anthers without pollen; to ovaries not producing seed, etc. =Stigma.= Part of pistil which receives the pollen. =Stipels.= Appendages to a leaflet, analogous to the stipules of a leaf. =Stipules.= Appendages of a leaf, usually at the point of insertion. =Striate.= Streaked, or very finely ridged lengthwise. =Style.= Part of pistil uniting ovary with stigma; often wanting. =Sucker.= A shoot of subterranean origin. =Suture.= The line of union between parts which have grown together; most often used with reference to the line along which an ovary opens. =Terete.= Cylindrical. =Ternate.= In threes. =Tomentose.= Densely pubescent or woolly. =Truncate.= As if cut off at the end. =Umbel.= An inflorescence in which the flower stems spring from the same point like the rays of an umbrella. =Verticillate.= Arranged in a circle round an axis; whorled. =Villose= or =villous.= With long, soft hairs. =Whorl.= Arranged in a circle about an axis. INDEX. A Abele. (Populus alba, L.) 39, 40 Abies balsamea, Mill. _Fir balsam_ 20-22 =Abietacæ.= (=Pinoideæ=) 1-22 Larix 1-4 Pinus 4-12 Picea 12-18 Tsuga 19, 20 Abies 20-22 Acacia, (Robinia Pseudacacia, L.) 131, 132 (Robinia viscosa, Vent.) 132 Three-thorned. (Gleditsia triacanthos, L.) 129, 130 =Aceraceæ.= (Maple family). 140-153 Acer barbatum, Michx. _Rock, Sugar, Hard maple, Sugar tree_ 144-146 barbatum, var. nigrum, Sarg. _Black maple_ 146, 147 dasycarpum, Ehrh. _Silver, Soft, White, River maple_ 142-144 Negundo, L. _Box elder, Ash-leaved maple_ 151-153 nigrum, Michx. _Black maple_ 146,147 Pennsylvanicum, L. _Striped maple, Moosewood, Whistlewood_ 149-151 platanoides _Norway maple_ 146 rubrum, L. _Red, Swamp, Soft, White maple_ 140-142 saccharinum, L. _Silver, Soft, White, River maple_ 142-144 saccharinum, Wang. _Rocky Sugar, Hard maple, Sugar tree_ 144-146 saccharinum, var. nigrum, T. and G. _Black maple_ 146, 147 Saccharum, Marsh. _Rock, Sugar, Hard maple, Sugar tree_ 144-146 Saccharum, Marsh., var. barbatum, Trelease 172 Saccharum, Marsh., var. nigrum, Britton. _Black maple_ 146, 147, 172 spicatum, Lam. _Mountain maple_ 148, 149 Negundo aceroides, Moench. _Box elder, Ash-leaved maple_ 151-153 Negundo, Karst, _Box elder, Ash-leaved maple_ 151-153 Ailanthus family. (=Simarubaceæ=) 133 Ailanthus, Tree of Heaven, Chinese sumac (Ailanthus glanulosus, Desf.) 133 Alder, European. (Alnus glutinosa, Medic.) 70 Alnus glutinosa, Medic, _European alder_ 70 Amelanchier Canadensis, Medic. _Shadbush, June-berry_, 116, 117 American elm (Ulmus Americana, L.) 95-97 holly. (Hex opaca, Alt.) 138-146 =Anacardiaceæ.= (Sumac family) 134-137 Rhus copallina. _Dwarf sumac_, 137 glabra. _Smooth sumac_, 137 hirta, Sudw. _Staghorn sumac_, 134, 135 toxicodendron. _Poison ivy_, 137 typhina, L. _Staghorn sumac_, 134, 135 venenata, DC. _Dogwood, Poison sumac. Poison elder_, 136, 137 vernix, L. _Dogwood, Poison sumac. Poison elder_, 136, 137 Apple family. (=Pomaceæ=) 112-121 Apple tree. (Pyrus malus, L.) 1 =Aquifoliaceæ.= (Holly family) 138-140 Ilex opaca, Ait. _American holly_ 138, 140 Ash, Black, Swamp, Basket, Hoop, Brown ash. (Fraxinus nigra, Marsh.) 167-168 European mountain ash. (Pyrus aucuparia) 113, 115 Green ash. (Fraxinus Pennsylvanica, var. lanceolata, Sarg.) 166, 172 Mountain ash. (Pyrus Americana, DC.) 112, 113 Mountain ash. (Pyrus sambucifolia, Cham. & Schlecht.) 113-115 Red, Brown, River ash. (Fraxinus pubescens. Lam.) 164,165 White ash. (Fraxinus Americana, L.) 162-164 Ash-leaved maple. (Acer negundo, L.) 151-153 Aspen, Large-toothed. (Populusgrandidentata, Michx.) 31, 32 (Populus tremuloides, Michx.) 29, 30 B Balm of Gilead. (Populus balsamifera, L.) 36, 37 (Populus candicans, Alt.). 37-39, 171 Balsam. (Abies balsamea, Mill.) 20-22 (Populus balsamifera, L.) 36, 37 Basket ash. (Fraxinus nigra, Marsh.) 167, 168 Basswood. (Tilia Americana, L.) 153-155 Bear oak. (Quercus ilicifolia, Wang.) 93, 94 Beech family. (=Fagaceæ=) 70-94 Beech (Fagus ferruginea, Alt.) 70-72 Blue beech, Water beech. (Carpinus Caroliniana. Walt.) 59, 60 Betula lenta, L. _Black, Cherry, Sweet birch_ 61, 62 lutea, Michx. L. _Yellow, Gray birch_ 63, 64 nigra, L. _Red, River birch_ 55,66 papyrifera. Marsh. _White, Canoe. Paper birch,_ 68-70 Betula papyrifera, var. minor, Tuckerman. _Dwarf birch_ 68 populifolia, Marsh. _Gray, Poplar, Oldfield, Poverty, Small white birch_ 66-68 =Betulaceæ.= (Birch family) 57-70 Alnus glutinosa, Medic. _European alder_ 70 Betula lenta, L. _Black, Cherry, Sweet birch_ 61, 62 lutea, Michx. f. _Yellow, Gray birch_ 63, 64 nigra, L. _Red, River birch_ 65, 66 papyrifera, Marsh. _White, Canoe, Paper birch_ 68-70 var. minor, Tuckerman. _Dwarf birch_ 68 populifolia, Marsh. _Gray, Poplar, Oldfield, Poverty, Small white birch_ 66-68 Carpinus Caroliniana, Walt. _Hornbeam, Blue beech, Ironwood, Water beech_ 59, 60 Ostrya Virginica, Willd. _Hop hornbeam, Ironwood, Leverwood_ 57, 58 Birch family. (=Betulaceæ=) 57-70 Birch. Black, Cherry, Sweet birch. (Betula lenta, L.) 61, 62 Canoe, White, Paper birch. (Betula papyrifera, Marsh.) 68-70 Red, River birch (Betula nigra, L.) 65, 66 White, Gray, Oldfield, Poplar, Poverty, Small white birch (Betula populifolia, Marsh.) 66-68 Yellow, Gray birch. (Betula lutea, Michx. f.) 63, 64 Bird cherry (Prunus Pennsylvanica, L. f.) 124, 125 Bitternut (Carya amara, Nutt.) 55-57 Black ash (Fraxinus nigra, Marsh.) 167, 168 birch (Betula lenta, L.) 61, 62 cherry (Prunus serotina, Ehrh.) 127, 128 maple (Acer Saccharum, Marsh., _var_. nigrum, Britton) 146, 147, 172 oak (Quercus velutina, Lam.) 89-91 spruce (Picea nigra, Link) 12-14 walnut (Juglans nigra, L.) 48, 49 willow (Salix nigra, Marsh.) 42, 43 Blue beech (Carpinus Caroliniana, Walt.) 59, 60 Box elder (Acer negundo, L.) 151-153 white oak (Quercus stellata, Wang.) 77, 78 Boxwood (Cornus florida, L.) 156, 157 Braintree, Mass. Fine specimen of _Ilex opaca_ on farm of Col. Minot Thayer 139 Brittle willow (Salix fragilis, L.) 43-45 Brown ash (Fraxinus nigra, Marsh.) 167, 168 (Fraxinus Pennsylvanica, Marsh.) 164, 165 Bur oak (Quercus macrocarpa, Michx.) 79, 80 Butternut (Juglans cinerea, L.) 46, 47 Buttonball (Platanus occidentalis, L.) 110, 111 Buttonwood (Platanus occidentalis, L.) 110, 111 C Canada plum (Primus nigra. Ait.), 122, 123 Canoe birch (Betula papyrifera, Marsh.), 68-70 =Caprifoliaceæ.= (Honeysuckle family) 168, 169 Viburnum Lentas L. _Sheep berry sweet viburnum. Nanny plum_ 168, 169 Carpinus Caroliniana, Walt. _Hornbeam. Blue beech. Ironwood. Water beech_ 59,60 Carya alba, Nutt. _Shagbark, Shellbark hickory, Walnut_ 49-51 amara, Nutt. _Bitter nut. Swamp hickory_ 55-57 porcina, Nutt. _Pignut. White hickory_ 53-55 tomentosa, Nutt. _Mockernut. White-heart hickory. Walnut_ 51-53 Castanea dentata. Borkh. _Chestnut_ 72-74 sativa, _var._ Americana, Watson & Coulter. _Chestnut_ 72-74 vesca, _var._ Americana, Michx. _Chestnut_ 72-74 Cat spruce. (Picea alba, Link) 16-18 Cedar, Arbor vitæ. White cedar. (Thuja occidentals, L.) 23,24 Red cedar. Savin. (Juniperus Virginiana. L.) 26-28 White cedar. (Chamæcyparis sphæroidea, Spach) 25,26 Celtis occidentalis. L. _Hackberry, Nettle tree, Hoop ash, Sugar berry_ 100-102 Chamæcyparis sphæroidea. Spach. White cedar 25,26 Cherry. (Primus Avium, L.) 128 Chokecherry. (Prunus Virginiana, L.) 125,126 Rum, Black cherry. (Prunus serotina, Ehrh.) 127,128 Wild red, Pin, Pigeon, Bird cherry Prunus Pennsylvania, L. f. 124,125 Cherry birch. (Betula lenta, L.) 61,62 Chestnut. (Castanea sativa, _var_. Americana, Watson & Coulter) 72-74 Chestnut oak. (Quercus Muhlenbergii, Engelm.) 84,85 (Quercus prinus, L.) 82-84 Chinese sumac. (Ailanthus glandulosus, Desf.) 133 Chokecherry. (Prunus Virginiana, L.) 125,126 Clammy locust. (Robinia viscosa, Vent.) 132 Cockspur thorn (Cratægus Crus-Galli, L.) 117, 118, 171 Conifer family, (=Pinoideæ=) 1-28 Cork elm. (Ulmus racemosa, Thomas) 99,100 =Cornaceæ.= (Dogwood family) 150-160 Cornus alternifolia, L, f. _Dogwood, Green osier_ 157, 158 florida, L _Flowering dogwood, Boxwood_ 156, 157 Nyssa sylvatica. Marsh. _Tupelo, Sour gum, Pepperidge_ 159, 160 Cottonwood (Populus deltoides, Marsh.) 34, 35 (Populus heterophylla. L.) 33, 34 Crack willow. (Salix fragilis, L.) 43-45 Cratægus Arnoldiana, Sarg. _Thorn_ 121 coccinea, L. _Thorn_ 118, 119 coccinea, _var._ mollis, T. & G. _Thorn_, 120, 121 Crus-Galli, L. _Cockspur thorn_ 117, 118, 171 mollis, Scheele _Thorn_ 120, 121 punctata, Jacq. _Cockspur thorn_ 118 submollis, Sarg. _Thorn_ 121 subvillosa, Schr. _Thorn_ 120, 121 =Cupressaceæ.= (Pinoideæ) 23-28 Cupressus 25, 26 Juniperus 26-28 Thuja 23, 24 Cupressus thyoides, L. _White cedar_ 25, 26 D Diospyros Virginiana, L. _Persimmon_ 160-162 Dogwood family. (=Cornaceæ=) 156-160 Dogwood (Rhus vernix, L.) 136, 137 Flowering dogwood (Cornus florida, L.) 156, 157 Green osier (Cornus alternifolia, L. f.) 157, 158 Double spruce (Picea nigra, Link) 12-14 =Drupaceæ.= (Plum family) 122-128 Prunus Americana, Marsh. _Wild plum_ 123, 124, 171 Americana, _var._ nigra, Waugh. _Wild, Red, Horse, Canada plum_ 122, 123 Avium, L. _Mazard cherry_ 128 nigra, Ait. _Wild, Red, Horse, Canada plum_ 122, 123, 171 Pennsylvanica, L. f. _Wild red, Pin, Pigeon, Bird cherry_ 124, 125 serotina, Ehrh. _Rum, Black cherry_ 127, 128 Virginiana, L. _Chokecherry_ 125, 126 Dwarf birch. (Betula papyrifera, _var._ minor, Tuckerman) 68 black spruce. (Picea nigra, var. semiprostrata) 12 sumac. (Rhus copallina) 137 E =Ebenaceæ.= (Ebony family) 160-162 Diospyros Virginiana, L. Persimmon 160-162 Ebony family. (=Ebenaceæ=) 160-162 Elder, Poison elder. (Rhus vernix, L.) 136, 137 Elm family. (=Ulmaceæ=) 95-102 Elm, American elm (Ulmus Americana, L.) 95-97 Cork, Rock elm (Ulmus racemosa. Thomas) 99, 100 Slippery, Red elm (Ulmus fulva, Michx.) 97, 98 European alder (Alnus glutinosa. Medic.) 70 mountain ash (Pyrus aucuparia) 113-115 F =Fagaceæ.= (Beech family) 70-94 Castanea dentata, Borkh. _Chestnut_ 72-74 sativa, _var._ Americana, Watson & Coulter _Chestnut_ 72-74 vesca, _var._ Americana, Michx. _Chestnut_ 72-74 Fagus Americana, Sweet _Beech_ 70-72 atropunicea, Sudw. _Beech_ 70-72 ferruginea, Ait. _Beech_ 70-72 Quercus acuminata, Sarg. _Chestnut oak_ 84, 85 alba, L. _White oak_ 75-77 bicolor, Willd. _Swamp white oak_ 80-82 coccinea, Wang. _Scarlet oak_ 88, 89 coccinea, _var._ tinctoria, Gray. _Black, Yellow oak_ 89-91 ilicifolia, Wang. _Scrub, Bear oak_ 93, 94 macrocarpa, Michx. _Bur, Over-cup, Mossy-cup oak_ 79, 80 minor, Sarg. _Post, Box white oak_ 77-78 Muhlenbergii, Engelm. _Chestnut oak_ 84, 85 nana, Sarg. _Scrub oak, Bear oak_ 93, 94 obtusiloba, Michx. _Post, Box white oak_ 77, 78 palustris, Du Roi _Pin, Swamp, Water oak_ 91-93 platanoides, Sudw. _Swamp white oak_ 80-82 prinoides, Willd. _Scrub white oak. Scrub chestnut oak_ 85 prinus, L. _Chestnut, Rock chestnut oak_ 82-84 pumila, Sudw. _Scrub, Bear oak_ 93, 94 rubra, L. _Red oak_ 86, 87 stellata, Wang. _Post, Box white oak_ 77, 78 tinctoria, Bartram _Black, Yellow oak_ 89-91 velutina, Lam. _Black, Yellow oak_ 89-91 Fir (Abies balsamea, Mill.) 20-22 Fir balsam (Abies balsamea, Mill.) 20-22 Fraxinus Americana, L. _White ash_ 162-164 lanceolata. Borkh. _Green ash_ 166, 172 nigra. Marsh. _Black, Swamp, Basket, Hoop, Brown ash_ 167, 168 Pennsylvanica, Marsh. _Red, Brown, River ash_ 164, 165 Fraxinus Pennsylvania, _var._ lanceolata, Sarg. _Green ash_ 166, 172 pubescens, Lam. _Red, Brown, River ash_ 164,165 sambucifolia, Lam. _Black, Swamp, Basket, Hoop, Brown ash_ 167, 168 viridis, Michx. f. _Green ash_ 166, 172 G Glaucous willow. (Salix discolor, Muhl.) 40, 41 Gleditsia triacanthos, L. _Honey locust_ 129, 130 Gray birch. (Betula lutea, Michx. f.) 63,64 (Betula populifolia, Marsh.) 66-68 pine. (Pinus Banksiana, Lam.) 8, 9 Green ash. (Fraxinus Pennsylvanica, _var._ lanceolata, Sarg.) 166, 172 osier. (Cornus alternifolia, L. f.) 157, 158 Groome estate, Dorchester, Mass., Willow. (_Salix fragilis_, 1890) 44 Gum, (Liquidambar Styraciflua, L.) 108, 109 Sour gum. (Nyssa sylvatica, Marsh.) 159, 160 H Hackberry. (Celtis occidentalis, L.) 100-102 Hacmatack. (Larix Americana, Michx.) 2-4 =Hamamelidaceæ.= (Witch Hazel family) 108, 109 Liquidambar styraciflua, L. _Sweet gum_ 108, 109 Hard maple. (Acer Saccharum, Marsh.) 144-146 pine. (Pinus rigida, Mill.) 6, 7 Hemlock. (Tsuga Canadensis, Carr.) 19, 20 Hickory. Bitternut, Swamp hickory. (Carya amara, Nutt.) 55-57 Mockernut, White-heart hickory. (Carya tomentosa, Nutt.) 51-53 Pignut, White hickory. (Carya porcina, Nutt.) 53-55 Shagbark, Shellbark hickory. (Carya alba, Nutt.) 49-51 Hicoria alba, Britton. _Mockernut, White-heart hickory, Walnut_ 51-53 glabra, Britton. _Pignut, White hickory_ 53-55 minima, Britton. _Butternut, Swamp hickory_ 55-57 ovata, Britton. _Shagbark, Shellbark hickory, Walnut_ 49-51 Holly family. (=Aquifoliaceæ=) 138-140 Holly, American holly. (Ilex opaca, Ait.) 138-140 Honey locust. (Gleditsia triacanthos, L.) 129,130 Honeysuckle family. (=Caprifoliaceæ=) 168,169 Hoop ash. (Celtis occidentals, L.) 100-102 (Fraxinus nigra, Marsh.) 167, 168 Hop hornbeam. (Ostrya Virginica, Willd.) 57,58 Hornbeam. (Carpinus Caroliniana, Walt.) 59, 60 Horse plum. (Prunus nigra, Ait.) 122,123 I Ilex opaca, Ait. _American holly_ 138-140 Ironwood. (Carpinus Caroliniana, Walt.) 59, 60 (Ostrya Virginica, Willd.) 57, 58 Ivy, Poison ivy. (Rhus toxicodendron) 137 J Jack pine. (Pinus Banksiana, Lamb) 8, 9 =Juglandaceæ.= (Walnut family) 47-57 Carya alba, Nutt. _Shagbark, Shellbark hickory, Walnut_ 49-51 amara, Nutt. _Bitternut, Swamp hickory_ 55-57 porcina, Nutt. _Pignut, White hickory_ 53-55 tomentosa, Nutt. _Mockernut, White-heart hickory. Walnut_ 51-53 Hicoria alba, Britton _Mockernut, White-heart hickory. Walnut_ 51-53 glabra, Britton. _Pignut, White hickory_ 53-55 minima, Britton. _Bitternut, Swamp hickory_ 55-57 ovata, Britton. _Shagbark, Shellbark hickory, Walnut_, 49-51 Juglans cinerea, L. _Butternut, Oilnut, Lemon walnut_, 46, 47 nigra, L. _Black walnut_ 48, 49 June-berry. (Amelanchier Canadensis, Medic.) 116, 117 Juniper. (Larix Americana, Michx.) 2-4 Juniperus Virginiana, L. _Red cedar, Savin_ 26-28 L Labrador spruce. (Picea alba, Link) 16-18 Laconia, N.H., Pussy willow, 35 ft. high. (Salix discolor, Muhl.) 41 Larch. (Larix Americana, Michx.) 2-4 Large-toothed aspen . . (Populus grandidenta, Michx.) 31,32 Larix Americana, Michx. _Tamarack, Hacmatack, Larch, Juniper_ 2-4 laricina, Koch. _Tamarack, Hacmatack, Larch, Juniper_ 2-4 =Lauraceæ.= (Laurel family) 106-108 Sassafras officinale. Nees. _Sassafras_ 106-108 Sassafras, Karst. _Sassafras_ 106-108 Laurel family. (=Lauraceæ=) 106-108 =Leguminosæ.= (Pulse family) 129-132 Gleditsia triacanthos, L. _Honey locust, Three-thorned acacia_ 129, 130 Robinia pseudacacia. L. _Locust_ 131, 132 viscosa, Vent. _Clammy locust_ 132 Lemon walnut (Juglans cinerea, L.) 46, 47 Leverwood (Ostrya Virginica, Willd.) 57, 58 Lime. (Tilia Americana, L.) 153-155 Linden family. (=Tiliaceæ=) 153-155 Linden. (Tilia Americana, L.) 153-155 Liquidambar Styraciflua, L. _Sweet gum_ 108, 109 Liriodendron Tulipifera, L. _Tulip tree, Whitewood, Poplar_ 104-106 Locust. (Robinia pseudacacia, L.) 131, 132 Clammy locust (Robinia viscosa, Vent.) 132 Honey locust (Gleditsia triacanthos, L.) 129,130 M Magnolia family. (=Magnoliaceæ=) 104-106 =Magnoliaceæ.= (Magnolia family) 104-106 Liriodendron Tulipifera, L. _Tulip tree, Whitewood, Poplar_ 104-106 Malus Malus, Britton. Apple tree 115 Maple family. (=Aceraceæ=) 140-153 Maple, Black maple (Acer Saccharum, Marsh., _var._ nigrum, Britton) 127, 146, 172 Box elder, Ash-leaved maple. (Acer negundo, L.) 151-153 Mountain maple (Acer spicatum, Lam.) 148, 149 Norway maple (_cultivated_) (Acer platanoides) 146 Red, Swamp, Soft, White maple. (Acer rubrum, L.) 140-142 Rock, Sugar, Hard maple, Sugar tree. (Acer Saccharum, Marsh.) 144-146, 172 Silver, Soft, White maple, River (Acer saccharinum, L.) 142-144 Striped maple, Moosewood, Whistlewood. (Acer Pennsylvanicum, L.) 149-151 Mazard cherry. (Prunus Avium, L.) 128 Mockernut. (Carya tomentosa, Nutt.) 51-53 Moosewood. (Acer Pennsylvanicum, L.) 149-151 =Moraceæ.= (Mulberry family) 102-104 Morus alba, L. _White mulberry_ 104 rubra, L. _Red mulberry_ 102, 103 Mossy-cup oak (Quercus macrocarpa, Michx.) 79, 80 Mountain ash (Pyrus Americana, DC.) 112, 113 (Pyrus sambucifolia, Cham. & Schlecht.) 113-115 Mountain ash, European. (Pyrus aucuparia) 113, 115 maple (Acer spicatum, Lam.) 148, 149 Mulberry family. (=Moraceæ=) 102-104 Mulberry, Red mulberry. (Morus rubra. L.) 102, 103 White mulberry. (Morus alba, L.) 104 N Nanny plum (Viburnum Lentago, L.) 168, 169 Negundo aceroides, Moench. _Box elder, Ash-leaved maple_ 151-153 Negundo, Karst. 151-153 Nettle tree (Celtis occidentalis, L.) 100-102 Norway maple. (Acer platanoides) 146 pine (Pinus resinosa, Ait.) 10, 11 Nyssa sylvatica, Marsh. _Tupelo, Sour gum, Pepperidge_ 159, 160 O Oak, Black, Yellow oak (Quercus velutina, Lam.) 89-91 Bur, Over-cup, Mossy-cup oak (Quercus macrocarpa, Michx.) 79, 80 Chestnut oak (Quercus Muhlenbergii) 84, 85 Chestnut, Rock chestnut oak (Quercus prinus, L.) 82-84 Pin, Swamp, Water oak (Quercus palustris, Du Roi) 91-08 Post, Box white oak (Quercus stellata, Wang.) 77, 78 Red oak (Quercus rubra, L.) 86, 87 Scarlet oak (Quercus coccinea, Wang.) 88, 89 Scrub, Bear oak (Quercus ilicifolia, Wang.) 93, 94 Scrub chestnut, Scrub white oak (Quercus prinoides. Willd.) 85 Swamp white oak (Quercus bicolor, Willd.), 80-82 White oak (Quercus alba, L.) 75-77 Oilnut (Juglans cinerea, L.) 46, 47 Oldfield birch (Betula populifolia, Marsh.) 66-68 =Oleaceæ.= (Olive family) 162-168 Fraxinus Americana, L. _White ash_ 162-164 lanceolata, Borkh. _Green ash_ 166, 172 nigra, Marsh. _Black, Swamp, Basket, Hoop, Brown ash_ 167, 168 Pennsylvania, Marsh. _Red, Brown, River ash_ 164, 165 Pennsylvania, _var._ lanceolata, Sarg. _Green ash_ 166, 172 pubescens, Lam. _Red, Brown, River ash_ 164, 165 sambucifolia, Lam. _Black, Swamp, Basket, Hoop, Brown ash_ 167, 168 viridis, Michx. f. _Green ash_ 166 Olive family. (=Oleaceæ=) 162-168 Osier (Cornus alternifolia, L. f.) 157, 158 Ostrya Virginica, Willd. _Hop hornbeam, Ironwood, Leverwood_ 57, 58 Over-cup oak. (Quercus macrocarpa, Michx.) 79, 80 P Paper birch (Betula papyrifera, Marsh.) 68-70 Pear tree (Pyrus communis, L.) 115 Pepperidge (Nyssa sylvatica, Marsh.) 159, 160 Persimmon (Diospyros Virginiana, L.) 160-162 Picea alba, Link _White spruce_ 16-18 Canadensis, B. S. P. _White spruce_ 16-18 nigra, Link. _Black spruce_ 12-14 nigra, _var._ semiprostrata _Dwarf black spruce_ 12 rubra, Link _Red spruce_ 15, 16 Pigeon cherry (Primus Pennsylvanica, L. f.) 124, 125 Pignut (Carya porcina, Nutt.) 53-55 Pin cherry (Prunus Pennsylvanica, L. f.) 124, 125 oak (Quercus palustris, Du Roi) 91-93 Pine family: Conifers. (=Pinoideæ=) 1-28 Pine. Jack, Gray, Scrub, Spruce pine (Pinus Banksiana, Lamb) 8, 9 Pitch, Hard pine (Pinus rigida, Mill.) 6, 7 Red, Norway pine (Pinus resinosa, Ait.) 10, 11 Scotch pine (_dit_ incorrectly Scotch fir) (Pinus sylvestris, L.) 11, 12 White pine (Pinus Strobus, L.) 4-6 =Pinoideæ.= (Pine family: Conifers) 1-28 =Abietaceæ.= 1-22 Abies balsamea, Mill. _Fir balsam, Balsam, Fir_ 20-22 Larix Americana, Michx. _Tamarack, Hacmatack, Larch, Juniper_ 2-4 laricina, Koch. _Tamarack, Hacmatack, Larch, Juniper_ 2-4 Picea alba, Link _White, Cat, Skunk, Labrador spruce_ 16-18 Canadensis, B.S.P. _White, Cat, Skunk, Labrador spruce_ 16-18 nigra, Link. _Black, Double, Swamp, Water spruce_ 12-14 rubra, Link. _Red spruce_ 15, 16 semiprostrata _Dwarf black spruce_ 12 Pinus Banksiana, Lamb. _Jack, Gray, Scrub, Spruce pine_ 8, 9 resinosa, Ait. _Red, Norway pine_ 10, 11 rigida, Mill. _Pitch, Hard pine_ 6, 7 Strobus, L. _White pine_ 4-6 sylvestris, L. _Scotch pine_ 11, 12 Tsuga Canadensis, Carr. _Hemlock_ 19, 20 =Cupressaceæ.= 2, 23-28 Chamæcyparis sphæroidea, Spach. _White cedar, Cedar_ 25, 26 thyoides, L. _White cedar, Cedar_ 25, 26 Juniperus Virginiana, L. _Red cedar, Savin_ 26-28 Thuja occidentalis, L. _Arbor-vitæ, White cedar_ 23, 24 Pitch pine. (Pinus rigida. Mill.) 6, 7 Plane tree family. (=Platanaceæ=) 110, 111 =Platanaceæ.= (Plane tree family) 110, 111 Platanus occidentalis, L. _Buttonwood, Sycamore. Buttonball, Plane tree_ 110, 111 Plum family. (=Drupaceæ=) 122-128 Plum, Wild plum. (Prunus Americana, Marsh.) 123, 124, 171 Wild, Red, Horse, Canada plum. (Prunus nigra, Ait.) 122, 123, 171 Poison elder (Rhus vernix. L.) 136, 137 ivy (Rhus toxicodendron) 137 sumac (Rhus vernix, L.) 136, 137 =Pomaceæ.= (Apple family) 112-121 Amelanchier Canadensis, Medic. _Shadbush, June-berry_ 116, 117 Cratægus Arnoldiana, Sarg., _Thorn_ 121 coccinea, L,. _Thorn_ 118, 119 coccinea, _var._ mollis, T. & G. 120, 121 Crus-Galli, L. _Cockspur thorn_ 117, 118, 171 mollis, Scheele _Thorn_ 120, 121 punctata, Jacq....._Cockspur thorn_ 118 submollis, Sarg. _Thorn_ 121 subvillosa, Schr. _Thorn_ 120, 121 Malus malus, Britton _Apple tree_ 115 Pyrus Americana, DC. _Mountain ash_ 112, 113 aucuparia _European mountain ash_ 113, 115 communis, L. _Pear tree_ 115 malus, L. _Apple tree_ 115 sambucifolia, Cham. & Schlecht. _Mountain ash_ 113-115 Sorbus Americana, Marsh. _Mountain ash_ 112, 113 sambucifolia, R[oe]m. _Mountain ash_ 113, 115 Poplar, Tulip tree, White wood. (Liriodendron Tulipifera, L.) 104-106 Aspen. (Populus tremuloides, Michx.) 29, 30 Balsam, Balm of Gilead. (Populus balsamifera. L.) 36, 37 Cottonwood. (Populus deltoides, Marsh.) 34, 35 Poplar, Large-toothed aspen. (Populus grandidentata, Michx.) 31, 32 Swamp poplar, Cottonwood, Poplar. (Populus heterophylla, L.) 33, 34 White, Silver-leaved poplar. (Populus alba, L.) 39, 40 Poplar birch. (Betula populifolia, Marsh.) 66-68 Populus alba, L. _Abele, White, Silver-leaved poplar_ 39, 40 balsamifera, L. _Balsam_ 3, 36, 37 balsamifera, _var._ candicans, Gray. _Balm of Gilead_ 37-39, 171 balsamifera, _var._ intermedia _Balsam, Poplar, Balm of Gilead_ 36 Populus balsamifera, _var._ latifolia _Balsam, Poplar, Balm of Gilead_ 36 candicans, Ait., _Balm of Gilead_ 37-39, 171 deltoides, Marsh. _Cottonwood, Poplar_ 34, 35 grandidentata, Michx. _Poplar, Large-toothed aspen_ 31, 32 heterophylla, L. _Swamp poplar, Poplar, Cottonwood_ 33, 34 monilifera, Ait. _Cottonwood_ 34, 35 tremuloides, Michx. _Aspen, Poplar_ 29, 30 Post oak (Quercus stellata, Wang.) 77, 78 Poverty birch (Betula populifolia, Marsh.) 66-68 Prunus Americana, Marsh. _Wild plum_ 123, 124, 171 _var_. nigra, Waugh _Wild, Red, Horse, Canada plum_ 122, 123, 171 Avium, L. _Mazard cherry_ 128 nigra, Ait. _Wild plum_ 122, 123, 171 Pennsylvanica, L. f. _Wild red, Pin, Pigeon, Bird cherry_ 124, 125 serotina, Ehrh. _Rum, Black cherry_ 127, 128 Virginiana, L. _Chokecherry_ 125, 126 Pulse family. (=Leguminosæ=) 129-132 Pussy willow (Salix discolor, Muhl.) 40, 41, 171 Pyrus Americana, DC. _Mountain ash_ 112, 113 aucuparia _European mountain ash_ 113, 115 communis, L. _Pear tree_ 115 malus, L. _Apple tree_ 115 sambucifolia, Cham. & Schlecht. _Mountain ash_ 113-115 Q Quercus acuminata, Sarg. _Chestnut oak_ 84, 85 alba, L. _White oak_ 75-77 bicolor, Willd. _Swamp white oak_ 80-82 coccinea, Wang. _Scarlet oak_ 88, 89 coccinea, _var._ tinctoria, Gray. _Black oak_ 89-91 ilicifolia, Wang. _Scrub, Bear oak_ 93, 94 macrocarpa, Michx. _Bur, Over-cup, Mossy-cup oak_ 79, 80 minor, Sarg. _Post, Box white oak_ 77, 78 Muhlenbergii, Engelm. _Chestnut oak_ 84, 85 nana, Sarg. ...._Scrub, Bear oak_ 93, 94 obtusiloba, Michx. _Post, Box white oak_ 77, 78 palustris, Du Roi. _Pin, Swamp, Water oak_ 91-93 platanoides, Sudw. _Swamp white oak_ 80-82 prinoides, Willd. _Scrub white, Scrub chestnut oak_ 85 prinus, L. _Chestnut, Rock chestnut oak_ 82-84 pumila, Sudw. _Scrub, Bear oak_ 93, 94 Quercus rubra, L. _Red oak_ 86, 87 stellata, Wang. _Post, Box white oak_ 77, 78 tinctoria, Bartram. _Black, Yellow oak_ 89-91 velutina, Lam. _Black, Yellow oak_ 89-91 R Red ash (Fraxinus Pennsylvanica, Marsh.) 164, 165 birch (Betula nigra, L.) 65, 66 cedar (Juniperus Virginiana, L.) 26-28 elm (Ulmus fulva, Michx.) 97, 98 maple (Acer rubrum, L.) 140-142 mulberry (Morus rubra, L.) 102, 103 oak (Quercus rubra, L.) 86, 87 pine (Pinus resinosa, Ait.) 10, 11 plum (Prunus nigra, Ait.) 22, 123 spruce (Picea rubra, Link) 15, 16 Rhus copallina _Dwarf sumac_ 137 glabra _Smooth sumac_ 137 hirta, Sudw. _Staghorn sumac_ 134, 135 toxicodendron _Poison ivy_ 137 typhina, L. _Staghorn sumac_ 134, 135 venenata, DC. _Dogwood, Poison sumac_ 136, 137 vernix, L. _Dogwood, Poison sumac_ 136, 137 River ash (Fraxinus Pennsylvanica, Marsh.) 164, 165 birch (Betula nigra, L.) 65, 66 maple (Acer saccharinum, L.) 142-144 Robinia pseudacacia, L. _Locust_ 131, 132 viscosa, Vent. _Clammy locust_ 132 Rock chestnut oak (Quercus prinus, L.) 82-84 elm (Ulmus racemosa, Thomas) 99, 100 maple (Acer Saccharum, Marsh.) 144-146, 172 Rum cherry (Primus serotina, Ehrh.) 127, 128 S =Salicaceæ.= (Willow family) 28-46 Populus alba, L. _Abele, White, Silver-leaf poplar_ 39, 40 balsamifera, L. _Poplar, Balsam. Balm of Gilead_ 36, 37 balsamifera, _var._ candicans, Gray. _Balm of Gilead_ 37-39, 171 balsamifera, _var._ intermedia _Poplar, Balsam_ 36 balsamifera, _var._ latifolia _Poplar, Balsam_ 36 candicans, Ait. _Balm of Gilead_ 37-39, 171 deltoides, Marsh. _Cottonwood, Poplar_ 34, 35 Populus grandidentata, Michx. _Poplar, Large-toothed aspen_ 31, 32 heterophylla, L. _Poplar, Swamp poplar, Cottonwood_ 33, 34 monilifera, Ait. _Cottonwood poplar_ 34, 35 tremuloides, Michx. _Poplar, Aspen_ 29, 30 Salix alba, L. _White willow_ 43, 45, 46 _var._ cærulea, Koch _White willow_ 45 _var._ vitellina, Koch _White willow_ 4 balsamifera, Barrett 171 discolor, Muhl. _Pussy willow, Glaucous willow_ 40, 41, 171 falcata, Pursh _Black willow_ 42 fragilis, L. _Crack willow, Brittle willow_ 43-45 nigra, Marsh. _Black willow_ 42, 43 Sassafras officinale, Nees _Sassafras_ 106-108 Sassafras, Karst. _Sassafras_ 106-108 Savin (Juniperus Virginiana, L.) 26-28 Scarlet oak (Quercus coccinea, Wang.) 88, 89 Scotch pine (Pinus sylvestris, L.) 11, 12 Scrub chestnut oak (Quercus prinoides, Willd.) 85 oak (Quercus ilicifolia, Wang.) 93, 94 pine (Pinus Banksiana, Lamb) 8,9 white oak (Quercus prinoides, Willd.) 85 Shadbush (Amelanchier Canadensis, Medic.) 116, 117 Shagbark (Carya alba, Nutt.) 49-51 Sheep berry (Viburnum Lentago, L.) 168, 169 Silver-leaf poplar (Populus alba, L.) 39, 40 maple (Acer saccharinum, L.) 142-144 =Simarubaceæ.= (Ailanthus family) 133 Ailanthus glandulosus, Desf. _Tree of Heaven, Chinese sumac_ 133 Skunk spruce (Picea alba, Link) 16-18 Slippery elm (Ulmus fulva, Michx.) 97, 98 Small white birch (Betula populifolia, Marsh.) 66-68 Smooth sumac (Rhus glabra) 137 Soft maple (Acer rubrum, L.) 140-142 (Acer saccharinum, L.), 142-144 Sorbus Americana, Marsh. _Mountain ash_ 112, 113 sambucifolia, R[oe]m. _Mountain ash_ 113, 115 Sour gum (Nyssa sylvatica, Marsh.) 159, 160 Spruce, Black, Swamp, Double, Water. (Picea nigra, Link) 12-14 Red spruce (Picea rubra, Link) 15, 16 White, Cat, Skunk, Labrador. (Picea alba, Link) 16-18 Spruce pine (Pinus Banksiana, Lamb) 8, 9 Staghorn sumac (Rhus typhina, L.) 134, 135 Striped maple (Acer Pennsylvanicum, L.) 149-151 Sugar berry (Celtis occidentalis, L.) 100-102 Sugar maple (Acer Saccharum, Marsh.) 144-146 tree (Acer Saccharum, Marsh.) 144-146 Sumac family. (=Anacardiaceæ=) 134-137 Sumac, Ailanthus, Tree of Heaven, Chinese sumac (Ailanthus glandulosus, Desf.) 133 Dogwood, poison sumac. (Rhus vernix, L.) 136, 137 Dwarf sumac (Rhus copallina) 137 Smooth sumac (Rhus glabra) 137 Staghorn sumac (Rhus tyhina, L.) 134, 135 Swamp ash (Fraxinus nigra, Marsh.) 167, 168 hickory (Carya amara, Nutt.) 55-57 maple (Acer rubrum, L.), 140-142 oak (Quercus palustris, Du Roi) 91-93 poplar (Populus heterophylla, L.) 33, 34 spruce (Picea nigra, Link) 12-14 white oak (Quercus bicolor, Willd.) 80-82 Sweet birch (Betula lenta, L.) 61, 62 gum (Liquidambar Styraciflua, L.) 108, 109 viburnum (Viburnum Lentago, L.) 168, 169 Sycamore (Platanus occidentalis, L.) 110, 111 T Tamarack. (Larix Americana, Michx.) 2-4 Thayer, Col. Minot estate, Braintree, Mass., _Ilex opaca_, fine specimen 139 Thorn. Cockspur (Cratægus Crus-Galli, L.) 117, 118, 171 (Cratægus coccinea, L.) 118, 119 (Cratægus mollis, Scheele) 120, 121 Three-thorned acacia (Gleditsia tricanthus, L.) 129, 130 Thuja occidentalis, L. _Arbor-vitæ, White cedar, Cedar_ 23, 24 =Tiliaceæ.= (Linden family) 153-155 Tilia Americana, L. _Basswood, Linden, Lime, Whitewood_ 153-155 Europæa _Basswood, Linden, Lime, Whitewood_ 155 heterophylla, Vent. _Basswood, Linden, Lime, Whitewood_ 155 puebescens, Ait. _Basswood, Linden, Lime, Whitewood_ 155 Tree of Heaven (Ailanthus glandulosus, Desf.) 183 Tsuga Canadensis, Carr. _Hemlock_ 19, 20 Tulip tree (Liriodendron Tulipifera, L.) 104-106 Tupelo (Nyssa sylvatica, Marsh.) 159, 160 U =Ulmaceæ.= (Elm family) 95-102 Celtis occidentalis, L. _Hackberry_, _Nettle tree_, _Hoop ash_, _Sugar berry_ 100-102 Ulmus Americana, L. _American_, _White elm_ 95-97 fulva, Michx. _Slippery_, _Red elm_ 97, 98 puebescens, Walt. _Slippery_, _Red elm_ 97, 98 racemosa, Thomas. _Cork_, _Rock elm_ 99, 100 V Viburnum Lentago, L. _Sheep berry_ 168, 169 W Walnut family. (=Juglandaceæ=) 47-57 Walnut, Black walnut (Juglans nigra, L.) 48, 49 Butternut, Oilnut, Lemon walnut. (Juglans cinerea, L.) 46, 47 Mockernut, White-heart hickory. (Carya tomentosa, Nutt.) 51-53 Walnut, Shagbark, Shellbark hickory. (Carya alba, Nutt.) 49-51 Water beech (Carpinus Caroliniana, Walt.) 59, 60 oak (Quercus palustris, Du Roi) 91-93 spruce (Picea nigra, Link) 12-14 Watson, Thomas, Braintree, Mass., _Ilex opaca_, on estate of 139 Whistlewood (Acer Pennsylvanicum, L.) 149-151 White ash (Fraxinus Americana, L.) 162-164 birch (Betula papyrifera, Marsh.) 68-70 (Betula populifolia, Marsh.) 66-68 cedar (Cupressus thyoides, L.) 25, 26 (Thuja occidentalis, L.) 23, 24 elm (Ulmus Americana, L.) 95-97 hickory (Carya porcina, Nutt.) 53-55 maple (Acer rubrum, L.) 140-142 (Acer saccharinum, L.) 142-144 mulberry (Morus alba, L.) 104 oak (Quercus alba, L.) 75-77 pine (Pinus Strobus, L.) 4-6 poplar (Populus alba, L.) 39, 40 spruce (Picea alba, Link) 16-18 willow (Salix alba) 43, 45, 46 White-heart hickory (Carya tomentosa, Nutt) 51-53 Whitewood (Liriodendron Tulipifera, L.) 104-106 Whitewood (Tilia Americana, L.) 153-155 Wild plum (Prunus Americana, Marsh.) 171 (Prunus nigra, Ait.) 122, 123, 171 red cherry (Prunus Pennsylvanica, L. f.) 124, 125 Willow family. (=Salicaceæ=) 28-46 Willow, Black willow (Salix nigra, Marsh.) 42, 43 Crack, Brittle willow. (Salix fragilis, L.) 43-45 Pussy willow, Glaucous willow (Salix discolor, Muhl.) 40, 41, 171 White willow. (Salix alba, L., _var._ vitellina, Koch) 45, 46 Witch hazel family. (=Hamamelidaceæ=) 108, 109 Y Yellow birch. (Betula lutea, Michx. f.) 63, 64 oak. (Quercus velutina, Lam.) 89-91 
11723	----	AMONG THE TREES AT ELMRIDGE BY ELLA RODMAN CHURCH 1886 CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. A SPRING OPENING. CHAPTER II. THE MAPLES. CHAPTER III. OLD ACQUAINTANCES: THE ELMS. CHAPTER IV. MAJESTY AND STRENGTH: THE OAK. CHAPTER V. BEAUTY AND GRACE: THE ASH. CHAPTER VI. THE OLIVE TREE. CHAPTER VII. THE USEFUL BIRCH. CHAPTER VIII. THE POPLARS. CHAPTER IX. ALL A-BLOW: THE APPLE TREE. CHAPTER X. A FRUITFUL FAMILY: THE PEACH, ALMOND, PLUM AND CHERRY. CHAPTER XI. THE CHERRY-STORY. CHAPTER XII. THE MULBERRY FAMILY. CHAPTER XIII. QUEER RELATIONS: THE CAOUTCHOUC AND THE MILK TREE. CHAPTER XIV. HOME AND ABROAD: LINDEN, CAMPHOR, BEECH. CHAPTER XV. THE TENT AND THE LOCUSTS. CHAPTER XVI. THE WALNUT FAMILY AND THE AILANTHUS. CHAPTER XVII. SOME BEAUTIFUL TREES: THE CHESTNUT AND HORSE-CHESTNUT. CHAPTER XVIII. AMONG THE PINES. CHAPTER XIX. GIANT AND NUT PINES. CHAPTER XX. MORE WINTER TREES: THE FIRS AND THE SPRUCES. CHAPTER XXI. THE CEDARS. CHAPTER XXII. THE PALMS. CHAPTER I. _A SPRING OPENING._ On that bright spring afternoon when three happy, interested children went off to the woods with their governess to take their first lesson in the study of wild flowers, they saw also some other things which made a fresh series of "Elmridge Talks," and these things were found among the trees of the roadside and forest. "What makes it look so _yellow_ over there, Miss Harson?" asked Clara, who was peering curiously at a clump of trees that seemed to have been touched with gold or sunlight. "And just look over here," she continued, "at these pink ones!" Malcolm shouted at the idea: "Yellow and pink trees! That sounds like a Japanese fan. Where are they, I should like to know?" "Here, you perverse boy!" said his governess as she laughingly turned him around. "Are you looking up into the sky for them? There is a clump of golden willows right before you, with some rosy maples on one side. What other colors can you call them?" Malcolm had to confess that "yellow and pink trees" were not so wide of the mark, after all, and that they were very pretty. Little Edith was particularly delighted with them, and wanted to "pick the flowers" immediately. "They are too high for that, dear," was the reply, "and these blossoms--for that is what they really are, although nothing more than fringes and catkins--are much prettier massed on the trees than they would be if gathered. The still-bare twigs and branches seem, as you see, to be draped with golden and rose-colored veils, but there will be no leaves until these queer flowers have dropped. If we look closely at the twigs and branches, we shall see that they are glossy and polished, as though they had been varnished and then brightened with color by the painter's brush. It is the flowing of the sap that does this. The swelling of the bark occasioned by the flow of sap gives the whole mass a livelier hue; hence the ashen green of the poplar, the golden green of the willow and the dark crimson of the peach tree, the wild rose and the red osier are perceptibly heightened by the first warm days of spring." [Illustration: MALE CATKIN OF WILLOW.] "Miss Harson," asked Clara, with a perplexed face, "what are catkins?" "Here," said her governess, reaching from the top bar of the road-fence for the lowest branch of a willow tree; "examine this catkin for yourself, and I will tell you what my _Botany_ says of it: 'An ament, or catkin, is an assemblage of flowers composed of scales and stamens or pistils arranged along a common thread-like receptacle, as in the chestnut and willow. It is a kind of calyx, by some classed as a mode of inflorescence (or flowering), and each chaffy scale protects one or more of the stamens or pistils, the whole forming one aggregate flower. The ament is common to forest-trees, as the oak and chestnut, and is also found upon the willow and poplar.'" "It's funny-looking," said Malcolm, when he had made himself thoroughly acquainted with the appearance of the catkin, "but it doesn't look much like a flower: it looks more like a pussy's tail." "Yes, and that is the origin of its name. 'Catkin' is diminutive for 'cat;' so this collection of flowers is called 'catkin,' or 'little cat.'" "I think I'll call them 'pussy-tails,'" said Edith. "There is a great deal to be learned about trees," said Miss Harson, when all were comfortably seated in the pleasant schoolroom; "and, besides the natural history of their species, some old trees have wonderful stories connected with them, while many in tropical countries are so wonderful in themselves that they do not need stories to make them interesting. The common trees around us will be our subjects at first; for I suppose that you can scarcely tell a willow from a poplar, or a chestnut tree from either, can you?" "I can tell a chestnut tree," said Malcolm, confidently. "When it is not the season for nuts?" asked his governess, smiling. There was not a very positive reply to this; and Miss Harson continued: "I do not think that any of us know as much as we ought to know of the trees which we see every day, and of the uses to which many of them are put, to say nothing of many familiar trees that we read about, and even depend upon for some of the necessaries of life." "Like the cocoanut tree," suggested Clara. "That is not exactly necessary to our comfort, dear," was the reply, "for people can manage to live without cocoanuts, although in many forms they are very agreeable to the taste, and it is only the inhabitants of the countries where they grow who look upon these trees as necessaries; but we will take them up in their turn. And first let us find out what we can about the willow, because it is the first tree, with us, to become green in the spring, and, of that large class which is called _deciduous_, the last one to lose its leaves." "And why are they called _deciduous?_" asked Malcolm. "Because they shed their leaves every autumn and are furnished with a new set in the spring: 'deciduous' is Latin for 'falling off.' And this is the case with nearly all our native trees and plants. _Persistent_, or permanent, leaves remain on the stem and branches all through the changes of season, like the leaves of the pine and box, while _evergreens_ look fresh through the entire year and are generally cone-bearing and resinous trees. 'These change their leaves annually, but, the young leaves appearing before the old ones decay, the tree is always green.'" "Miss Harson," said Clara, "when people talk about _weeping_ willows, what do they mean? Do the trees really cry? I sometimes read about 'em in stories, and I never knew what they did." "They cry dreadfully," said Malcolm, "when it rains." "But only as you do when you are out in it," replied his governess--"by having the water drip from your clothes.--No, Clara, the tree is called 'weeping' because it seems to 'assume the attitude of a person in tears, who bends over and appears to droop.' The sprays of this tree are particularly beautiful, and 'willowy' is often used for 'graceful,' as meaning the same thing. Its language is 'sorrow,' and it is often seen in burial-grounds and in mourning-pictures. 'We remember it in sacred history, associating it with the rivers of Babylon, and with the tears of the children of Israel, who sat down under the shade of this tree and hung their harps upon its branches. It is distinguished by the graceful beauty of its outlines, its light-green, delicate foliage, its sorrowing attitude and its flowing drapery.'" "Were those weeping willows that we saw to-day?" asked Clara. "No," replied her brother, quickly; "they just stuck up straight and didn't weep a bit." "They are called _water_ willows," said Miss Harson, "because they are never found in dry places. They are more common than the weeping willow. The water willow has the same delicate foliage and the same habit, under an April sky, of gleaming with a drapery of golden verdure among the still-naked trees of the forest or orchard. 'When Spring has closed her delicate flowers,' says a bright writer, 'and the multitudes that crowd around the footsteps of May have yielded their places to the brighter host of June, the willow scatters the golden aments that adorned it, and appears in the deeper garniture of its own green foliage.' A group of these golden willows, seen in a rainstorm, will have so bright an appearance as to make it seem as if the sun were actually shining." [Illustration: THE WHITE WILLOW (_Salix alba_).] "I wish we had them all around here, then," said Edith; "I like to see the sun shining when it rains." "But the sun is _not_ shining, dear," replied her governess: "it is only the reflection from the willows that makes it look so; and we can make just such sunshine ourselves when it rains, or when there is dullness of any sort, by being all the more cheerful and striving to make others happy. Who loves to be called 'Little Sunshine'?" "I do," said the child, caressing the hand that had patted her rosy cheek. "Let's all be golden willows," said Malcolm, in a comical way that made them laugh. Miss Harson told him that he could not make a better attempt than to be one of those home-brighteners who bring the sunshine with them, but she added that such people are always considerate for others. Malcolm wondered a little if this meant that _he_ was not, but he soon forgot it in hearing the many things that were to be said of the willow. "The family-name of this tree is _Salix_, from a word that means 'to spring,' because a willow-branch, if planted, will take root and grow so quickly that it seems almost like magic. 'And they shall _spring up_ as among the grass, as willows by the watercourses,' says the prophet Isaiah, speaking of the children of the people of God. The flowers of the willow are of two kinds--one bearing stamens, and the other pistils--and each grows upon a separate plant. When the ovary, at the base of the pistil, is ripe, it opens by two valves and lets out, as through a door, multitudes of small seeds covered with a fine down, like the seeds of the cotton-plant. This downy substance is greedily sought after by the birds as a lining for their nests, and they may be seen carrying it away in their bills. And in some parts of Germany people take the trouble to collect it and use it as a wadding to their winter dresses, and even manufacture it into a coarse kind of paper." "What queer people!" exclaimed Clara. "And how funny they must look in their wadded dresses!" "They are not graceful people," was the reply, "but they live in a cold climate and show their good sense by dressing as warmly as possible. It was quite a surprise, though, to me to find that the willow was of use in clothing people. The more we learn of the works of God, the better we shall understand that last verse of the first chapter of the Bible: 'And God saw everything that he had made, and behold, it was very good.' The bees, too, are attracted by the willow catkins, but they do not want the down. On mild days whole swarms of them may be seen reveling in the sweets of the fresh blossoms. 'Cold days will come long after the willow catkins appear, and the bees will find but few flowers venturesome enough to open their petals. They have, however, thoroughly enjoyed their feast, and the short season of plenty will often be the means of saving a hive from famine.'" "Are willow baskets made of willow trees?" asked Malcolm. "Yes," said Miss Harson. "Basket-making has been a great industry in England from the earliest times; the ancient Britons were particularly skillful in weaving the supple wands of the willow. They even made of these slender stems little boats called 'coracles,' in which they could paddle down the small rivers, and the boats could be carried on their shoulders when they were walking on dry land." "Just like our Indians' birch-bark canoes," said Malcolm, who was reading about the North American Indians. "But isn't it strange, Miss Harson, that the Indians and the Britons didn't get drowned going out in such little light boats?" "Their very lightness buoyed them up upon the waves," was the reply; "but it does seem wonderful that they could bear the weight of men. The willow, however, was also used by the Romans in making their battle-shields, and even for the manufacture of ropes as well as baskets. The rims of cart-wheels, too, used to be made of willow, as now they are hooped with iron; so, you see, it is a strong wood as well as a pliant one. The kind used for basket-making is the _Salix viminalis_, and the rods of this species are called 'osiers.' Let us see now what this English book says of the process of basket-making: "'The quick and vigorous growth of the willow renders it easy to provide materials for this branch of industry. Osier-beds are planted in every suitable place, and here the willow-cutter comes as to an ample store. Autumn is the season for him to ply his trade, and he cuts the willow rods down and ties them in bundles. He then sets them up on end in standing water to the depth of a few inches. Here they remain during the winter, until the shoots, in the following spring, begin to sprout, when they are in a fit state to be peeled. A machine is used in some places to compress the greatest number of rods into a bundle. [Illustration: THE POLLARD WILLOW IN WINTER.] "'Aged or infirm people and women and children can earn money by peeling willows at so much per bundle. The operation is very simple, and so is the necessary apparatus. Sometimes a wooden bench with holes in it is used, the willow-twigs being drawn through the holes. Another way is to draw the rod through two pieces of iron joined together, and with one end thrust into the ground to make it stand upright. The willow-peeler sits down before his instrument and merely thrusts the rod between the two pieces of iron and draws it out again. This proceeding scrapes the bark off one end, and then he turns it and fits it in the other way; so that by a simple process the whole rod is peeled. When the rods are quite prepared, they are again tied up in bundles and sold to the basket-makers.'" "But how do they make the baskets?" asked Clara and Edith. "That is the nicest part." "There is little to tell about it, though," said their governess, "because it is such easy work that any one can learn to do it. You saw the Indian women making baskets when papa took us to Maine last summer, and you noticed how very quickly they did it, beginning with the flat bottom and working rapidly up. It is a favorite occupation for the blind, and one of the things which are taught them in asylums." "I wonder," said Malcolm, "if there is anything else that can be done with the willow?" "Oh yes," replied Miss Harson; "we have not yet come to the end of its resources. It makes the best quality of charcoal, and in many parts of England the tree is raised for this express purpose. 'The abode of the charcoal-burner,' says an English writer, 'may be known from a distance by the cloud of smoke that hovers over it, and that must make it rather unhealthy. It is sometimes a small dome-shaped hut made of green turf, and, except for the difference of the material, might remind us of the hut of the Esquimaux. Beside it stands a caravan like those which make their appearance at fairs, and that contains the family goods and chattels. A string of clothes hung out to dry, a water-tub and a rough, shaggy dog usually complete the picture.'" "But how can people live in the hut," asked Malcolm, "if the charcoal is burned in it? Ugh! I should think they'd choke." "They certainly would," said his governess; "for the charcoal-smoke is death when inhaled for any length of time. But the charcoal-burner knows this quite as well as does any one else, and he makes his fire outside of the house, puts a rude fence around it and lets it smoke away like a huge pipe. The hut is more or less enveloped in smoke, but this is not so bad as letting it rise from the inside would be. A great deal of willow charcoal is made in Germany and other parts of Europe." "But, Miss Harson," said Clara, in a puzzled tone, "I don't see what they do with it all. It doesn't take much to clean people's teeth." "No, dear," was the smiling reply, "and I am afraid that the people who make it are rather careless about their teeth.--You need not laugh, Malcolm, because it is 'just like a girl,' for it is quite as much like a boy not to know things which he has never been taught, and you must remember that you have two years the start of your sister in getting acquainted with the world. Perhaps you will kindly tell us of some of the uses to which charcoal is applied?" "Well," said the young gentleman, after an awkward silence, "it takes lots of it to kindle fires." "I do not think that Kitty ever uses it in the kitchen," said Miss Harson, "for she is supplied with kindling-wood for that purpose. You will have to think of something else." But Malcolm could not think, and his governess finally told him that a great deal of charcoal is used for making gun-powder, and still more for fuel in France and the South of Europe, where a brass vessel supplies the place of a grate or stove. Quantities of it are consumed in steel-and iron-works, in preserving meat and other food, and in many similar ways. The children listened with great interest, and Malcolm felt sure that the next time he was asked about charcoal he would have a sensible answer. "Our insect friends the aphides, or plant-lice, are very fond of the willow," continued Miss Harson, "and in hot, dry weather great masses of them gather on the leaves and drop a sugary juice, which the country-people call 'honey-dew,' and in some remote places, where knowledge is limited, it has been thought to come from the clouds. But we, who have learned something about these aphides[1], know that it comes from their little green bodies, and that the ants often carry the insects off to their nests, where they feed and 'tend them for the sake of this very juice. The aphis that infests the willow is the largest of the tribe, and the branches and stems of the tree are often blackened by the honey-dew that falls upon them." [1] See _Flyers and Crawlers_, by the author. Presbyterian Board of Publication. "Do willow trees grow everywhere?" asked Clara. "They are certainly found in a great many different places," was the reply, "and even in the warmest countries. In one of the missionary settlements in Africa there is a solitary willow that has a story attached to it. It was the only tree in the settlement--think what a place that must have been!--except those the missionary had planted in his own garden, and it would never have existed but for the laziness of its owner. Nothing would have induced any of the natives to take the trouble to plant a tree, and therefore the willow had not been planted. But it happened, a long-time ago, that a native had fetched a log of wood from a distance, to make into a bowl when he should feel in the humor to do so. He threw the log into a pool of water, and soon forgot all about it. Weeks and months passed, and he never felt in the humor to work. But the log of wood set to work of its own accord. It had been cut from a willow, and it took root at the bottom of the pool and began to grow. In the end it became a handsome and flourishing tree." This story was approved by the young audience, except that it was too short; but their governess laughingly said that, as there was nothing more to tell, it could not very well be any longer. [Illustration: THE WEEPING WILLOW (_Salix Babylonica_).] "The weeping willow," continued Miss Harson, "was first planted in England in not so lazy a way, but almost as accidentally. Many years ago a basket of figs was sent from Turkey to the poet Pope, and the basket was made of willow. Willows and their cousins the poplars are natives of the East; you remember that the one hundred and thirty-seventh psalm says of the captive Jews, 'By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion. We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof.' 'The poet valued highly the small slender twigs, as associated with so much that was interesting, and he untwisted the basket and planted one of the branches in the ground. It had some tiny buds upon it, and he hoped he might be able to rear it, as none of this species of willow was known in England. Happily, the willow is very quick to take root and grow. The little branch soon became a tree, and drooped gracefully over the river in the same manner that its race had done over the waters of Babylon. From that one branch all the weeping willows in England are descended.'" "And then they were brought over here," said Malcolm. "But what odd leaves they have, Miss Harson!--so narrow and long. They don't look like the leaves of other trees." "The leaf is somewhat like that of the olive, only that of the olive is broader. The willow is a native of Babylon, and the weeping willow is called _Salix Babylonica_. It was considered one of the handsomest trees of the East, and is particularly mentioned among those which God commanded the Israelites to select for branches to bear in their hands at the feast of tabernacles. Read the verse, Malcolm--the fortieth of the twenty-third chapter of Leviticus." Malcolm read: "'And ye shall take you on the first day the boughs of goodly trees, branches of palm trees, and the boughs of thick trees, and _willows of the brook;_ and ye shall rejoice before the Lord your God seven days.'" [Illustration: LEAF OF WEEPING WILLOW.] "A place called the 'brook of the willows,'" added his governess, "is mentioned in Isaiah xv. 7, and this brook, according to travelers in Palestine, flows into the south-eastern extremity of the Dead Sea. The willow has always been considered by the poets as an emblem of woe and desertion, and this idea probably came from the weeping of the captive Jews under the willows of Babylon. The branches of the _Salix Babylonica_ often droop so low as to touch the ground, and because of this sweeping habit, and of its association with watercourses in the Bible, it has been considered a very suitable tree to plant beside ponds and fountains in ornamental grounds, as well as in cemeteries as an emblem of mourning." "How much there is to remember about the willow!" said Clara, thoughtfully. "I wonder if all the trees will be so interesting?" "They are not all _Bible_ trees," replied Miss Harson. "But the wise king of Israel found them interesting, for he 'spake of trees, from the cedar tree that is in Lebanon even unto the hyssop that springeth out of the wall.'" CHAPTER II. _THE MAPLES._ "The pink trees next, I suppose," said Malcolm, "since we have had the yellow ones?" "_Real_ pink trees?" asked Edith, with very wide-open eyes. "No, dear;" replied her governess; "there are no pink trees, except when they are covered with bloom like the peach trees. Malcolm only means the maples that we saw in blossom yesterday and thought of such a pretty color. There are many varieties of the maple, which is always a beautiful and useful tree, but the red, or scarlet, maple is the very queen of the family. It is not so large as are most of the others; but when a very young tree, its grace and beauty are noticeable among its companions. It is often found in low, moist places, but it thrives just as well in high, dry ground; and it is therefore a most convenient tree. Here is a very pretty description, Malcolm, in one of papa's large books, that you can read to us." Malcolm read remarkably well for a boy of his age, and he always enjoyed being called upon in this way. [Illustration: THE RED MAPLE.] Miss Harson pointed to these lines: "Coming forth in the spring, like morning in the east, arrayed in crimson and purple; bearing itself, not proudly but gracefully in modest green, among the more stately trees in summer; and ere it bids adieu to the season stepping forth in robes of gold, vermilion, crimson and variegated scarlet,--stands the queen of the American forest, the pride of all eyes and the delight of every picturesque observer of nature, the red maple." "Why, I never saw such a tree as that!" exclaimed Clara, in great surprise. "Yes, dear," replied her governess; "you have seen it, but you never thought of describing it to yourself in just this way. When you saw it yesterday, it was coming forth in the spring, like morning in the east, arrayed in crimson and purple,' but you just called it a pink tree. It is much nearer red, however, than it is pink." "I've seen all the rest of the colors, too," said Malcolm, "when we went out after nuts." "That is its autumn dress," said Miss Harson, "although a small tree is often seen with no color on it but brilliant red. But first we must see what it is like in spring and summer. It is also called the scarlet, the white, the soft and the swamp maple, and the flowers, as you see from this specimen, are in whorls, or pairs, of bright crimson, in crowded bunches on the purple branches. The leaves are in three or five lobes, with deep notches between, and some of them are very broad, while others are long and narrow. The trunk of the red maple is a clear ashy gray, often mottled with patches of white lichens; and when the tree is old, the bark cracks and can be peeled off in long, narrow strips." "Is anything done with the bark?" asked Clara. "Yes, it is used, with other substances, for dyeing, and also for making ink. The sap, too, can be boiled down to sugar, but it is not nearly so rich as that of the proper sugar-maple. The wood, which is very light-colored with a tinge of rose in it, is often made into common furniture, as it takes a fine polish and is easy to work with. It is used, too, for building-purposes. The early-summer foliage of the red maple is of a beautiful yellow green, and the young leaves are very delicate and airy-looking; but the graceful tree is in such a hurry to display her gay autumn colors that she will often put on a scarlet or crimson streamer in July or August. One brilliantly-colored branch will be seen on a green tree, or the leaves of an entire tree will turn red while all the other trees around it are clothed in summer greenness." "Don't you remember, Miss Harson," said Edith, "the little tree that I thought was on fire and how frightened I was?" "Yes, dear, I remember it very well--an innocent little red maple that _would_ put on its flame-colored dress when it should have been all in green, like its sisters; but it was too green at heart to be in a blaze. This tree is often used for fuel, but it has to be cut down and dried first. The reddening of the leaf generally begins at the veins and spreads out from them until the whole is tinted. Sometimes it appears in spots, almost like drops of blood, on the green surface; but, come as it will, it is always beautiful. It is said of the red maple that 'it stands among the occupants of the forest like Venus among the planets--the brightest in the midst of brightness and the most beautiful in a constellation of beauty,'" "Is there such a thing as a silver tree?" asked Clara. [Illustration: THE SILVER-LEAF MAPLE.] "There is a tree called 'the silver maple,'" was the reply, "and there is also the silver poplar. The silver maple is considered the most graceful of the large and handsome maple family. I have not told you, I think, that the name of the family is _Acer_, which means 'sharp' or 'hard,' and it was supposed to have been given in old English times when the wood of the maple was used for javelins. The silver maple gets its name from the whitish under-surface of its leaves, and it is a favorite shade-tree; it has a slender trunk and long, drooping branches. The foliage is light and rather dull-looking, and it is not a very bright tree in autumn. The leaves are so deeply notched that they have a fringe-like appearance, and this, with its slender form and bending, swaying habit, gives it a very graceful look." Little Edith wished to know "if the wood was like silver," and Malcolm asked her how she expected it to grow if it was. But Miss Harson replied kindly, "The silver, dear, is all in the leaves, and there is not much of it there. The wood is white and of little use, as it is soft and perishable; but the beauty of the finely-cut foliage, the contrast between the green of the upper surface of the leaves and the silver color of the lower, and the magnificent spread of the limbs of the white maple, recommend it as an ornamental tree; and this is the purpose for which it is intended. It is used very largely in the cities for shade and beauty. It is often called the 'river maple,' because it is so frequently seen on the banks of streams." "And now," said Malcolm, "I hope there is ever so much about the maple-sugar tree. Can't we get some this spring, Miss Harson, before it's all gone?" "We can certainly buy the sugar in town, Malcolm, if that is what you mean; but it does not grow on the trees in cakes, and we shall scarcely be able to tap the trunks and go through with the process of preparing the sap, even if it were not too late for that. We will do what we can, though, to become acquainted with the rock maple, that we may be able to recognize it when we see it. When young, it is a beautiful, neat and shapely tree with a rich, full leafy head of a great variety of forms. It is the largest and strongest of the maples, and gives the best shade. It can be distinguished from the other members of the family by its leaves, in which the notch between the lobes is round instead of being sharp, and also by their appearing at the same time with the blossoms, which are of a yellowish-green color. The green tint of the leaves is darker on some trees than it is on others, and in autumn they become, often before the first touch of the frost, of a splendid orange or gold, sometimes of a bright scarlet or crimson, color, each tree commonly retaining from year to year the same color or colors, and differing somewhat from every other. The most beautiful and valuable maple-wood is taken from this tree. It is known as 'curled maple' and 'bird's-eye maple,' and the common variety looks like satin-wood. In the curled maple the fibres are in waves instead of in straight lines, and the surface seems to change with alternate light and shade; in the bird's-eye, irregular snarls of fibres look like roundish projections rising from hollow places, each one resembling the eye of a bird. Buckets, tubs and many useful things are made of the straight variety, and for lasts it is considered better than any other kind of wood. The curled and the bird's-eye are largely used for furniture." "But isn't it a shame," said Clara, "to spoil the maple-sugar by making the trees into chairs and things?" "You would not think so," replied her governess, "if you needed the 'chairs and things' more than you need the sugar. But the supply of trees seems to be sufficient for both purposes." "Does the sugar come right out of the tree when people tap on it with a hammer?" asked Edith, whose ideas of sugar-making were rather crude. "You blessed baby!" cried Malcolm, with a shout of laughter. Let's take our hammers and go after some maple-sugar right away." "No, Edie," said Miss Harson as she took her much-loved little pupil on her lap; "we'll stay at home and learn just how the sugar is made. To _tap_ a tree, dear, means to make cuts in the trunk for the sap to flow out, and in the sugar-maple this sap is more like water than sugar. From the middle of February to the second week in March, according to the warmth or the coldness of the locality, is the time for tapping the trees; and when the holes are bored, spouts of elder or sumac from which the pith has been taken are put into them at one end, while the other goes down to the bucket which receives the sap. 'Several holes are so bored that their spouts shall lead to the same bucket, and high enough to allow the bucket to hang two or three feet from the ground, to prevent leaves and dirt from being blown in.' The next thing is to boil the sap, and this is done in great iron kettles, over immense wood-fires, out there among the trees, with plenty of snow on the ground, and only two or three rude little cabins for the men and boys to sleep in. This is called 'the sugar-camp,' and the sap-season lasts five or six weeks." "And why is it boiled?" "Boiling drives the water off in vapor, and leaves the sugar behind in the pot." "And do they stay in the woods there all the time?" asked Malcolm, with great interest. "What lots of fun they must have, with the big fires and the snow and as much maple-sugar as ever they want to eat! _I'd_ like to stay in a sugar-camp in the woods." [Illustration: MAKING MAPLE SUGAR.] "Perhaps not, after trying it and finding how much hard work there is in sugar-making," replied his governess. "'The kettles must be carefully watched and plenty of wood brought to keep them boiling, and during the process the sap, or syrup, is strained; lime or salaeratus is added, to neutralize the free acid; and the white of egg, isinglass or milk, to cause foreign substances to rise in a scum to the surface. When it has been sufficiently boiled, the syrup is poured into moulds or casks to harden.' The sugar with which the most pains have been taken is very light-colored, and I have seen it almost white." "Have you ever been to a sugar-camp, Miss Harson?" asked Clara, who was wishing, like Malcolm, that she could go to one herself. "Yes," said Miss Harson; "I did go once, in Vermont, when the family with whom I was staying took me to see the 'sugaring off.' This is putting it into the pans and buckets to harden after it has been sufficiently boiled and clarified; and we younger ones, by way of amusement, were allowed to make jack-wax." "Oh!" exclaimed three voices at once; "what is that? Is it good to eat?" "I thought it particularly good," was the reply, "and I am quite sure that you would agree with me. To make it, we poured a small quantity of hot syrup on the snow to cool; and when it was fit to eat, it was just like wax, instead of being hard like the cakes in moulds. It took only a few minutes, too, to make it, and it seemed a great deal nicer because we did it ourselves. I remember that it was the last of March and very cold, but there were big fires to get warmed at, and we had a delightful time." "Were there any Indians there, Miss Harson?" asked little Edith, after being quiet for some time. Vermont was such a long way off on the map, besides being up almost at the top, that Indians and bears and all sorts of wild things seemed to have a right to live there. "No," said her governess, smiling at the question; "I did not see one, even at the sugar-camp. Yet the Indians made maple-sugar long before we knew anything about it, and from them the white people learned how to do it." "Well, that's the funniest thing!" exclaimed Malcolm. "I thought that Indians were always scalping people instead of making maple-sugar." "They did a great many other things, though, besides fighting, and their life was spent so much out of doors that they studied the nature of every plant and living thing about them. The healing-properties of some of our most valuable herbs were first discovered by the Indians, and, as they never had any grocery-stores, the presence of trees that would supply them with sugar was a blessing not likely to be neglected. The devoted missionary John Brainerd first heard of this tree-sugar from them, and it is said that he used to preach to them when they were thus peacefully employed, and obtained a better hearing than at other times." "Have we any maple-sugar trees?" asked Clara. "No," replied Miss Harson; "there are none at Elmridge, and I have seen none anywhere near here. They seem to flourish best in the Northern and North-eastern States, while in Western Canada the tree is found in groves of from five to twenty acres. These are called 'sugar-bushes,' and few farmers in that part of America are without them. In England the maple trees are called 'sycamores,' and the sap is used as a sweet drink. I will read to you from a little English book called _Voices from the Woodlands_ a simple account of a country festival where maple sap was the choicest refreshment: "'"Take care of that young tree," said Farmer Robinson to his laborer, who was diligently employed in clearing away a rambling company of brambles which had grown unmolested during the time of the last tenant; "the soil is good, and in a very few years we shall have pasturage for our bees, and plenty of maple-wine." "'The farmer spoke true; before his young laborer had attained middle age the sapling had grown into a fine tree. Its branches spread wide and high, and bees came from all parts to gather their honey-harvests among the flowers; beneath its shade lambkins were wont in spring to sleep beside their dams; and when the time of shearing came, and the sheep were disburdened of their fleeces, you might see them hastening to the sycamore tree for shelter. "'A kind of rustic festival was held about the same time in honor of the maple-wine. Hither came the farmer and his dame, with their children and young neighbors, each carrying bunches of flowers. Older people came in their holiday dresses, some with baskets containing cakes, others tea and sugar, with which the farmer and his wife had plentifully supplied them; and joyfully did they rest a while on the green sward while young men gathered sticks, and, a bright fire having been kindled, the kettle sent up its bubbling steam. "'When this was ended, and few of the piled-up cakes remained--when, also, the young children had emptied their cans and rinsed them at the old stone trough into which rushed a full stream--tiny hands joyfully held up the small cans and bright eyes looked anxiously to the stem of the tall tree while the farmer warily cut an incision in the bark. "'What joy when a sweet watery juice began to trickle! and the farmer filled one small cup, then another, till all were satisfied and a portion sent to the older people, who were contentedly looking on from the grassy slope where they had seated themselves. The farmer's wife knew naught concerning the process for obtaining sugar, or else she might have sweetened her children's puddings from the watery liquid yielded by the sycamore, or greater maple--an art well known to the aboriginal tribes of North America.'" "Does that mean Indians, Miss Harson?" asked Malcolm, with a wry face at the long word. "Yes," was the reply; "and I hope that you will feel properly grateful to these aborigines whenever you eat maple-sugar." CHAPTER III. _OLD ACQUAINTANCES: THE ELMS._ Miss Harson had admonished her little flock that they must use their own eyes and be able to tell her things instead of depending altogether on her to tell them; so now they were all peering curiously among the trees to see which were putting on their new spring suits. The yellow trees and the pink trees had been readily distinguished, but, although the others had not been idle, it was not so easy for little people to discern their leaf-buds. Clara soon made a discovery, however, of what her governess had noticed for a day or two, and the wonder was found on their own home-elms, those stately trees which had shaded the house ever since it was built, and from which the place got its pretty name--Elmridge. "Well, dear," said Miss Harson, coming to the upper window from which an eager head was thrust, "what is it that you wish me to see?" "Those funny flowers on the bare elm trees," was the reply. "Look, Miss Harson! Didn't I see them first?" "You have certainly spoken of them first, for neither Malcolm nor Edith has said anything about them. But they must both come up here now, where they can see them, and Malcolm and I can manage to reach some of the blossoms by getting out of the broad window on to the little balcony." Up came the two children kangaroo-fashion in a series of jumps, and presently Miss Harson was holding a cluster of dark maroon-colored flowers in her hand. "How queer and dark they make the trees look!" said Malcolm; "and they're so thick that they 'most cover up the branches. They're like fringe." "A very good description," replied his governess. "And now I wish you all to examine the trees very thoroughly and tell me afterward what you have noticed about them; then we will go down to the schoolroom and see what the books will tell us in our talk about the American elm and its cousin of England." The books had a great deal to tell about them, but Miss Harson preferred to hear the children first. "What did my little Edith see when she looked out of the window?" she asked. "Stems of trees," was the reply, "with flowers on 'em." "A very good general idea," continued Miss Harson, "but perhaps Clara can tell us something more particular about the elms?" "They are very tall," said Clara, hesitatingly, "and they make it nice and shady in summer; and some of the branches bend over in such a lovely way! Papa calls one of them 'the plume.'" "And now Malcolm?" "The trunk--or big 'stem,' as Edie would call it--is very thick, and the branches begin low down, near the ground." "Some of them do," said his governess, "but many of the elms on your father's grounds are seventy feet high before the branches begin. Sometimes two or three trunks shoot up together and spread out at the top in light, feathery plumes like palm trees. The elm has a great variety of shapes; sometimes it is a parasol, when a number of branches rise together to a great height and spread out suddenly in the shape of an umbrella. This makes a very regular-looking and beautiful tree. For about three-quarters of the way up, the 'plume' of which Clara speaks has one straight trunk, which then bends over droopingly. Small twigs cluster around the trunk all the way from bottom to top and give the tree the appearance of having a vine twining about it. I think that the plume-shape is the prettiest and most odd-looking of all the elms. Another strange shape is the vase, which seems to rest on the roots that stand out above the ground. 'The straight trunk is the neck of the vase, and the middle consists of the lower part of the branches as they swell outward with a graceful curve, then gradually diverge until they bend over at their extremities and form the lip of the vase by a circle of terminal sprays.'" "Have we any trees that look like vases, Miss Harson?" asked Clara. "Yes," was the reply; "not far from Hemlock Lodge there is one which we will look at when the leaves are all out. But you must not expect to find a perfect vase-shape, for it is only an approach to it. The dome-shaped elm has a broad, round head, which is formed by the shooting forth of branches of nearly equal length from the same part of the trunk, which gradually spread outward with a graceful curve into the roof or dome that crowns the tree." "I know something else about our elms," said Malcolm: "some of the roots are on top of the ground. Isn't that very queer, Miss Harson?" [Illustration: WYCH-ELM LEAVES.] "Not for old elm trees, as this is quite a habit with them. Indeed, in many ways, the elm is so entirely different from other trees that it can be recognized at a great distance. It is both graceful and majestic, and is the most drooping of the drooping trees, except the willow, which it greatly surpasses in grandeur and in the variety of its forms. The green leaves are broad, ovate, heart-shaped, from two to four or five inches long. You can see their exact shape in this illustration. Their summer tint is very bright and vivid, but it turns in autumn to a sober brown, sometimes touched with a bright golden yellow, And now," continued Miss Harson, "we will examine the flowers which we have here, and we see that each blossom is on a green, slender thread less than half an inch long, and that it consists of a brown cup parted into seven or eight divisions, rounded at the border and containing about eight brown stamens and a long compressed ovary surmounted by two short styles. This ripens into a flattened seed-vessel before the leaves are fully out, and the seeds, being small and chaffy, are wafted in all directions and carried to great distances by the wind." "Where does slippery elm come from?" asked Clara. "From another American species, dear, which is very much like the white elm that we have been considering. The slippery elm is a smaller tree, does not droop so much, and the trunk is smoother and darker. The leaves are thicker and very rough on the upper side. The inner bark contains a great deal of mucilage--that, I suppose, is the reason for its being called 'slippery'--and it has been extensively used as a medicine. The wood is very strong and preferred to that of the white elm for building-purposes, although the latter is considered the best native wood for hubs of wheels. There is a great elm tree on Boston Common which is over two hundred years old, and another in Cambridge called the 'Washington Elm,' because near it or beneath its shade General Washington is said to have first drawn his sword on taking command of the American army. In 1744 the celebrated George Whitefield preached beneath this tree." "I'm glad we have elm trees here," said Malcolm, "though I s'pose nobody ever did anything in particular under ours." "You mean," replied his governess, laughing, "that they are not _historical_ trees; but they are certainly very fine ones. There is another species of elm, the English, which is often seen in this country too. It is a very large and stately tree, but not so graceful as our own elm. It is distinguished from the American elm by its bark, which is darker and much more broken; by having one principal stem, which soars upward to a great height; and by its branches, which are thrown out more boldly and abruptly and at a larger angle. Its limbs stretch out horizontally or tend upward with an appearance of strength to the very extremity; in the American elm they are almost universally drooping at the end. Its leaves are closer, smaller, more numerous and of a darker color. In England this tree is a great favorite with those black and solemn birds the rooks. The poet Hood writes of it as "'The tall, abounding elm that grows In hedgerows up and down, In field and forest, copse and park, And in the peopled town, With colonies of noisy rooks That nestle on its crown.' "Some of these English elms are very ancient and of an immense size; one of them, known as the 'Chequer Elm,' measures thirty-one feet around the trunk, of which only the shell is left. It was planted seven hundred years ago. The Chipstead Elm is fifteen feet around; the Crawley Elm, thirty-five. A writer says, 'The ample branches of the Crawley Elm shelter Mayday gambols while troops of rustics celebrate the opening of green leaves and flowers. Yet not alone beneath its shade, but within the capacious hollow which time has wrought in the old tree, young children with their posies and weak and aged people find shelter during the rustic _fêtes_.'" "Does that mean that people can sit inside the tree?" asked Clara. "I wish we had one to play house in where Hemlock Lodge is." "That is one of the things, Clara," replied Miss Harson, "that people can have only in the place where they grow. In the South of England there is another great elm tree with a hollow trunk which has fitted into it a door fastened by a lock and key. A dozen people can be comfortably accommodated inside, and there is a story told of a woman and her infant who lived there for a time." "What a funny house!" said Malcolm. "Just like a woodpecker's." "Another great elm, near London, has a winding staircase cut within it, and a turret at the top where at least twenty persons can stand. One species of this tree, called the _wych-_, or _witch-_, elm, was believed by ignorant people to possess magical powers and to defend from the malice of witches the place on which it grew. Even now it is said that in remote parts of England the dairymaid flies to it as a resource on the days when she churns her butter. She gathers a twig from the tree and puts it into a little hole in the churn. If this practice were neglected, she confidently believes that she might go on churning all day without getting any butter." "Isn't that silly?" exclaimed Clara. "Very silly indeed," replied her governess; "but we must remember that the poor ignorant girl knows no better. The wood of the European elm is stronger than ours; it is hard and fine-grained, and brownish in color, and is much used in the building of ships, for hubs of wheels, axletrees and many other purposes. In France the leaves and shoots are used to feed cattle. In Russia the leaves of one variety are made into tea. The inner bark is in some places made into mats, and in Norway they kiln-dry it and grind it with corn as an ingredient in bread. So that the elm tree is almost as useful as it is beautiful." [Illustration] CHAPTER IV. _MAJESTY AND STRENGTH: THE OAK_. "Here," said Miss Harson, "is a small branch from an oak tree containing the young leaves and the catkins, which come out together; for the oak belongs, like the willow and the maple, to the division of _amentaceous_ plants." "Oh dear!" sighed Clara at the hard name. But Malcolm repeated: "_Amentaceous_--_ament_. I know, Miss Harson: it's _catkins_" "Yes, it means trees which produce their flowers in catkins, or looking as if strung on long drooping stems; and the oak is the monarch of this family, and in Great Britain of all the forest-trees. It is especially an English tree, although our woods contain several varieties. But they do not hold the pre-eminence in our forests that the oaks do in those of England. The oak ordinarily runs more to breadth than to height, and spreads itself out to a vast distance with an air of strength and grandeur. This is its striking character and what gives it its peculiar appearance. Oaks do not always go straight out, but crook and bend to right and left, upward and downward, abruptly or with a gentle sweep. [Illustration: MALE CATKIN OF THE OAK.] [Illustration: THE OAK] "The white oak is the handsomest species, and takes its name from the very light color of the bark on the trunk, by which it is easily known. The leaves are long in proportion to the width and deeply divided into lobes, of which there are three or four on each side. There is a great variety in the shape of oak-leaves, those of our white oak being long and slender, while the red oak has very broad ones, and the foliage of the scarlet oak is almost skeleton-like. The chestnut oak has leaves almost exactly like those of the chestnut. The acorns of the different varieties, too, differ in size and shape. [Illustration: WHITE-OAK LEAF.] "There is so much to be said of the oak," continued Miss Harson, "it is such an ancient and venerable tree and has so many stories attached to it, that it is not easy to begin an account of it. The blossoms, perhaps, will be the best starting-point: and I should like to have you examine this branch and tell me if you see any difference in the blossoms." "They are nearly all alike," said Malcolm, "but here at the ends of the twigs are one or two that look like buds."' "That is just what I wanted you to notice," replied his governess, "for the flowers are of two kinds, one bearing the stamens, and the other the pistils. The flowers that bear the stamens grow on loose scaly catkins, as you may see in this branch. Those with the pistils are also in catkins, but very small, like a bud. The bud spreads into a little branchlet and bears the flowers at the tip. The calyx is not seen at first; it is a mere membrane covering the ovary. By degrees the ovary swells into the acorn and the membrane becomes part of the shell." "I like acorns," said little Edith, "they're so nice to play with." "But they're not nice to eat," said Clara. [Illustration: SQUIRREL AND ACORN] "Some animals think they are," continued Miss Harson. "If you should come here in October, you would find the squirrels feasting on them. In old times in England the oaks were valued highly on account of their acorns, and great herds of swine were driven into the forests to feed upon them. In the time of the Saxons a crop of acorns often formed a part of the dowry bestowed upon the Saxon queens, and the king himself would be glad to accept a gift or grant of acorns; and the failure of the crop would be considered as a kind of famine. In those days laws were made to protect the oaks from being felled or injured, and a man who cut down a tree under the shadow of which thirty hogs could stand was fined three pounds. The herds of swine were placed under the care of a swineherd, whose sole employment was to keep them together, and they formed a staple part of the riches of the country. But when the Norman kings began to rule, they brought with them a passionate love of hunting and took possession of the forests as preserves for their favorite sport. The herds of swine were forbidden to roam about as heretofore, and their owners were reduced to poverty in consequence." "Wasn't that wicked, Miss Harson?" asked Malcolm. "Yes; it was both unjust and cruel, and it was one of the great grievances of the nation. Even at this day the laws for the protection of game are one of the grounds of ill-feeling on the part of the poor toward the nobles. In Spain the acorns have the taste of nuts, and are sold in the markets as an article of food. They grow abundantly in the woods and forests. Once, in time of war, a foreign army subsisted almost entirely on them. Herds of swine range the forests in Spain and feed luxuriously upon acorns, and the salted meats of Malaga, that are famous for their delicate flavor, are thought to owe it to this cause. Some of our American Indians depend upon acorns and fish for their winter food; and when the acorns drop from the tree, they are buried in sand and soaked in water to draw out the bitter taste." "I shouldn't like them," said Clara, with a wry face at the thought of such food. "Well, dear," replied her governess, laughing, "as you are not an Indian, you will probably not be called upon to like them; but it would be better to eat acorns than to starve. You may have noticed the trunk and branches of the oak are often gnarled and knotted, and this helps to give the tree its appearance of great strength. It is just as strong as it looks, and for building-purposes it lasts longer than any other wood. Beams and rafters of oak are found in old English houses, showing among the brick-work, and many of these half-timbered houses, as they are called, were built hundreds of years ago. "Bedsteads and other articles of furniture, too, were 'built' in those days, rather than made, for they were not expected to be moved about; and a heavy oak bedstead is still in existence which is said to have belonged to King Richard III. It is curiously carved, and the king rested upon it the night before the battle of Bosworth Field, where he was killed. Clumsy as the bedstead was, he took it about with him from place to place; but after the fatal battle it passed into the hands of various owners, and nothing remarkable was discovered about it until the king had been dead a hundred years. By that time the bedstead had come into the possession of a woman who found a fortune in it. One morning, says the story, as she was making the bed, she heard a chinking sound, and saw, to her great delight, a piece of money drop on the floor. Of course she at once set about examining the bedstead, and found that the lower part of it was hollow and contained a treasure. Three hundred pounds--a fortune in those days--was brought to light, having remained hidden all those years. As King Richard was not there to claim his gold, the woman quickly possessed herself of it. But, as it happened, she had better have remained in ignorance and poverty. As soon as the matter became known one of her servants robbed her of the gold, and even caused her death. Thus it was said in the neighborhood that 'King Richard's gold' did nobody any good." The children were very much pleased with this story, and Malcolm said that he always liked to hear about people who found gold and things. "I think that I do, myself," replied Miss Harson, "although, as in this poor woman's case and in many others, gold is not the best thing to find. It often brings with it so much sorrow and sin as to be a curse to its owner. The only safe treasure is that laid up in heaven, where 'neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal,' "From the very earliest times the oak has been used for shipbuilding. The Saxons, we are told, kept a formidable fleet of vessels with curved bottoms and the prow and poop adorned with representations of the head and tail of some grotesque and fabulous creature. King Alfred had many vessels that carried sixty oars and were entirely of oak. A vessel supposed to be of his time has been discovered in the bed of a river in Kent, and after the lapse of so many centuries it is as sound as ever and as hard as iron." "Do oak trees ever have apples on 'em?" asked Clara. "In a story that I read there was something about 'oak-apples.'" [Illustration: THE OAK-GALL INSECT (_Cynips_).] "They are not apples such as we eat, or fruit in any sense," said her governess. "They are the work of a species of fly called _Cynips_, which is very apt to attack the oak. 'The female insect is armed with a sharp weapon called an _ovipositor_, which she plunges into a leaf and makes a wound. Here she lays her eggs; and when she has done so, she flies away and we hear no more of her. But the wound she has made disturbs the circulation of the sap. It flows round and round the eggs as though it had met with some foreign body it would fain remove. Very soon the eggs are in the midst of a ball-like and fleshy chamber--the most suitable provision for them, and one which the parent-insect had provided by means of puncturing the leaf. As the eggs are hatched the grubs will find themselves safely housed and in the midst of an abundance of food.'" [Illustration: OAK-APPLES.] "Well," exclaimed Malcolm, in great disgust, "_apple_ is a queer name for a ball full of little flies!" "It's a very pretty ball, though," said Miss Harson, "with a smooth skin and tinged with red or yellow, like a ripe apple. If it is cut open, a number of granules are seen, each containing a grub embedded in a fruit-like substance. The grub undergoes its transformation, and in due course emerges a perfect insect. These pretty pink-and-white apples used to be gathered by English boys on the twenty-ninth of May, which was called 'Oak-Apple Day.'" "Did they eat 'em?" asked Edith. "I do not see how they could, dear," was the reply; "they were probably gathered just to look at. Yet 'May-apples,' which grow, you will remember, on the wild azalea and the swamp honeysuckle, are often eaten, and they are formed in the same way; so we will not be too positive about the oak-apples." "What are oak-_galls_, Miss Harson?" asked Malcolm. "Are they the same as oak-apples?" "Not quite the same," was the reply, although both are produced by the same insect. This is what one of our English books says of them: 'When the acorn itself is wounded, it becomes a kind of monstrosity, and remains on the stalk like an irregularly-shaped ball. It is called a "nut-gall," and is found principally on a small oak, a native of the southern and central parts of Europe. All these oak-apples and nut-galls are of importance, but the latter more especially, and they form an important article of commerce. A substance called "gallic acid" resides in the oak; and when the puncture is made by the cynips, it flows in great abundance to the wound. Gallic acid is one of the ingredients used in dyeing stuffs and cloths, and therefore the supply yielded by the nut-gall is highly welcome. The nut-galls are carefully collected from the small oak on which they are found, the Pyreneean oak. It is easily known by the dense covering of down on the young leaves, that appear some weeks later than the leaves of the common oak. The galls are pounded and boiled, and into the infusion thus made the stuffs about to be dyed are dipped,'" "I should think," said Clara, "that people would plant oak trees everywhere, when they are so useful. Is anything done with the bark?" "Yes," said her governess; "the bark, which is very rough, is valuable for tanning leather and for medicine. The element which has the effect of turning raw hide or skin into leather is called _tannin_; it is also found in the bark of some other trees and in tropical plants." "Didn't people use to worship oak trees," asked Malcolm--"people who lived ever so long ago?" "You are thinking of the Druids, who lived in old times in Britain and Gaul," replied Miss Harson, "and whose strange heathen rites were practiced in oak-groves; and they really did consider the tree sacred. These Druids have left their traces in some parts of England and France in rows of huge stones set upright; and wherever an immense stone was found lying on two others, in the shape of a table, there had been a Druid altar, where the priest offered sacrifices, often of human beings. So horrible may be a so-called religion that men themselves devise, and that has not come from the true God. [Illustration: DRUIDIC SACRIFICE.] "It was an article in the Druids' creed, and one to which they strictly adhered, that no temple with a covered roof was to be built in honor of the gods. All the places appointed for public worship were in the open air, and generally on some eminence from which the moon and stars might be observed; for to the heavenly bodies much adoration was offered. But to afford shelter from wind or rain, and also to ensure privacy and shut out all external objects, the place fixed upon, either for teaching their disciples or for carrying out the rites of their idolatrous worship, was in the recess of some grove or wood. An oak-grove was supposed to be the favorite of the gods whom they ignorantly worshiped, and therefore the Druids declared the oak to be a sacred tree. The Druid priest always bound a wreath of oak-leaves on his forehead before he would perform any religious ceremony. One of these ceremonies was to go in search of the mistletoe, which sometimes grows on the oak and was considered as sacred as the tree itself, being much used in their worship. One priest would climb to the branch on which the misletoe was growing and cut it with a golden knife, while another priest stood below and held out his white robe to receive it. "These sacred groves were all cut down by the Romans, who waged fierce war against the Druids, and nothing is left of them now but the circles of stones that formed their temples. At a place called Stonehenge, 'cromlechs,' or altar-tables, are still standing, and very ancient oaks stood in a circle round these stones for many centuries after the Druids were swept away." "Miss Harson," said Clara when all had expressed their horror of the Druids and rejoiced that they _were_ swept away, "are there any oak trees in the Bible?" "Look and see," was the reply; "and first you may find Genesis xxxv. 4." Clara read: "'And they gave unto Jacob all the strange gods which were in their hands, and all their earrings which were in their ears; and Jacob hid them under the _oak_ which was by Shechem.'" "In the eighth verse of the same chapter," said Miss Harson, "we read that Rebekah's nurse was buried under an oak at Bethel. We are told in the book of Joshua[2] that 'Joshua took a great stone and set it up there under an _oak_, that was by the sanctuary of the Lord;' and in Judges[3], 'There came an angel of the Lord and sat under an _oak_ which was in Ophrah.'--Malcolm, you may read Second Samuel, eighteenth chapter, ninth verse." [2] Josh. xxiv. 26. [3] Judg. vi. II. Malcolm read: "'And Absalom met the servants of David. And Absalom rode upon a mule, and the mule went under the thick boughs of a great _oak_, and his head caught hold of the oak, and he was taken up between the heaven and the earth; and the mule that was under him went away.'" "Poor Absalom!" said Edith, softly. "Wasn't that dreadful?" "Yes, dear," replied her governess, "it _was_ dreadful; but it is still more dreadful that Absalom was such a wicked man. In Isaiah[4] we read of the oaks of Bashan, that, like the cedars of Lebanon, were 'high and lifted up,' and the oaks of Bashan are mentioned again in Zechariah[5]. Several varieties of the oak are found in Palestine. [4] Isa. ii. 13. [5] Zech. xi. 2. [Illustration: ABRAHAM'S OAK, NEAR HEBRON.] "In his _Ride Through Palestine_, Dr. Dulles tells of a great oak near Hebron known as 'Abraham's oak,' supposed to occupy the ground where the patriarch pitched his tent under the oaks of Mamre. It is an aged tree, and a grand one. Here is a picture of it, from the _Ride_[6]. The crests and sides of the hills beyond the Jordan are still clothed, as in ancient times, with magnificent oaks. [6] See page 85 "We get a good idea of the strength and durability of this wood from the fact that there is an old wooden church near Ongar, in Essex, the nave of which is composed of half logs of oak roughly fastened by wooden pegs. The ancient fabric dates back to the time of King Edmund, who was slain by the robber Leolf in the year A.D. 946. The oaken church was hurriedly put together--according to report--in order to make a temporary receptacle for the body of the murdered prince on its way to burial. Be that as it may, it was afterward used as a parish church, and, though the oaken logs are corroded by the weather, they are still sound, and, having been beaten by the storms of a thousand winters, bid fair to defy those of a thousand more." "I should think, then," said Malcolm, "that people would always build their houses with oak if it lasts so long." "Yet they do not do this even in England," was the reply, "where the trees grow to such an immense size and the ancient buildings still in existence prove the great endurance of the oak. Now brick and stone and iron are used, which outlast any wood. And now," continued Miss Harson, "I am going to tell you something about a foreign species of this tree which I am sure will surprise you. It is found in the South of Europe and in Algeria, and is called the _cork oak_." "'The _cork_ oak'!" exclaimed Clara, quite as much surprised as she was expected to be. "Do the corks that come in bottles grow on it?" "Not just in that shape, dear, but they are made from its bark. The outside bark, or _epidermis_, consists of a thin, transparent, tissue-like substance, which covers not only the bark, but the whole of the tree, stem, leaves and branches, and beneath the epidermis is found a layer of cellular tissue, generally green. It covers the trunk and branches, fills up the spaces between the veins of the leaves and contains the sap, which flows in canals arranged for it in the most beautiful and wonderful manner. In one species of oak this layer--which is called the _suber_--assumes a peculiar character and is of remarkable thickness. When the tree is some five years old, its whole energy is directed toward the increase of the suber. A mass of cells is formed with great rapidity, and layer upon layer is added, until that part of the trunk grows so unwieldy that it would crack and split of its own accord. But such a thing is rarely allowed to happen: the suber is of too much value to man. After it is taken from the tree and has undergone due preparation, it appears in our shops and houses under the name of _cork_" "I should like to see how they get it," said Malcolm. "The trunk is regularly marked around in deep cuts, which begin close to the branches and go down almost to the roots. A ladder is used to mount to the upper part of the trunk, and the cuts, or incisions, are made with a long knife or with an axe. Then they strip off the sheets of cork between the circles. This operation is a very delicate one, and requires much care and skill lest the inner part should be injured. If the operation is carried out successfully, the cork-like substance will grow again and become as abundant as ever. "The next thing to be done to the pieces of bark is partially to burn, or char, them, and also to make them quite flat, as they come from the trunk in a rounded shape. The burning makes the pores close up, so that the liquid in a vessel for which it is used as a stopper cannot come through; and this is done over a brisk fire, in what is called a _burning-yard_. Another process, called _rounding_, removes every trace of the fire, unless the cork has been too much burned, and then, having already been flattened by the pressure of heavy stones, it is ready for the cork-maker, who cuts the material first into strips and then into squares according to the size of corks wanted. "Cork is very light and elastic, and can be used successfully in contrivances for the rescue of men from the perils of the deep. The cork jacket and the lifeboat have been the means of saving many lives, for cork will float on the surface of the water and bear up the person wearing the jacket and the shipwrecked people in the lifeboat. 'The shallowness of the boat and the bulk of cork within allow but little room for water; so that even when filled it is in no danger of overturning or sinking, like other crafts. Also, the lifeboat can move across the waves with perfect safety, and can make its way from one object to another in a broken sea as easily as an ordinary boat can pass from one ship to another.'" The children declared that the cork-oak was the best tree of all, but they agreed with their governess that the entire oak family was made up of grand and useful trees. "Our American oaks," said Miss Harson, "are very handsome in autumn because of their brilliant foliage; the _scarlet oak_, which turns to a deep crimson and keeps its leaves longer than any of the other forest trees, is the most showy of the species. But we have no cork oaks, and no oaks that we know to be a thousand years old. There was once a famous oak in this country, called the 'Charter Oak,' which fell to the ground in August, 1856, before any of us were born. I wonder if you would like to hear the story about it?" This question was thought extremely funny by three such devourers of stories as the little Kyles, and they eagerly assured their governess that they would like it. "If that is really the case," continued Miss Harson, smiling at the excited faces, "I must tell you the history of "THE CHARTER OAK. "This tree grew in Hartford, Connecticut, and it is said that before the English governor Wyllis went there to live his steward, whom he had sent on before to get a house ready for him, came near cutting down this very oak. He was clearing away the trees around it on the hillside when a party of Indians appeared and begged him to leave that particular tree, because, they said, 'it had been the guide of their ancestors for centuries.' So the oak was spared; even then it was old and hollow. "King Charles II. granted the people of Connecticut a very liberal charter of rights, which was publicly read in the Assembly at Hartford and declared to belong for ever to them and their successors. A committee was appointed to take charge of it, under a solemn oath that they would preserve this palladium of the rights of the people. "When James II., the tyrannical brother of Charles II., came to the throne, he changed the government of New England and ordered the people of Connecticut to give up their charter. This they refused to do; and when a third command from the king had been sent to them, they called a special meeting of the Assembly, under their own governor, Treat, and resolved to hold on to the charter which had been given them. "On the 31st of October, 1687, Sir Edmund Andros, attended by members of his council and a bodyguard of sixty soldiers, entered Hartford to take the charter by force. The General Assembly was in session; he was received with courtesy, but with coldness. He entered the assembly-room and publicly demanded the charter. Remonstrances were made, and the session was protracted till evening. The governor and his associates appeared to yield. The charter was brought in and laid upon the table. Sir Edmund thought that he had succeeded, when suddenly the lights were all put out, and total darkness followed. There was no noise, no conflict, but all was quiet. When the candles were again lighted, _the charter was gone_! Sir Edmund was disconcerted. He declared the government of Connecticut to be in his own hands, and that the colony was annexed to Massachusetts and the other New England colonies, and proceeded to appoint officers. Captain Jeremiah Wadsworth, a patriot of those times, had hidden the charter in the hollow of Wyllis's oak, whence it was afterward known as the Charter Oak." "Then the English governor couldn't get it!" exclaimed Malcolm, delightedly. "Wasn't that splendid?" "It was a grand hiding-place, certainly, for no one would think of looking inside a tree for such a thing as that, and they were grand men who preserved their country's liberties in those trying times. But more peaceful years were at hand. About eighteen months after the charter had disappeared so mysteriously, the tyrant James II. was compelled to give up his throne to his daughter and son-in-law, the prince and princess of Orange, and Governor Treat and his associates again took the government of Connecticut under the old charter, which the hollow oak had faithfully kept from harm. No tree in our whole country has received more attention than this historic Hartford oak; and when, at last, its mere shell of a trunk was laid low by a storm, it seemed as if a large part of the city had been swept away. "Ancient oaks are apt to be almost entirely without branches; the huge trunk, with an opening at the top, and often with one also at the bottom, stands like a maimed giant, just tottering, perhaps, to its fall, because of the decay going on within, while outside all seems fair and sound. It was so with the Charter Oak; and when this monarch of the forest was unexpectedly laid low, rich and poor, great and small, were gathered to mourn its loss. A dirge was played and all the bells in the city were tolled at sundown, for this monument of the past was a link gone that could not be replaced." "Thank you, Miss Harson," said Clara; "_true_ stories are so nice! But I wish I had seen the Charter Oak before it was blown down." "You could not have done that, dear," was the reply, "unless you had been born about thirty years sooner." CHAPTER V. _BEAUTY AND GRACE: THE ASH_. "What tree comes next, Miss Harson?" asked Clara, on an April day that was mild enough for the piazza. "You told us so many interesting things about the oak that I suppose we needn't expect to hear of another tree like that." "No," was the reply; "not just like that, perhaps, for the oak is grand and venerable above all our familiar trees, but the ash, which is more especially an American tree, belongs to a large and interesting family, and I am quite sure that you will very much like to hear something about it. I have put it next to the oak because there is a sort of rivalry between the two as to which can get on its spring dress the soonest, and an old English rhyme says, "'If the oak's before the ash, Then you may expect a splash; But if the ash is 'fore the oak, Then you must beware a soak.'" "That must mean," said Malcolm, after considering this rather puzzling verse, "that it'll rain any way." "I think it does," replied Miss Harson, with a smile at Malcolm's air of deep thought, "and it is quite safe to say that in England. But, as 'a soak' sounds more serious than 'a splash,' it is to be hoped that the ash will not get ahead of the oak. I do not know what they are doing in England this year, but here the oak is a day or two ahead. The foliage of the ash is entirely different, as it has _pinnate_ leaves, which means leaves arranged in two rows, one on each side of a common stem, or _petiole_, like--What, Clara?" "Rose-leaves," was the prompt reply. "And leaves of the locust trees on the other side of the road," added Malcolm. [Illustration: THE COMMON ASH.] "And the sumac," said their governess, "and a number of others that might be mentioned. This kind of foliage is always graceful, and the ash is one of our largest and handsomest trees. It is said to be more common in America than in any other part of the globe. In Europe, because of its beauty, it is called the painter's tree. It is a particularly neat and regular-looking tree, and its smooth gray trunk is higher than that of most trees before any branches appear. Where is there a tree on the grounds answering this description, Malcolm?" "Down at the end of the vegetable-garden," was the reply, "and close beside the laundry." [Illustration: AMERICAN WHITE ASH.] "Yes; you are really learning to distinguish trees very well. There are several species--the white, red, black and mountain ash. The white ash is a graceful tree, rising in the forest to the height of seventy or eighty feet, with a straight trunk and a diameter of three feet or more at the base. On an open plain it throws out its branches, with a gentle double curvature, to a distance on every side, and forms a broad, round head of great beauty. The flowers of the ash are greenish white in color and appear with the leaves in loose clusters. 'The trunk of our largest American ash is covered with a whitish bark which in very young trees is nearly smooth; on older trees it is broken by deep furrows into irregular plates, and on very old stems it becomes smooth again, from the rough plates scaling off. The branches are grayish green dotted with gray or white.' Now who can tell _me_ something about this tree?" "I know that furniture is made of the wood," said Clara, "because that pretty set in the large spare-room is ash. And it is very light-colored." "The wood is used for a great many things," replied Miss Harson, "and the ash has been called the husbandman's tree because the timber is so much in demand for farming-implements, and for articles that need to be both strong and light. It does not last so long as the oak, but it is more elastic and can better resist sudden shocks and jerks; it is therefore particularly desirable for the spokes of wheels and ladders and the beams of floors. Staircases were made of it in olden times, and they may still be found in some English halls and abbeys. The forest ash makes better oars than any other wood, and the tree has so many good qualities that an old English poet spoke of it as "'The ash for nothing ill.' "But Malcolm looks as if he had something to say, and I shall be very happy to hear it." "It is only about the red berries that they bear in autumn, Miss Harson; it looks queer to see berries growing on a tree." "The mountain ash is the only one that has berries," replied his governess, "and the bloom is in clusters of white flowers. The berries are sometimes dark red and often of a bright scarlet, and they remain on the tree during the winter, to the great delight of the birds. We should find them very sour, although pretty to look at; but the little feathered wanderers eat them with great relish when the snows of winter make bird-food scarce and the bright-red berries gleam out most invitingly. In some parts of Europe the berries are dried and ground into flour. The rowan, or roan, tree is the English name of the mountain ash, and in some parts of Great Britain it is called _witchen_, because of its supposed power against witches and evil spirits and all their spells. In old times branches of it were hung about houses and stables and cow-sheds, for it was thought that "'witches have no power Where there is roan-tree wood.'" "But that isn't true, is it?" asked Edith. "No, dear, not true of either the witches or the wood. But ignorant people believe a great many foolish things, and the leaves and twigs of the ash tree were thought to have peculiar virtue. In some places it was once the practice to pluck an ash-leaf in every case where the leaflets were of even number, and to say, "'Even ash, I do thee pluck, Hoping thus to meet good luck; If no luck I get from thee, Better far be on the tree.'" "It sounds like what children say on finding a four-leafed clover," said Clara. "It is on the same principle," was the reply, "for clover-leaves grow naturally in threes and ash-leaves in sevens. Both rhymes are equally silly where luck is concerned, and those who believe God's words--that even 'the hairs of our head are all numbered'--will have no faith in 'luck.' In old times the ash was believed to perform wonderful cures of various kinds, and in remote parts of England a little mouse called the shrew-mouse bore a very bad character. If a horse or cow had pains in its limbs, they were said to be caused by a shrew-mouse running over it. Our forefathers provided themselves with what they called a shrew-ash, in order to meet the case. The shrew-ash was nothing more than an ash tree in the trunk of which a hole had been bored and a poor little shrew-mouse put in, with many charms and incantations happily long since forgotten." "And couldn't the poor little mouse get out again?" asked Edith. "I am afraid not, dear; and we can only rejoice that we did not live in those dark days. Among other beliefs in its virtues, the leaves and wood of the ash were regarded throughout Northern Europe as a protection from all manner of snakes, and in harvest-time children were suspended in their cradles from the branches of tall ash trees while their mothers were working in the harvest-field below. Even now serpents are said to dislike the tree so much that they will not come near it, and the leaf is considered a cure for the bite of a poisonous snake. I have been told that an ash-leaf rubbed on a mosquito-bite will at once take out the sting and itching, and no better remedy can be found for the sting of a bee or a wasp." "It's ever so much nicer than mud," said Clara, who had rather a talent for getting into hornets' nests. "But the mud, you see, is always to be had," replied Miss Harson, "while ash-leaves do not grow everywhere; and I do not know that they have any power to cure the sting. "The other species of ash found in this country are not so important as the white, but the black ash is remarkable as the slenderest deciduous tree of its height to be found in the forest. It is often seventy or eighty feet tall, with a trunk not more than a foot around. The color of the trunk is a dark granite-gray and the bark is rough. The wood is remarkable for its toughness, and for making baskets the Indians prefer it to any other, except the trunk of a young white oak. "The red ash is very much like the white, but the wood is less valuable. It is a spreading, broad-headed tree, and the trunk is erect and branching. It is not so tall as the black ash, yet its trunk is three times as thick. "A species of ash grows in Sicily that yields a substance called _manna_ which used to be valuable as a medicine, and this manna is obtained in the same way as maple-sap--by making holes or incisions in the bark of the tree. At the proper season the persons whose business it is to collect manna begin to make incisions, one after the other, up the stem. The manna flows out like clear water, but it soon congeals and becomes a solid substance. It has a sweet taste, and while in a liquid state runs into a leaf of the tree that has been inserted in the wound. Afterward it flows into a vessel placed below, from which it is carried away and shipped off to other countries." "Is there any story about the ash?" asked Malcolm. "Not much of a story, dear," was the reply--"only a little legend of the manna trees; but, such as it is, you shall have it: "The king of Naples, it is said, fenced a number of trees round and forbade any to collect the store they yielded unless they paid a tribute. By this means the royal revenue would be largely increased. But, according to the story, the manna trees, as if they disapproved of this ungenerous arrangement, refused to yield any manna, and suddenly became bare and barren. Upon this the king, finding his scheme a failure, revoked the tax and took away the fence. Then the trees poured out their manna, as usual, in the greatest abundance; so that it was said, 'When the king found he could not make a gain of what Providence had freely bestowed, he gave up the attempt and left the manna as free as God had given it.' [Illustration: THE SWING.] "There, now!" said Miss Harson; "after this long talk, you had better run off and see if there is not a tree somewhere on the grounds, with two ropes attached to it, that will bear better fruit than any tree we have studied yet." The trio laughed and raced for the swing, which was first reached by Clara, who seated herself all ready for the push which Malcolm would not grudge, for he pronounced his sister sweeter than apple or peach; and so she was. CHAPTER VI. _THE OLIVE TREE_. "The ash," said Miss Harson, "has some relations of which, I think, you will be rather surprised to hear. These relations are both trees and shrubs, and the lilac, for instance, is one of them." "Why, they don't look a bit alike," exclaimed Clara. "No, they certainly do not; for, although this fragrant shrub often grows as large as a tree, it is quite different from the ash tree. Yet both belong to the olive family." "The kind of olives that papa likes to eat at dinner, and that you and I _don't_ like, Miss Harson?" asked Malcolm. "The very same," replied his governess; "only that we are speaking now of the tree on which the olives grow. It is well said that the very name of 'olive' suggests the idea of Palestine and the sunny lands of the East. The olive tree is one of the most prominent trees of the Bible. It is mentioned in the very earliest part of the Scriptures, in the book of Genesis. I wonder if some one can tell me about it?" "I remember: a dove found a leaf when it was raining and brought it to Noah in the ark," said little Edith, quickly. "The rain had stopped falling, dear, after the deluge, and the waters were receding, or falling, when Noah sent forth the dove a second time to see what it would find. Here is the verse: 'And the dove came in to him in the evening; and lo, in her mouth was an olive leaf pluckt off; so Noah knew that the waters were abated from off the earth[7].' For this reason the olive-branch is a common emblem of peace. The olive tree is often mentioned in other parts of the Bible, and was considered one of the most valuable trees of Palestine, which is described as 'a land of oil-olive and honey.' It is not nearly so handsome as some other trees of the Holy Land, nor is it grand-looking or graceful. The leaves, which are long for the width, and smooth, are dark green on the upper side and silvery beneath; they generally grow in pairs. The fruit is shaped like a plum; it is green when first formed, then paler in color; and when quite ripe, it is black." [7] Gen. viii. 9. "But those that papa eats are olive-color," said Clara. "Yes," replied Miss Harson, smiling, "but all these hues I have mentioned are olive-color in some stage of the fruit; and it is in the green stage, before it is quite ripe, that it is gathered for preserving." "But that isn't _preserves_, is it?" asked Malcolm, drawing up his mouth at the recollection of an olive he had once tried to eat. "I thought preserves were always sweet." "That is the shape in which you are accustomed to them, Malcolm; but to preserve a thing means to keep it from decay, and salt and vinegar will do this as well as sugar. Preserves of this kind are what _you_ call 'puckery.'--As to the color, Clara, 'olive-green' is a color by itself, because of its peculiar tint. It is a gray green instead of a blue or yellow green, and it has a very dull effect. The fruit is produced only once in two years, and in bearing-season the tree is loaded with white blossoms that drop to the ground like flakes of snow. It is said that not one in a hundred of these numerous flowers becomes an olive. Here," continued Miss Harson, pointing to a page of a book in her hand, "is a representation of an olive-branch with some of the plum-shaped fruit. The branch, you see, is hard and stiff-looking." [Illustration: OLIVE-BRANCH WITH FRUIT.] "I should think the tree would be prettier when all those white flowers are on it," said little Edith. "It is--much prettier," replied her governess--"but not so useful. The fruit of the olive is so valuable that numbers of people depend upon it for their support. The wood, too, is very hard and durable, and, as it takes a fine polish, it is used for making many ornamental articles." "And where does the olive-oil come from?" asked Clara. "Do they make holes in the tree for it, as they do for maple-sap?" Malcolm was about to exclaim at this idea, but he remembered just in time that, should Miss Harson happen to question him, he himself could not tell where the oil came from. "The oil is pressed from the olives," was the reply; "a large, vigorous tree is said to yield a thousand pounds of it. It is such an important article of commerce in the regions where it is prepared that every one desires to get as much as he can out of his olive trees, but those who are too greedy of gain will spoil the quality of the oil to make a larger quantity. The small olive of Syria is considered the most delicate, and Italian olives also are very fine; those of Spain are larger and coarser. The best olive-oil comes from the south-eastern portion of France and is a clear, pure liquid; it is obtained from the first pressing of the fruit. This must be only a gentle squeeze, to get the purest oil: the quality usually sold is made by a heavier pressure; and then, when the olives are worked over again, come the dregs, which are not fit for table-use." "Do they mash 'em, like making apples into cider?" asked Malcolm. "Something like that; and the olive-farmers take the most anxious care of their orchards, for they know that the more olives the more oil. This with the Italians means a living, and one of their proverbs says, 'If you wish to leave a competency to your grandchildren, plant an olive.' The poorest of the fruit is eaten in their own families, 'to save it,' and, as it does not taste so well, it will go much farther. They do not eat olives, though, as we see them eaten--one or two as a relish; but a respectable dishful is provided for each person, instead of the bread and potatoes which they do not have." "I'd rather have the bread and potatoes," said Clara, "and I'm glad that I don't have to eat a whole plate of olives." "If you had always been accustomed to having olives, as the Italians are," replied Miss Harson, "you would think them very nice. I do not suppose that their children ever think how much more inviting are the olives that are kept for sale. Olives intended for exportation are gathered while still green, usually in the month of October. They are soaked for some hours in the strongest lye, to get rid of their bitterness, and are afterward allowed to stand for a fortnight in frequently-changed fresh water, in order to be perfectly purified of the lye. It only then remains to preserve them in common salt and water, when they are ready for export." "That's what they taste of," exclaimed Malcolm--"salt; and I don't like salt things." "I think," said his governess, with a smile, "that I have seen a boy whom I know enjoying sliced ham and tongue very much indeed." "So I do, Miss Harson," was the eager reply; "but ham and tongue, you know, don't taste like olives." "No, because they are ham and tongue. But they certainly taste salty, and that is what you object to. It is generally found that sweeping assertions are not very safe ones. But to come back to our olive tree: it is an evergreen, and it grows very easily. The readiness with which a twig will take root reminds us of the willow. A fine grove of olive trees at Messa, in Morocco, was accidentally planted. It is said that one of the kings of the dynasty of Saddia, being on a military expedition, encamped here with his army. The pegs with which the cavalry picketed their horses were cut from olive trees in the neighborhood, and, some sudden cause of alarm leading to the abandonment of the position, the pegs were left in the ground. Making the best of the situation, the pegs developed into the handsomest group of olive trees in the district." The children wondered if any trees had ever been planted in such a strange way before, and little Edith said thoughtfully, "But, Miss Harson, why don't good people go around and plant trees wherever there aren't any? It would be so nice!" "Some good people do plant trees, dear, wherever they can," replied her governess, "thinking, as they say, of those who are to come after them; a great many roadside trees have grown in this way. But no one is allowed to meddle with other people's property; waste-places might easily be beautified with trees if the owners cared for anything but for their own present interests. But here is something you will like to hear about the olives of Palestine: 'They are all planted together in the grove like the trees in a forest, and it would seem scarcely possible for the owners to distinguish their own property. But when the fruit is getting ripe, watchmen are appointed to guard the grove and prevent a single olive from being touched even by the person who has a right to the tree.'--You do not look as if you would like that, Malcolm." [Illustration: OLIVE TREE.--GATHERING THE FRUIT.] "Indeed I wouldn't!" replied the boy. "I rather think I'd take my own olives whenever I wanted 'em." "Not if you lived where all were agreed on this point, as they seem to be in Palestine.--'Days pass on, and the autumn is at hand before the governor of the district issues the wished-for proclamation; then the watchmen are removed. Immediately the scene becomes a most animated one. The grove is alive with an eager throng of men, women and children shaking down the precious fruit. It is, however, scarcely possible to bring every berry down, nor would it seem desirable, since after this great harvest comes the gleaning-time, when the poor, who have no olive trees, are permitted to come into the grove and shake down what is left.'" "Isn't there something about that in the Bible, Miss Harson?" asked Clara. "Yes; it is in the book of the prophet Isaiah, 'Yet gleaning grapes shall be left in it, as the shaking of an olive tree, two or three berries in the top of the uppermost bough, four or five in the outmost fruitful branches thereof, saith the Lord God of Israel[8].' This is a prophecy about God's people, but the Jews were told by God to leave something, when they were harvesting, for the poor to glean. Does it not seem wonderful that the mighty Ruler of the universe should condescend to such small things? But nothing is small with him, and we see that his loving care extends to the poorest and the meanest." [8] Isa. xvii. 6. "Miss Harson," asked Edith, with great earnestness, "has each of our hairs got a number on it? I couldn't find any." The young lady could scarcely keep from smiling, but she was obliged to call Malcolm to order, and even Clara seemed amused at her little sister's queer interpretation of the loving words, "The very hairs of your head are all numbered." Miss Harson took her youngest pupil on her knee and explained to her the meaning of our Saviour's words in Luke xii. 7, where it is added, "Fear not,", because the heavenly Father's loving care is always around us. "It was a natural mistake," she continued, "for a very little girl to make; but we must not try to find amusement in mistakes about God's word. Many grown people are irreverent in this way without knowing it: perhaps they were not properly taught when they were children. But _my_ children must not have this excuse, and I want them all to promise me that they will never utter nor listen to words from the Bible in any other but a reverent manner." All promised, Malcolm with a flushed face and subdued tone; and Edith felt that one of the great puzzles of her small existence had been solved. "Oil is the most important product of the olive tree," said Miss Harson, "and it has well been called its richness and fatness. The great demand for it in Europe and Asia prevents the best quality from being sent abroad, and it is said that even the most wealthy foreigners seldom get it pure. It is a most important article of food, taking the place held by butter and lard with us. Innumerable lamps, too, are kept burning by means of this oil, and so varied are its uses in the East that it was a greater thing than we can understand for the prophet Habakkuk to say, 'Although the labor of the olive shall fail, ... yet will I rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation.' Job says, 'The rock poured me out rivers of oil[9];' this means the oil of the olive, which will thrive on the sides and tops of rocky hills where there is scarcely any earth. It is a very long-lived tree, as well as an evergreen; the Psalmist says, 'I am like a green olive tree in the house of God.'" [9] Job xxiii. 6. "What does a _wild_ olive tree mean, Miss Harson?" asked Clara. "It means, dear, one that has grown without being cultivated, like our wild cherry and plum trees. The wild olive is smaller than the other, and inferior to it in every way. There are a great many olive trees in Palestine, and a place where they must have been very plentiful is called by a name which we often see in the Bible.--What is it, Malcolm?" "Is it 'the Mount of Olives'?" said Malcolm. "Yes, and it is sometimes called 'Olivet.' It is mentioned in the Old Testament as well as in the New. In Second Samuel it is written: 'And David went up by the ascent of Mount Olivet, and wept as he went up, and had his head covered, and he went barefoot: and all the people that was with him covered every man his head, and they went up, weeping as they went up[10].'" [10] 2 Sam. xv. 30. "What was the matter?" asked Edith. "King David's wicked son Absalom had risen up against his father because he wished to be king in his stead. You remember how he was caught by the head in the boughs of an oak during the very battle that he was fighting for this purpose; so we know that he did not succeed in his wicked plan, but lost his life instead.--The Mount of Olives is described as 'a ridge running north and south on the east side of Jerusalem, its summit about half a mile from the city wall and separated from it by the valley of the Kidron. It is composed of a chalky limestone, the rocks everywhere showing themselves. The olive trees that formerly covered it and gave it its name are now represented by a few trees and clumps of trees. There are three prominent summits on the ridge; of these, the southernmost, which is lower than the other two, is now known as 'the Mount of Offence,' originally 'the Mount of Corruption,' because Solomon defiled it with idolatrous worship. Over this ridge passes the road to Bethany, the most frequented route to Jericho and the Jordan. The side of the Mount of Olives toward the west contains many tombs cut in the rock. The central summit rises two hundred feet above Jerusalem and presents a fine view of the city, and, indeed, of the whole region, including the mountains of Ephraim on the north, the valley of the Jordan on the east, a part of the Dead Sea on the south-east, and beyond it Kerak, in the mountains of Moab. Perhaps no spot on earth unites so fine a view with so many memorials of the most solemn and important events. Over this hill the Saviour often climbed in his journeys to and from the Holy City. Gethsemane lay at its foot on the west, and Bethany on its eastern slope.'" During the reading of this description of the Mount of Olives, Miss Harson showed the children pictures of the different spots mentioned, and thus they were not likely soon to forget what had been told them. "Who can repeat some words from the New Testament about this mountain?" asked Miss Harson. "'Jesus went unto the Mount of Olives,'" said Clara, who had learned this verse in her Sunday lesson, "and it is the first verse of the eighth chapter of St. John." "And the verse just before it, at the end of the seventh chapter," replied her governess, "says that 'every man went unto his own house,' but 'Jesus went unto the Mount of Olives.' In another place it is said that 'at night he went out and abode in the Mount of Olives,' and in still another that he 'continued all night in prayer to God,' probably on the same mountain." "And can people really go and see the very same Mount of Olives now?" asked Malcolm, eagerly. "The very same," was the reply, "except, as I just read to you, many of the olive trees that gave it its name are no longer there. The Garden of Gethsemane, too, the most sacred spot near the mountain, is much changed, and a traveler who saw it lately says: "'At the foot of the Mount of Olives is a garden enclosed by a wall. There are paths and there are plots of flowers, the work of loving hands in recent years. The flowers speak of to-day, but there are olive trees in the garden that testify of the history of far-away years. Their venerable trunks, gnarled and rugged, are like the rough, marred binding of old books, shutting in a history going back to a far-off date. "'On one side of this garden slope upward the terraces of the Mount of Olives--terraces that are cultivated to-day even as the slopes of Olivet have been cultivated for generations and centuries. The other side of the garden looks toward the eastern wall of Jerusalem. Deep down in its shadowy bed, between the wall and the garden, lies the ravine of the Kedron. [Illustration: GARDEN OF GETHSEMANE.] "'If you visit that garden and look upon its old olive trees, the keeper of the place will tell you that you are in Gethsemane, the spot of our Saviour's betrayal. He will point out the "Grotto of the Agony," the place where the disciples slumbered, and that where Judas, before his brethren, ceased publicly to be a follower and became the betrayer of Jesus. Some things you very naturally may question as the guardian of the enclosure tells his story. Whether any one of the venerable olive trees ever threw its shadow across the prostrate form of Jesus is more than doubtful, but that these trees are burdened with the history of centuries all must concede. "Gethsemane" means "oil-press," and olive trees long ago gave Olivet its name. That somewhere in this neighborhood the Saviour suffered cannot be doubted, and within that closed wall may have been the very spot where he bowed in his agony, and where he heard the tongue of Judas utter his treacherous "Rabbi!" and where he felt the serpent-breath of the traitor as that traitor kissed him.'" Miss Harson read of this solemn spot in a low, reverent tone; and the little audience were very quiet, until at last Clara said, "Whenever we see an ash tree or olives, how much there will be to think of!" CHAPTER VII. _THE USEFUL BIRCH_. "Oh, Miss Harson!" called out Clara, in great excitement, as she caught up with her governess on a run; "hasn't Edie poisoned herself? She has been eating this twig." Edith, of course, at once began to cry. "You are not poisoned, dear," said Miss Harson, very quickly, after trying the twig herself; "for this is birch-wood, and it cannot possibly hurt you. But remember, Edie, that this must not happen again; _never_ put anything to your mouth unless you know it to be harmless. The birds and squirrels and other animals that are obliged to pick up their own living as soon as they are able to use their limbs have the faculty given them of knowing what is good for them to eat, but little girls are not intended to live in the woods, and they cannot tell whether or not the things they find there are fit to eat." "I took only a little bit," sobbed Edith; "Clara snatched it away as soon as it tasted good." Malcolm laughingly tossed his little sister into a sort of evergreen cradle where the branches grew low--for they were enjoying an afternoon in the woods--and held her there securely, while their governess replied, "'A little bit' is too much of a thing that might be harmful. You must remember to 'touch not, taste not, handle not,' until you have asked permission. But I am going to let you all chew as many birch-shoots as you want, and I too shall chew some; for when I was a little girl, I used to think they were 'puffickly d'licious.'" The children were much amazed to think that Miss Harson had ever talked like Edith--indeed, the two older ones could scarcely believe that they once did so themselves; but all soon had their hands full of birch-twigs, and they began gnawing like so many squirrels. All approved of the "birchskin," as Edith called it, and Malcolm declared that "it would be grand fun to live in the woods all the time." "Couldn't we have a tent, Miss Harson," asked Clara, "and try it?" "I have no doubt," was the reply, "that your indulgent papa would have a tent put up here for you if he thought it would make you happier, but I have my doubts as to whether it would do so. In the first place, I should object very much to living in the tent with you, and how could you possibly live there alone?" Clara and Edith were quite sure that they could not get along without their friend and governess, but Malcolm thought he would like to try being a hermit or an Indian, he was not quite ready to say which. "While you are deciding," said Miss Harson, with a smile, "it may be as well for us to go on as usual; but I think that a little tent could be put up here somewhere, which we might enjoy for an hour or so on pleasant days. I will see about it." The little girls were delighted, and Malcolm finally condescended to be pleased with the idea. "This is a very young birch," continued their governess, "and you see how slender and graceful it is; also that the bark, or 'skin,' is very dark. For this reason it is called the black, or cherry, birch, and also because the tree is very much like the black cherry. It is also called sweet birch and mahogany birch; the _sweet_ part you can probably understand, and it gets its other name from the color of the wood, which often resembles mahogany and at one time was much used for furniture. There are larger trees of the same kind all around us, and I should like to know if anything else has been noticed besides the twigs of this little one." "_I_ see something," replied Malcolm: "there are flowers--purple and yellow." "And what is the particular name for these tree-blossoms?" asked Miss Harson. "Isn't it _catkins_?" inquired Clara, timidly. "Yes, catkins, or aments. They hang, as you see, like long tassels of purple and gold, and are as fragrant as the bark. Bryant's line, "'The fragrant birch above him hung her tassels in the sky,' "was written of this same black birch. Some of these trees are sixty or seventy feet high, and all are very graceful, this species being considered the most beautiful of the numerous birch family. The leaves, which are just coming out, are two or three inches long and about half as wide; they taper to a point and have serrate, or sawlike, edges. The wood is firm and durable, and is much used for cattle-yokes as well as for bedsteads and chairs. The large trees yield a great quantity of sweetish sap, which makes a pleasant drink. The trees are tapped just as the sugar-maples are, and in some parts of the country gathering this sap, which is sometimes used to make vinegar, is quite an important event." "Oh! oh! _oh_!" screamed Edith, and began to run. "Oh! oh! oh!" echoed Clara; and Malcolm declared that she was just like "Jill," who "came tumbling after." "What is the matter, children?" asked their governess, in dismay; but she stood perfectly still. "Only a poor little garter-snake," said Malcolm, "putting his head out to see if it's warm enough for him yet. But he has gone back into his hole frightened to death at such dreadful noises. Hello! what's the matter with Edie now?" The little sister had fallen, tripped up by some rough roots, and, expecting the poor startled garter-snake to come and make a meal off her, she was calling loudly for help. Miss Harson had her in her arms in a moment, and it was soon found that one foot had quite a bad bruise. "If only you had not run away!" said her governess. "He was such an innocent little snake to make all this fuss about, and very pretty too, if you had stopped to look at him." "Are snakes ever pretty?" asked Edith, in great surprise. "Certainly they are, dear, and this one had lovely stripes. I wish you could have seen him." The little girl began to wish so too, it was so funny to think of a snake being pretty, and she felt quite ashamed that she had scampered away in such a silly fashion. "What a goose I was!" said Clara, doing her thinking aloud. "But I thought it must be something dreadful, when Edie screamed so." "How much better it would have been to have found out before you screamed!" replied Miss Harson.--"But come, Edith; see what a nice cane Malcolm has just cut to help your lame foot with. He is offering you his arm, too, on the other side, and between the two I think you will get along finely." Edith thought the same thing, and enjoyed being helped home in this fashion. Her foot was quite painful, though, and considerably swollen; and Clara bathed it with arnica when the little girl had been comfortably established on the schoolroom sofa. "Perhaps," said Miss Harson, "our little invalid will not care to hear about trees this evening?" But the little invalid did care, and it was decided to take a further ramble among the birches. "I want to hear about birch-bark," said Malcolm--"not the kind we've been eating, but the kind that canoes and things are made of." [Illustration: THE CUT-LEAVED WHITE BIRCH.] "You have already heard about the black birch," replied his governess, "and, besides this, we have the white, or gray, birch, the bark of which is white, chalky and dotted with black; the red birch, with bark of a reddish or chocolate color; the yellow birch, bark yellowish, with a silvery lustre; and the canoe birch, which has a white bark with a pearly lustre. There is also a dwarf, or shrub, birch. The list, you see, is quite a long one." "What kind grow in _our_ woods?" asked Clara. "You certainly know of one kind," was the reply--"the black, or sweet, birch, which we have all tried and like so well. Besides this, there is the white, or little gray, birch, which is seldom over twenty-five or thirty feet high. It is, however, a graceful and beautiful object, enjoying to an eminent decree the lightness and airiness of the birch family, and spreading out its glistening leaves on the ends of a very slender and often pensile spray with an indescribable softness. An English poet has called this tree the "'most beautiful Of forest-trees, the lady of the woods.'" The children laughed at the idea of calling a tree a _lady_, it seemed so comical; but Miss Harson said that she thought this was a very good description of a slender, graceful tree. [Illustration: WHITE-BIRCH LEAF.] "Four or five inches," she continued, "will span its waist, or trunk, and this seems a very good reason for calling it _little_. Another name for this tree is poplar birch, because the triangular-shaped leaves, which taper to a very long, slender point, have a habit of trembling like those of the poplars. The branches are of a dark chocolate color which contrasts very prettily with the grayish-white trunk, and their extreme slenderness causes them to droop somewhat like those of the willow. The white birch will spring up in the poorest kind of soil, and it is found in the highest latitude in which any tree can live. Its leaf is 'deltoid' in shape and indented at the edge. The bark of this species is said to be more durable than any other vegetable substance, and a piece of birch-wood was once found changed into stone, while the outer bark, white and shining, remained in its natural state," "I don't see how it could," said Malcolm. "What kept it from turning into stone too?" "Its peculiar nature," was the reply, "which is a thing that we cannot explain, and we shall have to take the story just as it is. We certainly know that the wood has been proved to be very strong, and it is much used for timber." "Is the red birch really red, Miss Harson?" asked Clara, who thought that this promised to be the prettiest member of the family. "The bark has a reddish tinge, and it is so loose and ragged-looking that it has been said to roll up its bark in coarse ringlets, which are whitish with a stain of crimson. The red birch, which is more rare than any of the other kinds, is a much larger tree than the white birch, but, like all its relations, it is very graceful. The wood is white and hard and makes very good fuel, while the twigs are made into brooms for sweeping streets and courtyards." "But there isn't very much red about it, after all," said Malcolm. "It wasn't red," murmured Edith; "it was green;" and the next moment "the baby" was fast asleep, but Miss Harson was afraid that she had taken the snake with her to the land of Nod, so restless was her sleep. "I hope the yellow birch is yellow," said Clara again. "We will see what is said of its color," replied her governess, "and here it is: 'Distinguished by its yellowish bark, of a soft silken texture and silvery or pearly lustre,' It is a large tree, and has been named _excelsa_--'lofty'--because of its height. The slender, flowing branches are very graceful, and the tree is often as symmetrical as a fine elm, but droops less. The roots of the yellow birch seem to enjoy getting above the ground and twisting themselves in a very fantastic manner, and, taken altogether, it is a strikingly handsome and ornamental tree. The wood was at one time much liked for fuel, and many of the logs were of immense size." "Now," said Malcolm, gleefully, "the canoe birch has _got_ to come next, because there isn't anything else to come." "That is an excellent reason," replied Miss Harson, "and the canoe birch it shall be. There is more to be said of it than of any of the others, and it also grows in greater quantities. Thick woods of it are found in Maine and New Hampshire--for it loves a cold climate--and in other Northern portions of the country. The tall trunks of the trees resemble pillars of polished marble supporting a canopy of bright-green foliage. The leaves are something of a heart-shape, and their vivid summer green turns to golden tints in autumn. The bark of the canoe birch is almost snowy white on the outside, and very prettily marked with fine brown stripes two or three inches long, which go around the trunk. This bark is very smooth and soft, and it is easily separated into very thin sheets. For this reason the tree is often called the paper birch, and the smooth, thin layers of bark make very good writing-paper when none other can be had." "Oh, Miss Harson!" exclaimed Clara; "did you ever see any that was written on?" "Yes," was the reply; "I once wrote a letter on some myself." "Did you _really_?" cried two eager voices. "How _could_ you? Oh, do tell us about it!" "I was making a visit at a village in Maine," said their governess, "where the beautiful trees are to be seen in all their perfection, and I thought it would be appropriate to write a letter from there on birch bark. So I split my bark very thin and got a respectable sheet of it ready; then I cut another piece, to form an envelope, and gummed it together. I had quite a struggle to write on it decently with a steel pen, because the pen would go through the paper; but I persevered, and finally I accomplished my letter. It seemed odd to put a postage-stamp on birch bark, and I smiled to think how surprised the home-people would be to get such a letter. They _were_ surprised, and they told me afterward that the postman laughed when he delivered it." The children thought this very interesting, and they wished that there were canoe-birch trees growing at Elmridge, that they might be enabled to try the experiment for themselves. "Now," continued Miss Harson, "I am going to read you an account of canoe-making, and of some other uses to which the bark is put: "'In Canada and in the district of Maine the country-people place large pieces of the bark immediately below the shingles of the roof, to form a more impenetrable covering for their houses. Baskets, boxes and portfolios are made of it, which are sometimes embroidered with silk of different colors. Divided into very thin sheets, it forms a substitute for paper, and placed between the soles of the shoes and in the crown of the hat it is a defence against dampness. But the most important purpose to which it is applied, and one in which it is replaced by the bark of no other tree, is in the construction of canoes. To procure proper pieces, the largest and smoothest trunks are selected. In the spring two circular incisions are made, several feet apart, and two longitudinal ones on opposite sides of the tree; after which, by introducing a wooden wedge, the bark is easily detached. These plates are usually ten or twelve feet long and two feet nine inches broad. To form the canoe, they are stitched together with fibrous roots of the white spruce about the size of a quill, which are deprived of the bark, split and suppled in water. The seams are coated with resin of the balm of Gilead. "'Great use is made of these canoes by the savages and by the French Canadians in their long journeys into the interior of the country; they are very light, and are easily transported on the shoulders from one lake or river to another, which is called the _portage_. A canoe calculated for four persons, with their baggage, weighs from forty to fifty pounds; some of them are made to carry fifteen passengers.' "And now let me show you a picture of the Kentucky pioneer in a birch-bark canoe." "Why, Miss Harson, the Indians are trying to kill him!" exclaimed Malcolm. "Yes," she replied; "when you read the history of the United States, you will find that not only Daniel Boone, but the most of the early settlers of these Western lands, had trouble with the Indians. Nor is this strange. These pioneers were often rough men, and were looked upon by the natives as invaders of their country and treated as enemies. But to come back to the uses of the bark of the birch: "'In the settlements of the Hudson Bay Company tents are made of the bark of this tree, which for that purpose is cut into pieces twelve feet long and four feet wide. These are sewed together by threads made of the white-spruce roots; and so rapidly is a tent put up that a circular one twenty feet in diameter and ten feet high does not occupy more than half an hour in pitching. Every traveler and hunter in Canada enjoys these "rind-tents," as they are called, which are used only during the hot summer months, when they are found particularly comfortable.'" [Illustration: IN THE BIRCH-BARK CANOE] "Well, that's the funniest thing yet!" exclaimed Malcolm. "'Rind-tents'! I wish I could see one. Did they have any in Maine where you were, Miss Harson?" "No," was the reply, "I did not even hear of such a thing there, and to see it you would probably have to go far to the north. The English birch, which is found also in many parts of Europe, is put to a great many uses; the leaves produce a yellow dye, and the wood, when mixed with copperas, will color red, black and brown. An old birch tree that is supposed to be giving an account of itself says, "'How many are the uses of my bark! Thrifty men who sit beside the blazing hearth when my branches throw up a clear bright flame, and follow the example of their fathers in making their own shoes and those of their families, tan the hides with my bark. Kamschadales construct from it both hats and vessels for holding milk, and the Swedish fisherman his shoes. The Norwegian covers with it his low-roofed hut and spreads upon the surface layers of moss at least three or four inches thick, and, having twisted long strips together, he obtains excellent torches with which to cheer the darkness of his long nights. Fishermen, in like manner, make great use of them in alluring their finny prey. For this purpose they fit a portion of blazing birch in a cleft stick and spear the fish when attracted by its flickering light.'" The children exclaimed at this queer way of fishing, but Malcolm was very much taken with the idea of doing it by night with blazing torches, and he thought that he would like to be a Norwegian fisherman even better than a hermit or an Indian. "The old tree goes on to say," continued Miss Harson, "that 'Finland mothers form of the dried leaves soft, elastic beds for their children, and from me is prepared the _mona_, their sole medicine in all diseases. My buds in spring exhale a delicious fragrance after showers, and the bark, when burnt, seems to purify the air in confined dwellings.' "In Lapland the twigs of the birch, covered with reindeer-skins, are used for beds, but they cannot be so comfortable, I should think, as the leaves. The fragrant wood of the tree makes the fires which have to be kept up inside the huts even in summer to drive away the mosquitoes, and the people of those Northern regions would find it hard to get along without the useful birch." "I like to hear about it," said Clara. "Can you tell us something more that is done with it, Miss Harson?" "There is just one thing more," replied her governess, with a smile, "which I will read out of an old book; and I desire you all to pay particular attention to it." Little Edith was wide awake again by this time, and her great blue eyes looked as if she were ready to devour every word. "Birch rods," continued Miss Harson, "are quite different from birch _twigs_, and the uses to which they were put were not altogether agreeable to the boys who ran away from school or did not get their lessons. 'My branches,' says the birch, 'gently waving in the wind, awakened in those days no feelings of dread with truant urchins--for _all_ might be truants then, if so it pleased them--but at length a scribe arose who thus wrote concerning my ductile twigs: "The civil uses whereunto the birch serveth are many, as for the punishment of children both at home and abroad; for it hath an admirable influence upon them to quiet them when they wax unruly, and therefore some call the tree _make-peace_"'" Malcolm and Clara both laughed, and asked their young governess when the birch rods were coming; but Edith did not feel quite so easy, and, with her bruised foot and all, it took a great deal of petting that night to get her comfortably to bed. CHAPTER VIII. _THE POPLARS_. The bruised foot was not comfortable to walk on for two or three days, and Edith was settled in the great easy arm-chair with dolls and toys and picture-books in a pile that seemed as if it would not stop growing until every article belonging to herself and Clara had been gathered there. "We can go on with our trees," said Miss Harson, "even if we do not see them just yet; and this evening I should like to tell you something about the poplar, a large tree with alternate leaves which is often found in dusty towns, where it seems to flourish as well as in its favorite situation by a running stream. An old English writer calls the poplars 'hospitable trees, for anything thrives under their shade.' They are not handsomely-shaped trees, but the foliage is thick and pretty. In the latter part of this month--April--the trees are so covered with their olive-green catkins that large portions of the forests seem to be colored by them." [Illustration: IN THE EASY CHAIR] "Are there any poplars at Elmridge?" asked Malcolm. "Not nearer than the woods," was the reply, "where we must go and look for them when Edith's foot is quite well again, though there are a good many in the city. The poplar is often planted by the roadside because it grows so rapidly and makes a good shade. The _Abele_, or silver poplar, is an especial favorite for this purpose. "The balm of Gilead, or Canada poplar, is the largest of the species, and really a handsome tree, often growing to the height of fifty or sixty feet, with a trunk of proportionate size. It has large leaves of a bright, glossy green, which grow loosely on long branches, A peculiarity of this tree is that before the leaves begin to expand the buds are covered with a yellow, glutinous balsam that diffuses a penetrating but very agreeable odor unlike any other. The balsam is gathered as a healing anodyne, and for many ailments it is a favorite remedy in domestic medicine. All the poplars produce more or less of this substance. "The river poplaris found on the banks of rivers and brooks and in wet places, and is a noble and graceful tree. The trunk is light gray in color, and the young trees have a smooth, leather-like bark. The broad leaves, of a very rich green, grow on stems nearly as long as themselves, and the flowering aments are of a light-red color. The leaf-stalks and young branches are also brightly tinted. Another of these trees has a very singular name: it is called the necklace poplar." [Illustration: LOMBARDY POPLAR.] "Do the flowers grow like real necklaces?" asked Clara. "Not quite," replied her governess, "but the reason given is something like it. The tree is so called from the resemblance of the long ament, before opening, to the beads of a necklace. In Europe it is known as the Swiss poplar and the black Italian poplar. Its timber is much valued there for building. There are also the black poplar and that queer, stiff-looking tree the Lombardy poplar. Cannot one of you tell me where there are some tall, narrow trees that look almost as if they had been cut out of wood and stuck there?" "I know where there are some," said Malcolm: "right in front of Mrs. Bush's old house; and I think they're miserable-looking trees." "When old and rusty, they are not in the least cheerful," replied Miss Harson; "and it is so long since Lombardy poplars were admired that few are found except about old places. The tree is shaped like a tall spire, and in hot, calm weather drops of clear water trickle from its leaves like a slight shower of rain. It was once a favorite shade-tree, and a century ago great numbers of Lombardy poplars were planted by village waysides, in front of dwelling-houses, on the borders of public grounds, and particularly in avenues leading to houses that stand at some distance from the high-road. [Illustration: A GROUP OF POPLARS IN CASHMERE] "The poplar is found in many lands. The Lombardy poplar, as its name indicates, was brought from Italy, where it grows luxuriantly beside the orange and the myrtle; but after one of our cold winters many of its small branches will decay, and this gives it a forlorn appearance. When fresh and green, the Lombardy poplar is quite handsome. Some one wrote of it long ago: 'There is no other tree that so pleasantly adorns the sides of narrow lanes and avenues, and so neatly accommodates itself to limited enclosures. Its foliage is dense and of the liveliest verdure, making delicate music to the soft touch of every breeze. Its terebinthine odors scent the vernal gales that enter our open windows with the morning sun. Its branches, always turning upward and closely gathered together, afford a harbor to the singing-birds that make them a favorite resort, and its long, tapering spire that points to heaven gives an air of cheerfulness and religious tranquillity to village scenery.'" "I wish we had some," said Edith, "with singing-birds in 'em." "Why, my dear child," replied her governess, "have we not the beautiful elms, in which the birds build their nests and where they fly in and out continually? They are the very same birds that build in the Lombardy poplars." "I thought that singing-birds always lived in cages," said the little queen in the easy-chair. "And did you think they were hung all over the Lombardy poplars?" asked Malcolm, in a broad grin. Edith laughed too, and Miss Harson said smilingly. "I thought that the birds about Elmridge did a great deal of singing, and the blue-birds and robins kept it up all day. But I should not like to see the old Lombardy poplars hung with gilded cages, and the birds which should happen to be prisoners in the cages would like it still less." "Well," said Edith, contentedly, as she settled herself again to listen. "The poplar," continued Miss Harson, "has a great many insect enemies, and the Lombardy is not often seen now, because a great many of these trees were destroyed on account of a worm, or caterpillar, by which they were infested. Poplar-wood is soft, light and generally of a pale-yellow color; it is much used for toy-making and for boarded floors, 'for which last purpose it is well adapted from its whiteness and the facility with which it is scoured, and also from the difficulty with which it catches fire and the slowness with which it burns. A red-hot poker falling on a board of poplar would burn its way without causing more combustion than the hole through which it passed.'" "I should think, then," said Malcolm, "that all wooden things would be made of poplar." "It is generally thought not to be durable," was the reply, "but it is said that if kept dry the wood will last as long as that of any tree. Says the poplar plank, "'Though heart of oak be ne'er so stout, Keep me dry and I'll see him out.' "The poplar has been highly praised, for every part of this tree answers some good purpose. The bark, being light, like cork, serves to support the nets of fishermen; the inner bark is used by the Kamschadales as a material for bread; brooms are made from the twigs, and paper from the cottony down of the seeds. Horses, cows and sheep browse upon it. "And now," said Miss Harson, when the children were wondering if that were the end, "we have come to the most interesting tree of the whole species--the aspen, or trembling poplar. It is a small, graceful tree with rounded leaves having a wavy, toothed border, covered with soft silk when young, which remains only as a fringe on the edge at maturity, supported by a very slender footstalk about as long as the leaf, and compressed laterally from near the base. They are thus agitated by the slightest breath of wind with that quivering, restless motion characteristic of all the poplars, but in none so striking as this. 'To quiver like an aspen-leaf has become a proverb. The foliage appears lighter than that of most other trees, from continually displaying the under side of the leaves. "The aspen has been called a very poetical tree, because it is the only one whose leaves tremble when the wind is apparently calm. It is said, however, to suggest fickleness and caprice, levity and irresolution--a bad character for any tree. The small American aspen, which is quite common, has a smooth, pale-green bark, which gets whitish and rough as the tree grows old. The foliage is thin, but a single leaf will be found, when examined, uncommonly beautiful. A spray of the small aspen, when in leaf, is very light and airy-looking, and the leaves produce a constant rustling sound. 'Legends of no ordinary interest linger around this tree. Ask the Italian peasant who pastures his sheep beside a grove of _Abele_ why the leaves of these trees are always trembling in even the hottest weather when not a breeze is stirring, and he will tell you that the wood of the trembling-poplar formed the cross on which our Saviour suffered.'" "Oh, Miss Harson!" said Clara, in a low tone. "Is that _true_?" "We do not know that it is, dear, nor do we know that it is not. Here are some verses about it which I like very much: "'The tremulousness began, as legends tell, When he, the meek One, bowed his head to death E'en on an aspen cross, when some near dell Was visited by men whose every breath That Sufferer gave them. Hastening to the wood-- The wood of aspens--they with ruffian power Did hew the fair, pale tree, which trembling stood As if awestruck; and from that fearful hour Aspens have quivered as with conscious dread Of that foul crime which bowed the meek Redeemer's head. "'Far distant from those days, oh let not man, Boastful of reason, check with scornful speech Those legends pure; for who the heart may scan Or say what hallowed thoughts such legends teach To those who may perchance their scant flocks keep On hill or plain, to whom the quivering tree Hinteth a thought which, holy, solemn, deep, Sinks in the heart, bidding their spirits flee All thoughts of vice, that dread and hateful thing Which troubleth of each joy the pure and gushing spring?'" CHAPTER IX. _ALL A-BLOW: THE APPLE TREE_. It certainly was a beautiful sight, and the children exclaimed over it in ectasy. It was now past the middle of April, and Miss Harson had taken her little flock to visit an apple-orchard at some distance from Elmridge, and the whole place seemed to be one mass of pink-and-white bloom. "And how deliciously _sweet_ it is!" said Malcolm as he sniffed the fragrant air. "Oh!" exclaimed Edith, turning up her funny little nose to get the full benefit of all this fragrance; "I can't breathe half enough at once." "That is just my case," said her governess, laughing, "but I did not think to say it in that way. Get all you can of this deliciousness, children; I wish that we could carry some of it away with us." "And so you shall," replied a hearty voice as Mr. Grove, the owner of the orchard, came up with a knife in his hand and began cutting off small branches of apple--blossoms. "I like to see folks enjoy things." "I hope you don't mind our trespassing on your grounds?" said Miss Harson. "I can engage that my little friends will do no injury, and I particularly wished them to see your beautiful orchard in bloom; it is almost equal to a field of roses." "Don't mind it at all, miss," was the reply--"quite the contrary; and I think, myself, it's a pretty sight. Smells good, too. Now, here's a nosegay big enough for you three young ladies, and Bub there can carry it." Malcolm, who was quite proud of his name, felt so indignant at being called "Bub" that he almost forgot the farmer's generosity; but his governess acknowledged it, very much to the worthy man's satisfaction. Edith, however, was rather shocked. "I thought it was wicked," said she, "to cut off flowers from fruit trees? Won't these make apples?" "Not them particular ones, Sis," replied Mr. Grove, with a laugh; "they're done for now. But it ain't wicked to cut off your own apple blows when there's too many on the tree to make good apples, and there's plenty to spare yet." He was very much amused at the little girl's serious face over this wholesale destruction of infant apples, and he invited them all to come to the house and get a drink of fresh milk. The children thought this a very pleasant invitation, and Miss Harson was quite willing to gratify them. The farmer led his guests into a very cheerful and wonderfully clean kitchen, where Mrs. Groves was busy with her baking, and the loaves of fresh bread looked very inviting. She was as pleasant and hospitable as her husband, and after shaking up a funny-looking patchwork cushion in a rocking-chair for the young lady to sit down on she told the little girls that she would get them a couple of crickets if they would wait a minute, and disappeared into the next room. The two little sisters looked at each other in dismay and wondered what they could do with these insects, but before they could consult Miss Harson good Mrs. Grove had returned carrying in each hand a small flat footstool. The girls sat down very carefully, for they were not accustomed to such low seats; but the whole party were tired with their walk and glad to rest for a short time. Malcolm, being a boy, was expected to sit where he could, and he speedily established himself in the corner of a wooden settle. In spite of the apple-blossoms, the kitchen fire was very comfortable; and, as the baking was just coming to an end, Mrs. Grove said that "she would be ready to visit with them in a minute:" she did not seem to allow herself more than a "minute" for anything. Besides the milk, some very nice seed-cakes in the shape of hearts were produced, and Edith thought them the most delightful little cakes she had ever tasted. Clara and Malcolm, too, were quite hungry, and Miss Harson enjoyed her glass of milk and seed-cake as well as did the young people. The farmer and his wife seemed really sorry to part with their guests when they rose to go, but Miss Harson said that it was time for them to be at home, and the children were obedient on the instant. "Well," said the worthy couple, "you know now where to come when you want more apple-blows and a drink of milk." Malcolm was quite laden with the mass of rosy flowers which Mr. Grove piled up in his arms, and he enjoyed the delicious scent all the way home. "I must get out the big jar," said Miss Harson as she surveyed their treasures, "and there are so many buds that I think we may be able to keep them for some days.--What would you say, Edith, if I told you that people cut off not only the blossoms, but even the fruit itself, while it is green, to make what is left on the tree handsomer and better?" Edith looked her surprise, and the other children could not understand why all the fruit that formed should not be left on the tree to ripen. "It is very often left," replied their governess, "but, although the crop is a large one, it will be of inferior quality; and those who understand fruit-raising thin it out, so that the tree may not have more fruit than it can well nourish. But now it is time for papa to come, and after dinner we will have a regular apple-talk." "How nice it was at Mrs. Grove's to-day!" said Clara, when they were gathered for the talk. "I think that kitchens are pleasanter to sit in than parlors and school-rooms." "So do I," chimed in Edith; "but I was afraid about the crickets at first. I thought we'd have to hold 'em in our hands, and I didn't like that." Why _would_ people always laugh when there was nothing to laugh at? The little girl thought she had a very funny brother and sister, and Miss Harson, too, was funny sometimes. "Have you so soon forgotten about the real insect-crickets, dear?" asked her governess, kindly. "Why, it will be months yet before we see one. Besides, I thought I told you that in some places a little bench is called a 'cricket'?--Do you know, Clara, why you thought Mrs. Grove's kitchen so pleasant? It is larger and better furnished than kitchens usually are, there were pleasant people in it, and you were tired and hungry and ready to enjoy rest and refreshments; but I am quite sure that, on the whole, you would like your own quarters best, because you are better fitted for them, as Mrs. Grove is for hers. We had a very pleasant visit, though, and some day we may repeat it--perhaps when the apples are ripe." "Good! good!" cried the children, clapping their hands; and Malcolm added that he "would like to be let loose in that apple-orchard." "Perhaps you would like it better than Farmer Grove would," was the reply. "But we haven't got to the apples yet; we must first find out a little about the tree. We learn in the beginning that it was one of the very earliest trees planted in this country by the settlers, because it is both hardy and useful. There is a wild species called the Virginia crab-apple, which bears beautiful pink flowers as fragrant as roses, but its small apples are intensely sour. The blossoms of the cultivated apple tree are more beautiful than those of any other fruit; they are delicious to both sight and scent." "And do look, Miss Harson," said Clara, "at these lovely half-open buds! They are just like tiny roses, and _so_ sweet!" Down went Clara's head among the clustered blossoms, and then Edith had to come too; and Malcolm declared that between the two they would smell them to death. "It seems," continued Miss Harson, "that the apple tree grows wild in every part of Europe except in the frigid zone and in Western Asia, China and Japan. It is thought to have been planted in Britain by the Romans; and when it was brought here, it seemed to do better than it had done anywhere else. It is said that 'not only the Indians, but many indigenous insects, birds and quadrupeds, welcomed the apple tree to these shores. The butterfly of the tent-caterpillar saddled her eggs on the very first twig that was formed, and it has since shared her affections with the wild cherry; and the canker-worm also, in a measure, abandoned the elm to feed on it. As it grew apace the bluebird, robin, cherry-bird, king-bird, and many more, came with haste and built their nests and warbled in its boughs, and so became orchard-birds and multiplied more than ever. It was an era in the history of their race in America. The downy woodpecker found such a savory morsel under its bark that he perforated it in a ring quite round the tree before he left it. It did not take the partridge long to find out how sweet its buds were, and every winter eve she flew, and still flies, from the wood to pluck them, much to the farmer's sorrow. The rabbit, too, was not slow to learn the taste of its twigs and bark; and when the fruit was ripe, the squirrel half rolled, half carried, it to his hole. Even the musquash crept up the bank from the brook at evening, and greedily devoured it, until he had worn a path in the grass there; and when it was frozen and thawed, the crow and the jay were glad to taste it occasionally. The owl crept into the first apple tree that became hollow, and fairly hooted with delight, finding it just the place for him; so, settling down into it, he has remained there ever since.' "Speaking of these buds, Clara," said her governess, "I think I forgot to tell you that the apple tree belongs to the family Rosaceae, and therefore the half-opened blossoms have a right to look like roses. The tree is not a handsome one, being a small edition of the oak in its sturdy outline, but it is less graceful or picturesque-looking, being often broader than it is high and resembling in shape a half globe. The leaves are not pretty except when first unfolded, and their color is then a beautiful light tint known as apple-green. But the foliage soon becomes dusty and shabby-looking. An old apple tree, with its gnarled, and often hollow, trunk, is generally handsomer than a young one, unless in the time of blossoms; for only a young apple-orchard is covered with such a profusion of bloom as that we saw to-day." "I am glad," said Clara, "that it belongs to the rose family, for now the dear little buds seem prettier than ever." "The apples are prettier yet," observed Malcolm; "if there's anything I like, it's apples." "I am afraid that you eat too many of them for your good," replied his governess; "I shall have to limit you to so many a day." "I have eaten only six to-day," was the modest reply, "and they were little russets, too." "Oh, Malcolm, Malcolm!" said Miss Harson, laughing; "what shall I do with you? Why, you would soon make an apple-famine in most places. Three apples a day must be your allowance for the present; and if at any time we go to live in an orchard, you may have six." "Why, _we_ have only one," exclaimed little Edith, "and we don't want any more.--Do we, Clara?" [Illustration: Apple Blossoms.] "If you don't want 'em," said Malcolm, "there's no sense in eating 'em.--But I'll remember, Miss Harson. I suppose three at one time ought to be enough." Malcolm's expression, as he said this, was so doleful that every one laughed at him; and his governess continued: "The apple tree is said to produce a greater variety of beautiful fruit than any other tree that is known, and apples are liked by almost every one. They are a very wholesome fruit and nearly as valuable as bread and potatoes for food, because they can be used in so many different ways, and the poorer qualities make very nourishing food for nearly all animals." "Rex fairly snatches the apple out of my hand when I go to give him one," said Malcolm. "So does Regina," added Clara, who trembled in her shoes whenever she offered these dainties to the handsome carriage-horses. Edith had not dared to venture on such a feat yet, and therefore she had nothing to say. "All horses are fond of apples," said Miss Harson, "and the fruit is very thoroughly appreciated. Ancient Britain was celebrated for her apple-orchards, and the tree was reverenced by the Druids because the mistletoe grew abundantly on it. In Saxon times, when England became a Christian country, the rite of coronation, or crowning of a king, was in such words as these: 'May the almighty Lord give thee, O king, from the dew of heaven and the fatness of the earth, abundance of corn and wine and oil! Be thou the lord of thy brothers, and let the sons of thy mother bow down before thee. Let the people serve thee and the tribes adore thee. May the Almighty bless thee with the blessings of heaven above, and the mountains and the valleys with the blessings of the deep below, with the blessings of grapes and _apples_! Bless, O Lord, the courage of this prince, and prosper the work of his hands; and by thy blessing may his land be filled with _apples_, with the fruit and dew of heaven from the top of the ancient mountains, from the _apples_ of the eternal hills, from the fruit of the earth and its fullness!' You will see from this how highly apples were valued in England in those ancient times." "I should like to pick them up when they are ripe," said Clara, and Malcolm expressed a desire to hire himself out by the day to Mr. Grove when that time arrived. "An apple-orchard in autumn," continued their governess, "is often a merry scene. Ladders are put against the trees, and the finest apples are carefully picked off, but such as are to be used for cider-making are shaken to the ground. Men and boys are at work, and even women and children are there with baskets and aprons spread out to catch the fruit; and they run back and forth wherever the apples fall thickest, with much laughter at the unexpected showers that come down upon their heads and necks. Large baskets filled with these apples are carried to the mill, where, after being laid in heaps a while to mellow, they are crushed and pressed till their juice is extracted; and this, being fermented, becomes cider. From this cider, by a second fermentation, the best vinegar is made." [Illustration: THE APPLE-HARVEST.] "Miss Harson," asked Edith, as the talk seemed to have come to an end, "isn't there any more about apple trees? I like 'em." "Yes, dear," was the reply; "there is more. I was just looking over, in this little book, some queer superstitions about apple trees in England, and here is a strange performance which is said to take place in some very retired parts of the country: "'Scarcely have the merry bells ushered in the morning of Christmas than a troop of people may be seen entering the apple-orchard, often when the trees are powdered with hoarfrost and snow lies deep upon the ground. One of the company carries a large flask filled with cider and tastefully decorated with holly-branches; and when every one has advanced about ten paces from the choicest tree, rustic pipes made from the hollow boughs of elder are played upon by young men, while Echo repeats the strain, and it seems as if fairy-musicians responded in low, sweet tones from some neighboring wood or hill. Then bursts forth a chorus of loud and sonorous voices while the cider-flask is being emptied of its contents around the tree, and all sing some such words as these: "'"Here's to thee, old apple tree! Long mayest thou grow. And long mayest thou blow, and ripen the apples that hang on thy bough! "'"This full can of apple wine, Old tree, be thine: It will cheer thee and warm thee amid the deep snow; "'"Till the goldfinch--fond bird!-- In the orchard is heard Singing blithe 'mid the blossoms that whiten thy bough."'" "But what did they do it for?" asked Malcolm, who enjoyed the account as much as the others. "There doesn't seem to be any sense in it." "There _is_ no sense in it," replied his governess, "but these ignorant people had inherited the custom from their fathers and grandfathers, and they really believed--and perhaps still believe--that this attention would be sure to bring a fine crop of apples. We are distinctly told, though, that 'it is God that giveth the increase;' and to him alone belong the fruits of the earth. Sometimes the crop is so great that the trees fairly bend over with the weight of the fruit, and there is an old English saying: 'The more apples the tree bears, the more she bows to the folk.'" "How funny!" laughed Edith. "Does the apple tree move its head, Miss Harson?" "It cannot go quite so far as that," was the reply; "it just stays bent over like a person carrying a heavy burden. The branches of overladen fruit trees are sometimes propped up with long poles to keep them from breaking. There is another strange custom, which used to be practiced on New Year's eve. It was called 'Apple-Howling,' and a troop of boys visited the different orchards--which would scarcely have been desirable when the apples were ripe--and, forming a ring around the trees, repeated these words: "'Stand fast, root! bear well, top! Pray God send us a good howling crop-- Every twig, apples big; Every bough, apples enow.' "All then shouted in chorus, while one of the party played on a cow's horn, and the trees were well rapped with the sticks which they carried. This ceremony is thought to have been a relic of some heathen sacrifice, and it is quite absurd enough to be that." "What is 'a howling crop,' Miss Harson?" asked Clara. "That name sounds so queer!" "I don't know what it can be," replied her governess, "unless it refers to the strange expression sometimes used, 'howling with delight.' We hear more commonly of 'howling with pain,' but 'a howling crop' must be one that makes the owner scream, as well as dance for joy." "Why, _I_ scream only when I'm frightened," said Edith, who began to think that there were much sillier people in the world than herself. "At garter-snakes," added Malcolm, giving his sister a sly pinch; but Edith did not mind his pinches, because he always took good care not to hurt her. Miss Harson said that the best way was not to scream at all, as it was both a silly and a troublesome habit, and the sooner her charges broke themselves of it the better she should like it. Clara and Edith both promised to try--just as they had promised before, when the ants were so troublesome; but they were nine months older now, and seemed to be getting a little ashamed of the habit. "Are apples mentioned anywhere in the Bible?" asked Miss Harson, presently. Clara and Malcolm were busy thinking, but nothing came of it, until their governess said, "Turn to the book of Proverbs, Clara, and find the twenty-fifth chapter and the eleventh verse." Clara read very carefully: "'A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver.' But what does it mean?" she asked. "It probably means 'framed in silver' or 'in silver frames[11],'" was the reply; "and then it is easy to understand how important our words are, and that 'fitly-spoken' ones are as valuable and lasting as golden apples framed in silver. The apple tree is mentioned in Joel, where it is said that 'all the trees of the field are withered[12],' and both apple trees and apples are mentioned in several places of the Old Testament. But, to tell the whole truth, scholars are not agreed as to whether the Hebrew word denotes the apple or some other fruit that grew in the land of Israel." [11] The Revised Version renders the phrase "in baskets of silver." [12] Joel i. 12. The children had all enjoyed the "apple-talk," and they felt that the fruit which they were so accustomed to seeing would now have a new meaning for them. CHAPTER X. _A FRUITFUL FAMILY: THE PEACH, ALMOND, PLUM AND CHERRY_. Snowdrops, crocuses, hyacinths and tulips were blooming out of doors and in-doors; the grass looked green and velvety, and the fruit trees were, as John expressed it, "all a-blow." The peach trees, without a sign of a leaf, looked, as every one said of them, like immense bouquets of pink flowers, while pear, cherry and plum trees seemed as if they were dressed in white. One cloudy, windy day, when the petals fell off in showers and strewed the ground, Edith declared that it was snowing; but she soon saw her mistake, and then began to worry because there would be no blossoms left for fruit. "If the flowers stayed on, there would be no fruit," said Miss Harson. "Let me show you just where the little green germ is." "Why, of course!" said Malcolm; "it's in the part that stays on the tree." Edith listened intently while her governess showed her the ovary of a blossom safe on the twig where it grew, and explained to her that it was this which, nourished by the sap of the tree, with the aid of the sun and air, would ripen into fruit, while the petals were merely a fringe or ornament to the true blossom. At Elmridge, scattered here and there through garden and grounds, as Mr. Kyle liked to have them, there were some fruit trees of every kind that would flourish in that part of the country, but there was no orchard; and for this reason Miss Harson had taken the children to see the grand apple-blossoming at Farmer Grove's. Two very large pear trees stood one on either side of the lawn, and there were dwarf pear trees in the garden. "I think pears are nicer than apples," said Clara as they stood looking at the fine trees, now perfectly covered with their snowy blossoms. But Malcolm, who found it hard work to be happy on three apples a day, stoutly disagreed with his sister on this point, and declared that nothing was so good as apples. "How about ice-cream?" asked his governess, when she heard this sweeping assertion. The young gentleman was silent, for his exploits with this frozen luxury were a constant subject of wonder to his friends and relatives. "You will notice," said Miss Harson, "that the shape of these trees is much more graceful than that of the apple tree. They are tall and slender, forming what is called an imperfect pyramid. Standard pear trees, like these, give a good shade, and the long, slender branches are well clothed with leaves of a bright, glossy green. This rich color lasts late into the autumn, and it is then varied with yellow, and often with red and black, spots; so that pear-leaves are not to be despised in gathering autumn-leaf treasures. The pear is not so useful a fruit as the apple, nor so showy in color; but it has a more delicate and spicy flavor, and often is of an immense size." "Yes, indeed!" said Clara. "Don't you remember, Miss Harson, that sometimes Edith and I can have only one pear divided between us at dessert because they are so large?" "Yes, dear; and I think that half a duchess pear is as much as can be comfortably managed at once." "Well," observed Malcolm, "I don't want half an apple.--But, Miss Harson, do they ever have 'pear-howlings' in England?" "I have never read of any," was the reply, "and I think that strange custom is confined to apple trees. And there is no mention made of either pears or pear trees in the Scriptures." "What are prickly-pears?" asked Clara. "Do they have thorns on 'em?" "There is a plant by this name," replied her governess, "with large yellow flowers, and the fruit is full of small seeds and has a crimson pulp. It grows in sandy places near the salt water; it is abundant in North Africa and Syria, and is considered quite good to eat; but neither plant nor fruit bears any resemblance to our pear trees: it is a cactus." "Won't you have a story for us this evening, Miss Harson?" asked Edith, rather wistfully. "Perhaps so, dear--I have been thinking of it--but it will not be about pear trees." "Oh, I don't care," with a very bright face; "I'd as soon have it about cherry trees, or--'Most anything!" Miss Harson laughed, and said, "Well, then, I think it will be about cherries; so you must rest on that. This morning we will go around among the fruit trees and see what we can learn from seeing them." Of course it was Saturday morning and there were no lessons, or they would not have been roaming around "promiscuous," as Jane called it; for the young governess was very careful not to let the getting of one kind of knowledge interfere with the getting of another. "How do you like these pretty quince trees?" asked Miss Harson as they came to some large bushes with great pinkish flowers. "I like 'em," replied Edith, "because they're so little. And oh what pretty flowers!" "Some more relations of the rose," said her governess. "And do you notice how fragrant they are? The tree is always low and crooked, just as you see it, and the branches straggle not very gracefully. The under part of the dark-green leaves is whitish and downy-looking, and the flowers are handsome enough to warrant the cultivation of the tree just for their sake, but the large golden fruit is much prized for preserves, and in the autumn a small tree laden down with it is quite an ornamental object. The quince is more like a pear than an apple. As the book says, 'it has the same tender and mucilaginous core; the seeds are not enclosed in a dry hull, like those of the apple; and the pulp of the quince, like that of the pear, is granulated, while that of the apple displays in its texture a firmer and finer organization.' The fruit, however, is so hard, even when ripe, that it cannot be eaten without cooking. It is said to be a native of hedges and rocky places in the South of Europe." [Illustration: PEACH-BLOSSOM.] "These peach trees," said Clara, "look like sticks with pink flowers all over 'em." "They are remarkably bare of leaves when in bloom," was the reply: "the leaves burst forth from their envelopes as the blossoms pass away; but how beautiful the blossoms are! from the deepest pink to that delicate tint which is called peach-color. But do you know that we have left the apple and rose family now, and have come to the almond family?" The children were very much surprised to hear this, and they looked at the peach trees with fresh interest. "Yes," continued Miss Harson, "the family consists of the almond tree, the peach tree, the apricot tree, the plum tree and the cherry tree; and one thing that distinguishes them from the other families is the gum which is found on their trunks.--Look around, Malcolm, at the peach, plum and cherry trees, which are the only members of the family that we have at Elmridge, and you will find gum oozing from the bark, especially where there are knotholes." Malcolm not only found the gum, but succeeded in helping himself to some of it, which he shared with his sisters. It had a rather sweet taste, and the children seemed to like it, having first obtained permission of their governess to eat it. "That is another of the things that I thought 'puffickly d'licious' when I was a child," said the young lady, laughing. "But there is another peculiarity of this family of trees which is not so innocent, and that is that in the fruit-kernel, and also in the leaves, there is a deadly poison called prussic acid." "O--h!" exclaimed the children, drawing back from the trees as though they expected to be poisoned on the spot. "But, as we do not eat either the kernels or the leaves," continued their governess, "we need not feel uneasy, for the fruit never yet poisoned any one. Here are the cherry trees, so covered with blossoms that they look like masses of snow; and the smaller plum trees are also attired in white. We will begin this evening with the almond tree, and see what we can find out about the family." "Do almond trees and peach trees look alike?" asked Clara, when they were fairly settled by the schoolroom fire; for the evenings were too cool yet for the piazza. "Very much alike," was the reply; "only the almond tree is larger and it has white instead of pink blossoms. Then it is the _fruit_ of the peach we eat, but of the almond we eat the kernel of the stem. I will read you a little account of it: "'The common almond is a native of Barbary, but has long been cultivated in the South of Europe and the temperate parts of Asia. The fruit is produced in very large quantities and exported in to northern countries; it is also pressed for oil and used for various domestic purposes. There are numerous varieties of this species, but the two chief kinds are the bitter almond and the sweet almond. The sweet almond affords a favorite article for dessert, but it contains little nourishment, and of all nuts is the most difficult of digestion. The tree has been cultivated in England for about three centuries for the sake of its beautiful foliage, as the fruit will not ripen without a greater degree of heat than is found in that climate. The distilled water of the bitter almond is highly injurious to the human species, and, taken in a large dose, produces almost instant death.' The prussic acid which can be obtained from the kernel of the peach is found also in the bitter almond." [Illustration: THE ALMOND.--BRANCH AND FRUIT.] "But what do they want to find it for," asked Malcolm, "when it kills people?" "Because," replied his governess, "like some other noxious things, it can be made valuable when used moderately and in the right way. But it is often employed to give a flavor to intoxicating liquors, and this is _not_ a right way, as it makes them even more dangerous than before. But we will leave the prussic acid and return to our almond tree. It flourishes in Palestine, where it blooms in January, and in March the ripe fruit can be gathered." This seemed wonderfully strange to the children--flowers in January and fruit in March; and Miss Harson explained to them that in that part of the world they do not often have our bitter cold weather with its ice and snow to kill the tender buds. "This tree," continued Miss Harson, "is occasionally mentioned in the Old Testament. In Jeremiah the prophet says, 'I see a rod of an almond tree[13];' also in Ecclesiastes it is said that 'the almond tree shall flourish[14].'" [13] Jer. i. II. [14] Eccl. xii. 5. "Are there ever many peach trees growing in one place," asked Clara, "like the apple trees in Mr. Grove's orchard?" "Yes," was the reply, "for in some places there are immense peach-orchards, covering many acres of ground; and when the trees in these are in blossom, the spring landscape seems to be pink with them. These great peach-fields are found in Delaware and Maryland, where the fruit grows in such perfection, and also in some of the Western States. We all know how delicious it is, but, unfortunately, so does a certain green worm, who curls up in the leaves which he gnaws in spite of the prussic acid. This insect will often attack the finest peaches and lay its eggs in them when the fruit is but half grown. In this way the young grubs find food and lodging provided for them all in one, and they thrive, while the peach decays." "What a shame it is," exclaimed Malcolm, in great indignation, "to have our best peaches eaten by wretched little worms who might just as well eat grass and leave the peaches for us!" "Perhaps they think it a shame that they are so often shaken to the ground or washed off the trees," replied Miss Harson; "and, as to their eating grass, they evidently prefer peaches. 'Insects as well as human beings have discriminating tastes, and the poor plum tree suffers even more than the peach from their attentions. In some parts of the country it has been entirely given up to their depredations, and farmers will not try to raise this fruit because of these active enemies. The whole almond family are liable to the attacks of insects. Canker-worms of one or of several species often strip them of their leaves; the tent-caterpillars pitch their tents among the branches and carry on their dangerous depredations; the slug-worms, the offspring of a fly called _Selandria cerasi_, reduce the leaves to skeletons, and thus destroy them; the cherry-weevils penetrate their bark, cover their branches with warts and cause them to decay; and borers gnaw galleries in their trunks and devour the inner bark and sap-wood.' So you see that, with such an army of destroyers, we may be thankful to get any fruit at all." "I'm glad to know the name of that fly," said Malcolm, who considered it an additional grievance that it should have such a long name, "but I won't try to call him by it if I meet him anywhere." "I think it's pretty," said Clara, beginning to repeat it, and making a decided failure. "Fortunately," continued their governess, after reading it again for them, "there are other things much more important for you to remember just now, and I could not have said it myself without the book. And now let us see what else we can learn about the plum. It is a native, it seems, of North America, Europe and Asia, and many of the wild species are thorny. The cultivated plums, damsons and gages are varieties of the _Prunus domestica_, the cultivated plum tree. These have no thorns; the leaves are oval in shape, and the flowers grow singly. The most highly-valued cultivated plum trees came originally from the East, where they have been known from time immemorial. In many countries of Eastern Europe domestic animals are fattened on their fruits, and an alcoholic liquor is obtained from them; they also yield a white, crystallizable sugar. The prunes which we import from France are the dried fruit of varieties of the plum which contain a sufficient quantity of sugar to preserve the fruit from decay." "Do prunes really grow on trees, Miss Harson?" asked Edith, who was rather disposed to think that they grew in pretty boxes. "Yes, dear," was the reply; "they grow just as our plums do, only they are dried and packed in layers before they reach this country. We have two species of wild plum in North America--the beach-plum, a low shrub found in New England, the fruit of which is dark blue and about the size of damsons; while the other is quite a large tree, and very showy when covered with its scarlet fruit. In Maine it is called plum-granate, probably from its red color," "I know what's coming next," said Clara--"cherries; because all the rest have been used up. And then we're to have the story." "But they're all interesting," replied Malcolm, gallantly, "because Miss Harson makes them so." "I hope that is not the only reason," said his governess, laughing, "for trees are always beautiful and interesting and it is a privilege to be able to learn something of their habits and history.--Like most fruit trees, the cherry has many varieties, but it is always a handsome tree, and less spoiled by insects than others of the almond family. The black cherry is the most common species in the United States, and is both wild and cultivated. The garden cherry has broad, ovate, rough and serrate leaves, growing thickly on the branches, and this, with the height of the tree, makes a fine shade. Some old cherry trees have huge trunks, and their thick branches spread to a great distance. The branches of the wild cherry are too straggling to make a beautiful tree, and the leaves are small and narrow. The blossoms of the cultivated cherry are in umbels, while those of the wild cherry are borne in racemes." "I remember that, Miss Harson," said Clara, pleased with her knowledge. "'Umbel' means 'like an umbrella,' and 'raceme' means 'growing along a stem.'" "Very well indeed!" was the reply; "I am glad you have not forgotten it.--Of our cultivated cherries, we have here at Elmridge, besides the large black ones, which are so very sweet about the first of July, the great ox-hearts, which look like painted wax and ripen in June, and those very acid red ones, often called pie-cherries, which are used for pies and preserves. The cherry is a beautiful fruit, and one that is popular with birds as well as with boys. The great northern cherry of Europe, which was named by Linnaeus the 'bird-cherry,' is encouraged in Great Britain and on the Continent for the benefit of the birds, which are regarded as the most important checks to the over-multiplication of insects. The fact not yet properly understood in America--that the birds which are the most mischievous consumers of fruit are the most useful as destroyers of insects--is well known by all farmers in Europe; and while we destroy the birds to save the fruit, and sometimes cut down the fruit-trees to starve the birds, the Europeans more wisely plant them for the food and accommodation of the birds." "Isn't it wicked to kill the poor little birds?" asked Edith. "Yes, dear; it is cruel to kill them just for sport, as is often done, and very foolish, as we have just seen, to destroy them for the sake of the fruit, which the insects make way with in much greater quantities than the birds do." "Miss Harson," asked Clara, "do people cut down real cherry trees to make the pretty red furniture like that in your room?" "It is the wood of the wild cherry," replied her governess, "that is used for this purpose. It is of a light-red or fresh mahogany color, growing darker and richer with age. It is very close-grained, compact, takes a good polish, and when perfectly seasoned is not liable to shrink or warp. It is therefore particularly suitable, and much employed, for tables, chests of drawers, and other cabinet-work, and when polished and varnished is not less beautiful for such articles than are inferior kinds of mahogany." "'Cherry' sounds pretty to say," continued Clara. "I wonder how the tree got that name?" "That wonder is easily explained," said Miss Harson, "for I have been reading about it, and I was just going to tell you. 'Cherry comes from 'Cerasus,' the name of a town on the Black Sea from whence the tree is supposed to have been introduced into Italy, and it designates a genus of about forty species, natives of all the temperate regions of the northern hemisphere. They are trees or shrubs with smooth serrated leaves, which are folded together when young, and white or reddish flowers growing in bunches, like umbels, and preceding the leaves or in terminal racemes accompanying or following the leaves. A few species, with numerous varieties, produce valuable fruits; nearly all are remarkable for the abundance of their early flowers, sometimes rendered double by cultivation. And now," added the young lady, "we have arrived at the story, which is translated from the German; and in Germany the cherries are particularly fine. A plateful of this beautiful fruit was, as you will see, the cause of some remarkable changes." CHAPTER XI. _THE CHERRY-STORY._ On the banks of the Rhine, in the pleasant little village of Rebenheim, lived Ehrenberg, the village mayor. He was much respected for his virtues, and his wife was greatly beloved for her charity to the poor. They had an only daughter--the little Caroline--who gave early promise of a superior mind and a benevolent heart. She was the idol of her parents, who devoted their whole care to giving her a sound religious education. Not far from the house, and close to the orchard and kitchen-garden, there was another little garden, planted exclusively with flowers. The day that Caroline was born her father planted a cherry tree in the middle of the flower-garden. He had chosen a tree with a short trunk, in order that his little daughter could more easily admire the blossoms and pluck the cherries when they were ripe. When the tree bloomed for the first time and was so covered with blossoms that it looked like a single bunch of white flowers, the father and mother came out one morning to enjoy the sight. Little Caroline was in her mother's arms. The infant smiled, and, stretching out her little hands for the blossoms, endeavored at the same time to speak her joy, but in such a way as no one but a mother could understand: "Flowers! flowers! Pretty! pretty!" The child engaged more of the parents' thoughts than all the cherry-blossoms and gardens and orchards, and all they were worth. They resolved to educate her well; they prayed to God to bless their care and attention by making Caroline worthy of him and the joy and consolation of her parents. As soon as the little girl was old enough to understand, her mother told her lovingly of that kind Father in heaven who makes the flowers bloom and the trees bud and the cherries and apples grow ruddy and ripe; she told her also of the blessed Son of God, once an infant like herself, who died for all the world. The cherry tree in the middle of the garden was given to Caroline for her own, and it was a greater treasure to her than were all the flowers. She watched and admired it every day, from the moment the first bud appeared until the cherries were ripe. She grieved when she saw the white blossoms turn yellow and drop to the earth, but her grief was changed into joy when the cherries appeared, green at first and smaller than peas, and then daily growing larger and larger, until the rich red skin of the ripe cherry at last blushed among the interstices of the green leaves. "Thus it is," said her father; "youth and beauty fade like the blossoms, but virtue is the fruit which we expect from the tree. This whole world is, as it were, a large garden, in which God has appointed to every man a place, that he may bring forth abundant and good fruit. As God sends rain and sunshine on the trees, so does he send down grace on men to make them grow in virtue, if they will but do their part." In the course of time war approached the quiet village which had hitherto been the abode of peace and domestic bliss, and the battle raged fearfully. Balls and shells whizzed about, and several houses caught fire. As soon as the danger would permit, the mayor tried to extinguish the flames, while his wife and little daughter were praying earnestly for themselves and for their neighbors. In the afternoon a ring was heard at the door, and, looking out of the window, Madame Ehrenberg saw an officer of hussars standing before her. Fortunately, he was a German, and mother and daughter ran to open the door. "Do not be alarmed," said the officer, in a friendly tone, when he saw the frightened faces; "the danger is over, and you are quite safe. The fire in the village, too, is almost quenched, and the mayor will soon be here. I beg you for some refreshment, if it is only a morsel of bread and a drink of water. It was sharp work," he added, wiping the perspiration from his brow, "but, thank God, we have conquered," Provisions were scarce, for the village had been plundered by the enemy, but the good lady brought forth a flask of wine and some rye bread, with many regrets that she had nothing better to offer. But the visitor, as he ate the bread with a hearty relish, declared that it was enough, for it was the first morsel he had tasted that day. Caroline ran and brought in on a porcelain plate some of the ripest cherries from her own tree. "Cherries!" exclaimed the officer. "They are a rarity in this district. How did they escape the enemy? All the trees in the country around are stripped." "The cherries," said the mother, "are from a little tree which was planted in Caroline's flower-garden on her birthday. It is but a few days since they became ripe; the enemy, perhaps, did not notice the little tree." "And is it for me you intend the cherries, my dear child?" asked the officer. "Oh no; you must keep them. It were a pity to take one of them from you." "How could we refuse a few cherries," said Caroline, "to the man that sheds his blood in our defence? You must eat them all," said she, while the tears streamed down her cheeks. "Do, I entreat you! Eat them all." He took some of the cherries and laid them on the table, near his wine-glass; but he had scarcely placed the glass to his lips when the trumpet sounded. He sprang up and girded on his sword. "That is the signal to march," said he. "I cannot wait one instant." Caroline wrapped the cherries in a roll of white paper and insisted that he should put them in his pocket. "The weather is very warm," said she, "and even cherries will be some refreshment." "Oh," said the officer, with emotion, "what a happiness it is for a soldier, who is often obliged to snatch each morsel from unwilling hands, to meet with a generous and benevolent family! I wish it were in my power, my dear child, to give you some pledge of my gratitude, but I have nothing--not so much as a single groat. You must be content with my simple thanks." With these words, and once more bidding Caroline and her mother an affectionate farewell, he took his departure, and walked rapidly out of sight. The joy of the good family for their happy deliverance was, alas! of short continuance. Some weeks after, a dreadful battle was fought near the village, which was reduced to a heap of ruins. The mayor's house was burned to the ground and all his property destroyed. Alas for the horrors of cruel war! Father, mother and daughter fled away on foot, and wept bitterly when they looked back on their once happy village, now but a mass of blazing ruins. The family retired to a distant town, and lived there in very great distress. The mayor endeavored to obtain a livelihood as a scrivener, or clerk; his wife worked at dressmaking and millinery, and Caroline, who soon became skillful in such matters, faithfully assisted her. A lady in town--the Countess von Buchenhaim--gave them much employment, and one day Caroline went to this lady's house to carry home a bonnet. She was taken to the garden, where the countess was sitting in the summer-house with her sister and nieces, who had come to visit her. The young ladies were delighted with the bonnet, and their mother gave orders for three more, particularly praising the blue flowers, which were the work of Caroline's own hands. The Countess von Buchenhaim spoke very kindly of the young girl to her sister, and related the sad story of the worthy family's misfortunes. The count was standing with his brother-in-law, the colonel, at some little distance from the door of the summer-house, and the colonel, a fine-looking man in a hussar's uniform and with a star on his breast, overheard the conversation. Coming up, he looked closely at Caroline. "Is it possible," said he, "that you are the daughter of the mayor of Rebenheim? How tall you have grown! I should scarcely have recognized you, though we are old acquaintances." Caroline stood there abashed, looking full in the face of the stranger, her cheeks covered with blushes. Taking her by the hand, the colonel conducted her to his wife, who was sitting near the countess. "See, Amelia," said he; "this is the young lady who saved my life ten years ago, when she was only a child." "How can that be possible?" asked Caroline, in amazement. "It must indeed appear incomprehensible to you," answered the colonel, "but do you remember the hussar-officer that one day, after a battle, stood knocking at the door of your father's house in Rebenheim? Do you remember the cherries which you so kindly gave him?" "Oh, was it you?" exclaimed Caroline, while her face beamed with a smile of recognition. "Thank God you are alive! But how I could have done anything toward saving your life I cannot understand." "In truth, it would be impossible for you to guess the great service you did me," said he, "but my wife and daughters know it well; I wrote to them of it at once. And I look upon it as one of the most remarkable occurrences of my life." "And one that I ought to remember better than any other event of the war," said his lady, rising and affectionately embracing Caroline. "Well," said the countess, "neither I nor my husband ever heard the story. Please give us a full account of it." "Oh, it is easily told," said the colonel. "Hungry and thirsty, I entered the house in which Caroline and her parents dwelt, and, to tell the plain truth, I begged for some bread and water. They gave me a share of the best they had, and did not hesitate to do so, though their village and themselves were in the greatest distress. Caroline robbed every bough on her cherry tree to refresh me. Fine cherries they were--the only ones, probably, in the whole country. But the enemy did not give me time to eat them; I was obliged to depart in a hurry. Caroline insisted, with the kindest hospitality, that I should take them with me, but that was no easy matter: my horse had been shot under me the day before. I took from my knapsack whatever articles I could in a hurry, and, thrusting them into my pockets, I fought on foot until a hussar gave me his horse. All that I was worth was in my pockets, so that to make room for the cherries I was obliged to take the pocket-book out of my pocket and place it here beneath my vest. The enemy, who had been driven back, made a feint of advancing on us, and I led down my hussars in gallant style. But suddenly we found ourselves in front of a body of infantry concealed behind a hedge. One of them fired at me, and the fellow had taken good aim, for the ball struck me here on the breast. But it rebounded from the pocket-book; otherwise, I should have been shot through the body and fallen dead on the spot. Tell me," said he, in a tone of deep emotion; "was not that little child an instrument in the hand of God to save me from death? Am I right or not when I give Caroline the credit, under God, of having saved my life? Her must I thank that my Amelia is not a widow and my daughters orphans." All agreed with him. His wife, who had Caroline's hand locked in her own during the whole narrative, now pressed it affectionately and with tears in her eyes. "You, then," said she, "were the good angel that averted such a terrible misfortune from our family?" Her two daughters also gazed with pleasure at Caroline. "Every time we ate cherries," said the younger, "we spoke of you without knowing you." All had kind and grateful words for the young girl, but the colonel soon bade her farewell for the present, and said that he had some business to attend to with his brother-in-law. This business was to urge the count to appoint Ehrenberg his steward in place of the one who had died a few months before. A better man, he said, could not be found; for when he had visited Rebenheim to make inquiries for the family, although none could tell where they had gone, all were loud in their praise, and the mayor was pronounced a pattern of justice, honor and charity. The count drew out the order, signed it, and gave it to his brother-in-law, who wished himself to take it to Mr. Ehrenberg; and he went at once to the house and saluted him as "master-steward of Buchenhaim." "Read that," he said to the astonished man as he handed him the paper in which he was duly appointed steward of Buchenhaim, with a good salary of a thousand thalers and several valuable perquisites. "And you," said the colonel to Caroline and her mother, "must prepare to remove at once. Your lodgings are so confined! But you will find it very different in the house which you are to occupy in Buchenhaim. The dwelling is large and commodious, with a fine garden attached, well stocked with cherry trees. Next Monday you will be there, and this very day you must start. What a happy feast we shall have there!--not like the hasty meal you gave the hussar-officer amid the thunder of cannon and the blazing roofs of Rebenheim. Do not forget to have cherries, dear Caroline, for dessert; I think they will be fully ripe by that time." With these words the colonel hurried away to escape the thanks of this good family, and, in truth, to conceal his own tears. So rapidly did he disappear that Ehrenberg could scarcely accompany him down the steps. "Oh, Caroline," said the happy father when he returned, "who could have imagined that the little cherry tree I planted in the flower-garden the day you were born would ever produce such good fruit?" "It was the providence of God," exclaimed the mother, clasping her hands. "I remember distinctly the first time the blossoms appeared on that tree, when you and I went out to look at it, and little Caroline, then an infant in my arms, was so much delighted with the white flowers. We resolved then to educate our daughter piously, and prayed fervently to God that she, who was then as full of promise as the blossoms on the tree, might by his grace one day be the prop of our old age. That prayer is now fulfilled beyond our fondest anticipations. Praise for ever be to the name of God!" Edith declared that this was one of the very sweetest stories Miss Harson had ever told them, and Clara and Malcolm were equally well pleased with it. "Were those cherries like ours?" asked Clara. "They were larger and finer than ours generally are, I think," was the reply, "being the great northern cherry, or bird-cherry, of Europe, which grows in Germany to great perfection. And the little German girl's plate of cherries, which she so generously urged upon a stranger when food of any kind was so scarce, is a beautiful illustration of the first verse of the eleventh chapter of Proverbs: 'Cast thy bread upon the waters; for thou shalt find it after many days.'" CHAPTER XII. _THE MULBERRY FAMILY_. "There is a fruit tree," said Miss Harson, "belonging to an entirely different family, which we have not considered yet; and, although it is not a common tree with us, one specimen of it is to be found in Mrs. Bush's garden, where you have all enjoyed the fruit very much. What is it?" "Mulberry," said Clara, promptly, while Malcolm was wondering what it could be. "Oh yes," said Edith, very innocently; "I like to go and see Mrs. Bush when there are mulberries." Mrs. Bush was not a cheerful person to visit, as she was quite old and rather hard of hearing, and she lived alone in the gloomy old house with the Lombardy poplars in front, where everything looked dark and shut up. A queer woman in a sunbonnet, nearly as old as Mrs. Bush, lived close by, and "kept an eye on her," as she said. Mrs. Bush's great enjoyment was to have visitors of all ages, to whom she talked a great deal, and cried as she talked, about a daughter who had died a few years ago. The little Kyles did not care to go there except when, as Edith said, there were ripe mulberries; but Mrs. Bush liked very much to have them, and Miss Harson took her little charges there occasionally, because, as she explained to them, it gave pleasure to a lonely old woman, and such visits were just as much charity, though of a different kind, as giving food and clothes to those who need them. The children delighted in the mulberries just because they did not have them at home, although they had fruit that was very much nicer; but Miss Harson never wished even to taste them, although she too had liked them when a little girl. "The mulberry tree," continued their governess, "belongs to the bread-fruit family, but the other members of this remarkable family, except the Osage orange, are found only in foreign countries. The bread-fruit tree itself, the fig, the Indian fig, or banyan tree, and the deadly upas tree, are all relations of the mulberry." "Well, trees are queer things," exclaimed Malcolm, "to belong to families that are not a bit alike." "They are alike in important points, when we examine them carefully," was the reply. "The bread-fruit genus consists, with a single exception, of trees and shrubs with alternate, toothed or lobed or entire leaves and milky juice. This reminds me that the famous cow tree of South America, which yields a large supply of rich and wholesome milk, is one of the members; and you see what a number of famous trees we have on hand now. There are several kinds of mulberries--the red, black, white and paper mulberry, which are all occasionally found in this country, and they were once quite popular here for their shade. The fruit is unusually small for tree-fruit, and very soft when ripe, as you all know; it is not unlike a long, narrow blackberry, and forms, like it, a compound fruit, as though many small berries had grown together. The tree in Mrs. Bush's garden is the black mulberry, as any one might know by the stained lips and hands that sometimes come from there; and it has been cultivated from ancient times for its fine appearance and shade. It is found wild in the forests of Persia, and is thought to have been taken from there to Europe. The tree is more beautiful than useful, for the silkworms do not thrive well on the leaves and the wood is neither strong nor durable." "Why, I thought," said Clara, "that silkworms always lived on mulberry-leaves?" "The white mulberry is their favorite food; and another species, called the _Morus multicaulis_--for _Morus_ is the scientific name of the family--has more delicate leaves than any other, and produces a finer quality of silk. These trees are natives of China, and the white mulberry grows very rapidly to the height of thirty or forty feet. The paper mulberry is so called because in China and Japan--of which it is a native--its bark is manufactured into paper. In the South-Sea Islands, where it is also found, the bark is made into the curious dresses which we sometimes see imported thence. It is a low, thick-branched tree with large light-colored downy leaves and dark-scarlet fruit." "I wonder," said Malcolm, "if the bark is like birch-bark?" "It does not look like it," replied Miss Harson, "but it seems to be very much of the same nature. The red mulberry and black mulberry are the most hardy of these trees, and the red mulberry will thrive farther north than any of the family. The wood is valuable for many purposes for which timber is used, and especially in boat-building. And now, as we learned something about silkworms and their cocoons in our talks about insects[15], there is little more to be said of the mulberry tree which any but learned people would care to know." [15] See _Flyers and Crawlers_. Presbyterian Board of Publication. "I want to hear about the bread tree," said little Edith, "and how the loaves of bread grow on it." "Do they, Miss Harson?" asked Clara, not exactly seeing how this could be. "I don't believe they're very hot," remarked Malcolm, who was puzzled over the bread-fruit tree himself, but who laughed at his little sister's idea in a very knowing way. It was not an ill-natured laugh, though, and a glance from his governess always quieted him. "No, dear," replied Miss Harson, answering Clara; "loaves of bread do not grow on any tree. But I will tell you about the bread-fruit presently; let us finish the _Morus_ family and their kindred in our own country before we go to their foreign relations. The Osage orange is so much used in the United States, and in this part of it, for hedges, on account of its rapid growth and ornamental appearance, that we really ought to know something about it. 'It is a beautiful low, spreading, round-headed tree with the port and splendor of an orange tree. Its oval, entire, polished leaves have the shining green of natives of warmer regions, and its curiously-tesselated, succulent compound fruit the size and golden color of an orange. It was first found in the country of the Osage Indians, from whom it gets its name, and it has since been cultivated in many parts of this country and in Europe. The Osages belonged to the Sioux, or Dacotah, tribe of Indians, and their home was in the south-western part of the old United States. The Osage orange--a tree from thirty to forty feet high with leaves even more bright and glossy than those of the ordinary orange--was first found growing wild near one of their villages." "But what a very high hedge it would make!" said Malcolm. "Yes, if left to its natural growth, it would be a very absurd fence indeed. But this is not the case; the branches spread out very widely, and by cutting off the tops and trimming the remainder twice in a season a very handsome thickset hedge is produced, with lustrous leaves and sharp, straight thorns. Another name for this tree is yellow-wood, or bow-wood, because the wood is of a bright-yellow color, and the grain is so fine and elastic that the Southern Indians have been in the habit of using it to make their bows. The experiment of feeding silkworms upon the leaves has been tried, but it was not very successful." "I suppose the worms didn't know that it belonged to the mulberry family," said Clara, "and I don't see now why it does." For reply, her governess read: "'The sap of the young wood and of the leaves is _milky_ and contains a large proportion of caoutchouc.'" "Oh!" exclaimed Malcolm; "that sounds just like sneezing. What is it, Miss Harson?" "Something that you wear on your feet and over your shoulders in wet weather; so now guess." "Overshoes!" replied Clara, in a great hurry. "How many of them do you wear over your shoulders at once?" asked her brother. "And it must be a queer kind of sap that has overshoes in it. Why couldn't you say 'India-rubber'?" "And why couldn't _you_ say it before Clara put it into your head by saying 'Overshoes?" asked Miss Harson. "Clara has the right idea, only she did not express it in the clearest way. The sap of the caoutchouc, or India-rubber, tree is the most valuable yet discovered, and, as it is of a milky nature, it can very properly be brought into the present class of trees." "Is _that_ a mulberry too?" asked Clara, who thought that the size of the family was getting beyond all bounds. "It is not really set down as belonging to the bread-fruit family," was the reply, "but it certainly has the peculiarity of their milky sap. However, as I know that you are all eager to hear about the bread-fruit tree, we will take that next. This tree is found in various tropical regions, but principally in the South-Sea Islands, where it is about forty feet high. The immense leaves are half a yard long and over a quarter wide, and are deeply divided into sharp lobes. The fruit looks like a very large green berry, being about the size of a cocoanut or melon, and the proper time for gathering it is about a week before it is ripe. When baked, it is not very unlike bread. It is cooked by being cut into several pieces, which are baked in an oven in the ground. It is often eaten with orange-juice and cocoanut-milk. Some of the South-Sea islanders depend very much upon it for their food. The large seeds, when roasted, are said to taste like the best chestnuts. The pulp, which is the bread-part, is said to resemble a baked potato and is very white and tender, but, unless eaten soon after the fruit is gathered, it grows hard and choky." [Illustration: THE BREAD-FRUIT.] "So Edie's 'loaves of bread' are green?" said Malcolm, rather teasingly. "That's because they grow on a tree," replied Clara. "Our loaves of bread are raw dough before they're baked, and they are grains of wheat before they are dough." "That is quite true, dear," replied her governess, laughing, "and we must teach Malcolm not to be quite so critical.--The bread-fruit is a wonderful tree, and it certainly does bear uncooked loaves of bread, at least, for they require no kneading to be ready for the oven. The fruit is to be found on the tree for eight months of the year--which is very different from any of our fruits--and two or three bread-fruit trees will supply one man with food all the year round." "Put what does he do when there is no fresh fruit on them?" asked Malcolm. "You told us that it was not good to eat unless it was fresh." "We should not think it good, but the native makes it into a sour paste called _mahé_, and the people of the islands eat this during the four months when the fresh fruit is not to be had. The bread-fruit is said to be very nourishing, and it can be prepared in various ways. The timber of this tree, though soft, is found useful in building houses and boats; the flowers, when dried, serve for tinder; the viscid, milky juice answers for birdlime and glue; the leaves, for towels and packing; and the inner bark, beaten together, makes one species of the South-Sea cloth." "What a very useful tree!" exclaimed Clara. "It is indeed," replied Miss Harson; "and this is the case with many of the trees found in these warm countries, where the inhabitants know little of the arts and manufactures, and would almost starve rather than exert themselves very greatly. There is another species of bread-fruit, called the jaca, or jack, tree, found on the mainland of Asia, which produces its fruit on different parts of the tree, according to its age. When the tree is young, the fruit grows from the twigs; in middle age it grows from the trunk; and when the tree gets old, it grows from the roots." [Illustration: JACK-FRUIT TREE.] There was a picture of the jack tree with fruit growing out of the trunk and great branches like melons, and the children crowded eagerly around to look at it. All agreed that it was the very queerest tree they had yet heard of. "The fruit is even larger than that of the island bread-fruit," continued their governess, "but it is not so pleasant to our taste, nor is it so nourishing. It often weighs over thirty pounds and has two or three hundred seeds, each of which is four times as large as an almond and is surrounded by a pulp which is greatly relished by the natives of India. The seeds, or nuts, are roasted, like those of smaller fruit, and make very good chestnuts. The fruit has a strong odor not very agreeable to noses not educated to it." "Miss Harson," said Malcolm, "what is the upas tree like, and why is it called _deadly_?" "It is a tree eighty feet high, with white and slightly-furrowed bark; the branches, which are very thick, grow nearly at the top, dividing into smaller ones, which form an irregular sort of crown to the tall, straight trunk. There is no reason for calling it _deadly_ except a foolish notion and the fact that a very strong poison is prepared from the milky sap. The tree grows in the island of Java, and for a long time many fabulous stories were told of its dangerous nature. Travelers in that region would send home the wildest and most improbable stories of the poison tree, until the very name of the upas was enough to make people shudder. It is said that a Dutch surgeon stationed on the island did much to keep up the impression. He wrote an account of the valley in which the upas was said to be growing alone, for no tree nor shrub was to be found near it. And he declared that neither animal nor bird could breathe the noxious effluvia from the tree without instant death. In fact, he called this fatal spot 'The Valley of Death.'" "And wasn't it true, Miss Harson?" "Not all true, Clara; some one who had spent many years in Java proved these stories to be entirely false. Instead of growing in a dismal valley by itself, the graceful-looking upas tree is found in the most fertile spots, among other trees, and very often climbing plants are twisted round its trunk, while birds nestle in the branches. It can be handled, too, like any other tree; and all this is as unlike the Dutch surgeon's account as possible. One of his stories was that the criminals on the island were employed to collect the poison from the trunk of the tree; that they were permitted to choose whether to die by the hand of the executioner or to go to the upas for a box of its fatal juice; and that the ground all about the tree was strewed with the dead bodies of those who had perished on this errand." "Oh," exclaimed Edith, "wasn't that dreadful?" "The story was dreadful, dear, but it was only a story, you know: the upas tree did not kill people at all; and to turn the milky juice into a dangerous poison took a great deal of time and trouble. It was mixed with various spices and fermented; when ready for use, it was poured into the hollow joints of bamboo and carefully kept from the air. Both for war and for the chase arrows are dipped in this fatal preparation, and the effect has been witnessed by naturalists on animals, and also on man. The instant it touches the blood it is carried through the whole system, so that it may be felt in all the veins and causes a burning sensation, especially in the head, which is followed by sickness and death." "Well," said Clara, drawing a long breath, "I'm glad that I don't live in Java." "The poisoned arrows are not constantly flying about in Java, dear," replied her governess, with a smile, "and I do not think you would be in any danger from them; but there are a great many other reasons why it is not pleasant, except for natives, to live in Java. There are a number of Dutch settlers there, because the island was conquered by the Dutch nation, but while war with the natives was going on they suffered terribly from these poisoned arrows; so that the very name of upas caused them to tremble. The word 'upas,' in the language of the natives, means poison, and there is in the island a valley called the upas, or poison, valley. It has nothing, however, to do with the tree, which does not grow anywhere in the neighborhood. That valley may literally be called 'The Valley of Death.' We are told that it came to exist in this way: The largest mountain in Java was once partly buried in a very dreadful manner. In the middle of a summer night the people in the neighborhood perceived a luminous cloud that seemed wholly to envelop the mountain. They were extremely alarmed and took to flight, but ere they could escape a terrific noise was heard, like the discharge of cannon, and part of the mountain fell in and disappeared. At the same moment quantities of stones and lava were thrown to the distance of several miles. Fifteen miles of ground covered with villages and plantations were swallowed up or buried under the lava from the mountain; and when all was over and people tried to visit the scene of the disaster, they could not approach it on account of the heat of the stones and other substances piled upon one another. And yet as much as six weeks had elapsed since the catastrophe. This upas valley is about half a mile in circumference, and the vapor that escapes through the cracks and fissures is fatal to every living thing. Here, indeed, are to be seen the bones of animals and birds, and even the skeletons of human beings who were unfortunate enough to enter and were overpowered by the deadly vapor. And now," added Miss Harson, "I have given you this account to make you understand that the famous upas valley of Java is not a valley of upas trees, but one of poisonous vapors." "And the deadly upas," said Malcolm, "is not deadly, after all! I think I shall remember that." "And I too," said Clara and Edith, who had listened with great interest to the description. "Shall we have some figs now, by way of variety?" was a question that caused three pairs of eyes to turn rather expectantly on the speaker; for figs were very popular with the small people of Elmridge. [Illustration: THE BANYAN TREE.] "Not in the way of refreshments, just at present," continued their governess, "but only as belonging to the mulberry family; and we will begin with that curious tree the banyan, or Indian fig. This stately and beautiful tree is found on the banks of the river Ganges and in many parts of India, and is a tree much valued and venerated by the Hindu. He plants it near the temple of his idol; and if the village in which he resides does not possess any such edifice, he uses the banyan for a temple and places the idol beneath it. Here, every morning and evening, he performs the rites of his heathen worship. And, more than this, he considers the tree, with its out-stretched and far-sheltering arms, an emblem of the creator of all things." "Is that only one tree?" asked Malcolm as Miss Harson displayed a picture that was more like a small grove. "Why, it looks like two or three trees together." "Does it grow up from the ground or down from the air?" asked Clara. "Just look at these queer branches with one end fast to the tree and the other end fast to the ground!" Edith thought that the branches which had not reached the ground looked like snakes, but, for all that, it was certainly a grand tree. "The peculiar growth of the banyan," continued Miss Harson, "renders it an object of beauty and produces those column-like stems that cause it to become a grove in itself. It may be said to grow, not from the seed, but from the branches. They spread out horizontally, and each branch sends out a number of rootlets that at first hang from it like slender cords and wave about in the wind.--Those are your 'snakes,' Edith.--But by degrees they reach the ground and root themselves into it; then the cord tightens and thickens and becomes a stem, acting like a prop to the widespreading branch of the parent plant. Indeed, column on column is added in this manner, the books tell us, so long as the mother-tree can support its numerous progeny." "How very strange!" said Clara. "The mulberry seems to have some very funny relations." "Such a great tree ought to bear very large figs," added Malcolm. "On the contrary," replied his governess, "it bears uncommonly small ones--no larger than a hazel-nut, and of a red color. They are not considered eatable by the natives, but birds and animals feed upon them, and in the leafy bower of the banyan are found the peacock, the monkey and the squirrel. Here, too, are a myriad of pigeons as green as the leaf and with eyes and feet of a brilliant red. They are so like the foliage in color that they can be seen only by the practiced eye of the hunter, and even he would fail to detect them were it not for their restless movements. As they flutter about from branch to branch they are apt to fall victims to his skill in shooting his arrows." "If they would only keep still!" exclaimed Edith, who felt a strong sympathy for the green pigeons. "Poor pretty things! Why don't they, Miss Harson, instead of getting killed?" "They do not know their danger until it is too late, and it is quite as hard for them to keep still as it is for little girls." Edith wondered if that meant her; she was a little girl, but she did not think she was so very restless. However, Miss Harson didn't tell her, and she soon forgot it in listening to what was said of the queer tree with branches like snakes. "The leaves of the banyan tree are large and soft and of a very bright green, and the deep shade and pillared walks are so welcome to the Hindu that he even tries to improve on Nature and coax the shoots to grow just where he wishes them. He binds wet clay and moss on the branch to make the rootlet sprout." "Will it grow then?" asked Malcolm. "Yes, just as a cutting planted in the earth will grow, although it seems a very odd style of gardening.--The sacred fig tree of India--_Ficus religiosa_--is a near relative of the banyan, and very much like it in general appearance; but the leaves are on such slender stalks that they tremble like those of the aspen. It is known as the bo tree of Ceylon, and is said to have been placed in charge of the priests long before the present race of inhabitants had appeared in the island." "Where do the real figs grow?" asked Clara. "In a great many moderately warm or sub-tropical countries," was the reply, "but Smyrna figs are the most celebrated. Immense quantities of the fruit are dried and packed in Asiatic Turkey for exportation from this city, and it is said that in the fig season nothing else is talked about there." "I didn't know that they were dried," said Malcolm, in great surprise; "I thought they were just packed tight in boxes and then sent off." [Illustration: LEAF AND FRUIT OF THE FIG TREE.] "'In its native country,'" read Miss Harson, "'and when growing on the tree, the fig presents a different appearance from the dried and packed specimens we see in this country. It is a firm and fleshy fruit, and has a delicious honey-drop hanging from the point.' And here," she added, "is a small branch from the fig tree, with fruit growing on it." "Why, it's shaped like a pear!" exclaimed Malcolm. "And what large, pretty leaves it has!" said Clara. "'The fig tree is common in Palestine and the East,'" Miss Harson continued to read, "'and flourishes with the greatest luxuriance in those barren and stony situations, where little else will grow. Its large size and its abundance of five-lobed leaves render it a pleasant shade-tree, and its fruit furnishes a wholesome food very much used in all the lands of the Bible.' Figs were among the fruits mentioned in the 'land that flowed with milk and honey,' and it was a symbol of peace and plenty, as you will find, Malcolm, by reading to us from First Kings, fourth chapter, twenty-fifth verse." "'And Judah and Israel dwelt safely, every man under his vine and under his fig tree, from Dan even to Beersheba, all the days of Solomon.'--That's what it means, then!" said Malcolm, when he had finished reading the verse. "I've heard people say, 'Under your own vine and fig tree,' and I couldn't tell what they meant." "Yes," replied his governess, "some persons make very free with the words of Holy Scripture and twist them to suit meanings for which they were not intended. Having a house of one's own is usually meant by this quotation, and almost the same words are repeated in other parts of the Old Testament. The fig is often mentioned in the Bible, and two kinds are spoken of--the very early fig, and the one that ripens late in the summer. The early fig was considered the best; and I think that Clara will tell us what is said of it by the prophet Jeremiah." Clara read slowly: "'One basket had very good figs, _even like the figs that are first ripe_; and the other basket had very naughty figs, which could not be eaten, they were so bad[16].'" [16] Jer. xxiv. 2. "But can figs be naughty, Miss Harson?" asked Edith, with very wide-open eyes. "I thought that only children were naughty," "There are 'naughty' grown people as well as naughty children," was the reply, "and inanimate things like figs in old times were called naughty too, in the sense of being bad.--The fruit of the fig tree appears not only before the leaves, but without any sign of blossoms, the flowers being small and hidden in the little buttons which first shoot out from the points of the sterns, and around which the outer and firm part of the fig grows. The leaves come out so late in the season that our Saviour said, 'Now learn a parable of the fig tree; when his branch is yet tender, and putteth forth leaves, ye know that summer is nigh[17].' Did not our Lord say something else about a fig tree?" [17] Matt. xxiv. 32. "Yes," replied Clara; "the one that was withered away because it had no figs on it." "The barren fig tree which was withered at our Saviour's word, as an awful warning to unfruitful professors of religion, seems to have spent itself in leaves. It stood by the wayside, free to all, and, as the time for stripping the trees of their fruit had not come--for in Mark we are told that 'the time of figs was not yet[18]'--it was reasonable to expect to find it covered with figs in various stages of growth. Yet there was 'nothing thereon, but leaves only.' Find the nineteenth verse of the twenty-first chapter of Matthew, Malcolm, and read what is said there." [18] Mark xi. 13. "'And when he saw a fig tree in the way, he came to it, and found nothing thereon, but leaves only, and said unto it, Let no fruit grow on thee henceforward for ever. And presently the fig tree withered away.'" "A fig tree having leaves," said Miss Harson, "should also have figs, for these, as I have already told you, appear before the leaves, and both are on the tree at the same time; so that, although unripe figs are seen without leaves, leaves should not be seen without figs; and if it was not yet the season for figs, it was not the season for leaves either. The barren fig tree has often been compared to people who make a show of goodness in words, but leave the doing of good works to others; and when anything is expected of them, there is sure to be disappointment. 'Nothing but leaves' has become a proverb; and when it can be used to express the barren condition of those who profess to follow the teachings of our Lord, it is sad indeed." "Do fig trees grow wild?" asked Clara, presently. "Yes," was the reply, "and very curious-looking things they are. 'Their roots twist into all kinds of whimsical contortions, so as to look more like a mass of snakes than the roots of a tree. They unite themselves so closely to the substances that come in their way, such as the face of rocks, or even the stems of other trees, that nothing can pull them away. And in some parts of India these strong, tough roots are made to serve the purpose of bridges and twisted over some stream or cataract. The wild fig is often a dangerous parasite, and does not attain perfection without completing some work of destruction among its neighbors in the forest. A slender rootlet may sometimes be seen hanging from the crown of a palm. The seed was carried there by some bird that had fed upon the fruit of a wild fig, and it rooted itself with surprising facility. The rootlet, as it descends, envelops the column-like stem of the palm with a woody network, and at length reaches the ground. Meanwhile, the true stem of the parasite shoots upward from the crown of the palm. It sends out numberless rootlets, each of which, as soon as it reaches the ground, takes root; and between them the palm is stifled and perishes, leaving the fig in undisturbed possession. The parasite does not, however, long survive the decline; for, no longer fed by the juices of the palm, it also, in process of time, begins to languish and decline.'" "What a mean thing it is!" exclaimed Malcolm--"as mean as the cuckoo, that lays its eggs in other birds' nests. And I'm glad it dies when it has killed the palm tree; it just serves it right. But don't figs ever grow in this country, Miss Harson?" "Yes," replied his governess; "they are cultivated in the Southern States and in California, like many other semi-tropical fruits, and are principally eaten fresh, but for drying they are not equal to the imported ones. No doubt the cultivation of figs in California will become a prosperous trade, for the climate and circumstances there are much like those of Syria." [Illustration: DWARF FIG TREE IN A POT.] CHAPTER XIII. _QUEER RELATIONS: THE CAOUTCHOUC AND THE MILK TREE_. "What dark, strange-looking trees!" exclaimed the children while looking at an illustration of caoutchouc trees in Brazil. "How thick and strong they are! And what funny tops!--like pointed umbrellas." "The India-rubber tree is not likely to be mistaken for any other," said their governess, "and it does not look very dark and gloomy in that forest, where everything seems to be crowded close and in a tangle, because South American vegetation grows so thickly and rapidly. This is the country which supplies the largest quantity of India-rubber. Immense cargoes are shipped from the town of Para, on the river Amazon, and obtained from the _Siphonia elastica_." "Are the stems all made of India-rubber?" asked Edith, who thought that was exactly what they looked like. "Are the stems of the maple trees made of maple-sugar?" replied Miss Harson. "The India-rubber is got from its tree as the sugar is from the maple tree. It is taken from the trunk in the shape of a very thick milky fluid, and it is said that no other vital fluid, whether in animal or in plant, contains so much solid material within it; and it is a matter of surprise that the sap, thus encumbered, can circulate through all the delicate vessels of the tree. Tropical heat is required to form the caoutchouc; for when the tree is cultivated in hothouses, the substance of the sap is quite different. The full-grown trees are very handsome, with round column-like trunks about sixty feet high, and the crown of foliage is said to resemble that of the ash." "Did people always know about India-rubber?" asked Clara. "No indeed! It is not more than a hundred and fifty years--perhaps not so long--since it was a great curiosity; so that a piece half an inch square would sell in London for nearly a dollar of our money, but now it comes in shiploads, and a pound of it costs less than quarter of that sum. It is used for so many purposes that it seems as if the world could never have gone on without it. All sorts of outside garments to keep out the rain are made of it. Waterproof cloaks are called macintoshes in England because this was the name of the person who invented them. India-rubber is also used for tents and many other things, and, as water cannot get through it, there is a great saving of trouble and expense." "It must be splendid for tents," said Malcolm; "no one need care, when snug under cover, whether or not it rained in the woods." "People do care, though," was the reply, "for they expect, when in the woods, to live out of doors; but the India-rubber is certainly a great improvement on tents that get soaked through." "I like it," said Edith, "because it rubs things out. When I draw a house and it's all wrong, my piece of India-rubber will take it away, and then I can make another one on the paper." "That is the very smallest of its uses," replied Miss Harson, smiling at the little girl's earnestness, "and yet we find it a great convenience. An English writer, speaking of it when it was first known in England, said that he had seen a substance that would efface from paper the marks of a black-lead pencil, and he thought it must be of use to those who practiced drawing." "How funny that sounds!" exclaimed Malcolm. "Why, I couldn't get along without my India-rubber when I make mistakes," "You might," said his governess, "if you had some stale bread to rub with; for people _have_ gotten along without a great many things which they now think necessary." "Miss Harson," said Clara, "won't you tell us, please, how they get the caoutch--whatever it is--and make it into India-rubber?" "I will," was the laughing reply, "when you can say the word properly. C-a-o-u-t-c-h-o-u-c--koochook." As Clara said, Miss Harson made things so easy to understand! and in a very short time the hard word was mastered. "As I have never seen the sap gathered," continued the young lady, "I shall have to read you an account of it, instead of telling you from my own experience; but the description is so plain that I think we shall all be able to understand it very well: 'At certain seasons of the year the natives visit some islands in the river Amazon that for many months are covered with water. As soon as the water subsides and a footing can be obtained the Indians arrive in parties, to seek for the trees. The Indian who comes every morning to collect the juice from the trunk has a number of trees allotted to him, and goes the round of the whole. The previous night he has made a long, deep cut in the bark of each and hung an earthen vessel beneath, to receive the thick, creamlike substance that trickles down. The vessel is filled by morning, and he pours the contents into one much larger and carries it to his hut. He is provided with a number of moulds of different shapes and sizes, and he dips them into the juice and puts them aside to dry. They are then dipped again, and the process is continued until the coat of India-rubber on the mould is of sufficient thickness. It is made black by passing it through the smoke of burning palm-nuts. The moulds are broken and taken out, leaving the India-rubber ready for sale, and pretty much as we used to see it in the shops before the people of this country had learned how to work it.'" "That seems easy enough," said Malcolm, "but how do they make it into gutta-percha?" "Gutta-percha is not made," replied his governess, "and it is taken from an entirely different tree, the _Icosandra gutta_, which grows in Southern Asia. The milky fluid is procured in the same way, but it is placed in vessels to evaporate, and the solid substance left at the bottom is the gutta-percha. It is not elastic, like India-rubber, and is called 'vegetable leather' because of its toughness and leathery appearance. It was discovered by an English traveler a long time before it was supposed to have any useful properties, but now it is considered a very valuable material. The wonderful submarine telegraph could not convey its messages between the Old World and the New were not its wires protected from injury by a coating of gutta-percha. Its unyielding nature and its not being elastic render it the very material needed. The long straps used in working machines are also made of gutta-percha, and this is another instance where its non-elasticity gives it the preference over India-rubber." "And what is vulcanite?" asked Clara. "It is caoutchouc mixed with sulphur. Unless a small quantity of brimstone is added in the manufacture of overshoes, they become soft when exposed to heat and hardened when exposed to cold; but it was discovered that the sulphur will keep them from being affected by changes in temperature. When a large amount of sulphur is used, the India-rubber, becomes as hard as horn or wood, and this is the substance called vulcanite. Now the gum is imported in masses, to be wrought over by our skillful mechanics." The children were very much pleased to find that they had learned the nature of three important articles--India-rubber, gutta-percha and vulcanite--and they thought it would be quite easy to remember the differences between them. "And now," said Miss Harson, "the last of these useful trees--the cow tree, or milk tree--is the most curious one of all. Like the caoutchouc, it is a native of South America; but the sap is a rich fluid that answers for food, like milk. It is a fine-looking tree with oblong, pointed leaves about ten inches in length and a fleshy fruit containing one or two nuts. The sap is the most valuable part; and when incisions are made in the trunk of the tree, there is an abundant flow of thick milk-like sap, which is described as having an agreeable and balmv smell. The German traveler Humboldt drank it from the shell of a calabash, and the natives dip their bread of maize or cassava in it. This milk is said to be very fattening; and when exposed to the air, it thickens into a substance which the people call cheese." "Milk and cheese from a tree!" exclaimed Malcolm. "Do you think we'd like them as well as ours, Miss Harson?" "No," was the reply, "I do not think we should; but if we had never known any other kind, it would be quite a different matter, and the traveler says that both smell and taste are agreeable. The sap, it seems, is like curdled milk, and the natives say that they can tell, from the thickness and color of the foliage, the trunks that yield the most juice. This wonderful tree will be found growing on the side of a barren rock, and its large, woody roots can scarcely penetrate into the stone. For several months of the year not a single shower moistens its foliage. Its branches then appear dead and dried; but when the trunk is pierced, there flows from it a sweet and nourishing milk. It is at the rising of the sun that this vegetable fountain is most abundant. The negroes and natives are then seen hastening from all quarters, furnished with large bowls to receive the milk, which grows yellow and thickens at its surface. Some empty their bowls while under the tree itself; others carry the juice home to their children." "Isn't it funny," said Edith, laughing, "to go and get their breakfasts from a _tree_? I wish we had some milk trees here." "But you would not find it pleasant," replied their governess, "to have some other things that are always found where the milk tree grows. The intense heat and the swarms of mosquitoes and biting flies, the serpents and jaguars and other disagreeable and dangerous creatures, make life in that region anything but pleasant, and the curious vegetation and delicious fruits are not worth the suffering inflicted by all these torments." On hearing of these drawbacks the children soon decided that their own dear home was the best, and no longer envied the possessors even of the cow tree. CHAPTER XIV. _HOME AND ABROAD: LINDEN, CAMPHOR, BEECH_. "Now," said Miss Harson to her expectant flock, "it is to be hoped that our foreign wanderings among such wonderful trees have not spoiled you for home trees, as there are still a number of them which we have not yet examined." "No indeed!" they assured her; "they liked to hear about them all, and they were going to try and remember everything she told them about the trees." Their governess said that would be too much to expect, and if they remembered the most important things she would be quite satisfied, "We will take the linden, lime, or basswood, tree--for it has all three of these names--this evening," she continued, "and there are nine or ten species of the tree, which are found in America, Europe and Western Asia. It is a very handsome, regular-looking tree with rich, thick masses of foliage that make a deep shade. The leaves are heart-shaped and very finely veined, have sharply-serrated edges and are four or five inches long. The leaf-stalk is half the length of the leaf. It blooms in July and August, and the flowers are yellowish white and very fragrant; when an avenue of limes is in blossom, the whole atmosphere is filled with a delightful perfume which can hardly be described." [Illustration: THE LINDEN OR LIME TREE (_Tilia_).] "There are no lime trees here, are there?" asked Clara. "No," was the reply, "I do not think there are any in this neighborhood; but they grow abundantly not many miles away. Our native trees are not so pretty as the English lime, which, clothed with softer foliage, has a smaller leaf and a neater and more elegant spray. Ours bears larger and more conspicuous flowers, in heavier clusters, but of inferior sweetness. Both species are remarkable for their size and longevity. The young leaves of the lime are of a bright fresh tint that contrasts strongly with the very dark color of the branches; and these branches are so finely divided that their beauty is seen to the greatest advantage when winter has stripped them bare of leaves. "'The linden has in all ages been celebrated for the fragrance of its flowers and the excellence of the honey made from them. The famous Mount Hybla was covered with lime trees. The aroma from its flowers is like that of mignonette; it perfumes the whole atmosphere, and is perceptible to the inhabitants of all the beehives within a circuit of a mile. The real linden honey is of a greenish color and delicious taste when taken from the hive immediately after the trees have been in blossom, and is often sold for more than the ordinary kind. There is a forest in Lithuania that abounds in lime trees, and here swarms of wild bees live in the hollow trunks and collect their honey from the lime.'" [Illustration: LEAF AND FLOWER OF LIME TREE _(Tilia)._] "What fun it would be, if we were there, to go and get it!" exclaimed Malcolm. "But don't bees make honey from the lime trees that grow in this country, too, Miss Harson?" "Certainly they do; and the beekeepers look anxiously forward to the blossoming of the trees, because they provide such abundant supplies for the busy swarms. The flowers have other uses, too, besides the making of honey: the Swiss are said to obtain a favorite beverage from them, and in the South of France an infusion of the blossoms is taken for colds and hoarseness, and also for fever. 'Active boys climb to the topmost branches and gather the fragrant flowers, which their mothers catch in their aprons for that purpose. An avenue of limes has been ravaged and torn in pieces by the eagerness of the people to gather the blossoms, and they are often made into tea which is a soft sugary beverage in taste a little like licorice.'" "How queer," said Clara, "to make tea from flowers!" "Is it any queerer," asked her governess, "than to make it from leaves? I should think that the flowers might even be better, and yet I should scarcely like lime-tea that tastes like licorice." The children, though, seemed to think that they would like it, and Miss Harson had very little doubt that such would be the case. "Both the bark and the wood of the lime tree are valuable," she continued. "The fibres of the bark are strong and firm, and make excellent ropes and cordage. In Sweden and Russia they are made into a kind of matting that is very useful for packing-purposes and in protecting delicate plants from the frost. 'The manufacture of this useful material is carried on in the summer, close by the woods and forests where the lime trees grow in abundance. As soon as the sap begins to ascend freely the bark parts from the wood and can be taken away with ease. Great strips are then peeled off and steeped in water until they separate into layers; the layers are still further divided into smaller strips or ribbons, and are hung up in the shade of the wood, generally on the very tree itself from which they have been taken. After a time they are woven into the matting and sent to market for sale. The Swedish fishermen also manufacture it into a coarse thread for fishing-nets, and from the fibres of the young shoots the Russian peasant makes the strong shoes he wears, using the outer bark for the soles. In Italy the garments of the poorer people are often made of cloth woven from this material." "Why, people can fairly _live_ on trees," said Malcolm. "I didn't know that they were good for anything but shade--except the trees that have fruit and nuts on 'em." "There is a great deal for us all to learn of the works of the Creator," replied Miss Harson, "and the blessing of trees is not half known. The wood of the lime is said never to be worm-eaten; it is very soft and smooth and of a pale-yellow color. It is used for the famous Tunbridge ware, and is called the carver's tree, because, as the poet says, "'Smooth linden best obeys The carver's chisel--best his curious work Displays in nicest touches.' "The fruits and flowers carved for the choir of St. Paul's cathedral in London are done in lime-wood. "So numerous are the purposes to which the bark, wood, leaves and blossoms of the lime, or linden, tree can be applied that centuries ago it was called the tree of a thousand uses. Linden is the name by which it is always known on the continent of Europe, and there it is indeed a magnificent tree, forming the most delightful avenues and branching colonnades. One of the principal streets in Berlin is called 'Unter den Linden.' In the Middle Ages, when the Swiss and the Flemings were always struggling for liberty, it was their custom to plant a lime tree on the field of battle, and many of these old trees still remain and have been the subject of ballads and poetical effusions: "'The stately lime, smooth, gentle, straight and fair.'" "Is there any story about it, Miss Harson?" "No," was the reply, "not much of a story; only descriptions of some very large and very ancient trees. One of these, the old linden tree of Soleure, in Switzerland, was spoken of by an English traveler two hundred years ago as 'right noble and wondrous to behold. A bower composed of its branches is capable of holding three hundred persons sitting at ease; it has also a fountain set about with many tables formed solely of the boughs, to which men ascend by steps; and all is kept so accurately and thick that the sun never looks into it.'" "It is just like a tent," said Malcolm, "it must be pleasant to sit by the fountain. Wouldn't you like it, Miss Harson?" "I am sure I should," replied his governess; "and I should also like to see the famous lime tree of Zurich, the boughs of which will shelter five hundred persons. At Augsburg, in Germany, feasts and weddings have often been celebrated under the shade of some venerable limes that branch out to an immense distance. In early times divine honors were paid to them as emblems of immortality. And now," said Miss Harson, "the last of these famous trees is a noble lime tree which grew on the farm belonging to the ancestors of Linnaeus, the great naturalist, beneath the shade of which he played in childhood, and from which his ancestors derived their surname. That noble tree still blossoms from year to year, beautiful in every change of seasons." "Lime, linden and basswood," said Clara--"three names to remember for one tree. But didn't you say, Miss Harson, that it's always called basswood in our country?" "Often, but not always. The name linden is quite common with us, and it will be well for you to remember that it is also called lime, so that when you go to Europe you will know what is meant by _lime_ and _linden_." The children laughed at this idea, for it seemed very funny to think of a little girl like Clara going to Europe, but, as their governess told them, little girls did go constantly; besides, this was the time to learn what would be of use to them when they were grown. "The fragrant lime," said Miss Harson, "has a relative in Asia whose acquaintance I wish you to make, and you know it already in one of its products, which is common in every household. It is also very fragrant--or rather, I should say, it has a strong aromatic odor which is very reviving in cases of faintness or illness, although it has quite a contrary effect on insects, particularly on mosquitoes. I should like to have some one tell me what this white, powerful substance is." This was quite a conundrum, and for a little while the children were extremely puzzled over its solution; but presently Clara asked, "Do the moths hate it too, Miss Harson? And isn't it camphor?" "Camphor doesn't grow on a _tree_," said Malcolm, in a superior tone; "it is dug out of the earth." "I have never read of any camphor-mines," replied his governess, laughing, "and I think you will find that camphor--which is just what I meant--is obtained from the trunk of a tree." "Like India-rubber?" asked Edith. "No, dear, not like India-rubber, for it grows in even a more curious way than that, masses of it being found in the trunk of the camphor tree--not in the form of sap, but in lumps, as we use it." "I thought it was like water," said Edith, in a puzzled tone. "So it is when dissolved in alcohol, as we generally have it; but it is also used in lumps to drive away moths and for various other purposes. But I will tell you all about the tree, which grows in the islands of Sumatra and Borneo and bears the botanical name _Dryobalanops camphora_. The camphor is also called _barus_ camphor, to distinguish it from the _laurus_, of which I will tell you afterward, and it is of a better quality and more easily obtained. The tree grows in the forests of these East Indian islands and is remarkable for its majestic size, dense foliage and magnolia-like flowers. The trunk rises as high as ninety feet without a single branch, and within it are cavities, sometimes a foot and a half long, which cannot be perceived until the bark is split open. These cavities contain the camphor in clear crystalline masses, and with it an oil known as camphor oil, that is thought by some to be camphor in an immature form. But the oil, even when crystallized by artificial means, does not produce such good camphor as that already solidified in the tree." "To think," exclaimed Clara, "of camphor growing in that way! But how do they get it out, Miss Harson? Do they cut great holes in the trunk of the tree?" "No, dear; I have just read to you that the camphor cannot be seen until the bark is split open, and the grand trees have to be cut down. But to do this is no easy matter. The hard, close-grained timber requires days of hewing and sawing to get it severed. The masses of roots are as unyielding as iron, and run twisting through the soil to the distance of sixty yards. Even at their farthest extremity they are as thick as a man's thigh." "I shouldn't think the camphor was worth all that trouble," said Malcolm; "it don't seem to amount to much, any wary." "It is more valuable than you suppose," replied Miss Harson; "for, besides preserving furs and woolen fabrics from the devouring moth, it protects the contents of cabinets and museums from the attacks of the minute creatures that prey upon the dried specimens of the naturalist. Not any of the insect tribe can endure the powerful scent of the camphor, and they either retreat before it or are killed by it. But its principal value is in medicine. It is used both internally and externally. It acts as a nervous stimulant, and is a favorite domestic remedy.--So you see, Malcolm, that camphor really amounts to a great deal, and we could not very well do without it." "How can people tell when there is any camphor inside the tree?" asked Clara. "They cannot tell," was the reply, "until the trunk is split open, although a tribe of men in Sumatra say that they know before-hand, by a kind of magic, which is the right tree to cut down. But the beautiful, stately tree is often wasted in vain, and after all their hard work the camphor-seekers find the cavities of the split-up trunk filled with a thick black substance like pitch instead of the pure white camphor." "Poor things!" said Edith, pityingly; "that's too bad." "Camphor is found in many trees and shrubs," continued her governess, "but in all others except the camphor tree of Sumatra and Borneo it has to be distilled from the wood and roots. The camphor-laurel, which is about the size of an English oak, is the most important of these trees. It grows abundantly in the Chinese island of Formosa, and 'camphor mandarin' is the title of a rich Chinaman who pays the government for the privilege of extracting all the camphor, which he sends to other countries at a large profit. Every part of this tree is full of camphor, and the tree gives out, when bruised, a strong perfume. "The European bay tree, which is more like an immense shrub, is also a member of this singular tribe, and its leaves have the strong family flavor. They were used in medicine, as well as the berries, before the camphor-laurel became known in Europe; in the time of Queen Elizabeth the floors of the better sort of houses were strewed with bay-leaves instead of being carpeted as now. The bay was an emblem of victory in old Roman times, and victorious generals were crowned with it. A wreath of this laurel, with the berries on, was placed on the head of a favorite poet in the Middle Ages, and in this way came the title 'poet-laureate'--_laureatus_,' crowned with laurel.' "Do you remember," continued Miss Harson, "the tall, straight tree that I showed you yesterday when we were out in the woods--the one with a fluted trunk? What was its name?" "I know!" said Malcolm, quite excited. "Think of the seashore! Beach! That's what I told myself to remember." [Illustration: AMERICAN BEECH.] "A very good idea," replied his governess, laughing; "only you must not spell it with an _a_, like the seashore, for it is _b-e-e-c-h._--The fluted, or ribbed, shaft of this grand-looking tree is often sixty or seventy feet high, and, although it is found in its greatest perfection in England, it is a common tree in most of the woods in this country. For depth of shade no tree is equal to the beech, and its long beautiful leaves, with their close ridges and serrated edges, are very much like those of the chestnut. The leaves are of a light, fresh green and very neat and perfect, because they are so seldom attacked by insects; they remain longer on the branches than those of any deciduous tree, and give a cheerful air to the wood in winter. In the autumn they change to a light yellow-brown, which makes a pretty contrast to the reds and greens and purples of other trees. The branches start out almost straight from the tree, but they very soon curve and turn regularly upward. Every small twig turns in the same direction, making the long leaf-buds at the end look like so many little spears. I showed you these 'stuck-up' buds when we were looking at the tree, and you noticed how different they were from the other trees." Yes, the children remembered it; and it always seemed to them particularly nice to have part of the talk out of doors and the rest in the house. "Doesn't the beech tree have nuts?" asked Malcolm. "John says it does." "Yes," replied Miss Harson; "it has tiny three-cornered nuts which seem particularly small for so large a tree. But these nuts are eagerly devoured by pigeons, partridges and squirrels. Bears are said to be very fond of them, and swine fatten very rapidly upon them. Most varieties are so small as not to repay the trouble of gathering, drying and opening them. Fortunately, this is not the case with all, as it is a delicious nut. In France the beech-nut is much used for making oil, which is highly valued for burning in lamps and for cooking. In parts of the same country the nuts, roasted, serve as a substitute for coffee." "I'd like to find some when they're ripe," said Clara, "if they _are_ little." "We will have a search for them, then," was the reply, "when the time comes.--The flowers which produce these little nuts are very showy and grow in roundish tassels, or heads, which hang by thread-like, silky stalks, one or two inches long, from the midst of the young leaves of a newly-opened bud. A traveler says of these leaves, 'We used always to think that the most luxurious and refreshing bed was that which prevails universally in Italy, and which consists entirely of a pile of mattresses filled with the luxuriant spathe of the Indian corn; which beds have the advantage of being soft as well as elastic, and we have always found the sleep enjoyed on them to be particularly sound and restorative. But the beds made of beech-leaves are really no whit behind them in these qualities, whilst the fragrant smell of green tea, which the leaves retain, is most gratifying. The objection to them is the slight crackling noise which the leaves occasion as the individual turns in bed, but this is no inconvenience at all; or if so in any degree, it is an inconvenience which is overbalanced by the advantages of this most luxurious couch." "But how funny," said Malcolm, "to sleep on leaves! That's what the Babes in the Wood did." "No," replied Clara, very earnestly, "they didn't sleep _on_ leaves, you know; but when they had laid down and gone to sleep, the robins came and covered them with leaves." "Yes," chimed in little Edith; "I like that way best, because they'd be so cold in the woods." "And that really was the case," said Miss Harson, after listening with a smile to this discussion, "although there were probably leaves on the ground for the children to lie upon. A bed of leaves is not a bad thing where there are no mattresses, and such a bed is often used as a matter of course. You will remember my reading to you about the beds which the Finland mothers make for their children of the leaves of the canoe-birch. 'Leafy beds' are no strange thing--not mere poetry." CHAPTER XV. _THE TENT AND THE LOCUSTS_. There came a bright balmy day in May when the children found a delightful surprise awaiting them. The tent in the woods, which had been proposed on the day when birch-twigs were found to be eatable, was almost forgotten--or if thought of, it was as a thing that could not possibly be--when, on the day in question, Miss Harson took her charges out as usual, and led them to a very pretty cleared space with a fringe of rocks and trees all around it. But on this spot, which hitherto had been quite bare, there now stood some sort of a little house different from other houses and quite pretty. "It's a tent!" exclaimed Malcolm. "Who put it there, I should like to know, on _our_ land?" "Are there gypsies here, Miss Harson?" whispered Clara, rather fearfully. But the young lady walked deliberately up to the entrance of the tent and invited her little flock to come inside. "I know the gentleman who had it put here," she said, "and he is quite willing that we should use it; but he will not give any one else this liberty." "I think I know him too," said Malcolm as he walked in after Miss Harson. "And I!"--"And I!" exclaimed the little girls. "It is our own papa. How very kind of him!" "Yes," replied their governess; "he said, when I spoke of a tent, that it would be a good thing for the wood-ramblers to have a place of shelter when they were over-taken by a sudden shower, and also a place in which to rest comfortably when they were tired; and this pretty tent, you see, is all ready for us at any time." It was a very nice tent indeed, having a long cushioned seat inside, two little rocking-chairs that were at once appropriated, a small table, and a bracket with books on it. On the table there was a round basket of oranges, which made every one thirsty at once. "I do believe," said Malcolm, suddenly, "that it's made of India-rubber." "Not the orange, I hope?" replied Miss Harson, while the little sisters looked up in surprise. An India-rubber orange was a thing to be laughed at, though not to be eaten, and the children were in such a state of glee over this pleasant surprise that they were ready to laugh almost at nothing. Presently their governess said, "Malcolm means the tent, of course; and he is quite right, for the covering is India-rubber cloth." "But why isn't it dark and ugly, like the waterproofs?" was the next question. "Simply because it need not be so, and it is prettier to have it white or of this pale gray. But these shades are too conspicuous for overshoes or waterproof cloaks, so the latter are made as dark as possible. The caoutchoue, you know, is naturally white or very light colored." "How do they make the cloth?" asked Malcolm. "It is first made as cloth," was the reply; "then a thin coating of India-rubber is spread over two layers of it. The cloth is then put together and pressed between rollers, so that the two pieces firmly adhere, with the caoutchoue between them. No rain can penetrate such a screen as this," It was delightful to know that they would be safe and dry in case of a shower, and the children thought it must be just the prettiest tent that ever was made. The cushioned seat was covered with scarlet, and so were the little chairs, which Clara and Edith knew were meant for them; the edges of the cloth were scalloped with the same bright color, and there was even a rug to match spread in front of the "divan," as Miss Harson laughingly said the cushioned seat must be called. "Haven't we 'most come to the end of the trees?" asked Clara. "I never thought that there were so many different kinds," "Look around and see if you feel acquainted with them all," replied her governess. They had left the tent after quite a long "sitting," and were now on their way to the house. Clara's first glance, on doing as she had been directed, fell on three trees by the side of a fence, that were different from any they had yet studied. "What do you notice about them?" continued Miss Harson; "for I wish you to use your own eyes and thoughts as much as possible." "Why, the trunk is dark gray, and it isn't smooth, but it looks as if some one had dug out long, thin pieces of bark." "We will call it 'deeply furrowed,'" said her governess, "as that is a better expression; but your description is very good indeed." "The leaves are ever so pretty," said Malcolm--"so many of 'em on one stem!--and the green looks as if it was just made." "You mean by that, I suppose," replied Miss Harson, "that it is a very fresh tint; and we are seeing it in its first beauty now. This is the locust tree, and May is its time for leafing out in the tenderest of greens. The pinnate--from _pinna_, Latin for feather'--leaves are composed of from nine to twenty-five leaflets, which are egg-shaped, with a short point, very smooth, light green above and still lighter beneath. These leaves are much liked by cattle, and they are said to be very nutritious to them." [Illustration: FOLIAGE OF HONEY-LOCUST.] "How can you remember everything so, Miss Harson?" asked Malcolm, lost in wonder, as the young lady, looking up at the trees, said these things as if they had been written there. John had declared that she talked like a book, and this seemed more like it than ever. "Oh no," was the laughing reply; "I do not remember _everything_, Malcolm, and perhaps it is just as well that I do not. But I will not tax my memory any more about the locust just now; we can take it up again this evening." "I should like to know," exclaimed Clara, after some thought, "why a tree is called _locust_, when a locust is such a disagreeable insect?" "I am afraid that I cannot tell you," replied Miss Harson, "unless the color of the leaves is similar to that of the 'disagreeable insect,' which is really very handsome, or unless the insects are very partial to the tree; I have seen no explanation of it. But the tree itself is very much admired, with its profusion of pinnate leaves and racemes of flowers that fill the air with the most agreeable odors." "What color are the flowers, Miss Harson?" asked Malcolm. "This description will tell you," was the reply. "The tree is not pretty in winter, and has no promise of beauty until 'May hangs on these withered boughs a green drapery that hides all their deformity; she infuses into their foliage a perfection of verdure that no other tree can rival, and a beauty in the forms of its leaves that renders it one of the chief ornaments of the groves and waysides. June weaves into this green foliage pendent clusters of flowers of mingled brown and white, filling the air with fragrance and enticing the bee with odors as sweet as from groves of citron and myrtle.'" "That sounds pretty," said Clara, who liked imposing sentences, "but brown and white are not very handsome colors for flowers." "The white is certainly prettier without the mixture of brown," replied her governess, "but we have to take our flowers ready-made, and can hardly expect them to be beautiful and fragrant too. The separate blossoms are shaped like those of the pea and bean; they hang in long clusters somewhat resembling bunches of grapes. The leaves--or, rather, leaflets--are very sensitive and have a habit of folding over one another in wet and dull weather, and also in the night--a habit that is peculiar to all the members of the acacia family, to which the locust belongs." "I should think it ought to belong to the pea family," said Malcolm, "if the flowers are shaped like pea-blossoms." "So it does," replied Miss Harson--"or, rather, to the bean family, of which the pea is a member, on account of its blossoms; but the acacia, like many others, is a brother, or sister, on account of its leaves as well as its blossoms. The peculiar distinction of this family is that its flowers are butterfly-shaped or its fruit in pods, and it often possesses both these characters. By one or the other all the plants of the family are known, and the butterfly-shaped flowers are of a character not to be mistaken, as they are found in no other family. It includes herbs, shrubs and trees--an immense and perfectly natural family, distributed throughout almost every part of the globe. There are at present in all not less than thirty-seven hundred species. So you see that the locust tree is certainly rich in relations." The children thought that it must have some family claim on almost every plant in the world. [Illustration: CAROB TREE AND FRUIT.] "Do you remember that in the story of the Prodigal Son, told by our Lord, it is said that the bad son became so poor that he wanted to eat the 'husks' that the swine ate? Those 'husks' were the fruit of a Syrian member of this family. The tree is the carob tree, of which you have here a picture--a fine large tree bearing a sweet pod containing the seeds. I have seen these pods for sale in this country, and foolishly called St. John's bread, as if the 'locusts' eaten by John the Baptist were pods of a locust tree, and not insect locusts." "Yes," said Malcolm, "I have tasted those pods, and they are real sweet; but I wouldn't care to make a breakfast from them." "I like calling the flowers 'butterfly-shaped,'" said Clara, "because that is just what the pea and bean-blossoms look like; though Kitty calls 'em 'little ladies in hoods.' Isn't that funny, Miss Harson?" "It is very quaint, I think, but I do not dislike it: it is like seeing faces in pansies; and some people are full of these odd imaginations. There is a kind of locust, called the clammy-barked, found in the Southern parts of the United States, which is a smaller tree than the common locust and has large pale-pink flowers, while the rose acacia is a very beautiful flowering shrub. The sweet, or honey, locust is another variety, which is also called the three-thorned acacia, because the thorns consist of one long spine with two shorter ones projecting out of it, like little branches, near its base. This is said to display much of the elegance of the tropical acacia in the minute division and symmetry of its compound leaves. These are of a light and brilliant green and lie flat upon the branches, giving them a fan-like appearance such as we observe in the hemlock." "But why is it called honey-locust?" asked Malcolm. "Do the bees make honey in the trunk?" "No," replied his governess; "the name comes from the sweetness of the pulp around the seeds, which ripen in large flat pods, and of which boys and girls are fond. But the flowers of this species are only small greenish aments. Locust-wood is very durable, and, as it will bear exposure to all kinds of weather, it is much used in shipbuilding and as posts for gates. It is thought that the shittah and shittim wood of the Bible, of which Moses made the greater part of the tables, altars and planks of the tabernacle, was the same as the black acacia found in the deserts of Arabia and about Mount Sinai and the mountains which border on the Red Sea, and is so hard and solid as to be almost incorruptible. "And now," added Miss Harson, "reading of the numerous relations of the locust, considering that 'the acacia, not less valued for its airy foliage and elegant blossoms than for its hard and durable wood; the braziletto, logwood and rosewoods of commerce; the laburnum; the furze and the broom, both the pride of the otherwise dreary heaths of Europe; the bean, the pea, the vetch, the clover, the trefoil, the lucerne--all staple articles of culture by the farmer--are so many species of Leguminosae, and that the gums Arabic and Senegal, kino and various precious medicinal drugs, not to mention indigo, the most useful of all dyes, are products of other species,--it will be perceived that it would be difficult to point out an order with greater claims upon the attention.'" CHAPTER XVI. _THE WALNUT FAMILY AND THE AILANTHUS_. "The walnut family," said Miss Harson, "with the ugly name _Juglandaceae_, are distinguished by pinnate, or compound, leaves, which have an aromatic odor when crushed, and by blossoms in catkins. Of these trees, the black walnut is one of the handsomest and most highly prized." "Are there any of them here?" asked Malcolm. [Illustration: THE WALNUT TREE.] "No," was the reply; "I do not think you have ever seen one. They are more common in the western part of the Middle States and in the Western States; in Ohio particularly they grow to a very large size. Solitary trees are sometimes seen in this part of the country, and the branches, extending themselves horizontally to a great distance, spread out into a spacious head, which gives them a very majestic appearance. The trunk is rough and furrowed, and the leaves have from six to ten pairs of leaflets and an odd one. They are smooth, strongly serrated and rather pointed; the color is a light, bright green. The catkins are green, from four to seven inches long, and hang from the axils of the last year's leaves. The leaves are much longer than those of the locust, and the leaf-stalk is downy. The nut, which is very oily, is shaped like an English walnut, but resembles it in no other way, as the shell is very thick and dark-colored. When thoroughly dried, the black walnut is very much liked--as I think some witnesses here could testify--and is used in making candy." "And just the nicest kind of candy, too," said the children, with one voice. Their governess smiled, for this was very much her own opinion. "You do not know," she continued, "how strangely these nuts grow. They have an outer husk, or rind, which when green is hard and has a very pleasant smell; the tree then seems to be covered with green balls. As the nuts ripen this outer part becomes so dark that it is almost black and grows soft and spongy. A rich brown dye is made from it. Black-walnut wood has long been famous for its beauty, and it grows deeper and darker with age. It is handsomely shaded and takes a fine polish, and this, with its durability, makes it very valuable for furniture. Posts made of it will last a long time, and it can be put to almost any use for which hard-wood is available. "The walnut tree has a great variety of good qualities in addition to its fine appearance and generous shade. From the kernel a valuable oil may be obtained for use in cookery and in lamps. Bread has also been made from the kernels. The spongy husk of the nuts is used as dyestuff. It thus unites almost all the qualities desirable in a tree--beauty, gracefulness and richness of foliage in every period of its growth; bark and husks which may be employed in an important art; fruit valuable as food; wood unsurpassed in durability and in elegance." "I like English walnuts," said Clara, "they have such thin, pretty shells; and papa, you know, can open them in just two halves with a knife." "Once," said Miss Harson, "I had a little bag sent to me made of two very large walnut shells with blue silk between, and in this bag there was a pair of kid gloves rolled up very tight." "Oh!" exclaimed the children. It sounded like a fairy-tale, but they knew that it was true, because Miss Harson said that it had really happened. They were very much surprised, though, that a bag could be made of nutshells, and that a pair of gloves could be crowded into so small a compass. "Did it come from England?" asked Malcolm. "No," replied his governess; "it was sent to me from the island of Madeira, where these nuts grow so abundantly that they have often been called Madeira-nuts. It also grows abundantly in Europe, and the nuts are used for dessert, pickling, and many other purposes, while the poorer classes often depend largely on them for food." "Do they eat 'em instead of bread?" asked Edith. "I'd like that; they're ever so much nicer!" "Perhaps you would not think so if you had hardly anything else to eat; you would get tired of them then. In many places on the continent of Europe the roads are lined with walnut trees for miles together, and in the proper season the people may feast upon the fruit as much as they like. A person, it is said, once traveled from Florence to Geneva and ate nothing by the way but walnuts; but I must say that I should not like to do it. One species bears a nut as large as an egg; but if kept any time, it will shrink to half its natural size. The shell of this great walnut, we are told, is sometimes used for making little ornamental boxes to hold gloves and small fancy-articles; so you see that mine was not the only glove-bag made of two walnut-shells." "How pretty they must be!" said Clara. "I should like to see one." "I think that I can make one when I get a large nut, and I shall be glad to show you how it is done." This was a delightful prospect, and the children volunteered to save for that especial purpose all the large nuts they could find. "The English walnut tree," continued Miss Harson, "is a native of Persia or the North of China, and the long pinnated leaves seem to mark its Oriental origin; but it has taken very kindly to its European home. In some parts of Germany the walnut trees were considered to be such a valuable possession that no young man was allowed to marry until he owned a certain number; and if one tree was cut down, another was always planted." "Don't they grow in this country?" asked Malcolm. "Not very often in our more northern States," was the reply, "for the climate here is too cold for them; but at a house where I visited there was an English walnut tree in the garden, and it seemed to do very well. The nuts were always gathered while they were green, and made into pickles." This was considered quite dreadful, for ripe nuts were certainly a great deal better than pickles. "But there was a great deal of uncertainty about having the ripe nuts, for there were bad boys all around who would not have hesitated to rob the tree. Besides, pickled walnuts are considered a great delicacy by those who eat such things. There are some other ways, too, of using the nuts, which you would not like any better. One of these is to make them into oil, as the people do in the South of Europe; this oil is used to burn in their lamps and as an article of food. 'In Piedmont, among the light-hearted peasantry, cracking the walnuts and taking them from the shell is a holiday proceeding. The peasants, with their wives and children, assemble in the evening, after their day's work is over, in the kitchen of some château where the walnuts have been gathered, and where their services are required. They sit round a table, and at each end is a man with a small mallet, who cracks the walnuts and passes them on; the rest of the party take them out of their shells. At supper-time the table is cleared, and a repast of dried fruit, vegetables and wine is set out. The remainder of the evening is spent in singing and dancing. The crushing and pressing of the nuts, for oil, take place when the whole harvest is in.'" "But don't walnuts come from California? Our grocer said he had California nuts," remarked Malcolm. "Yes; that wonderful country is beginning to supply us with English walnuts." "Are you going to tell us a story, Miss Harson?" asked Edith, hopefully. "I have no story, dear," was the reply, "but there is something here which you may like about birds stealing the nuts." Of course they would like this; for if there was to be no story, birds and stealing promised to furnish a good substitute. "'Birds are as fond of walnuts as we are,'" read Miss Harson, "'and rob the trees without any mercy. Not only the little titmouse, but the grave and solemn rook'--a kind of crow, you remember--'is not above paying a visit to the walnut tree and stealing all he can find. There is a walnut tree growing in a garden the owner of which may be said to have planted it for the benefit of the rooks. Not that he had any such purpose, but, as it happens, he cannot help himself. The rooks begin a series of robberies as soon as the fruit is ripe, and carry them on with an adroitness that would be amusing but for the result. As many as fifty rooks come, one after the other, and each will carry off a walnut. The old ones are the most at home in the process, and the most daring. The bird approaches the tree and floats for a second in the air, as if occupied in finding out which of the walnuts will be the easiest to obtain; then, with a bold stroke, he darts at the one selected, and rarely misses his aim. "'The young rooks are much more timid and not so successful. They settle on the branch and knock down a great many walnuts in their clumsy attempts to secure one. Even when the walnut has been obtained, the young rook is not sure of his prize: one of his older and stronger brethren is very likely to attack him and knock the walnut out of his bill. Then, by a dextrous swoop, the robber catches it up before it reaches the ground, and carries it off in triumph. The feasting ground of the rooks is the next field, and here they come to eat their walnuts. They crack the shell with their beaks and devour the kernel with great relish. Then, when one walnut is finished, they fly back to the tree for another. There is no chance for the owner of the garden, who does not think it worth while even to shake his tree: he knows there will not be a single walnut left.'" "I should think not, with those greedy creatures," exclaimed Malcolm. "Why doesn't the man shoot 'em?" "He probably thinks it would be of little use, when there are such numbers of the birds; besides, he may prefer losing his walnuts to disturbing them, for rooks are treated with great consideration in England, and there is no such wholesale destruction of birds as is seen here." The rooks were certainly very comical, and the children thought this little account of their antics over the walnut tree the next best thing to a story. "Another fine shade-tree," continued Miss Harson, "and one very much like the black walnut, is the butternut, or oil-nut, tree. It is low and broad-headed, spreading into several large branches; the leaves are pinnate, like those of the walnut, but have not so many leaflets. The nut has an entirely different taste, and is even more oily. To many persons it is not at all agreeable. It is a great favorite, though, with country-boys, and in October, when the kernel is ripe, they may be seen with deeply-stained hands and faces, as the thin, leathery husks when handled leave plentiful traces. The butternut is not round like the walnut, but oblong, and pointed at the end; it is about two inches in length and marked by deep furrows and sharp irregular ridges. It is very pretty when sawn across in slices, and looks like scroll-saw work.--We shall have to get some, Malcolm, for you to practice on with your saw." [Illustration: THE BUTTERNUT TREE.] As his scroll-saw was just then the delight of Malcolm's heart, he felt particularly interested in butternuts, and immediately mapped out in his mind something very beautiful to be wrought with them for his governess. "The bark and the nutshells have long been used to give a brown color to wool, and the Shakers dye a rich purple with it. The bark of the trunk will give a black and that of the root a fawn-colored dye, while an inferior sugar has been made from the sap. The young half-grown nuts are much used for pickles. Butternut-wood is exceedingly handsome, of a pale, reddish tint, and durable when exposed to heat and moisture. It makes beautiful fronts for drawers and excellent light, tough and durable wooden bowls. It is also used for the panels of carriages, as well as for posts and rails. It is a more common tree than the walnut in our part of the country; there is a large one in front of a house a few miles from here which I will show you on our next drive." "I am glad of it," said Clara, "for I can remember about the trees so much better when I have seen them. I wish we could see every one of the trees you have told us of, Miss Harson." "Perhaps you will some day," replied her governess, "and you will then find that a little knowledge of them before-hand is a great help." "Are there any more of the walnut family?" asked Malcolm. "Yes, the hickory belongs to it; and this is a tree which is peculiar to America. The European walnut is more like it than any other. It is always a stately and elegant tree and very valuable for its timber. There are several varieties, which are much alike, the principal difference being in the nuts. You have all seen most of the trees and gathered the nuts. They are: "1. The shellbark, with five large leaflets, a large nut, of which the husk is deeply grooved at the seams, and a rough, scaly trunk. "2. The mocker-nut, with seven or nine leaflets, a hard, thick-shelled nut, and leaflets and twigs very downy when young, and strongly odorous. "3. The pignut, with three, five or seven narrow leaflets, small, thin-shelled fruit and a pretty hard nut. "4. The bitternut, with seven, nine or eleven small, narrow, serrated leaves, small fruit with long, prominent seams, bitter and thin-shelled nuts and very yellow buds. "The shellbark is often called 'shagbark,' and it is the finest of the hickories and one that is seldom mistaken for any of the others. It may readily be distinguished by the shaggy bark of its trunk, the excellence of its globular fruit, its leaves, which are large and have five leaflets, and by its ovate, half-covered buds. It is a tall, slender tree with irregular branches, and the foliage seems to lie in masses of dense, dark green. But in October, when the nuts ripen, the leaves turn to orange-brown, and finally to the color of a russet apple; so that they do not add greatly to the beauty of the forest." "But the nuts are good," said Malcolm. "Didn't we have fine times picking 'em up?" "We did indeed," replied Miss Harson, "and I hope we shall again." "How long will it be before they are ripe?" asked the little girls. "Just about five months, I think." "Oh dear!" was the reply; "that's _so_ long to wait!" "But you needn't wait," said their governess; "you can enjoy each season as it comes, and all the good things that our heavenly Father sends with it. Remember that, as you cannot expect ripe nuts in May or June, neither can you look for strawberries and roses in October. Tents are of very little use then, too." "Oh!" exclaimed the children, to whom the tent was still a delightful novelty; and they decided not to wish just yet for nutting-time to come. "The nut, as you have so often seen, is covered with a brown husk that is very thick and marked with four furrows, by which it separates into as many distinct pieces, one being larger than the rest. The nuts differ very much in size and shape, and also in hardness, but the best kinds have thin shells and soft kernels; they are also rounder and fuller than the poorer sorts. There is a peculiar sweetness in the taste of this nut when in its best condition, and it is quite equal to the European walnut. The wood of this tree is particularly valuable for fuel, and in old times, when wood-fires were the only kind known, a good hickory back-log was sure to be found on every hearth. It is the heaviest of our native woods, and the wise men say that it yields, pound for pound or cord for cord, more heat than any other, in any shape in which it may be consumed." "But what a pity," said Clara, "to burn up trees that bear nuts! Why can't they take those that don't?" "They are not so desirable for fuel," was the reply; "and when people own trees which they are willing to turn into money, they generally consider in what way they can get the most for them. Nuts which grow in the woods and fields are a very uncertain crop, of which every one seems to gather more than the owner, and it is therefore more profitable for him to cut his trees down and sell them for their wood, which the people in the cities and towns are so glad to get." "What's the use," asked Malcolm, "of calling a tree such a name as _mocker-nut_? What does it mean?" "That is just what I have not been able to find out," replied Miss Harson, "but it has an Indian sound, and it seems that the Indians used to make a black dye from the bark; so we will give them the credit for it. The name is not often used, for the tree is generally known as the white walnut. The nut is the largest of the hickories, being often from four to six inches around, and it is shaped somewhat like a pear. One variety, however, is known as the square nut. The shell is very thick and hard, but the kernel is sweet when once it is gotten out. This tree is as stately and finely-shaped as the shagbark. It varies from the other hickories in the number of its leaflets, which are seven or nine, the down on its leaves and recent shoots, the hardness of the husk and thickness of the nut, the roundness of its large covered buds, and the strong resinous odor in leaves, buds and husks. In its general appearance it resembles the shellbark, as well as in the fullness of its foliage and the size of its leaves. 'White-heart hickory' is a name often given to this species, because the wood is supposed, when young, to be whiter than that of any of the others," "_Pignut_ is another beautiful name," said Malcolm, who was disposed to be critical. "Do pigs ever eat the nuts, Miss Harson?" "I dare say that they do when they have the chance," was the reply, "as they delight in nuts; but that is said not to be the proper name for the species. Some of the nuts are shaped like a fresh fig, and 'fig-nut' seems to be the name originally intended. But there is a great variety in the shape of the nuts, as some are nearly round and others very irregular. They are alike, however, in having very hard, tough shells, and the kernel is not pleasant enough to repay the trouble of getting at it. These nuts are very apt to grow in pairs, and several bushels of them can be gathered from one tree." "Aren't they good to eat?" asked Clara. "Not at all good," replied her governess, "except to those who are not particular about what they eat; and this may be the reason for calling them 'pignuts,'" "_Bitternut_ doesn't sound much better," said Malcolm, again. "I wonder what that species has to say for itself?" "Not very much, I am afraid, for it is sometimes called the bitter pignut, and even boys will not eat it, while squirrels refuse to feed on it when any other nut can be found. The shell of this nut is so thin that it can be broken in the fingers, but, as no one cares to break it, it is safer than many a thicker shell. It is intensely bitter, and well deserves its name. The tree, however, is handsome and the most graceful of all the hickories; the small, slender leaves give it the look of an ash, and the trunk is smoother than that of most large trees. In summer the finely-cut foliage is of a bright green, and in autumn it changes to a rich orange, which lasts after the other species have become russet and brown." "Is there anything more about hickory trees?" said Clara. "Only to speak of the great value of the wood," replied Miss Harson. "Its uses are almost endless. Great numbers of walking-sticks are made of it, as for this purpose no other native wood equals it in beauty and strength. It is next in value to white oak for making hoops; it makes the best screws, the smoothest and most durable handles for chisels, augurs, gimlets, axes, and many other common tools. As fuel, hickory is preferred to every other wood, burning freely, making a pleasant, brilliant fire and throwing out great heat. Charcoal made from it is heavier than that made from any other wood, but it is not considered more valuable than that of birch or alder. The ashes of hickories abound in alkali, and are considered better for the purpose of making soap than any other of the native woods, being next to those of the apple tree." "There, Clara!" said Malcolm; "you see now why people cut down hickory trees. The nuts are nowhere, with all these other things." "We have finished the walnut family," said Miss Harson, "but there is a tree that I wish to speak of here because of its long pinnate leaves, which appear to connect it with the walnuts and hickories. This is the ailanthus, a large tree which you have often seen in the village, and which used to be popular as a shade-tree. It is very clean-looking, for the only insect that will eat its leaves is the silkworm." "Oh, Miss Harson!" exclaimed the children. "Are there real silkworms on 'em? and can we see 'em?" "Why, do you not remember our talk about silkworms?" replied their governess. "I am sure I told you that they would not live here in the open air, but they do in China; and the ailanthus is a Chinese tree. It was planted in Great Britain over a hundred years ago for the express purpose of feeding silkworms, because a species of silkworm which was known to be hardy and capable of forming its cocoons in the English climate is attached to this tree and feeds upon its leaves. It was not successful, however, for silkworms, but as a stately and ornamental tree with tropical-looking foliage it was much admired. The ailanthus is quite common in this country as a wayside tree. It possesses a good deal of beauty, from the size and graceful sweep of its large compound leaves, that retain their brightness and verdure after midsummer, when our native trees have become dull. These leaves have nine or ten leaflets as large as a beech-leaf." "Isn't that the tree that smells so in summer?" asked Clara, with a disgusted face. "Yes; the greenish flowers have a particularly disagreeable odor, which is very strong and penetrating, and this is probably the reason why the tree has lost favor in so many places. But this is only during the season of blossoming, and for several months it is a beautiful Oriental-looking tree with every leaf perfect, while nearly all other foliage is more or less ravaged by insects." CHAPTER XVII. _SOME BEAUTIFUL TREES: THE CHESTNUT AND HORSE-CHESTNUT._ The nearest trees to the tent, and standing just back of it, were two magnificent chestnuts, now in full leaf-beauty; and Miss Harson and her little flock stood admiring their majestic size and beautiful color. "These are the handsomest trees yet," said Malcolm. "I almost think so myself," replied his governess, gazing up into the rich green depths, "and I wish you particularly to notice these radiated--or star-like--tufts of foliage. The leaves, you see, are long, lengthened to a tapering point, serrated--or notched like a saw--at the edge, and of a bright and nearly pure green. Though arranged alternately, like those of the beech, on the recent branches, they are clustered in stars containing from five to seven leaves on the fruitful branches that grow out from the perfected wood. Now stand off a little and see how the foliage seems to be all in tufts, each composed of several long, pointed leaves drooping from the centre. The aments, too, with their light silvery-green tint, glisten beautifully on the darker leaves." "How high do you think these trees are, Miss Harson?" asked Clara. "It makes me dizzy to look up to the top." [Illustration: LEAF OF THE CHESTNUT.] "They can be scarcely less than ninety feet," was the reply, "and they are very fine specimens of the family; but the great chestnut which is the only tree in the field on the left of the house is broader. It spreads out like an apple tree, because it has abundance of room, and it is nearly as broad as it is high." "And aren't its chestnuts just splendid?" exclaimed Malcolm--"the biggest we find anywhere." [Illustration: THE CHESTNUT TREE.] "The bark, you see," continued his governess, "is very dark-colored, hard and rugged, with long, deep clefts. In smaller and younger trees it is smooth. I suppose I need not tell you that the fruit is within a burr covered with sharp, stiff bristles which are not handled with impunity. It opens by four valves more than halfway down when ripe, and contains the nuts, from one to three in number, in a downy cup. These green burrs are very ornamental to the tree; and when they are ripe, the green takes on a yellow tinge." "You didn't say anything about the cunning little tails of the nuts, Miss Harson," said Edith, in a disappointed tone. "I think they're the prettiest part, and they stick up in the burr like little mice-tails." "Well, dear," was the smiling reply, "_you_ have told us about them, and I think you have given a very good description. That is just what they always reminded me of when I was about your age--little mice-tails." Edith looked pleased and shy, and she did not mind Malcolm's laughing at her "little tails," because Miss Harson used to think the same as she did about them. "This beautiful tree came from Asia, and it belongs to the _Castanea_ family, the Greeks having given it that name from a town in Pontus where they obtained it. It was transplanted into the North and West, and is now found in most temperate regions. The wood of the chestnut is very valuable, as it is strong, elastic and durable, and is often used as a substitute for oak and pine. It makes very beautiful furniture." "What kind of chestnuts," asked Clara, "are those great big ones, like horse-chestnuts, that they have in some of the stores? Are they good to eat?" "Yes," replied Miss Harson; "they are particularly good, and many people in the southern countries of Europe almost live on them. They are three or four times larger than our nuts, these Spanish and Italian chestnuts, and they are eaten instead of bread and potatoes by the peasantry of Spain and Italy. The Spanish chestnut is one of the most stately of European trees, and sometimes it is found growing in our own country, but never in the woods. It is carefully planted and cultivated as an ornamental tree for private grounds. And now," added the young lady, "as we have sufficiently examined our American chestnut trees and it is rather damp and cool to-day for tent-life, suppose we return to the house and get better acquainted with the foreign chestnuts?" Edith asked if there was to be a story, but she did not complain when Miss Harson thought not, only an account of a very large tree; for the children always felt quite sure that there would be something which they would like to hear. * * * * * The evening was damp, and Clara said that, the schoolroom looked like a mixture of summer and winter. The fire was both pleasant and comfortable, but there were lilacs and tulips and hyacinths and plenty of wild flowers in vases and baskets; the leaves were all out on the trees by the windows, and the grass was like velvet. "One of the largest trees in the world, if not the largest," said Miss Harson, "is a chestnut tree on the side of Mount Etna, in Sicily, which abounds with chestnut trees of giant proportions and remarkable beauty. It is called 'The Chestnut Tree of a Hundred Horses,' and this title is said to have originated in a report that a queen of Aragon once took shelter under its branches attended by her principal nobility, all of whom found refuge from a violent storm under the spreading boughs of the tree. At one time it was supposed that the tree really consisted of a clump of several united, but this is not the case; for on digging away the earth the root was found entire, and at no great depth. Five enormous branches rise from the trunk, the outside surface of each being covered with bark, while on the inside is none. The verdure and the support of the tree thus depend on the outer bark alone. The intervals between the branches are of various extent, one of them being sufficient to allow two carriages to drive abreast. In the middle cavity--or what is called the hollow--of the tree a hut has been built for the use of persons employed in collecting and preserving the fruit. They dry the chestnuts in an oven, and then make them into various conserves for sale. A whole caravan of men and animals were once accommodated in the enclosure, and also a flock of sheep folded there. The age of this prodigious tree must be very great indeed. It belongs to the tribe which bears sweet, or edible, chestnuts, that form an agreeable article of food. The foliage is rich, shadowy and beautiful. "The wood of the chestnut is much used in England for hop-poles, and old houses in London are floored or wainscoted with it. The beautiful roof of Westminster Abbey is made of chestnut wood. "There are magnificent forests of Spanish chestnuts in the Apennines, and it was the favorite tree of the great painter Salvator Rosa, who spent much time studying the beautiful play of light and shade on its foliage. The peasants make a gala-time of gathering and preparing the nuts. A traveler, having penetrated the extensive forest which covers the Vallombrosan Apennines for nearly five miles, came unexpectedly upon those festive scenes, which are not unfrequent among the chestnut-range. It was a holiday, and a group of peasants dressed in the gay and picturesque attire of the neighborhood of the Arno were dancing in an open and level space covered with smooth turf and surrounded with magnificent chestnuts, while the inmost recesses of the forest resounded with their mirth and minstrelsy. Some beat down the chestnuts with sticks and filled baskets with them, which they emptied from time to time; others, stretched listlessly upon the turf, picked out the contents of the bristling capsules in which the kernels were entrenched, for these, when newly gathered, are sweet and nutritious; others again, and especially young peasant-girls, pelted their companions with the fruit." "Like snowballing," said Malcolm; "only the prickers must have stung. What grand times they had with their chestnuting!" "These gay, thoughtless people," replied his governess, "almost live in the open air and enjoy the present moment. It is not easy to tell what they would do without these bountiful chestnut-harvests, for their principal article of food is a thick porridge called _polenta_, which they make from the ground nuts. In France a kind of cake is made from the same material, and the chestnuts are prepared by drying them in smoke. Another dish is like mashed potatoes, and large quantities are exported in the shape of sweetmeats, made by dipping them, after boiling, into clarified sugar and drying them." "Miss Harson," asked Clara, "why are horse-chestnuts _called_ 'horse-chestnuts '? Do horses like 'em?" "Not usually," was the reply. "The nuts are sometimes ground and given to horses, but, as sheep, deer and other cattle eat them in their natural state, it would seem more reasonable to name them after some of those animals, if that was the reason. It is likely that because they look like chestnuts, but are much larger, they were called 'horse-chestnuts,' The tree is not in any respect a chestnut; and when it was first planted in England, some centuries ago, it was called 'a rare foreign tree,' and was much admired. It is supposed to have come from India. The large nuts are like chestnuts in appearance.--Except, Edith, that they have no 'cunning little tails.'--In the month of May there is not a more beautiful tree to be found than the horse-chestnut, with its large, deeply-cut leaves of a bright-green color and its long, tapering spikes of variegated flowers, which turn upward from the dense foliage. The tree at this time has been compared to a huge chandelier, and the erect blossoms to so many wax lights. The bitter nuts ripen early in the autumn and fall from the tree, but long before this the beautiful foliage has turned rusty in our Northern States, and is no longer ornamental. The overshadowing branches, which give such a pleasant shade in summer, early in autumn begin to show the ravages of the insects or the natural decay of the leaves." "Then," said Malcolm, "it isn't a nice tree to have, and I'm glad that there are elms here instead." "I should like to have some of all the trees," replied Clara, "because then we could study about them better.--Wouldn't you, Miss Harson?" "I think so," said her governess, "if they were not undesirable to have, as some trees are. If it were always May, I should want horse-chestnut trees; for I think there is scarcely anything so pretty as those fresh leaves and blossoms. The branches, too, begin low down, and that gives the tree a generous spreading look which is very attractive in the way of shade. In more southern States they have a longer season of beauty than those in the North." "Do people ever eat the horse-chestnut?" asked Edith. "Not often, dear--it is too bitter; but an old writer who lived in the days when it was first seen in England says that he planted it in his orchard as a fruit tree, between his mulberry and his walnut, and that he roasted the chestnuts and ate them. It is like the bitternut-hickory, which even boys will not eat." "I should think that somebody or something ought to eat it," said Clara, thoughtfully; "it seems like such a waste." Everyone laughed at her wise air, and she was asked if she intended to set the example. She was not quite ready, though, to do that; and Miss Harson continued: "A naturalist once took from the tree a tiny flower-bud and proceeded to dissect it. After the external covering, which consisted of seventeen scales, he came upon the down which protects the flower. On removing this he could perceive four branchlets surrounding the spike of flowers, and the flowers themselves, though so minute, were as distinct as possible, and he could not only count their number, but discern the stamens, and even the pollen." "Oh!" exclaimed the children; "how very curious!" "Yes," replied their governess; "it shows how perfect and wonderful, from the beginning, are all the works of God." CHAPTER XVIII. _AMONG THE PINES_. "How good it smells here!" exclaimed Edith, with her small nose in the air to inhale what she called "a good sniff" in the fragrant pine-woods. Miss Harson had taken the children in the carriage to a pine-grove some miles from Elmridge, and Thomas and the horses waited by the roadside while the little party walked about or stood gazing up at the tall slender trees that seemed to tower to the very skies. Thomas was not fond of waiting, but he thought that he had the best of it in this case: it was more cheerful to sit in the carriage and "flick" the flies from Rex and Regina than to go poking about in the gloomy pine-woods. Yet, notwithstanding the darkness of its interior and the sombre character of its dense masses of evergreen foliage as seen from without--whence the name of "black timber," which has been applied to it--the shade and shelter it affords and the sentiment of grandeur it inspires cause it to become allied with the most profound and agreeable sensations; and it was something of this feeling, though they could not express it in words, which possessed the young tree-hunters as they stood in the pine-grove. "It's nice to breathe here," said Clara. "It is delicious," replied her governess, enthusiastically, her eyes kindling as she repeated the lines: "'His praise, ye winds, that from four quarter blow, Breathe soft and loud; and wave your tops, ye pines, With every plant, in sign of worship. Wave!'" "What a queer brown color--almost like red--the ground is!" said Malcolm. "And look, Miss Harson! it's made of lots of little sharp sticks." "The sharp sticks are pine-needles," was the reply--"the dead pine-leaves of last year; and when the new growth of leaves have been put forth, they cover the ground with a smooth brown matting as comfortable as a gravel-walk, and yet a carpet of Nature's making. 'The foliage of the pine is so hard and durable that in summer we always find the last year's crop lying upon the ground in a state of perfect soundness, and under it that of the preceding year only partially decayed.'" "It's kind of slippery in some places," continued Malcolm, taking a slide as he spoke. "And see those queer-looking roots sprouting out of the ground!" "I see the roots," said Miss Harson, "but no sprouts. That is the white pine, the roots of which are often seen above the ground, spreading to some distance from the trunk. Generally the roots of pine trees are small, compared with the size of the trunks, and spread horizontally instead of descending far into the ground. For this reason pines are often uprooted by high winds, which break off the deciduous trees near the ground. But I wish you particularly to notice the trunks of these trees and tell me if you can see any difference in them." Those particular trees had probably never been stared at so hard before, and the three children exclaimed almost together: "Some are rough, and some are smooth, and the rough ones have little bunches of leaves on 'em." "These are the pitch-pines," replied their governess. "They are the roughest of all our forest-trees, and they have a rounder head than any of the other American evergreens. The branches, you see, turn in various directions and are curved downward at the ends. This tree has also the peculiar habit of sending out little branchlets full of leaves along the stem from the root upward, and this has a very pretty effect, like that of some elm trees. It is the pitch-pine that produces the fragrance we are all enjoying so much. What do you notice about the smoother trees?" "They are very tall and big," replied Clara--"ever so much handsomer than the rough ones." [Illustration: THE WHITE PINE.] "The white pine," said Miss Harson, "is one of the loftiest and most valuable of North American trees. Its top can be seen at a great distance, looking like a spire as it towers above the heads of the trees around it. You see that it has widespread branches and silken-looking, tufted foliage. The leaves are in fives and not so stiff as those of the other pines, and you will notice that the branches are in whorls, like a series of stages one above another. The foliage has a tasseled effect with those long silky tufts at the ends of the branches, and the whole outline of the tree is very pleasing." "This isn't a pine tree, is it?" asked Malcolm, touching a small tree with very slender branches, some of them as slight as willow-withes and covered with grayish-red bark, while that on the main stem was bluish gray. [Illustration: THE LARCH.] "It is a species of pine," was the reply, "because it belongs to the Coniferae, or cone-producing, family; but it is not an evergreen, although it ranks as such. This is the larch--generally called in New England by its Indian name of _hacmatack_--and it differs from the other pines in its crowded tufts of leaves, which, after turning to a soft leather-color, fall, in New England, early in November. The cones, too, are very small." "What's the use of cones, any way?" asked Malcolm as he picked up some very large ones under the white and pitch pines. "Their principal use," replied his governess, "is to contain the seeds of future trees: they are the fruit of the pine; but they have a number of uses besides, which you shall hear about this evening." "The little cones at Hemlock Lodge are pretty," said Edith, "and Clara and me play with 'em. We play they're a orphan-'sylum." [Illustration: FOLIAGE OF THE LARCH (_Larix Americana_).] "'Clara and I,' dear," corrected Miss Harson, smiling at the "orphan-'sylum," while Malcolm said he had never thought of that before, and it must be what they were meant for. Edith could not quite understand whether this was fun or earnest, but Miss Harson shook her head at Malcolm and called him "naughty boy." "The spruce and hemlock," continued their governess, "and many of the other evergreens, we have at Elmridge, but I brought you here to-day for our drive that you might examine these magnificent pine trees, and so be better able to understand whatever we can find out about them this evening. Thomas is probably tired of waiting by this time; so we will leave the fragrant pine-woods for the present, and promise ourselves some future visits." Every green thing was now in full summer beauty, and daisies and buttercups gemmed the fields, while the garden at Elmridge was all aglow with blossoms, The children remembered their flower-studies of last year, and took fresh pleasure in the woods because of them; but the trees now seemed quite as interesting as the flowers had been. * * * * * "The trees known as evergreens," said Miss Harson, "are not so bright and cheerful-looking as those which are deciduous, or leaf-shedding, but they have the advantage of being clothed with foliage, although of a sober hue, all the year round. They consist of pines, firs, junipers, cypresses, spruces, larches, yews and hemlocks, with some foreign trees, and form a distinct and striking natural group. 'This family has claims to our particular attention from the importance of its products in naval, and especially in civil and domestic, architecture, and in many other arts, and, in some instances, in medicine. Some of the species in this country are of more rapid growth, attain to a larger size and rise to a loftier height than any other trees known. The white pine is much the tallest of our native trees.'" "How high does it grow, Miss Harson?" asked Clara. "From one hundred and fifty to two hundred feet," was replied, "and on the north-west coast of America one called the 'Douglas's pine' is the loftiest tree known; it is said to measure over three hundred feet. 'From the pines are obtained the best masts and much of the most valuable ship-timber, and in the building and finishing of houses they are of almost indispensable utility. The bark of some of them, as the hemlock and larch, is of great value in tanning, and from others are obtained the various kinds of pitch, tar, turpentine, resin and balsams,' The pines and firs have circles of branches in imperfect whorls around the trunk, and, as one of these whorls is formed each year, it is easy to calculate the age of young trees. In thick woods the lower whorls of branches soon decay for want of light and air, and this leaves a smooth trunk, which rises without a branch, like a beautiful shaft, for a hundred feet or more. "These trees are found everywhere except in the hot regions around the equator. The white pine is the most common, but in the evergreen woods of our own country it is mixed with pitch-pine and fir trees. In our Southern States there are thin forests, called pine-barrens, through which one can travel for miles on horseback. The white pine is easily distinguished by its leaves being in fives, by its very long cones, composed of loosely-arranged scales, and when young by the smoothness and delicate light-green color of the bark. It is known throughout New England by the name 'white pine,' which is given it on account of the whiteness of the wood. In England it is called the Weymouth pine. "Many very large trees are found in Maine, on the Penobscot River, but most of the largest and most valuable timber trees have been cut down. The lumberers, as they are called, are constantly hewing down the grand old trees for timber, white pine being the principal timber of New England and Canada." "And they float it down the rivers on rafts, don't they?" said Malcolm. "Won't you tell us about that, Miss Harson?" "Yes," was the reply.--"But do not look so expectant, Edie; it is not a story, dear, only a description of pine-cutting in the forests of Maine and Canada. But I should like you to know how these great trees are turned into timber, and you will see that, like many other necessary things, it is neither easy nor pleasant. We do not get much without hard work on the part of somebody: remember that. Now I will read: "'The business of procuring trees suitable for masts of ships is difficult and fatiguing. The pines which grew in the neighborhood of the rivers and in the most accessible places have all been cut down. Paths have now to be cleared with immense labor to the recesses of the forest, in order to obtain a fresh supply. This arduous employment is called "lumbering," and those who engage in it are "lumberers." The word "lumber," in its general sense, applies to all kinds of timber. But though many different trees, such as oak, ash and maple, are cut down, yet the main business is with the pines. And when a suitable plot of ground has been chosen for erecting a saw-mill,' to prepare the boards, 'it is called "pine-land," or a spot where the pine trees predominate. "'A body of wood-cutters unite to form what is called a "lumbering-party," and they are in the employ of a master-lumberman, who pays them wages and finds them in provisions. The provisions are obtained on credit and under promise of payment when the timber has been cut down and sold. If the timber meets with any accident in its passage down the river, the master-lumberman cannot make good the loss, and the shopkeeper loses his money. "'When the lumbering-party are ready to start, they take with them a supply of necessaries, and also what tools they will require, and proceed up the river to the heart of the forest. When they reach a suitable spot where the giant trees which are to serve for masts grow thick and dark, they get all their supplies on shore--their axes, their cooking-utensils and the casks of molasses'--and too often of whisky or rum, too, I am sorry to say--'that will be used lavishly. The molasses is used instead of sugar to sweeten the great draughts of tea--made, not from the product of China, but from the tops of the hemlock. "'The first thing to be done is to build some kind of shelter, for they must remain in the forest until spring, and the cold of those Northern winters is terrible. Their cabin--for it cannot be called by any better name--is built of logs of wood cut down on purpose and put together as rudely as possible. It is only five feet high, and the roof is covered with boards. There is a great blazing fire kept up day and night, for the frost is intense, and the provisions have to be kept in a deep place made in the ground under the cabin. The smoke of the fire goes out through a hole in the roof, and the floor is strewn with branches of fir, the only couch the poor hardworking lumberers have to rest upon. When night comes, they turn into the cabin to sleep, and lie with their feet to the fire. If a man chances to awaken, he instantly jumps up and throws fresh logs on the fire; for it is of the utmost importance not to let it go out. One of the men is the cook for the whole party, and his duty is to have breakfast ready before it is light in the morning. He prepares a meal of boiled meat and the hemlock tea sweetened with molasses, and the rest of the party partake heartily of both, and in some camps also of rum, under the mistaken notion that it helps them to bear the severe toil. When breakfast is over, they divide into several gangs. One gang cuts down the trees, another saws them in pieces, and the third gang is occupied in conveying them, by means of oxen, to the bank of the nearest stream, which is now frozen over. "'It is a hard winter for the lumbermen. The snow covers the ground until the middle of May, and the frost is often intense. But they toil through it, felling, sawing and conveying until a quantity of trees have been laid prostrate and made available for the market. Then, at last, the weather changes; the snow begins to melt and the streams and rills are set at liberty. The rivers flow briskly on and are much swollen with the melting snow, and the men say that the freshets have come down. "'Hard as their toil has been, the most difficult and fatiguing has yet to be encountered. The timber is collected on the banks of the river, and has now to be thrown into the water and made into rafts, so that it can be floated down to the nearest market-town. The water, filled with melting snow, is deadly cold and can scarcely be endured, but the men are in it from morning till night constructing the rafts, which are put together as simply as possible, and the smallest outlay made to suffice. The rafts are of different sizes, according to the breadth of the stream; and when all is ready, they are launched, and the convoy fairly sets out on its voyage. "'The great ugly masses of floating timber move slowly along under the care of a pilot, and the lumberers ride upon the rafts, often without shelter or protection from the weather. They guide themselves by long and powerful poles fixed on pivots, and which act as rudders. As they journey down the stream they sing and shout and make the utmost noise and riot. If there comes a storm or a change of weather, the pilot steers his convoy into some safe creek for the night, and secures it as best he can. "'Thus by degrees the raft reaches the place of destination, occasionally with some loss and damage to the timber. In this case the master-lumberer bears the loss, and is obliged to refund the expenses incurred as best he can. At any rate, the men are now paid off, and set out on foot for their homes.'" Malcolm was particularly delighted with this narrative of stirring activity, and even the little girls seemed very much interested in it. They were so sorry for the poor lumbermen who had such dreary winters off there in the Northern woods, and Clara wondered if they couldn't have warm comforters and mittens. "They probably have those things when they go into camp," said Miss Harson, "but they are likely to find them in the way of working, and to cast them aside.--Great ships are not built for nothing: even to get the timber in readiness costs heavy labor, but, after all, no doubt, the men get interested in it and enjoy its excitement. Fortunately for the many uses to which its timber is put, the white pine grows very rapidly, gaining from fifteen inches to three feet every year. In deep and damp old woods it is slower of growth; it is then almost without sap-wood and has a yellowish color like the flesh of the pumpkin. For this reason it is called 'pumpkin-pine.' The bark of young trees of the white-pine species is very smooth and of a reddish, bottle-green color. It is covered in summer with a pearly gloss. On old trunks the bark is less rough than that of any other pine. This tree has the spreading habit of the cedar of Lebanon. In addition to its grand and picturesque character, the white pine, says a lover of trees, may be 'regarded as a true symbol of benevolence. Under its outspread roof numerous small animals, nestling in the bed of dry leaves that cover the ground, find shelter and repose. The squirrel feeds upon the kernels obtained from its cones; the hare browses upon the trefoil'--clover--'and the spicy foliage of the _hypericum_'--St. John's wort--'which are protected in its shade; and the fawn reposes on its brown couch of leaves unmolested by the outer tempest. From its green arbors the quails are often roused in midwinter, where they feed upon the berries of the _Mitchella_ and the spicy wintergreen. Nature, indeed, seems to have specially designed this tree to protect her living creatures both in summer and in winter.'" "Hurrah for the white pine," said Malcolm, with great energy, "the grand old _American_ tree!" "I'm glad that the little birds and animals have such a nice home under it in winter," said Clara. "I'm glad too," added Edith, "but I wish we could find some and see how they look in their soft bed. Don't they ever put their heads out the least bit, Miss Harson?" "Not when they suspect that there is any one around, dear, and the little creatures are very sharp to find this out. Our heavenly Father, you know, takes thought for sparrows and all such helpless things, and they are fed and cared for without any thought of their own.--The white pine," she continued, "is truly a magnificent tree, but I think we shall find that the pitch-pine is also very useful." "That's the rough one," said Malcolm; "I remember how it looks, with little tufts sticking out along the trunk." "Yes," replied his governess, "and out authority says this tree is distinguished by its leaves being in threes--the white pine, you know, has them in _fives_--by the rigidity and sharpness of the scales of its cones, by the roughness of its bark, and by the denseness of the brushes of its stiff, crowded leaves. Its usual height is from forty to fifty feet, but it is sometimes much taller. The trunk is not only rough, but very dark in color; and from this circumstance the species is frequently called black pine. The wood is very hard and firm, and contains a quantity of resin. This is much more abundant in the branches than in the trunk, and the boards and other lumber of this wood are usually full of pitch-knots." "What are pitch-knots?" asked Clara. "'When a growing branch,'" read Miss Harson, "'is broken off, the remaining portion becomes charged with resin,' which is deposited by the resin-bearing sap of the tree, 'forming what is called a pitch-knot, extending sometimes to the heart. The same thing takes place through the whole heart of a tree when, full of juice, its life is suddenly destroyed.' 'Resin' is another name for turpentine, but is used of it commonly when hardened into a solid form. The tar is obtained by slowly burning splintered pine, both trunk and root, with a smothered flame, and collecting the black liquid, which is expelled by the heat and caught in cavities beneath the burning pile. Pitch is thickened tar, and is used in calking ships and for like purposes." "I am going to remember that," said Malcolm; "I could never make out what all those different things meant." "What are you thinking about so seriously, Clara?" asked her governess. "If it is a puzzle, let me see if I cannot solve it for you." "Well, Miss Harson, I was thinking of those brown leaves, or 'needles,' in the pine-woods, and it seems strange to say that the leaves of evergreens never fall off." "It would not only be strange, dear, but quite untrue, to say that; for the same leaves do not, of course, remain for ever on the tree. The deciduous trees lose their leaves in the autumn and are entirely bare until the next spring, but the evergreens, although they renew their leaves, too, are never left without verdure of some sort. Late in October you may see the yellow or brown foliage of the pines, then ready to fall, surrounding the branches of the previous year's growth, forming a whorl of brown fringe surmounted by a tuft of green leaves of the present year's growth. Their leaves always turn yellow before the fall." CHAPTER XIX. _GIANT AND NUT PINES_. Great was the surprise of Edith when Miss Harson gave the little sleeper a gentle shake and told her that it was time to be up. But the birds without the window told the same story, and the little maiden was soon at the breakfast-table and ready for the day's duties and enjoyments, including their "tree-talk." "Are there any more kinds of pine trees?" asked Malcolm. [Illustration: "AWAKE, LITTLE ONE!"] "Yes, indeed!--more than we can take up this summer," replied Miss Harson. "There is the Norway pine, or red pine, which in Maine and New Hampshire is often seen in forests of white and pitch pine. It has a tall trunk of eighty feet or so, and a smooth reddish bark. The leaves are in twos, six or eight inches long, and form large tufts or brushes at the end of the branchlets. The wood is strong and resembles that of the pitch-pine, but it contains no resin. The giant pines of California belong to a different species from any that we have been considering, and the genus, or order, in which they have been arranged is called _Sequoia_[19]. They are generally known, however, as the 'Big Trees.' In one grove there are a hundred and three of them, which cover a space of fifty acres, called 'Mammoth-Tree Grove.' One of the giants has been felled--a task which occupied twenty-two days. It was impossible to cut it down, in the ordinary sense of the term, and the men had to bore into it with augers until it was at last severed in twain. Even then the amazing bulk of the tree prevented it from falling, and it still kept its upright position. Two more days were employed in driving wedges into the severed part on one side, thus to compel the giant to totter and fall. The trunk was no less than three hundred and two feet in height and ninety-six in circumference. The stump, which was left standing, presented such a large surface that a party of thirty couples have danced with ease upon it and still left abundant room for lookers-on." [19] _Sequoia gigantea_. When the children had sufficiently exclaimed over the size of this huge tree, their governess continued: "It is thought that these trees must have been growing for more than two thousand years, which would make them probably two hundred years old at the birth of our Saviour. Does it not seem wonderful to think of? There are other groups of giant pines scattered on the mountains and in the forests, and some youthful giants about five hundred years old." "I suppose they are the babies of the family," said Clara; and this idea amused Edith very much. "There is still another kind of pine," said Miss Harson--"the Italian, or stone, pine. It is shaped almost exactly like an umbrella with a very long handle. The _Pinus pinea_ bears large cones, the seed of which is not only eatable, but considered a delicious nut. The cone is three years in ripening; it is then about four inches long and three wide, and has a reddish hue. Each scale of which the cone is formed is hollow at the base and contains a seed much larger than that of any other species. When the cone is ripe, it is gathered by the owners of the forest; and when thoroughly dried on the roof or thrown for a few minutes into the fire, it separates into many compartments, from each of which drops a smooth white nut in shape like the seed of the date. The shell is very hard, and within it is the fruit, which is much used in making sweetmeats. The stone-pine is found also in Palestine, and is supposed to be the cypress of the Bible. The author of _The Ride Through Palestine_[20] speaks of passing through a fine grove of the stone-pine, 'tall and umbrella-topped,' with dry sticks rising oddly here and there from the very tops of the trees. These sticks were covered with birdlime, to snare the poor bird which might be tempted to set foot on such treacherous supports; and if the cones were ripe, they would be quite sure to do it. Here is the picture, from the book just mentioned. Italian pine is a prettier name than stone-pine, and this is the name by which it is known to artists, who put it into almost every picture of Italian scenery. "'Much they admire that old religious tree With shaft above the rest upshooting free, And shaking, when its dark locks feel the wind, Its wealthy fruit with rough and massive rind.'" [20] Presbyterian Board of Publication. [Illustration: STONE-PINE--"FIR" _(Pinus maritima_)]. "But how queer it sounds to call fruit _wealthy_!" said Malcolm. "It is odd," replied his governess, "only because the word is not now used in that sense; but the fruit is wealthy both because of its abundance and because it can be put to so many uses. Let us see what is said of it: "'The kernels, or seeds, from the cones of the stone-pine have always been esteemed as a delicacy. In the old days of Rome and Greece they were preserved in honey, and some of the larders of the ill-fated city of Pompeii were amply stored with jars of this agreeable conserve, which were found intact after all those years. The kernels are also sugared over and used as _bonbons_. They enter into many dishes of Italian cookery, but great care has to be taken not to expose them to the air. They are usually kept in the cones until they are wanted, and will then retain their freshness for some years. The squirrels eagerly seek after the fruit of this pine and almost subsist upon it. They take the cone in their paws and dash out the seeds, thus scattering many of them and helping to propagate the tree. "'There is a bird called the crossbill that makes its nest in the pine. It fixes its nest in place by means of the resin of the tree and coats it with the same material, so as to render it impervious to the rain. The seeds from the cones form its chief food, and it extracts them with its curious bill, the two parts of which cross each other. It grasps the cone with its foot, after the fashion of a parrot, and digs into it with the upper part of its bill, which is like a hook, and forces out the seed with a jerk.'" [Illustration: PINE-CONE (_Pinus Sylvestris_.)] The children enjoyed this account very much, and they thought that stone-pine nuts--which they had never seen, and perhaps never would see--must be the most delicious nuts that ever grew. "What nice times the birds have," said Clara, "helping themselves to all the good things that other people can't reach!" "They are not exactly 'people,'" replied Miss Harson, laughing; "and, in spite of all these 'nice times,' you would not be quite willing to change with them, I think." No, on the whole, Clara was quite sure that she would not. CHAPTER XX. _MORE WINTER TREES: THE FIRS AND THE SPRUCES_. There were some beautiful evergreens on the lawn at Elmridge, and, although the foliage seemed dark in summer, it gave the place a very cheerful look in winter, when other trees were quite bare, while the birds flew in and out of them so constantly that spring seemed to have come long before it really did arrive. "This balsam-fir," said Miss Harson as they stood near a tall, beautiful tree that tapered to a point, "has, you see, a straight, smooth trunk and tapers regularly and rapidly to the top. You will notice, too, that the leaves, which are needle-shaped and nearly flat, do not grow in clusters, but singly, and that their color is peculiar. There are faint white lines on the upper part and a silvery-blue tinge beneath, and this silvery look is produced by many lines of small, shining resinous dots. The deep-green bark, striped with gray, is full of balsam, or resin, known as balm of Gilead or Canada balsam, and highly valued as a cure for diseases of the lungs. The long cones are erect, or standing, and grow thickly near the ends of the upper branches. They have round, bluish-purple scales, and the soft color has a very pretty effect on the tree. They ripen every year, and the lively little squirrel, as he is called, feasts upon them, as the crossbill does on the cones of the stone-pine. But the mischievous little animal also barks the boughs and gnaws off the tops of the leading shoots, so that many trees are injured and defaced by his depredations." [Illustration: AMERICAN WHITE SPRUCE.] "He _is_ a lively little squirrel," observed Malcolm. "How he does race! But he doesn't gnaw our trees, does he?" "No, I think not, for he prefers staying in the woods and fields; but fir-woods are his especial delight. Our balsam-fir is the American sister of the silver fir of Europe, both having bluish-green foliage with a silvery under surface, in a single row on either side of the branches, which curve gracefully upward at the ends. The tree has a peculiarly light, airy appearance until it is old, when there is little foliage except at the ends of the branches. The silver fir is one of the tallest trees on the continent of Europe, and it is remarkable for the beauty of its form and foliage and the value of its timber." "I know what this tree is," said Clara, turning to an evergreen of stately form and graceful, drooping branches that almost touched the ground: "it's Norway spruce. Papa told me this morning." [Illustration: THE NORWAY PINE.] "Yes," replied her governess, "and a beautiful tree it is, like the fir in many respects, but the bark is rougher and the cones droop. The branches, too, are lower and more sweeping. But the fir and the spruce are more alike than many sisters and brothers. The Scotch fir, about which there are many interesting things to be learned, is more rugged-looking, and the Norway spruce, which will bear studying too, is more grand and majestic." [Illustration: THE HEMLOCK SPRUCE.] "I know this one, Miss Harson," said little Edith as they came to a sweeping hemlock near the bay-window of the dining-room. "Yes, dear," was the reply; "Hemlock Lodge has made you feel very well acquainted with the tree after which it is named. It is one of the most beautiful of the evergreens, with its widely-spreading branches and their delicate, fringe-like foliage; but, although the branches are ornamental for church and house decoration, they are very perishable, and drop their small needles almost immediately when placed in a heated room. And now," continued the young lady, "we have come back to warm piazza-days again, and can have our talk in the open air." So on the piazza they speedily established themselves, with Miss Harson in the low, comfortable chair and her audience on the crimson cushions that had been piled up in a corner. "We shall find a great deal about the fir tree," said Miss Harson, "as it is very hardy and rugged, and as common in all Northern regions as the white birch--quite as useful, too, as we shall soon see. This rugged species--which is generally called the Scotch fir--is not so smooth and handsome as our balsam-fir, but it is a tree which the people who live near the great Northern forests of Europe could not easily do without. It belongs to the great pine family and is often called a pine, but in the countries of Great Britain especially it is called the Scotch fir. Although well shaped, it is not a particularly elegant-looking tree. The branches are generally gnarled and broken, and the style of the tree is more sturdy than graceful. The Scotch fir often grows to the height of a hundred feet, and the bark is of a reddish tinge. 'It is one of the most useful of the tribe, and, like the bountiful palm, confers the greatest blessing on the inhabitants of the country where it grows. It serves the peasants of the bleak, barren parts of Sweden and Lapland for food: their scanty supply of meal often runs short, and they go to the pine to eke it out. They choose the oldest and least resinous of the branches and take out the inner bark. They first grind it in a mill, and then mix it with their store of meal; after this it is worked into dough and made into cakes like pancakes. The bark-bread is a valuable addition to their slender resources, and sometimes the young shoots are used as well as the bark. Indeed, so largely is this store of food drawn upon that many trees have been destroyed, and in some places the forest is actually thinned." "They're as bad as the squirrels," said Malcolm. "But how I should hate to eat such stuff!" "It may not be so very bad," replied his governess. "Some people think that only white bread is fit to eat, but I think that Kitty's brown bread is rather liked in this family." The children all laughed, for didn't papa declare--with _such_ a sober face!--that they were eating him out of house and home in brown bread alone? Kitty, too, pretended to grumble because the plump loaves disappeared so fast, but she said to herself at the same time, "Bless their hearts! let 'em eat: it's better than a doctor's bill." "A great many other things besides pancakes are made from the tree," continued Miss Harson, "and the fresh green tops furnish very nice carpets." There was a faint "_Oh!_" at this, but, after all, it was not so surprising as the cakes had been. "They are scattered on the floors of houses as rushes used to be in old times in England, and thus they serve as carpet and prevent the mud and dirt that stick to the shoes of the peasants from staining the floor; and when trodden on, the leaves give out a most agreeable aromatic perfume." "I'd like that part," said Clara. [Illustration: THE BLUE SPRUCE.] "But you cannot have one part without taking it all; almost everything, you see, has a pleasant side.--'The peasant finds no limit to the use of the pine. Of its bark he makes the little canoe which is to carry him along the river; it is simple in its construction, and as light as possible. When he comes within safe distance of one of those gushing, foaming cataracts that he meets with in his course, he pushes his canoe to land and carries it on his shoulders until the danger is past; then he launches it again, and paddles merrily onward. Not a single nail is used in his canoe: the planks are tightly secured together by a natural cordage made of the roots of the pine. He splits them of the right thickness, and with very little preparation they form exactly the material he needs.'" Malcolm evidently had some idea of making a canoe of this kind, but he became discouraged when his governess reminded him that he could not cut down trees, and that his father would prefer having them left standing. It did not seem necessary to speak of any difficulties in the way of putting the boat together. "Another use for the fir is to light up the poor hut of the peasant. 'He splits up the branches into laths and makes them into torches. If he wants a light, he takes one of the laths and kindles it at the fire; then he fixes it in a rude frame, which serves him for a candlestick. The light is very brilliant while it lasts, but is soon spent, and he is in darkness again. The same use is made of the pine. It is no unusual circumstance, in the Scotch pine-woods, to come upon a tree with the trunk scooped out from each side and carried away: the cottager has been to fetch material for his candles. But this somewhat rough usage does not hurt the tree, and it continues green and healthy.' In our Southern States pine-fat with resin is called lightwood, and is used for the same purpose." "That's an easy way of getting candles," said Clara. "Easy, perhaps, compared with the trouble of moulding them," replied Miss Harson, "but I do not think we should fancy either way of preparing them." "Is there anything to tell about the spruce tree?" asked Malcolm. "It is too much like the fir," replied his governess, "to have any very distinct character; but there are species here, known as the white and black spruce, besides the hemlock." But the children thought that hemlock was hemlock: how did it come to be spruce? "Because it has the family features--leaves solitary and very short; cones pendulous, or hanging, with the scales thin at the edge; and the fruit ripens in a single year. The hemlock-spruce, as it is sometimes called, is, I think, the most beautiful of the family. 'It is distinguished from all the other pines by the softness and delicacy of its tufted foliage, from the spruce by its slender, tapering branchlets and the smoothness of its limbs, and from the balsam-fir by its small terminal cones, by the irregularity of its branches and the gracefulness of its whole appearance.' The delicate green of the young trees forms a rich mass of verdure, and at this season each twig has on the end a tuft of new leaves yellowish-green in color and making a beautiful contrast to the darker hue of last year's foliage. The bark of the trunk is reddish, and that of the smooth branches and small twigs is light gray. The branchlets are very small, light and slender, and are set irregularly on the sides of the small branches; so that they form a flat surface. This arrangement renders them singularly well adapted to the making of brooms--a use of the hemlock familiar to housekeepers in the country towns throughout New England. The leaves, which are extremely delicate and of a silvery whiteness on the under side, are arranged in a row on each side of the branchlets. The slender, thread-like stems on which they grow make them move easily with the slightest breath of wind, and this, with the silvery hue underneath, gives to the foliage a glittering look that is very pretty. But I think you all can tell me when the hemlock is prettiest?" "After a snow-storm," said Clara. "Don't we all look, almost the first thing, at the tree by the dining-room window?" "Yes," replied Miss Harson; "it is a beautiful sight with the snow lying on it in masses and the dark green of the leaves peeping through. 'The branches put forth irregularly from all parts of the trunk, and lie one above another, each bending over at its extremities upon the surface of those below, like the feathers upon the wings of a bird,' And soft, downy plumes they look, with the snow resting on them and making them more feathery than ever." "So they are like feathers?" said Malcolm, to whom this was a new idea, "I'll look for 'em the next time it snows; yet--" He was going to add that he wished it would snow to-morrow; but remembering that it was only the beginning of June, and that Miss Harson had shown them how each season has its pleasures, he stopped just in time. "The pretty little cones of the hemlock, which grow very thickly on the tree, have a crimson tinge at first, and turn to a light brown. They are found hanging on the ends of the small branches, and they fall during the autumn and winter. This tree is a native of the coldest parts of North America, where it is found in whole forests, and it flourishes on granite rocks on the sides of hills exposed to the most violent storms. The wood is firm and contains very little resin; it is much used for building-purposes. A great quantity of tannin is obtained from the bark; and when mixed with that of the oak, it is valuable for preparing leather. "We have taken the prettiest of the spruces first," continued Miss Harson, "and now we must see what are the differences between them. 'The two species of American spruce, the black and the white--or, as they are more commonly called, the double and the single--are distinguished from the fir and the hemlock in every stage of growth by the roughness of the bark on their branches, produced by little ridges running down from the base of each leaf, and by the disposition of the leaves, which are arranged in spirals equally on every side of the young shoots. The double is distinguished from the single spruce by the darker color of the foliage--whence its name of black spruce--by the greater thickness, in proportion to the length, of the cones, and by the looseness of its scales, which are jagged, or toothed, on the edge.' It is a well-proportioned tree, but stiff-looking, and the dark foliage, which never seems to change, gives it a gloomy aspect. The leaves are closely arranged in spiral lines. The black spruce is never a very large tree, but the wood is light, elastic and durable, and is valuable in shipbuilding, for making ladders and for shingles. The young shoots are much in demand for making spruce-beer. The white spruce is more slender and tapering, and the bark and leaves are lighter. The root is very tough, and the Canadian Indians make threads from the fibres, with which they sew together the birch-bark for their canoes. The wood is as valuable as that of the black spruce." "Does the Norway spruce come from Norway?" asked Clara. "Yes; that is its native land, where it presents its most grand and beautiful appearance. There it 'rivals the palm in stature, and even attains the height of one hundred and eighty feet. Its handsome branches spread out on every side and clothe the trunk to its base, while the summit of the tree ends in an arrow-like point. In very old trees the branches droop at the extremities, and not only rest upon the ground, but actually take root in it and grow. Thus a number of young trees are often seen clustering around the trunk of an old one.'" "Why, that's like the banyan tree," said Malcolm. "Only there is a difference in the manner of growth, for the branches of the banyan are some distance from the ground and send forth rootlets without touching it. The Norway spruce is also the great tree of the Alps, where it seems to match the majestic scenery. The timber is valuable for building; and when sawed into planks, it is called white deal, while that of the Scotch fir is red deal. "And now," said Miss Harson, "before we leave the firs, let us see what is said about them in the Bible. They were used for shipbuilding in the city of Tyre; for the prophet Ezekiel says, 'They have made all thy ship boards of fir trees of Senir[21],' and it is written that 'David and all the house of Israel played before the Lord on all manner of instruments made of firwood[22].' The same wood was used then in building houses, as you will find, Malcolm, by turning to the Song of Solomon, seventh chapter, seventeenth verse." [21] Ezek. xxvii. 5. [22] 2 Sam. vi. 5. "'The beams of our house are cedar, and our rafters of fir,'" read Malcolm. "In Kings it is said, 'So Hiram gave Solomon cedar trees and fir trees, according to his desire[23],' and these trees were to be used for the very house, or palace, of which the Jewish king speaks in his Song. Evergreens are often mentioned in the Bible, and in that beautiful Christmas chapter, the sixtieth of Isaiah, you will find the fir tree again.--Read the thirteenth verse, Clara." [23] I Kings v. 10. "'The glory of Lebanon shall come unto thee, the fir tree, the pine tree, and the box together, to beautify the place of my sanctuary; and I will make the place of my feet glorious.'--What is 'the glory of Lebanon,' Miss Harson?" "The cedar of Lebanon, dear; and we will now turn our attention to that and the other cedars." CHAPTER XXI. _THE CEDARS_. "The cypress tribe," said Miss Harson, "differ from the pines, or Coniferae, by not having their fruit in a true cone, but in a roundish head which consists of a small number of scales, sometimes forming a sort of berry. One of the most common of this family is the arbor vitae, or tree of life--a tree so small as to look like a pointed shrub, and more used for fences than for ornament. An arbor-vitae hedge, you know, divides our flower garden from the kitchen-garden and goes all the way down to the brook." "I like the smell of it," said Clara. "Don't you, Miss Harson?" [Illustration: SIBERIAN ARBOR VITAE] "Yes," was the reply, "there is something very fresh and pleasant about it; and when well kept, as John is sure to keep ours, it makes a beautiful hedge. As a tree it has been known to reach forty or fifty feet in height, with a trunk ten feet in circumference. The leaves are arranged in four rows, in alternately opposite pairs, and seem to make up the fan-like branchlets. These branchlets look like parts of a large compound, flat leaf. The bark is slightly furrowed, smooth to the touch, and very white when the tree stands exposed. The wood is reddish, somewhat odorous, very light, soft and fine-grained. In the northern part of the United States and in Canada it holds the first place for durability." "I thought the cypress was a flower," said Malcolm. "So one kind of cypress is," replied his governess--"the blossom of an airy-looking and beautiful creeper; but the name also belongs to a family of trees. The white cedar, or cypress, is a very graceful tree which generally grows in swamps. 'It is entirely free from the stiffness of the pines, and to the spiry top of the poplar it unites the airy lightness of the hemlock. The trunk is straight and tall, tapering very gradually, and toward the top there are short irregular branches, forming a small but beautiful head, above which the leading shoot waves like a slender plume.' The leaves are very small and scale-like, with sharp points, and grow in four rows on the ends of the branchlets, giving them the appearance of large compound leaves. The wood is very durable, and is used for many building-purposes. It is generally of a faint rose-color, and always keeps its aromatic odor." [Illustration: IRISH JUNIPER.] "Is that what our cedar-chests are made of to keep the moths from our winter clothes?" asked Clara. "Yes," replied Miss Harson, "but the name 'cedar' is; not correct, though it is one commonly given to this tree. The wood of the European cypress is also used for many purposes where strength and durability are required, for it really seems never to wear out. This tree is described as tapering and cone-like, with upright branches growing close to the trunk, and in its general appearance a little resembling a poplar. Its frond-like branches are closely covered with very small sharp-pointed leaves of a yellow-green color, smooth and shining, and they remain on the tree five or six years. The cypress is often seen in burying-grounds in Europe, and in Turkey it often stands at each end of a grave. The oldest tree in Europe is thought to be an Italian cypress said to have been planted in the year of our Saviour's birth; it is an object of great reverence in the neighborhood. This ancient tree is a hundred and twenty feet high and twenty-three feet around the trunk. "The juniper--or red cedar, as it is improperly called--is not a handsome tree, but it is a very useful one. It has a scraggy, stunted look, and the foliage is apt to be rusty; but it will grow in rocky, sandy places where no other tree would even try to hold up its head, and the wood, when made into timber, lasts for a great many years. Posts for fences are made of the juniper or red cedar, and the shipbuilder, boatbuilder, carpenter, cabinet-maker and turner are all steady customers for it. The 'cedar-apples' found on this tree are one phase of the life of a very curious fungus. They are covered with a reddish-brown bark; and when fresh, they are tough and fleshy, somewhat like an unripe apple. When dry they become of a woody nature." "They pucker up your mouth awfully," said Malcolm, who had made several attempts to eat them; but, do what he would, he could not even "make believe" they were nice. "I have no doubt of it," was the reply, "remembering the dreadful faces I have seen on some of our rambles. But the birds like them, as they do everything of the kind that is not poisonous." * * * * * "Isn't it beautiful?" exclaimed the children, in delight. They were admiring a magnificent cedar of Lebanon in one of the pictures which Miss Harson had collected for their benefit, and it seemed no wonder that the grand spreading tree should be called "the glory of Lebanon." "It is indeed beautiful," replied their governess; "and think of seeing a whole mountain covered with such trees! A traveler speaks of them as the most solemnly impressive trees in the world, and says that their massive trunks, clothed with a scaly texture almost like the skin of living animals and contorted with all the irregularities of age, may well have suggested those ideas of royal, almost divine, strength and solidity which the sacred writers ascribe to them.--Turn to the ninety-second psalm, Clara, and read the twelfth verse." "'The righteous shall flourish like the palm tree; he shall grow like a cedar in Lebanon.'" "In the thirty-first chapter of Ezekiel," continued Miss Harson, "it is written, 'Behold, the Assyrian was a cedar in Lebanon with fair branches, and with a shadowing shroud, and of an high stature; and his top was among the thick boughs. The waters made him great, the deep set him up on high with her rivers running round about his plants, and sent out her little rivers unto all the trees of the field. Therefore his height was exalted above all the trees of the field and his boughs were multiplied, and his branches became long because of the multitude of waters, when he shot forth. All the fowls of heaven made their nests in his boughs, and under his branches did all the beasts of the field bring forth their young, and under his shadow dwelt all great nations.'" [Illustration: CEDAR OF LEBANON.] "Are the leaves like those of our cedar trees?" asked Malcolm, who was studying the picture quite intently. "The tree doesn't look like 'em." "They are somewhat like them," replied his governess, "being slender and straight and about an inch long. They grow in tufts, and in the centre of some of the tufts there is a small cone which is very pretty and often brought to this country by travelers for their friends at home. In _The Land and the Book_ there is a picture of small branches with cones, and the author says of the cedar: 'There is a striking peculiarity in the shape of this tree which I have not seen any notice of in books of travel. The branches are thrown out horizontally from the parent trunk. These again part into limbs, which preserve the same horizontal direction, and so on down to the minutest twigs; and even the arrangement of the clustered leaves has the same general tendency. Climb into one, and you are delighted with a succession of verdant floors spread around the trunk and gradually narrowing as you ascend. The beautiful cones seem to stand upon or rise out of this green flooring.' The same writer says that by examining the different growths of wood inside the trunk of one of the trees these ancient cedars of Lebanon have been proved to be three thousand five hundred years old." "Oh, Miss Harson!" exclaimed her audience; "could any tree be as old as that?" "It is possible. The circle of growing wood which is made each year is a pretty good method of telling the age of a tree, and these cedars of Lebanon are considered the oldest trees in the world. Travelers have always spoken of the beauty and symmetry of these trees, with their widespreading branches and cone-like tops. All through the Middle Ages a visit to the cedars of Lebanon was regarded by many persons in the light of a pilgrimage. Some of the trees were thought to have been planted by King Solomon himself, and were looked upon as sacred relics. Indeed, the visitors took away so many pieces from the bark that it was feared the trees would be destroyed. The cedars stand in a valley a considerable way up the mountain, where the snow renders it inaccessible for part of the year." "Are the trees just in one particular place, then?" asked Malcolm. "I thought they grew all over that country?" "The principal and best-known grove of very large and ancient cedars of Lebanon is found in one place," replied his governess, "but there are other groves now known to exist. The famous grove was fast disappearing, until there were but few of them left. The pilgrims who went to visit them in such numbers in olden times were accompanied by monks from a monastery about four miles below, who would beseech them not to injure a single leaf. But the greatest care could not preserve the trees. Some of them have been struck down by lightning, some broken by enormous loads of snow, and others torn to fragments by tempests. Some have even been cut down with axes like any common tree. But better care is now taken of them; so that we may hope that the grove will live and increase." "But why weren't they saved," asked Clara, "when people thought so much of them?" "It seems to be a part of the general desolation of the land of God's chosen but rebellious people. In the third chapter of the prophet Isaiah, verses eleven and twelve, it is said, 'For the day of the Lord of hosts shall be upon every one that is proud and lofty, and upon every one that is lifted up; and he shall be brought low; and upon all the cedars of Lebanon, that are high and lifted up, and upon all the oaks of Bashan.' The same prophet says, in the tenth chapter and nineteenth verse, 'And the rest of the trees of his forest shall be few, that a child may write them.' These words have been particularly applied to the stately cedars of Lebanon, for 'the once magnificent grove is but a speck on the mountain-side. Many persons have taken it in the distance for a wood of fir trees, but on approaching nearer and taking a closer view the cedars resume somewhat of their ancient majesty. The space they cover is not more than half a mile, but, once amidst them, the beautiful fan-like branches overhead, the exquisite green of the younger trees and the colossal size of the older ones fill the mind with interest and admiration. Within the grove all is hushed as in a land of the past. Where once the Tyrian workman plied his axe and the sound of many voices came upon the ear, there are now the silence and solitude of desertion and decay.'--Malcolm," added his governess, "you may read us what is written in the sixth verse of the fourteenth chapter of Hosea." "'His branches,'" read Malcolm, "'shall spread, and his beauty shall be as the olive tree, and his smell as Lebanon.' What does that mean, Miss Harson?" "It means the fragrant resin which exudes from both the trunk and the cones of the beautiful cedar. It is soft, and its fragrance is like that of the balsam of Mecca. 'Everything about this tree has a strong balsamic odor, and hence the whole grove is so pleasant and fragrant that it is delightful to walk in it. The wood is peculiarly adapted for building, because it is not subject to decay, nor is it eaten of worms. It was much used for rafters and for boards with which to cover houses and form the floors and ceilings of rooms. It was of a red color, beautiful, solid and free from knots. The palace of Persepolis, the temple of Jerusalem and Solomon's palace were all in this way built with cedar, and the house of the forest of Lebanon was perhaps so called from the quantity of this wood used in its construction.' We are told in First Kings that Solomon 'built also the house of the forest of Lebanon[24],' and that 'he made three hundred shields of beaten gold' and 'put them in the house of the forest of Lebanon[25].' All the drinking-vessels, too, of this wonderful palace, which is always spoken of as 'the house of the forest of Lebanon,' were of pure gold, and its magnificence shows how highly the beautiful cedar-wood was valued." [24] I Kings vii. 2. [25] I Kings x. 17. CHAPTER XXII. _THE PALMS_. "There is a wonderful evergreen," said Miss Harson, "which grows in tropical countries, and also in some sub-tropical countries, such as the Holy Land, and is said to have nearly as many uses as there are days in a year. You must tell me what it is when you have seen the picture." [Illustration: PALM TREE.] Malcolm and Clara both pronounced it a palm tree, and Clara asked if there were any such trees growing in this country. "Some of its relations are found on our Southern seacoast," replied their governess; "South Carolina, you know, is called 'the Palmetto State.' There is a member of the family called the cabbage-palmetto, the unexpanded leaves of which are used as a table vegetable, which you may see in Florida. Its young leaves are all in a mass at the top, and when boiled make a dish something like cabbage. The leaves of the palmetto are also used, when perfect, in the manufacture of hats, baskets and mats, and for many other purposes. But its stately and majestic cousin, the date-palm of the East, with its tall, slender stalk and magnificent crown of feathery leaves, has had its praises sung in every age and clime. 'Besides its great importance as a fruit-producer, it has a special beauty of its own when the clusters of dates are hanging in golden ripeness under its coronal of dark-green leaves. Its well-known fruit affords sustenance to the dwellers on the borders of the great African desert; it is as necessary to them as is the camel, and in many cases they may be said to owe their existence to it alone. The tree rears its column-like stem to the height of ninety feet, and its crown consists of fifty leaves about twelve feet in length and fringed at the edges like a feather. Between the leaf and the stem there issue several horny spathes, or sheaths, out of which spring clusters of panicles that bear small white flowers,' These flowers are followed by the dates, which grow in a dense bunch that hangs down several feet." "But how do people manage to climb such a tree as that," asked Malcolm, "to get the dates? It goes straight up in the air without any branches, and looks as if it would snap in two if any one tried it." "It does not snap, though, for it is very strong; and the climbing is easier than you imagine, even when the tree is a hundred feet high, as it sometimes is. The trunk, you see, is full of rugged knots. These projections are the remains of decayed leaves which have dropped off when their work was done. As the older leaves decay the stalk advances in height. It has not true wood, like most trees, but the stem has bundles of fibres that are closely pressed together on the outer part. Toward the root these are so entwined that they become as hard as iron and are very difficult to cut. The tree grows very slowly, but it lives for centuries. I have a Persian fable in rhyme for you, called "'THE GOURD AND THE PALM. "'"How old art thou?" said the garrulous gourd As o'er the palm tree's crest it poured Its spreading leaves and tendrils fine, And hung a-bloom in the morning shine. "A hundred years," the palm tree sighed.-- "And I," the saucy gourd replied, "Am at the most a hundred hours, And overtop thee in the bowers." "'Through all the palm tree's leaves there went A tremor as of self-content. "I live my life," it whispering said, "See what I see, and count the dead; And every year of all I've known A gourd above my head has grown And made a boast like thine to-day, Yet here I stand; but where are they?"'" The children were very much pleased with the fable, and they began to feel quite an affection for the venerable and useful palm tree. "The date tree," continued their governess, "as this species of palm is often called, blossoms in April, and the fruit ripens in October. Each tree produces from ten to twelve bunches, and the usual weight of a bunch is about fifteen pounds. It is esteemed a crime to fell a date tree or to supply an axe intended for that purpose, even though the tree may belong to an enemy. The date-harvest is expected with as much anxiety by the Arab in the oasis as the gathering in of the wheat and corn in temperate regions. If it were to fail, the Arabs would be in danger of famine. The blessings of the date-palm are without limit to the Arab. Its leaves give a refreshing shade in a region where the beams of the sun are almost insupportable; men, and also camels, feed upon the fruit; the wood of the tree is used for fuel and for building the native huts; and ropes, mats, baskets, beds, and all kinds of articles, are manufactured from the fibres of the leaves. The Arab cannot imagine how a nation can exist without date-palms, and he may well regard it as the greatest injury that he can inflict upon his enemy to cut down his trees." "Miss Harson," asked Edith, very earnestly, "isn't the palm tree in the Bible?" [Illustration: DATE-PALM AT JERICHO.] "It certainly is, dear," replied her governess, "and it is one of the trees most frequently mentioned. In Deuteronomy, thirty-fourth chapter, third verse, Jericho is called the 'city of palm trees.' Travelers still speak of these trees as yet growing in Palestine, but they are not nearly so abundant as they once were; near Jericho only one or two can be found. There are many allusions to the palm in the Scriptures. King David, in the ninety-second psalm, says that the righteous shall flourish like the palm tree: 'Those that be planted in the house of the Lord shall flourish in the courts of our God. They shall bring forth fruit in old age.' The palm is always upright, in spite of rain or wind. 'There it stands, looking calmly down upon the world below, and patiently yielding its large clusters of golden fruit from generation to generation. It brings forth fruit in old age.' The allusion to being planted in the house of the Lord is probably drawn from the custom of planting beautiful and long-lived trees in the courts of temples and palaces. Solomon covered all the walls of the holy of holies round about with golden palm trees.--You will find this, Clara, in First Kings." Clara read: "'And he carved all the walls of the house round about with carved figures of cherubim and palm trees and open flowers, within and without[26].'" [26] I Kings vi. 29. "In the thirty-second verse," continued Miss Harson, "it is written that he overlaid them with gold, 'and spread gold upon the cherubim, and upon the palm trees.' 'They were thus planted, as it were, within the very house of the Lord; and their presence there was not only ornamental, but appropriate and highly suggestive--the very best emblem not only of patience in well-doing, but of the rewards of the righteous, a fat and flourishing old age, a peaceful end, a glorious immortality.'" "What does a 'palmer' mean, Miss Harson?" asked Malcolm. "Is it a man who has palm trees or who sells dates? I saw the word in a book I was reading, but I couldn't understand what it meant." "In olden times," replied his governess, "when people made so many pilgrimages, some of the pilgrims went to the Holy Land and some to Rome and other places; but those who went to Palestine were thought to be the most devout, both because it was so much farther off and because there were so many sacred spots to visit there. These pilgrims always brought home with them branches of palm, to show that they had really been to the land where the tree grew; and so they were called _palmers_. To say that such-a-one was a palmer was far more than to say that he was a pilgrim." "Miss Harson," said Clara, holding up one of the books, "here is a picture called 'the cocoanut-palm,' but I didn't know that cocoanuts grew on palm trees. Will you tell us something about it?" [Illustration: COCOANUT-PALM TREES IN SOUTH-EASTERN AFRICA.] "Certainly I will, dear," was the reply. "I fully intended to do so, for the cocoanut-palm is too valuable a member of the family to be passed over. This species does not grow in Palestine, and it is not one of the trees of the Bible; its home is in the warmest countries, and it grows most luxuriantly in the islands of the tropics or near the seacoast on the main-lands. Although its general form is similar to that of the date-palm, the foliage and fruit are quite different. The leaves are very much broader, and they have not the light, airy look of the foliage of the date-palm. But 'the cocoanut-palm is the most valuable of Nature's gifts to the inhabitants of those parts of the tropics where it grows, and its hundred uses, as they are not inaptly called, extend beyond the tropics over the civilized world. The beautiful islands of the southern seas are fringed with cocoanut-palms that encircle them as with a green and feathery belt. The ripe nuts drop into the sea, but, protected by their husks, they float away until the tide washes them on to the shore of some neighboring island, where they can take root and grow.'" "Wouldn't it be nice," said Edith, "if some would float here?" "A great many cocoanuts float here in ships," replied Miss Harson, "but they would not take root and grow, because the climate is not suited to them; it is too cold for them. We cannot have tropical fruit without tropical heat, and I am sure that none of us would want such a change as that. You may sometimes see small cocoanut trees in hothouses or horticultural gardens, where they are shielded from our cold air. The island of Ceylon, in the East Indies, is full of cocoanut-palm trees, for they are carefully cultivated by the inhabitants, and the feathery groves stretch mile after mile. The tree shoots up a column-like stem to the height of a hundred feet, and is crowned with a tuft of broad leaves about twelve feet long. The flowers are yellowish white and grow in clusters, and the seed ripens into a hard nut which in its fibrous husk is about the size of an infant's head." "I've seen the nut in its husk," said Malcolm, "when papa took me down to the wharf where the ships come in. There were lots of cocoanuts, and some of 'em had their coats on." "This brown husk," continued his governess, "is a valuable part of the nut, for the toughest ropes and cables are made of its fibres, as well as the useful brown matting so generally used to cover offices and passages. Brushes, nets and other domestic articles are also manufactured from the husk. Scarcely any other tree in the world is so useful to man or contributes so much to his comfort as the cocoanut-palm. Food and drink are alike obtained from it. The kernel of the nut is an article of diet, and can be prepared in many ways. The native is almost sustained by it, and in Ceylon it forms a part of nearly every dish. The spathe that encloses the yet-unopened flowers is made to yield a favorite beverage called palm-wine, or, more familiarly, 'toddy.' When the fresh juice is used, it is an innocent and refreshing drink; but when left to ferment, it intoxicates, and is the one evil result from the bountiful gifts of the tree. Oil is prepared in great quantities from the nuts and used for various purposes." "Are there any more kinds of palm trees?" asked the children. "Yes," was the reply; "there are a great many members of this most useful family, but the one that will interest you most, after the date-and cocoanut-palm, is, I think, the sago-palm." [Illustration: YOUNG COCOANUT TREE IN POT (_Cocos nucifera_).] "Why, Miss Harson!" exclaimed Clara, in surprise; "does sago really grow on a tree?" "It really grows _in_ a tree--for it is a kind of starch secreted by the tree for the use of its flowers and fruit--and in order to obtain it the tree has to be cut down. The pith is then taken out and cut in slices, soaked in water and roasted; and when it assumes the shape of the small globules in which we see it, it is ready for exportation." "Well!" said Malcolm; "I never knew _that_ before. We've learned ever so many things, Miss Harson." "There is one thing about the palm," said Miss Harson, "which I have purposely left for the last--especially as it is the last also of our trees for the present--and that is the sacred associations which its branches have for both Jews and Christians. The Jews were commanded on the first day of the feast of tabernacles to 'take the boughs of goodly trees, branches of palm trees, and the boughs of thick trees, and willows of the brook, to rejoice before the Lord their God.' The palm was a symbol of victory, and branches of it were strewn in the path of conquerors, more especially of those who had fought for religious truth. It is the emblem of the martyr, as a conqueror through Christ. The Sunday before Easter is called Palm Sunday because in the ancient churches leaves of palm were carried that day by worshipers in memory of those strewn in the way on the triumphal entry of the King of Zion into Jerusalem. You will find it, Malcolm, in John." Malcolm read very reverently: "'On the next day, much people that were come to the feast, when they heard that Jesus was coming to Jerusalem, took branches of palm trees, and went forth to meet him, and cried, Hosanna; Blessed is the King of Israel that cometh in the name of the Lord[27].'" [27] John xii. 12, 13. "Here," said Miss Harson, "is a little hymn written on these very verses: "'See a small procession slowly Toward the temple wind its way; In the midst rides, meek and lowly, One whom angel-hosts obey. "'How the shouting crowd adore him, Now, for once, they know their King; Some their garments cast before him, Green palm-branches others bring. "'Calmly, yet with holy sorrow, Christ permits the sacrifice. Knowing well that on the morrow Changed will be those fickle cries. * * * * * "'Children, when in prayers and praises Loudly we with lips adore, While the heart no anthem raises, Are not we like those of yore? "'O Lord Jesus, let us never Lift the voice in heartless songs; Help us to remember ever All that to thy name belongs.'" 
31994	----	Transcriber's Note The punctuation and spelling from the original text have been faithfully preserved. FORESTS OF MOUNT RAINIER NATIONAL PARK [Illustration] DEPARTMENT OF THE INTERIOR OFFICE OF THE SECRETARY 1916 For sale by the Superintendent of Documents, Government Printing Office, Washington, D.C. Price, 20 cents. PUBLICATIONS ON MOUNT RAINIER NATIONAL PARK SOLD BY THE SUPERINTENDENT OF DOCUMENTS. Remittances for these publications should be by money order, payable to the Superintendent of Documents, Government Printing Office, Washington, D.C., or in cash. Checks and postage stamps can not be accepted. Features of the Flora of Mount Rainier National Park, by J.B. Flett. 1916. 48 pages, including 40 illustrations. 25 cents. Contains descriptions of the flowering trees and shrubs in the park. Mount Rainier and Its Glaciers, by F.E. Matthes. 1914. 48 pages, including 26 illustrations. 15 cents. Contains a general account of the glaciers of Mount Rainier and of the development of the valleys and basins surrounding the peak. Panoramic view of Mount Rainier National Park, 20 by 19 inches, scale 1 mile to the inch. 25 cents. THE FORESTS OF MOUNT RAINIER NATIONAL PARK. By G.F. ALLEN, _United States Forest Service_. GENERAL STATEMENT. The remarkable development of the forests about the base of Mount Rainier results from climatic conditions peculiarly favorable to tree growth. The winters are mild and short. The ocean winds that pass through the gaps of the Coast Range are laden with moisture which falls in the form of rain or snow on the west slope of the Cascades. The trees are nourished by this moisture through a long season of annual growth, and form an evergreen forest which is, in some respects, the most remarkable in the world. This forest, distinguished by the extraordinary size and beauty of the trees and by the density of the stand, extends into the deep valleys of the rivers which have their sources in the glaciers. On the dividing ridges and in the upper stream basins the composition and character of the forest change with the increasing severity of the climate. The distribution of the different species of trees according to the intervals of altitude at which they occur separate the forests of the Mount Rainier National Park into different types. The lines of separation are to some extent also determined by complex conditions of slope, exposure, and moisture. The successive forest belts are uniform in the composition of their central areas, but blend and overlap where they come together. The low valleys of the main and west forks of White River, of the Carbon, the Mowich, the Nisqually, and the Ohanopecosh are covered with a dense and somber forest of fir, hemlock, and cedar. The trees, pushing upward for light, are very tall and free from limbs for more than half their height. Their tops form a continuous cover which the sunshine rarely penetrates, and on which the light snows of early winter fall and melt, without reaching the ground. Even in midsummer the light is soft and shaded, and the air cool and humid. In the wintertime the young growth is sheltered from wind and the severity of the cold is tempered by the protecting mountain ranges. Saved from fire by the uniform dampness of the air the trees grow until they decay and fall from old age. They are succeeded by the suppressed younger trees. The forest remains mature, not uniformly sound and vigorous, yet not decreasing as a whole in size and volume. Individuals perish, but the character of the forest is constant. The deep alluvial soil covered with moss and decayed vegetation nourishes a luxuriant tangled undergrowth of vine maple, willow, and devil's-club. The forest floor is covered with a deep layer of decayed vegetation and is encumbered with fallen and mossy logs and upturned stumps. The explorer who leaves the trails must be a strong and active man if he can carry his pack 6 or 8 miles in a long summer day. Ascending from the river bottoms to the lower slopes of the dividing ridges the forest becomes more open and the trees are smaller. Salal, Oregon grape, and huckleberry bushes take the place of the taller undergrowth of the valleys. Up to 3,000 feet the Douglas fir and the hemlock still are the dominant species. Above this altitude new species are found intermingled with the trees typical of the lowland, but forming a distinct forest type. The noble and amabilis fir appear, sometimes growing in pure stands, but more often associated with the Douglas fir and western hemlock at the lower limits of the type, and with alpine fir and mountain hemlock at the upper limit. Nearly all the trees of this type have deep and wide-spreading roots which serve to hold in place the surface deposit of volcanic pumice which covers the slopes of the mountain. Evidence afforded by the after effects of forest fires in other parts of the Cascades indicates that the destruction of the forest on the mountain sides is followed by erosion. Heavy rains and the melting of the upper snow banks by warm Chinook winds combine to produce a surface run-off that denudes the steeper declivities down to the underlying bedrock. At elevations above 4,500 feet the lowland trees have disappeared entirely. Subalpine species adapted to withstand the burden of deep snow take their place. Mountain hemlock, alpine fir, and Engelmann spruce grow singly and in scattered groups or form open groves alternating with grassy parks and rocky ridges. The symmetrical outline of the slender pyramidal crowns and rapidly tapering trunks of the spruce and alpine fir trees that stand singly on the greensward of the open parks bring to mind the closely trimmed cultivated evergreens that adorn city parks and lawns. Their lower branches reach the ground and the tops terminate in slender upright spires. As timber line is approached tree growth is confined to dwarfed and flattened mountain hemlocks, alpine firs, and the white-bark pines firmly rooted among the crevices of the rocks. The extreme limit of tree growth on Mount Rainier is 7,600 feet above sea level. There is no well-defined timber line. Scattered clumps of low stunted trees occur up to 7,000 feet. A few very small and flattened mountain hemlocks grow above this elevation. A very large part of the area above 4,500 feet consists of glaciers, talus slopes, barren rocky peaks, and open parks. Basins at the heads of canyons in the high mountains are usually treeless, on account of the great depth of snow which accumulates in them during the winter. On the steep, smooth upper inclines the snow banks frequently slip and form slides which acquire momentum as they rush down the mountain side and break and carry away large trees. Repeated snowslides in the same place keep the slopes nonforested, and their track is marked by light green strips of brush and herbage. The transition of the forest from its lowland to its extreme alpine type is one of the most interesting features of a visit to the mountain. Entering the park at the western boundary close to the Nisqually River the road skirts the base of the lightly timbered spurs and passes into a forest of large and old Douglas fir and western hemlock. Red cedars grow along the streams that cross the road. Little yew trees and vine maples mingle with the young conifers that form the undergrowth; the gloom of the forest is occasionally relieved by the white bark of alders and the smooth gray stems of the cottonwoods that grow on the sandy bank of the Nisqually. After the road crosses the Rainier Fork, noble fir and amabilis fir appear, but the Douglas fir and western hemlock are still the prevailing species. Above Longmire Springs the noble and amabilis fir, mixed with western hemlock, become the dominant type. The trees are shorter and the branches heavier. Mountain ash and yellow cypress grow on the margin of the mountain streams. Huckleberry bushes take the place of the taller undergrowth of the valley. Above Narada Falls the forest is more open, and the trees are still smaller. Mountain hemlock and alpine fir succeed the trees of the lower slope. Little glades and mountain meadows are seen. They become larger and more numerous and the traveler soon enters the open park of Paradise Valley, in which are but scattered groves of trees. The same successive altitudinal types are met in ascending to Moraine and Grand Parks by way of the Carbon Valley, and in following the Mowich watershed, Crater Lake, and Spray Park routes. Approaching the park from the east the routes pass through open western yellow pine forests and western larch stands. Since Mount Rainier is west of and apart from the summit line, these species which are peculiar to the eastern slope are not found within the limits of the park. EFFECTS OF FIRE. [Illustration: FIG. 1.--Whitened spectral monuments of a former forest which was swept by a severe forest fire in 1885. Taken along the road to Camp of the Clouds at an altitude of 5,500 feet. Photograph by A.H. Barnes.] Notwithstanding the shortness of the summer season at high altitudes, the subalpine forests in some parts of the park have suffered severely from fire (fig. 1). The bare white trunks of fire-killed amabilis and alpine firs bear witness to numerous fires which occurred from time to time before the regulations governing the park went into effect. The little resin pockets in the bark of these trees blaze fiercely for a short time and the heat separates the bark from the trunk. In this way the tree is killed, although the naked trunk is left untouched by fire. The destruction of the alpine forest in this way is often erroneously attributed to disease or to the depredations of insects. There has been little apparent change in the alpine burns within the last 30 years. Reforestation at high altitudes is extremely slow. The seed production is rather scanty and the ground conditions are not favorable for its reproduction. It will take more than one century for nature to replace the beautiful groves which have been destroyed by the carelessness of the first visitors to the mountain. At low elevations the forest recovers more rapidly from the effects of fire. Between the subalpine areas and the river valleys there are several large ancient burns which are partly reforested. The most extensive of these tracts is the Muddy Fork burn. It is crossed by the Stevens Canyon Trail from Reflection Lakes through the Ohanopecosh Hot Springs. This burn includes an area of 20 square miles in the park and extends north nearly to the glaciers and south for several miles beyond the park boundary nearly to the main Cowlitz River. The open sunlit spaces and wide outlooks afforded by reforested tracts of this character present a strong contrast to the deep shades and dim vistas of the primitive forest. On the whole they have a cheerful and pleasing appearance, very different from the sad, desolate aspect of the alpine burns which less kindly conditions of climate and exposure have kept from reforestation. The original forest was fire killed many years before the coming of the white man. A few naked and weather beaten stubs are still standing. Only the larger of the fallen trunks remain, and these are rotten except for a few seasoned and weatherworn shells. The second growth is of all ages, from seedlings to trees 12 to 14 inches in diameter. Vine maple, willow, and mountain ash have sprung up along the streams and the hillsides are covered with huckleberry bushes and a variety of grasses and flowering plants. Similar old burns are found on the ridge between Huckleberry Creek and White River, in the northeastern part of the park, and on the ridge between Tahoma Creek and Kautz Creek below Henrys Hunting Ground. The old burns in the middle altitudes of the park occupy regions once frequented by the Klickitat Indians. Every summer parties of hunters and berry pickers from the sagebrush plains crossed the Cascades with their horses. They followed the high divides and open summits of the secondary ridges until they came around to the open parks about Mount Rainier where they turned their horses out to graze and made their summer camp. The woman picked huckleberries and the men hunted deer and goats. They made great fires to dry their berries and kindled smudges to protect their horses from flies. It was also their custom to systematically set out fires as they returned. Burning made the country better for the Indians. The fires kept down the brush and made it more accessible. Deer could be more easily seen and tracked and the huckleberry patches spread more widely over the hills. No considerable part of the lower forests of the park has been burned. The principal danger is from lightning. However, few of the trees struck are ignited and these fires are usually extinguished by the rain. On account of the coolness of the air and its greater humidity the fire danger in the forests on the lower slopes of Mount Rainier seems much less than it is in corresponding situations in the main range of the Cascades. AGE AND DIMENSIONS OF TREES. Trees grow more rapidly at low altitudes than at higher and cooler elevations. Under similar conditions some species increase in size faster than others, but the rate of growth depends principally upon environment. The average increase at the stump in valley land is about 1 inch in 6 years. A Douglas fir growing along the stage road between the park boundary and Longmire's, at the age of 90 to 120 years may have a breast diameter of 20 inches and yield 700 feet of saw timber. But many of the trees of this size may be much older on account of having grown in the shade or under other adverse conditions. The trees between 200 and 300 years of age are often 40 to 50 inches in diameter and may yield an average of from 2,700 to 5,500 board feet. The largest Douglas firs are sometimes over 400 years old and 60 to 70 inches in diameter. Such trees when sound will produce over 8,000 feet of lumber. The western red cedar has a shorter and more tapering trunk and its volume in board feet is proportionally smaller. A tree 50 inches in diameter and 175 feet high contains about 3,400 board feet. The size of the trees decreases rapidly at higher elevations. In the subalpine forest the annual growth is very small. At elevations of 6,000 feet the white-bark pine requires 200 years to attain a diameter of 10 or 12 inches. The annual rings are so close together that they can not be distinguished without a magnifying glass. DESCRIPTIONS OF SPECIES. DOUGLAS FIR (PSEUDOTSUGA TAXIFOLIA). The Douglas fir (figs. 2, 3, 4, and 5) is the best known and the most important timber tree of western North America. It is found from British Columbia southward to northern Mexico. The finest forests occur in Oregon and Washington at low elevations. The Douglas fir is common in the park up to 3,500 feet, sometimes in nearly pure stands, but more often mixed with other species. It grows in all situations. In the higher mountains it prefers warm southern exposures and is seldom found on wind-swept ridges. It seeds annually, but most profusely at intervals three or four years apart. The red squirrels gather and store large quantities of the cones in order to provide a supply of the seeds for their winter rations. The growth of the young tree is very rapid. As the tree becomes older the rate of growth varies with the situation and the character of the soil so that the size does not closely determine the age of the tree. [Illustration: FIG. 2.--Douglas fir (_Pseudotsuga taxifolia_).] The Douglas fir is a long-lived tree, and specimens are occasionally found 250 to 270 feet high and over 8 feet in diameter and between 400 and 500 years in age. It reaches its greatest height and most perfect proportions in mature even-age stands growing on fairly moist well-drained bench lands. Under these conditions it is a very tall and beautiful tree. The trunk is straight, round, and free from branches for two-thirds of its height and tapers gently to the crown. The dark-brown deep-furrowed bark is 5 to 10 inches thick at the base of the tree. The Douglas fir ranks first among the trees of the Pacific slope in importance for the production of lumber. It is often sold under the name of Oregon pine. Lumber dealers class the coarse-grained reddish wood produced by the young growth in open forests as "red fir." The older growth produced when the forest is more dense is a finer grained and more valuable wood, sold under the name of "yellow fir." [Illustration: FIG. 3.--Douglas fir (_Pseudotsuga taxifolia_).] The Douglas fir is used for nearly all purposes where durability, strength, and hardness are desirable. It is made into dimension timbers, lumber, flooring, and is particularly adapted for masts and spars. The lumber is shipped by rail to the Middle Western States. The foreign cargo shipments are made to all parts of the world. The greatest amount goes to Australia, the west and east coasts of South America, China, the United Kingdom, and Europe, Japan, and the South Sea Islands. Coastwise shipments are made to California, Alaska, and Panama. Large quantities of the seed of this tree are sent to Europe, where the Douglas fir is grown for timber and for ornament. WESTERN RED CEDAR (THUJA PLICATA.)[1] [Illustration: FIG. 4.--Douglas fir (_Pseudotsuga taxifolia_).] The western red cedar (title page and fig. 5) ranges from south-eastern Alaska to northern California. It is a common tree in the park. It occurs in patches along the river bottoms where the flat scalelike foliage is conspicuous among the needle-shaped leaves of the hemlock and fir. The bark is fibrous in appearance and may be readily separated into long strips. The trunks of the older trees are swelled and irregularly fluted at the base. The leaves are fragrant and the wood has a pleasing aromatic odor. Nearly all the large trees are hollow at the butt. The roots spread laterally to a great distance, but extend only for a short distance below the surface of the ground. The tree is easily overthrown by the wind and usually grows in sheltered localities. On account of the thinness of the bark it is easily killed by fire. [Illustration: FIG. 5.--Two big Douglas firs and a western red cedar (on the left) along the road up the Nisqually Valley, Mount Rainier National Park. Photograph by A.H. Denman.] The red cedar flourishes on fertile and well-watered soils near sea level, where it grows to an enormous size. In the park it is a smaller tree, 150 to 170 feet high and rarely more than 4 or 5 feet through above the swollen butt. It grows occasionally up to an altitude of 4,000 feet, but is a small and insignificant tree in the high mountains. In the sapling stage the red cedar grows rapidly. The mature tree increases very slowly in size. It exceeds all other trees in the Cascades in longevity. Individuals more than 500 years old are not uncommon and there is a well-authenticated instance where the annual rings indicated a growth of more than 1,100 years. While the red cedar forms no great proportion of the forest of the Pacific Northwest, it is peculiarly valuable to the pioneer on account of the durability of the wood and the ease with which it can be split into boards, shakes, and planking. The early settlers used cedar split by hand as a substitute for sawn lumber in flooring and finishing their cabins and for the tables and shelves with which they were furnished. The Indians hollowed the great trunks with fire and made them into canoes, some of which were large and seaworthy enough to be used on the Sound and in making voyages along the coast. They wove the fibrous roots into baskets that carried water and plaited the bark into matting. The wood of the red cedar is reddish brown in color. It is soft, light, and very brittle, but very durable. It is extensively used for shingles, the manufacture of which forms one of the important industries of the State. The clear logs are sawed into lumber used for siding, interior and exterior finish, moldings, tank stock, and similar purposes. Common logs are utilized for shingles. In many localities the entire tree is cut into 52-inch bolts, which are hauled to the mills or floated to them down the streams. The western red cedar makes excellent posts and rails for farm fences. The young trees are used for telegraph and telephone poles. WESTERN HEMLOCK (TSUGA HETEROPHYLLA). Next to the Douglas fir the western hemlock is the most abundant tree in the forests of Oregon and Washington. It occurs from Alaska southward to northern California. About Mount Rainier it is found up to an altitude of 5,000 feet. In the river valleys in moist situations it is a large tree, sometimes reaching a height of 250 feet and a diameter of 5 feet. On the high ridges it is stunted. It grows best on moist deep soils in dense forests, but thrives under almost all conditions of soil and exposure if provided with plenty of moisture. Western hemlock (figs. 6 and 7) is usually associated with Douglas fir and red cedar, but sometimes forms a forest of nearly pure growth. The hemlock produces abundant seed each year, although it is more prolific at irregular intervals. The seeds germinate readily on decayed moss and rotten wood as well as upon the mineral soil. Seedlings frequently grow on fallen logs and extend their vigorous roots around the side until they reach the ground and become firmly anchored in it. Young hemlocks thrive in the shade. On logged-off areas which have not been burned over and which are partially shaded by uncut trees, the reproduction of hemlock springs up, to the exclusion of the more valuable Douglas fir. [Illustration: FIG. 6.--The lower slope forest, near Longmire Springs, altitude 3,000 feet, here composed largely of western hemlock (_Tsuga heterophylla_); the tree on the extreme left is a Douglas fir (_Pseudotsuga taxifolia_). Photograph by A.H. Barnes.] The hemlock is long lived and grows slowly. The largest trees are from 200 to 500 years old and are usually hollow-hearted. The bark is thin and the tree very easily killed by ground fire. The wood of the hemlock is tough, light, and straight grained. It is not as durable as the Douglas fir and decays rapidly when exposed to the weather. The clear lumber is suitable for interior finish. The wood is also used for flooring, joists, lath, and paper pulp. The common and rough lumber does not find a ready market, except for the limited amount used in temporary construction. The western hemlock is, however, superior to the eastern hemlock, and its value will probably be recognized as its usefulness for many purposes becomes better known. WESTERN WHITE PINE (PINUS MONTICOLA). [Illustration: FIG. 7.--A forest of Douglas fir, with an understory of western hemlock, on the lower slopes of the hills, Mount Rainier National Park. Photograph by A.H. Denman.] The western white pine (fig. 8) is found from southern Alaska to northern California. In the park it occurs occasionally up to 4,000 feet. It usually grows on level benches and gentle slopes associated with Douglas fir, western hemlock, and noble and amabilis fir. It reaches its best development at elevations of from 3,000 to 3,500 feet, where it attains a height of 150 feet and a diameter of 40 inches. The shaft is straight, cylindrical, and clear of limbs. It bears a small, narrow crown of drooping branches. In open areas, where it is exposed to sunlight, its mode of growth is wholly different. The trunk is short, rapidly tapering, and bears wide-spreading branches nearly to the ground. At high elevations the western white pine is very short and stunted. [Illustration: FIG. 8.--Western white pine (_Pinus monticola_). Diameter 24 inches, height 50 feet.] Although the western white pine is not a common tree in the park, it is often noticed on account of its abundance of slender, pendant cones, 6 to 10 inches long. They mature every two years and shed their seed early in September. The seed are provided with long wings and are often carried by the wind for a great distance from the parent tree. The wood is light, soft, free from pitch, and the most valuable of any of the pines of the Cascades. It is used for interior finish, pattern making, and other purposes. The supply of this tree is so limited that it is not of great commercial importance in the Mount Rainier region. AMABILIS FIR (ABIES AMABILIS).[2] Amabilis fir (figs. 9 and 10) ranges from southern Alaska to Oregon. It is abundant in the park at elevations from 2,500 to 5,000 feet on level bench lands, and gentle slopes with a northern exposure. It is rarely found in unmixed stands, but is usually associated with western hemlock, Douglas fir, and noble fir. The largest trees are 150 to 180 feet high and 3 to 5 feet in diameter. In dense forests the stem is free from branches for 50 to 100 feet. [Illustration: FIG. 9.--Amabilis fir (_Abies amabilis_).] At altitudes over 4,000 feet, small amabilis firs often occur in clusters and open groves. The trunk is covered with branches which grow to the ground, turning downward and outward in long graceful curves, admirably adapted to withstand the pressure of the frozen snow. The foliage is a deep and brilliant green, forming a strong contrast to the dark-purple cones. The seeds ripen each year early in October. Like the seed of the other alpine species of trees that grow in the cold and humid climate of the high Cascades, they soon lose their vitality when stored in dry places. The amabilis fir is grown in Europe as an ornamental tree. Under cultivation it loses much of the natural grace and beauty which it acquired in adapting itself to the deep snows and long winters of its native environment. [Illustration: FIG. 10.--The forests of western hemlock, amabilis fir, and other species, on the middle slopes of the mountains, along the Crater Lake trail, Mount Rainier National Park. Photograph by Geo. O. Ceasar.] The bark is thin and the tree is easily killed by fire. The wood is straw colored, compact, and straight grained. It is not strong and splits easily. It is sold to some extent under the name of larch or mixed with inferior grades of fir and hemlock. The lumber is of little value commercially. NOBLE FIR (ABIES NOBILIS). The noble fir (figs. 11 and 12) is a common mountain tree in the western parts of Washington and Oregon. Like amabilis fir, it is usually called larch by lumbermen. About Mount Rainier it grows at elevations of from 3,500 to 5,000 feet in dense stands associated with amabilis fir, western hemlock, and Douglas fir. The noble fir avoids steep side hills and exposed situations. In moist soils on flats and gentle slopes it often reaches a height of from 150 to 200 feet. The tall and upright trunk supports a rounded crown of bluish green foliage, which is very noticeable among the purer green leaves of its associates. The branches are short, thick, and crowded with stiff, flattened leaves, which turn upward and outward. The light-green bract-covered cones are sometimes 6 inches long and nearly 3 inches thick. They ripen early in September. Seed is borne every year, although in some seasons it is much more abundant than in others. [Illustration: FIG. 11.--Noble fir (_Abies nobilis_).] [Illustration: FIG. 12.--Noble fir (_Abies nobilis_), 6 feet in diameter.] The wood is strong, close grained, and elastic. It is used for lumber and particularly for inside finishing. The noble fir is a slow-growing and long-lived tree. Old trees in mixed forests are easily distinguished from the associated species by the ashy-brown outer bark broken into large irregular plates. ALPINE FIR (ABIES LASIOCARPA).[3] [Illustration: FIG. 13.--A cluster of Alpine firs (_Abies lasiocarpa_), whose spire-shaped crowns are characteristic, at 5,500 feet altitude, in Cowlitz Park, Mount Rainier National Park. Photograph by A.H. Barnes.] The alpine fir (fig. 13) ranges from Alaska to New Mexico. It is a common tree in the park at elevations above 4,500 feet. It is a tree of the high mountains and with the white bark pine and the mountain hemlock, is found up to the limit of arborescent life. It demands moisture and is generally restricted to regions of deep snowfall. The alpine fir occurs in unmixed stands, but is often associated with the mountain hemlock. At the lower levels of its range it is a fair-sized tree 50 or 60 feet high. The crown of deep-green foliage is broad at the base and tapers to the top, where it terminates in a slender, pointed tip. At its upper limit it becomes a stunted shrub, with wide extended branches resting on the ground. The alpine fir bears upright clusters of deep-purple cones. It seeds sparingly each year. The seasons of heavy seed production occur at intervals of three or four years. The wood is soft and splits easily. It is of no commercial value. The tree is easily killed by fire, which blisters the thin bark and frequently springs into the drooping lower branches. GRAND FIR (ABIES GRANDIS.)[4] The grand fir (fig. 14), like several other species, is generally given the name of white fir on account of its smooth, light-colored bark. It is a common tree in the river bottoms from British Columbia south to northern California. In the Mount Rainier National Park it occurs up to 4,000 feet. The grand fir is a moisture-loving tree and is usually found firmly rooted in deep alluvial bottom lands along the banks of streams. With the Douglas fir, hemlock, and red cedar it forms the dense forest characteristic of the lower mountain valleys. In favorable conditions the grand fir grows to a height of from 100 to 200 feet and is a noble and stately tree. The trunk tapers rapidly and bears a rounded pyramidal crown. In dense forests the trunk is clear for half its height, but where the trees stand in the open it carries its branches nearly to the ground. The leaves are a bright and shining green. The large light-green cones mature early in the fall. The wood is soft and very heavy before it is seasoned. It rots in a very short time when laid on the ground. When dry it is white, coarse-grained, light, and odorous. It is used for interior finish and for crates and packing boxes, but is of little value commercially. ENGELMANN SPRUCE (PICEA ENGELMANNI). The Engelmann spruce (fig. 15) is a mountain tree ranging from British Columbia to Arizona and New Mexico. It is common along the summit and on the east side of the Cascade Range and occurs on the northeastern and eastern slopes of Mount Rainier at elevations of from 3,500 to 6,000 feet. This tree requires a moist soil and prefers cool northern exposures. Up to 5,000 feet it commonly grows in sheltered basins at the head of canyons and in stream valleys. At its upper limits it is common on flats and depressions and about lakes on level summits. It avoids steep mountain sides and exposed situations. [Illustration: FIG. 14.--Grand fir (_Abies grandis_).] The Engelmann spruce is easily distinguished from its associates by its stiff, bluish-green pointed leaves, which prick the hand when they are grasped. In the mountain parks it is a handsome tree 50 to 60 feet high. When it stands apart from other trees the lower branches are thick and long and extend to the ground. The crown is very broad at the base, but narrow and spirelike at the top. The Engelmann spruce reaches its best development at low elevations, where it often grows in dense, pure stands. Under these conditions it reaches a height of 100 feet. The bole is straight and free from limbs and the top is short and compact. [Illustration: FIG. 15.--Engelmann spruce (_Picea engelmanni_).] The young cones are massed in upright green and purple clusters at the tips of the upper branches. They are notable for the purity and brilliance of their coloring. As they mature they become pendant and fade to a light brown. The seed is produced in abundance nearly every year, although small and seedling trees are not usually numerous. The wood is soft, white, compact, and even grained. It is free from pitch and odor. It is valuable for boxing, cooperage, and certain kinds of finish. It is also an excellent material for the tops of violins and other stringed instruments. The Engelmann spruce is, however, of little importance as a timber tree on account of its scarcity and the scattered stands in which it grows. It is a long-lived tree unless attacked by fire, to which it is very vulnerable. [Illustration: FIG. 16.--A group of yellow cypresses (_Chamaecyparis nootkatensis_) on the high slopes of Mount Rainier National Park, altitude about 6,000 feet. Photograph by A.H. Barnes.] YELLOW CYPRESS (CHAMAECYPARIS NOOTKATENSIS). Yellow cypress (fig. 16) ranges from the seacoast of southern Alaska south to the mountains of Washington and Oregon. It occurs in the park up to the elevation of 7,000 feet. It is common on northern exposures, along streams, and in basins at the head of canyons. It also grows on crests and ridges, where the frequent showers and fogs supply the moisture which it demands. In sheltered localities it grows to a height of 75 or 80 feet, but it is commonly a small tree with, a bent and twisted stem, which, with its pendulous branches, presents a somewhat scrubby appearance. The foliage is green, sometimes with a bluish tinge. It resembles that of the common western red cedar, but the leaves are sharper, more pointed, and rougher to handle. The small, rounded, inconspicuous cones are produced somewhat sparingly. The bark of the young tree is red. On the mature tree it becomes gray and fibrous. The wood is yellow, close grained, and aromatic. Unlike that of the western red cedar, the trunk is usually sound to the center. The wood is used for boat building and cabinetwork. It is very durable. The yellow cypress grows very slowly, particularly at high elevations. The number of annual rings on trees 15 to 20 inches in diameter indicate that they are over 200 years old. LODGEPOLE PINE (PINUS CONTORTA). Lodgepole pine (fig. 17) is widely distributed from Alaska to Lower California and eastward through the Rockies to Dakota and Colorado. It occurs sparingly in the park up to 5,000 feet above sea level. It adapts itself easily to the different conditions of soil, moisture, and exposure. [Illustration: FIG. 17.--Lodgepole pine (_Pinus contorta_), 60 inches in diameter.] This tree varies greatly in the different regions where it is found. About Mount Rainier it does not often exceed 20 to 40 feet in height and is often a much smaller tree. It produces cones at the age of 5 to 7 years. The foliage is a yellowish green. At high elevations the leaves have a peculiar whorled appearance which gives it a different aspect from that of the other pines. The short, heavily limbed trunk bears no resemblance to the tall and slender shaft of the lodgepole pine of the Rocky Mountains. The root system is shallow and the tree is easily fire killed. The wood of the variety which grows in the park is of no commercial value. [Illustration: FIG. 18.--The feathery foliage of mountain hemlock (_Tsuga mertensiana_), Grand Park, Mount Rainier National Park. Photograph by A.H. Denman.] MOUNTAIN HEMLOCK (TSUGA MERTENSIANA). The mountain hemlock (figs. 18, 19, and 20) is found on the Pacific coast from the Sierras of California to the northern part of Alaska where it grows at sea level. On Mount Rainier it occurs at altitudes of from 3,500 to 7,500 feet. It forms dense forests under 4,500 feet, where it is often a fair-sized tree 50 to 90 feet high. With the ascent of the mountain it diminishes in height and the branches become gnarled and twisted. Near timber line the trunk is dwarfed and bent at the base and the crown becomes a flattened mass of branches lying close to the ground (fig. 20). [Illustration: FIG. 19.--Two solitary mountain hemlocks (_Tsuga mertensiana_), Spray Park, Mount Rainier National Park. Photograph by Geo. O. Ceasar.] The mountain hemlock is abundant on high, rocky ridges, but the best stands are on cool, moist soil at the heads of ravines, on flats, and on gentle slopes with a northern exposure. This tree seeds every year. In good seed years the upper branches are laden with a profusion of beautiful, deep-purple cones, often in such abundance as to bend down the branchlets with their weight. The reproduction is slow. In the high mountains the trees are buried in snow from October to late in June, and the growing season is very short. WHITE-BARK PINE (PINUS ALBICAULIS). [Illustration: FIG. 20.--A gnarled, wind-swept mountain hemlock (_Tsuga mertensiana_), near the upper limits of tree growth, Spray Park, Mount Rainier National Park. Photograph by A.H. Denman.] The white-bark pine (fig. 21) grows close to timber line in the mountains of the Pacific coast from British Columbia to southern California. In the Canadian Rockies it extends north to the fifty-third parallel. It is the most alpine of all the pines. Its lower limit on Mount Rainier is about 5,000 feet above sea level. In sheltered places where the soil is deep the trees are sometimes 30 to 40 feet high and 20 inches in diameter. The trunks are free from limbs for 8 or 10 feet. The outer bark, from which the tree derives its name, consists of thin, light-gray scales. As the white-bark pine advances up the mountain its habit changes rapidly. The stem shortens and becomes gnarled and twisted. The tough, flexible branches reach the ground and spread over it to a great distance from the tree. On rocky summits and the bleak crests of wind-swept ridges the twisted trunk and branches are quite prostrate and the crown is a dense flattened mass of foliage. The roots of the tree are deep, long, and tenacious. They spread wide and deep and cling so firmly to the rocks that the tree is rarely overthrown by the violent winds that sweep over the mountain. [Illustration: FIG. 21.--A white-bark pine (_Pinus albicaulis_) in its characteristic mountain habitat, Mount Rainier National Park. Photograph by A.H. Denman.] The thick, purple cones require two years to mature. They ripen early in September and produce chocolate-brown seeds a little larger than a grain of corn. They are much relished by the Klickitat Indians, who go to considerable pains to secure them. The wood is close grained and resinous. It makes excellent fuel for the camp fires of sheep herders and mountain travelers. WESTERN YEW (TAXUS BREVIFOLIA).[5] The western yew is found from southern Alaska to northern California. It occurs in the park up to 4,000 feet, growing in rich, gravelly soil on moist flats and benches and in deep ravines. It is a small branching tree, rarely over 20 feet high. The bark is purple or reddish brown. The branches extend almost to the ground. It bears a small, bright, amber-red berry. The dark-brown or red heartwood is very tough, hard and heavy. It takes a fine polish and is used for fancy cabinetwork. The Indians use it for spear handles, bows, and fishhooks. [Illustration: FIG. 22.--Broadleaf maple (_Acer macrophyllum_).] DECIDUOUS TREES. The silva of the Western Cascades is rich in evergreens remarkable for their size and beauty. The deciduous trees are few and insignificant. The forests of the park are almost wholly coniferous. Vine maple and willow are found as undergrowth. On the margins of rivers there are occasional groves of alders and cottonwoods. The lighter hues of the branching trunks and the changing tints of the foliage in these patches of broad-leaved woodland present a pleasing diversity to the evergreen forest. Broadleaf maple (_Acer macrophyllum_) (fig. 22), the largest of the Pacific coast maples, ranges from Alaska to southern California. Near sea level it often attains a height of 50 or 60 feet. In the park it is a short-stemmed, branching tree, occasionally found on the borders of streams. It grows at elevations under 3,000 feet. [Illustration: FIG. 23.--Vine maple (_Acer circinatum_).] Vine maple (_Acer circinatum_) (fig. 23) is abundant from British Columbia to northern California. On rich river bottoms it is sometimes 15 to 20 feet high and 6 inches in diameter. In the park it is usually a bush or low shrub with a bent and curiously crooked stem, growing along streams and as undergrowth in the forest. It is very common up to 3,000 feet. In autumn the leaves are a bright scarlet. The wood is tough and elastic and makes a hot and lasting fire. [Illustration: FIG. 24.--Red alder (_Alnus oregona_).] [Illustration: FIG. 25.--Black cottonwood (_Populus trichocarpa_).] Red alder (_Alnus oregona_) (fig. 24) occurs from Alaska to southern California. It is common about Mount Rainier, in river bottoms, on the banks of large streams, and in swampy places. It usually grows to a height of 30 or 40 feet. The bark varies from nearly white to light gray. It is the most abundant of all the deciduous trees in the park. Black cottonwood (_Populus trichocarpa_) (fig. 25) is common from Alaska to southern California. It is occasionally found in the park up to 4,000 feet. It grows along streams and on sandy river bottoms often associated with the alder. The leaves are almost always in motion, very gentle winds being sufficient to make them twinkle and turn. The wood is soft, but tough and compact. It is used for staves, woodenware, wood pulp, trunks, barrels, and for drawer bottoms. FOOTNOTES [1] This species is known as arbor vitæ in Glacier Park. [2] This species is known as silver fir in Crater Lake Park. [3] This species is known as balsam in Glacier and Yellowstone Parks. [4] This species is known as silver fir in Yellowstone and Glacier Parks. [5] This species is known as Oregon yew in Crater Lake National Park and as yew in Yellowstone and Glacier Parks. INDEX TO SPECIES DESCRIBED. [Roman numerals indicate pages containing descriptions; italic numerals indicate pages containing illustrations.] _Abies amabilis_ 15-16, _15_, _16_ _grandis_ 20, _21_ _lasiocarpa_ 19-20, _19_ _nobilis_ 17-19, _17_, _18_ _Acer circinatum_ 30, _30_ _macrophyllum_ 29, _29_ Alder, red (_Alnus oregona_) 30, _31_ _Alnus oregona_ 30, _31_ Alpine fir (_Abies lasiocarpa_) 19-20, _19_ Amabilis fir (_Abies amabilis_) 15-16, _15_, _16_ Arbor vitæ. _See_ Western red cedar. Balsam. _See_ Alpine fir. Black cottonwood (_Populus trichocarpa_) 30-32, _31_ Broadleaf maple (_Acer macrophyllum_) 29, _29_ Cedar, western red (_Thuja plicata_) 9-11, _10_ _Chamaecyparis nootkatensis_ 23-24, _23_ Cottonwood, black (_Populus trichocarpa_) 30-32, _31_ Cypress, yellow (_Chamaecyparis nootkatensis_) 23-24, _23_ Douglas fir (_Pseudotsuga taxifolia_) 6-8, _7_, _8_, _9_, _10_, _12_, _13_ Engelmann spruce (_Picea engelmanni_) 20-23, _22_ Fir, alpine (_Abies lasiocarpa_) 19-20, _19_ amabilis (_Abies amabilis_) 15-16, _15_, _16_ Douglas (_Pseudotsuga taxifolia_) 6-8, _7_, _8_, _9_, _10_, _12_, _13_ grand (_Abies grandis_) 20, _21_ noble (_Abies nobilis_) 17-19, _17_, _18_ silver. _See_ Fir, amabilis; Fir, grand. Grand fir (_Abies grandis_) 20, _21_ Hemlock, mountain (_Tsuga mertensiana_) 25-27, _25_, _26_, _27_ western (_Tsuga heterophylla_) 11-13, _12_, _13_, _16_ Larch. _See_ Noble fir; Amabilis fir. Lodgepole pine (_Pinus contorta_) 24-25, _24_ Maple, broadleaf (_Acer macrophyllum_) 29, _29_ vine (_Acer circinatum_) 30, _30_ Mountain hemlock (_Tsuga mertensiana_) 25-27, _25_, _26_, _27_ Noble fir (_Abies nobilis_) 17-19, _17_, _18_ Oregon yew. _See_ Western yew. _Picea engelmanni_ 20-23, _22_ Pine, lodgepole (_Pinus contorta_) 24-25, _24_ western white (_Pinus monticola_) 13-15, _14_ white-bark (_Pinus albicaulis_) 27-28, _28_ _Pinus albicaulis_ 27-28, _28_ _contorta_ 24-25, _24_ _monticola_ 13-15, _14_ _Populus trichocarpa_ 30-32, _31_ _Pseudotsuga taxifolia_ 6-8, _7_, _8_, _9_, _10_, _12_, _13_ Red alder (_Alnus oregona_) 30, _31_ cedar, western (_Thuja plicata_) 9-11, _10_ Silver fir. _See_ Amabilis fir; Grand fir. Spruce, Engelmann (_Picea engelmanni_) 20-23, _22_ _Taxus brevifolia_ 28-29 _Thuja plicata_ 9-11, _10_ _Tsuga heterophylla_ 11-13, _12_, _13_, _16_ _mertensiana_ 25-27, _25_, _26_, _27_ Vine maple (_Acer circinatum_) 30, _30_ Western hemlock (_Tsuga heterophylla_) 11-13, _12_, _13_, _16_ red cedar (_Thuja plicata_) 9-11, _10_ white pine (_Pinus monticola_) 13-15, _14_ yew (_Taxus brevifolia_) 28-29 White-bark pine (_Pinus albicaulis_) 27-28, _28_ White pine, western (_Pinus monticola_) 13-15, _14_ Yellow cypress (_Chamaecyparis nootkatensis_) 23-24, _23_ Yew, Oregon. _See_ Yew, western. western (_Taxus brevifolia_) 28-29 
17807	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 17807-h.htm or 17807-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/7/8/0/17807/17807-h/17807-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/7/8/0/17807/17807-h.zip) Bedtime Stories UNCLE WIGGILY IN THE WOODS by HOWARD R. GARIS Author of "Sammie and Susie Littletail," "Uncle Wiggily and Mother Goose," "The Bedtime Series of Animal Stories," "The Daddy Series," Etc. Illustrated by Louis Wisa [Frontispiece: She put her sled on the slanting tree, sat down and Jillie gave her a little push.] A. L. Burt Company Publishers ------------ New York Copyright 1917, by R. F. Fenno & Company UNCLE WIGGILY IN THE WOODS CONTENTS STORY I Uncle Wiggily and the Willow Tree II Uncle Wiggily and the Wintergreen III Uncle Wiggily and the Slippery Elm IV Uncle Wiggily and the Sassafras V Uncle Wiggily and the Pulpit-Jack VI Uncle Wiggily and the Violets VII Uncle Wiggily and the High Tree VIII Uncle Wiggily and the Peppermint IX Uncle Wiggily and the Birch Tree X Uncle Wiggily and the Butternut Tree XI Uncle Wiggily and Lulu's Hat XII Uncle Wiggily and the Snow Drops XIII Uncle Wiggily and the Horse Chestnut XIV Uncle Wiggily and the Pine Tree XV Uncle Wiggily and the Green Rushes XVI Uncle Wiggily and the Bee Tree XVII Uncle Wiggily and the Dogwood XVIII Uncle Wiggily and the Hazel Nuts XIX Uncle Wiggily and Susie's Dress XX Uncle Wiggily and Tommie's Kite XXI Uncle Wiggily and Johnnie's Marbles XXII Uncle Wiggily and Billie's Top XXIII Uncle Wiggily and the Sunbeam XXIV Uncle Wiggily and the Puff Ball XXV Uncle Wiggily and the May Flowers XXVI Uncle Wiggily and the Beech Tree XXVII Uncle Wiggily and the Bitter Medicine XXVIII Uncle Wiggily and the Pine Cones XXIX Uncle Wiggily and His Torn Coat XXX Uncle Wiggily and the Sycamore Tree XXXI Uncle Wiggily and the Red Spots ILLUSTRATIONS She put her sled on the slanting tree, sat down and Jillie gave her a little push . . . . . . _Frontispiece_ Down toppled Uncle Wiggily's hat, not in the least hurt. As they passed a high rock, out from behind it jumped the bad old tail-pulling monkey. The tree barked and roared so like a lion that the foxes were frightened and were glad enough to run away. Up, up and up into the air blew the kite and, as the string was tangled around the babboon's paws, it took him up with it. "Ker-sneezio! Ker-snitzio! Ker-choo!" he sneezed as the powder from the puff balls went up his nose and into his eyes. Jackie was so surprised that he opened his mouth. Before Uncle Wiggily could stop himself he had run into the bush. STORY I UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE WILLOW TREE "Well, it's all settled!" exclaimed Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman, one day, as he hopped up the steps of his hollow stump bungalow where Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, his muskrat lady housekeeper, was fanning herself with a cabbage leaf tied to her tail. "It's all settled." "What is?" asked Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy. "You don't mean to tell me anything has happened to you?" and she looked quite anxious. "No, I'm all right," laughed Uncle Wiggily, "and I hope you are the same. What I meant was that it's all settled where we are going to spend our vacation this Summer." "Oh, tell me where!" exclaimed the muskrat lady clapping her paws, anxious like. "In a hollow stump bungalow, just like this, but in the woods instead of in the country," answered Uncle Wiggily. "Oh, that _will_ be fine!" cried Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy. "I love the woods. When are we to go?" "Very soon now," answered the bunny gentleman uncle. "You may begin to pack up as quickly as you please." And Nurse Jane and Uncle Wiggily moved to the woods very next day and his adventures began. I guess most of you know about the rabbit gentleman and his muskrat lady housekeeper who nursed him when he was ill with the rheumatism. Uncle Wiggily had lots and lots of adventures, about which I have told you in the books before this one. He had traveled about seeking his fortune, he had even gone sailing in his airship, and once he met Mother Goose and all her friends from Old King Cole down to Little Jack Horner. Uncle Wiggily had many friends among the animal boys and girls. There was Sammie and Susie Littletail, the rabbits, who have a book all to themselves; just as have Jackie and Peetie Bow Wow, the puppy dog boys, and Jollie and Jillie Longtail, the mice children. "And I s'pose we'll meet all your friends in the woods, won't we, Uncle Wiggily?" asked Nurse Jane, as they moved from the old hollow stump bungalow to the new one. "Oh, yes, I s'pose so, of course," he laughed in answer, as he pulled his tall silk hat more tightly down on his head, fastened on his glasses and took his red, white and blue striped barber pole rheumatism crutch that Nurse Jane had gnawed for him out of a cornstalk. So, once upon a time, not very many years ago, as all good stories should begin, Uncle Wiggily and Nurse Jane found themselves in the woods. It was lovely among the trees, and as soon as the rabbit gentleman had helped Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy put the hollow stump bungalow to rights he started out for a walk. "I want to see what sort of adventures I shall have in the woods," said Mr. Longears as he hopped along. Now in these woods lived, among many other creatures good and bad, two skillery-scalery alligators who were not exactly friends of the bunny uncle. But don't let that worry you, for though the alligators, and other unpleasant animals, may, once in a while, make trouble for Uncle Wiggily, I'll never really let them hurt him. I'll fix that part all right! So, one day, the skillery-scalery alligator with the humps on his tail, and his brother, another skillery-scalery chap, whose tail was double jointed, were taking a walk through the woods together just as Uncle Wiggily was doing. "Brother," began the hump-tailed 'gator (which I call him for short), "brother, wouldn't you like a nice rabbit?" "Indeed I would," answered the double-jointed tail 'gator, who could wobble his flippers both ways. "And I know of no nicer rabbit than Uncle Wiggily Longears." "The very same one about whom I was thinking!" exclaimed the other alligator. "Let's catch him!" "That's what we'll do!" said the double-jointed chap. "We'll hide in the woods until he comes along, as he does every day, and the we'll jump out and grab him. Oh, you yum-yum!" "Fine!" grunted his brother. "Come on!" Off they crawled through the woods, and pretty soon they came to a willow tree, where the branches grew so low down that they looked like a curtain that had unwound itself off the roller, when the cat hangs on it. "This is the place for us to hide--by the weeping willow tree," said the skillery-scalery alligator with bumps on his tail. "The very place," agreed his brother. So they hid behind the thick branches of the tree, which had leafed out for early spring, and there the two bad creatures waited. Just before this Uncle Wiggily himself had started out from his hollow stump bungalow to walk in the woods and across the fields, as he did every day. "I wonder what sort of an adventure I shall have this time?" he said to himself. "I hope it will be a real nice one." Oh! If Uncle Wiggily had known what was in store for him, I think he would have stayed in his hollow stump bungalow. But never mind, I'll make it all come out right in the end, you see if I don't. I don't know just how I'm going to do it, yet, but I'll find a way, never fear. Uncle Wiggily hopped on and on, now and then swinging his red-white-and-blue-striped rheumatism crutch like a cane, because he felt so young and spry and spring-like. Pretty soon he came to the willow tree. He was sort of looking up at it, wondering if a nibble of some of the green leaves would not do him good, when, all of a sudden, out jumped the two bad alligators and grabbed the bunny gentleman. "Now we have you!" cried the humped-tail 'gator. "And you can't get away from us," said the other chap--the double-jointed tail one. "Oh, please let me go!" begged Uncle Wiggily, but they hooked their claws in his fur, and pulled him back under the tree, which held its branches so low. I told you it was a weeping willow tree, and just now it was weeping, I think, because Uncle Wiggily was in such trouble. "Let's see now," said the double-jointed tail alligator. "I'll carry this rabbit home, and then--" "You'll do nothing of the sort!" interrupted the other, and not very politely, either. "I'll carry him myself. Why, I caught him as much as you did!" "Well, maybe you did, but I saw him first." "I don't care! It was my idea. I first thought of this way of catching him!" And then those two alligators disputed, and talked very unpleasantly, indeed, to one another. But, all the while, they kept tight hold of the bunny uncle, so he could not get away. "Well," said the double-jointed tail alligator after a while, "we must settle this one way or the other. Am I to carry him to our den, or you?" "Me! I'll do it. If you took him you'd keep him all for yourself. I know you!" "No, I wouldn't! But that's just what you'd do. I know you only too well. No, if I can't carry this rabbit home myself, you shan't!" "I say the same thing. I'm going to have my rights." Now, while the two bad alligators were talking this way they did not pay much attention to Uncle Wiggily. They held him so tightly in their claws that he could not get away, but he could use his own paws, and, when the two bad creatures were talking right in each other's face, and using big words, Uncle Wiggily reached up and cut off a piece of willow wood with the bark on. And then, still when the 'gators were disputing, and not looking, the bunny uncle made himself a whistle out of the willow tree stick. He loosened the bark, which came off like a kid glove, and then he cut a place to blow his breath in, and another place to let the air out and so on, until he had a very fine whistle indeed, almost as loud-blowing as those the policemen have to stop the automobiles from splashing mud on you so a trolley car can bump into you. "I'll tell you what we'll do," said the hump-tail alligator at last. "Since you won't let me carry him home, and I won't let you, let's both carry him together. You take hold of him on one side, and I'll take the other." "Good!" cried the second alligator. "Oh, ho! I guess not!" cried the bunny uncle suddenly. "I guess you won't either, or both of you take me off to your den. No, indeed!" "Why not?" asked the hump-tailed 'gator, sort of impolite like and sarcastic. "Because I'm going to blow my whistle and call the police!" went on the bunny uncle. "Toot! Toot! Tootity-ti-toot-toot!" And then and there he blew such a loud, shrill blast on his willow tree whistle that the alligators had to put their paws over their ears. And when they did that they had to let go of bunny uncle. He had his tall silk hat down over his ears, so it didn't matter how loudly he blew the whistle. He couldn't hear it. "Toot! Toot! Tootity-toot-toot!" he blew on the willow whistle. "Oh, stop! Stop!" cried the hump-tailed 'gator. "Come on, run away before the police come!" said his brother. And out from under the willow tree they both ran, leaving Uncle Wiggily safely behind. "Well," said the bunny gentleman as he hopped along home to his bungalow, "it is a good thing I learned, when a boy rabbit, how to make whistles." And I think so myself. So if the vinegar jug doesn't jump into the molasses barrel and turn its face sour like a lemon pudding, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the winter green. STORY II UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE WINTERGREEN Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice old gentleman rabbit, knocked on the door of the hollow tree in the woods where Johnnie and Billie Bushytail, the two little squirrel boys, lived. "Come in!" invited Mrs. Bushytail. So Uncle Wiggily went in. "I thought I'd come around and see you," he said to the squirrel lady. "I'm living in the woods this Summer and just now I am out taking a walk, as I do every day, and I hoped I might meet with an adventure. But, so far, I haven't. Do you know where I could find an adventure, Mrs. Bushytail?" "No, I'm sorry to say I don't, Uncle Wiggily," answered the squirrel lady. "But I wish you could find something to make my little boy Billie feel better." "Why, is he ill?" asked the bunny uncle, surprised like, and he looked across the room where Billy Bushytail was curled up in a big rocking chair, with his tail held over his head like an umbrella, though it was not raining. "No, Billie isn't ill," said Mrs. Bushytail. "But he says he doesn't know what to do to have any fun, and I am afraid he is a little peevish." "Oh, that isn't right," said Mr. Longears. "Little boys, whether they are squirrels, rabbits or real children, should try to be jolly and happy, and not peevish." "How can a fellow be happy when there's no fun?" asked Billie, sort of cross-like. "My brother Johnnie got out of school early, and he and the other animal boys have gone off to play where I can't find them. I had to stay in, because I didn't know my nut-cracking lesson, and now I can't have any fun. Oh, dear! I don't care!" Billie meant, I suppose, that he didn't care what he said or did, and that isn't right. But Uncle Wiggily only pinkled his twink nose. No, wait just a moment if you please. He just twinkled his pink nose behind the squirrel boy's back, and then the bunny uncle said: "How would you like to come for a walk in the woods with me, Billie?" "Oh, that will be nice!" exclaimed the squirrel lady. "Do go, Billie." "No, I don't want to!" chattered the boy squirrel, most impolitely. "Oh, that isn't at all nice," said Mrs. Bushy-tail. "At least thank Uncle Wiggily for asking you." "Oh, excuse me, Uncle Wiggily," said Billie, sorrylike. "I do thank you. But I want very much to have some fun, and there's no fun in the woods. I know all about them. I know every tree and bush and stump. I want to go to a new place." "Well, new places are nice," said the bunny uncle, "but old ones are nice, too, if you know where to look for the niceness. Now come along with me, and we'll see if we can't have some fun. It is lovely in the woods now." "I won't have any fun there," said Billie, crossly. "The woods are no good. Nothing good to eat grows there." "Oh, yes there does--lots!" laughed Uncle Wiggily. "Why the nuts you squirrels eat grow in the woods." "Yes, but there are no nuts now," spoke the squirrel boy. "They only come in the Fall." "Well, come, scamper along, anyhow," invited Uncle Wiggily. "Who knows what may happen? It may even be an adventure. Come along, Billie." So, though he did not care much about it, Billie went. Uncle Wiggily showed the squirrel boy where the early spring flowers were coming up, and how the Jacks, in their pulpits, were getting ready to preach sermons to the trees and bushes. "Hark! What's that?" asked Billie, suddenly, hearing a noise. "What does it sound like?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "Like bells ringing." "Oh, it's the bluebells--the bluebell flowers," answered the bunny uncle. "Why do they ring?" asked the little boy squirrel. "To call the little ants and lightning bugs to school," spoke Uncle Wiggily, and Billy smiled. He was beginning to see that there were more things in the woods than he had dreamed of, even if he had scampered here and there among the trees ever since he was a little squirrel chap. On and on through the woods went the bunny uncle and Billie. They picked big, leafy ferns to fan themselves with, and then they drank with green leaf-cups from a spring of cool water. But no sooner had Billie taken the cold water than he suddenly cried: "Ouch! Oh, dear! Oh, my, how it hurts!" "What is it?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "Did you bite your tongue or step on a thorn?" "It's my tooth," chattered Billie. "The cold water made it ache again. I need to go to Mr. Stubtail, the bear dentist, who will pull it out with his long claws. But I've been putting it off, and putting it off, and now--Oh, dear, how it aches! Wow!" "I'll cure it for you!" said Uncle Wiggily. "Just walk along through the woods with me and I'll soon stop your aching tooth." "How can you?" asked Billie, holding his paw to his jaw to warm the aching tooth, for heat will often stop pain. "There isn't anything here in the woods to cure toothache; is there?" "I think we shall find something," spoke the bunny uncle. "Well, I wish we could find it soon!" cried Billie, "for my tooth hurts very much. Ouch!" and he hopped up and down, for the toothache was of the jumping kind. "Ah, ha! Here we have it!" cried Uncle Wiggily, as he stooped over some shiny green leaves, growing close to the ground, and he pulled some of them up. "Just chew these leaves a little and let them rest inside your mouth near the aching tooth," said Mr. Longears. "I think they will help you, Billie." So Billie chewed the green leaves. They smarted and burned a little, but when he put them near his tooth they made it nice and warm and soon the ache all stopped. "What was that you gave me, Uncle Wiggily?" Billie asked. "Wintergreen," answered Uncle Wiggily. "It grows in the woods, and is good for flavoring candy, as well as for stopping toothache." "I am glad to know that," said Billie. "The woods are a nicer place than I thought, and there is ever so much more in them than I dreamed. Thank you, Uncle Wiggily." So, as his toothache was all better, Billie had good fun in the woods with the bunny uncle, until it was time to go home. And in the next story, if the top doesn't fly off the coffee pot and let the baked potato hide away from the egg-beater, when they play tag, I'll tell you about Uncle Wiggily and the slippery elm. STORY III UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE SLIPPERY ELM "Where are you going, Uncle Wiggily?" asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, as she saw the rabbit gentleman standing on the front steps of his hollow stump bungalow in the woods one morning. "Where are you going?" "Oh, just for a walk through the forest," spoke the bunny uncle. "It is so nice in the woods, with the flowers coming up, and the leaves getting larger and greener every day, that I just love to walk there." "Well," said Nurse Jane with a laugh, "if you happen to see a bread-tree in the woods, bring home a loaf for supper." "I will," promised Uncle Wiggily. "You know, Nurse Jane, there really are trees on which bread fruit grows, though not in this country. But I can get you a loaf of bread at the five and ten cent store, I dare say." "Do, please," asked the muskrat lady. "And if you see a cocoanut tree you might bring home a cocoanut cake for supper." "Oh, my!" laughed the rabbit gentleman. "I'm afraid there are no cocoanut trees in my woods. I could bring you home a hickory nut cake, perhaps." "Well, whatever you like," spoke Nurse Jane. "But don't get lost, whatever you do, and if you meet with an adventure I hope it will be a nice one." "So do I," Uncle Wiggily said, as he hopped off, leaning on his red, white and blue stripped [Transcriber's note: striped?] rheumatism crutch which Nurse Jane had gnawed for him out of a cornstalk. The old rabbit gentleman had not gone very far before he met Dr. Possum walking along in the woods, with his satchel of medicine on his tail, for Dr. Possum cured all the ill animals, you know. "What in the world are you doing, Dr. Possum?" asked Uncle Wiggily, as he saw the animal doctor pulling some bark off a tree. "Are you going to make a canoe, as the Indians used to do?" "Oh, no," answered Dr. Possum. "This is a slippery elm tree. The underside of the bark, next to the tree, and the tree itself, is very slippery when it is wet. Very slippery indeed." "Well, I hope you don't slip," said Uncle Wiggily, kindly. "I hope so, too," Dr. Possum said. "But I am taking this slippery elm bark to mix with some of the bitter medicine I have to give Billie Wagtail, the goat boy. When I put some bark from the slippery elm tree in Billie's medicine it will slip down his throat so quickly that he will never know he took it." "Good!" cried Uncle Wiggily, laughing. Then the bunny uncle went close to the tree, off which Dr. Possum was taking some bark, and felt of it with his paw. The tree was indeed as slippery as an icy sidewalk slide on Christmas eve. "My!" exclaimed Mr. Longears. "If I tried to climb up that tree I'd do nothing but slip down." "That's right," said Dr. Possum. "But I must hurry on now to give Billie Wagtail his medicine." So Dr. Possum went on his way and Uncle Wiggily hopped along until, pretty soon, he heard a rustling in the bushes, and a voice said: "But, Squeaky-Eeky dear, I can't find any snow hill for you to ride down on your sled. The snow is all gone, you see. It is Spring now." "Oh, dear!" cried another voice. "Such a lot of trouble. Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" "Ha! Trouble!" said Uncle Wiggily to himself. "This is where I come in. I must see if I cannot help them." He looked through the bushes, and there he saw Jillie Longtail, the little girl mouse, and with her was Squeaky-Eeky, the cousin mouse. And Squeaky-Eeky had a small sled with her. "Why, what's the matter?" asked Uncle Wiggily, for he saw that Squeaky-Eeky had been crying. "What is the matter, little mice?" "Oh, hello. Uncle Wiggily!" cried Jillie. "I don't know what to do with my little cousin mouse. You see she wants to slide down hill on her Christmas sled, but there isn't any snow on any of the hills now." "No, that's true, there isn't," said the bunny uncle. "But, Squeaky, why didn't you slide down hill in the Winter, when there was snow?" "Because, I had the mouse-trap fever, then," answered Squeaky-Eeky, "and I couldn't go out. But now I am all better and I can be out, and oh, dear! I do so much want a ride down hill on my sled. Boo, hoo!" "Don't cry, Squeaky, dear," said Jillie. "If there is no snow you can't slide down hill, you know." "But I want to," said the little cousin mouse, unreasonable like. "But you can't; so please be nice," begged Jillie. "Oh, dear!" cried Squeaky. "I do so much want to slide down hill on my sled." "And you shall!" suddenly exclaimed Uncle Wiggily. "Come with me, Squeaky." "Why, Uncle Wiggily!" cried Jillie. "How can you give Squeaky a slide down hill when there is no snow? You need a slippery snow hill for sleigh-riding." "I am not so sure of that," spoke Uncle Wiggily, with a smile. "Let us see." Off through the woods he hopped, with Jillie and Squeaky following. Pretty soon Uncle Wiggily came to a big tree that had fallen down, one end being raised up higher than the other, like a hill, slanting. With his strong paws and his sharp teeth, the rabbit gentleman began peeling the bark off the tree, showing the white wood underneath. "What are you doing, Uncle Wiggily?" asked Jillie. "This is a slippery elm tree, and I am making a hill so Squeaky-Eeky can slide down," answered the bunny uncle. "Underneath the bark the trunk of the elm tree is very slippery. Dr. Possum told me so. See how my paw slips!" And indeed it did, sliding down the sloping tree almost as fast as you can eat a lollypop. Uncle Wiggily took off a lot of bark from the elm tree, making a long, sliding, slippery place. "Now, try that with your sled, Squeaky-Eeky," said the bunny uncle. And the little cousin mouse did. She put her sled on the slanting tree, sat down and Jillie gave her a little push. Down the slippery elm tree went Squeaky as fast as anything, coming to a stop in a pile of soft leaves. "Oh, what a lovely slide!" cried Squeaky. "You try it, Jillie." And the little mouse girl did. "Who would think," she said, "that you could slide down a slippery elm tree? But you can." Then she and Squeaky took turns sliding down hill, even though there was no snow, and the slippery elm tree didn't mind it a bit, but rather liked it. And if the coal man doesn't take away our gas shovel to shoot some tooth powder into the wax doll's pop gun, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the sassafras. STORY IV UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE SASSAFRAS "Uncle Wiggily! Uncle Wiggily! Get up!" called Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, as she stood at the foot of the stairs of the hollow stump bungalow and called up to the rabbit gentleman one morning. "Hurry down, Mr. Longears," she went on. "This is the last day I am going to bake buckwheat cakes, and if you want some nice hot ones, with maple sugar sauce on, you'd better hurry." No answer came from the bunny uncle. "Why, this is strange," said Nurse Jane to herself. "I wonder if anything can have happened to him? Did he have an adventure in the night? Did the bad skillery-scalery alligator, with humps on its tail, carry him off?" Then she called again: "Uncle Wiggily! Uncle Wiggily! Aren't you going to get up? Come down to breakfast. Aren't you going to get up and come down?" "No, Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy," replied the bunny uncle, "not to give you a short answer, I am not going to get up, or come down or eat breakfast or do anything," and Mr. Longears spoke as though his head was hidden under the bed clothes, which it was. "Oh, Uncle Wiggily, whatever is the matter?" asked Nurse Jane, surprised like and anxious. "I don't feel at all well," was the answer. "I think I have the epizootic, and I don't want any breakfast." "Oh, dear!" cried Nurse Jane. "And all the nice cakes I have baked. I know what I'll do," she said to herself. "I'll call in Dr. Possum. Perhaps Uncle Wiggily needs some of the roots and herbs that grow in the woods--wintergreen, slippery elm or something like that. I'll call Dr. Possum." And when the animal doctor came he looked at the bunny uncle's tongue, felt of his ears, and said: "Ha! Hum! You have the Spring fever, Uncle Wiggily. What you need is sassafras." "Nurse Jane has some in the bungalow," spoke Mr. Longears. "Tell her to make me some tea from that." "No, what is needed is fresh sassafras," said Dr. Possum. "And, what is more, you must go out in the woods and dig it yourself. That will be almost as good for your Spring fever as the sassafras itself. So hop out, and dig some of the roots." "Oh, dear!" cried Uncle Wiggily, fussy like. "I don't want to. I'd rather stay here in bed." "But you can't!" cried Dr. Possum in his jolly voice. "Out with you!" and he pulled the bed clothes off the bunny uncle so he had to get up to keep warm. "Well, I'll just go out and dig a little sassafras root to please him," thought Uncle Wiggily to himself, "and then I'll come back and stay in bed as long as I please. It's all nonsense thinking I have to have fresh root--the old is good enough." "I do feel quite wretched and lazy like," said Uncle Wiggily to himself, as he limped along on his red, white and blue-striped barber-pole rheumatism crutch, that Nurse Jane had gnawed for him out of a cornstalk. "As soon as I find some sassafras I'll pull up a bit of the root and hurry back home and to bed." Pretty soon the bunny uncle saw where some of the sassafras roots were growing, with their queer three-pointed leaves, like a mitten, with a place for your finger and thumb. "Now to pull up the root," said the bunny uncle, as he dug down in the ground a little way with his paws, to get a better hold. But pulling up sassafras roots is not as easy as it sounds, as you know if you have ever tried it. The roots go away down in the earth, and they are very strong. Uncle Wiggily pulled and tugged and twisted and turned, but he could break off only little bits of the underground stalk. "This won't do!" he said to himself. "If I don't get a big root Dr. Possum will, perhaps, send me hack for more. I'll try again." He got his paws under a nice, big root, and he was straining his back to pull it up, when, all of a sudden, he heard a voice saying: "How do you do?" "Oh, hello!" exclaimed the bunny, looking up quickly, and expecting to see some friend of his, like Grandpa Goosey Gander, or Sammie Littletail, the rabbit boy. But, instead, he saw the bad old fox, who had, so many times, tried to catch the rabbit gentleman. "Oh!" said Uncle Wiggily, astonished like. And again he said: "Oh!" "Surprised, are you?" asked the fox, sort of curling his whiskers around his tongue, sarcastic fashion. "A little--yes," answered Uncle Wiggily. "I didn't expect to see you." "But I've been expecting you a long time," said the fox, grinning most impolitely. "In fact, I've been waiting for you. Just as soon as you have pulled up that sassafras root you may come with me. I'll take you off to my den, to my dear little foxes Eight, Nine and Ten. Those are their numbers. It's easier to number them than name them." "Oh, indeed?" asked Uncle Wiggily, as politely as he could, considering everything. "And so you won't take me until I pull this sassafras root?" "No, I'll wait until you have finished," spoke the fox. "I like you better, anyhow, flavored with sassafras. So pull away." Uncle Wiggily tried to pull up the root, but he did not pull very hard. "For," he thought, "as soon as I pull it up then the fox will take me, but if I don't pull it he may not." "What's the matter? Can't you get that root up?" asked the fox, after a while. "I can't wait all day." "Then perhaps you will kindly pull it up for me," said the bunny uncle. "I can't seem to do it." "All right, I will," the fox said. Uncle Wiggily hopped to one side. The fox put his paws under the sassafras root. And he pulled and he pulled and he pulled, and finally, with a double extra strong pull, he pulled up the root. But it came up so suddenly, just as when you break the point off your pencil, that the fox keeled over backward in a peppersault and somersault also. "Oh, wow!" cried the fox, as he bumped his nose. "What happened?" But Uncle Wiggily did not stay to tell. Away ran the bunny through the woods, as fast as he could go, forgetting all about his Spring fever. He was all over it. "I thought the sassafras would cure you," said Dr. Possum, when Uncle Wiggily was safely home once more. "The fox helped some," said the bunny uncle, with a laugh. And if the black cat doesn't cover himself with talcum powder and make believe he's a white kid glove going to a dance, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and Jack-in-the-Pulpit. STORY V UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE PULPIT-JACK "Well, how are you feeling today, Uncle Wiggily?" asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, as she saw the rabbit gentleman taking his tall silk hat down off the china closet, getting ready to go for a walk in the woods one morning. "Why, I'm feeling pretty fine, Nurse Jane," answered the bunny uncle. "Since I ran home to get away from the fox, after he turned a peppersault from pulling too strong to get up the sassafras root, I feel much better, thank you." "Good!" cried Nurse Jane. "Then perhaps you would not mind going to the store for me." "Certainly not," spoke Uncle Wiggily. "What do you wish?" "A loaf of bread," replied Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy, "also a box of matches and some sugar and crackers. But don't forget the matches whatever you do." "I won't," promised the bunny uncle, and soon he was hopping along through the woods wondering what sort of an adventure he would have this day. As he was going along keeping a sharp look-out for the bad fox, or the skillery-scalery alligator with the double jointed tail. Uncle Wiggily heard a voice saying: "Oh, dear! I'll never be able to get out from under the stone and grow tall as I ought. I've pushed and pushed on it, but I can't raise it. Oh, dear; what a heavy stone!" "Ha! Some one under a stone!" said Uncle Wiggily to himself. "That certainly is bad trouble. I wonder if I cannot help?" The bunny uncle looked all around and down on the ground he saw a flat stone. Underneath it something green and brown was peeping out. "Was that you who called?" asked Mr. Longears. "It was," came the answer. "I am a Jack-in-the-Pulpit plant, you see, and I started to grow up, as all plants and flowers do when summer comes. But when I had raised my head out of the earth I found a big stone over me, and now I can grow no more. I've pushed and pushed until my back aches, and I can't lift the stone." "I'll do it for you," said Uncle Wiggily kindly, and he did, taking it off the Pulpit-Jack. Then the Jack began growing up, and he had been held down so long that he grew quite quickly, so that even while Uncle Wiggily was watching, the Jack and his pulpit were almost regular size. A Jack-in-the-Pulpit, you know, is a queer flower that grows in our woods. Sometimes it is called an Indian turnip, but don't eat it, for it is very biting. The Jack is a tall green chap, who stands in the middle of his pulpit, which is like a little pitcher, with a curved top to it. A pulpit, you know, is where some one preaches on Sunday. "Thank you very much for lifting the stone off me so I could grow," said the Jack to Uncle Wiggily. "If ever I can do you a favor I will." "Oh, pray don't mention it," replied the rabbit gentleman, with a low bow. "It was a mere pleasure, I assure you." Then the rabbit gentleman hopped on to the store, to get the matches, the crackers, the bread and other things for Nurse Jane. "And I must be sure not to forget the matches," Uncle Wiggily said to himself. "If I did Nurse Jane could not make a fire to cook supper." There was an April shower while Uncle Wiggily was in the store, and he waited for the rain to stop falling before he started back to his hollow stump bungalow. Then the sun came out very hot and strong and shone down through the wet leaves of the trees in the woods. Along hopped the bunny uncle, and he was wondering what he would have for supper that night. "I hope it's something good," he said, "to make up for not having an adventure." "Don't you call that an adventure--lifting the stone off the Jack-in-the-Pulpit so he could grow?" asked a bird, sitting up in a tree. "Well, that was a little adventure." said Uncle Wiggily. "But I want one more exciting; a big one." And he is going to have one in about a minute. Just you wait and you'll hear all about it. The sun was shining hotter and hotter, and Uncle Wiggily was thinking that it was about time to get out his extra-thin fur coat when, all of a sudden, he felt something very hot behind him. "Why, that sun is really burning!" cried the bunny. Then he heard a little ant boy, who was crawling on the ground, cry out: "Fire! Fire! Fire! Uncle Wiggily's bundle of groceries is on fire! Fire! Fire!" "Oh, my!" cried the bunny uncle, as he felt hotter and hotter, "The sun must have set fire to the box of matches. Oh, what shall I do?" He dropped his bundle of groceries, and looking around at them he saw, surely enough, the matches were on fire. They were all blazing. "Call the fire department! Get out the water bugs!" cried the little ant boy. "Fire! Water! Water! Fire!" "That's what I want--water," cried the bunny uncle. "Oh, if I could find a spring of water. I could put the blazing matches, save some of them, perhaps, and surely save the bread and crackers. Oh, for some water!" Uncle Wiggily and the ant boy ran here and there in the woods looking for a spring of water. But they could find none, and the bread and crackers were just beginning to burn when a voice cried: "Here is water, Uncle Wiggily!" "Where? Where?" asked the rabbit gentleman, all excited like. "Where?" "Inside my pulpit," was the answer, and Uncle Wiggily saw, not far away, the Jack-plant he had helped from under the stone. "When it rained a while ago, my pitcher-pulpit became filled with water," went on Jack. "If you will just tip me over, sideways, I'll splash the water on the blazing matches and put them out." "I'll do it!" cried Uncle Wiggily, and he quickly did. The pulpit held water as good as a milk pitcher could, and when the water splashed on the fire that fire gave one hiss, like a goose, and went out. "Oh, you certainly did me a favor, Mr. Pulpit-Jack," said Uncle Wiggily. "Though the matches are burned, the bread and crackers are saved, and I can get more matches." Which he did, so Nurse Jane could make a fire in the stove. So you see Uncle Wiggily had an adventure after all, and quite an exciting one, too, and if the lemon drop doesn't fall on the stick of peppermint candy and make it sneeze when it goes to the moving pictures, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the violets. STORY VI UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE VIOLETS Down in the kitchen of the hollow stump bungalow there was a great clattering of pots and pans. Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman who lived in the bungalow, sat up in bed, having been awakened by the noise, and he said: "Well, I wonder what Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy is doing now? She certainly is busy at something, and it can't be making the breakfast buckwheat cakes, either, for she has stopped baking them." "I say, Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy, what's going on down in your kitchen?" called the rabbit gentleman out loud. "I'm washing," answered the muskrat lady. "Washing what; the dishes?" the bunny uncle wanted to know. "If you wash them as hard as it sounds, there won't be any of them left for dinner, and I haven't had my breakfast yet." "No, I'm getting ready to wash the clothes, and I wish you'd come down and eat, so I can clear away the table things!" called the muskrat lady. "Oh, dear! Clothes-washing!" cried Uncle Wiggily, making his pink nose twinkle in a funny way. "I don't like to be around the bungalow when that is being done. I guess I'll get my breakfast and go for a walk. Clothes have to be washed, I suppose," went on the rabbit gentleman, "and when Nurse Jane has been ill I have washed them myself, but I do not like it. I'll go off in the woods." And so, having had his breakfast of carrot pudding, with turnip sauce sprinkled over the top, Uncle Wiggily took his red, white and blue striped rheumatism crutch, and hopped along. The woods were getting more and more beautiful every day as the weather grew warmer. The leaves on the trees were larger, and here and there, down in the green moss, that was like a carpet on the ground, could be seen wild flowers growing up. "I wonder what sort of an adventure I will have today?" thought the bunny uncle as he went on and on. "A nice one, I hope." And, as he said this, Uncle Wiggily heard some voices speaking. "Oh, dear!" exclaimed a sad little voice, "no one will ever see us here! Of what use are we in the world? We are so small that we cannot be noticed. We are not brightly colored, like the red rose, and all that will happen to us will be that a cow will come along and eat us, or step on us with her big foot." "Hush! You musn't talk that way," said another voice. "You were put here to grow, and do the best you know how. Don't be finding fault." "I wonder who can be talking?" said Uncle Wiggily. "I must look around." So he looked up in the air, but though he heard the leaves whispering he knew they had not spoken. Then he looked to the right, to the left, in front and behind, but he saw no one. Then he looked down, and right at his feet was a clump of blue violet flowers. "Did you speak?" asked Uncle Wiggily of the violets. "Yes," answered one who had been finding fault. "I was telling my sisters and brothers that we are of no use in the world. We just grow up here in the woods, where no one sees us, and we never can have any fun. I want to be a big, red rose and grow in a garden." "Oh, my!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "I never heard of a violet turning into a rose." Then the mother violet spoke and said: "I tell my little girl-flower that she ought to be happy to grow here in the nice woods, in the green moss, where it is so cool and moist. But she does not seem to be happy, nor are some of the other violets." "Well, that isn't right," Uncle Wiggily said, kindly. "I am sure you violets can do some good in this world. You are pretty to look at, and nice to smell, and that is more than can be said of some things." "Oh, I want to do something big!" said the fault-finding violet. "I want to go out in the world and see things." "So do I! And I! And I!" cried other violets. Uncle Wiggily thought for a minute, and then he said: "I'll do this. I'll dig up a bunch of you violets, who want a change, and take you with me for a walk. I will leave some earth on your roots so you won't die, and we shall see what happens." "Oh, goodie!" cried the violets. So Uncle Wiggily dug them up with his paws, putting some cool moss around their roots, and when they had said good-by to the mother violet away they went traveling with the bunny uncle. "Oh, this is fine!" cried the first violet, nodding her head in the breeze. "It is very kind of you, Uncle Wiggily to take us with you. I wish we could do you a kindness." And then a bad old fox jumped out from behind a stump, and started to grab the rabbit gentleman. But when the fox saw the pretty violets and smelled their sweetness, the fox felt sorry at having been bad and said: "Excuse me, Uncle Wiggily. I'm sorry I tried to bite you. The sight of those pretty violets makes me feel happier than I did. I am going to try to be good." "I am glad of it," said Mr. Longears, as he hopped on through the woods. "You see, you have already done some good in this world, even if you are only tiny flowers," he said to the violets. Then Uncle Wiggily went on to his hollow stump bungalow, and, reaching there, he heard Nurse Jane saying: "Oh, dear! This is terrible. Here I have the clothes almost washed, and not a bit of bluing to rinse them in. Oh, why didn't I tell Wiggy to bring me some blueing from the store? Oh, dear!" "Ha! Perhaps these will do to make blue water," said the bunny uncle, holding out the bunch of violets. "Would you like to help Nurse Jane?" he asked the flowers. "Oh, yes, very much!" cried the violets. Then Uncle Wiggily dipped their blue heads in the clean rinsing water--just a little dip so as not to make them catch cold--and enough color came out of the violets to make the water properly blue for Nurse Jane's clothes, so she could finish the washing. "So you see you have done more good in the world," said Uncle Wiggily to the flowers. Then he took them back and planted them in the woods where they lived, and very glad they were to return, too. "We have seen enough of the world," they said, and thereafter they were glad enough to live down in the moss with the mother violet. And if the umbrella doesn't turn inside out so the handle tickles its ribs and makes it laugh in school, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the high tree. STORY VII UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE HIGH TREE Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice rabbit gentleman, stood in front of the looking glass trying on a new tall silk hat he had just bought ready for Easter Sunday, which would happen in about a week or two. "Do you think it looks well on me, Nurse Jane?" asked the bunny uncle, of the muskrat lady housekeeper, who came in from the kitchen of the hollow stump bungalow, having just finished washing the dishes. "Why, yes, I think your new hat is very nice," she said. "Do you think I ought to have the holes for my ears cut a little larger?" asked the bunny uncle. "I mean the holes cut, not my ears." "Well, just a little larger wouldn't hurt any," replied Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy. "I'll cut them for you," and she did, with her scissors. For Uncle Wiggily had to wear his tall silk hat with his ears sticking up through holes cut in it. His ears were too large to go under the hat, and he could not very well fold them down. "There, now I guess I'm all right to go for a walk in the woods," said the rabbit gentleman, taking another look at himself in the glass. It was not a proud look, you understand. Uncle Wiggily just wanted to look right and proper, and he wasn't at all stuck up, even if his ears were, but he couldn't help that. So off he started, wondering what sort of an adventure he would have that day. He passed the place where the blue violets were growing in the green moss--the same violets he had used to make Nurse Jane's blueing water for her clothes the other day, as I told you. And the violets were glad to see the bunny uncle. Then Uncle Wiggily met Grandfather Goosey Gander, the nice old goose gentleman, and the two friends walked on together, talking about how much cornmeal you could buy with a lollypop, and all about the best way to eat fried ice cream carrots. "That's a very nice hat you have on, Uncle Wiggily," said Grandpa Goosey, after a bit. "Glad you like it," answered the bunny uncle. "It's for Easter." "I think I'll get one for myself," went on Mr. Gander. "Do you think I would look well in it?" "Try on mine and see," offered Uncle Wiggily most kindly. So he took his new, tall silk hat off his head, pulling his ears out of the holes Nurse Jane had cut for them, and handed it to Grandfather Goosey Gander--handed the hat, I mean, not his ears, though of course the holes went with the hat. "There, how do I look?" asked the goose gentleman. "Quite stylish and proper," replied Mr. Longears. "I'd like to see myself before I buy a hat like this," went on Grandpa Goosey. "I hope it doesn't make me look too tall." "Here's a spring of water over by this old stump," spoke Uncle Wiggily. "You can see yourself in that, for it is just like a looking glass." Grandpa Goosey leaned over to see how Uncle Wiggily's tall, silk hat looked, when, all of a sudden, along came a puff of wind, caught the hat under the brim, and as Grandpa Goosey had no ears to hold it on his head (as the bunny uncle had) away sailed the hat up in the air, and it landed right in the top of a big, high tree. "Oh, dear!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "Oh, dear!" said Grandpa Goosey. "I'm very sorry that happened. Oh, dear!" "It wasn't your fault at all," spoke Uncle Wiggily kindly. "It was the wind." "But with your nice, new tall silk hat up in that high tree, how are we ever going to get it down," asked the goose gentleman. "I don't know," answered Uncle Wiggily. "Let me think." So he thought for a minute or two, and then he said: "There are three ways by which we may get the hat down. One is to ask the wind to blow it back to us, another is to climb up the tree and get the hat ourselves, and the third is to ask the tree to shake it down to us. We'll try the wind first." So Uncle Wiggily and Grandpa Goosey asked the wind that had blown the hat up in the top of the high tree to kindly blow it back again. But the wind had gone far out to sea, and would not be back for a week. So that way of getting the hat was of no use. "Mr. High Tree, will you kindly shake my hat down to me?" begged Uncle Wiggily next. "I would like to, very much," the tree answered politely, "but I cannot shake when there is no wind to blow me. We trees cannot shake ourselves, you know. We can only shake when the wind blows us, and until the wind comes back I cannot shake." "Too bad!" said Uncle Wiggily. "Then the only way left for us to do, Grandpa Goosey, is to climb the tree." But this was easier said than done, for neither a rabbit nor a goose gentleman is made for climbing up trees, though when he was a young chap Grandpa Goosey had flown up into little trees, and Uncle Wiggily had jumped over them. But that was long, long ago. Try as they did, neither the rabbit gentleman nor the goose gentleman could climb up after the tall silk hat. "What are we going to do?" asked Grandpa Goosey. "I don't know," replied Mr. Longears. "I guess I'll have to go get Billie or Johnnie Bushytail, the squirrel boys, to climb the tree for us. Yes, that's what I'll do; and then I can get my hat." Uncle Wiggily started off through the woods to look for one of the Bushytail chaps, while Grandpa Goosey stayed near the tree, to catch the hat in case it should happen to fall by itself. All of a sudden Uncle Wiggily heard some one coming along whistling, and then he heard a loud pounding sound, and next he saw Toodle Flat-tail, the beaver boy, walking in the woods. "Oh, Toodle! You're the very one I want!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "My hat is in a high tree and I can't get it. With your strong teeth, just made for cutting down trees, will you kindly cut down this one, and get my hat for me?" "I will," said the little beaver chap. But when he began to gnaw the tree, to make it fall, the tree cried: "Oh, Mr. Wind, please come and blow on me so I can shake Uncle Wiggily's hat to him, and then I won't have to be gnawed down. Please blow, Mr. Wind." So the wind hurried back and blew the tree this way and that. Down toppled Uncle Wiggily's hat, not in the least hurt, and so everything was all right again, and Uncle Wiggily and Grandpa Goosey and Toodle Flat-tail were happy. And the tree was extra glad as it did not have to be gnawed down. [Illustration: Down toppled Uncle Wiggily's hat, not in the least hurt.] And if the little mouse doesn't go to sleep in the cat's cradle and scare poor pussy so her tail swells up like a balloon, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the peppermint. STORY VIII UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE PEPPERMINT "Uncle Wiggily, would you mind going to the store for me?" asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, one morning, as she came in from the kitchen of the hollow stump bungalow, where she had been getting ready the breakfast for the rabbit gentleman. "Go to the store? Why of course I'll go, Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy," answered the bunny uncle. "Which store?" "The drug store." "The drug store? What do you want; talcum powder or court plaster?" "Neither one," answered Nurse Jane. "I want some peppermint." "Peppermint candy?" Uncle Wiggily wanted to know. "Not exactly," went on Nurse Jane. "But I want a little of the peppermint juice with which some kind of candy is flavored. I want to take some peppermint juice myself, for I have indigestion. Dr. Possum says peppermint is good for it. I must have eaten a little too much cheese pudding last night." "I'll get you the peppermint with pleasure," said the bunny uncle, starting off with his tall silk hat and his red, white and blue striped rheumatism barber pole crutch. "Better get it in a bottle," spoke Nurse Jane, with a laugh. "You can't carry peppermint in your pocket, unless it's peppermint candy, and I don't want that kind." "All right," Uncle Wiggily said, and then, with the bottle, which Nurse Jane gave him, he hopped on, over the fields and through the woods to the drug store. But when he got there the cupboard was bare--. No! I mustn't say that. It doesn't belong here. I mean when Uncle Wiggily reached the drug store it was closed, and there was a sign in the door which said the monkey-doodle gentleman who kept the drug store had gone to a baseball-moving-picture show, and wouldn't be back for a long while. "Then I wonder where I am going to get Nurse Jane's peppermint?" asked Uncle Wiggily of himself. "I'd better go see if Dr. Possum has any." But while Uncle Wiggily was going on through the woods once more, he gave a sniff and a whiff, and, all of a sudden, he smelled a peppermint smell. The rabbit gentleman stood still, looking around and making his pink nose twinkle like a pair of roller skates. While he was doing this along came a cow lady chewing some grass for her complexion. "What are you doing here, Uncle Wiggily?" asked the cow lady. Uncle Wiggily told her how he had gone to the drug store for peppermint for Nurse Jane, and how he had found the store closed, so he could not get any. "But I smell peppermint here in the woods," went on the bunny uncle. "Can it be that the drug store monkey doodle has left some here for me?" "No, what you smell is--that," said the cow lady, pointing her horns toward some green plants growing near a little babbling brook of water. The plants had dark red stems that were square instead of round. "It does smell like peppermint," said Uncle Wiggily, going closer and sniffing and snuffing. "It is peppermint," said the cow lady. "That is the peppermint plant you see." "Oh, now I remember," Uncle Wiggily exclaimed. "They squeeze the juice out of the leaves, and that's peppermint flavor for candy or for indigestion." "Exactly," spoke the cow lady, "and I'll help you squeeze out some of this juice in the bottle for Nurse Jane." Then Uncle Wiggily and the cow lady pulled up some of the peppermint plants and squeezed out the juice between two clean, flat stones, the cow lady stepping on them while Uncle Wiggily caught the juice in the empty bottle as it ran out. "My! But that is strong!" cried the bunny uncle, as he smelled of the bottle of peppermint. It was so sharp that it made tears come into his eyes. "I should think that would cure indigestion and everything else," he said to the cow lady. "Tell Nurse Jane to take only a little of it in sweet water," said the cow lady. "It is very strong. So be careful of it." "I will," promised Uncle Wiggily. "And thank you for getting the peppermint for me. I don't know what I would have done without you, as the drug store was closed." Then he hopped on through the woods to the hollow stump bungalow. He had not quite reached it when, all of a sudden, there was a rustling in the hushes, and out from behind a bramble bush jumped a big black bear. Not a nice good bear, like Neddie or Beckie Stubtail, but a bear who cried: "Ah, ha! Oh, ho! Here is some one whom I can bite and scratch! A nice tender rabbit chap! Ah, ha! Oh, ho!" "Are--are you going to scratch and bite me?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "I am," said the bear, snappish like. "Get ready. Here I come!" and he started toward Uncle Wiggily, who was so frightened that he could not hop away. "I'm going to hug you, too," said the bear. Bears always hug, you know. "Well, this is, indeed, a sorry day for me," said Uncle Wiggily, sadly. "Still, if you are going to hug, bite and scratch me, I suppose it can't be helped." "Not the least in the world can it be helped," said the bear, cross-like and unpleasant. "So don't try!" "Well, if you are going to hug me I had better take this bottle out of my pocket, so when you squeeze me the glass won't break," Uncle Wiggily said. "Here, when you are through being so mean to me perhaps you will be good enough to take this to Nurse Jane for her indigestion, but don't hug her." "I won't," promised the bear, taking the bottle which Uncle Wiggily handed him. "What's in it?" Before Uncle Wiggily could answer, the bear opened the bottle, and, seeing something in it, cried: "I guess I'll taste this. Maybe it's good to eat." Down his big, red throat he poured the strong peppermint juice, and then--well, I guess you know what happened. "Oh, wow! Oh, me! Oh, my! Wow! Ouch! Ouchie! Itchie!" roared the bear. "My throat is on fire! I must have some water!" And, dropping the bottle, away he ran to the spring, leaving Uncle Wiggily safe, and not hurt a bit. Then the rabbit gentleman hurried back and squeezed out more peppermint juice for Nurse Jane, whose indigestion was soon cured. And as for the bear, he had a sore throat for a week and a day. So this teaches us that peppermint is good for scaring bears, as well as for putting in candy. And if the snow man doesn't come in our house and sit by the gas stove until he melts into a puddle of molasses, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the birch tree. STORY IX UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE BIRCH TREE Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice old rabbit gentleman, was walking along through the woods one afternoon, when he came to the hollow stump school, where the lady mouse teacher taught the animal boys and girls how to jump, crack nuts, dig homes under ground, and do all manner of things that animal folk have to do. And just as the rabbit gentleman was wondering whether or not school was out, he heard a voice inside the hollow stump, saying: "Oh, dear! I wish I had some one to help me. I'll never get them clean all by myself. Oh, dear!" "Ha! That sounds like trouble!" thought Mr. Longears to himself. "I wonder who it is, and if I can help? I guess I'd better see." He looked in through a window, and there he saw the lady mouse teacher cleaning off the school black-boards. The boards were all covered with white chalk marks, you see. "What's the matter, lady mouse teacher?" asked Uncle Wiggily, making a polite, low bow. "Oh, I told Johnnie and Billy Bushytail, the two squirrel boys, to stay in and clean off the black-boards, so they would be all ready for tomorrow's lesson," said the lady mouse. "But they forgot, and ran off to play ball with Jackie and Peetie Bow Wow, the puppy dog boys. So I have to clean the boards myself. And I really ought to be home now, for I am very tired." "Then you trot right along," said Uncle Wiggily, kindly. "Tie a knot in your tail, so you won't step on it, and hurry along." "But what about the black-boards?" asked the lady mouse. "They must be cleaned off." "I'll attend to that," promised the bunny uncle. "I will clean them myself. Run along, Miss Mouse." So Miss Mouse thanked the bunny uncle, and ran along, and the rabbit gentleman began brushing the chalk marks off the black-boards, at the same time humming a little tune that went this way: "I'd love to be a teacher, Within a hollow stump. I'd teach the children how to fall, And never get a bump. I'd let them out at recess, A game of tag to play; I'd give them all fresh lollypops 'Most every other day!" "Oh, my! Wouldn't we just love to come to school to you!" cried a voice at the window, and, looking up. Uncle Wiggily saw Billie Bushytail, the boy squirrel, and brother Johnnie with him. "Ha! What happened you two chaps?" asked the bunny uncle. "Why did you run off without cleaning the black-boards for the lady mouse teacher?" "We forgot," said Johnnie, sort of ashamed-like and sorry. "That's what we came back to do--clean the boards." "Well, that was good of you," spoke Uncle Wiggily. "But I have the boards nearly cleaned now." "Then we will give them a dusting with our tails, and that will finish them," said Billie, and the squirrel boys did, so the black-boards were very clean. "Now it's time to go home," said Uncle Wiggily. So he locked the school, putting the key under the doormat, where the lady mouse could find it in the morning, and, with the Bushytail squirrel boys, he started off through the woods. "You and Billie can go back to your play, now, Johnnie," said the bunny uncle. "It was good of you to leave it to come back to do what you were told." The three animal friends hopped and scrambled on together, until, all of a sudden, the bad old fox, who so often had made trouble for Uncle Wiggily, jumped out from behind a bush, crying: "Ah, ha! Now I have you, Mr. Longears--and two squirrels besides. Good luck!" "Bad luck!" whispered Billie. The fox made a grab for the rabbit gentleman, but, all of a sudden, the paw of the bad creature slipped in some mud and down he went, head first, into a puddle of water, coughing and sneezing. "Come on, Uncle Wiggily!" quickly cried Billie and Johnnie. "This is our chance. We'll run away before the fox gets the water out of his eyes. He can't see us now." So away ran the rabbit gentleman and the squirrel boys, but soon the fox had dried his eyes on his big brush of a tail, and on he came after them. "Oh, I'll get you! I'll get you!" he cried, running very fast. But Uncle Wiggily and Billie and Johnnie ran fast, too. The fox was coming closer, however, and Billie, looking back, said: "Oh, I know what let's do, Uncle Wiggily. Let's take the path that leads over the duck pond ocean. That's shorter, and we can get to your bungalow before the fox can catch us. He won't dare come across the bridge over the duck pond, for Old Dog Percival will come out and bite him if he does." "Very well," said Uncle Wiggily, "over the bridge we will go." But alas! Also sorrowfulness and sadness! When the three friends got to the bridge it wasn't there. The wind had blown the bridge down, and there was no way of getting across the duck pond ocean, for neither Uncle Wiggily nor the squirrel boys could swim very well. "Oh, what are we going to do?" cried Billie, sadly. "We must get across somehow!" chattered Johnnie, "for here comes the fox!" And, surely enough the fox was coming, having by this time gotten all the water out of his eyes, so he could see very well. "Oh, if we only had a boat!" exclaimed Uncle Wiggily, looking along the shore of the pond, but there was no boat to be seen. Nearer and nearer came the fox! Uncle Wiggily and the squirrel boys were just going to jump in the water, whether or not they could swim, when, all at once, a big white birch tree on the edge of the woods near the pond, said: "Listen, Uncle Wiggily and I will save you. Strip off some of my bark. It will not hurt me, and you can make a little canoe boat of it, as the Indians used to do. Then, in the birch bark boat you can sail across the water and the fox can't get you." "Good! Thank you!" cried the bunny uncle. With their sharp teeth he, Billie and Johnnie peeled off long strips of birch bark. They quickly bent them in the shape of a boat and sewed up the ends with long thorns for needles and ribbon grass for thread. "Quick! Into the birch bark boat!" cried Uncle Wiggily, and they all jumped in, just as the fox came along. Billie and Johnnie held up their bushy tails, and Uncle Wiggily held up his tall silk hat for sails, and soon they were safe on the other shore and the fox, not being able to swim, could not get them. So that's how the birch tree of the woods saved the bunny uncle and the squirrels, for which, I am very glad, as I want to write more stories about them. And if the gold fish doesn't tickle the wax doll's nose with his tail when she looks in the tank to see what he has for breakfast, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the butternut tree. STORY X UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE BUTTERNUT TREE "Well, I declare!" exclaimed Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper of Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit, as she looked in the pantry of the hollow stump bungalow one day. "Well, I do declare!" "What's the matter?" asked Mr. Longears, peeping over the top of his spectacles. "I hope that the chimney hasn't fallen down, or the egg beater run away with the potato masher." "No, nothing like that," Nurse Jane said. "But we haven't any butter!" "No butter?" spoke Uncle Wiggily, sort of puzzled like, and abstracted. "Not a bit of butter for supper," went on Nurse Jane, sadly. "Ha! That sounds like something from Mother Goose. Not a bit of butter for supper," laughed Uncle Wiggily. "Not a bit of batter-butter for the pitter-patter supper. If Peter Piper picked a pit of peckled pippers--" "Oh, don't start that!" begged Nurse Jane. "All I need is some supper for butter--no some bupper for batter--oh, dear! I'll never get it straight!" she cried. "I'll say it for you," said Uncle Wiggily, kindly. "I know what you want--some butter for supper. I'll go get it for you." "Thank you," Nurse Jane exclaimed, and so the old rabbit gentleman started off over the fields and through the woods for the butter store. The monkey-doodle gentleman waited on him, and soon Uncle Wiggily was on his way back to the hollow stump bungalow with the butter for supper, and he was thinking how nice the carrot muffins would taste, for Nurse Jane had promised to make some, and Uncle Wiggily was sort of smacking his whiskers and twinkling his nose, when, all at once, he heard some one in the woods calling: "Uncle Wiggily! Oh, I say, Uncle Wiggily! Can't you stop for a moment and say how-d'-do?" "Why, of course, I can," answered the bunny, and, looking around the corner of an old log, he saw Grandpa Whackum, the old beaver gentleman, who lived with Toodle and Noodle Flat-tail, the beaver boys. "Come in and sit down for a minute and rest yourself," invited Grandpa Whackum. "I will," said Uncle Wiggily. "And I'll leave my butter outside where it will be cool," for Grandpa Whackum lived down in an underground house, where it was so warm, in summer, that butter would melt. Grandpa Whackum was a beaver, and he was called Whackum because he used to whack his broad, flat tail on the ground, like beating a drum, to warn the other beavers of danger. Beavers, you know, are something like big muskrats, and they like water. Their tails are flat, like a pancake or egg turner. "Well, how are things with you, and how is Nurse Jane?" asked Grandpa Whackum. "Oh, everything is fine," said Uncle Wiggily. "Nurse Jane is well. I've just been to the store to get her some butter." "That's just like you; always doing something for some one," said Grandpa Whackum, pleased like. Then the two friends talked for some little while longer, until it was almost 6 o'clock, and time for Uncle Wiggily to go. "I'll take my butter and travel along," he said. But when he went outside, where he had left the pound of butter on a flat stump, it wasn't there. "Why, this is queer," said the bunny uncle. "I wonder if Nurse Jane could have come along and taken it to the hollow stump bungalow herself?" "More likely a bad fox took the butter," spoke the old gentleman beaver. "But we can soon tell. I'll look in the dirt around the stump and see whose footprints are there. A fox makes different tracks from a muskrat." So Grandpa Whackum looked and he said: "Why, this is queer. I can only see beaver tracks and rabbit tracks near the stump. Only you and I were here and we didn't take anything." "But where is my butter?" asked Uncle Wiggily. Just then, off in the woods, near the beaver house, came the sound of laughter and voices cailed: "Oh, it's my turn now, Toodle." "Yes, Noodle, and then it's mine. Oh, what fun we are having, aren't we?" "It's Toodle and Noodle--my two beaver grandsons," said Grandpa Whackum. "I wonder if they could have taken your butter? Come; we'll find out." They went softly over behind a clump of bushes and there they saw Toodle and Noodle sliding down the slanting log of a tree, that was like a little hill, only there was no snow on it. "Why, they're coasting!" cried Grandpa Whackum. "And how they can do it without snow I don't see." "But I see!" said Uncle Wiggily. "Those two little beaver boys have taken my butter that I left outside of your house and with the butter they have greased the slanting log until it is slippery as ice. That's how they slide down--on Nurse Jane's butter." "Oh, the little rascals!" cried Grandpa Whackum. "Well, they didn't mean anything wrong," Uncle Wiggily kindly said. Then he called; "Toodle! Noodle! Is any of my butter left?" "Your butter?" cried Noodle, surprised like. "Was that your butter?" asked Toodle. "Oh, please forgive us! We thought no one wanted it, and we took it to grease the log so we could slide down. It was as good as sliding down a muddy, slippery bank of mud into the lake." "We used all your butter," spoke Noodle. "Every bit." "Oh, dear! That's too bad!" Uncle Wiggily said. "It is now after 6 o'clock and all the stores will be closed. How can I get more?" And he looked at the butter the beaver boys had spread on the tree. It could not be used for bread, as it was all full of bark. "Oh, how can I get some good butter for Nurse Jane?" asked the bunny uncle sadly. "Ha! I will give you some," spoke a voice high in the air. "Who are you?" asked Uncle Wiggily, startled. "I am the butternut tree," was the answer. "I'll drop some nuts down and all you will have to do will be to crack them, pick out the meats and squeeze out the butter. It is almost as good as that which you buy in the store." "Good!" cried Uncle Wiggily, "and thank you." Then the butter tree rattled down some butternuts, which Uncle Wiggily took home, and Nurse Jane said the butter squeezed from them was very good. And Toodle and Noodle were sorry for having taken Uncle Wiggily's other butter to make a slippery tree slide, but they meant no harm. So if the pussy cat doesn't take the lollypop stick to make a mud pie, and not give any ice cream cones to the rag doll, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and Lulu's hat. STORY XI UNCLE WIGGILY AND LULU'S HAT "Uncle Wiggily, do you want to do something for me?" asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, of the rabbit gentleman one day as he started out from his hollow stump bungalow to take a walk in the woods. "Do something for you, Nurse Jane? Why, of course, I want to," spoke Mr. Longears. "What is it?" "Just take this piece of pie over to Mrs. Wibblewobble, the duck lady," went on Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy. "I promised to let her taste how I made apple pie out of cabbage leaves." "And very cleverly you do it, too," said Uncle Wiggily, with a polite bow. "I know, for I have eaten some myself. I will gladly take this pie to Mrs. Wibblewobble," and off through the woods Uncle Wiggily started with it. He soon reached the duck lady's house, and Mrs. Wibblewobble was very glad indeed to get the piece of Nurse Jane's pie. "I'll save a bit for Lulu and Alice, my two little duck girls," said Mrs. Wibblewobble. "Why, aren't they home?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "No, Lulu has gone over to a little afternoon party which Nannie Wagtail, the goat girl, is having, and Alice has gone to see Grandfather Goosey Gander. Jiminie is off playing ball with Jackie and Peetie Bow Wow, the puppy dog boys, so I am home alone." "I hope you are not lonesome," said Uncle Wiggily. "Oh, no, thank you," answered the duck lady. "I have too much to do. Thank Nurse Jane for her pie." "I shall," Uncle Wiggily promised, as he started off through the woods again. He had not gone far before, all of a sudden, he did not stoop low enough as he was hopping under a tree and, the first thing he knew, his tall silk hat was knocked off his head and into a puddle of water. "Oh, dear!" cried Uncle Wiggily, as he picked up his hat. "I shall never be able to wear it again until it is cleaned and ironed. And how I can have that done out here in the woods is more than I know." "Ah, but I know," said a voice in a tree overhead. "Who are you, and what do you know?" asked the bunny uncle, surprised like and hopeful. "I know where you can have your silk hat cleaned and ironed smooth," said the voice. "I am the tailor bird, and I do those things. Let me have your hat, Uncle Wiggily, and I'll fix it for you." Down flew the kind bird, and Uncle Wiggily gave him the hat. "But what shall I wear while I'm waiting?" asked the bunny uncle. "It is too soon for me to be going about without my hat. I'll need something on my head while you are fixing my silk stovepipe, dear Tailor Bird." "Oh, that is easy," said the bird. "Just pick some of those thick, green leafy ferns and make yourself a hat of them." "The very thing!" cried Uncle Wiggily. Then he fastened some woodland ferns together and easily made himself a hat that would keep off the sun, if it would not keep off the rain. But then it wasn't raining. "There you are, Uncle Wiggily!" called the tailor bird at last. "Your silk hat is ready to wear again." "Thank you," spoke the bunny uncle, as he laid aside the ferns, also thanking them. "Now I am like myself again," and he hopped on through the woods, wondering whether or not he was to have any more adventures that day. Mr. Longears had not gone on very much farther before he heard a rustling in the bushes, and then a sad little voice said: "Oh, dear! How sad! I don't believe I'll go to the party now! All the others would make fun of me! Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" "Ha! That sounds like trouble!" said the bunny uncle. "I must see what it means." He looked through the bushes and there, sitting on a log, he saw Lulu Wibblewobble, the little duck girl, who was crying very hard, the tears rolling down her yellow bill. "Why, Lulu! What's the matter?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "Oh, dear!" answered the little quack-quack child. "I can't go to the party; that's what's the matter." "Why can't you go?" Uncle Wiggily wanted to know. "I saw your mother a little while ago, and she said you were going." "I know I was going," spoke Lulu, "but I'm not now, for the wind blew my nice new hat into the puddle of muddy water, and now look at it!" and she held up a very much beraggled and debraggled hat of lace and straw and ribbons and flowers. "Oh, dear! That hat is in a bad state, to be sure," said Uncle Wiggily. "But don't cry, Lulu. Almost the same thing happened to me and the tailor bird made my hat as good as ever. Mine was all mud, too, like yours. Come, I'll take you to the tailor bird." "You are very kind, Uncle Wiggily," spoke Lulu, "but if I go there I may not get back in time for the party, and I want to wear my new hat to it, very much." "Ha! I see!" cried the bunny uncle. "You want to look nice at the party. Well, that's right, of course. And I don't believe the tailor bird could clean your hat in time, for it is so fancy he would have to be very careful of it. "But you can do as I did, make a hat out of ferns, and wear that to Nannie Wagtail's party. I'll help you." "Oh, how kind you are!" cried the little duck girl. So she went along with Uncle Wiggily to where the ferns grew in the wood, leaving her regular hat at the tailor bird's nest to be cleaned and pressed. Uncle Wiggily made Lulu the cutest hat out of fern leaves. Oh, I wish you could have seen it. There wasn't one like it even in the five and ten-cent store. "Wear that to Nannie's party, Lulu," said the rabbit gentleman, and Lulu did, the hat being fastened to her feathers with a long pin made from the stem of a fern. And when Lulu reached the party all the animal girls cried out: "Oh, what a sweet, lovely, cute, dear, cunning, swell and stylish hat! Where did you get it?" "Uncle Wiggily made it," answered Lulu, and all the girls said they were going to get one just like it. And they did, so that fern hats became very fashionable and stylish in Woodland, and Lulu had a fine time at the party. So this teaches us that even a mud puddle is of some use, and if the rubber plant doesn't stretch too far, and tickle the gold fish under the chin making it sneeze, the next story will be about Uncle Wiggily and the snow drops. STORY XII UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE SNOW DROPS "Uncle Wiggily! Uncle Wiggily! Will you come with me?" called a voice under the window of the hollow stump bungalow, where the old gentleman rabbit was sitting, half asleep, one nice, warm afternoon. "Ha! Come with you? Who is it wants me to come with them?" asked the bunny gentleman. "I hope it isn't the bad fox, or the skillery-scalery alligator with humps on his tail that is calling. They're always wanting me to go with them." The rabbit looked out of the window and he heard some one laughing. "That doesn't sound like a bad fox, nor yet an unpleasant alligator," said Mr. Longears. "Who is it wants me to come with them?" "It is I--Susie Littletail, the rabbit girl," was the answer. "And where do you want me to come?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "To the woods, to pick some flowers," answered Susie. "The lady mouse teacher wants me to see how many kinds I can find. You know so much about the woods, Uncle Wiggily, that I wish you'd come with me." "I will," said the nice rabbit gentleman. "Wait until I get my tall silk hat and my red, white and blue striped barber pole rheumatism crutch." And, when he had them, off he started, holding Susie's paw in his, and limping along under the green trees and over the carpet of green moss. Uncle Wiggily and the little rabbit girl found many kinds of flowers in the woods. There were violets, some white, some yellow and some purple, with others blue, like the ones Uncle Wiggily used to make blueing water for Nurse Jane's clothes. And there were red flowers and yellow ones, and some Jacks-in-their-pulpits, which are very queer flowers indeed. "Here, Susie, is a new kind of blossom. Maybe you would like some of these," said Uncle Wiggily, pointing to a bush that was covered with little round, white balls. "Oh, I didn't know the snow had lasted this long!" Susie cried. "I thought it had melted long ago." "I don't see any snow," said Uncle Wiggily, looking around. "On that bush," said Susie, pointing to the white one. "Oh!" laughed the bunny uncle. "That does look like snow, to be sure. But it isn't, though the name of the flowers is snowdrop." "Flowers! I don't call them flowers!" said Susie. "They are only white balls." "Don't you want to pick any?" asked the rabbit. "Thank you, no," Susie said. "I like prettier colored flowers than those, which are just plain white." "Well, I like them, and I'll take some to Nurse Jane," spoke the bunny uncle. So he picked a bunch of the snowdrops and carried them in his paws, while Susie gathered the brighter flowers. "I think those will be all teacher will want," said the little rabbit girl at last. "Yes, we had better be getting home," spoke Uncle Wiggily. "Nurse Jane will soon have supper ready. Won't you come and eat with me, Susie?" "Thank you, I will, Uncle Wiggily," and the little bunny girl clapped her paws; that is, as well as she could, on account of holding her flowers, for she loved to eat at Uncle Wiggily's hollow stump bungalow, as did all the animal children. Well, Uncle Wiggily and Susie were going along and along through the woods, when, all of a sudden, as they passed a high rock, out from behind it jumped the bad old tail-pulling monkey. [Illustration: As they passed a high rock, out from behind it jumped the bad old tail-pulling monkey.] "Ah, ha!" chattered the monkey chap. "I am just in time, I see." "Time for what?" asked Uncle Wiggily, suspicious like. "To pull your tails," answered the monkey. "I haven't had any tails to pull in a long while, and I must pull some. So, though you rabbits haven't very good tails, for pulling, I must do the best I can. Now come to me and have your tails pulled. Come on!" "Oh, dear!" cried Susie. "I don't want my tail pulled, even if it is very short." "Nor I mine," Uncle Wiggily said. "That makes no manner of difference to me," chattered the monkey. "I'm a tail-pulling chap, and tails I must pull. So you might as well have it over with, now as later." And he spoke just like a dentist who wants to take your lolly-pop away from you. "Pull our tails! Well, I guess you won't!" cried Uncle Wiggily suddenly. "Come on, Susie! Let's run away!" Before the monkey could grab them Uncle Wiggily and Susie started to run. But soon the monkey was running after them, crying: "Stop! Stop! I must pull your tails!" "But we don't want you to," answered Susie. "Oh, but you must let me!" cried the monkey. Then he gave a great big, long, strong and double-jointed jump, like a circus clown going over the backs of fourteen elephants, and part of another one, and the monkey grabbed Uncle Wiggily by his ears. "Oh, let go of me, if you please!" begged the bunny. "I thought you said you pulled tails and not ears." "I do pull tails when I can get hold of them," said the malicious monkey. "But as I can't easily get hold of your tail, and as your ears are so large that I can easily grab them, I'll pull them instead. All ready now, a long pull, a strong pull and a pull altogether!" "Stop!" cried the bunny uncle, just as the monkey was going to give the three kinds of pull at once. "Stop!" "No!" answered the monkey. "No! No!" "Yes! Yes!" cried the bunny uncle. "If you don't stop pulling my ears you'll freeze!" and with that the bunny uncle pulled out from behind him, where he had kept them hidden, the bunch of white snowdrops. "Ah, ha!" cried Mr. Longears to the monkey. "You come from a warm country, where there is no snow or snowdrops. Now when you see these snow drops, shiver and shake--see how cold it is! Shiver and shake! Shake and shiver! Burr-r-r-r-r!" Uncle Wiggily made believe the flowers were real snow, sort of shivering himself (pretend like) and the tail-pulling chap, who was very much afraid of cold and snow and ice, chattered and said: "Oh, dear! Oh, how cold I am! Oh, I'm freezing. I am going back to my warm nest in the tree and not pull any tails until next summer!" And then the monkey ran away, thinking the snowdrops Uncle Wiggily had picked were bits of real snow. "I'm sorry I said the snowdrops weren't nice," spoke Susie, as she and Uncle Wiggily went safely home. "They are very nice. Only for them the monkey would have pulled our tails." But he didn't, you see, and if the hookworm doesn't go to the moving pictures with the gold fish and forget to come back to play tag with the toy piano, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the horse chestnut tree. STORY XIII UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE HORSE CHESTNUT "Bang! Bango! Bunko! Bunk! Slam!" Something made a big noise on the front porch of the hollow stump bungalow, where, in the woods, lived Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman. "My goodness!" cried Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper. "I hope nothing has happened!" "Well, from what I heard I should say it is quite certain that SOMETHING has happened," spoke the bunny uncle, sort of twisting his ears very anxious like. "I only hope the chimney hasn't turned a somersault, and that the roof is not trying to play tag with the back steps," went on Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy, a bit scared like. "I'll go see what it is," offered Uncle Wiggily, and as he went to the front door there, on the piazza, he saw Billie Wagtail, the little goat boy. "Oh, good morning, Uncle Wiggily," spoke Billie, politely. "Here's a note for you. I just brought it." "And did you bring all that noise with you?" Mr. Longears wanted to know. "Well, yes, I guess I did," Billie said, sort of bashful like and shy as he wiggled his horns. "I was seeing how fast I could run, and I ran down hill and got going so lickity-split like that I couldn't stop. I fell right up your front steps, rattle-te-bang!" "I should say it was rattle-te-bang!" laughed Uncle Wiggily. "But please don't do it again, Billie." "I won't," promised the goat boy. "Grandpa Goosey Gander gave me that note to leave for you on my way to the store for my mother. And now I must hurry on," and Billie jumped off the porch and skipped along through the Woodland trees as happy as a huckleberry pie and a piece of cheese. "What was it all about?" asked Nurse Jane, when Uncle Wiggily came in. "Oh, just Billie Wagtail," answered the bunny uncle. "He brought a note from Grandpa Goosey, who wants me to come over and see him. I'll go. He has the epizootic, and can't get out, so he wants some one to talk to and to play checkers with him." Off through the woods went Uncle Wiggily and he was almost at Grandpa Goosey's house when he heard some voices talking. One voice said: "Oh, dear! How thirsty I am!" "And so am I!" said another. "Well, children, I am sorry," spoke a third voice, "but I cannot give you any water. I am thirsty myself, but we cannot drink until it rains, and it has not rained in a long, long time." "Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" cried the other voices again. "How thirsty we are!" "That's too bad," thought Uncle Wiggily. "I would not wish even the bad fox to be thirsty. I must see if I can not be of some help." So he peeked through the bushes and saw some trees. "Was it you who were talking about being thirsty?" asked the rabbit gentleman, curious like. "Yes," answered the big voice. "I am a horse chestnut tree, and these are my children," and the large tree waved some branches, like fingers, at some small trees growing under her. "And they, I suppose, are pony chestnut trees," said Uncle Wiggily. "That's what we are!" cried the little trees, "and we are very thirsty." "Indeed they are," said the mother tree. "You see we are not like you animals. We cannot walk to a spring or well to get a drink when we are thirsty. We have to stay, rooted in one place, and wait for the rain, or until some one waters us." "Well, some one is going to water you right away!" cried Uncle Wiggily in his jolly voice. "I'll bring you some water from the duck pond, which is near by." Then, borrowing a pail from Mrs. Wibblewobble, the duck lady, Uncle Wiggily poured water all around the dry earth, in which grew the horse chestnut tree and the little pony trees. "Oh! How fine that is!" cried the thirsty trees. "It is almost as nice as rain. You are very good, Uncle Wiggily," said the mother tree, "and if ever we can do you a favor we will." "Thank you," spoke Uncle Wiggily, making a low bow with his tall silk hat. Then he went on to Grandpa Goosey's where he visited with his epizootic friend and played checkers. On his way home through the woods, Uncle Wiggily was unpleasantly surprised when, all of a sudden out from behind a stone jumped a bad bear. He wasn't at all a good, nice bear like Beckie or Neddie Stubtail. "Bur-r-r-r-r!" growled the bear at Uncle Wiggily. "I guess I'll scratch you." "Oh, please don't," begged the bunny uncle. "Yes, I shall!" grumbled the bear. "And I'll hug you, too!" "Oh, no! I'd rather you wouldn't!" said the bunny uncle. For well he knew that a bear doesn't hug for love. It's more of a hard, rib-cracking squeeze than a hug. If ever a bear wants to hug you, just don't you let him. Of course if daddy or mother wants to hug, why, that's all right. "Yes, I'm going to scratch you and hug you," went on the bad bear, "and after that--well, after that I guess I'll take you off to my den." "Oh, please don't!" begged Uncle Wiggily, twinkling his nose and thinking that he might make the bear laugh. For if ever you can get a bear to laugh he won't hurt you a bit. Just remember that. Tickle him, or do anything to get him to laugh. But this bear wouldn't even smile. He just growled again and said: "Well, here I come, Uncle Wiggily, to hug you!" "Oh, no you don't!" all of a sudden cried a voice in the air. "Ha! Who says I don't?" grumbled the bear, impolite like. "I do," went on the voice. And the bear saw some trees waving their branches at him. "Pooh! I'm not afraid of you!" growled the bear, and he made a rush for the bunny. "I'm not afraid of trees." "Not afraid of us, eh? Well, you'd better be!" said the mother tree. "I'm a strong horse chestnut and these are my strong little ponies. Come on, children, we won't let the bear get Uncle Wiggily." Then the strong horse chestnut tree and the pony trees reached down with their powerful branches and, catching hold of the bear, they tossed him up in the air, far away over in the woods, at the same time pelting him with green, prickly horse chestnuts, and the bear came down ker-bunko in a bramble brier bush. "Oh, wow!" cried the bear, as he felt his soft and tender nose being scratched. "I'll be good! I'll be good!" And he was, for a little while, anyhow. So this shows you how a horse chestnut tree saved the bunny gentleman, and if the postman doesn't stick a stamp on our cat's nose so it can't eat molasses cake when it goes to the puppy dog's party, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the pine tree. STORY XIV UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE PINE TREE Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice old gentleman rabbit, put on his tall silk hat, polished his glasses with the tip of his tail, to make them shiny so he could see better through them, and then, taking his red, white and blue striped rheumatism crutch down off the mantel, he started out of his hollow stump bungalow one day. "Better take an umbrella, hadn't you?" asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper. "It looks as though we might have an April shower." "An umbrella? Yes, I think I will take one," spoke the bunny uncle, as he saw some dark clouds in the sky. "They look as though they might have rain in them." "Are you going anywhere in particular?" asked the muskrat lady, as she tied her tail in a soft knot. "No, not special," Uncle Wiggily answered. "May I have the pleasure of doing something for you?" he asked with a polite bow, like a little girl speaking a piece in school on Friday afternoon. "Well," said Nurse Jane, "I have baked some apple dumplings with oranges inside, and I thought perhaps you might like to take one to Grandfather Goosey Gander to cheer him up." "The very thing!" cried Uncle Wiggily, jolly-like. "I'll do it, Nurse Jane." So with an apple dumpling carefully wrapped up in a napkin and put in a basket, Uncle Wiggily started off through the woods and over the fields to Grandpa Goosey's house. "I wonder if I shall have an adventure today?" thought the rabbit gentleman as he waved his ears to and fro like the pendulum of a clock. "I think I would like one to give me an appetite for supper. I must watch for something to happen." He looked all around the woods, but all he could see were some trees. "I can't have any adventures with them," said the bunny uncle, "though the horse chestnut tree did help me the other day by tossing the bad bear over into the briar bush. But these trees are not like that." Still Uncle Wiggily was to have an adventure with one of the trees very soon. Just you wait, now, and you shall hear about it. Uncle Wiggily walked on a little farther and he heard a funny tapping noise in the woods. "Tap! Tap! Tap! Tappity-tap-tap!" it sounded. "My! Some one is knocking on a door trying to get in," thought the bunny. "I wonder who it can be?" Just then he saw a big bird perched on the side of a pine tree, tapping with his bill. "Tap! Tap! Tap!" went the bird. "Excuse me," said the bunny uncle, "but you are making a mistake. No one lives in that tree." "Oh, thank you, Uncle Wiggily. I know that no one lives here," said the bird. "But you see I am a woodpecker, and I am pecking holes in the tree to get some of the sweet juice, or sap. The sap is running in the trees now, for it is Spring. Later on I will tap holes in the bark to get at bugs and worms, when there is no more sap for me to eat." And the woodpecker went on tapping, tapping, tapping. "My! That is a funny way to get something to eat," said the bunny gentleman to himself. He watched the bird until it flew away, and then Uncle Wiggily was about to hop on to Grandpa Goosey's house when, all of a sudden, before he could run away, out popped the bad old bear once more. "Ah, ha! We meet again, I see," growled the bear. "I was not looking for you, Mr. Longears, but all the same I am glad to meet you, for I want to eat you." "Well," said Uncle Wiggily, sort of scratching his pink, twinkling nose with his ear, surprised like. "I can't exactly say I'm glad to see you, good Mr. Bear." "No, I s'pose not," agreed the fuzzy creature. "But you are mistaken. I am the Bad Mr. Bear, not the Good." "Oh, excuse me," said Uncle Wiggily. All the while he knew the bear was bad, but he hoped by calling him good, to make him so. "I'm very bad!" growled the bear, "and I'm going to take you off to my den with me. Come along!" "Oh, I don't want to," said the bunny uncle, shivering his tail. "But you must!" growled the bear. "Come on, now!" "Oh, dear!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "Will you let me go if I give you what's in my basket?" he asked, and he held up the basket with the nice orange apple turnover in it. "Let me go if I give you this," begged the bunny uncle. "Maybe I will, and maybe I won't," said the bear, cunning like. "Let me see what it is." He took the basket from Uncle Wiggily, and looking in, said: "Ah, ha! An apple turnover-dumpling with oranges in it! I just love them! Ah, ha!" "Oh," thought Uncle Wiggily. "I hope he eats it, for then maybe I can get away when he doesn't notice me. I hope he eats it!" And the bear, leaning his back against the pine tree in which the woodpecker had been boring holes, began to take bites out of the apple dumpling which Nurse Jane had baked for Grandpa Goosey. "Now's my chance to get away!" thought the bunny gentleman. But when he tried to hop softly off, as the bear was eating the sweet stuff, the bad creature saw him and cried: "Ah, ha! No you don't! Come hack here!" and with his claws he pulled Uncle Wiggily close to him again. Then the bunny uncle noticed that some sweet, sticky juice or gum, like that on fly paper, was running down the trunk of the tree from the holes the woodpecker had drilled in it. "Oh, if the bear only leans back hard enough and long enough against that sticky pine tree," thought Mr. Longears, "he'll be stuck fast by his furry hair and he can't get me. I hope he sticks!" And that is just what happened. The bear enjoyed eating the apple dumpling so much that he leaned back harder and harder against the sticky tree. His fur stuck fast in the gum that ran out. Finally the bear ate the last crumb of the dumpling. "And now I'll get you!" he cried to the bunny uncle; "I'll get you!" But did the bear get Uncle Wiggily? He did not. The bear tried to jump toward the rabbit, but could not. He was stuck fast to the sticky pine tree and Uncle Wiggily could now run safely back to his hollow stump bungalow to get another dumpling for Grandpa Goosey. So the bear had no rabbit, after all, and all he did was to stay stuck fast to the pine tree until a big fox came along and helped him to get loose, and the bear cried "Wouch!" because his fur was pulled. So Uncle Wiggily was all right, you see, after all, and very thankful he was to the pine tree for holding fast to the bear. And in the next story, if our cat doesn't go hunting for the poll parrot's cracker in the gold fish bowl and get his whiskers all wet, I'll tell you about Uncle Wiggily and the green rushes. STORY XV UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE GREEN RUSHES Once upon a time Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice rabbit gentleman, was taking a walk in the woods, looking for an adventure, as he often did, when, as he happened to go past the hollow tree, where Billie and Johnnie Bushytail, the two squirrel boys lived, he saw them just poking their noses out of the front door, which was a knot-hole. "Hello, boys!" called Uncle Wiggily. "Why haven't you gone to school today? It is time, I'm sure." "Oh, we don't have to go today," answered Billie, as he looked at his tail to see if any chestnut burrs were sticking in it. But none was, I am glad to say. "Don't have to go to school? Why not?" Uncle Wiggily wanted to know. "This isn't Saturday, is it?" "No," spoke Johnnie. "But you see, Sister Sallie, our little squirrel sister, has the measles, and we can't go to school until she gets over them." "And we don't know what to do to have some fun," went on Billie, "for lots of the animal children are home from school with the measles, and they can't be out to play with us. We've had the measles, so we can't get them the second time, but the animal boys and girls, who haven't broken out, don't want us to come and see them for fear we'll bring the red spots to them." "I see," said Uncle Wiggily, laughing until his pink nose twinkled like a jelly roll. "So you can't have any fun? Well, suppose you come with me for a walk in the woods." "Fine!" cried Billie and Johnnie and soon they were walking in the woods with the rabbit gentleman. They had not gone very far before, all of a sudden, they came to a place where a mud turtle gentleman had fallen on his back, and he could not turn over, right-side up again. He tried and tried, but he could not right himself. "Oh, that is too bad!" cried Uncle Wiggily, when he saw what had happened. "I must help him to get right-side up again," which he did. "Oh, thank you for putting me on my legs once more, Uncle Wiggily," said the mud turtle. "I would like to do you a favor for helping me, but all I have to give you are these," and in one claw he picked some green stalks growing near him, and handed them to the bunny uncle, afterward crawling away. "Pooh! Those are no good!" cried Billie, the boy squirrel. "I should say not!" laughed Johnnie, "They are only green rushes that grow all about in the woods, and we could give Uncle Wiggily all he wanted." "Hush, boys! Don't talk that way," said the bunny uncle. "The mud turtle tried to do the best he could for me, and I am sure the green rushes are very nice. I'll take them with me. I may find use for them." Billie and Johnnie wanted to laugh, for they thought green rushes were of no use at all. But Uncle Wiggily said to the squirrel boys: "Billie and Johnnie, though green rushes, which grow in the woods and swamps are very common, still they are a wonderful plant. See how smooth they are when you rub them up and down. But if you rub them sideways they are as rough as a stiff brush or a nutmeg grater." Well, Billie and Johnnie thought more of the rushes after that, but, as they walked on with Uncle Wiggily, when he had put them in his pocket, they could think of no way in which he could use them. In a little while they came to where Mother Goose lived, and the dear old lady herself was out in front of her house, looking up and down the woodland path, anxious like. "What is the matter?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "Are you looking for some of your lost ones--Little Bopeep or Tommy Tucker, who sings for his supper?" "Well, no, not exactly," answered Mother Goose. "I sent Simple Simon to the store to get me a scrubbing brush, so I could clean the kitchen floor. But he hasn't come back, and I am afraid he has gone fishing in his mother's pail, to try to catch a whale. Oh, dear! My kitchen is so dirty that it needs scrubbing right away. But I cannot do it without a scrubbing brush." "Ha! Say no more!" cried Uncle Wiggily in his jolly voice. "I have no scrubbing brush, but I have a lot of green rushes the mud turtle gave me for turning him right-side up. The rushes are as rough as a scrubbing brush, and will do just as nicely to clean your kitchen." "Oh, thank you! I'm sure they will," said Mother Goose. So she took the green rushes from Uncle Wiggily and by using them with soap and water soon her kitchen floor was scrubbed as clean as an eggshell, for the green, rough stems scraped off all the dirt. Then Mother Goose thanked Uncle Wiggily very much, and Billie and Johnnie sort of looked at one another with blinking eyes, for they saw that green rushes are of some use in this world after all. And if the strawberry jam doesn't go to the moving pictures with the bread and butter and forget to come home for supper, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the bee tree. STORY XVI UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE BEE TREE "Well, you're off again, I see!" spoke Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, one morning, as she saw Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman, starting away from his hollow stump bungalow. He was limping on his red, white and blue striped barber pole rheumatism crutch, that Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy had gnawed for him out of a cornstalk. "Off again!" she cried. "Yes, off again," said Uncle Wiggily. "I must have my adventure, you know." "I hope it will be a pleasant one today," went on Nurse Jane. "So do I," said Uncle Wiggily, and away he went hopping over the fields and through the woods. He had not gone very far before he heard a queer buzzing sound, and a sort of splashing in the water and a tiny voice cried: "Help! Help! Save me! I am drowning!" "My goodness me sakes alive and some horse radish lollypops!" cried the bunny uncle. "Some one drowning? I don't see any water around here, though I do hear some splashing. Who are you?" he cried. "And where are you, so that I may save you?" "Here I am, right down by your foot!" was the answer. "I am a honey bee, and I have fallen into this Jack-in-the pulpit flower, which is full of water. Please get me out!" "To be sure I will!" cried Mr. Longears, and then, stooping down he carefully lifted the poor bee out of the water in the Jack-in-the-pulpit. The Jack is a plant that looks like a little pitcher and it holds water. In the middle is a green stem, that is called Jack, because he looks like a minister preaching in the pulpit. The Jack happened to be out when the bee fell in the water that had rained in the plant-pitcher, or Jack himself would have saved the honey chap. But Uncle Wiggily did it just as well. "Oh, thank you so much for not letting me drown," said the bee, as she dried her wings in the sun on a big green leaf. "I was on my way to the hive tree with a load of honey when I stopped for a drink. But I leaned over too far and fell in. I can not thank you enough!" "Oh, once is enough!" cried Uncle Wiggily in his most jolly voice. "But did I understand you to say you lived in a hive-tree?" "Yes, a lot of us bees have our hive in a hollow tree in the woods, not far away. It is there we store the honey we gather from Summer flowers, so we will have something to eat in the Winter when there are no blossoms. Would you like to see the bee tree?" "Indeed, I would," Uncle Wiggily said. "Follow me, then," buzzed the bee. "I will fly on ahead, very slowly, and you can follow me through the woods." Uncle Wiggily did so, and soon he heard a great buzzing sound, and he saw hundreds of bees flying in and out of a hollow tree. At first some of the bees were going to sting the bunny uncle, but his little friend cried: "Hold on, sisters! Don't sting this rabbit gentleman. He is Uncle Wiggily and he saved me from being drowned." So the bees did not sting the bunny uncle, but, instead, gave him a lot of honey, in a little box made of birch bark, which he took home to Nurse Jane. "Oh, I had the sweetest adventure!" he said to her, and he told her about the bee tree and the honey, which he and the muskrat lady ate on their carrot cake for dinner. It was about a week after this, and Uncle Wiggily was once more in the woods, looking for an adventure, when, all at once a big bear jumped out from behind a tree and grabbed him. "Oh, dear!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "Why did you do that? Why have you caught me, Mr. Bear?" "Because I am going to carry you off to my den," answered the bear. "I am hungry, and I have been looking for something to eat. You came along just in time. Come on!" The hear was leading Uncle Wiggily away when the bunny uncle happened to think of something, and it was this--that bears are very fond of sweet things. "Would you not rather eat some honey than me?" Uncle Wiggily asked of the bear. "Much rather," answered the shaggy creature, "but where is the honey?" he asked, cautious like and foxy. "Come with me and I will show you where it is," went on the bunny uncle, for he felt sure that his friends the bees, would give the bear honey so the bad animal would let the rabbit gentleman go. Uncle Wiggily led the way through the wood to the bee tree, the bear keeping hold of him all the while. Pretty soon a loud buzzing was heard, and when they came to where the honey was stored in the hollow tree, all of a sudden out flew hundreds of bees, and they stung the bear so hard all over, especially on his soft and tender nose, that the bear cried: "Wow! Wouch! Oh, dear!" and, letting go of the rabbit, ran away to jump in the ice water to cool off. But the bees did not sting Uncle Wiggily, for they liked him, and he thanked them for driving away the bear. So everything came out all right, you see, and if the foot-stool gets up to the head of the class and writes its name on the blackboard, with pink chalk, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the dogwood tree. STORY XVII UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE DOGWOOD "Where are you going, Uncle Wiggily?" asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, as the nice old rabbit gentleman started out from his hollow stump bungalow one afternoon. "Oh, just for a walk in the woods," he answered. "Neddie Stubtail, the little bear boy, told me last night that there were many adventures in the forest, and I want to see if I can find one." "My goodness! You seem very fond of adventures!" said Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy. "I am," went on Uncle Wiggily, with a smile that made his pink nose twinkle and his whiskers sort of chase themselves around the back of his neck, as though they were playing tag with his collar button. "I just love to have adventures." "Well, while you are out walking among the trees would you mind doing me a favor?" asked Nurse Jane. "I wouldn't mind in the least," spoke the bunny uncle. "What would you like me to do?" "Just leave this thimble at Mrs. Bow Wow's house. I borrowed the dog lady's thimble to use when I couldn't find mine, but now that I have my own back again I'll return hers." "Where was yours?" Uncle Wiggily wanted to know. "Jimmie Caw-Caw, the crow boy, had picked it up to hide under the pump," answered Nurse Jane. "Crows, you know, like to pick up bright and shining things." "Yes, I remember," said Uncle Wiggily. "Very well, I'll give Mrs. Bow Wow her thimble," and off the old gentleman rabbit started, limping along on his red, white and blue striped rheumatism crutch, that Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy had gnawed for him out of a bean-pole. Excuse me, I mean corn stalk. When Uncle Wiggily came to the place where Jackie and Peetie Bow Wow, the little puppy dog boys lived, he saw Mrs. Bow Wow, the dog lady, out in front of the kennel house looking up and down the path that led through the woods. "Were you looking for me?" asked Uncle Wiggily, making a low and polite bow with his tall silk hat. "Looking for you? Why, no, not specially," said Mrs. Bow Wow, "though I am always glad to see you." "I thought perhaps you might be looking for your thimble," went on the bunny uncle. "Nurse Jane has sent it back to you." "Oh, thank you!" said the mother of the puppy dog boys. "I'm glad to get my thimble back, but I was really looking for Peetie and Jackie." "You don't mean to say they have run away, do you?" asked Uncle Wiggily, in surprise. "No, not exactly run away. But they have not come home from school, though the lady mouse, who teaches in the hollow stump, must have let the animal children out long ago." "She did," Uncle Wiggily said. "I came past the hollow stump school on my way here, and every one was gone." "Then where can Jackie and Peetie be keeping themselves?" asked Mrs. Bow Wow. "Oh, I'm so worried about them!" "Don't be worried or frightened," said Uncle Wiggily, kindly. "I'll go look for them for you." "Oh, if you will I'll be so glad!" cried Mrs. Bow Wow. "And if you find them please tell them to come home at once." "I will," promised the bunny uncle. Giving the dog lady her thimble, Uncle Wiggily set off through the woods to look for Jackie and Peetie Bow Wow. On every side of the woodland path he peered, under trees and bushes and around the corners of moss-covered rocks and big stumps. But no little puppy dog chaps could he find. All at once, as Mr. Longears was going past an old log he heard a rustling in the bushes, and a voice said: "Well, we nearly caught them, didn't we?" "We surely did," said another voice. "And I think if we race after them once more we'll certainly have them. Let's rest here a bit, and then chase those puppy dogs some more. That Jackie is a good runner." "I think Peetie is better," said the other voice. "Anyhow, they both got away from us." "Ha! This must be Peetie and Jackie Bow Wow they are talking about," said Uncle Wiggily to himself. "This sounds like trouble. So the puppy dogs were chased, were they? I must see by whom." He peeked through the bushes, and there he saw two big, bad foxes, whose tongues were hanging out over their white teeth, for the foxes had run far and they were tired. "I see how it is," Uncle Wiggily thought. "The foxes chased the little puppy dogs as they were coming from school and Jackie and Peetie have run somewhere and hidden. I must find them." Just then one of the foxes cried: "Come on. Now we'll chase after those puppies, and get them. Come on!" "Ha! I must go, too!" thought Uncle Wiggily. "Maybe I can scare away the foxes, and save Jackie and Peetie." So the foxes ran and Uncle Wiggily also ran, and pretty soon the rabbit gentleman came to a place in the woods where grew a tree with big white blossoms on it, and in the center the blossoms were colored a dark red. "Ha! There are the puppy boys under that tree!" cried one fox, and, surely enough, there, right under the tree, Jackie and Peetie were crouched, trembling and much frightened. "We'll get them!" cried the other fox. "Come on!" And then, all of a sudden, as the foxes leaped toward the poor little puppy dog boys, that tree began to hark and growl and it cried out loud: "Get away from here, you bad foxes! Leave Jackie and Peetie alone! Wow! Bow-wow! Gurr-r-r-r!" and the tree barked and roared so like a lion that the foxes were frightened and were glad enough to run away, taking their tails with them. Then Jackie and Peetie came safely out, and thanked the tree for taking care of them. [Illustration: The tree barked and roared so like a lion that the foxes were frightened and were glad enough to run away.] "Oh, you are welcome," said the tree. "I am the dogwood tree, you know, so why should I not bark and growl to scare foxes, and take care of you little puppy chaps? Come to me again whenever any bad foxes chase you." And Peetie and Jackie said they would. So Uncle Wiggily, after also thanking the tree, took the doggie boys home, and they told him how the foxes had chased them soon after they came from school, so they had to run. But everything came out all right, you see, and if the black cat doesn't dip his tail in the ink, and make chalk marks all over the piano, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the hazel nuts. STORY XVIII UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE HAZEL NUTS "Going out again, Uncle Wiggily?" asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, one morning, as she saw the rabbit gentleman taking his red, white and blue-striped rheumatism crutch down off the clock shelf. "Well, yes, Janie, I did think of going out for a little stroll in the forest," answered the bunny uncle, talking like a phonograph. What he meant was that he was going for a walk in the woods, but he thought he'd be polite about it, and stylish, just for once. "Don't forget your umbrella," went on Nurse Jane. "It looks to me very much as though there would be a storm." "I think you're right," Uncle Wiggily said. "Our April showers are not yet over. I shall take my umbrella." So, with his umbrella, and the rheumatism crutch which Nurse Jane had gnawed for him out of a cornstalk, off started the bunny uncle, hopping along over the fields and through the woods. Pretty soon Uncle Wiggily met Johnnie Bushytail, the squirrel boy. "Where are you going, Johnnie?" asked the rabbit gentleman. "Are you here in the woods, looking for an adventure? That's what I'm doing." "No, Uncle Wiggily," answered the squirrel boy. "I'm not looking for an adventure. I'm looking for hazel nuts." "Hazel nuts?" cried the bunny uncle in surprise. "Yes," went on Johnnie. "You know they're something like chestnuts, only without the prickly burrs, and they're very good to eat. They grow on bushes, instead of trees. I'm looking for some to eat. They are nice, brown, shiny nuts." "Good!" cried the rabbit gentleman. "We'll go together looking for hazel nuts, and perhaps we may also find an adventure. I'll take the adventure and you can take the hazel nuts." "All right!" laughed Johnnie, and off they started. On and over the fields and through the woods went the bunny uncle and Johnnie, until, just as they were close to the place where some extra early new kind of Spring hazel nuts grew on bushes, there was a noise behind a big black stump--and suddenly out pounced a bear! "Oh, hello, Neddie Stubtail!" called Johnnie. And he was just going up and shake paws when Uncle Wiggily cried: "Look out, Johnnie! Wait a minute! That isn't your friend Neddie!" "Isn't it?" asked Johnnie, surprised-like, and he drew back. "No, it's a bad old bear--not our nice Neddie, at all! And I think he is going to chase us! Get ready to run!" So Johnnie Bushytail and Uncle Wiggily got ready to run. And it was a good thing they did, for just then the bear gave a growl, like a lollypop when it falls off the stick, and the bear said: "Ah, ha! And oh, ho! A rabbit and a squirrel! Fine for me! Tag--your it!" he cried, and he made a jump for Uncle Wiggily and Johnnie. But do you s'pose the bunny uncle and the squirrel boy stayed there to be caught? Indeed, they did not! "Over this way! Quick!" cried Johnnie. "Here is a hazel nut bush, Uncle Wiggily. We can hide under that and the bear can't get us!" "Good!" said the bunny uncle. And he and Johnnie quickly ran and hid under the hazel nut bush, which was nearby. The bear looked all around as he heard Uncle Wiggily and Johnnie running away, and when he saw where they had gone he laughed until his whiskers twinkled, almost like the rabbit gentleman's pink nose, and then the bear said: "Ha, ha! and Ho, ho! So you thought you could get away from me that way, did you? Well, you can't. I can see you hiding under that bush almost as plainly as I can see the sun shining. Here I come after you." "Oh, dear!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "What shall we do, Johnnie? I don't want the bear to get you or me." "And I don't either," spoke the little squirrel boy. "I wonder if I could scare him away with my umbrella, Johnnie?" went on Uncle Wiggily. "I might if I could make believe it was a gun. Have you any talcum powder to shoot?" "No," said Johnnie, sadly, "I have not, I am sorry to say." "Have you any bullets?" asked the bunny uncle. "No bullets, either," answered Johnnie, more sadly. "Then I don't see anything for us to do but let the bear get us," sorrowfully said Mr. Longears. "Here he comes, Johnnie." "But he sha'n't get us!" quickly cried the squirrel boy, as the bear made a jump for the bush under which the bunny and Johnnie were hiding. "He sha'n't get us!" "Why not?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "Because," said Johnnie, "I have just thought of something. You asked me for bullets a while ago. I have none, but the hazel nut bush has. Come, good Mr. Hazel Bush, will you save us from the bear?" asked Johnnie. "Right gladly will I do that," the kind bush said. "Then, when he comes for us!" cried Johnnie, "just rattle down, all over on him, all the hard nuts you can let fall. They will hit him on his ears, and on his soft and tender nose, and that will make him run away and leave us alone." "Good!" whispered the hazel nut bush, rustling its leaves. "But what about you and Uncle Wiggily? If I rattle the nuts on the bear they will also fall on you two, as long as you are hiding under me." "Have no fear of that!" said the bunny uncle. "I have my umbrella, and I will raise that and keep off the falling nuts." Then the bear, with a growl, made a dash to get Uncle Wiggily and Johnnie. But the hazel bush shivered and shook himself and "Rattle-te-bang! Bung-bung! Bang!" down came the hazel nuts all over the bear. "Oh, wow!" he cried, as they hit him on his soft and tender nose. "Oh, wow! I guess I'd better run away. It's hailing!" And he did run. And because of Uncle Wiggily's umbrella held over his head, the nuts did not hurt him or Johnnie at all. And when the bear had run far away the squirrel boy gathered all the nuts he wanted, and he and Uncle Wiggily went safely home. And the bear's nose was sore for a week. So if the hickory nut cake doesn't try to sit in the same seat with the apple pie and get all squeezed like a lemon pudding, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and Susie's dress. STORY XIX UNCLE WIGGILY AND SUSIE'S DRESS Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice old gentleman rabbit, was reading the paper in his hollow stump bungalow, in the woods, while Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady house-keeper, was out in the kitchen washing the dinner dishes one afternoon. All of a sudden Uncle Wiggily fell asleep because he was reading a bed-time story in the paper, and while he slept he heard a noise at the front door, which sounded like: "Rat-a-tat-tat! Rat-a-tat-tat!" "My goodness!" suddenly exclaimed Uncle Wiggily, awakening out of his sleep. "That sounds like the forest woodpecker bird making holes in a tree." "No, it isn't that," spoke Nurse Jane. "It's some one tapping at our front door. I can't answer because my paws are all covered with soapy-suds dishwater." "Oh, I'll go," said Uncle Wiggily, and laying aside the paper over which he had fallen asleep, he opened the door. On the porch stood Susie Littletail, the rabbit girl. "Why, hello Susie!" exclaimed the bunny uncle. "Where are you going with your nice new dress?" for Susie did have on a fine new waist and skirt, or maybe it was made in one piece for all I know. And her new dress had on it ruffles and thing-a-ma-bobs and curley-cues and insertions and Georgette crepe and all sorts of things like that. "Where are you going, Susie?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "I am going to a party," answered the little rabbit girl. "Lulu and Alice Wibblewobble, the duck girls, are going to have a party, and they asked me to come. So I came for you." "But I'm not going to the party!" exclaimed Uncle Wiggily. "I haven't been invited." "That doesn't make any difference," spoke Susie with a laugh. "You know they'll be glad to see you, anyhow. And I know Lulu meant to ask you, only she must have forgotten about it, because there is so much to do when you have a party." "I know there is," Uncle Wiggily said, "and I don't blame Lulu and Alice a bit for not asking me. Anyhow I couldn't go, for I promised to come over this afternoon and play checkers with Grandfather Goosey Gander." "Oh, but won't you walk with me to the party?" asked Susie, sort of teasing like. "I'm afraid to go through the woods alone, because Johnnie Bushytail, the squirrel boy, said you and he met a bear there yesterday." "We did!" laughed Uncle Wiggily. "But the hazel bush drove him away by showering nuts on his nose." "Well, I might not be so lucky as to have a hazelnut bush to help me," spoke Susie. "So I'd be very glad if you would walk through the woods with me. You can scare away the bear if we meet him." "How?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "With my red, white and blue crutch or my umbrella?" "With this popgun, which shoots toothpowder," said Susie. "It belongs to Sammie, my brother, but he let me take it. We'll bring the popgun with us, Uncle Wiggily, and scare the bear." "All right," said the bunny uncle. "That's what we'll do. I'll go as far as the Wibblewobble duck house with you and leave you there at the party." This made Susie very glad and happy, and soon she and Uncle Wiggily were going through the woods together. Susie's new dress was very fine and she kept looking at it as she hopped along. All of a sudden, as the little rabbit girl and the bunny uncle were going along through the woods, they came to a mud puddle. "Look out, now!" said Uncle Wiggily. "Don't fall in that, Susie." "I won't," said the little rabbit girl. "I can easily jump across it." But when she tried to, alas! Likewise unhappiness. Her hind paws slipped and into the mud puddle she fell with her new dress. "Splash!" she went. "Oh, dear!" cried Susie. "Oh, my!" exclaimed Uncle Wiggily. "Look at my nice, new dress," went on Susie. "It isn't at all nice and new now. It's all mud and water and all splashed up, and--oh, dear! Isn't it too bad!" "Yes, besides two it is even six, seven and eight bad," said Uncle Wiggily sadly. "Oh, dear!" "I can't go to the Wibblewobble party this way," cried Susie. "I'll have to go back home to get another dress, and it won't be my new one--and oh, dear!" "Perhaps I can wipe off the mud with some leaves and moss," Uncle Wiggily spoke. "I'll try." But the more he rubbed at the mud spots on Susie's dress the worse they looked. "Oh, you can't do it, Uncle Wiggily!" sighed the little rabbit girl. "No, I don't believe I can," Uncle Wiggily admitted, sadly-like and sorry. "Oh, dear!" cried Susie. "Whatever shall I do? I can't go to a party looking like this! I just must have a new dress." Uncle Wiggily thought for a minute. Then, through the woods, he spied a tree with white, shiny bark on, just like satin. "Ha! I know what to do!" he cried. "That is a white birch tree. Indians make boats of the bark, and from it I can also make a new dress for you, Susie. Or, at least, a sort of dress, or apron, to go over the dress you have on, and so cover the mud spots." "Please do!" begged Susie. "I will!" promised Uncle Wiggily, and he did. He stripped off some bark from the birch tree and he sewed the pieces together with ribbon grass, and some needles from the pine tree. And when Susie put on the bark dress over her party one, not a mud spot showed! "Oh, that's fine, Uncle Wiggily!" she cried. "Now I can go to the Wibblewobbles!" And so she went, and the bad bear never came out to so much as growl, nor did the fox, so the popgun was not needed. And all the girls at the party thought Susie's dress that Uncle Wiggily had made was just fine. So if the rain drop doesn't fall out of bed, and stub its toe on the rocking chair, which might make it so lame that it couldn't dance, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and Tommie's kite. STORY XX UNCLE WIGGILY AND TOMMIE'S KITE "Uncle Wiggily, have you anything special to do today?" asked Tommie Kat, the little kitten boy, one morning as he knocked on the door of the hollow stump bungalow, where Mr. Longears, the rabbit gentleman, lived. "Anything special to do? Why, no, I guess not," answered the bunny uncle. "I just have to go walking to look for an adventure to happen to me, and then--" "Didn't you promise to go to the five and ten cent store for me, and buy me a pair of diamond earrings?" asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper. "Oh, so I did!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "I had forgotten about that. But I'll go. What was it you wanted of me?" he asked Tommie Kat, who was making a fishpole of his tail by standing it straight up in the air. "Oh, I wanted you to come and help me build a kite, and then come with me and fly it," said the kitten boy. "Could you do that, Uncle Wiggily?" "Well, perhaps I could," said the bunny uncle. "I will first go to the store and get Nurse Jane's diamond earrings. Then, on the way back, I'll stop and help you with your kite. And after that is done I'll go along and see if I can find an adventure." "That will be fun!" cried Tommie. "I have everything all ready to make the kite--paper, sticks, paste and string. We'll make a big one and fly it away up in the air." So off through the woods started Uncle Wiggily and Tommie to the five and ten cent store. There they bought the diamond earrings for Nurse Jane, who wanted to wear them to a party Mrs. Cluck-Cluck, the hen lady, was going to have next week. "And now to make the kite!" cried Tommie, as he and Uncle Wiggily reached the house where the Kat family lived. The bunny uncle and the little kitten boy cut out some red paper in the shape of a kite. Then they pasted it on the crossed sticks, which were tied together with string. "The kite is almost done," said Uncle Wiggily, as he held it up. "And can you tell me, Tommie, why your kite is like Buddy, the guinea pig boy?" "Can I tell you why my kite is like Buddy, the guinea pig boy?" repeated Tommie, like a man in a minstrel show. "No, Uncle Wiggily, I can not. Why is my kite like Buddy, the guinea pig boy?" "Because," laughed the old rabbit gentleman, "this kite has no tail and neither has Buddy." "Ha, ha!" exclaimed Tommie. "That's right!" For guinea pigs have no tails, you know, though if you ask me why I can't tell you. Some kites do have tails, though, and others do not. Anyhow, Tommie's kite, without a tail, was soon finished, and then he and Uncle Wiggily went to a clear, open place in the fields, near the woods, to fly it. There was a good wind blowing, and when Uncle Wiggily raised the kite up off the ground, Tommie ran, holding the string that was fast to the kite and up and up and up it went in the air. Soon it was sailing quite near the clouds, almost like Uncle Wiggily's airship, only, of course, no one rode on the kite. "Have you any more string, Uncle Wiggily?" asked the kitten boy, after a bit. "String, Tommie? What for?" "Well, I want to make my kite string longer so it will go up higher. But if you have none I'll run home and get some myself. Will you hold the kite while I'm gone?" "To be sure I will," said Uncle Wiggily. So he took hold of the string of Tommie's kite, which was now quite high in the air. And, sitting down on the ground, Uncle Wiggily held the kite from running away while Tommie went for more string. It was a nice, warm, summer day, and so pleasant in the woods, with the little flies buzzing about, that, before he knew it Uncle Wiggily had fallen asleep. His pink nose stopped twinkling, his ears folded themselves down like a slice of bread and jam, and Uncle Wiggily's eyes closed. All of a sudden he was awakened by feeling himself being pulled. At first he thought it was the skillery-scalery alligator, or the bad fox trying to drag him off to his den, and Uncle Wiggily, opening his eyes, cried: "Here! Stop that if you please! Don't pull me so!" But when he looked around he could see no one, and then he knew it was Tommie's kite, flying up in the air, that was doing the pulling. The wind was blowing hard now, and as Uncle Wiggily had the kite string wound around his paws, of course he was pulled almost off his feet. "Ha! That kite is a great puller!" said the bunny uncle. "I must look out or it might pull me up to the clouds. I had better fasten the string to this old stump. The kite can't pull that up." So the rabbit gentleman fastened the kite cord to the stout old stump, winding it around two or three times, and he kept the loose end of the string in his paw. Uncle Wiggily was just going to sleep again, and he was wondering why it took Tommie so long to find more string for the kite, when, all of a sudden, there was a rustling in the bushes, and out jumped the bad old babboon, who had, once before, made trouble for the bunny uncle. "Ah, ha!" jabbered the babboon. "This time I have caught you. You can't get away from me now. I am going to take you off to my den." "Oh, please don't!" begged Uncle Wiggily. "Yes, I shall, too!" blabbered the babboon. "Off to my den you shall go--you shall go--you shall go. Off to my den. Oh, hold on!" cried the bad creature. "That isn't the song I wanted to sing. That's the London Bridge song. I want the one about the dinner bell is ringing in the bread box this fine day. And the dinner bell is ringing for to take you far away, Uncle Wiggily." "Ah, then I had better go to my dinner," said the bunny uncle, sadly. "No! You will go with me!" cried the babboon. "Come along now. I'm going to take you away." "Well, if I must go, I suppose I must," Uncle Wiggily said, looking at the kite string, which was pulling at the stump very hard now. "But before you take me away would you mind pulling down Tommie's kite?" asked the bunny uncle. "I'll leave it for him." "Yes, I'll pull the kite down," said the babboon. "Maybe you will," thought Uncle Wiggily, laughing to himself. "And maybe you won't." The bad babboon monkey chap unwound the string from the stump, but no sooner had he started to pull in the kite than there came a very strong puff of wind. Up, up and up into the air blew the kite and, as the string was tangled around the babboon's paws, it took him up with it, and though he cried out: "Stop! Stop! Stop!" the kite could not stop, nor the babboon either. [Illustration: Up, up and up into the air blew the kite and, as the string was tangled around the babboon's paws, it took him up with it.] "Well, I guess you won't bother me any more," said Uncle Wiggily, as he looked at the babboon, who was only a speck in the sky now; a very little speck, being carried away by the kite. And the babboon did not come back to bother Uncle Wiggily, at least for a long time. Tommie felt badly when he found his kite blown away. But he was glad Uncle Wiggily had been saved, and he and the bunny uncle soon made a new kite, better than the first. They had lots of fun flying it. And in the story after this, if the chocolate pudding doesn't hide in the coal bin, where the cook can't find it to put the whipped cream on, I'll tell you about Uncle Wiggily and Johnnie's marbles. STORY XXI UNCLE WIGGILY AND JOHNNIE'S MARBLES It was a nice, warm spring day, when the ground in the woods where the animal boys and girls lived was soft, for all the frost had melted out of it; and, though it was a little too early to go barefoot, it was not too early to play marbles. Johnnie and Billie Bushytail, the squirrels; Sammie Littletail, the rabbit, and Jimmie Wibblewobble, the duck, were having a game under the trees, not far from the hollow stump bungalow which was the house of Uncle Wiggily Longears, the bunny gentleman. "First shot agates!" cried Johnnie. "No, I'm going to shoot first!" chattered his brother Billie. "Huh! I hollered it before either of you," quacked Jimmie, the duck boy, and he tossed some red, white and blue striped marbles on the ground in the ring. The marbles were just the color of Uncle Wiggily's rheumatism crutch. The animal boys began playing, but they made so much noise, crying "Fen!" and "Ebbs!" and "Knuckle down!" that Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, went to the bungalow door and called: "Boys! Boys! Will you please be a little quiet? Uncle Wiggily is lying down taking a nap, and I don't want you to wake him up with your marbles." "Oh, I don't mind!" cried the bunny uncle, unfolding his ears from his vest pockets, where he always tucked them when he went to sleep, so the flies would not tickle him. "It's about time I got up," he said. "So the boys are playing marbles, eh? Well, I'll go out and watch them. It will make me think of the days when I was a spry young bunny chap, hopping about, spinning my kites and flying my tops." "I guess you are a little bit twisted; are you not?" asked Nurse Jane, politely. "Oh, so I am," said Uncle Wiggily. "I mean flying my kite and spinning my top." Then he pinkled his twink nose--Ah! you see that's the time I was twisted--I mean he twinkled his pink nose, Uncle Wiggily did, and out he went to watch the animal boys play marbles. Billie, Johnnie and Jimmie, as well as Sammie, wanted the bunny uncle to play also, but he said his rheumatism hurt too much to bend over. So he just watched the marble game, until it was time for the boys to go home. And then Johnnie cried: "Oh, I forgot! I have to go to the store for a loaf of bread for supper. Come on, fellows, with me, will you?" But neither Jimmie, nor Sammie nor Billie wanted to go with Johnnie, so he started off through the woods to the store alone, when Uncle Wiggily cried: "Wait a minute, Johnnie, and I'll go with you. I haven't had my walk this day, and I have had no adventure at all. I'll go along and see what happens." "Oh, that will be nice!" chattered Johnnie, who did not like to go to the store alone. So, putting his marbles in the bag in which he carried them, he ran along beside Uncle Wiggily. They had not gone far when, all of a sudden, there came a strong puff of wind, and, before Uncle Wiggily could hold his hat down over his ears, it was blown off his head. I mean his hat was--not his ears. Away through the trees the tall silk hat was blown. "Oh, dear!" cried the bunny uncle. "I guess I am not going to have a nice adventure today." "I'll get your hat for you, Uncle Wiggily!" said Johnnie kindly. "You hold my bag of marbles so I can run faster, and I'll get the hat for you." Tossing the rabbit gentleman the marbles, away scampered Johnnie after the hat. But the wind kept on blowing it, and the squirrel boy had to run a long way. "Well, I hope he gets it and brings it back to me," thought Uncle Wiggily, as he sat down on a green, moss-covered stone to wait for the squirrel boy. And, while he was waiting the bunny uncle opened the bag and looked at Johnnie's marbles. There were green ones, and blue and red and pink--very pretty, all of them. "I wonder if I have forgotten how to play the games I used to enjoy when I was a boy rabbit?" thought the bunny gentleman. "Just now, when no one is here in tile woods to laugh at me, I think I'll try and see how well I can shoot marbles." So he marked out a ring on the ground, and putting some marbles in the center began shooting at them with another marble, just the way you boys do. "Ha! A good shot!" cried the bunny uncle, as he knocked two marbles out of the ring at once. "I am not so old as I thought I was, even if I have the rheumatism." He was just going to shoot again when a growling voice over behind a bush said: "Well, you will not have it much longer." "Have what much longer?" asked Uncle Wiggily, and glancing up, there he saw a big bear, not at all polite looking. "You won't have the rheumatism much longer," the bear said. "Why not?" Uncle Wiggily wanted to know. "Because," answered the bear, "I am going to eat you up and the rheumatism, too. Here I come!" and he made a jump for the bunny uncle. But did he catch him? That bear did not, for he stepped on one of the round marbles, which rolled under his paw and he fell down ker-punko! on his nose-o! Uncle Wiggily started to run away, but he did not like to go and leave Johnnie's marbles on the ground, so he stayed to pick them up, and by then the bear stood up on his hind legs again, and grabbed the bunny uncle in his sharp claws. "Ah ha! Now I have you!" said the bear, grillery and growlery like. "Yes, I see you have," sadly spoke Uncle Wiggily. "But before you take me off to your den, which I suppose you will do, will you grant me one favor?" "Yes, and only one," growled the bear. "Be quick about it! What is it?" "Will you let me have one more shot?" asked the bunny uncle. "I want to see if I can knock the other marbles out of the ring." "Well, I see no harm in that," slowly grumbled the bear. "Go ahead. Shoot!" Uncle Wiggily picked out the biggest shooter in Johnnie's bag. Then he took careful aim, but, instead of aiming at the marbles in the ring he aimed at the soft and tender nose of the bear. "Bing!" went the marble which Uncle Wiggily shot, right on the bear's nose. "Bing!" And the bear was so surprised and kerslostrated that he cried: "Wow! Ouch! Oh, lollypops! Oh, sweet spirits of nitre!" And away he ran through the woods to hold his nose in a soft bank of mud, for he thought a bee had stung him. And so he didn't bite Uncle Wiggily after all. "Well, I guess I can play marbles nearly as well as I used to," laughed the bunny uncle when Johnnie came back with the tall silk hat. And when Mr. Longears told the boy squirrel about shooting the bear on the nose, Johnnie laughed and said he could have done no better himself. So everything came out all right, you see, and if the butterfly doesn't try to stand on its head and tickle the June bug under the chin, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and Billie's top. STORY XXII UNCLE WIGGILY AND BILLIE'S TOP Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice rabbit gentleman, was sitting on the front porch of his hollow stump bungalow one day, when along came Billie Bushytail, the little squirrel boy. "Hello, Billie!" called the bunny gentleman, cheerful-like and happy, for his rheumatism did not hurt him much that day. "Hello, Billie." "Hello, Uncle Wiggily," answered the chattery squirrel chap. Then he came up and sat down on the porch, but he seemed so quiet and thoughtful that Uncle Wiggily asked: "Is anything the matter, Billie?" "No--well--that is, nothing much," said the squirrel boy slowly, "but I'd like to ask you what you'd buy if you had five cents, Uncle Wiggily." "What would I buy if I had five cents, Billie? Well now, let me see. I think I'd buy two postage stamps and a funny postcard and write some letters to my friends. What would you buy, Billie?" "I'd buy a spinning top, Uncle Wiggily," said the little squirrel boy, very quickly. "Only, you see, I haven't any five cents. You have, though, haven't you Uncle Wiggily? Eh?" "Why, yes, Billie, I think so," and the old gentleman rabbit put his paw in his pocket to make sure. "This is a funny world," said Billie with a long, sorrowful sigh. "Here you are with five cents and you don't want a top, and here I am without five cents and I do want a spinning top. Oh, dear!" "Ha! Ha! Ha!" laughed Uncle Wiggily in his most jolly fashion. "I see what you mean, Billie. Now you just come along with me," and Uncle Wiggily picked up off the porch his red, white and blue striped barber-pole rheumatism crutch that Nurse Jane had gnawed for him out of a cornstalk. "Where are we going?" asked Billie, sort of hopeful-like and expectant. "I'm going to the top store to buy a spinning top," answered bunny uncle. "If you think I ought to have one, why I'll get it." "Oh, all right," said Billie, sort of funny-like. "Do you know how to spin a top, Uncle Wiggily?" "Well, I used to when I was a young rabbit, and I guess I can remember a little about it. Come along and help me pick out a nice one." So the bunny uncle and the squirrel boy went on and on through the woods to the top store kept by Mrs. Spin Spider, who had a little toy shop in which she worked when she was not spinning silk for the animal ladies' dresses. "One of your best tops for myself, if you please," said Uncle Wiggily, as he and Billie went into the toy store. Mrs. Spin Spider put a number of tops on the counter. "That's the kind you want!" cried Billie, as he saw a big red one, and pointed his paw at it. "Try it and see how it spins," said the bunny man. Billie wound the string on the top, and then, giving it a throw, while he kept hold of one end of the cord, he made the top spin as fast as anything on the floor of the store. Around and around whizzed the red top, like the electric fan on Uncle Wiggily's airship. "Is that a good top for me, Billie?" asked Mr. Longears. "A very good top," said the squirrel boy. "Fine!" "Then I'll take it," said Uncle Wiggily, and he paid for it and walked out, Billie following. If the little chattery squirrel chap was disappointed at not getting a top for himself, he said nothing about it, which was very brave and good, I think. He just walked along until they came to a nice, smooth-dirt place in the woods, and then Uncle Wiggily said: "Let me see you spin my top, Billie. I want to watch you and see how it's done--how you wind the string on, how you throw it down to the ground and all that. You just give me some lessons in top-spinning, please." "I will," said Billie. So he wound the string on the top again and soon it was spinning as fast as anything on the hard ground in the woods. "Do you want me to show you how to pick up a top, and let it spin on your paw?" asked Billie, of Uncle Wiggily. "Yes, show me all the tricks there are," said the bunny gentleman. So, while the top was spinning very fast, Billie picked it up, and, holding it on his paw, quickly put it over on Uncle Wiggily's paw. "Ouch! It tickles!" cried the bunny uncle, sort of giggling like. "Yes, a little," laughed Billie, "but I don't mind that. Now I'll show you how to pick it up." Once more he spun the top, and he was just going to pick it up when, all of a sudden, a growling voice cried: "Ah, ha! Again I am in luck! A rabbit and a squirrel! Let me see; which shall I take first?" And out from behind a stump popped a big bear. It was the same one that Uncle Wiggily had hit on the nose with Johnnie's marble, about a week before. "Oh, my!" said the bunny man. "Oh, dear!" chattered Billie. "Surprised to see me, aren't you?" asked the bear sticking out his tongue. "A little," answered Uncle Wiggily, "but I guess we'd better be getting along Billie. Pick up my top and come along." "Oh, oh! Not so fast!" growled the bear. "I shall want you to stay with me. You'll be going off with me to my den, pretty soon. Don't be in a hurry," and, putting out his claws, he grabbed hold of Uncle Wiggily and Billie. They tried to get away, but could not, and the bear was just going to carry them off, when he saw the spinning top whizzing on the ground. "What's that red thing?" he asked. "A top Billie just picked out for me," said Uncle Wiggily. "Would you like to have it spin on your paw?" asked Billie, blinking his eyes at Uncle Wiggily, funny-like. "Oh, I might as well, before I carry you off to my den," said the bear, sort of careless-like and indifferent. "Spin the top on my paw." So Billie picked up the spinning top and put it on the bear's broad, flat paw. And, no sooner was it there, whizzing around, than the bear cried: "Ouch! Oh, dear! How it tickles. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ho! Ho! Ho! It makes me laugh. It makes me laugh. It makes me giggle! Ouch! Oh, dear!" And then he laughed so hard that he dropped the top and turned a somersault, and away he ran through the woods, leaving Billie and Uncle Wiggily safe there alone. "We came out of that very well," said the bunny uncle as the bear ran far away. "Yes, indeed, and here is your top," spoke Billie, picking it up off the ground where the bear had dropped it. "My top? No that's yours," said the bunny gentleman. "I meant it for you all the while." "Oh, did you? Thank you so much!" cried happy Billie, and then he ran off to spin his red top, while Mr. Longears went back to his bungalow. And if the sofa pillow doesn't leak its feathers all over, and make the room look like a bird's nest at a moving picture picnic, I'll tell you in the next story about Uncle Wiggily and the sunbeam. STORY XXIII UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE SUNBEAM Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice rabbit gentleman, was walking along in the woods one day, sort of hopping and leaning on his red, white and blue striped rheumatism crutch, and he was wondering whether or not he would have an adventure, when, all at once, he heard a little voice crying: "Oh, dear! I never can get up! I never can get up! Oh, dear!" "Ha! that sounds like some one who can't get out of bed," exclaimed the bunny uncle. "I wonder who it can be? Perhaps I can help them." So he looked carefully around, but he saw no one, and he was just about to hop along, thinking perhaps he had made a mistake, and had not heard anything after all, when, suddenly, the voice sounded again, and called out: "Oh, I can't get up! I can't get up! Can't you shine on me this way?" "No, I am sorry to say I cannot," answered another voice. "But try to push your way through, and then I can shine on you, and make you grow." There was silence for a minute, and then the first voice said again: "Oh, it's no use! I can't push the stone from over my head. Oh, such trouble as I have!" "Trouble, eh?" cried Uncle Wiggily. "Here is where I come in. Who are you, and what is the trouble?" he asked, looking all around, and seeing nothing but the shining sun. "Here I am, down in the ground near your left hind leg," was the answer. "I am a woodland flower and I have just started to grow. But when I tried to put my head up out of the ground, to get air, and drink the rain water, I find I cannot do it. A big stone is in the way, right over my head, and I cannot push it aside to get up. Oh, dear!" sighed the Woodland flower. "Oh, don't worry about that!" cried Uncle Wiggily, in his jolly voice. "I'll lift the stone off your head for you," and he did, just as he once had helped a Jack-in-the-pulpit flower to grow up, as I have told you in another story. Under the stone were two little pale green leaves on a stem that was just cracking its way up through the brown earth. "There you are!" cried the bunny uncle. "But you don't look much like a flower." "Oh! I have only just begun to grow," was the answer. "And I never would have been a flower if you had not taken the stone from me. You see, when I was a baby flower, or seed, I was covered up in my warm bed of earth. Then came the cold winter, and I went to sleep. When spring came I awakened and began to grow, but in the meanwhile this stone was put over me. I don't know by whom. But it held me down. "But now I am free, and my pale green leaves will turn to dark green, and soon I will blossom out into a flower." "How will all that happen?" Uncle Wiggily asked. "When the sunbeam shines on me," answered the blossom. "That is why I wanted to get above the stone--so the sunbeam could shine on me and warm me." "And I will begin to do it right now!" exclaimed the sunbeam, who had been playing about on the leaves of the trees, waiting for a chance to shine on the green plant and turn it into a beautiful flower. "Thank you, Uncle Wiggily, for taking the stone off the leaves so I could shine on them," went on the sunbeam, who had known Uncle Wiggily for some time. "Though I am strong I am not strong enough to lift stones, nor was the flower. But now I can do my work. I thank you, and I hope I may do you a favor some time." "Thank you," Uncle Wiggily said, with a low bow, raising his tall silk hat. "I suppose you sunbeams are kept very busy shining on, and warming, all the plants and trees in the woods?" "Yes, indeed!" answered the yellow sunbeam, who was a long, straight chap. "We have lots of work to do, but we are never too busy to shine for our friends." Then the sunbeam played about the little green plant, turning the pale leaves a darker color and swelling out the tiny buds. Uncle Wiggily walked on through the woods, glad that he had had even this little adventure. It was a day or so after this that the bunny uncle went to the store for Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady, who kept his hollow stump bungalow so nice and tidy. "I want a loaf of bread, a yeast cake and three pounds of sugar," said Nurse Jane. "It will give me great pleasure to get them for you," answered the rabbit gentleman politely. On his way home from the store with the sugar, bread and yeast cake, Uncle Wiggily thought he would hop past the place where he had lifted the stone off the head of the plant, to see how it was growing. And, as he stood there, looking at the flower, which was much taller than when the bunny uncle had last seen it, all of a sudden there was a rustling in the bushes, and out jumped a bad old fox. "Ah, ha!" barked the fox, like a dog. "You are just the one I want to see!" "You want to see me?" exclaimed Uncle Wiggily. "I think you must be mistaken," he went on politely. "Oh, no, not at all!" barked the fox. "You have there some sugar, some bread and a yeast cake; have you not?" "I have," answered Uncle Wiggily. "Well, then, you may give me the bread and sugar and after I eat them I will start in on you. I will take you off to my den, to my dear little foxes. Eight, Nine and Ten. They have numbers instead of names, you see." "But I don't want to give you Nurse Jane's sugar and bread, and go with you to your den," said the rabbit gentleman. "I don't want to! I don't like it!" "You can't always do as you like," barked the fox. "Quick now--the sugar and bread!" "What about the yeast cake?" asked Uncle Wiggily, as he held it out, all wrapped in shiny tinfoil, like a looking-glass. "What about the yeast cake?" "Oh, throw it away!" growled the fox. "No, don't you do it!" whispered a voice in Uncle Wiggily's ear, and there was the sunbeam he had met the other day. "Hold out the yeast cake and I will shine on it very brightly, and then I'll slant, or bounce off from it, into the eyes of the fox," said the sunbeam. "And when I shine in his eyes I'll tickle him, and he'll sneeze, and you can run away." So Uncle Wiggily held out the bright yeast cake. Quick as a flash the sunbeam glittered on it, and then reflected itself into the eyes of the fox. "Ker-chool!" he sneezed. "Ker-chooaker-choo!" and tears came into the fox's eyes, so he could not see Uncle Wiggily, who, after thanking the sunbeam, hurried safely back to his bungalow with the things for Nurse Jane. So the fox got nothing at all but a sneeze, you see, and when he had cleared the tears out of his eyes Uncle Wiggily was gone. So the sunbeam did the bunny gentleman a favor after all, and if the coal man doesn't put oranges in our cellar, in mistake for apples when he brings a barrel of wood, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the puff ball. STORY XXIV UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE PUFF BALL "Are you going for a walk to-day, as you nearly always do, Uncle Wiggily?" asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, of the rabbit gentleman, as he got up from the breakfast table in the hollow stump bungalow one morning. "Why, yes, Janie, I am going for a walk in the woods very soon," answered Uncle Wiggily. "Is there anything I can do for you?" "There is," said the muskrat lady. "Something for yourself, also." "What is it?" Uncle Wiggily wanted to know, sort of making his pink nose turn orange color by looking up at the sun and sneezing. "What is it that I can do for myself as well as for you, Janie?" "Cream puffs," answered Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy. "Cream puffs?" cried the bunny uncle, hardly knowing whether his housekeeper was fooling or in earnest. "Yes, I want some cream puffs for supper, and if you stop at the baker's and get them you will be doing yourself a favor as well as me, for we will both eat them." "Right gladly will I do it," Uncle Wiggily made answer. "Cream puffs I shall bring from the baker's," and then, whistling a funny little tune, away he hopped to the woods. It did not take him long to get to the place where the baker had his shop. And in a few minutes Uncle Wiggily was on his way back with some delicious cream puffs in a basket. "I'll take them home to Nurse Jane for supper," thought the bunny uncle, "and then I can keep on with my walk, looking for an adventure." You know what cream puffs are, I dare say. They are little, round, puffy balls made of something like piecrust, and they are hollow. The inside is filled with something like corn-starch pudding, only nicer. Uncle Wiggily was going along with the cream puffs in his basket when, coming to a nice place in the woods, where the sun shone on a green, mossy log, the bunny uncle said: "I will sit down here a minute and rest." So he did, but he rested longer than he meant to, for, before he knew it, he fell asleep. And while he slept, along came a bad old weasel, who is as sly as a fox. And the weasel, smelling the cream puffs in the basket, slyly lifted the cover and took every one out, eating them one after the other. "Now to play a trick on Uncle Wiggily," said the weasel in a whisper, for the bunny uncle was still sleeping. So the bad creature found a lot of puff balls in the woods, and put them in the basket in place of the cream puffs. Puff balls grow on little plants. They are brown and round and hollow, and, so far, they are like cream puffs, except that inside they have a brown, fluffy powder that flies all over when you break the puff ball. And, if you are not careful, it gets in your eyes and nose and makes you sneeze. "I should like to see what Uncle Wiggily and Nurse Jane do when they open the basket, and find puff balls instead of cream puffs," snickered the weasel as he went off, licking his chops, where the cornstarch pudding stuff was stuck on his whiskers. "It will be a great joke on them!" But let us see what happens. Uncle Wiggily awakened from his sleep in the woods, and started off toward his hollow stump bungalow. "I declare!" he cried. "That sleep made me hungry. I shall be glad to eat some of the cream puffs I have in my basket." "What's that?" asked a sharp voice in the bushes. "What did you say you had in the basket?" "Cream puffs," answered Uncle Wiggily, without thinking, and then, all of a sudden, out jumped the bad old skillery-scalery alligator with the humps on his tail. "Ha! Cream puffs!" cried the 'gator, as I call him for short, though he was rather long. "Cream puffs! If there is one thing I like more than another it is cream puffs! It is lucky you brought them with you, or I would have nothing for dessert when I have you for supper." "Are you--are you going to have me for supper?" asked Uncle Wiggily, sort of anxious like. "I am!" cried the alligator, positively. "But I will eat the dessert first. Give me those cream puffs!" he cried and he made a grab for the bunny's basket, and, reaching in, scooped out the puff balls, thinking they were cream puffs. The 'gator, without looking, took one bite and a chew and then---- "Oh, my! Ker-sneezio! Ker-snitzio! Ker-choo!" he sneezed as the powder from the puff balls went up his nose and into his eyes. "Oh, what funny cream puffs! Wow!" And, not stopping to so much as nibble at Uncle Wiggily, away ran the alligator to get a drink of lemonade. [Illustration: "Ker-sneezio! Ker-snitzio! Ker-choo!" he sneezed as the powder from the puff balls went up his nose and into his eyes.] So you see, after all, the weasel's trick saved Uncle Wiggily, who soon went back to the store for more cream puffs--real ones this time, and he got safely home with them. And nothing else happened that day. But if the trolley car stops running down the street to play with the jitney bus, so the pussy cat can have a ride when it wants to go shopping in the three and four-cent store, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the May flowers. STORY XXV UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE MAY FLOWERS "Rat-a-tat!" came a knock on the door of the hollow stump bungalow, where Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman, lived in the woods with Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, his muskrat lady housekeeper. "My! Some one is calling early to-day!" said the bunny uncle. "Sit still and eat your breakfast," spoke Nurse Jane. "I'll see who it is." When she opened the door there stood Jimmie Wibblewobble, the boy duck. "Why where are you going so early this morning, Jimmie?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "I'm going to school," answered the Wibblewobble chap, who was named that because his tail did wibble and wobble from side to side when he walked. "Aren't you a bit early?" asked Mr. Longears. "I came early to get you," said Jimmie. "Will you come for a walk with me, Uncle Wiggily? We can walk toward the hollow stump school, where the lady mouse teaches us our lessons." "Why, it's so very early," Uncle Wiggily went on. "I have hardly had my breakfast. Why so early, Jimmie?" The duck boy whispered in Uncle Wiggily's ear: "I want to go early so I can gather some May flowers for the teacher. This is the first day of May, you know, and the flowers that have been wet by the April showers ought to be blossoming now." "So they had!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "I'll hurry with my breakfast, Jimmie, and we'll go gathering May flowers in the woods." Soon the bunny uncle and the boy duck were walking along where the green trees grew up out of the carpet of soft green moss. "Oh, here are some yellow violets!" cried Jimmie, as he saw some near an old stump. "Yes, and I see some white ones!" cried the bunny uncle, as he picked them, while Jimmie plucked the yellow violets with his strong bill, which was also yellow in color. Then they went on a little farther and saw some bluebells growing, and the bluebell flowers were tinkling a pretty little tinkle tune. The bluebells even kept on tinkling after Jimmie had picked them for his bouquet. The boy duck waddled on a little farther and all of a sudden, he cried: "Oh, what a funny flower this is, Uncle Wiggily. It's just like the little ice cream cones that come on Christmas trees, only it's covered with a flap, like a leaf, and under the flap is a little green thing, standing up. What is it?" "That is a Jack-in-the-pulpit," answered the bunny uncle, "and the Jack is the funny green thing. Jack preaches sermons to the other flowers, telling them how to be beautiful and make sweet perfume." "I'm going to put a Jack in the bouquet for the lady mouse teacher," said Jimmie, and he did. Then he and Uncle Wiggily went farther and farther on in the woods, picking May flowers, and they were almost at the hollow stump school when, all at once, from behind a big stone popped the bad ear-scratching cat. "Ah, ha!" howled the cat. "I am just in time I see. I haven't scratched any ears in ever and ever so long. And you have such nice, big ears, Uncle Wiggily, that it is a real pleasure to scratch them!" "Do you mean it is a pleasure for me, or for you?" asked the bunny uncle, softly like. "For me, of course!" meaouwed the cat. "Get ready now for the ear-scratching! Here I come!" "Oh, please don't scratch my ears!" begged Uncle Wiggily. "Please don't!" "Yes, I shall!" said the bad cat, stretching out his claws. "Would you mind scratching my ears, instead of Uncle Wiggily's?" asked Jimmie. "I'll let you scratch mine all you want to." "I don't want to," spoke the cat. "Your ears are so small that it is no pleasure for me to scratch them--none at all." "It was very kind of you to offer your ears in place of mine," said Uncle Wiggily to the duck boy. "But I can't let you do that. Go on, bad cat, if you are going to scratch my ears, please do it and have it over with." "All right!" snarled the cat. "I'll scratch your ears!" She was just going to do it, when Jimmie suddenly picked up a new flower, and holding it toward the cat cried: "No, you can't scratch Uncle Wiggily's ears! This is a dog-tooth violet I have just picked, and if you harm Uncle Wiggily I'll make the dog-tooth violet bite you!" And then the big violet went: "Bow! Wow! Wow!" just like a dog, and the cat thinking a dog was after him, meaouwed: "Oh, my! Oh, dear! This is no place for me!" and away he ran, not scratching Uncle Wiggily at all. Then Jimmie put the dog-tooth violet (which did not bark any more) in his bouquet and the lady mouse teacher liked the May flowers very much. Uncle Wiggily took his flowers to Nurse Jane. And if the umbrella doesn't turn inside out, so its ribs get all wet and sneeze the handle off, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the beech tree. STORY XXVI UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE BEECH TREE "Will you go to the store for me, Uncle Wiggily?" asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, of the rabbit gentleman one day, as he sat out on the porch of his hollow stump bungalow in the woods. "Indeed I will, Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy," said Mr. Longears, most politely. "What is it you want?" "A loaf of bread and a pound of sugar," she answered, and Uncle Wiggily started off. "Better take your umbrella," Nurse Jane called after him. "All the April showers are not yet over, even if it is May." So the rabbit gentleman took his umbrella. On his way to the store through the woods, the bunny uncle came to a big beech tree, which had nice, shiny white bark on it, and, to his surprise the rabbit gentleman saw a big black bear, standing up on his hind legs and scratching at the tree bark as hard as he could. "Ha! That is not the right thing to do," said Uncle Wiggily to himself. "If that bear scratches too much of the bark from the tree the tree will die, for the bark of a tree is just like my skin is to me. I must drive the bear away." The bear, scratching the bark with his sharp claws, stood with his back to Uncle Wiggily, and the rabbit gentleman thought he could scare the big creature away. So Uncle Wiggily picked up a stone, and throwing it at the bear, hit him on the back, where the skin was so thick it hurt hardly at all. And as soon as he had thrown the stone Uncle Wiggily in his loudest voice shouted: "Bang! Bang! Bungity-bang-bung!" "Oh, my goodness!" cried the bear, not turning around. "The hunter man with his gun must be after me. He has shot me once, but the bullet did not hurt. I had better run away before he shoots me again!" And the bear ran away, never once looking around, for he thought the stone Mr. Longears threw was a bullet from a gun, you see, and he thought when Uncle Wiggily said "Bang!" that it was a gun going off. So the bunny gentleman scared the bear away. "Thank you, Uncle Wiggily," said the beech tree. "You saved my life by not letting the bear scratch off all my bark." "I am glad I did," spoke the rabbit, making a polite bow with his tall silk hat, for Mr. Longears was polite, even to a tree. "The bear would not stop scratching my bark when I asked him to," went on the beech tree, "so I am glad you came along, and scared him. You did me a great favor and I will do you one if I ever can." "Thank you," spoke Uncle Wiggily, and then he hopped on to the store to get the loaf of bread and the pound of sugar for Nurse Jane. It was on the way back from the store that an adventure happened to Uncle Wiggily. He came to the place where his friend the beech tree was standing up in the woods, and a balsam tree, next door to it, was putting some salve, or balsam, on the places where the bear had scratched off the bark, to make the cuts heal. Then, all of a sudden, out from behind a bush jumped the same bad bear that had done the scratching. "Ah, ha!" growled the bear, as soon as he saw Uncle Wiggily, "you can't fool me again, making believe a stone is a bullet, and that your 'Bang!' is a gun! You can't fool me! I know all about the trick you played on me. A little bird, sitting up in a tree, saw it and told me!" "Well," said Uncle Wiggily slowly, "I'm sorry I had to fool you, but it was all for the best. I wanted to save the beech tree." "Oh, I don't care!" cried the bear, saucy like and impolitely. "I'm going to scratch as much as I like!" "My goodness! You're almost as bad as the ear-scratching cat!" said Uncle Wiggily. "I guess I'd better run home to my hollow stump bungalow." "No, you don't!" cried the bear, and, reaching out his claws, he caught hold of Uncle Wiggily, who, with his umbrella, and the bread and sugar, was standing under the beech tree. "You can't get away from me like that," and the bear held tightly to the bunny uncle. "Oh, dear! What are you going to do to me?" asked the rabbit gentleman. "First, I'll bite you," said the bear. "No, I guess I'll first scratch you. No, I won't either. I'll scrite you; that's what I'll do. I'll scrite you!" "What's scrite?" asked Uncle Wiggily, curious like. "It's a scratch and a bite made into one," said the bear, "and now I'm going to do it." "Oh, ho! No, you aren't!" suddenly cried the beech tree, who had been thinking of a way to save Uncle Wiggily. "No, you don't scrite my friend!" And with that the brave tree gave itself a shiver and shake, and shook down on the bear a lot of sharp, three-cornered beech nuts. They fell on the bear's soft and tender nose and the sharp edges hurt him so that he cried: "Wow! Ouch! I guess I made a mistake! I must run away!" And away he ran from the shower of sharp beech nuts which didn't hurt Uncle Wiggily at all because he raised his umbrella and kept them off. Then he thanked the tree for having saved him from the bear and went safely home. And if the cow bell doesn't moo in its sleep, and wake up the milkman before it's time to bring the molasses for breakfast, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the bitter medicine. STORY XXVII UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE BITTER MEDICINE "How is Jackie this morning, Mrs. Bow Wow?" asked Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman, one day, as he stopped at the kennel where the dog lady lived with her two little boys, Jackie and Peetie Bow Wow, the puppies. "How is Jackie?" "Jackie is not so well, I'm sorry to say," answered Mrs. Bow Wow, as she looked carefully along the back fence to see if there were any bad cats there who might meaouw, and try to scratch the puppies. "Not so well? I am sorry to hear that," spoke the bunny uncle. "What's seems to be the matter?" "Oh, you know Jackie and Peetie both had the measles," went on Mrs. Bow Wow. "They seemed to get over them nicely, at least Peetie did, but then Jackie caught the epizootic, and he has to stay in bed a week longer, and take bitter medicine." "Bitter medicine, eh?" exclaimed Uncle Wiggily. "I am sorry to hear that, for I don't like bitter medicine myself." "Neither does Jackie," continued Mrs. Bow Wow. "In fact, he really doesn't know whether he likes this bitter medicine or not." "Why, not?" asked the rabbit gentleman. "Because we can't get him to take a drop," said the puppy dog boy's mother. "Not a drop will he take, though I have fixed it up for him with orange juice and sugar and even put it in a lollypop. But he won't take it, and Dr. Possum says he won't get well unless he takes the bitter medicine." "Well, Dr. Possum ought to know," said Uncle Wiggily. "But why don't you ask him a good way to give the medicine to Jackie?" "That's what I'm waiting out here for now," said Mrs. Bow Wow. "I want to catch Dr. Possum when he comes past, and ask him to come in and give Jackie the medicine. The poor boy really needs it to make him well." "Of course he does," agreed Uncle Wiggily. "And while you are waiting for Dr. Possum I'll see what I can do." "What are you going to do?" asked Mrs. Bow Wow, as the bunny uncle started for the dog kennel. "I'm going to try to make Jackie take his bitter medicine. You just stay out here a little while." "Well, I hope you do it, but I'm afraid you won't," spoke Mrs. Bow Wow with a sigh. "I've tried all the ways I know. I was just going, as you came along, to get a toy balloon, blow it up, and put the medicine inside. Then I was going to let Jackie burst it by sticking a pin in it. And I thought when the balloon exploded the medicine might be blown down his throat." "Oh, well, I think I have a better way than that," said Uncle Wiggily with a laugh. He went in where Jackie, who had the measles-epizootic, was in bed. "Good morning, Jackie," said the bunny uncle. "How are you?" "Not very well," answered Jackie, the puppy dog boy. "But I'm glad to see you. I'm not going to take the bitter medicine even for you, though, Uncle Wiggily." "Ho! Ho! Ho! Just you wait until you're asked!" cried Mr. Longears in his most jolly voice. "Now let me have a look at that bitter medicine which is making so much trouble. Where is it?" "In that cup on the chair," and Jackie pointed to it near his bed. "I see," said Uncle Wiggily, looking at it. "Now, Jackie, I'm a good friend of yours, and you wouldn't mind just holding this cup of bitter medicine in your paw, would you, to please me?" "Oh, I'll do that for you, Uncle Wiggily, but I'll not take it," Jackie said. "Never mind about that," laughed the bunny uncle. "Just hold the medicine in your paw, so," and Jackie did as he was told. "Now, would you mind holding it up to your lips, as if you were going to make believe take it?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "Mind you, don't you dare take a drop of it. Just hold the cup to your lips, but don't swallow any." "Why do you want me to do that?" asked Jackie, as he did what Uncle Wiggily asked. "Because I want to draw a picture of you making believe take bitter medicine," said the bunny, as he took out pencil and paper. "I'll show it to any other of my little animal friends, who may not like their medicine, and I'll say to them: 'See how brave Jackie is to take his bitter medicine.' Of course, I won't tell them you really were afraid to take it," and without saying any more Uncle Wiggily began to draw the puppy dog boy's picture on the paper. "Hold the cup a little nearer to your lips, and tip it up a bit, Jackie," said the bunny man. "But, mind you, don't swallow a drop. That's it, higher up! Tip it more. I want the picture to look natural." Jackie tipped the cup higher, holding it close to his mouth, and threw back his head, and then Uncle Wiggily suddenly cried: "Ouch!" And Jackie was so surprised that he opened his mouth and before he knew it he had swallowed the bitter medicine! [Illustration: Jackie was so surprised that he opened his mouth.] "Oh, why I took it!" he cried. "It went down my throat! And it wasn't so bad, after all." "I thought it wouldn't be," spoke Uncle Wiggily, as he finished the picture of Jackie, and now he could really say it showed the doggie boy actually taking the medicine, for Jackie did take it. So Dr. Possum didn't have to come in to see Jackie after all to make him swallow the bitter stuff, and the little chap was soon all well again. And if the clothesline doesn't try to jump rope with the Jack in the Box, and upset the washtub, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the pine cones. STORY XXVIII UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE PINE CONES Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice rabbit gentleman, was out walking in the woods one day when he felt rather tired. He had been looking all around for an adventure, which was something he liked to have happen to him, but he had seen nothing like one so far. "And I don't want to go back to my hollow stump bungalow without having had an adventure to tell Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy about," said Mr. Longears. But, as I said, the rabbit gentleman was feeling rather tired, and, seeing a nice log covered with a cushion of green moss, he sat down on that to rest. "Perhaps an adventure will happen to me here," thought the bunny uncle as he leaned back against a pine tree to rest. It was nice and warm in the woods, and, with the sun shining down upon him, Uncle Wiggily soon dozed off in a little sleep. But when he awakened still no adventure had happened to him. "Well, I guess I must travel on," he said, and he started to get up, but he could not. He could not move his back away from the pine tree against which he had leaned to rest. "Oh, dear! what has happened," cried the bunny uncle. "I am stuck fast! I can't get away! Oh, dear!" At first he thought perhaps the skillery-scalery alligator with the humps on his tail had come softly up behind him as he slept and had him in his claws. But, by sort of looking around backward, Mr. Longears could see no one--not even a fox. "But what is it holding me?" he cried, as he tried again and again to get loose, but could not. "I am sorry to say I am holding you!" spoke a voice up over Uncle Wiggily's head. "I am holding you fast!" "Who are you, if you please?" asked the rabbit gentleman. "I am the pine tree against which you leaned your back. And on my bark was a lot of sticky pine gum. It is that which is holding you fast," the tree answered. "Why--why, it's just like sticky flypaper, isn't it?" asked Uncle Wiggily, trying again to get loose, but not doing so. "And it is just like the time you held the bear fast for me." "Yes, it is; and flypaper is made from my sticky pine gum," said the tree. "I am so sorry you are stuck, but I did not see you lean back against me until it was too late. And now I can't get you loose, for my limbs are so high over your head that I can not reach them down to you. Try to get loose yourself." "I will," said Uncle Wiggily, and he did, but he could not get loose, though he almost pulled out all his fur. So he cried: "Help! Help! Help!" Then, all of a sudden, along through the woods came Neddie Stubtail, the little bear-boy, and Neddie had some butter, which he had just bought at the store for his mother. "Oh!" cried the pine tree. "If you will rub some butter on my sticky gum, it will loosen and melt it, so Uncle Wiggily will not be stuck any more." Neddie did so, and soon the bunny uncle was free. "Oh, I can't tell you how sorry I am," said the pine tree. "I am a horrid creature, of no use in this world, Uncle Wiggily! Other trees have nice fruit or nuts or flowers on them, but all I have is sticky gum, or brown, rough ugly pine cones. Oh, dear! I am of no use in the world!" "Oh, yes you are!" said Uncle Wiggily, kindly. "As for having stuck me fast, that was my own fault. I should have looked before I leaned back. And, as for your pine cones, I dare say they are very useful." "No, they are not!" said the tree sadly. "If they were only ice cream cones they might be some good. Oh, I wish I were a peach tree, or a rose bush!" "Never mind," spoke Uncle Wiggily, "I like your pine cones, and I am going to take some home with me, and, when I next see you, I shall tell you how useful they were. Don't feel so badly." So Uncle Wiggily gathered a number of the pine cones, which are really the big, dried seeds of the pine tree, and the bunny uncle took them to his bungalow with him. A few days later he was in the woods again and stopped near the pine tree, which was sighing and wishing it were an umbrella plant or a gold fish. "Hush!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "You must try to do the best you can for what you are! And I have come to tell you how useful your pine cones were." "Really?" asked the tree, in great surprise. "Really?" "Really and truly," answered Uncle Wiggily. "With some of your cones Nurse Jane started her kitchen fire when all the wood was wet. With others I built a little play house, and amused Lulu Wibblewobble, the duck girl, when she had the toothache. And other cones I threw at a big bear that was chasing me. I hit him on the nose with them, and he was glad enough to run away. So you see how useful you are, pine tree!" "Oh, I am so glad," said the tree. "I guess it is better to be just what you are, and do the best you can," and Uncle Wiggily said it was. And, if the roof of our house doesn't come down stairs to play with the kitchen floor and let the rain in on the gold fish, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and his torn coat. STORY XXIX UNCLE WIGGILY AND HIS TORN COAT "Do you think I look all right?" asked Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman, of Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, his muskrat lady housekeeper. He was standing in front of her, turning slowly about, and he had on a new coat. For now that Summer was near the bunny uncle had laid aside his heavy fur coat and was wearing a lighter one. "Yes, you do look very nice," Nurse Jane said, tying her tail in a knot so Uncle Wiggily would not step on it as he turned around. "Nice enough to go to Grandfather Goosey Gander's party?" asked the rabbit gentleman. "Oh, yes, indeed!" exclaimed Nurse Jane. "I didn't know Grandpa Goosey was to give a party, but, if he is, you certainly look well enough to go with your new coat. Of course, it might be better if it had some lace insertion around the button holes, or a bit of ruching, with oyster shell trimming sewed down the back, but--" "Oh, no, indeed!" laughed the bunny uncle. "If it had those things on it would be a coat for a lady. I like mine plainer." "Well, take care of yourself," called Nurse Jane after him as he hopped off over the fields and through the woods to the house where Grandfather Goosey Gander lived. "Now, I must be very careful not to get my new coat dirty, or I won't look nice at the party," the old rabbit gentleman was saying to himself as he hopped along. "I must be very careful indeed." He went along as carefully as he could, but, just as he was going down a little hill, under the trees, he came to a place which was so slippery that, before he knew it, all of a sudden Uncle Wiggily fell down and slid to the bottom of the hill. "My goodness!" he cried, as he stood up after his slide. "I did not know there was snow or ice on that hill." And when he looked there was not, but it was covered with long, thin pine needles, which are almost as slippery as glass. It was on these that the rabbit gentleman had slipped down hill. "Well, there is no great harm done," said Uncle Wiggily to himself, as he found no bones broken. "I had a little slide, that's all. I must bring Sammie and Susie Littletail here some day, and let them slide on pine needle hill. Johnnie and Billie Bushytail, the two squirrels, would also like it, and so would Nannie and Billie Wagtail, my two goat friends." Uncle Wiggily was about to go on to the party when, as he looked at his new coat he saw that it was all torn. In sliding down the slippery pine needle hill the coat had caught on sticks and stones and it had many holes torn in it, and it was also ripped here and there. "Oh, dear me!" cried Uncle Wiggily. "Oh, sorrow! Oh, unhappiness! Now I'll have to go back to my hollow stump bungalow and put on my old coat that isn't torn. For I never can wear my new one to the party. That would never do! But the trouble is, if I go back home I'll be late! Oh, dear, what trouble I am in!" Now was the time for some of Uncle Wiggily's friends to help him in his trouble, as he had often helped them. But, as he looked through the woods, he could not see even a little mouse, or so much as a grasshopper. "The tailor bird would be just the one I'd like to see now," said the rabbit uncle. "She could mend my torn coat nicely." For tailor birds, yon know, can take a piece of grass, with their bill for a needle, and sew leaves together to make a nest, almost as well as your mother can mend a hole in your stocking. But there was no tailor bird in the woods, and Uncle Wiggily did not know what to do. "I certainly do not want to be late to Grandpa Goosey's party," said the bunny uncle, "nor do I want to go to it in a torn coat. Oh, dear!" Just then he heard down on the ground near him, a little voice saying: "Perhaps we could mend your coat for you, Uncle Wiggily." "You. Who are you, and how can you mend my torn coat?" the bunny gentleman wanted to know. "We are some little black ants," was the answer, "and with the pine needles lying on the ground--some of the same needles on which you slipped--we can sew up your coat, with long grass for thread." "Oh, that will be fine, if you can do it," spoke the bunny uncle. "Can you?" "We'll try," the ants said. Then, about fourteen thousand six hundred and twenty-two black ants took each a long, sharp pine needle, and threading it with grass, they began to sew up the rips and tears in Uncle Wiggily's coat. And in places where they could not easily sew they stuck the cloth together with sticky gum from the pine tree. So, though the pine tree was to blame, in a way, for Uncle Wiggily's fall, it also helped in the mending of his coat. Soon the coat was almost as good as new and you could hardly tell where it was torn. And Uncle Wiggily, kindly thanking the ants, went on to Grandpa Goosey's party and had a fine time and also some ice cream. And if the egg beater doesn't take all the raisins out of the rice pudding, so it looks like a cup of custard going to the moving pictures, the next story will be about Uncle Wiggily and the sycamore tree. STORY XXX UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE SYCAMORE TREE "Oh, Uncle Wiggily, I'm going to a party! I'm going to a party!" cried Nannie Wagtail, the little goat girl, as she pranced up in front of the hollow stump bungalow where Mr. Longears, the rabbit gentleman, lived with Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper. "Going to a party? Say, that's just fine!" said the bunny gentleman. "I wish I were going to one." "Why, you can come, too!" cried Nannie. "Jillie Longtail, the little mouse girl, is giving the party, and I know she will be glad to have you." "Well, perhaps, I may stop in for a little while," said Mr. Longears, with a smile that made his pink nose twinkle like the frosting on a sponge cake. "But when is the party going to take place, Nannie?" "Right away--I'm going there now; but I just stopped at your bungalow to show you my new shoes that Uncle Butter, the circus poster goat, bought for me. Aren't they nice?" And she stuck out her feet. "Indeed, they are!" cried Uncle Wiggily, as he looked at the shiny black shoes which went on over Nannie's hoofs. "So the party is to-day, is it?", "Right now," said Nannie. "Come on, Uncle Wiggily. Walk along with me and go in! They'll all be glad to see you!" "Oh, but my dear child!" cried the bunny gentleman. "I haven't shaved my whiskers, my ears need brushing, and I would have to do lots of things to make myself look nice and ready for a party!" "Oh, dear!" bleated Nannie Wagtail. "I did so want you to come with me!" "Well, I'll walk as far as the Longtail mouse home,"' said the bunny uncle, "but I won't go in. "Oh, maybe you will when you get there!" And Nannie laughed, for she knew Uncle Wiggily always did whatever the animal children wanted him to do. So the bunny uncle and Nannie started off through the woods together, Nannie looking down at her new shoes every now and then. "I'm going to dance at the party, Uncle Wiggily!" she said. "I should think you would, Nannie, with those nice new shoes," spoke Mr. Longears. "What dance are you going to do?" "Oh, the four-step and the fish hornpipe, I guess," answered Nannie, and then she suddenly cried: "Oh, dear!" "What's the matter now?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "Did you lose one of your new shoes?" "No, but I splashed some mud on it," the little goat girl said. "I stepped in a mud puddle." "Never mind, I'll wipe it off with a bit of soft green moss," answered Uncle Wiggily; and he did. So Nannie's shoes were all clean again. On and on went the rabbit gentleman and the little goat girl, and they talked of what games the animal children would play at the Longtail mouse party, and what good things they would eat, and all like that. All of a sudden, as Nannie was jumping over another little puddle of water, she cried out again: "Oh, dear!" "What's the matter now?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "Did some more mud splash on your new shoes, Nannie?" "No, Uncle Wiggily, but a lot of the buttons came off. I guess they don't fasten buttons on new shoes very tight." "I guess they don't," Uncle Wiggily said. "But still you have enough buttons left to keep the shoes on your feet. I guess you will be all right." So Nannie walked on a little farther, with Uncle Wiggily resting his rheumatism, now and then, on the red, white and blue striped barber pole crutch that Nurse Jane had gnawed for him out of a cornstalk. All of a sudden Nannie cried out again: "Oh, dear! Oh, this is too bad!" "What is?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "Now all the buttons have come off my shoes!" said the little goat girl, sadly. "I don't see how I can go on to the party and dance, with no buttons on my shoes. They'll be slipping off all the while." "So they will," spoke Uncle Wiggily. "Shoes without buttons are like lollypops without sticks, you can't do anything with them." "But what am I going to do?" asked Nannie, while tears came into her eyes and splashed up on her horns. "I do want so much to go to that party." "And I want you to," said Uncle Wiggily. "Let me think a minute." So he thought and thought, and then he looked off through the woods and he saw a queer tree not far away. It was a sycamore tree, with broad white patches on the smooth bark, and hanging down from the branches were lots of round balls, just like shoe buttons, only they were a sort of brown instead of black. The balls were the seeds of the tree. "Ha! The very thing!" cried the bunny uncle. "What is?" asked Nannie. "That sycamore, or button-ball tree," answered the rabbit gentleman. "I can get you some new shoe buttons off that, Nannie, and sew them on your shoes." "Oh, if you can, that will be just fine!" cried the little goat girl. "For when the buttons came off my new shoes they flew every which way--I mean the buttons did--and I couldn't find a single one." "Never mind," Uncle Wiggily kindly said. "I'll sew on some of the buttons from the sycamore tree, and everything will be all right." With a thorn for a needle, and some long grasses for thread, Uncle Wiggily soon sewed the buttons from the sycamore, or button-ball, tree on Nannie's new shoes, using the very smallest ones, of course. Then Nannie put on her shoes again, having rested her feet on a velvet carpet of moss, while Uncle Wiggily was sewing, and together they went on to the Longtail mouse party. "Oh, what nice shoes you have, Nannie!" cried Susie Littletail, the rabbit girl. "And what lovely stylish buttons!" exclaimed Lulu Wibblewobble, the duck. "Yes, Uncle Wiggily sewed them on for me," said Nannie. "Oh, is Uncle Wiggily outside!" cried the little mousie girl. "He must come in to our party!" "Of course!" cried all the other animal children. And so Uncle Wiggily, who had walked on past the house after leaving Nannie, had to come in anyhow, without his whiskers being trimmed, or his ears curled. And he was so jolly that every one had a good time and lots of ice cream cheese to eat, and they all thought Nannie's shoes, and the button-ball buttons, were just fine. And if the ham sandwich doesn't tickle the cream puff under the chin and make it laugh so all the chocolate drops off the cocoanut pudding, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the red spots. STORY XXXI UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE RED SPOTS Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman, was hopping along through the woods one fine day when he heard a little voice calling to him: "Oh, Uncle Wiggily! Will you have a game of tag with me?" At first the bunny uncle thought the voice might belong to a bad fox or a harum-scarum bear, but when he had peeked through the bushes he saw that it was Lulu Wibblewobble, the duck girl, who had called to him. "Have a game of tag with you? Why, of course, I will!" laughed Uncle Wiggily. "That is, if you will kindly excuse my rheumatism, and the red, white and blue crutch which Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, my muskrat lady housekeeper, gnawed for me out of a cornstalk." "Of course, I'll excuse it, Uncle Wiggily," said Lulu. "Only please don't tag me with the end of your crutch, for it tickles me, and when I'm tickled I have to laugh, and when I laugh I can't play tag." "I won't tag you with my crutch," spoke Uncle Wiggily with a laugh. "Now we're ready to begin." So the little duck girl and the rabbit gentleman played tag there in the woods, jumping and springing about on the soft mossy green carpet under the trees. Sometimes Lulu was "it" and sometimes Uncle Wiggily would be tagged by the foot or wing of the duck girl, who was a sister to Alice and Jimmie Wibblewobble. "Now for a last tag!" cried Uncle Wiggily when it was getting dark in the woods. "I'll tag you this time, Lulu, and then we must go home." "All right," agreed Lulu, and she ran and flew so fast that Uncle Wiggily could hardly catch her to make her "it." And finally when Uncle Wiggily almost had his paw on the duck girl she flew right over a bush, and, before Uncle Wiggily could stop himself he had run into the bush until he was half way through it. [Illustration: Before Uncle Wiggily could stop himself he had run into the bush.] But, very luckily, it was not a scratchy briar bush, so no great harm was done, except that Uncle Wiggily's fur was a bit ruffled up, and he was tickled. "I guess I can't tag you this time, Lulu!" laughed the bunny uncle. "We'll give up the game now, and I'll be 'it' next time when we play." "Ail right, Uncle Wiggily," said Lulu. "I'll meet you here in the woods at this time tomorrow night, and I'll bring Alice and Jimmie with me, and we'll have lots of fun. We'll have a grand game of tag!" "Fine!" cried the bunny uncle, as he squirmed his way out of the bush. Then he went on to his hollow stump bungalow, and Lulu went on to her duck pen house to have her supper of corn meal sauce with watercress salad sprinkled over the sides. As Uncle Wiggily was sitting down to his supper of carrot ice cream with lettuce sandwiches all puckered around the edges, Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy looked at him across the table, and exclaimed: "Why, Wiggy! What's the matter with you?" "Matter with me? Nothing, Janie! I feel just fine!" he said. "I'm hungry, that's all!" "Why, you're all covered with red spots!" went on the muskrat lady. "You are breaking out with the measles. I must send for Dr. Possum at once." "Measles? Nonsense!" exclaimed Uncle Wiggily. "I can't have 'em again. I've had 'em once." "Well, maybe these are the French or German mustard measles," said the muskrat lady. "You are certainly all covered with red spots, and red spots are always measles." "Well, what are you going to do about it?" asked Uncle Wiggily. "You must go to bed at once," said Nurse Jane, "and when Dr. Possum comes he'll tell you what else to do. Oh, my! Look at the red spots!" Uncle Wiggily was certainly as red-spotted as a polka-dot shirt waist. He looked at himself in a glass to make sure. "Well, I guess I have the measles all right," he said. "But I don't see how I can have them twice. This must be a different style, like the new dances." It was dark when Dr. Possum came, and when he saw the red spots on Uncle Wiggily, he said: "Yes, I guess they're the measles all right. Lots of the animal children are down with them. But don't worry. Keep nice and warm and quiet, and you'll be all right in a few days." So Uncle Wiggily went to bed, red spots and all, and Nurse Jane made him hot carrot and sassafras tea, with whipped cream and chocolate in it. The cream was not whipped because it was bad, you know, but only just in fun, to make it stand up straight. All the next day the bunny uncle stayed in bed with his red spots, though he wanted very much to go out in the woods looking for an adventure. And when evening came and Nurse Jane was sitting out on the front porch of the hollow stump bungalow, she suddenly heard a quacking sound, and along came Lulu, Alice and Jimmie Wibblewobble, the duck children. "Where is Uncle Wiggily?" asked Lulu. "He is in bed," answered Nurse Jane. "Why is he in bed?" asked Jimmie. "Was he bad?" "No, indeed," laughed Nurse Jane. "But your Uncle Wiggily is in bed because he has the red-spotted measles. What did you want of him?" "He promised to meet us in the woods, where the green moss grows," answered Lulu, "and play tag with us. We waited and waited, and played tag all by ourselves tonight, even jumping in the bush, as Uncle Wiggily accidentally did when he was chasing me, but he did not come along. So we came here to see what is the matter." The three duck children came up on the porch, where the bright light shone on them from inside the bungalow. "Oh, my goodness me sakes alive and some paregoric lollypops!" cried Nurse Jane, as she looked at the three. "You ducks are all covered with red spots, too! You all have the measles! Oh, my!" "Measles!" cried Jimmie, the boy duck. "Measles? These aren't measles, Nurse Jane! These are sticky, red berries from the bushes we jumped in as Uncle Wiggily did. The red berries are sticky, like burdock burrs, and they stuck to us." "Oh, my goodness!" cried Nurse Jane. "Wait a minute, children!" Then she ran to where Uncle Wiggily was lying in bed. She leaned over and picked off some of the red spots from his fur. "Why!" cried the muskrat lady. "You haven't the measles at all, Wiggy! It's just sticky, red berries in your fur, just as they are in the ducks' feathers. You're all right! Get up and have a good time!" And Uncle Wiggily did, after Nurse Jane had combed the red, sticky burr-berries out of his fur. He didn't have the measles at all, for which he was very glad, because he could now be up and play tag. "My goodness! That certainly was a funny mistake for all of us," said Dr. Possum next day. "But the red spots surely did look like the measles." Which shows us that things are not always what they seem. And if the--Oh, excuse me, if you please. There is not going to be a next story in this book. It is already as full as it can be, so the story after this will have to be put in the following book, which also means next. Let me see, now. Oh, I know. Next I'm going to tell you some stories about the old gentleman growing cabbages, lettuce and things like that out of the ground, and the book will be called "Uncle Wiggily on The Farm." It will be ready for you by Christmas, I think, and I hope you will like it. And now I will say good-bye for a little while, and if the lollypop doesn't take its sharp stick to make the baby carriage roll down the hill and into the trolley car, I'll soon begin to make the new book. 
41394	----	+--------------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber's Note: | | | | Words with bold characters are enclosed between | | (+) plus signs and words in italics are enclosed | | between (_) underlines. | +--------------------------------------------------+ [Illustration: A SOUTHERN MICHIGAN WOODLOT] UNIVERSITY BULLETIN NEW SERIES, SEPTEMBER, 1915 VOL. XVII, NO. 10 UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN BOTANICAL GARDEN AND ARBORETUM MICHIGAN TREES A HANDBOOK OF THE NATIVE AND MOST IMPORTANT INTRODUCED SPECIES _By_ CHARLES HERBERT OTIS, FORMERLY CURATOR WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY GEORGE PLUMER BURNS, FORMERLY DIRECTOR [Illustration] Ann Arbor PUBLISHED BY THE REGENTS 1915 COPYRIGHT, 1915 BY THE REGENTS OF THE UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN THIRD EDITION, REVISED THE ANN ARBOR PRESS, PRINTERS ANN ARBOR, MICH. TABLE OF CONTENTS. PAGE A Southern Michigan Woodlot--_Frontispiece_. Map of Michigan (Showing Details Mentioned in the Bulletin) iv Introduction v Acknowledgments vii How to Study the Trees ix Artificial Keys, How Made and Used xviii Summer Key to the Genera xxi Winter Key to the Genera xxvii Manual of Trees (Description of Species, with Summer and Winter Keys to the Species) xxxiii Glossary 231 Index to the Artificial Keys 241 Index to the Trees 242 [Illustration: MAP OF MICHIGAN SHOWING ONLY LOCATIONS MENTIONED IN THE MANUAL] INTRODUCTION The idea of a bulletin on Michigan trees was first suggested by Prof. Volney M. Spalding. It was thought that a bulletin devoted entirely to the study of certain phases of tree life in Michigan would stimulate interest in the study of our trees, and influence many more people to associate themselves with the growing number of tree lovers and with the supporters of the movement for better forest conditions in the state. The bulletin has been under consideration for a number of years and much of the material given herein has been used in the classes in forest botany at the University of Michigan. It remained, however, for the present Curator of the Botanical Garden and Arboretum to get the material into shape for publication, and the present bulletin is the result of his industry and perseverance. The preparation of the drawings and manuscript has been made by him in connection with his work in the Garden. The distinctive feature of the bulletin lies in its keys. The keys commonly published are based upon characters which are present but a short time during the year, or which can be used only by an advanced student of botany. This bulletin presents two keys. One is based upon characters which are present all summer; the other uses the winter characters as a basis for identification. By the use of the keys any person should be able to name and learn the characteristics of the trees of Michigan at any time of the year. These keys should prove of special value to our students in the public schools, to members of nature study clubs, and to the students in the forestry schools of the state. The order of arrangement and the nomenclature are essentially those of "Gray's New Manual of Botany." Following a tendency which is steadily gaining favor, all species names are printed with a small letter, regardless of their origin. For the convenience of the general reader, other scientific names which are found in botanical manuals _in common use_ are printed in parenthesis. In the case of exotics which are not included in the Manual, other authorities have been followed. Sudworth's "Check List of the Forest Trees of the United States" (U. S. Dept. Agr., Div. Forestry, Bul. 17) is in most cases authority for the common names. They are names appearing in common use today in some part of the state. The first name given is that recommended by Sudworth for general use. The drawings have been made from living or herbarium material and are original. They are accurately drawn to a scale, which is given in each case. In their preparation the author has endeavored to call attention to the salient characters. In the drawings of buds and twigs certain points, bundle-scars, etc., have been emphasized more than is natural. In the descriptions the attempt has been made to bring out those points of similarity and contrast which are most useful for identification. As the bulletin is not written especially for technical students of botany, the author thought best to use as few technical terms as possible in the descriptions. In some cases it was impossible to avoid such terms, but with the help of the glossary the meaning can be easily understood. Any person desiring to get a more complete knowledge of trees should consult one of the larger manuals. The arrangement used for the illustration and discussion of each single tree makes it possible for the student to compare the drawings with the description without turning a page. It is believed that with the aid of the drawings and descriptions given in this bulletin any person will be able to name the trees which grow in his yard, park, or woodlot. If, however, any difficulty is found in naming the trees, the Curator will be glad to name any specimens which may be mailed to him. He would be glad to get in touch with persons interested in Michigan trees and to receive any additional information relating to the subject. Data concerning the distribution of the trees in the state, and the addition of other Michigan trees to the present list would be of especial value. GEORGE PLUMER BURNS. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Grateful acknowledgment is hereby made to Miss Sarah Phelps, who has done most of the inking in and given life to the author's pencil-drawings; to Mr. J. H. Ehlers for his valuable assistance in the preparation of many of the drawings and in the collection of working material; to Prof. Henri Hus, who has read all of the proof and who has at various times rendered valuable assistance; to Prof. F. C. Newcombe and to Prof. Ernst Bessey for the loan of sheets, from the herbariums of the University of Michigan and Michigan Agricultural College; and especially to Prof. Geo. P. Burns in whose inspiration this bulletin had its inception and under whose direction the work has progressed to completion. CHAS. H. OTIS. HOW TO STUDY THE TREES People are everywhere associated with trees. Trees give cooling shade in our parks and dooryards and along our highways; they lend their beauty to the landscape and relieve it of monotony; they yield many kinds of fruits, some of which furnish man and the animals of the forest with food; and they furnish vast quantities of lumber for a multitude of uses. How important it is, then, that every person, whether school-child or grown-up, should become acquainted with our trees. Most people know a few of our commonest trees, but are ignorant of the great wealth of tree forms about them. Some who may have wished to go further have been hindered for lack of a teacher or dismayed by the very multitude of manuals to which they have had access. In beginning a study of the trees the student should start on a solid foundation, eliminating the uncertainties and the errors which no doubt have appeared and retaining only the established facts. Once started he should go slowly, assimilating each new discovery before seeking another. He should begin with the trees nearest home, and, as he gradually grows to know these in all their aspects, should extend his trips afield. Not only should he be able to name the trees when they are fully clothed in their summer dress, but he should as readily know these same trees when the leaves have fallen and only the bare branches stand silhouetted against the sky. Then, and only then, will he derive the utmost satisfaction from his efforts. The characters which are used in studying the trees are habit, leaves, flowers, fruit, buds, bark, distribution and habitat. These will be discussed briefly in the next few pages, the same order that is used in the detailed descriptions of species being maintained in the present discussion. A few drawings will also be added to make clear certain points and to show comparative forms. NAME.--Every tree has one or several common names and a scientific or Latin name. Some of these common names are merely local, others have a more extended use. Some few names apply to totally different species. Thus, Cottonwood in Michigan is _Populus deltoides_, in Idaho and Colorado _Populus angustifolia_, in California _Populus fremontii_ and in Kentucky _Tilia heterophylla_. While it should not be forgotten that in common speech it is proper as well as convenient to call trees by their common names, yet, in view of the many uncertainties pertaining to their use, a scientific name is at times absolutely essential to the clear understanding of what is meant. Latin is the language in universal use by all scientists. No longer used by any civilized nation, it has become a dead language and consequently never changes. Its vocabulary and its constructions will a thousand years hence be the same as they are today. Being in universal use among scientists of all nationalities no confusion arises from the use of a Latin word. The Oak in Germany is known as _Eiche_, in France as _chêne_ and in Spain as _roble_, but the Latin word _Quercus_ is the same for all these countries. A scientific name as applied to trees consists of at least two parts, as _Quercus alba_; the first named is the genus and is always written with a capital letter, the second is the species and is written with a small letter, the two names constituting the briefest possible description of the particular tree. It is customary to add to these the name or an abbreviation of the name of the person who first gave the name to the tree, as _Quercus alba L._, the abbreviation standing for Linnaeus. Sometimes a third name is used, as _Acer saccharum nigrum_, referring in this case to a variety of the ordinary Sugar Maple. Genera which bear a relationship to each other are placed in the same family, the family name always having the characteristic ending--_aceae_. Related families are again grouped into orders, with the characteristic ending--_ales_. Orders are in like manner arranged into larger groups, called classes, and the latter into still larger groups, divisions, etc., each with its characteristic ending. Thus, _Acer saccharum nigrum_ (_Michx. f._) _Britt_. is classified as follows: Division--Spermatophyta Subdivision--Angiospermae Class--Dicotyledoneae Order--Sapindales Family--Aceraceae Genus--Acer Species--saccharum Variety--nigrum. HABIT.--Habit, or the general appearance of a plant, is an important character of identification, especially as we become more and more familiar with the trees. Two main types are recognized, based on the manner of branching of the trunk, the upright and the spreading. In the one the trunk extends straight upwards without dividing, as is typical in most of the conifers, and in the other the trunk divides to form several large branches and the broad, spreading crown of most of our broad-leaf trees. The crown in either case may be regular in outline or very irregular, straggling or straight-limbed. Moreover, the tree growing in the open, where there is no crowding and there is plenty of light, may differ very greatly from the tree in the forest, where the struggle for existence becomes very keen. A short, thick trunk and low, spreading, many-branched crown characterizes the tree in the open, whereas the forest tree has a long, slender, clean trunk and a narrow crown of few branches. In the descriptions of trees in this bulletin, unless otherwise stated, the habit in the open is the one given. Again, the tree may have been injured by storm or insect at some period of its growth and its natural symmetry destroyed. Moreover, the age of a tree has a great influence on its outline, young trees being generally narrow and more or less conical, broadening out as they become older. We may say, then, that each tree has an individuality of its own, little eccentricities similar to those that make people different from one another. And just as we have little difficulty in recognizing our friends at a distance by some peculiarity of walk or action, so are we able to recognize a great many trees at a distance by some peculiarity of form or habit. [Illustration: I. LEAF OUTLINES Lanceolate. Ovate. Heart-shaped. Halberd-shaped. Linear. Elliptical. Oblong. Oval. Orbicular. Oblanceolate. Spatulate. Obovate.] [Illustration: II. LEAF TIPS Acuminate. Acute. Obtuse. Emarginate. Mucronate.] LEAVES.--With the advent of spring the buds of our broad-leaf trees swell and burst and the leaves come forth and clothe the trees with mantles of green, hiding the branches which have been bare through the cold winter months. The evergreens, too, take on new color and begin a new period of growth. It is the leaves which the beginner finds most interesting and in which he finds a ready means of identification. It must be remembered, however, that leaves vary greatly in size and shape and general appearance. How large are the leaves on a flourishing sprout and how small on a stunted tree of the same species growing near by, but under adverse circumstances. How different are the leaves of the big white oak standing in the yard; they are hardly lobed on the lowermost branches, while higher up they are deeply cut. Yet, in spite of the many modifications that leaves undergo, the leaves of any one species have certain rather constant characters which are found in all forms, and the student will have little difficulty in selecting and recognizing typical leaves. [Illustration: III. LEAF MARGINS Serrate. Doubly Serrate. Crenate. Undulate. Sinuate. Lobed. Dentate.] Leaves are either persistent, as in most of our conifers, which stay green all winter, or they turn various colors with the frost and fall early in autumn; often they hang dead and lifeless far into the winter. The points about leaves which we are accustomed to consider are the position or arrangement of the leaves on the branch, whether simple or compound, size, shape, texture, color, amount and character of pubescence, character of the margin, venation, etc. The following diagrams will serve to illustrate some of the ordinary forms and shapes of leaves, their margins, etc. [Illustration: IV. PARTS OF A FLOWER Perfect Flower. Stamen. Pistil. a. Sepal (Calyx). b. Petal (Corolla). c. Stamen. d. Pistil. e. Anther. f. Filament. g. Stigma. h. Style. i. Ovary.] FLOWERS.--Every tree when old enough bears flowers in its proper season. Some of these, as the Catalpas, Locusts and Horse-chestnuts are very showy, others, like the Oaks and Hickories, are comparatively inconspicuous; some are brilliantly colored, others are of the same color as the leaves. Nevertheless, the flowers are very accurate means of classification, and their only drawback is that they last for such a short period of time each year. [Illustration: V. TYPES OF INFLORESCENCES Spike. Raceme. Panicle. Corymb. Umbel. Cyme.] Just as we have male and female in the animal world, so we have male and female in the plant world. A few of our trees, as the Locust, Basswood and Cherries have perfect flowers, bearing both stamens and pistil. The great majority, however, have unisexual flowers, bearing stamens or pistils, but not both. When both male and female flowers are found on the same tree, the flowers are said to be monoecious, and when male flowers occur on one tree and the female on a different tree, the flowers are said to be dioecious. The Cottonwood is dioecious, and the little seeds are surrounded by a tuft of long, white hairs which enables the wind to carry them to considerable distances from the parent tree, to the disgust of people living within range. Many cities forbid the planting of Cottonwood on account of the "cotton." Since in some cases it is desirable to plant this rapid-growing tree, as in cities burning large amounts of soft coal, it is a distinct advantage to know that male trees are lacking in the objectionable "cotton" and may be planted safely. Before trees can produce fruit their flowers must be fertilized, i.e., pollen from the anther of a stamen must come in contact with the stigma of a pistil. Some flowers are self-fertilized, others are cross-fertilized. For a long time it was not known how fertilization was accomplished, but now we know that many insects, like the nectar-loving bees and butterflies, and in other cases the wind transport the pollen from one flower to another, often miles being traversed before the right kind of flower or a flower in the right stage of development is found. And many are the modifications of flowers to insure this transference of pollen. FRUIT.--So numerous and so varied are the forms of tree fruits that it would only be confusing to enumerate their various characters. Some fruits, as the achenes of the Poplars and Willows, are so small and light that they are carried long distances by the wind; others, like the hickory nuts and walnuts, are too heavy to be wind-blown. Many fruits are of considerable economic and commercial importance and are gathered and marketed on a large scale; such are the hickory nuts, walnuts, chestnuts, etc. Some, not esteemed by man, form an important article of diet for the birds and small animals of the forest. Unfortunately, there are a number of limitations to the usefulness of fruit for identification purposes. Some trees require years to mature their fruit. Many trees, while producing an abundance of fruit at certain intervals, bear none at all or only very small and uncertain quantities between the years of abundance. Again, in the case of dioecious trees, only the female or pistillate bear fruit. Notwithstanding these limitations tree fruits are a very valuable aid to the student, and he should always search closely for evidences of their presence and character. [Illustration: VI. WINTER TWIG OF RED MULBERRY a. Tip-scar. b. Lateral bud. c. Leaf-scar. d. Stipule-scars.] WINTER-BUDS.--Buds, with their accompanying leaf-and stipule-scars form the basis of tree identification in winter. The size, color, position with reference to the twig, number and arrangement and character of bud-scales, etc., are all characters of the greatest value in winter determinations. Buds are either terminal or lateral, depending on their position on the twig. A lateral bud is one situated on the side of a twig in the axil of a leaf-scar. A terminal bud is one situated at the end of a twig, where it is ready to continue the growth of the twig the following spring. In the keys an important consideration is the presence or absence of the terminal bud. Inasmuch as the determination of this point gives the beginner some trouble at first, it is hoped that the accompanying diagrams and explanatory remarks will make the distinction clear. [Illustration: VII. WINTER TWIG OF BLACK WALNUT a. Terminal bud. b. Lateral bud. c. Leaf-scar. d. Bundle-scars. e. Pith.] In the Elms, Willows, Basswood and many other species the terminal bud and a small portion of the tip of the twig dies and drops off in late autumn, leaving a small scar at the end of the twig (a, fig. VI). The presence of this tip-scar indicates that the terminal bud is absent. Often a lateral bud will be found very close to the tip-scar (b, fig. VI), which, bending into line with the twig, makes it appear terminal. However, the presence of a leaf-scar immediately below it shows it to be a lateral bud (c, fig. VI). In some large twigs the eye unaided will serve to find the tip-scar, but with the smaller twigs a hand-lens is necessary. The arrangement, size and shape of the leaf-scars (c, fig. VII) are important factors in identification by winter characters. Within the leaf-scars are one or more dots (d, fig. VII), sometimes quite inconspicuous, often very prominent. These are the scars left by the fibro-vascular bundles which run through the petiole into the blade of the leaf, and are designated as bundle-scars. There may be only one as in Sassafras and Hackberry, two as in Ginkgo, three as in the Poplars and Cherries, or many; and they may be arranged in a U- or V-shaped line, or they may be without definite order. Often stipule-scars (d, fig. VI) occur on either side of the leaf-scar; these are scars left by the fall of a pair of small leaflets called stipules and located at the base of the leaves, and their form varies according to the form of the stipules which made them. BARK.--The woodsman uses the bark of a tree more than any other character in distinguishing the trees about him, and he is often able to use this character alone with much accuracy at great distances. However, the appearance of bark differs so greatly with the age of the tree and with its environment that it is difficult to describe it accurately. Some characters are distinctive, however, and serve as a ready means of identification; such characters are the peeling of the Sycamore and Paper Birch, the "shagging" of the Shagbark Hickory, the spicy taste of Sassafras bark and the mucilaginous inner bark of the Slippery Elm. WOOD.--It is not expected that the information given under this heading will be of any particular value in identifying living trees. Often, however, the student finds himself in the midst of felling operations, when the information concerning the wood is of considerable value. DISTRIBUTION AND HABITAT.--To a lesser extent do distribution and habitat of a species aid in the identification of a tree. It is a distinct aid to know that the Chestnut is native in south-eastern Michigan only and that the Mountain Ash does not extend south of Ludington. So too, knowing the water-loving habit of the Swamp White Oak, we would not expect to find this same tree flourishing on the top of a hard, dry hill. The characters, then, which are used to identify the trees about us are many. Not all will be available at any one time, not all have been mentioned in the foregoing pages nor in the manual. It is our opinion, however, that the student will not be greatly handicapped by this lack of detail, but rather that he will take great interest and genuine pleasure in discovering these things for himself. ARTIFICIAL KEYS, HOW MADE AND USED An artificial key is a scheme for easily and quickly identifying any unknown object under consideration. This bulletin being devoted to the trees of Michigan, the keys to be found herein are intended to make it possible for any person, even if his botanical training be meager, to determine what trees grow about any home or farm, city park or woodlot in the state. With certain modifications and limitations they may prove useful in other localities as well. Since many people are unfamiliar with the construction and use of keys for identification, it will be the purpose of the following paragraphs to briefly outline the principles of construction and the manner of using the keys to be found here. The keys are based on the most striking similarities and differences which the various parts of trees--twigs, buds, leaves, etc.--show, i. e., those characters which stand out in bold relief, which catch the eye at first sight. Two alternatives are presented, either a character _is_ or _is not_ present; these are the only choices possible. Indeed, further divisions are unnecessary and only lead to confusion and possible oversight. The two diametrically opposed characters are said to be coördinate in rank. In the keys they are preceded by the same letter or letters (_a_ and _aa_ or _b_ and _bb,_ etc.) and are set at the same distance from the left margin of the page. Often _a_ and _aa,_ or _b_ and _bb_ are further divisible into other groups; in every case the characters are opposed (a positive and a negative) and are given coördinate rank. It is desirable for mechanical reasons to divide the main divisions of the key more or less evenly, but this is not always feasible, nor should it be religiously adhered to. Suppose as a concrete example that it is desired to construct a key to distinguish five houses in a city block. Three of these are of wood construction, two are of brick, and of the two wooden houses one is painted white and one brown. We may classify them as follows: a. Houses wood. b. Body paint brown. _Smith's house_ bb. Body paint white. c. Trimmings green color. _Jones' house_ cc. Trimmings slate color. _Brown's house_ aa. Houses brick. b. Roof gray slate. _Johnson's house_ bb. Roof red tile. _Public Library_ It is desirable in many cases to add other characters to lessen the liability of confusion, where the characters chosen are not distinct, and to show the user that he is on the right track. Thus, in the example just given, green color and slate color under certain defects of the eye, a coating of dust or deficiencies of the light might be confused, under which circumstances we would be justified in adding to the above statements without the criticism of description being made. Thus: bb. c. Trimmings green color; gable roof. _Jones' house_ cc. Trimmings slate color; mansard roof. _Brown's house_ The keys in this bulletin are constructed on the above principles. They are not in all cases as simple as the illustration just used, but if the reader has mastered the house illustration he will have little or no trouble with the larger keys. Suppose that (during a summer stroll) you come across a large tree with rough, hard bark and thin, lobed leaves which you do not know. Turning to the _Summer Key to the Genera_ you find first _a. Leaves simple_, and contrasted with this _aa. Leaves compound._ Obviously the leaf is simple and the genus sought lies in that portion of the key preceding _aa_, i.e., under _a._ _b_ and _bb_ under _a_ give you a choice between _Leaves needle-shaped_, _awl-shaped_, _strap-shaped_ or _scale-like_ and _Leaves broad and flat_. The leaf being broad and flat you pass to _c_ and _cc_ under _bb_. Here you have a choice between _Leaves alternate or clustered_ and _Leaves opposite or whorled_. Inspection shows the arrangement to be opposite, and you know that the genus sought lies in that portion of the key between _cc_ and _aa_. Passing to _d_ and _dd_ under _cc_ gives the choice between _Margin of leaves entire or only slightly undulate_ and _Margin of leaves serrate to lobed_. The leaf is deeply lobed. It is then either a _Viburnum_ or an _Acer_, and the fact that the leaf-margin is lobed and not finely serrate brings the chase down to _Acer_. Before going further go back over the key and make careful note of the particular characters which were used to separate this genus from the other genera and try to fix these in mind. This done, turn to the page indicated, where you will find a _Summer Key to the Species of Acer_. You run through this key in the same manner that you did the genus key. If you have been careful in your search you will finally stop at _Acer saccharum_. Once more pause and go back over this key and try to fix in mind the characters which were used to separate the various species, especially the difference between your tree and _Acer platanoides_, which it so closely resembles. This done, turn to the page indicated and compare the characters of your tree with the drawings and descriptions. If you are satisfied with your diagnosis, well and good. If you find that you are wrong, go over the keys again and find wherein you were led astray. Before you leave the tree take a sample of leaf properly labeled which you can press between the pages of an old magazine and save for future reference. Do this with other trees which you may find and when you get home lay them out side by side so that the labels will not show and compare them. A few trials of this kind will serve to form a mental picture of each leaf which you will remember. A very helpful practice for the beginner is that of making keys based upon various characters. Practice keys of this kind will bring out the differences and likenesses of trees as will no other means, and characters which have hitherto escaped the eye will be prominently brought forward. Nor should the student take his characters from books, but rather should he go to the woods and get his knowledge first hand. It is hardly necessary to state that the key is a valuable crutch while learning to walk, but once the leg is strong enough to bear the weight it should be discarded, lest it become a burden. A key has for its main object the guidance of the student through the preliminary steps leading to a more intimate knowledge of the trees. When once he knows a tree, instinctively, because of long acquaintance with it, just as he knows people, then the need for a key will have ceased. SUMMER KEY TO THE GENERA[A] a. Leaves simple. b. Leaves needle-shaped, awl-shaped, strap-shaped or scale-like. c. Leaves in clusters of 2-many. d. Leaves in clusters of 2-5, sheathed, persistent for several years. PINUS, p. 4. dd. Leaves in fascicles of 8-many, on short, lateral branchlets, deciduous in autumn. LARIX, p. 17. cc. Leaves solitary, not clustered. d. Leaves opposite. e. Twigs flattened; leaves all of one kind, scale-like, decurrent on the stem; fruit a small, pale brown cone. THUJA, p. 31. ee. Twigs essentially terete; leaves of two kinds, either scale-like, or else awl-shaped, often both kinds on the same branch, not decurrent on the stem; fruit berry-like, bluish. JUNIPERUS, p. 33. dd. Leaves alternate or spirally-whorled. e. Leaves flattened, soft to the touch. f. Leaves 1/2-1-1/4 inches long, sessile, aromatic; cones 2-4 inches long; bark of trunk with raised blisters containing resin. ABIES, p. 27. ff. Leaves seldom over 1/2 inch long, short-petioled, not aromatic; cones about 3/4 inch long; bark of trunk without raised blisters. TSUGA, p. 29. ee. Leaves 4-sided, harsh to the touch. PICEA, p. 18. bb. Leaves broad and flat. c. Leaves alternate or clustered, never opposite nor whorled. d. Margin of leaves entire or only slightly undulate. e. Leaves heart-shaped or rounded; fruit a legume. CERCIS, p. 167. ee. Leaves oval, ovate or obovate; fruit not a legume. f. Branches armed with stout, straight spines; fruit large, orange-like. MACLURA, p. 133. ff. Branches without spines; fruit small, not orange-like. g. Fruit an acorn. QUERCUS, p. 96. gg. Fruit a drupe or berry. h. Twigs spicy-aromatic when bruised; leaves of many shapes on the same branch. SASSAFRAS, p. 139. hh. Twigs not spicy-aromatic; leaves not of many shapes on the same branch. i. Leaves thick, abruptly pointed, very lustrous above, not clustered at the ends of the branches. NYSSA, p. 209. ii. Leaves thin, long-pointed, not lustrous above, clustered at the ends of the branches. CORNUS, p. 202. dd. Margin of leaves serrate, toothed or lobed. e. Margin of leaves serrate to toothed. f. Branches armed with stiff, sharp thorns. CRATAEGUS, p. 151. ff. Branches not armed. g. Base of leaves decidedly oblique. h. Leaf-blades about as long as they are broad, heart-shaped. TILIA, p. 201. hh. Leaf-blades 1-1/2 - 2 times as long as they are broad, oval to ovate. i. Leaves thin, coarsely but singly serrate; fruit a globular drupe, ripe in autumn. CELTIS, p. 131. ii; Leaves thick, coarsely and doubly serrate; fruit a samara, ripe in spring. ULMUS, p. 122. gg. Base of leaves essentially symmetrical. h. Teeth coarse, 2-5 per inch of margin. i. Leaves very glabrous both sides; fruit a prickly bur. j. Leaves 3-5 inches long, very lustrous beneath; bark close, smooth, steel-gray. FAGUS, p. 93. jj. Leaves 6-8 inches long, not lustrous beneath; bark fissured, brownish. CASTANEA, p. 95. ii. Leaves pubescent or white-tomentose, at least beneath; fruit not a prickly bur. j. Leaves 2-4 inches long, broadly ovate to suborbicular; fruit a very small capsule, falling in spring. POPULUS, p. 44. jj. Leaves 4-7 inches long, oblong-lanceolate to obovate; fruit an acorn, falling in autumn. QUERCUS, p. 96. hh. Teeth fine, 6-many per inch of margin. i. Leaf-petioles laterally compressed; leaves tremulous. POPULUS, p. 44. ii. Leaf-petioles terete; leaves not tremulous. j. Leaf-blades at least 3 times as long as they are broad. k. Twigs brittle; fruit a very small capsule, falling in spring. SALIX, p. 34. kk. Twigs tough; fruit a fleshy drupe, falling in late summer or autumn. PRUNUS, p. 152. jj. Leaf-blades not more than twice as long as they are broad. k. Leaf-blades about twice as long as they are broad. l. Margin of leaves singly serrate; fruit fleshy. m. Lenticels conspicuous; pith whitish or brownish; bark easily peeled off in papery layers; buds ovoid. PRUNUS, p. 152. mm. Lenticels inconspicuous; pith greenish; bark not separable into papery layers; buds narrow-conical. AMELANCHIER, p. 149. ll. Margin of leaves doubly serrate; fruit not fleshy. m. Trunk fluted; fruit inclosed within a halberd-shaped involucre. CARPINUS, p. 83. mm. Trunk not fluted; fruit not inclosed within a halberd-shaped involucre. n. Bark of trunk gray-brown, broken into narrow, flattish pieces loose at the ends; fruit in hop-like strobiles. OSTRYA, p. 81. nn. Bark of trunk white, yellow or dark brown, platy or cleaving off in papery layers; fruit not in hop-like strobiles. BETULA, p. 84. kk. Leaf-blades almost as broad as they are long. l. Lower side of leaves more or less downy; sap milky; leaves not crowded on short, spur-like branchlets; fruit berry-like, black. MORUS, p. 135. ll. Lower side of leaves glabrous; sap not milky; leaves crowded on short, spur-like branchlets; fruit a large, green pome. PYRUS, p. 142. ee. Margin of leaves distinctly lobed. f. Fruit an acorn. QUERCUS, p.96. ff. Fruit not an acorn. g. Leaves fan-shaped, with many fine veins radiating from the base of the blade. GINKGO, p. 3. gg. Leaves not fan-shaped, without many fine veins radiating from the base of the blade. h. Leaf-lobes entire. i. Leaf-petioles 5-6 inches long; leaves lustrous above; twigs not aromatic when bruised. LIRIODENDRON, p. 137. ii. Leaf-petioles about 1 inch long; leaves dull above; twigs spicy-aromatic when bruised. SASSAFRAS, p. 139. hh. Leaf-lobes sinuate-toothed to serrate. i. Leaf-lobes coarsely sinuate-toothed. PLATANUS, p. 141. ii. Leaf-lobes serrate. j. Branches armed with stiff, sharp thorns; sap not milky. CRATAEGUS, p. 151. jj. Branches unarmed; sap milky. MORUS, p. 135. cc. Leaves opposite or whorled. d. Margin of leaves entire or only slightly undulate. e. Leaves 3-5 inches long; spray fine; fruit an ovoid, scarlet drupe. CORNUS, p. 202. ee. Leaves 5-12 inches long; spray coarse; fruit a long, slender-cylindrical capsule. CATALPA, p. 222. dd. Margin of leaves serrate to lobed. e. Margin of leaves finely serrate. VIBURNUM, p. 229. ee. Margin of leaves distinctly lobed. ACER, p. 172. aa. Leaves compound. b. Leaves alternate. c. Leaves simple-pinnate. d. Branchlets armed with short, sharp prickles. ROBINIA, p. 169. dd. Branchlets unarmed. e. Leaflets entire with the exception of 2 or more coarse, glandular teeth at the base. AILANTHUS, p. 171. ee. Leaflets serrate the entire length. f. Upper leaflets less than 1 inch broad. g. Trunk and large branches armed with stout spines; leaflets 3/4-1-1/2 inches long. GLEDITSIA, p. 165. gg. Trunk and large branches unarmed; leaflets 2-3 inches long. PYRUS, p. 142. ff. Upper leaflets 1-5 inches broad. g. Leaflets 5-11; pith homogeneous. CARYA, p. 66. gg. Leaflets 11-23; pith chambered. JUGLANS, p. 60. cc. Leaves bi-pinnate. d. Trunk and large branches armed with stout spines; leaflets 3/4 - 1-1/2 inches long, GLEDITSIA, p. 165. dd. Trunk and large branches unarmed; leaflets 2 - 2-1/2 inches long. GYMNOCLADUS, p. 163. bb. Leaves opposite. c. Leaves pinnately compound; fruit a samara. d. Leaflets 3-5; samaras paired. ACER, p. 172. dd. Leaflets 7-11, exceptionally 5; samaras not paired. FRAXINUS, p. 210. cc. Leaves digitately compound; fruit a prickly bur. AESCULUS, p. 194. WINTER KEY TO THE GENERA[B] a. Leaves persistent and green throughout the winter, needle-shaped, awl-shaped or scale-like. b. Leaves in clusters of 2-5, sheathed. PINUS, p. 5. bb. Leaves solitary, not clustered. c. Leaves opposite. d. Twigs flattened; leaves all of one kind, scale-like, decurrent on the stem; fruit a small, pale brown cone. THUJA, p. 31. dd. Twigs essentially terete; leaves of two kinds, either scale-like, or else awl-shaped, often both kinds on the same branch, not decurrent on the stem; fruit berry-like, bluish. JUNIPERUS, p. 33. cc. Leaves alternate or spirally-whorled. d. Leaves flattened, soft to the touch. e. Leaves 1/2 - 1-1/4 inches long, sessile, aromatic; cones 2-4 inches long; bark of trunk with raised blisters containing resin. ABIES, p. 27. ee. Leaves seldom over 1/2 inch long, short-petioled, not aromatic; cones about 3/4 inch long; bark of trunk without raised blisters. TSUGA, p. 29. dd. Leaves 4-sided, harsh to the touch. PICEA, p. 19. aa. Leaves not persistent and green throughout the winter, but deciduous in early autumn. b. Twigs, branches or trunks armed with stiff, sharp prickles, spines or thorns. c. Thorns or spines not exceeding 1/2 inch in length on the branches. d. Spines in pairs at each node; buds rusty-hairy, 3-4 superposed; fruit a flat pod. ROBINIA, p. 169. dd. Spines one at each node; buds glabrous, not superposed; fruit orange-like. MACLURA, p. 133. cc. Thorns or spines much exceeding 1/2 inch in length on the branches. d. Thorns usually branched, situated above the nodes; lateral buds superposed, the lower covered by bark; fruit a flat pod. GLEDITSIA, p. 165. dd. Thorns unbranched on twigs, situated at the nodes; lateral buds not superposed, not covered by bark; fruit a small pome. CRATAEGUS, p. 151. bb. Twigs, branches or trunks unarmed. c. Leaf-scars mainly crowded on short, stout, lateral shoots. d. Bundle-scar 1; fruit a cone, usually present. LARIX, p. 17. dd. Bundle-scars 2; fruit a globose drupe falling in autumn. GINKGO, p. 3. cc. Leaf-scars distributed along the lateral branches. d. Leaf-scars (or some of them) 3 at a node, i. e., whorled. CATALPA, p. 223. dd. Leaf-scars 1-2 at a node, i.e., not whorled. e. Leaf-scars 2 at a node, i.e., opposite. f. Terminal buds 1/2 - 1-1/2 inches long, resin-coated; twigs very stout. AESCULUS, p. 195. ff. Terminal buds rarely exceeding 1/2 inch in length, not resin-coated; twigs not conspicuously stout. g. Leaf buds with 1 pair of scales visible. h. Buds scurfy-pubescent. VIBURNUM, p. 229. hh. Buds glabrous. CORNUS, p. 203. gg. Leaf buds with 2 or more pairs of scales visible. h. Bundle-scars usually 3, distinct, separated. ACER, p. 174. hh. Bundle-scars many, minute, more or less confluent in a U-shaped line. FRAXINUS, p. 211. ee. Leaf-scars 1 at a node, i.e., alternate. f. Bundle-scars 1-3. g. Bundle-scar only 1, or appearing as 1. h. Twigs bright green, spicy-aromatic; bundle-scar appearing as a horizontal line; terminal bud present; pith homogeneous. SASSAFRAS, p. 139. hh. Twigs brownish, not spicy-aromatic; bundle-scar appearing as a large dot; terminal bud absent; pith chambered. CELTIS, p. 131. gg. Bundle-scars 3 or in 3 compound, but distinct groups. h. Terminal bud present. i. Stipule-scars present. j. First scale of lateral bud directly in front, i.e., exactly above the center of the leaf-scar; twigs brittle; pith somewhat star-shaped in cross-section. POPULUS, p. 45. jj. First scale of lateral bud not directly in front, i. e., to one side of the center of the leaf-scar; twigs not brittle; pith circular in cross-section. PRUNUS, p. 153. ii. Stipule-scars absent. j. Buds bright to dark red, the terminal 1/8 - 1/4 inch long. k. Branches contorted, bearing many short, spur-like branchlets; fruit an apple an inch or more in diameter, light green. PYRUS, p. 143. kk. Branches not contorted, not bearing short, spur-like branchlets; fruit berry-like, 1/2 inch long, blue-black. NYSSA, p. 209. jj. Buds brownish to gray, the terminal exceeding 1/4 inch in length. k. Buds narrow-conical, sharp-pointed; leaf-scars small, narrowly crescent-shaped; twigs about 1/16 inch thick; pith homogeneous; fruit berry-like, not present. AMELANCHIER, p. 149. kk. Buds broadly conical to ovoid, blunt-pointed; leaf-scars conspicuous, broadly heart-shaped; twigs about 1/4 inch thick; pith chambered; fruit a nut, often present. JUGLANS, p. 61. hh. Terminal bud absent (sometimes present on short shoots of _Betula_). i. Stipule-scars present. j. Bud-scale only 1 visible; twigs brittle. SALIX; p. 34. jj. Bud-scales 2 or more; twigs not brittle. k. Bark smooth, close, warty or peeling into papery layers, but not flaky nor rough-ridged. l. Tip of bud appressed; fruit berry-like. CELTIS, p. 131. ll. Tip of bud not appressed; fruit not berry-like. m. Trunk fluted; catkins not present in winter; lenticels not elongated horizontally; low tree or bushy shrub. CARPINUS, p. 83. mm. Trunk not fluted; catkins usually present in winter; lenticels elongated horizontally; large trees. BETULA, p. 85. kk. Bark flaky or rough-ridged, not warty nor peeling off in papery layers. l. Bundle-scars depressed, conspicuous; bark thick, more or less deeply furrowed. ULMUS, p. 123. ll. Bundle-scars not depressed, inconspicuous; bark thin, broken into narrow, flattish strips, loose at the ends. OSTRYA, p. 81. ii. Stipule-scars absent. j. Buds silky-pubescent, depressed; twigs stout, clumsy, blunt, with conspicuous leaf-scars. GYMNOCLADUS, p. 163. jj. Buds glabrous, not depressed; twigs slender, with inconspicuous leaf-scars. k. Buds 1/8 inch long, obtuse, somewhat flattened and appressed; pith with reddish longitudinal streaks. CERCIS, p. 167. kk. Buds 1/8-1/4 inch long, acute, not flattened nor appressed; pith without reddish streaks. PRUNUS, p. 153. ff. Bundle-scars 4-many. g. Bundle-scars in a single U-shaped line. h. Terminal bud present; fruit berry-like; a shrub or small tree. PYRUS, p. 143. hh. Terminal bud absent; fruit not berry-like; large trees. i. Stipule-scars present; twigs slender. j. Stipule-scars encircling the twig; leaf-scars nearly surrounding the bud; bark peeling off in thin plates, exposing the lighter colored inner bark. PLATANUS, p. 141. jj. Stipule-scars not encircling the twig; leaf-scars not nearly surrounding the bud; bark thick, rough-ridged, not exposing the inner bark. ULMUS, p. 123. ii. Stipule-scars absent; twigs very stout. j. Bundle-scars usually not more than 5. GYMNOCLADUS, p. 163. jj. Bundle-scars usually 6-12. AILANTHUS, p. 171. gg. Bundle-scars variously grouped or scattered, but not in a single line. h. Terminal bud present. i. Stipule-scars present. j. Stipule-scars encircling the twig; visible bud-scales 2, united. LIRIODENDRON, p. 137. jj. Stipule-scars not encircling the twig; visible bud-scales more than 2, not united. k. Buds 4 times as long as broad, not clustered at the tips of vigorous shoots; fruit a prickly bur. FAGUS, p. 93. kk. Buds not 4 times as long as broad, usually clustered at the tips of vigorous shoots; fruit an acorn. QUERCUS, p. 98. ii. Stipule-scars absent. CARYA, p. 67. h. Terminal bud absent (occasionally present in _Castanea_). i. Bud at end of twig very obliquely unsymmetrical, mucilaginous when chewed. TILIA, p. 201. ii. Bud at end of twig symmetrical, not mucilaginous when chewed. j. Bud-scales 2-3 visible; pith star-shaped in cross-section; sap not milky; fruit a prickly bur, present; large tree. CASTANEA, p. 95. jj. Bud-scales 4-8 visible; pith not star-shaped in cross-section; sap milky; fruit berry-like, not present; small tree. MORUS, p. 135. MANUAL OF TREES DESCRIPTION OF SPECIES WITH SUMMER AND WINTER KEYS TO THE SPECIES [Illustration: +Ginkgo. Maidenhair Tree+ 1. Winter twig, × 1/2. 2. Leaf, × 1/2. 3. Staminate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flower, enlarged. 5. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 6. Fruit, × 1.] +GINKGOACEAE+ +Ginkgo.[C] Maidenhair Tree+ _Ginkgo biloba L._ [_Salisburia adiantifolia Smith_] HABIT.--A slender tree in youth, with slender, upright branches, becoming broader with age and forming a symmetrical, pyramidal crown; probably 60-80 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 2-4 feet. LEAVES.--Clustered at the ends of short, spur-like shoots, or scattered alternately on the long terminal branches; simple; 2-5 inches broad; more or less fan-shaped; usually bilobed and irregularly crenate at the upper extremity; thin and leathery; glabrous, pale yellow-green on both sides; petioles long, slender; turning a clear, golden yellow before falling in autumn. FLOWERS.--May, with the leaves; dioecious; the staminate in short-stalked, pendulous catkins, 1 to 1-1/2 inches long, yellow; the pistillate more or less erect on the shoot, long-stalked, consisting of 2 naked ovules, one of which usually aborts. FRUIT.--Autumn; a more or less globose drupe, orange-yellow to green, about 1 inch in diameter, consisting of an acrid, foul-smelling pulp inclosing a smooth, whitish, somewhat flattened, almond-flavored nut. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud about 1/8 inch long, conical, smooth, light chestnut-brown; lateral buds divergent, usually only on rapid-growing shoots. BARK.--Twigs gray-brown and smooth; thick, ash-gray and somewhat roughened on the trunk, becoming more or less fissured in old age. WOOD.--Light, soft, weak, close-grained, yellow-white to light red-brown, with thin, lighter colored sapwood. NOTES.--Origin in dispute, but probably a native of northern China. Extensively cultivated in China and Japan, where its fruit is esteemed. Easily propagated from seed. Thrives in deep, well-drained, rich soil. Practically free from insect and fungous attacks, and little harmed by the smoke of cities. Probably hardy throughout the southern half of the Lower Peninsula. +SUMMER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF PINUS+ a. Leaves 5 in a cluster; cones 4-10 inches long. _P. strobus_, p. 7. aa. Leaves 2 in a cluster; cones less than 4 inches long. b. Leaves 1-3 inches long. c. Leaves about 1 inch long, divergent; cones sessile, pointing forward towards the tip of the branch, persistent 10-15 years, opening very unevenly. _P. banksiana_, p. 9. cc. Leaves 1-1/2-3 inches long, slightly divergent; cones stout-stalked, pointing away from the tip of the branch, maturing in second season, opening evenly. _P. sylvestris_, p. 13. bb. Leaves 3-6 inches long. c. Bark of trunk red-brown; cones maturing in second season, about 2 inches long; cone-scales thickened at the apex, but unarmed. _P. resinosa_, p. 15. cc. Bark of trunk gray to nearly black; cones maturing in first season, 2-3 inches long; cone-scales thickened at the apex and topped with a short spine. _P. laricio austriaca_, p. 11. +WINTER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF PINUS+ a. Leaves 5 in a cluster; cones 4-10 inches long. _P. strobus_, p. 7. aa. Leaves 2 in a cluster; cones less than 4 inches long. b. Leaves 1-3 inches long. c. Leaves about 1 inch long, divergent; cones sessile, pointing forward towards the tip of the branch, persistent 10-15 years, opening very unevenly. _P. banksiana_, p. 9. cc. Leaves 1-1/2-3 inches long, slightly divergent; cones stout-stalked, pointing away from the tip of the branch, maturing in second season, opening evenly. _P. sylvestris_, p. 13. bb. Leaves 3-6 inches long. c. Bark of trunk red-brown; cones maturing in second season, about 2 inches long; cone-scales thickened at the apex, but unarmed. _P. resinosa_, p. 15. cc. Bark of trunk gray to nearly black; cones maturing in first season, 2-3 inches long; cone-scales thickened at the apex and topped with a short spine. _P. laricio austriaca_, p. 11. [Illustration: +White Pine+ 1. Cluster of leaves, × 1. 2. Cross-sections of leaves, enlarged. 3. Partly opened cone, × 3/4. 4. Cone-scale with seeds, × 1.] +PINACEAE+ +White Pine+ _Pinus strobus L._ HABIT.--A large tree 60-80 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 2-4 feet; forming a wide, pyramidal crown. Formerly trees 100-150 feet in height and 5-7 feet in trunk diameter were not exceptional. LEAVES.--In clusters of five; 3-5 inches long; slender, straight, needle-shaped, 3-sided, mucronate; pale blue-green. Persistent about 2 years. FLOWERS.--June; monoecious; the staminate oval, light brown, about 1/3 inch long, surrounded by 6-8 involucral bracts; the pistillate cylindrical, about 1/4 inch long, pinkish purple, long-stalked. FRUIT.--Autumn of second season, falling during the winter and succeeding spring; pendent, short-stalked, narrow-cylindrical, often curved, greenish cones, 4-10 inches long; scales rather loose, slightly thickened at the apex; seeds red-brown, 1/4 inch long, with wings 1 inch long. WINTER-BUDS.--Oblong-ovoid, sharp-pointed, yellow-brown, 1/4-1/2 inch long. BARK.--Twigs at first rusty-tomentose, later smooth and light brown, finally thin, smooth, greenish; thick, dark gray on the trunk, shallowly fissured into broad, scaly ridges. WOOD.--Light, soft, weak, compact, straight-grained, easily worked, light brown, with thin, whitish sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Upper Peninsula and Lower Peninsula north of Allegan, Eaton and St. Clair Counties. Often planted as an ornamental tree farther south. HABITAT.--Prefers a light, fertile loam; sandy soils of granite origin. NOTES.--Rapid of growth. Small seedlings easily transplanted. Formerly very abundant, but rapidly nearing extinction through destructive lumbering. [Illustration: +Jack Pine. Scrub Pine+ 1. Cluster of leaves, × 1. 2. Cross-section of leaf, enlarged. 3. Branchlet with unopened cone, × 1. 4. Branchlet with opened cone, × 1. 5. Cone-scale with seeds, × 1.] +PINACEAE+ +Jack Pine. Scrub Pine+ _Pinus banksiana Lamb._ [_Pinus divaricata (Ait.) Du Mont de Cours._] HABIT.--Usually a small tree 20-30 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 8-12 inches; forming a crown varying from open and symmetrical to scrubby, stunted, and variously distorted. LEAVES.--In clusters of two; about 1 inch long; narrow-linear, with sharp-pointed apex; stout, curved or twisted, divergent from a short sheath; dark gray-green. Persistent 2-3 years. FLOWERS.--May-June; monoecious; the staminate in oblong clusters 1/2 inch long, composed of many sessile, yellow anthers imbricated upon a central axis; the pistillate in subglobose clusters, composed of many carpel-like, purple scales (subtended by small bracts) spirally arranged upon a central axis. FRUIT.--Autumn of second or third season, but remaining closed for several years and persistent on the tree for 10-15 years; erect, usually incurved, oblong-conical, sessile cones, 1-1/2-2 inches long; scales thickened at the apex; seeds triangular, nearly black, 3/8 inch long, with wings 1/3 inch long. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud 1/4 inch long, ovoid, rounded, pale brown; lateral buds smaller. BARK.--Twigs yellow-green, becoming purple, finally dark red-brown and rough with the persistent bases of fallen leaves; thin, dark red-brown on the trunk, with shallow, rounded ridges, rough-scaly on the surface. WOOD.--Light, soft, weak, close-grained, light brown, with thick, whitish sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Common from Clare County northward; occurs sparingly along the lake shore as far south as Grand Haven on the west and Port Austin on the east. HABITAT--Sandy, sterile soil. NOTES.--Cones open unevenly. Slow of growth. Difficult to transplant. [Illustration: +Austrian Pine. Black Pine+ 1. Cluster of leaves, × 1. 2. Cross-section of leaf, enlarged. 3. Unopened cone, × 1. 4. Partly opened cone, × 1/2. 5. Cone-scale with seeds, × 1.] +PINACEAE+ +Austrian Pine. Black Pine+ _Pinus laricio austriaca Endl._ [_Pinus austriaca Höss._] HABIT.--A large tree 60-80 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 2-4 feet; forming a massive, spreading crown of stiff, strong branches. LEAVES.--In clusters of two; 3-6 inches long; slender, rigid, sharp-pointed, curved towards the twig; deep green on both faces. Persistent 3-6 years. FLOWERS.--May-June; monoecious; the staminate cylindrical, subsessile, bright yellow, about 3/4 inch long; the pistillate cylindrical, small, bright red, subsessile. FRUIT.--Autumn of first season, opening two years after full size is attained and remaining on the tree several years; erect, sessile, long-ovoid cones 2-3 inches long; scales smooth, lustrous, thickened at the apex and topped with a short spine in the center; seeds red-brown, 1/4 inch long, with wings 3/4 inch long. WINTER-BUDS.--Oblong-conical, sharp-pointed, red-brown, resinous, about 1/2 inch long. BARK.--Twigs brownish to olive-brown and smooth, becoming darker with age; thick, gray to nearly black on old trunks and coarsely and deeply fissured. WOOD.--Light, strong, very resinous, red-brown, with thick, yellowish to reddish white sapwood. NOTES.--Perfectly hardy. Adapts itself to a variety of soils. Well adapted for screens and wind-breaks. Easily transplanted when small. Grows rapidly. [Illustration: +Scotch Pine. Scotch Fir+ 1. Cluster of leaves, × 1. 2. Cross-section of leaf, enlarged. 3. Unopened cone, × 1. 4. Partly opened cone, × 1. 5. Cone-scale with seeds, × 1.] +PINACEAE+ +Scotch Pine. Scotch Fir+ _Pinus sylvestris L._ HABIT.--A large tree 60-80 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-2 feet; the side branches persist, forming a massive, wide-spreading crown. LEAVES.--In clusters of two; 1-1/2-3 inches long; stiff, more or less twisted, spreading slightly from a short sheath; bluish-or often glaucous-green. Persistent 3-4 years. FLOWERS.--May-June; monoecious; the staminate ovoid, short-stalked, yellowish, about 1/4 inch long; the pistillate oblong, reddish, short-stalked, about 1/4 inch long. FRUIT.--Autumn of second season, falling as soon as ripe; pendent, stout-stalked, ovoid-conical cones 1-1/2-2-1/2 inches long; scales dull gray-brown, thickened at the apex into 4-sided, recurved points; seeds red-brown, nearly 1/4 inch long, with wings about 3/4 inch long. WINTER-BUDS.--Oblong-ovoid, sharp-pointed, red-brown, resinous, about 1/4 inch long. BARK.--Twigs reddish to orange-brown, becoming grayish; thick, dark orange-brown on old trunks and coarsely and deeply fissured. WOOD.--Light, stiff, straight-grained, strong, heavy, hard, resinous, red-brown, with thick, yellow to reddish white sapwood. NOTES.--Very rapid of growth. Reaches perfection only in cold or elevated regions. Adapts itself to a variety of soils. A valuable ornamental tree. Very useful for screens or shelter belts. [Illustration: +Red Pine, Norway Pine+ 1. Cluster of leaves, × 1. 2. Cross-section of leaf, enlarged. 3. Opened cone, × 1. 4. Cone-scale with seeds, × 1.] +PINACEAE+ +Red Pine. Norway Pine+ _Pinus resinosa Ait._ HABIT.--A large tree 70-80 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 2-3 feet; stout, horizontal branches, form a broad, rounded, rather open crown. LEAVES.--In clusters of two; 4-6 inches long; slender, straight, needle-shaped, sharp-pointed, flexible, from elongated, persistent sheaths; lustrous dark green. Persistent 4-5 years. FLOWERS.--April-May; monoecious; the staminate in oblong, dense clusters, 1/2-3/4 inch long, composed of many sessile, purple anthers imbricated upon a central axis; the pistillate single or few-clustered at the end of the branchlets, subglobose; scales ovate, scarlet, borne on stout peduncles covered with pale brown bracts. FRUIT.--Autumn of second season, falling the next summer; ovoid-conical, nearly sessile cones, about 2 inches long; scales thickened at the apex; seeds oval, compressed, light mottled-brown, with wings 1/2-3/4 inch long. WINTER-BUDS.--About 3/4 inch long, ovoid or conical, acute, red-brown, with rather loose scales. BARK.--Twigs orange-brown, becoming rough with the persistent bases of leaf-buds; thick and red-brown on the trunk, shallowly fissured into broad, flat ridges. WOOD.--Light, hard, very close-grained, pale red, with thin, yellow to white sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Very abundant in Clare County and northward; frequent on the east side of the state as far south as Port Huron. HABITAT.--Sandy plains and dry woods. NOTES.--Rapid of growth on the better soils. Difficult to transplant. [Illustration: +Tamarack+ 1. Autumn branchlet, with leaves and cones, × 1. 2. Cross-section of leaf, enlarged. 3. Fruiting branchlet in winter, × 1. 4. Cone-scale with seeds, × 2.] +PINACEAE+ +Tamarack+ _Larix laricina (DuRoi) Koch_ [_Larix americana Michx._] HABIT.--A tree sometimes 80-100 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-2 feet; forming a broad, open, irregular crown of horizontal branches. LEAVES.--Scattered singly along the leading shoots or clustered on the short lateral branchlets; linear, with blunt apex; rounded above, keeled beneath; about 1 inch long; bright green; sessile. Deciduous in early autumn. FLOWERS.--April-May, with the leaves, monoecious; the staminate sessile, subglobose, yellow, composed of many short-stalked anthers spirally arranged about a central axis; the pistillate oblong, short-stalked, composed of orbicular, green scales (subtended by red bracts) spirally arranged about a central axis. FRUIT.--Autumn of first season, but persistent on the tree for a year longer; ovoid, obtuse, light brown, short-stalked cones, 1/2-3/4 inch long; seeds 1/8 inch long, with pale brown wings widest near the middle. WINTER-BUDS.--Small, globose, lustrous, dark red. BARK.--Twigs at first grayish, glaucous, later light orange-brown, and finally dark brown; red-brown and scaly on the trunk. WOOD.--Heavy, hard, very strong, coarse-grained, very durable, light brown, with thin, nearly white sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Common throughout the state. HABITAT.--Prefers cold, deep swamps, or in the north coming out on the drier uplands. NOTES.--Becomes a picturesque tree in old age. Should be transplanted while dormant. +SUMMER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF PICEA+ a. Leaves 3/4-1 inch long, sharp-pointed; twigs glabrous. b. Cones 1-2 inches long, maturing in first season; leaves ill-scented when bruised. _P. canadensis_, p. 21. bb. Cones 3-6 inches long, maturing in second season; leaves not ill-scented when bruised. _P. abies_, p. 25. aa. Leaves 1/8-3/8 inch long, blunt-pointed; twigs rusty-pubescent. _P. mariana_, p. 23. +WINTER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF PICEA+ a. Leaves 3/4-1 inch long, sharp pointed; twigs glabrous. b. Cones 1-2 inches long, maturing in first season; leaves ill-scented when bruised. _P. canadensis_, p. 21. bb. Cones 3-6 inches long, maturing in second season; leaves not ill-scented when bruised. _P. abies_, p. 25. aa. Leaves 1/8-3/8 inch long, blunt-pointed; twigs rusty-pubescent. _P. mariana_, p. 23. [Illustration: +White Spruce+ 1. Winter branchlet, x. 2. Leaves, × 1. 3. Cross-section of leaf, enlarged. 4. Unopened cone, × 1. 5. Partly opened cone, × 1. 6. Cone-scale with seeds, × 1.] +PINACEAE+ +White Spruce+ _Picea canadensis (Mill.) BSP._ [_Picea alba Link_] HABIT.--A tree 50-60 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-2 feet; forming a rather broad, open, pyramidal crown. LEAVES.--Spirally arranged, but crowded on the upper side of the branches by the twisting of those on the under side; awl-shaped, 4-sided, incurved; dark blue-green; about 3/4 inch long; ill-scented when bruised. Persistent for several years. FLOWERS.--April-May; monoecious; the staminate oblong-cylindrical, long-stalked, 1/2-3/4 inch long, composed of many spirally arranged, red anthers; the pistillate oblong-cylindrical, composed of broad, reddish scales (subtended by orbicular bracts) spirally arranged upon a central axis. FRUIT.--Autumn or early winter of first season, falling soon after discharging the seeds; pendent, slender, oblong-cylindrical, nearly sessile cones, 1-2 inches long; seeds about 1/8 inch long, with large wings oblique at the apex. WINTER-BUDS.--Broadly ovoid, obtuse, light brown, 1/8-1/4 inch long. BARK.--Twigs smooth, gray-green, becoming orange-brown, finally dark gray-brown; thin, light gray-brown on the trunk, separating into thin, plate-like scales. WOOD.--Light, soft, weak, straight-grained, light yellow, with sapwood of the same color. DISTRIBUTION.--Common in the northern half of the Lower Peninsula and throughout the Upper Peninsula. HABITAT.--Low, damp woods; banks of streams; borders of lakes; high rocky or sandy slopes; loves the cold winters. NOTES.--A vigorous and beautiful tree in regions sufficiently cold. [Illustration: +Black Spruce+ 1. Winter branchlet, × 1. 2. Leaves, × 2. 3. Cross-sections of leaves, enlarged. 4-5. Opened cones, × 1. 6. Cone-scale with seeds, × 1.] +PINACEAE+ +Black Spruce+ _Picea mariana (Mill.) BSP._ [_Picea nigra Link_] HABIT.--A small tree 20-30 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 6-10 inches; forming a narrow-based, conical, more or less irregular crown of short, slender, horizontal branches; often small and stunted. LEAVES.--Spirally arranged, spreading in all directions; awl-shaped, 4-sided, blunt at the apex, more or less incurved; stiff; dark blue-green and glaucous; 1/8-3/8 inch long. Persistent for several years. FLOWERS.--April-May; monoecious; the staminate subglobose, about 1/2 inch long, composed of many spirally arranged, dark red anthers; the pistillate oblong-cylindrical, composed of broad, purple scales (subtended by rounded, toothed, purple bracts) spirally arranged upon a central axis, about 1/2 inch long. FRUIT.--Autumn of first season, but persistent on the branch for many years; pendent, ovoid, short-stalked cones, about 1 inch long; seeds about 1/8 inch long, with pale brown wings 1/2 inch long. WINTER-BUDS.--Ovoid, acute, light red-brown, puberulous, 1/8 inch long. BARK.--Twigs at first green and rusty-pubescent, becoming dull red-brown and rusty-pubescent; thin, gray-brown on the trunk, separating into thin, appressed scales. WOOD.--Light, soft, weak, pale yellow-white, with thin, pure white sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Occurs sparingly in southern Michigan; more abundant in the northern portions. HABITAT.--Cold, sphagnous bogs and swamps; shores of lakes. NOTES.--Short-lived. Undesirable for ornamental planting. Growing to its largest size in the far north. [Illustration: +Norway Spruce+ 1. Branchlet with partly opened cone, × 1/2. 2. Leaf, × 3. 3. Cross-sections of leaves, enlarged. 4. Cone-scale with seeds, × 1.] +PINACEAE+ +Norway Spruce+ _Picea abies (L.) Karst._ [_Picea excelsa Link_] HABIT.--A tree 50-70 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-3 feet; forming a dense, conical, spire-topped crown of numerous, drooping branches which persist nearly to the ground. LEAVES.--Spirally arranged along the twig; crowded; 3/4-1 inch long; rigid, curved, acute; lustrous, dark green. Persistent 5-7 years. FLOWERS.--May; monoecious; the staminate ovoid to subglobose, long-stalked, reddish to yellowish, 3/4-1 inch long; the pistillate cylindrical, sessile, erect, 1-1/2-2 inches long. FRUIT.--Autumn of first season; sessile, cylindrical cones 3-6 inches long, pendent from the tips of the uppermost branches; sterile scales very short, toothed; seeds red-brown, rough, 1/8 inch long, with long wings. WINTER-BUDS.--Ovoid, acute, red-brown, not resinous, about 3/8 inch long. BARK.--Twigs red- or orange-brown, smooth or corrugated; becoming thin and gray-brown on old trunks, slightly fissured, scaly. WOOD.--Light, strong, tough, elastic, soft, fine-grained, white, with thick, indistinguishable sapwood. NOTES.--Grows to a height of 120-150 feet in northern Europe and Asia. Perfectly hardy in Michigan. Easily transplanted. Adapts itself to a variety of soils and climates. Grows rapidly, but is short-lived in our country. Desirable for ornamental planting. Useful for shelter belts. [Illustration: +Balsam Fir+ 1. Winter branchlet, × 1. 2-3. Leaves, × 2. 4. Cross-section of leaf, enlarged. 5. Unopened cone, × 1. 6. Cone-scale with seeds, × 1.] +PINACEAE+ +Balsam Fir+ _Abies balsamea (L.) Mill._ HABIT.--A slender tree 40-60 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 12-18 inches; branches in whorls of 4-6, forming a symmetrical, open crown widest at the base and tapering regularly upward. LEAVES.--Scattered, spirally arranged in rows, on young trees extending from all sides of the branch, on old trees covering the upper side of the branch; narrowly linear, with apex acute or rounded; 1/2-1-1/4 inches long; lustrous, dark green above, pale beneath; sessile; aromatic. Persistent 8-10 years. FLOWERS.--May; monoecious; the staminate oblong-cylindrical, yellow, 1/4 inch long, composed of yellow anthers (subtended by scales) spirally arranged upon a central axis; the pistillate oblong-cylindrical, 1 inch long, composed of orbicular, purple scales (subtended by yellow-green bracts) spirally arranged upon a central axis. FRUIT.--Autumn of first season; oblong-cylindrical, erect, puberulous, dark purple cones, 2-4 inches long, about 1 inch thick; seeds 1/4 inch long, shorter than their light brown wings. WINTER-BUDS.--Globose, orange-green, resinous, 1/8-1/4 inch in diameter. BARK.--Twigs at first grayish and pubescent, becoming gray-brown and smooth; thin and smooth on young trunks, pale gray-brown and marked by swollen resin chambers; red-brown on old trunks and somewhat roughened by small, scaly plates. WOOD.--Very light, soft, weak, coarse-grained, perishable, pale brown, with thick, lighter colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Occasional in the southern half of the Lower Peninsula, frequent in the northern half; abundant in the Upper Peninsula. HABITAT.--Prefers cool, moist, rich soil; low, swampy ground; well-drained hillsides. NOTES.--Grows rapidly. Short-lived. Easily transplanted. [Illustration: +Hemlock+ 1. Fruiting branch viewed from beneath, × 1/2. 2. Leaf, × 3. 3. Cross-section of leaf, enlarged. 4. Branchlet with partly opened cone, × 1. 5. Cone-scale with seeds, × 3.] +PINACEAE+ +Hemlock+ _Tsuga canadensis (L.) Carr._ HABIT.--A large tree 60-80 feet high, with a trunk 2-4 feet in diameter; forming a rather broad, open, somewhat irregular-pyramidal crown of slender, horizontal branches. LEAVES.--Spirally arranged around the branch, but appearing 2-ranked by the twisting of their petioles; linear, flat, rounded at the apex; about 1/2 inch long; dark yellow-green and shining above, hoary beneath; short-petioled. Persistent about 3 years. FLOWERS.--April-May; monoecious; the staminate axillary, short-stalked, light yellow, about 3/8 inch long, composed of subglobose clusters of stamens; the pistillate terminal, oblong, pale green, 1/8 inch long, the scales short, pinkish. FRUIT.--Autumn of first season, gradually losing their seeds during the winter and falling the next spring; oblong-ovoid, acute, short-stalked, red-brown cones, about 3/4 inch long; seeds 1/8 inch long, with wings about twice as long. WINTER-BUDS.--Ovoid, obtuse, red-brown, slightly puberulous, 1/16 inch long. BARK.--Twigs at first pale brown and pubescent, becoming glabrous, gray-brown; thick, red-brown or gray on the trunk, deeply divided into narrow, rounded, scaly ridges. WOOD.--Light, soft, weak, brittle, coarse- and crooked-grained, not durable, ill-smelling, light red-brown, with thin, darker colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Throughout the state, with the exception of the south-eastern portion; scarce on the east side of the state, more common on the west, becoming very abundant in Emmet County. HABITAT.--Prefers well-drained uplands and slopes of ravines. NOTES.--A favorite hedge plant. Useful for ornamental planting in shady situations. [Illustration: +Arborvitae. White Cedar+ 1. Fruiting branchlet, × 1. 2. Tip of branchlet, enlarged. 3. Cone-scale with seeds, × 3.] +PINACEAE+ +Arborvitae. White Cedar+ _Thuja occidentalis L._ HABIT.--A tree 40-50 feet high, with a short, often buttressed trunk 1-2 feet in diameter, often divided into 2-3 secondary stems; forming a rather dense, wide-based, pyramidal crown. LEAVES.--Opposite, 4-ranked, scale-like, appressed; ovate, obtuse or pointed, keeled in the side pairs, flat in the others; 1/8-1/4 inch long; yellow-green, often becoming brown in winter; strongly aromatic when crushed. Persistent 1-2 years. FLOWERS.--April-May; usually monoecious; the staminate minute, globose, yellow, composed of 4-6 stamens arranged oppositely on a short axis; the pistillate small, oblong, reddish, composed of 8-12 scales arranged oppositely on a short axis. FRUIT.--Early autumn of first season, but persistent on the branch through the winter; erect, short-stalked, oblong-ovoid, pale brown cones, about 1/2 inch long, composed of 8-12 loose scales; seeds 1/8 inch long, ovate, acute, winged. WINTER-BUDS.--Naked, minute. BARK.--Twigs yellow-green, becoming light red, finally smooth, lustrous, dark orange-brown; thin, light red-brown on the trunk, slightly furrowed or deciduous in ragged strips. WOOD.--Light, soft, brittle, rather coarse-grained, durable, fragrant, pale yellow-brown, with thin, whitish sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Throughout the Upper Peninsula, Lower Peninsula as far south as Montcalm County. HABITAT.--Prefers moist soil in low swamps and along river-banks. NOTES.--Slow of growth. Tolerant of all soils and exposures. Especially useful for hedges or narrow evergreen screens. [Illustration: +Red Juniper. Red Cedar+ 1. Branchlet with awl-shaped leaves, × 1. 2. Tip of branchlet, showing awl-shaped leaves, enlarged. 3. Fruiting branchlet with scale-like leaves, × 1. 4. Tip of branchlet, showing scale-like leaves, enlarged.] +PINACEAE+ +Red Juniper. Red Cedar+ _Juniperus virginiana L._ HABIT.--A medium-sized tree 30-40 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-2 feet; forming an irregular, pyramidal or rounded crown. LEAVES.--Opposite, of two kinds: (1) sessile, scale-like, closely appressed, overlapping, 4-ranked, ovate, acute, 1/16 inch long, (2) sessile, awl-shaped, loosely arranged, 1/4-1/2 inch long. Persistent 5-6 years. FLOWERS.--May; usually dioecious; minute; the staminate oblong-ovoid, composed of 4-6 shield-like scales, each bearing 4-5 yellow, globose pollen sacs; the pistillate ovoid, composed of about 3 pairs of flesh, bluish scales, united at the base and bearing 2 ovules. FRUIT.--Autumn of first or second season; subglobose, berry-like strobile, about 1/4 inch in diameter, dark blue and glaucous; flesh sweet and resinous; seeds 2-3. WINTER-BUDS.--Naked, minute. BARK.--Twigs greenish to red-brown and smooth; thin, light red-brown on the trunk, exfoliating lengthwise into long, narrow, persistent strips, exposing the smooth, brown inner bark. WOOD.--Light, soft, close-grained, brittle, weak, durable, very fragrant, dull red, with thin, whitish sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Occurs sparingly throughout the state; most abundant in the southern portion. HABITAT.--Prefers loamy soil on sunny slopes; dry, rocky hills; also borders of lakes and streams, peaty swamps. NOTES.--Slow of growth. Long-lived. Should be transplanted with ball of earth. Tolerant of varied soils and situations. +SUMMER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF SALIX+[D] a. Leaf-petioles without glands. b. Leaves 1/4-3/4 inch broad; petioles broad and flat. _S. nigra_, p. 37. bb. Leaves 3/4-1/4 inches broad; petioles slender and terete. _S. amygdaloides_, p. 39. aa. Leaf-petioles glandular above. b. Leaves 1/4-1/2 inch broad, sharp-serrate; tree with weeping habit. _S. babylonica_, p. 43. bb. Leaves 1/2-1-1/2 inches broad, blunt-serrate; tree with upright habit. _S. fragilis_, p. 41. +WINTER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF SALIX+ The classification of the Willows is a task for the specialist, even when leaves and both staminate and pistillate flowers are obtainable. It is impractible for the novice to attempt the determination of species of Salix with winter characters alone. Consequently the usual winter key is omitted. +SALICACEAE+ +Willow+ _Salix (Tourn.) L._ The genus _Salix_ is represented in Michigan by thirty or more distinct species, and there are many more hybrids. The majority of these are shrubs, only a few becoming truly arborescent. Because of the similarity of their botanical characters, the frequency with which they hybridize, and the facility with which they respond to their environment only an expert is competent to identify the species so abundant along our water courses and on the banks of our lakes and swamps. The scope of this work being necessarily limited, it has been deemed best to describe but two of our native willows and two of our foreign neighbors which are frequently planted. [Illustration: +Black Willow+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1. 4. Staminate flowering branchlet, × 1. 5. Staminate flower, enlarged. 6. Pistillate flowering branchlet, × 1. 7. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 8. Fruiting branchlet, × 1.] +SALICACEAE+ +Black Willow+ _Salix nigra Marsh._ HABIT.--A tree 30-50 feet high, with a short trunk, 1-2 feet in diameter; stout, spreading branches form a broad, rather irregular, open crown. Often a shrub. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 3-6 inches long, 1/4-3/4 inch broad; lanceolate, very long-pointed, often curved at the tip; finely serrate; thin; bright green and rather lustrous above, paler and often hairy beneath; petioles very short, more or less pubescent. FLOWERS.--April-May, with the leaves; dioecious; borne in crowded, slender, hairy catkins, 1-3 inches long; calyx 0; corolla 0; scales yellow, villous, stamens 3-6; ovary ovoid-conical, short-stalked, with stigmas nearly sessile. FRUIT.--June; ovoid-conical capsule, 1/8 inch long, containing many minute seeds which are furnished with long, silky, white hairs. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud absent; lateral buds narrow-conical, acute, lustrous, red-brown, 1/8 inch long. BARK.--Twigs glabrous or pubescent, bright red-brown, becoming darker with age; thick, dark brown or nearly black on old trunks, deeply divided into broad, flat ridges, often becoming shaggy. WOOD.--Light, soft, weak, close-grained, light red-brown, with thin, whitish sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Common throughout the state. HABITAT.--Banks of streams and lake-shores. NOTES.--Branchlets very brittle at the base, and these, broken off by the wind, are carried down stream, often catching in the muddy banks and there taking root. [Illustration: +Almondleaf Willow+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Lateral bud, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1. 4. Staminate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 5. Staminate flower, enlarged. 6. Pistillate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 7. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 8. Fruiting branchlet, × 1/2.] +SALICACEAE+ +Almondleaf Willow+ _Salix amygdaloides Anders._ HABIT.--A tree 30-40 feet high, with a straight, columnar trunk 1-2 feet in diameter; straight, ascending branches form a rather narrow, rounded crown. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 2-6 inches long, 3/4-1-1/4 inches broad; lanceolate to ovate-lanceolate, long-pointed; finely serrate; thin and firm; light green and shining above, pale and glaucous beneath; petioles slender, 1/2-3/4 inch long. FLOWERS.--April, with the leaves; dioecious; borne in crowded, slender, pubescent catkins 2-3 inches long; calyx 0; corolla 0; scales yellow, villous both sides; stamens 5-9; ovary oblong-conical, with stigmas nearly sessile. FRUIT.--May; 1-celled, globose-conical capsule, 1/4 inch long, containing many minute seeds which are furnished with long, silky, white hairs. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud absent; lateral buds broadly ovoid, gibbous, lustrous, dark brown, 1/8 inch long. BARK.--Twigs glabrous, lustrous, dark orange or red-brown becoming darker orange-brown; thick and brown on old trunks, irregularly fissured into flat, connected ridges. WOOD.--Light, soft, weak, close-grained, light brown, with thick, whitish sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Common throughout the state. HABITAT.--Banks of streams. NOTES.--Hybridizes freely with other willows, making its identification difficult. [Illustration: +Crack Willow. Brittle Willow+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1. 4. Staminate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 5. Staminate flower, enlarged. 6. Pistillate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 7. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 8. Fruiting branchlet, × 1/2.] +SALICACEAE+ +Crack Willow. Brittle Willow+ _Salix fragilis L._ HABIT.--A tree 50-60 feet high, with a short, stout trunk 3-4 feet in diameter; stout, spreading branches form a broad, open crown. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 3-6 inches long, 1/2-1-1/2 inches broad; lanceolate, long-pointed; finely glandular-serrate; thin and firm; lustrous, dark green above, paler beneath, glabrous both sides; petioles short, stout, with 2 glands at the junction of blade and petiole. FLOWERS.--April-May, with the leaves; dioecious; borne in slender, pubescent catkins 1-3 inches long; calyx 0; corolla 0; scales blunt, somewhat pubescent; stamens usually 2; ovary abortive, with stigmas nearly sessile. Staminate trees rare. FRUIT.--April-May; 1-celled, long-conical, short-stalked capsule, about 1/4 inch long, containing many minute seeds which are furnished with long, silky, white hairs. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud absent; lateral buds long-conical, pointed, glabrous, bright red-brown, about 1/4 inch long. BARK.--Twigs pubescent, yellow-green, often reddish, becoming glabrous, lustrous, brown; thick, gray on the trunk, smooth in young trees, very rough, irregularly scaly-ridged in old trees. WOOD.--Light, soft, tough, close-grained, red-brown, with thick, whitish sapwood. NOTES.--A native of Europe and Asia, where it is a valuable timber tree. Hardy throughout the state and of very rapid growth. Thrives in rich, damp soil. Easily grown from cuttings. The twigs are very brittle at the base and are easily broken by the wind, hence the name Brittle Willow. [Illustration: +Weeping Willow. Napoleon's Willow+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1. 4. Pistillate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 5. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 6. Fruiting branchlet, × 1/2.] +SALICACEAE+ +Weeping Willow. Napoleon's Willow+ _Salix babylonica L._ HABIT.--A tree 40-50 feet high, with a short, stout trunk 3-4 feet in diameter; the long, slender branchlets, often many feet in length, droop in graceful festoons, giving to the tree a weeping habit. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 3-7 inches long, 1/4-1/2 inch broad; linear to linear-lanceolate, long-pointed; finely sharp-serrate; thin and firm; glabrous, dark green above, paler beneath; petioles 1/2 inch or less in length, glandular above, often hairy. FLOWERS.--April-May, with the leaves; dioecious; borne in slender, nearly glabrous catkins 1-2 inches long; calyx 0; corolla 0; scales ovate-lanceolate, slightly hairy; ovary ovoid-conical, very short-stalked, with stigmas longer than the style. Staminate trees apparently do not occur in the United States. FRUIT.--May-June; 1-celled, narrow-ovoid, sessile capsule, about 3/16 inch long, containing many minute seeds which are furnished with long, silky, white hairs. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud absent; lateral buds narrow-conical, sharp-pointed, somewhat flattened, brownish, 1/8-1/4 inch long. BARK.--Twigs glabrous, olive-green; thick and gray on old trunks, rather smooth, or irregularly fissured into shallow, firm ridges. WOOD.--Light, soft, weak, close-grained, light brown, with thick, whitish sapwood. NOTES.--A native of Europe and Asia. Often grown in cemeteries. Easily propagated by cuttings. Rapid of growth in rich, damp soil. Sometimes winter-killed because the wood is not ripened. SUMMER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF POPULUS a. Leaf-petioles essentially terete. b. Petioles and lower sides of leaves pubescent; leaves heart-shaped. _P. candicans_, p. 55. bb. Petioles and lower sides of leaves glabrous; leaves ovate-lanceolate. _P. balsamifera_, p. 53. aa. Leaf-petioles strongly flattened. b. Petioles and lower sides of leaves tomentose; twigs pubescent. _P. alba_, p. 47. bb. Petioles and lower sides of leaves glabrous; twigs glabrous. c. Leaves distinctly deltoid in shape. d. Leaves broader than they are long, abruptly acuminate at the apex; marginal teeth not conspicuously incurved; branches erect and more or less appressed to the main stem, forming a narrow, spire-like crown. _P. nigra italica_, p. 59. dd. Leaves longer than they are broad, more or less taper-pointed at the apex; marginal teeth rather conspicuously incurved; branches spreading, forming a broad crown. _P. deltoides_, p. 57. cc. Leaves ovate to nearly orbicular in shape. d. Margin of leaves coarsely sinuate-toothed; leaves 3-5 inches long. _P. grandidentata_, p. 51. dd. Margin of leaves finely serrate; leaves less than 3 inches long. _P. tremuloides_, p. 49. +WINTER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF POPULUS+ a. Branches erect, more or less appressed to the main stem, forming a narrow, spire-like crown. _P. nigra italica_, p. 59. aa. Branches spreading, forming a broad crown. b. Terminal buds 1/8-1/4 inch long, not resinous. c. Buds and twigs more or less conspicuously white-downy; twigs green. _P. alba_, p. 47. cc. Buds and twigs not conspicuously white-downy; twigs usually red-brown. d. Terminal buds about 1/8 inch long, puberulous, dusty-looking; lateral buds widely divergent; twigs rather coarse. _P. grandidentata_, p. 51. dd. Terminal buds about 1/4 inch long, glabrous, lustrous; lateral buds more or less appressed; twigs rather slender. _P. tremuloides_, p. 49. bb. Terminal buds 1/2-1 inch long, sticky-resinous. c. Terminal buds about 1/2 inch long; buds not fragrant; twigs usually yellow, more or less strongly angled. _P. deltoides_, p. 57. cc. Terminal buds nearly 1 inch long; buds fragrant; twigs usually red-brown and seldom strongly angled. _P. balsamifera_[E] p. 53. _P. candicans_[E] p. 55. [Illustration: +White Poplar+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 2. 4. Staminate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 5. Staminate flower, enlarged. 6. Pistillate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 7. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 8. Fruit, × 1/2.] +SALICACEAE+ +White Poplar+ _Populus alba L._ HABIT.--A large tree 60-80 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 2-4 feet, forming a large, spreading, rounded or irregular crown of large, crooked branches and sparse, stout branchlets. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 2-4 inches long and almost as broad; broadly ovate to suborbicular; irregularly toothed, sinuate, or sometimes 3-5-lobed; glabrous, dark green above, white-tomentose to glabrous beneath; petioles long, slender, flattened, tomentose. FLOWERS.--April-May, before the leaves; dioecious; the staminate catkins thick, cylindrical, 2-4 inches long; the pistillate catkins slender, 1-2 inches long; calyx 0; corolla 0; stamens 6-16, with purple anthers; stigmas 2, branched, yellow. FRUIT.--May-June; ovoid, 2-valved capsules, 1/8-1/4 inch long, borne in drooping catkins 2-4 inches long; seeds light brown, surrounded by long, white hairs. WINTER-BUDS.--Ovoid, pointed, not viscid, downy, about 1/4 inch long. BARK.--Twigs greenish, covered with a white down, becoming greenish gray and marked with darker blotches; dark gray and fissured at the base of old trunks. WOOD.--Light, soft, weak, difficult to split, reddish yellow, with thick, whitish sapwood. NOTES.--A native of Europe and Asia. Hardy in Michigan. Grows rapidly in good soils; thrives in poor soils and exposed situations. Roots deep, producing numerous suckers for a considerable distance from the tree. [Illustration: +Aspen+ 1. Winter twig, × 2. 2. Leaf, × 1. 3. Staminate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flower, enlarged. 5. Pistillate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 6. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 7. Fruit, × 1/2.] +SALICACEAE+ +Aspen+ _Populus tremuloides Michx._ HABIT.--A small, slender tree generally 35-45 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 8-15 inches; forming a loose, rounded crown of slender branches. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 1-1/2-2-1/2 inches long and broad; broadly ovate to suborbicular; finely serrate; thin and firm; lustrous, dark green above, dull and pale beneath; petioles slender, laterally compressed. Tremulous with the slightest breeze. FLOWERS.--April, before the leaves; dioecious; the staminate catkins 1-1/2-3 inches long, the pistillate at first about the same length, gradually elongating; calyx 0; corolla 0; stamens 6-12; stigmas 2, 2-lobed, red. FRUIT.--May-June; 2-valved, oblong-cylindrical, short-pedicelled capsules 1/4 inch long; seeds light brown, white-hairy. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud about 1/4 inch long, narrow-conical, acute, red-brown, lustrous; lateral buds often appressed. BARK.--Twigs very lustrous, red-brown, becoming grayish and roughened by the elevated leaf-scars; thin, yellowish or greenish and smooth on the trunk, often roughened with darker, horizontal bands or wart-like excrescences, becoming thick and fissured, almost black at the base of old trunks. WOOD.--Light, soft, weak, close-grained, not durable, light brown, with thin, whitish sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Common throughout the state, but most abundant in the Upper Peninsula. HABITAT.--Prefers moist, sandy soil and gravelly hillsides. NOTES.--One of the first trees to cover burned-over lands. Grows rapidly. Usually short-lived. Propagated from seed or cuttings. [Illustration: +Largetooth Aspen+ 1. Winter twig, × 2. 2. Leaf, × 1. 3. Staminate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flower, enlarged. 5. Pistillate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 6. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 7. Fruit, × 1/2.] +SALICACEAE+ +Largetooth Aspen+ _Populus grandidentata Michx._ HABIT.--A medium-sized tree 30-50 feet high, with a slender trunk 12-20 inches in diameter; forming a loose, oval or rounded crown of slender, spreading branches and coarse spray. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 3-5 inches long, two-thirds as broad; orbicular-ovate; coarsely and irregularly sinuate-toothed; thin and firm; dark green above, paler beneath, glabrous both sides; petioles long, slender, laterally compressed. FLOWERS.--April, before the leaves; dioecious; the staminate in short-stalked catkins 1-3 inches long; the pistillate in loose-flowered, long-stalked catkins at first about the same length, but gradually elongating; calyx 0; corolla 0; stamens 6-12, with red anthers; stigmas 2, 2-lobed, red. FRUIT.--May; 2-valved, conical, acute, hairy capsules 1/8 inch long, borne in drooping catkins 4-6 inches long; seeds minute, dark brown, hairy. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud 1/8 inch long, ovoid to conical, acute, light chestnut, puberulous, dusty-looking. BARK.--Twigs greenish gray and at first hoary-tomentose, becoming lustrous, orange or red-brown and finally greenish gray; thick, dark red-brown or blackish at the base of old trunks, irregularly fissured, with broad, flat ridges. WOOD.--Light, soft, weak, close-grained, light brown, with thin, whitish sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--A common tree in the northern portions of the Lower Peninsula, but rare in the Upper Peninsula. HABITAT.--Prefers rich, moist, sandy soil; borders of swamps; river-banks; hillsides. NOTES.--Grows rapidly in many soils. Easily transplanted. Short-lived. Useful for temporary effect. Propagated from seed or cuttings. [Illustration: +Balm of Gilead. Balsam+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Leaf, × 3/4. 3. Staminate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flower, enlarged. 5. Catkin of pistillate flower, × 1/2. 6. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 7. Fruit, × 1/2.] +SALICACEAE+ +Balm of Gilead. Balsam+ _Populus balsamifera L._ HABIT.--A tree 60-75 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-3 feet; forming a rather narrow, open, pyramidal crown of few, slender, horizontal branches. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 3-6 inches long, about one-half as broad; ovate to ovate-lanceolate; finely crenate-serrate; thin and firm; lustrous, dark green above, paler beneath; petioles 1-1/2 inches long, slender, terete, smooth. FLOWERS.--April, before the leaves; dioecious; the staminate in long-stalked catkins 3-4 inches long; the pistillate in loose-flowered, long-stalked catkins 4-5 inches long; calyx 0; corolla 0; stamens 20-30, with bright red anthers; ovary short-stalked; stigmas 2, wavy-margined. FRUIT.--May-June; 2-valved, ovoid, short-pedicelled capsules 1/4 inch long, borne in drooping catkins 4-6 inches long; seeds light brown, hairy. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud about 1 inch long, ovoid, long-pointed, brownish, resin-coated, sticky, fragrant. BARK.--Twigs red-brown, becoming dark orange, finally green-gray; thick, grayish on old trunks, and shallowly fissured into broad, rounded ridges, often roughened by dark excrescences. WOOD.--Light, soft, weak, close-grained, light red-brown, with thick, nearly white sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Occurs throughout the entire state, but is more abundant and of greater size in the northern portions. HABITAT.--Prefers river bottom-lands and borders of swamps. NOTES.--Rapid in growth. Spreads from the roots. Most useful for shelter belts. Easily transplanted. Propagated from cuttings. [Illustration: +Hairy Balm of Gilead. Balsam+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Leaf, × 1/2. 3. Staminate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flower, enlarged. 5. Pistillate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 6. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 7. Fruit, × 1/2.] +SALICACEAE+ +Hairy Balm of Gilead. Balsam+ _Populus candicans Ait._ [_Populus balsamifera candicans (Ait.) Gray_] HABIT.--A tree 50-70 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-3 feet; more spreading branches than in _P. balsamifera_, forming a broader and more open crown. LEAVES.--Resemble those of _P. balsamifera_, but more broadly heart-shaped and more coarsely serrate; more or less pubescent when young; petioles pubescent. FLOWERS.--Similar to those of _P. balsamifera_. FRUIT.--Similar to that of _P. balsamifera_. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud about 1 inch long, ovoid, long-pointed, dark red-brown, resinous throughout, viscid, very aromatic. BARK.--Twigs reddish or olive-green, with occasional longitudinal gray lines, covered with a fragrant, gummy secretion, becoming gray-green; dark gray, rough, irregularly striate and firm on old trunks. WOOD.--Resembles that of _P. balsamifera_, but is somewhat heavier. DISTRIBUTION.--Indigenous to the northern portions of the state, but often cultivated and occasionally escaping in the southern portion. HABITAT.--In a great variety of soils and situations. NOTES.--Grows rapidly in all soils and situations. Suckers readily from the roots. Propagated from cuttings. [Illustration: +Cottonwood+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Leaf, × 1/2. 3. Staminate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flower, enlarged. 5. Pistillate catkin, × 1/2. 6. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 7. Fruit, × 1/2.] +SALICACEAE+ +Cottonwood+ _Populus deltoides Marsh._ [_Populus monilifera Ait._] HABIT.--A stately tree attaining a height of 70-90 feet and a trunk diameter of 3-5 feet; forming a spreading, open, symmetrical crown of massive, horizontal branches and stout, more or less angled branchlets. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 3-6 inches long, nearly as broad; broadly deltoid-ovate; coarsely crenate-serrate above the entire base; thick and firm; lustrous, dark green above, paler beneath; petioles 2-3 inches long, slender, compressed laterally. FLOWERS.--April-May, before the leaves; dioecious; the staminate in short-stalked, densely-flowered catkins 3-4 inches long; the pistillate in short-stalked, few-flowered catkins elongating to 6-8 inches; calyx 0; corolla 0; stamens very numerous, with red anthers; stigmas 3-4, spreading. FRUIT.--May; 2-4-valved, short-stalked capsules, borne in drooping catkins 5-10 inches long; seeds light brown, densely cottony. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud 1/2 inch long, conical, acute, very resinous, shining, brownish. BARK.--Twigs and young stems smooth, yellow-green; old trunks ashy gray, deeply divided into straight furrows with broad, rounded ridges. WOOD.--Light, soft, weak, close-grained, dark brown, with thick, whitish sapwood; warps badly and is difficult to season. DISTRIBUTION.--Entire Michigan; rare in the northern portions. HABITAT.--Prefers rich, moist soil; river-banks; river-bottoms; lake-shores; grows well in drier situations. NOTES.--Rapid of growth, consequently an excellent tree for immediate effect. Propagated from cuttings. [Illustration: +Lombardy Poplar+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 3/4. 4. Staminate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 5. Staminate flower, enlarged.] +SALICACEAE+ +Lombardy Poplar+ _Populus nigra italica DuRoi_ [_Populus fastigiata Desf._] [_Populus dilatata Ait._] HABIT.--A tree 75-100 feet high, with a short, ridged and buttressed trunk 4-6 feet in diameter and a narrow, spire-like crown of erect branches. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 2-4 inches long, and usually somewhat broader than long; broad-deltoid, abruptly acuminate; finely but bluntly crenate-serrate; thick and firm; dark green and shining above, lighter and more or less lustrous beneath; petioles slender, laterally compressed, 1-2 inches long. FLOWERS.--April-May, before the leaves; dioecious; the staminate in sessile, dark red, cylindrical catkins about 3 inches long; the pistillate not present in the United States; calyx 0; corolla 0; stamens about 8, with white filaments and purple anthers. FRUIT.--Not formed in the United States in the absence of pistillate flowers. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud conical, slightly angled, taper-pointed, glutinous, about 3/8 inch long; lateral buds smaller, appressed. BARK.--Twigs glabrous, shining yellow, becoming gray; thick and gray-brown on old trunks, deeply and irregularly furrowed. WOOD.--Light, soft, easily worked, not liable to splinter, weak, not durable, light red-brown, with thick, nearly white sapwood. NOTES.--Thought to be a native of Afghanistan. Very rapid in growth. Short-lived. Spreads by means of suckers and fallen branches. Useful for ornamental purposes. Because of crowding the limbs die early, which remain and cause the tree to look unsightly. +SUMMER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF JUGLANS+ a. Leaflets 11-17, the terminal usually present; pith of twigs chocolate-brown; bark of trunk rather smooth, or fissured, with broad, flat, whitish ridges; fruit elongated, sticky-downy. _J. cinerea_, p. 63. aa. Leaflets 13-23, the terminal often lacking; pith of twigs cream colored; bark of trunk rough, brownish or blackish, deeply furrowed by broad, rounded ridges; fruit globose, not sticky-downy. _J. nigra_, p. 65. +WINTER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF JUGLANS+ a. Pith chocolate-brown; leaf-scar with downy pad above; fruit elongated, sticky-downy; terminal bud 1/2-3/4 inch long; bark rather smooth, or fissured, with broad, flat, whitish ridges. _J. cinerea_, p. 63. aa. Pith cream colored; leaf-scar without downy pad above; fruit globose, not sticky-downy; terminal bud 1/3 inch long; bark rough, brownish or blackish, deeply furrowed by broad, rounded ridges. _J. nigra_, p. 65. [Illustration: +Butternut+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Leaf, × 1/6 3. Leaflet, × 1/2 4. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 5. Staminate flower, enlarged. 6. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 7. Fruit, × 1/2.] +JUGLANDACEAE+ +Butternut+ _Juglans cinerea L._ HABIT.--A medium-sized tree 40-60 feet high, with a short trunk 2-3 feet in diameter; forming a wide-spreading crown of large, horizontal branches and stout, stiff branchlets. LEAVES.--Alternate, compound, 15-30 inches long. Leaflets 11-17, 2-4 inches long and one-half as broad; sessile, except the terminal; oblong-lanceolate; finely serrate; thin; yellow-green and rugose above, pale and soft-pubescent beneath. Petioles stout, hairy. FLOWERS.--May, with the leaves; monoecious; the staminate in cylindrical, greenish, drooping catkins 3-5 inches long; calyx 6-lobed, borne on a hairy bract; corolla 0; stamens 8-12, with brown anthers; the pistillate solitary or several on a common peduncle, about 1/3 inch long, their bracts and bractlets sticky-hairy; calyx 4-lobed, hairy; corolla 0; styles 2; stigmas 2, fringed, spreading, bright red. FRUIT.--October; about 2-1/2 inches long, cylindrical, pointed, greenish, sticky-downy, solitary or borne in drooping clusters of 3-5; nuts with rough shells, inclosing a sweet, but oily kernel; edible. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud 1/2-3/4 inch long, oblong-conical, obliquely blunt, somewhat flattened, brownish, pubescent. BARK.--Twigs orange-brown or bright green, rusty-pubescent, becoming smooth and light gray; gray and smoothish on young trunks, becoming brown on old trunks, narrow-ridged, with wide furrows. WOOD.--Light, soft, weak, coarse-grained, light brown, with thin, lighter colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Of common occurrence in the southern half of the Lower Peninsula. HABITAT.--Prefers low, rich woods; river-banks; low hillsides. NOTES.--Leaves appear late and fall early. Pith chambered, chocolate-brown. Large trees usually unsound. Not easily transplanted. [Illustration: +Black Walnut+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Leaf, × 1/6. 3. Leaflet, × 1/2. 4. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 5. Staminate flower, back view, enlarged. 6. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 7. Fruit, × 1/2.] +JUGLANDACEAE+ +Black Walnut+ _Juglans nigra L._ HABIT.--A large tree 60-80 feet high, with a massive trunk 2-5 feet in diameter; forming an open, capacious crown of heavy branches and coarse branchlets. LEAVES.--Alternate, compound, 1-2 feet long. Leaflets 13-23, the terminal often lacking, 2-4 inches long and one-half as broad; sessile; ovate-lanceolate, taper-pointed; sharp-serrate; thin; yellow-green and glabrous above, lighter and soft-pubescent beneath. Petioles stout, pubescent. Foliage aromatic when bruised. FLOWERS.--May, with the leaves; monoecious; the staminate in cylindrical, greenish, drooping catkins 3-5 inches long; calyx 6-lobed, borne on a hairy bract; corolla 0; stamens numerous, with purple anthers; the pistillate solitary or several on a common peduncle, about 1/4 inch long, their bracts and bractlets hairy; calyx 4-lobed, pubescent; corolla 0; styles and stigmas 2. FRUIT.--October; globose, 1-1/2-2 inches in diameter, smooth, not viscid; solitary or borne in clusters of 2-3; nuts with irregularly furrowed shell, inclosing a sweet, edible kernel. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud 1/3 inch long, ovoid, obliquely blunt, slightly flattened, silky-tomentose. BARK.--Twigs brownish and hairy, becoming darker and smooth; thick, brownish or blackish on the trunk and deeply furrowed by broad, rounded ridges. WOOD.--Heavy, hard, strong, close-grained, very durable in contact with the soil, rich dark brown, with thin, lighter colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Lower Peninsula as far north as Bay City, but more abundant in the southern portion of its range. HABITAT.--Prefers rich bottom-lands and fertile hillsides. NOTES.--Leaves appear late and fall early. Fruit very aromatic. Pith chambered, cream colored. The juices from the husk stain the hands brown. Not easily transplanted. Often infested with caterpillars. +SUMMER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF CARYA+ a. Bark of trunk essentially smooth, not deeply furrowed nor shaggy; husk of fruit less than 1/8 inch thick. b. Leaflets usually 5-7, glabrous beneath; buds dome-shaped, greenish; kernel of nut sweet. c. Twigs long-hairy; fruit less than 1 inch long. _C. microcarpa_, p. 75. cc. Twigs glabrous or nearly so; fruit 1-1/2-2 inches long. _C. glabra_, p. 77. bb. Leaflets usually 7-11, more or less downy beneath; buds elongated, bright yellow; kernel of nut bitter. _C. cordiformis_, p. 79. aa. Bark of trunk deeply furrowed or shaggy; husk of fruit more than 1/8 inch thick. b. Twigs more or less pubescent; leaflets 5-7, more or less pubescent beneath. c. Twigs brownish; buds densely hairy; fruit 1-1/2-2 inches long. _C. alba_, p. 73. cc. Twigs orange; buds merely puberulous; fruit 1-3/4-2-1/2 inches long; (leaflets usually 7). _C. laciniosa_, p. 71. bb. Twigs tending to be glabrous; leaflets usually 5, glabrous beneath. _C. ovata_, p. 69. +WINTER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF CARYA+ a. Bark of trunk essentially smooth, not deeply furrowed nor shaggy; husk of fruit less than 1/8 inch thick. b. Terminal bud narrow, long-pointed, flattish, bright yellow; kernel of nut bitter. _C. cordiformis_, p. 79. bb. Terminal bud broad, dome-shaped, not bright yellow; kernel of nut sweet. c. Buds greenish; twigs glabrous; fruit 1-1/2-2 inches long. _C. glabra_, p. 77. cc. Buds red-brown; twigs long-hairy; fruit less than 1 inch long. _C. microcarpa_, p. 75. aa. Bark of trunk deeply furrowed or shaggy; husk of fruit more than 1/8 inch thick. b. Twigs more or less pubescent; buds more or less pubescent. c. Buds 1/2-3/4 inch long, densely hairy; outer bud-scales deciduous in autumn; twigs brownish; fruit 1-1/2-2 inches long. _C. alba_, p. 73. cc. Buds about 1 inch long, merely puberulous; outer bud-scales persistent until spring; twigs orange colored; fruit 1-3/4-2-1/2 inches long. _C. laciniosa_, p. 71. bb. Twigs tending to be glabrous; buds glabrous or nearly so. _C. ovata_, p. 69. [Illustration: Shagbark Hickory. Shellbark Hickory 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1/3. 4. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 5. Staminate flower, enlarged. 6. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 7. Fruit, × 1/2.] +JUGLANDACEAE+ +Shagbark Hickory. Shellbark Hickory+ _Carya ovata (Mill.) K. Koch_ [_Hicoria ovata (Mill.) Britt._] [_Carya alba Nutt_.] HABIT.--A tree 60-80 feet high, with a slender, columnar trunk 1-2 feet in diameter; forming a narrow, somewhat open crown of stout, slightly spreading limbs and stout branchlets. LEAVES.--Alternate, compound, 8-14 inches long. Leaflets usually 5, the upper 5-7 inches long and 2-3 inches broad; sessile, except the terminal; obovate to oblong-lanceolate; finely serrate; thick and firm; glabrous, dark green above, paler beneath and glabrous or puberulous. Petioles stout, smooth or hairy. Foliage fragrant when crushed. FLOWERS.--May, after the leaves; monoecious; the staminate hairy, greenish, in pendulous, ternate catkins 4-5 inches long, on a common peduncle about 1 inch long; scales 3-parted, bristle-tipped; stamens 4, with bearded, yellow anthers; the pistillate in 2-5-flowered spikes, 1/3 inch long, brown-tomentose; calyx 4-lobed, hairy; corolla 0; stigmas 2, large, fringed. FRUIT.--October; globular, 1-2 inches long, with thick husk separating completely; nut usually 4-ridged, with thick shell and large, sweet, edible kernel. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud 1/2-3/4 inch long, broadly ovoid, obtuse, dark brown, pale-tomentose or nearly glabrous. BARK.--Twigs brownish, more or less downy, becoming smooth and grayish; thick and grayish on old trunks, separating into thick strips 1-3 feet long, free at one or both ends, giving a characteristic shaggy appearance. WOOD.--Heavy, very hard and strong, tough, close-grained, elastic, light brown, with thin, whitish sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Common in the Lower Peninsula as far north as Roscommon County. HABITAT.--Prefers light, well-drained, loamy soil; low hillsides; river-banks. NOTES.--Hardy throughout its range. Moderately rapid in growth. Difficult to transplant. [Illustration: Shellbark Hickory. King Nut 1. Winter twig, × 1/2. 2. Leaf, × 1/4. 3. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flower, enlarged. 5. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 6. Fruit, × 1/2.] +JUGLANDACEAE+ +Shellbark Hickory. King Nut+ _Carya laciniosa (Michx. f.) Loud._ [_Hicoria laciniosa (Michx. f.) Sarg._] [_Carya sulcata Nutt._] HABIT.--A tree 60-80 feet high, with a tall, slender trunk 2-3 feet in diameter; forming a narrow, oblong crown of small, spreading branches. LEAVES.--Alternate, compound, 1-2 feet long. Leaflets usually 7, the upper 5-9 inches long, 3-5 inches broad, larger than the lowest pair; sessile or short-stalked; oblong-lanceolate to obovate, taper-pointed; finely serrate; thick and firm; lustrous, dark green above, paler and soft-pubescent beneath. Petioles stout, glabrous or pubescent, often persistent on the branches during the winter. Foliage fragrant when crushed. FLOWERS.--May, after the leaves; monoecious; the staminate in pendulous, ternate catkins 5-8 inches long, slender, yellow-green, on common peduncles 1 inch long; scales 3-lobed, tomentose; stamens 4, with yellow, hairy anthers; the pistillate in crowded, 2-5-flowered spikes, tomentose; calyx 3-toothed, hairy; corolla 0; stigmas 2, light green. FRUIT.--October; oblong to subglobose, 1-3/4-2-1/2 inches long, with very thick, woody husk, splitting to the base; nut 4-6-ridged, with thick, hard shell and large, sweet kernel. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud about 1 inch long, ovoid, obtuse, dark brown, puberulous. BARK.--Twigs orange and more or less pubescent, becoming darker in the first winter, and finally grayish; on the trunk 1-2 inches thick, light gray, separating into broad, thick plates 3-4 feet long, persistent on the trunk for many years. WOOD.--Heavy, very hard, strong, tough, close-grained, very elastic, dark brown, with thin, whitish sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Occurs in the southern portion of the Lower Peninsula, but is rather a rare tree. HABITAT.--Prefers deep, rich bottom-lands. NOTES.--Rapid in growth. May be distinguished from other hickories by orange colored branchlets. [Illustration: Mocker Nut Hickory 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Leaf, × 1/3. 3. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flower, enlarged. 5. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 6. Fruit, × 1/2.] +JUGLANDACEAE+ +Mocker Nut Hickory+ _Carya alba (L.) K. Koch_ [_Hicoria alba (L.) Britt._] [_Carya tomentosa Nutt._] HABIT.--A tree 50-70 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-2-1/2 feet; forming a wide crown of strong, upright branches and stout branchlets. LEAVES.--Alternate, compound, 8-12 inches long. Leaflets usually 5-7, sometimes 9, the upper 5-8 inches long, 3-4 inches broad; sessile, except the terminal; oblong- to obovate-lanceolate; minutely or sometimes coarsely serrate; thick and firm; lustrous, dark yellow-green above, paler and more or less pubescent beneath. Petioles pubescent. Foliage fragrant when crushed. FLOWERS.--May, after the leaves; monoecious; the staminate in pendulous, ternate catkins 4-5 inches long, slender, green, hairy; scales 3-lobed, hairy; stamens 4-5, with red anthers; the pistillate in crowded, 2-5-flowered, tomentose spikes; calyx toothed, hairy; corolla 0; stigmas 2, hairy. FRUIT.--October; globose to globose-oblong, 1-1/2-2 inches long, with thick husk splitting nearly to the base; nut 4-ridged, red-brown, with very thick, hard shell and small, sweet kernel. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud 1/2-3/4 inch long, broadly ovoid, red-brown, pilose; outermost scales fall in early autumn. BARK.--Twigs at first brown-tomentose, becoming smooth and grayish; on the trunk thick, hard, grayish, slightly ridged by shallow, irregular fissures, becoming rugged on very old trunks. WOOD.--Very heavy, hard, strong, tough, close-grained, elastic, dark brown, with thick, whitish sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Southern Peninsula as far north as Grand Rapids and Flint. Infrequent. HABITAT.--Prefers rich, well-drained soil, but grows well in various situations, if they are not too wet. NOTES.--Hardy throughout its range. Difficult to transplant. [Illustration: +Small Pignut Hickory+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Leaf, × 1/3. 3. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flower, enlarged. 5. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 6. Fruit, × 1.] +JUGLANDACEAE+ +Small Pignut Hickory+ _Carya microcarpa Nutt._ [_Hicoria odorata (Marsh.) Sarg._] [_Hicoria microcarpa (Nutt.) Britt._] [_Hicoria glabra, v. odorata Sarg._] HABIT.--A tree usually 50-70 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-3 feet; forming an oblong or sometimes rounded crown of slender, spreading branches. LEAVES.--Alternate, compound, 8-12 inches long. Leaflets usually 5-7, the upper 3-6 inches long, 2-2-1/2 inches broad; sessile, except the terminal; oblong to ovate-lanceolate, long-pointed; sharply serrate; thick and firm; glabrous, dark yellow-green above, lighter beneath. Petioles long, glabrous. Foliage fragrant when crushed. FLOWERS.--May, after the leaves; monoecious; the staminate in pendulous, ternate catkins 3-7 inches long, slender, greenish, glabrous; stamens 4, with orange anthers; the pistillate in 2-5-flowered spikes, 1/4 inch long; calyx 4-toothed, hairy; corolla 0; stigmas 2, yellow. FRUIT.--September; subglobose or globose-oblong, less than 1 inch long, with thin husk splitting nearly to the base; nut obscurely 4-ridged, with thin shell and small, sweet kernel. WINTER-BUDS.--1/4-1/2 inch long, dome-shaped, red-brown, smooth. BARK.--Twigs greenish, long-hairy, becoming reddish and finally gray; thick, hard and grayish on the trunk, divided by shallow fissures into narrow plates, and more or less shaggy. WOOD.--Heavy, hard, strong, tough, close-grained, elastic, dark brown, with thick, whitish sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Confined to the most southern portions of the Lower Peninsula. HABITAT.--Prefers well-drained slopes and hillsides. NOTES.--Resembles _C. glabra_, but the nut is much smaller. [Illustration: +Pignut Hickory+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Leaf, × 1/4. 3. Flowering branchlet, × 1. 4. Staminate flower, enlarged. 5. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 6. Fruit, × 2/3.] +JUGLANDACEAE+ +Pignut Hickory+ _Carya glabra (Mill.) Spach._ [_Hicoria glabra (Mill.) Britt._] [_Carya porcina Nutt._] HABIT.--A tree usually 50-65 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-3 feet; forming a low, rather narrow, open crown of slender, often contorted branches. LEAVES.--Alternate, compound, 8-12 inches long. Leaflets usually 5-7, the upper 3-6 inches long, 2-2-1/2 inches broad; subsessile, except the terminal; oblong to obovate-lanceolate, taper-pointed; sharply serrate; thick and firm; glabrous, dark yellow-green above, paler beneath. Petioles long, slender, glabrous or pubescent. Foliage fragrant when crushed. FLOWERS.--May, after the leaves; monoecious; the staminate in pendulous, ternate catkins 3-7 inches long, slender, yellow-green, tomentose; scales 3-lobed, nearly glabrous; stamens 4, with orange anthers; the pistillate in crowded, 2-5-flowered spikes, 1/4 inch long; calyx 4-toothed, hairy; corolla 0; stigmas 2, yellow. FRUIT.--October; variable in size and shape, 1-1/2-2 inches long, with thin husk splitting half-way and sometimes nearly to the base; nut obscurely 4-ridged, with thin or thick, hard shell and small, sweet or slightly bitter kernel which is hard to remove. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud 1/4-1/2 inch long, dome-shaped, greenish or grayish, smooth or finely downy. BARK.--Twigs greenish, nearly glabrous, becoming reddish, and finally grayish; thick, hard and grayish on the trunk, with a firm, close surface divided by small fissures and sometimes broken into plates. WOOD.--Heavy, hard, very strong, tough, close-grained, elastic, dark brown, with thick, whitish sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Occurs only in the extreme southern portion of the Lower Peninsula. Common within its range. HABITAT.--Prefers deep, rich loam, but grows in any well-drained soil; dry ridges and hillsides. NOTES.--Hardy and desirable for ornamental purposes. Difficult to transplant. Not adapted to street use. [Illustration: +Bitternut Hickory+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Leaf, × 1/3. 3. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flower, enlarged. 5. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 6. Fruit, × 1.] +JUGLANDACEAE+ +Bitternut Hickory+ _Carya cordiformis (Wang.) K. Koch_ [_Hicoria minima (Marsh.) Britt._] [_Carya amara Nutt._] HABIT.--A tall, slender tree 50-75 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-2-1/2 feet; forming a broad crown of slender, stiff, upright branches, widest near the top. LEAVES.--Alternate, compound, 6-10 inches long. Leaflets 5-11, the upper 4-6 inches long and one-fourth as broad; sessile, except the terminal; lanceolate to oblong-lanceolate, long-pointed; coarsely serrate; thin and firm; glabrous, bright green above, paler and more or less downy beneath. Petioles slender, hairy. Foliage fragrant when crushed. FLOWERS.--May, after the leaves; monoecious; the staminate slightly pubescent, in pendulous, ternate catkins 3-4 inches long, on a common peduncle about 1 inch long; scales 3-lobed, hairy; stamens 4, with bearded, yellow anthers; the pistillate in 2-5-flowered spikes 1/2 inch long, scurfy-tomentose; calyx 4-lobed, pubescent; corolla 0; stigmas 2, greenish. FRUIT.--October; obovate to globular, about 1 inch long, coated with yellow, scurfy pubescence, with very thin husk splitting half-way to the base, with sutures winged at the top; nut quite smooth, with thin shell and small, bitter kernel. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud about 3/4 inch long, long-pointed, flattish, granular-yellow; lateral buds more or less 4-angled. BARK.--Twigs greenish and more or less downy, becoming brownish, and finally grayish; gray, close, smooth on the trunk, often reticulately ridged, but rarely broken into plates. WOOD.--Heavy, very hard, strong, tough, close-grained, dark brown, with thick, lighter colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Of common occurrence in the southern half of the Lower Peninsula. HABITAT.--Prefers a rich, loamy or gravelly soil; low, wet woods; along the borders of streams; but also found on high, dry uplands. NOTES.--Grows most rapidly of all the hickories, but is apt to show dead branches. Should be propagated from the seed, as it is not easily transplanted. [Illustration: +Hornbeam. Ironwood+ 1. Winter twig, × 1/2. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1/2. 4. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 5. Staminate flower, enlarged. 6. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 7. Fruit, × 1/2.] +BETULACEAE+ +Hornbeam. Ironwood+ _Ostrya virginiana (Mill.) K. Koch_ HABIT.--A small tree usually 20-30 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 8-12 inches; forming a broad, rounded crown of many long, slender branches and a slender, stiff spray. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 3-5 inches long, about one-half as broad; oblong-ovate; sharply doubly serrate; thin and very tough; dull, dark green above, paler and more or less pubescent beneath; petioles short, slender, pubescent. FLOWERS.--April-May, with the leaves; monoecious; the staminate in drooping, cylindrical catkins from wood of the previous season, usually in threes; stamens 3-14, crowded on a hairy torus; the pistillate in erect, lax catkins on the season's shoots, usually in pairs, each flower inclosed in a hairy, sac-like involucre. FRUIT.--September; strobiles, resembling clusters of hops, 1-2 inches long, borne on slender, hairy stems; nuts small and flat, inclosed by sac-like involucres. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud absent; lateral buds 1/8-1/4 inch long, ovoid, acute, red-brown. BARK.--Twigs at first light green, becoming lustrous, red-brown, and finally dull dark brown; thin, gray-brown on the trunk, very narrowly and longitudinally ridged. WOOD.--Heavy, very strong and hard, tough, close-grained, durable, light red-brown, with thick, whitish sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Common throughout the entire state. HABITAT.--Prefers dry, gravelly slopes and ridges. NOTES.--Often grows in shade of other trees. Not easily transplanted. Rather slow of growth. Too small for street use. [Illustration: +Blue Beech. Water Beech+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1. 4. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 5. Staminate flower, enlarged. 6. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 7. Fruit, × 1/2.] +BETULACEAE+ +Blue Beech. Water Beech+ _Carpinus caroliniana Walt._ HABIT.--Usually a low, bushy tree or large shrub, 10-30 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 6-12 inches; trunk short, usually fluted; slender zigzag branches and a fine spray form a close, flat-topped crown. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 2-4 inches long and one-half as broad; ovate to oval, long-pointed; sharply doubly serrate; thin and firm; dull green above, lighter beneath, turning scarlet and orange in autumn; petioles short, slender, hairy. FLOWERS.--May, after the leaves; monoecious; apetalous; the staminate catkins 1-1-1/2 inches long, their scales greenish, boat-shaped, each bearing 3-20 stamens; the pistillate catkins 1/2-3/4 inch long, their scales hairy, greenish, each bearing 2 pistils with long, scarlet styles. FRUIT.--Ripens in midsummer, but often remains on the tree long after the leaves have fallen; in loose, terminal strobiles; involucre halberd-shaped, inclosing a small, ovate, brownish nut. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud absent; lateral buds 1/8 inch long, narrow-ovoid, acute, puberulous, brownish. BARK.--Twigs pale green, hairy, becoming lustrous, dark red the first winter; trunk and large limbs thin, smooth, close, dark bluish gray, often mottled with lighter or darker patches. WOOD.--Heavy, hard, tough, very strong, close-grained, light brown, with thick, whitish sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Common throughout the state. HABITAT.--Prefers a deep, rich, moist soil along the borders of streams and swamps. Often found in drier situations in the shade of other trees. NOTES.--Propagated from seed. Not easily transplanted. Slow of growth. Seldom found in masses. +SUMMER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF BETULA+ a. Bark of trunk white, separating freely into thin, papery layers; twigs without wintergreen taste; leaves usually solitary, not aromatic. _B. alba papyrifera_, p. 91. aa. Bark of trunk not white, usually dark colored, not separating freely into papery layers; twigs with more or less wintergreen taste; leaves solitary or in pairs, aromatic. b. Bark dirty-yellow, breaking into strips more or less curled at the edges; leaves solitary or in pairs, slightly aromatic; twigs with slight wintergreen taste. _B. lutea_, p. 89. bb. Bark dark red-brown, cleaving off in thick, irregular plates (resembles bark of Black Cherry); leaves in pairs, strongly aromatic; twigs with strong wintergreen taste. _B. lenta_, p. 87. +WINTER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF BETULA+ a. Bark of trunk white, separating freely into thin, papery layers; twigs without wintergreen taste. _B. alba papyrifera_, p. 91. aa. Bark of trunk not white, usually dark colored, not separating into papery layers; twigs with more or less wintergreen taste. b. Bark dirty-yellow, breaking into strips more or less curled at the edges; twigs with slight wintergreen taste. _B. lutea_, p. 89. bb. Bark dark red-brown, cleaving off in thick, irregular plates (resembles bark of Black Cherry); twigs with strong wintergreen taste. _B. lenta_, p. 87 [Illustration: +Sweet Birch. Black Birch. Cherry Birch+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1/2. 4. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 5. Staminate flower, enlarged. 6. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 7. Fruiting branchlet, × 1/2. 8. Fruit, enlarged.] +BETULACEAE+ +Sweet Birch. Black Birch. Cherry Birch+ _Betula lenta L._[F] HABIT.--A medium-sized tree 70-80 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-3 feet; slender, wide-spreading, pendulous branches, forming a narrow, rounded, open crown. LEAVES.--Alternate in pairs, simple, 3-4 inches long and one-half as broad; outline variable, ovate to oblong-ovate; sharply doubly serrate, with slender, incurved teeth; dull, dark green above, light yellow-green beneath; petioles short, stout, hairy, deeply grooved above; aromatic. FLOWERS.--April, before the leaves; monoecious; the staminate catkins 3-4 inches long, slender, pendent, yellowish; the pistillate catkins 1/2-3/4 inch long, erect or suberect, greenish. FRUIT.--Ripens in autumn; sessile, glabrous, erect strobiles, 1-1-1/2 inches long and half as thick; scales glabrous; nuts slightly broader than their wings. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud absent; lateral buds about 1/4 inch long, conical, sharp-pointed, red-brown, divergent. BARK.--Twigs light green, becoming lustrous, red-brown in their first winter; very dark on old trunks, cleaving off in thick, irregular plates. Resembles bark of Black Cherry. Inner bark aromatic, spicy. WOOD.--Heavy, very hard and strong, close-grained, dark red-brown, with thin, lighter colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Scattered throughout the state; rare in the south, more abundant and of larger size in the north. HABITAT.--Grows in any situation, but prefers moist, rocky slopes and rich uplands. NOTES.--Hardy throughout its range. Easily transplanted. [Illustration: +Yellow Birch. Gray Birch+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1/2. 4. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 5. Staminate flower, enlarged. 6. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 7. Fruiting branchlet, × 1/2. 8. Fruit, × 10.] +BETULACEAE+ +Yellow Birch. Gray Birch+ _Betula lutea Michx. f._ HABIT.--A tree 60-80 feet high and 2-4 feet in trunk diameter; numerous slender, pendulous branches form a broad, open, rounded crown. LEAVES.--Alternate, solitary or in pairs, simple, 3-5 inches long and one-half as broad; ovate to oblong-ovate; sharply doubly serrate; dull dark green above, yellow-green beneath; petioles short, slender, grooved, hairy; slightly aromatic. FLOWERS.--April, before the leaves; monoecious; the staminate catkins 3-4 inches long, slender, pendent, purplish yellow; the pistillate catkins sessile or nearly so, erect, almost 1 inch long, greenish. FRUIT.--Ripens in autumn; sessile or short-stalked, erect, glabrous strobiles, about 1 inch long and half as thick; scales downy on the back and edges; nut about as broad as the wing. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud absent; lateral buds about 1/4 inch long, conical, acute, chestnut-brown, more or less appressed; bud-scales more or less pubescent. BARK.--Twigs, branches and young stems smooth, very lustrous, silvery gray or light orange; becoming silvery yellow-gray as the trunk expands and breaking into strips more or less curled at the edges; old trunks becoming gray or blackish, dull, deeply and irregularly fissured into large, thin plates; somewhat aromatic, slightly bitter. WOOD.--Heavy, very strong and hard, close-grained, light brown tinged with red, with thin, whitish sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Throughout the state, but more abundant and of larger size northward. HABITAT.--Prefers rich, moist uplands, but grows in wet or dry situations. NOTES.--One of the largest deciduous-leaved trees of Michigan. Easily transplanted, but not desirable as a street tree. [Illustration: +Paper Birch. Canoe Birch. White Birch+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1. 4. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 5. Staminate flower, enlarged. 6. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 7. Fruiting branchlet, × 1/2. 8. Fruit, × 3-1/2.] +BETULACEAE+ +Paper Birch. Canoe Birch. White Birch+ _Betula alba papyrifera_ (_Marsh._) _Spach_. [_Betula papyrifera Marsh._] HABIT.--A tree 50-75 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-3 feet, forming in youth a compact, pyramidal crown of many slender branches, becoming in old age a long, branchless trunk with a broad, open crown, composed of a few large limbs ascending at an acute angle, with almost horizontal branches and a slender, flexible spray. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 2-3 inches long, 1-1/2-2 inches broad; ovate; coarsely, more or less doubly serrate; thick and firm; glabrous, dark green above, lighter beneath, covered with minute black glands; petioles stout, yellow, glandular, glabrous or pubescent. FLOWERS.--April, before the leaves; monoecious; the staminate catkins clustered or in pairs, 3-4 inches long, slender, pendent, brownish; the pistillate catkins about 1-1/2 inches long, slender, erect or spreading, greenish; styles bright red. FRUIT.--Ripens in autumn; long-stalked, cylindrical, glabrous, drooping strobiles, about 1-1/2 inches long; scales hairy on the margin; nut narrower than its wing. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud absent; lateral buds 1/4 inch long, narrow-ovoid, acute, flattish, slightly resinous, usually divergent. BARK.--Twigs dull red, becoming lustrous orange-brown; bark of trunk and large limbs cream-white and lustrous on the outer surface, bright orange on the inner, separating freely into thin, papery layers, becoming furrowed and almost black near the ground. WOOD.--Light, hard, strong, tough, very close-grained, light brown tinged with red, with thick, whitish sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Lansing and northward. Common in central Michigan as a small tree. Of larger size in the Upper Peninsula. HABITAT.--Prefers rich, moist hillsides; borders of streams, lakes and swamps; but is also found in drier situations. NOTES.--A rapid grower in youth. The bark is used by the Indians and woodsmen for canoes, wigwams, baskets, torches, etc. [Illustration: +Beech. White Beech+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1. 4. Flowering branchlet, × 3/4. 5. Staminate flower, enlarged. 6. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 7. Bur, opened, × 1. 8. Nut, × 1.] +FAGACEAE+ +Beech. White Beech+ _Fagus grandifolia Ehrh._ [_Fagus atropunicea_ (_Marsh._) _Sudw._] [_Fagus ferruginea Ait._] [_Fagus americana Sweet_] HABIT.--A beautiful tree, rising commonly to a height of 50-75 feet, with a trunk diameter of 2-4 feet; in the forest, tall and slender, with short branches forming a narrow crown, in the open with a short, thick trunk and numerous slender, spreading branches, forming a broad, compact, rounded crown. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 3-5 inches long, one-half as broad; oblong-ovate, acuminate; coarsely serrate, a vein terminating in each tooth; thin; dark blue-green above, light yellow-green and very lustrous beneath; petioles short, hairy. FLOWERS.--April-May, with the leaves; monoecious; the staminate in globose heads 1 inch in diameter, on long, slender, hairy peduncles, yellow-green; calyx campanulate, 4-7-lobed, hairy; corolla 0; stamens 8-10; the pistillate on short, hairy peduncles in 2-flowered clusters surrounded by numerous awl-shaped, hairy bracts; calyx urn-shaped, 4-5-lobed; corolla 0; ovary 3-celled; styles 3. FRUIT.--Ripens in autumn; a prickly bur borne on stout, hairy peduncles, persistent on the branch after the nuts have fallen; nuts usually 3, 3/4 inch long, sharply tetrahedral, brownish; sweet and edible. WINTER-BUDS.--Nearly 1 inch long, very slender, cylindrical, gradually taper-pointed, brownish, puberulous. BARK.--Twigs lustrous, olive-green, finally changing through brown to ashy gray; close, smooth, steel-gray on the trunk, often mottled by darker blotches and bands. WOOD.--Hard, tough, strong, very close-grained, not durable, difficult to season, light or dark red, with thin, whitish sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Common in the Lower Peninsula, especially in the northern portions; rare in the Upper Peninsula. HABITAT.--Prefers deep, rich, well-drained loam, but is found and does well on a great variety of soils. NOTES.--Hardy throughout its range. Desirable for landscape work because of its clean trunk and limbs, deep shade, and freedom from insect pests. Often suckers from the roots. [Illustration: +Chestnut+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Leaf, × 1/2. 3. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flower, enlarged. 5. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 6. Prickly bur, opened, × 1/2. 7. Nut, × 1/2.] +FAGACEAE+ +Chestnut+ _Castanea dentata_ (_Marsh._) _Borkh._ [_Castanea vesca, v. americana Michx._] [_Castanea sativa, v. americana Sarg._] HABIT.--A tree 60-80 feet high, forming a short, straight trunk 2-4 feet in diameter, divided not far above the ground into several stout, horizontal limbs and forming a broad, open, rounded crown. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 6-8 inches long, 2-3 inches broad; oblong-lanceolate, long-pointed at the apex; coarsely serrate with stout, incurved, glandular teeth; thin; dull yellow-green above, lighter beneath, glabrous; petioles short, stout, puberulous. FLOWERS.--June-July, after the leaves; monoecious; the staminate catkins 6-8 inches long, slender, puberulous, bearing 3-7-flowered cymes of yellow-green flowers; calyx 6-cleft, pubescent; stamens 10-20; the androgynous catkins 2-1/2-5 inches long, puberulous, bearing 2-3 prickly involucres of pistillate flowers near their base; calyx campanulate, 6-lobed; styles 6. FRUIT.--Ripens in autumn; round, thick, prickly burs, about 2 inches in diameter, containing 1-3 nuts; nuts compressed, brownish, coated with whitish down at the apex; sweet and edible. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud absent; lateral buds 1/4 inch long, ovoid, acute, brownish. BARK.--Twigs lustrous, yellow-green, becoming olive-green and finally dark brown; old trunks gray-brown, with shallow fissures and broad, flat ridges. WOOD.--Light, soft, coarse-grained, weak, easily split, very durable in contact with the soil, red-brown, with very thin, lighter colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--South-eastern Michigan, as far north as St. Clair County. Abundant in eastern Monroe County and Wayne County. HABITAT.--Pastures; hillsides; glacial drift; well-drained, gravelly or rocky soil. NOTES.--A rapid grower and living to a great age. Difficult to transplant. Subject to a disease which threatens extermination in this country. +SUMMER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF QUERCUS+ a. Leaves deeply cut or lobed. b. Leaf-lobes acute, bristle-tipped; fruit maturing in the second season. c. Lower surface of leaves more or less pubescent. d. Leaf-lobes usually 7; buds hoary-tomentose; bark of trunk deeply furrowed and scaly; inner bark yellow; cup-scales of acorn hoary-pubescent; nut ovoid; large tree, common in Michigan. _Q. velutina_, p. 117. dd. Leaf-lobes usually 3 (at apex of the leaf only); buds rusty-hairy; bark of trunk divided into nearly square plates; inner bark not yellow; cup-scales of acorn rusty-tomentose; nut subglobose; shrubby tree, rare in Michigan. _Q. marilandica_, p. 119. cc. Lower surface of leaves glabrous or nearly so. d. Cup of acorn top-shaped or cup-shaped, inclosing one-third to one-half of the nut. e. Kernel of nut yellow; buds glabrous, lustrous, slightly angular; inner bark of trunk yellow; trunk provided with pins or stubs of dead branches near the ground. _Q. ellipsoidalis_, p. 115. ee. Kernel of nut whitish; buds pubescent above the middle, not angular; inner bark of trunk red; trunk not provided with pins or stubs of branches near the ground. _Q. coccinea_, p. 113. dd. Cup of acorn saucer-shaped, inclosing only the base of the nut. e. Upper surface of leaves usually lustrous, especially on the lower branches; lowermost branches of trees growing in the open drooping nearly to the ground; nut about 1/2 inch long _Q. palustris_, p. 111. ee. Upper surface of leaves usually dull; lowermost branches of trees growing in the open not drooping; nut about 1 inch long. _Q. rubra_, p. 109. bb. Leaf-lobes rounded, not bristle-tipped; fruit maturing in the first season. c. Leaves cut nearly to the midrib by a pair of deep sinuses near the middle of the leaf; branches corky-ridged; nut 1/2-1-1/2 inches long, deeply seated in a large, conspicuously fringed cup. _Q. macrocarpa_, p. 103. cc. Leaves not cut by a pair of deep sinuses; branches not corky-ridged; nut about 3/4 inch long, about one-fourth covered by a thin, tomentose, warty cup. _Q. alba_, p. 101. aa. Leaves not deeply cut nor lobed. b. Margin of leaf entire to sinuate-crenate, but not toothed; acorns on stalks 1/2-4 inches long. c. Margin of leaf entire, or only slightly undulate; acorns on peduncles 1/2 inch long, the nut about 1/2 inch long; bark on branches not breaking into large, papery scales. _Q. imbricaria_, p. 121. cc. Margin of leaf sinuate-crenate, rarely lobed; acorns on stems 1-4 inches long, the nut about 1 inch long; bark on branches breaking into large, papery scales which curl back _Q. bicolor_, p. 105. bb. Margin of leaf coarsely toothed; acorns sessile or on stalks less than 1/2 inch long. _Q. muhlenbergii_, p. 107. +WINTER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF QUERCUS+ a. Terminal buds usually about 1/8 inch long. b. Twigs thick-tomentose; entire bud pale-pubescent; branches corky-ridged; cup of acorn conspicuously fringed at the rim. [1][G] _Q. macrocarpa_, p. 103. bb. Twigs glabrous; buds glabrous, or only slightly or partially pubescent; branches without corky ridges; cup of acorn not conspicuously fringed at the rim. c. Bark on branches breaking into large, papery scales which curl back; buds pilose above the middle; acorns on pubescent stems 1-4 inches long. [1] _Q. bicolor_, p. 105. cc. Bark on branches not breaking into large, papery scales; buds glabrous; acorns sessile or very short-stalked. d. Bark of trunk ash-gray or nearly white, flaky; acorns maturing in autumn of first season; kernel of nut sweet. e. Buds conical, acute; bud-scales scarious on the margins; nut white-downy at the apex. [1] _Q. muhlenbergii_, p. 107. ee. Buds broadly ovoid, obtuse; bud-scales not scarious on the margins; nut not white-downy at the apex. [1] _Q. alba_, p. 101. dd. Bark of trunk light to dark brown, smoothish or only slightly fissured; acorns maturing in autumn of second season; kernel of nut bitter. e. Lateral buds widely divergent; bud-scales scarious on the margins; lowermost branches of trees growing in the open not drooping nearly to the ground. [2] _Q. imbricaria_, p. 121. ee. Lateral buds more or less appressed; bud-scales not scarious on the margins; lowermost branches of trees growing in the open drooping nearly to the ground. [2] _Q. palustris_, p. 111. aa. Terminal buds usually about 1/4 inch long (slightly smaller in _Q. ellipsoidalis_). b. Buds conspicuously hairy or tomentose. c. Buds rusty-hairy, acute at the apex; cup-scales of acorn rusty-tomentose; inner bark of trunk not yellow; shrubby tree, rare in Michigan. [2] _Q. marilandica_, p. 119. cc. Buds hoary-tomentose, obtuse at the apex; cup-scales of acorn hoary-pubescent; inner bark of trunk yellow; large tree, common in Michigan. [2] _Q. velutina_, p. 117. bb. Buds glabrous, or pubescent only above the middle. c. Buds strictly glabrous throughout, lustrous; inner bark of trunk yellow or whitish. d. Buds obtuse at the apex; trunk provided with pins or stubs of dead branches near the ground; inner bark of trunk yellow; nut 1/2-3/4 inch long, inclosed for one-third to one-half of its length in a top-shaped cup; kernel of nut yellow. [2] _Q. ellipsoidalis_, p. 115. dd. Buds acute at the apex; trunk not provided with pins or stubs of branches near the ground; inner bark of trunk whitish; nut about 1 inch long, inclosed only at the base by a shallow, saucer-shaped cup; kernel of nut white. [2] _Q. rubra_, p. 109. cc. Buds pale-pubescent above the middle, but usually glabrous below, not lustrous; inner bark of trunk red. [2] _Q. coccinea_, p. 113. [Illustration: +White Oak+ 1. Winter twig, × 2. 2. Leaf, × 1/2. 3. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flower, enlarged. 5. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 6. Fruit, × 1.] +FAGACEAE+ +White Oak+ _Quercus alba L._ HABIT.--A large tree 60-80 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 2-4 feet; forming a short, thick trunk with stout, horizontal, far-reaching limbs, more or less gnarled and twisted in old age, and a broad, open crown. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 5-9 inches long, about one-half as broad; obovate to oblong; 5-9-lobed, some with broad lobes and shallow sinuses, others with narrow lobes and deep, narrow sinuses, the lobes usually entire; thin and firm; glabrous, bright green above, pale or glaucous beneath; often persistent on the tree through the winter. FLOWERS.--May, with the leaves; monoecious; the staminate in hairy catkins 2-3 inches long; the pistillate sessile or short-peduncled, reddish, tomentose; calyx campanulate, 6-8-lobed, yellow, hairy; corolla 0; stamens 6-8, with yellow anthers; stigmas red. FRUIT.--Autumn of first season; sessile or short-stalked acorns; cup with small, brown-tomentose scales, inclosing one-fourth of the nut; nut oblong-ovoid, rounded at the apex, about 3/4 inch long, light brown; kernel sweet and edible. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud 1/8 inch long, broadly ovoid, obtuse; scales smooth, dark red-brown. BARK.--Twigs at first bright green, tomentose, later reddish, and finally ashy gray; thick, light gray or whitish on old trunks, shallowly fissured into broad, flat ridges. WOOD.--Very heavy, strong, hard, tough, close-grained, durable, light brown, with thin, light brown sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Rare in the Upper Peninsula, common in the Lower Peninsula, especially in the lower half. HABITAT.--Grows well in all but very wet soils, in all open exposures. NOTES.--Slow and even of growth. Difficult to transplant. [Illustration: +Bur Oak+ 1. Winter twig, × 2. 2. Leaf, × 1/3. 3. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flower, enlarged. 5. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 6. Fruit, × 1.] +FAGACEAE+ +Bur Oak+ _Quercus macrocarpa Michx._ HABIT.--A large tree 60-80 feet high, with a trunk 2-4 feet in diameter; great, spreading branches form a broad, rugged crown. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 6-10 inches long and one-half as broad; obovate to oblong, wedge-shaped at the base; crenately lobed, usually cut nearly to the midrib by two opposite sinuses near the middle; thick and firm; dark green and shining above, pale-pubescent beneath; petioles short, stout. FLOWERS.--May, with the leaves; monoecious; the staminate in slender, hairy catkins 4-6 inches long; the pistillate sessile or short-stalked, reddish, tomentose; calyx 4-6-lobed, yellow-green, downy; corolla 0; stamens 4-6, with yellow anthers; stigmas bright red. FRUIT.--Autumn of first season; sessile or short-stalked acorns; very variable in size and shape; cup typically deep, cup-shaped, tomentose, fringed at the rim, inclosing one-third or all of the nut; nut broad-ovoid, 1/2-1-1/2 inches long, brownish, pubescent; kernel white, sweet and edible. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud 1/8 inch long, broadly ovoid or conical, red-brown, pale-pubescent. BARK.--Twigs yellow-brown, thick-tomentose, becoming ash-gray or brownish; branches with corky ridges; thick and gray-brown on the trunk, deeply furrowed. WOOD.--Heavy, hard, strong, tough, close-grained, very durable, brownish, with thin, pale sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Common throughout both peninsulas. HABITAT.--Prefers rich, moist soil; bottom-lands; but is tolerant of many soils. NOTES.--Rather slow of growth. Difficult to transplant. [Illustration: +Swamp White Oak. Swamp Oak+ 1. Winter twig, × 2. 2. Leaf, × 1/2. 3. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flower, enlarged. 5. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 6. Fruit, × 1.] +FAGACEAE+ +Swamp White Oak. Swamp Oak+ _Quercus bicolor Willd._ [_Quercus platanoides (Lam.) Sudw._] HABIT.--A large tree 50-70 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 2-3 feet; forming a rather open, rugged crown of tortuous, pendulous branches and short, stiff, bushy spray. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 5-7 inches long, 3-5 inches broad; obovate to oblong-obovate; coarsely sinuate-crenate or shallow-lobed; thick and firm; dark green and shining above, whitish and more or less tomentose beneath; petioles stout, about 1/2 inch long. FLOWERS.--May, with the leaves; monoecious; the staminate in hairy catkins 3-4 inches long; the pistillate tomentose, on long, tomentose peduncles, in few-flowered spikes; calyx deeply 5-9-lobed, yellow-green, hairy; corolla 0; stamens 5-8, with yellow anthers; stigmas bright red. FRUIT.--Autumn of first season; acorns on pubescent stems 1-4 inches long, usually in pairs; cup cup-shaped, with scales somewhat loose (rim often fringed), inclosing one-third of the nut; nut ovoid, light brown, pubescent at the apex, about 1 inch long; kernel white, sweet, edible. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud 1/8 inch long, broadly ovoid to globose, obtuse; scales light brown, pilose above the middle. BARK.--Twigs at first lustrous, green, becoming red-brown, finally dark brown and separating into large, papery scales which curl back; thick, gray-brown on the trunk, deeply fissured into broad, flat, scaly ridges. WOOD.--Heavy, hard, strong, tough, coarse-grained, light brown, with thin, indistinguishable sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Southern half of Lower Peninsula. HABITAT.--Prefers moist, rich soil bordering swamps and along streams. NOTES.--Fairly rapid in growth and reasonably easy to transplant. [Illustration: +Chinquapin Oak. Chestnut Oak. Yellow Oak+ 1. Winter twig, × 2. 2. Leaf, × 1/2. 3. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flower, enlarged. 5. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 6. Fruit, × 1.] +FAGACEAE+ +Chinquapin Oak. Chestnut Oak. Yellow Oak+ _Quercus muhlenbergii Engelm._ [_Quercus acuminata (Michx.) Houba_] HABIT.--A medium-sized tree 40-50 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-3 feet; erect, somewhat short branches form a narrow, rounded crown. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 4-7 inches long, 1-4 inches broad; oblong-lanceolate to obovate; coarsely toothed; thick and firm; lustrous, yellow-green above, pale-pubescent beneath; petioles slender, about 1 inch long. FLOWERS.--May, with the leaves; monoecious; the staminate in hairy catkins 3-4 inches long; the pistillate sessile or in short spikes, hoary-tomentose; calyx campanulate, 5-8-lobed, yellow, hairy; corolla 0; stamens 5-8, with yellow anthers; stigmas red. FRUIT.--Autumn of first season; sessile or short-stalked acorns; cup with small scales, hoary-tomentose, inclosing one-half of the nut; nut ovoid, about 3/4 inch long, light brown; kernel sweet, sometimes edible. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud 1/8 inch long, conical, acute; scales chestnut-brown, scarious on the margin. BARK.--Twigs greenish at first, becoming gray-brown, finally gray or brown; thin, silvery gray or ash colored and flaky on the trunk. WOOD.--Heavy, very hard, strong, close-grained, durable, dark brown, with thin, pale brown sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Confined to the southern half of the Lower Peninsula. HABITAT.--Prefers a limestone soil; dry hillsides; rich bottom-lands; rocky river-banks. NOTES.--Grows uniformly until maturity. Leaves resemble those of the Chestnut. A form which differs from the type in having broader, obovate leaves broadest above the middle and a flaky bark has been described and named _Quercus Alexanderi Britton_. [Illustration: +Red Oak+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Leaf, × 1/2. 3. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flower, enlarged. 5. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 6. Fruit, × 1.] +FAGACEAE+ +Red Oak+ _Quercus rubra L._ HABIT.--A large tree 70-80 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 2-4 feet; forming a broad, rounded crown of a few large, wide-spreading branches and slender branchlets. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 5-9 inches long, 4-6 inches broad; oval to obovate; 5-11-lobed with coarse-toothed, bristle-tipped lobes tapering from broad bases and wide, oblique, rounded sinuses; thin and firm; dull dark green above, paler beneath; petioles stout, 1-2 inches long. FLOWERS.--April-May, when the leaves are half grown; monoecious; the staminate in hairy catkins 4-5 inches long; the pistillate on short, glabrous peduncles; calyx 4-5-lobed, greenish; corolla 0; stamens 4-5, with yellow anthers; stigmas long, spreading, bright green. FRUIT.--Autumn of second season; sessile or short-stalked acorns; cup shallow, saucer-shaped, inclosing only the base of the nut; scales closely appressed, more or less glossy, puberulous, bright red-brown; nut oblong-ovoid with a broad base, about 1 inch long, red-brown; kernel white, very bitter. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud 1/4 inch long, ovoid, acute, light brown, smooth. BARK.--Twigs lustrous, green, becoming reddish, finally dark brown; young trunks smooth, gray-brown; old trunks darker, shallowly fissured into thin, firm, broad ridges; inner bark light red, not bitter. WOOD.--Heavy, hard, strong, coarse-grained, light red-brown, with thin, darker colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Southern portion of Lower Peninsula as far north as Roscommon County. HABITAT.--Prefers rich, moist loam; glacial drift; stream-banks. Grows well in all well-drained soils. NOTES.--Grows rapidly. A good street tree. [Illustration: +Pin Oak+ 1. Winter twig, × 3. 2. Leaf, × 1/2. 3. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flower, enlarged. 5. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 6. Fruit, × 1.] +FAGACEAE+ +Pin Oak+ _Quercus palustris Muench._ HABIT.--A medium-sized tree 40-50 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-2 feet; forming an oblong or pyramidal crown of many upright, spreading branches, the lowermost drooping nearly to the ground. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 4-6 inches long, 2-4 inches broad; obovate to ovate; 5-7-lobed by deep, wide, rounded sinuses, the lobes few-toothed, bristle-tipped; thin and firm; very lustrous, dark green above, paler beneath; petioles slender. FLOWERS.--May, with the leaves; monoecious; the staminate in hairy catkins 2-4 inches long; the pistillate tomentose, borne on short, tomentose peduncles; calyx 4-5-lobed, hairy; corolla 0; stamens 4-5, with yellow anthers; stigmas recurved, bright red. FRUIT.--Autumn of second season; sessile or short-stalked acorns; cup saucer-shaped with scales closely appressed, dark red-brown, inclosing only the base of the nut; nut nearly hemi-spherical, about 1/2 inch in diameter, light brown; kernel bitter. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud 1/8 inch long, ovoid or conical, acute, light brown, smooth. BARK.--Twigs dark red and tomentose at first, becoming lustrous, green, finally gray-brown; thick, gray-brown and smoothish on the trunk. WOOD.--Heavy, hard, strong, coarse-grained, light brown, with thin, darker colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Confined to the most southern portions of the Lower Peninsula. HABITAT.--Prefers moist, rich soil; river-bottoms; borders of swamps. NOTES.--Grows rapidly and uniformly. Easily transplanted. The tiny branchlets at a distance give the impression of the tree being full of pins. [Illustration: +Scarlet Oak+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1/2. 4. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 5. Staminate flower, enlarged. 6. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 7. Fruit, × 1.] +FAGACEAE+ +Scarlet Oak+ _Quercus coccinea Muench._ HABIT.--A tree 40-50 feet high and 12-15 inches in trunk diameter; long, slender branches form a rather open, rounded crown. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 3-6 inches long and nearly as broad; broadly obovate to oval; 5-9-lobed by deep, wide, rounded sinuses, the lobes toothed and bristle-tipped; thin and firm; shining, bright green above, paler beneath, both sides glabrous; turning brilliant scarlet in autumn; petioles slender, 1-2 inches long. FLOWERS.--May, with the leaves; monoecious; the staminate in glabrous catkins 3-4 inches long; the pistillate on pubescent peduncles 1/2 inch long, bright red, pubescent; calyx 4-5-lobed, reddish, pubescent; corolla 0; stamens usually 4, with yellow anthers; stigmas long, spreading, bright red. FRUIT.--Autumn of second season; sessile or short-stalked acorns; cup top-shaped to cup-shaped, with closely imbricated, slightly puberulous, red-brown scales, inclosing about one-half of the nut; nut usually short-ovoid, 1/2-3/4 inch long, light red-brown; kernel whitish, bitter. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud about 1/4 inch long, broadly ovoid, acute, dark red-brown, pale-pubescent above the middle. BARK.--Twigs at first scurfy-pubescent, later lustrous, green, finally smooth, light brown; thick, dark gray or brown on old trunks, shallowly fissured, scaly; inner bark red, not bitter. WOOD.--Heavy, hard, strong, coarse-grained, light red-brown, with thick, darker brown sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Lower Peninsula, southern half. HABITAT.--Prefers a light, dry, sandy soil. NOTES.--Rapid of growth. Desirable for ornamental planting. [Illustration: +Hill's Oak. Northern Pin Oak. Black Oak+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1/2. 4. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 5. Staminate flower, enlarged. 6. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 7. Fruit, × 1.] +FAGACEAE+ +Hill's Oak. Northern Pin Oak. Black Oak+ _Quercus ellipsoidalis E. J. Hill_ HABIT.--A tree 50-60 feet high, with a short trunk 2-3 feet in diameter; forming a rather narrow, oblong crown of upright and horizontal branches. Many small, drooping branches are sent out near the ground, which eventually die; and it is to the stubs or pins which persist about the trunk that the appelation Pin Oak is due. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 3-7 inches long and about as broad; oval to nearly orbicular; narrowly 5-7-lobed by deep, wide, rounded sinuses, the lobes few-toothed, bristle-tipped; thin and firm; lustrous, bright green above, paler beneath, both sides glabrous except for the tufts of hairs in the axils of the veins beneath; petioles slender, glabrous. FLOWERS.--May, with the leaves; monoecious; the staminate in puberulous catkins 2-3 inches long; the pistillate red, tomentose, borne on stout, tomentose, 1-3-flowered peduncles; calyx 2-5-lobed or-parted, glabrous except at the apex, which is fringed with long, twisted hairs; corolla 0; stamens 2-5, with short filaments; stigmas 3, recurved, dark red. FRUIT.--Autumn of second season; short-stalked or nearly sessile acorns; cup top-shaped, with scales thin, puberulous, inclosing one-third to one-half of the nut; nut ellipsoid, 1/2-3/4 inch long, light brown, puberulous; kernel yellow, bitter. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud 1/8-1/4 inch long, ovoid, rather obtuse, slightly angular, lustrous, red-brown. BARK.--Twigs bright red-brown, covered with matted, pale hairs, becoming glabrous, dark gray or brown; thin, dull gray to dark brown, rather smooth or closely ribbed on the trunk; inner bark yellow. WOOD.--Heavy, hard, strong, coarse-grained, red-brown, with thin, paler sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--South-western part of the Lower Peninsula, but limits not definitely known. HABITAT.--Well-drained uplands, especially on clays; occasionally on the borders of ponds and in low woods. NOTES.--A new and comparatively little known species. [Illustration: +Yellow Oak. Black Oak+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Leaf, × 1/2. 3. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flower, enlarged. 5. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 6. Fruit, × 1.] +FAGACEAE+ +Yellow Oak. Black Oak+ _Quercus velutina Lam._ HABIT.--A medium-sized tree 50-60 feet high and 1-3 feet in trunk diameter; slender branches and stout branchlets form a wide-spreading, rounded crown. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 5-10 inches long, 3-8 inches broad; ovate to oblong; usually 7-lobed, some with shallow sinuses and broad, rounded, mucronate lobes, others with wide, rounded sinuses extending half-way to the midrib or farther and narrow-oblong or triangular, bristle-tipped lobes, the lobes more or less coarse-toothed, each tooth bristle-tipped; thick and leathery; dark green and shining above, pale and more or less pubescent beneath; petioles stout, yellow, 3-6 inches long. FLOWERS.--May, when the leaves are half grown; monoecious; the staminate in pubescent catkins 4-6 inches long; the pistillate reddish, on short, tomentose peduncles; calyx acutely 3-4-lobed, reddish, hairy; corolla 0; stamens usually 4-5, with acute, yellow anthers; stigmas 3, divergent, red. FRUIT.--Autumn of second season; sessile or short-stalked acorns; cup cup-shaped or turbinate, inclosing about one-half of the nut; scales thin, light brown, hoary; nut ovoid, 1/2-3/4 inch long, red-brown, often pubescent; kernel yellow, bitter. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud 1/4 inch long, ovoid to conical, obtuse, strongly angled, hoary-tomentose. BARK.--Twigs at first scurfy-pubescent, later glabrous, red-brown, finally mottled gray; thick and nearly black on old trunks, deeply furrowed and scaly; inner bark thick, yellow, very bitter. WOOD.--Heavy, hard, strong, coarse-grained, bright red-brown, with thin, paler sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Southern half of the Lower Peninsula. HABITAT.--Prefers glacial drift; dry or gravelly uplands; poor soils. NOTES.--Rapid of growth. Undesirable for street use. [Illustration: +Black Jack+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1/2. 4. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 5. Staminate flower, enlarged. 6. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 7. Fruit, × 1.] +FAGACEAE+ +Black Jack+ _Quercus marilandica Muench._ HABIT.--A small, shrubby tree 20-30 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 6-14 inches; spreading, often contorted branches form a rounded or obovoid crown. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 5-7 inches long and broad; broad-obovate; more or less 3-lobed at the apex, the lobes entire or toothed, bristle-tipped, very variable in size and shape; thick and leathery; very lustrous and dark green above, yellowish and scurfy-pubescent beneath; petioles short, stout. FLOWERS.--May, with the leaves; monoecious; the staminate in slender, hoary catkins 2-4 inches long; the pistillate rusty-tomentose, on short, rusty-tomentose peduncles; calyx 4-5-lobed, thin, scarious, tinged with red, pale-pubescent; corolla 0; stamens 4, with apiculate, red anthers; stigmas recurved, dark red. FRUIT.--Autumn of second season; short-stalked acorns; cup turbinate, with large, red-brown, rusty-tomentose scales, inclosing about one-half of the nut; nut subglobose, about 3/4 inch long, yellow-brown, puberulous; kernel yellowish. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud 1/4 inch long, ovoid, acute, prominently angled; scales light red-brown, rusty-hairy. BARK.--Twigs at first light red and scurfy, later glabrous, red-brown, and finally brown or ashy gray; thick and almost black on the trunk, divided into nearly square plates. WOOD.--Heavy, hard, strong, dark brown, with thick, lighter colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Southern Michigan (Ann Arbor and Lansing). HABITAT.--Dry, sandy or clay barrens. NOTES.--Rare in Michigan. [Illustration: +Shingle Oak+ 1. Winter twig, × 2. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1/2. 4. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 5. Staminate flower, enlarged. 6. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 7. Fruit, × 1.] +FAGACEAE+ +Shingle Oak+ _Quercus imbricaria Michx._ HABIT.--A tree 40-50 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-2 feet; forming a rather open, rounded crown of slender, horizontal branches. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 4-6 inches long, 1-2 inches broad; oblong-lanceolate to oblong-obovate; entire or somewhat undulate; thin, very lustrous, dark green above, paler and pubescent beneath; petioles stout, pubescent, 1/2 inch long. FLOWERS.--May, with the leaves; monoecious; the staminate in slender, hoary-tomentose catkins 2-3 inches long; the pistillate on slender, tomentose peduncles; calyx 4-lobed, yellow, downy; corolla 0; stamens 4-5, with yellow anthers; stigmas short, recurved, greenish yellow. FRUIT.--Autumn of second season; acorns on stout peduncles 1/2 inch long; cup cup-shaped, with red-brown, downy scales, inclosing one-third to one-half of the nut; nut subglobose, about 1/2 inch long, dark brown, often striate; kernel very bitter. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud 1/8 inch long, ovoid, acute, lustrous, brown. BARK.--Twigs lustrous, dark green, becoming brown; thick on old trunks, light brown and slightly fissured. WOOD.--Heavy, hard, coarse-grained, light red-brown, with thin, lighter colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Of rare occurrence in Michigan. Reported in Kalamazoo, St. Joseph and Washtenaw Counties, Lower Peninsula. HABITAT.--Rich uplands; fertile river-bottoms. NOTES.--Desirable for ornamental uses. Hardy. Rapid of growth. +SUMMER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF ULMUS+ a. Leaves essentially smooth on both sides; branches often with corky, wing-like ridges; lowermost branches usually short and strongly drooping; main trunk usually continuous into the crown without dividing, giving to the tree a narrow-oblong outline. _U. racemosa_, p. 129. aa. Leaves usually rough on one or on both sides; branches without corky ridges; lowermost branches not short, not strongly drooping; main trunk usually dividing into several large limbs, giving to the tree a more or less vase-shaped outline. b. Leaves usually rough above, but smooth beneath, with petioles glabrous; bark of trunk gray, deeply fissured into broad, scaly ridges; inner bark not mucilaginous. _U. americana_, p. 127. bb. Leaves usually rough both sides, with petioles hairy; bark of trunk dark red-brown, shallowly fissured into large, loose plates; inner bark mucilaginous. _U. fulva_, p. 125. +WINTER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF ULMUS+ a. Buds conspicuously rusty-tomentose; twigs more or less pubescent; inner bark very mucilaginous when chewed. _U. fulva_, p. 125. aa. Buds not conspicuously rusty-tomentose; twigs glabrous; inner bark not mucilaginous. b. Bundle-scars usually 3; buds 1/8 inch long, glabrous; twigs without corky ridges; outline of tree vase-shaped. _U. americana_, p. 127. bb. Bundle-scars usually 4-6 in a curved line; buds 1/4 inch long, somewhat pilose; twigs often with corky ridges; outline of tree narrow-oblong. _U. racemosa_, p. 129. [Illustration: +Slippery Elm. Red Elm+ 1. Winter twig, × 2. 2. Leaf, × 1. 3. Flowering branchlet, × 1. 4. Perfect flower, enlarged. 5. Fruit, × 1.] +URTICACEAE+ +Slippery Elm. Red Elm+ _Ulmus fulva Michx._ [_Ulmus pubescens Walt._] HABIT.--A medium-sized tree 40-60 feet high, with a short trunk 1-2 feet in diameter; spreading branches form a broad, open, flat-topped crown. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 4-7 inches long, about one-half as broad; ovate-oblong; coarsely doubly serrate; thick and firm; dark green and rough above, paler and somewhat rough beneath; petioles short, stout, hairy. FLOWERS.--March-April, before the leaves; mostly perfect; borne on short pedicels in crowded fascicles; calyx campanulate, 5-9-lobed, green, hairy; corolla 0; stamens 5-9, with dark red anthers; stigmas 2, reddish purple. FRUIT.--May; semi-orbicular, 1-seeded samaras, short-stalked in dense clusters; seed cavity brown-tomentose; wings smooth, nearly 3/4 inch long. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud absent; lateral buds ovoid, obtuse, dark brown, rusty-tomentose, 1/4 inch long. BARK.--Twigs at first bright green and pubescent, becoming light to dark brown or grayish; thick on old trunks, dark red-brown, shallowly fissured into large, loose plates; inner bark mucilaginous. WOOD.--Heavy, hard, strong, very close-grained, durable, easy to split while green, dark red-brown, with thin, lighter colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Of frequent occurrence throughout the state. HABITAT.--Prefers stream-banks and bottom-lands; rich, moist hillsides; rocky ridges and slopes. NOTES.--Grows more rapidly than _U. americana_. [Illustration: +White Elm. American Elm. Water Elm+ 1. Winter twig, × 2. 2. Leaf, × 1/2. 3. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 4. Flower, enlarged. 5. Fruit, × 2.] +URTICACEAE+ +White Elm. American Elm. Water Elm+ _Ulmus americana L._ HABIT.--A tree 75-100 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 2-6 feet; commonly dividing 20-30 feet above the ground into a few large branches which rise upward and outward to form a vase-shaped outline. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 4-6 inches long, one-half as broad; obovate-oblong to oval; coarsely doubly serrate; thick and firm; dark green and rough above, pale and pubescent or glabrous beneath; petioles short and stout. FLOWERS.--March-April, before the leaves; mostly perfect; small, brown to red; borne on slender pedicels in loose fascicles; calyx campanulate, 5-9-lobed; corolla 0; stamens 4-9, with bright red anthers; ovary 2-celled; styles 2, green. FRUIT.--May; ovate, 1-seeded samaras, smooth both sides, hairy on the margin, 1/2 inch long, long-stemmed in crowded clusters. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud absent; lateral buds ovoid, acute, flattened, glabrous, brown, 1/8 inch long. BARK.--Twigs at first light green and downy, becoming glabrous, red-brown, finally ash-gray; on old trunks thick, ash-gray, deeply fissured into broad, scaly ridges. WOOD.--Heavy, hard, strong, tough, difficult to split, coarse-grained, light brown, with thick, lighter colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Common throughout the state. HABITAT.--Prefers deep, rich, moist loam; bottom-lands; stream-banks. NOTES.--Grows rapidly. Long-lived. The roots run along near the surface of the ground for a great distance. An ideal street tree. [Illustration: +Cork Elm. Rock Elm+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1. 4. Flowering branchlet, × 1. 5. Flower, enlarged. 6. Fruit, × 1.] +URTICACEAE+ +Cork Elm. Rock Elm+ _Ulmus racemosa Thomas_ [_Ulmus Thomasi Sarg._] HABIT.--A large tree sometimes reaching a height of 100 feet and a trunk diameter of 5 feet, but usually somewhat smaller; strongly drooping lateral and lower branches form a narrow, oblong crown. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 3-6 inches long, one-half as broad; obovate to oblong-oval, more or less dished; coarsely doubly serrate; thick and firm; lustrous, dark green above, pale-pubescent beneath; petioles pubescent, 1/4 inch long. FLOWERS.--March-April, before the leaves; mostly perfect; greenish; borne on slender, drooping pedicels in loose racemes; calyx campanulate, 7-8-lobed; corolla 0; stamens 7-8, with purple anthers; ovary hairy, 2-styled. FRUIT.--May; ovate, 1-seeded samaras, pubescent all over, 1/2 inch long. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud absent; lateral buds ovoid, acute, brown, pilose, 1/4 inch long. BARK.--Twigs at first light brown and pubescent, becoming lustrous, red-brown, finally gray-brown with corky, wing-like ridges; thick and grayish on the trunk, with wide fissures separating broad, flat, scaly ridges. WOOD.--Heavy, very strong and tough, close-grained, light red-brown, with thick, lighter colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Frequent in the southern third of the Lower Peninsula. HABITAT.--Dry, gravelly uplands; rocky ridges and slopes; heavy clay soils; river-banks. NOTES.--A good street tree, but less graceful in habit than _U. americana_. [Illustration: +Hackberry. Nettle-tree+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 3/4. 4. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 5. Staminate flower, enlarged. 6. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 7. Fruit, × 1.] +URTICACEAE+ +Hackberry. Nettle-tree+ _Celtis occidentalis L._ HABIT.--A medium-sized tree, 40-60 feet high, with a short, straight trunk 1-2 feet in diameter which branches a few feet from the ground into a few large limbs and many slender, horizontal, zigzag branches, forming a broad, rounded crown. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 2-4 inches long and one-half as broad; ovate to ovate-lanceolate, oblique at the base, usually long-pointed; coarsely serrate above the entire base; thin; glabrous, light green above, paler beneath, turning light yellow late in autumn; petioles short, slender, hairy. FLOWERS.--May, with or soon after the leaves; polygamo-monoecious; greenish; inconspicuous; on slender pedicels; the staminate in clusters at the base of the shoot, the pistillate usually solitary in the axils of the upper leaves; calyx greenish, deeply 5-lobed; corolla 0; stamens 5; ovary 1-celled. FRUIT.--September-October, remaining on the tree through the winter; slender-stalked, fleshy, globular drupes, 1/4 inch long, dark purple; edible. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud absent; lateral buds light brown, 1/4 inch long, ovoid, acute, flattened, the tip appressed. BARK.--Twigs greenish, puberulous, becoming lustrous, red-brown in their first winter; on old trunks thick, light brown or silvery gray, broken into deep, short ridges or warty excrescences. WOOD.--Heavy, soft, coarse-grained, weak, light yellow, with thick, whitish sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Common throughout the Lower Peninsula. HABITAT.--Prefers rich, moist, well-drained soil, but will grow on gravelly or rocky hillsides. Common along river-banks. NOTES.--Hardy throughout its range. Grows slowly and irregularly in youth. Easily transplanted. Not desirable as a street tree, but appears well in ornamental grounds. Very tolerant of shade. [Illustration: +Osage Orange+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 5. Staminate flower, enlarged. 6. Pistillate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 7. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 8. Fruit, × 1/4.] +URTICACEAE+ +Osage Orange+ _Maclura pomifera (Raf.) Schneider_ [_Toxylon pomiferum Raf._] [_Maclura aurantiaca Nutt._] HABIT.--A tree 20-30 feet high, with a short trunk 1-2 feet in diameter; divides into a few large limbs with curving branches, forming a symmetrical, rounded crown. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 3-5 inches long, 2-3 inches broad; ovate to oblong-lanceolate; entire; thick and firm; dark green and shining above, paler beneath; petioles slender, pubescent, 1-1/2-2 inches long. FLOWERS.--June, after the leaves; dioecious; the staminate slender-pedicelled, borne in a dense raceme at the end of long, slender, drooping peduncles; the pistillate in dense, globose heads at the end of short, stout peduncles; calyx 4-lobed, hairy; corolla 0; stamens 4; style covered with white, stigmatic hairs. FRUIT.--Autumn; pale green, orange-like, 4-5 inches in diameter, composed of numerous small drupes, crowded and grown together. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud absent; lateral buds depressed-globular, partly hidden in the bark, pale brown. BARK.--Twigs at first bright green, pubescent, becoming orange-brown and armed with stout, straight, axillary spines; dark orange-brown on the trunk and deeply furrowed. WOOD.--Heavy, very hard and strong, flexible, coarse-grained, very durable, bright orange, with thin, lemon colored sapwood. NOTES.--A native of the South, but hardy throughout Michigan. A desirable ornamental tree. Extensively planted for hedges. [Illustration: +Red Mulberry+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1. 4. Spike of staminate flowers, × 1. 5. Staminate flower, enlarged. 6. Spike of pistillate flowers, × 1. 7. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 8. Fruit, × 1.] +URTICACEAE+ +Red Mulberry+ _Morus rubra L._ HABIT.--A small tree 20-30 feet high, with a short trunk 10-15 inches in diameter; forming a dense, round-topped crown of stout, spreading branches and more or less zigzag, slender branchlets. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 3-5 inches long, nearly as broad; outline variable, ovate to semi-orbicular, often 3-5-lobed; coarsely serrate; thin; dark blue-green and smooth or rough above, pale and more or less downy beneath; petioles 1-2 inches long, smooth, exuding a milky juice when cut. FLOWERS.--May, with the leaves; monoecious or dioecious; the staminate in dense spikes 1-2 inches long, on short, hairy peduncles; the pistillate in dense spikes about 1 inch long, on short, hairy peduncles; calyx 4-lobed, hairy; corolla 0; stamens 4, with green anthers; stigmas 2, spreading. FRUIT.--July; 1 inch long; consisting of drupes about 1/32 inch long, each inclosed in a thickened, fleshy calyx; berry-like; bright red at first, finally blackish; sweet, juicy, edible. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud absent; lateral buds ovoid, abruptly pointed, 1/4 inch long, lustrous, light brown. BARK.--Twigs greenish and more or less downy, becoming smooth and brownish; trunk dark brown tinged with red and more or less furrowed. WOOD.--Light, soft, weak, rather tough, coarse-grained, very durable, pale orange, with thick, lighter colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Southern portion of the Lower Peninsula, as far north as the Muskegon river. HABITAT.--Prefers rich soil in river-bottoms. NOTES.--Easily transplanted. Grows rapidly in good, moist soil. [Illustration: +Tulip Poplar. Tulip-tree. White-wood+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Leaf, × 1/2. 3. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 4. Fruit (opened and partly disseminated), × 1/2.] +MAGNOLIACEAE+ +Tulip Poplar. Tulip-tree. White-wood+ _Liriodendron tulipifera L._ HABIT.--A large tree 70-100 feet high, with a columnar trunk 2-5 feet in diameter; forming a rather open, conical crown of slender branches. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 5-6 inches long and broad; 4-lobed; entire; lustrous, dark green above, pale or glaucous beneath, turning clear yellow in autumn; petioles slender, angled, 5-6 inches long. FLOWERS.--May-June, after the leaves; perfect; terminal; solitary on stout peduncles; tulip-shaped, greenish yellow, 1-1/2-2 inches long; sepals 3, greenish, early deciduous; petals 6, in 2 rows, greenish yellow with an orange spot at the base, early deciduous; stamens numerous, somewhat shorter than the petals; pistils numerous, clinging together about a central axis; ovary 1-celled. FRUIT.--September-October; a narrow, light brown cone 2-1/2-3 inches long, composed of numerous carpels; carpels long, flat, with a 1-2-seeded nutlet at the base, separating from the slender spindle at maturity. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud 1/2-1 inch long, obtuse, flattish, dark red, covered with a glaucous bloom. BARK.--Twigs smooth, lustrous, reddish, becoming brownish, and at length gray; ashy gray, thin and scaly on young trunks, becoming thick, brownish, and deeply furrowed with age. WOOD.--Light, soft, brittle, weak, easily worked, light yellow or brown, with thin, cream-white sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Lower Peninsula south of the Grand River. Formerly common, but becoming rare. HABITAT.--Prefers deep, rich, rather moist soil, but adapts itself readily to any good, light soil. NOTES.--Difficult to transplant, but rapid of growth when once established. Not disfigured by insect enemies. Good for ornamental planting. [Illustration: +Sassafras+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaves, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 5. Staminate flower, enlarged. 6. Pistillate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 7. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 8. Fruit, × 1/2.] +LAURACEAE+ +Sassafras+ _Sassafras variifolium (Salisb.) Ktse._ [_Sassafras sassafras (L.) Karst._] [_Sassafras officinale Nees & Eberm._] HABIT.--Usually a large shrub, but often a small tree 20-40 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 10-20 inches; stout, often contorted branches and a bushy spray form a flat, rather open crown. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 3-6 inches long, 2-4 inches broad; oval to oblong or obovate; entire or 1-3-lobed with deep, broad sinuses and finger-like lobes; thin; dull dark green above, paler beneath; petioles slender, about 1 inch long. FLOWERS.--May, with the leaves; dioecious; greenish yellow; on slender pedicels, in loose, drooping, few-flowered racemes 2 inches long; calyx deeply 6-lobed, yellow-green; corolla 0; stamens of staminate flower 9, in 3 rows, of pistillate flower 6, in 1 row; ovary 1-celled. FRUIT.--September-October; an oblong-globose, lustrous, dark blue berry, 3/8 inch long, surrounded at the base by the scarlet calyx, borne on club-shaped, bright red pedicels. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal buds 1/3 inch long, ovoid, acute, greenish, soft-pubescent, flower-bearing; lateral buds much smaller, sterile or leaf-bearing. Aromatic. BARK.--Twigs glabrous, lustrous, yellow-green, spicy-aromatic, becoming red-brown and shallowly fissured when 2-3 years old; thick, dark red-brown and deeply and irregularly fissured into firm, flat ridges on old trunks. WOOD.--Soft, weak, brittle, coarse-grained, very durable in the soil, aromatic, dull orange-brown, with thin, light yellow sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Southern portion of Lower Peninsula as far north as Grayling. HABITAT.--Prefers well-drained, stony or sandy soil; woods; abandoned fields; peaty swamps. NOTES.--Rapid of growth. Suckers freely. Difficult to transplant. Propagated easily from seed. [Illustration: +Sycamore. Button-wood. Buttonball-tree+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, side view, × 1. 3. Vertical section of twig, summer bud and leaf petiole, enlarged. 4. Leaf, × 3/8. 5. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 6. Staminate flower, enlarged. 7. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 8. Fruit, × 3/8. 9. Achene, enlarged.] +PLATANACEAE+ +Sycamore. Button-wood. Buttonball-tree+ _Platanus occidentalis L._ HABIT.--A large tree 70-100 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 3-8 feet; commonly dividing near the ground into several large secondary trunks, forming a broad, open, irregular crown of massive, spreading branches. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 5-10 inches long and broad; broadly ovate in outline; more or less 3-5-lobed by broad, shallow sinuses, the lobes sinuate-toothed; thin and firm; bright green above, paler beneath, glabrous both sides; petioles stout, puberulous, 1-2 inches long. FLOWERS.--May, with the leaves; monoecious; borne in dense heads; the staminate dark red, on short, axillary peduncles; the pistillate greenish, on long, slender, terminal peduncles; sepals 3-6, minute; petals 3-6, minute; stamens 3-6, usually 4; styles long, incurved, red. FRUIT.--October, persistent on the limbs through the winter; brown heads about 1 inch in diameter, on slender, glabrous stems 3-6 inches long. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud absent; lateral buds 1/4-3/8 inch long, conical, blunt, lustrous, pale brown; forming in summer within the petiole of the leaf. BARK.--Twigs pale green and tomentose, becoming smooth, dark green, finally grayish; thick, red-brown on the trunk and broken into oblong, plate-like scales, separating higher up into thin plates which peel off, exposing the greenish or yellowish inner bark. WOOD.--Heavy, tough, hard, rather weak, coarse-grained, difficult to split, light red-brown, with thick, darker colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Lower Peninsula as far north as Roscommon County. HABITAT.--Prefers rich bottom-lands along the borders of rivers and lakes. NOTES.--Rapid of growth. Bears transplanting well. Often planted as a shade tree. Fungous diseases disfigure it seriously. +SUMMER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF PYRUS+ a. Leaves simple; fruit a light green pome an inch or more in diameter; branches contorted, bearing many short, spur-like branchlets. _P. coronaria_, p. 145. aa. Leaves compound; fruit berry-like, 1/4 inch in diameter, bright red; branches not contorted, not bearing many short, spur-like branchlets. _P. americana_, p. 147. +WINTER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF PYRUS+ a. Bundle-scars 3 or in 3 compound, but distinct groups; buds 1/8-1/4 inch long; branches contorted, bearing many short, spur-like branchlets; fruit a pome an inch or more in diameter, light green. _P. coronaria_, p. 145. aa. Bundle-scars 4-many in a single U-shaped line, not forming 3 distinct groups; buds about 1/2 inch long; branches not contorted, not bearing many short, spur-like branchlets; fruit berry-like, 1/4 inch in diameter, bright red. _P. americana_, p. 147. [Illustration: +Sweet Crab. American Crab+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 3/4. 4. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 5. Vertical section of flower with petals removed, × 1/2. 6. Fruit, × 1/2.] +ROSACEAE+ +Sweet Crab. American Crab+ _Pyrus coronaria L._ [_Malus coronaria Mill._] HABIT.--Often a bushy shrub, but frequently a small tree 15-25 feet high, with a trunk 8-12 inches in diameter; forming a broad, rounded crown of rigid, contorted branches bearing many short, spur-like branchlets. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 3-4 inches long, almost as broad; ovate to nearly triangular; sharply and deeply serrate, sometimes lobed; membranaceous; bright green above, paler beneath, glabrous both sides; petioles long, slender, often with two dark glands near the middle. FLOWERS.--May, after the leaves; perfect; 1-1/2-2 inches across; very fragrant; borne on slender pedicels in 5-6-flowered umbels; calyx urn-shaped, 5-lobed, tomentose; petals 5, rose colored to white; stamens 10-20; ovary hairy; styles 5. FRUIT.--October; a depressed-globose pome, 1-1-1/2 inches in diameter, pale green, very fragrant, with a waxy surface. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud 1/8-1/4 inch long, obtuse, bright red; lateral buds smaller. BARK.--Twigs at first hoary-tomentose, becoming glabrous, red-brown; thin, red-brown, breaking into longitudinal fissures on the trunk. WOOD.--Heavy, rather soft, close-grained, weak, red-brown, with thick, yellow sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Southern portion of the Lower Peninsula as far north as Roscommon County. HABITAT.--Rich, moist, but well-drained soil in thickets and along streams. NOTES.--An excellent ornamental tree or shrub for small gardens and shrubberies. The fruit is sometimes gathered for making preserves. [Illustration: +Mountain Ash+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1/3. 4. Vertical section of flower, enlarged. 5. Portion of a fruiting cyme, × 1.] +ROSACEAE+ +Mountain Ash+ _Pyrus americana (Marsh.) DC._ [_Sorbus americana Marsh._] HABIT.--A small tree 15-20 feet high, with a trunk diameter of not over a foot; branches slender, spreading, forming a narrow, rounded crown. LEAVES.--Alternate, compound, 6-9 inches long. Leaflets 9-17, 2-3 inches long and 1/2-3/4 inch broad; sessile or nearly so, except the terminal; lanceolate to oblong-lanceolate, taper-pointed; finely and sharply serrate above the entire base; membranaceous; glabrous, dark yellow-green above, paler beneath, turning clear yellow in autumn. Petioles slender, grooved, enlarged at the base. FLOWERS.--May-June, after the leaves; perfect; 1/8 inch across; borne on short, stout pedicels in many-flowered, flat cymes 3-5 inches across; calyx urn-shaped, 5-lobed, puberulous; petals 5, white; stamens numerous; styles 2-3. FRUIT.--October, but persistent on the tree throughout the winter; a berry-like pome, subglobose, 1/4 inch in diameter, bright red, with thin, acid flesh; eaten by birds in the absence of other food. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud about 1/2 inch long, ovoid, acute, with curved apex; lateral buds smaller, appressed; scales rounded on the back, purplish red, more or less pilose above, gummy. BARK.--Twigs at first red-brown and hairy, becoming glabrous, dark brown; thin, light gray-brown on the trunk, smooth, or slightly roughened on old trees; inner bark fragrant. WOOD.--Light, soft, close-grained, weak, pale brown, with thick, lighter colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Ludington and northward, principally along the shore of L. Michigan, but common throughout the Upper Peninsula. HABITAT.--Prefers rich, moist soil on river-banks and on the borders of cold swamps; rocky hillsides and mountains. NOTES.--More often a shrub. Easily transplanted, but slow of growth. One of the most beautiful trees of our northern forests. [Illustration: +Serviceberry+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1. 4. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 5. Vertical section of flower, enlarged. 6. Fruiting branchlet, × 1/2.] +ROSACEAE+ +Serviceberry+ _Amelanchier canadensis (L.) Medic._ HABIT.--A small tree 25-40 feet in height, with a tall trunk 6-12 inches in diameter; forming a narrow, rounded crown of many small limbs and slender branchlets. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 3-4 inches long and about one-half as broad; ovate to obovate; finely and sharply serrate; glabrous, dark green above, paler beneath; petioles slender, about 1 inch long. FLOWERS.--April, when the leaves are about one-third grown; perfect; large, white, borne in drooping racemes 3-5 inches long; calyx 5-cleft, campanulate, villous on the inner surface; petals 5, strap-shaped, white, about 1 inch in length; stamens numerous; styles 5, united below. FRUIT.--June-August; globular, berry-like pome, 1/3-1/2 inch long; turning from bright red to dark purple with slight bloom; sweet and edible when ripe. WINTER-BUDS.--Yellow-brown, narrow-ovoid to conical, sharp-pointed, 1/4-1/2 inch long; bud-scales apiculate, slightly pubescent. BARK.--Twigs smooth, light green, becoming red-brown; thin, pale red-brown on the trunk, smoothish or divided by shallow fissures into narrow, longitudinal, scaly ridges. WOOD.--Heavy, very hard, strong, close-grained, dark red-brown, with thick, lighter colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Common throughout the state. HABITAT.--Prefers rich soil of dry, upland woods and hillsides. NOTES.--Hardy throughout the state. Grows in all soils and situations except in wet lands. [Illustration: +Dotted Haw+ _Crataegus punctata Jacq._ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Leaf, × 1. 3. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 4. Vertical section of flower, enlarged. 5. Fruit, × 1.] +ROSACEAE+ +The Haws, Thorns, Hawthorns or Thorn-apples+ _Crataegus L._ Owing to the complexity of the various forms in this group, the present state of uncertainty as to the value of certain characters, and the questionable validity of many of the assigned names, it is thought to be beyond the scope of this bulletin to give more than a general description of the group as a whole, recommending the more ambitious student to the various manuals and botanical journals and papers for more detailed information. The _Crataegi_ are generally low, wide-spreading trees or shrubs, with strong, tortuous branches and more or less zigzag branchlets usually armed with stiff, sharp thorns. The bark varies from dark red to gray and is shallowly fissured or scaly. The leaves are alternate, simple, generally serrate, often lobed, with short or long petioles. The flowers appear in May or June, with or after the leaves, in simple or compound corymbs, whitish or pinkish, perfect. The fruit is a red to yellow, sometimes blue or black pome, subglobose to pear-shaped, with usually dry and mealy flesh and 1-5 seeds. The winter-buds are small, nearly globose, lustrous brown. _Crataegus_ produces wood which is heavy, hard, tough, close-grained, red-brown, with thick, pale sapwood. The Haws are trees of the pasture-lands, the roadside, the open woods and the stream-banks, and are more common in the southern than in the northern portions of the state. Some of the species are desirable as ornaments in parks and gardens on account of their beautiful and abundant flowers and showy fruits. +SUMMER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF PRUNUS+ a. Leaves oblong-ovate to obovate, abruptly acuminate at the apex; marginal teeth not incurved. b. Margin of leaves sharp-serrate with spreading teeth; leaves not rugose, the veins not prominent; fruit 1/4-1/2 inch long, bright red, racemose, July-August; bark of trunk brown, smooth or only slightly fissured; usually a large shrub. _P. virginiana_, p. 157. bb. Margin of leaves crenate-serrate; leaves more or less rugose, the veins prominent; fruit about 1 inch long orange-red, clustered, August-September; bark of trunk gray-brown, early splitting off in large, thick plates; a small tree. _P. nigra_, p. 161. aa. Leaves oval to oblong-lanceolate, taper-pointed at the apex; marginal teeth incurved. b. Fruit light red, clustered, July-August; twigs usually less than 1/16 inch thick; pith of twigs brown; tree northern. _P. pennsylvanica_, p. 139. bb. Fruit black, racemose, August-September; twigs usually more than 1/16 inch thick; pith of twigs white; tree southern. _P. serotina_, p. 155. +WINTER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF PRUNUS+ a. Terminal bud present; bark of young trunks rather smooth. b. Buds clustered at the tips of all shoots; twigs usually less than 1/16 inch thick; pith of twigs brown. _P. pennsylvanica_, p. 159. bb. Buds not clustered, or clustered only on short, spur-like branchlets; twigs usually more than 1/16 inch thick; pith of twigs white. c. Buds usually 1/4 inch or less in length; bud-scales uniform in color, apiculate at the apex; bark on old trunks blackish, rough-scaly; small to large tree. _P. serotina_, p. 155. cc. Buds usually 1/4-1/2 inch long; bud-scales grayish on the margins, rounded at the apex; bark on old trunks brown, smooth or only slightly fissured; usually a large shrub. _P. virginiana_, p. 157. aa. Terminal bud absent; bark of young trunks early splitting off in large, thick plates. _P. nigra_, p. 161. [Illustration: +Black Cherry+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 3/4. 4. Margin of leaf, enlarged. 5. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 6. Vertical section of flower, enlarged. 7. Fruiting branchlet, × 1/2.] +ROSACEAE+ +Black Cherry+ _Prunus serotina Ehrh._ [_Padus serotina (Ehrh.) Agardh._] HABIT.--A medium-sized tree 40-50 feet high and 8-36 inches in trunk diameter; branches few, large, tortuous, forming a rather spreading, oblong or rounded crown. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 2-5 inches long, about one-half as broad; oval or oblong to oblong-lanceolate; finely serrate, with teeth incurved; subcoriaceous; dark green and very lustrous above, paler beneath, glabrous both sides; petioles short, slender, usually bearing 2 red glands near the blade. FLOWERS.--May-June, when the leaves are half grown; perfect; 1/4 inch across; borne on slender pedicels in many-flowered, loose racemes 4-5 inches long; calyx cup-shaped, 5-lobed; petals 5, white; stamens 15-20; stigma thick, club-shaped. FRUIT.--August-September; a globular drupe, 1/3-1/2 inch in diameter, nearly black, with dark purple, juicy flesh; slightly bitter, edible. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud about 1/4 inch long, ovoid, blunt to acute; scales keeled on the back, apiculate, light brown. BARK.--Twigs and branches red to red-brown; young trunks dark red-brown, smooth; blackish on old trunks and rough, broken into thick, irregular plates; bitter, aromatic. WOOD.--Light, rather hard, strong, close- and straight-grained, light brown or red, with thin, yellow sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Frequent in the southern half of the Lower Peninsula, rare in the northern half and the Upper Peninsula. HABITAT.--Prefers a rich, moist soil, but grows well on dry, gravelly or sandy soils. NOTES.--Grows very rapidly in youth. [Illustration: +Choke Cherry+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1. 4. Margin of leaf, enlarged. 5. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 6. Vertical section of flower, enlarged. 7. Fruit, × 1/2.] +ROSACEAE+ +Choke Cherry+ _Prunus virginiana L._ [_Padus virginiana (L.) Roemer_] HABIT.--Usually a large shrub, but sometimes a small tree 15-25 feet high, with a crooked, often leaning trunk 5-6 inches in diameter; forming a spreading, somewhat rounded crown. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 2-4 inches long, one-half as broad; obovate to oblong-obovate or oval, abruptly acuminate at the apex; finely and sharply serrate; dull dark green above, paler beneath, glabrous both sides; petioles short, slender, glandular at the apex. FLOWERS.--May, when the leaves are half grown; perfect; about 1/2 inch across; borne on short, slender pedicels in many-flowered racemes 3-6 inches long; calyx cup-shaped, 5-lobed; petals 5, white; stamens 15-20; stigma broad, on a short style. FRUIT.--July-August; a globular drupe, 1/4-1/2 inch in diameter, usually bright red, often yellow to almost black, with dark red flesh; astringent, but edible. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud 1/4-1/2 inch long, conical, acute; scales rounded at the apex, light brown, smooth. BARK.--Twigs at first light brown or greenish, becoming red-brown, finally dark brown; thin, dark brown on the trunk, slightly fissured. WOOD.--Heavy, hard, close-grained, weak, light brown, with thick, lighter colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Common throughout the entire state. HABITAT.--Prefers a deep, rich, moist loam, but is common on less favorable sites. NOTES.--The most widely distributed tree of North America, extending from the arctic circle to Mexico, from the Rocky Mountains to the Atlantic Ocean. [Illustration: +Wild Red Cherry. Pin Cherry+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1. 4. Margin of leaf, enlarged. 5. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 6. Flower, enlarged. 7. Fruit, × 1.] +ROSACEAE+ +Wild Red Cherry. Pin Cherry+ _Prunus pennsylvanica L. f._ HABIT.--A slender tree, seldom over 30 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 8-10 inches; crown rather open, narrow, rounded, with slender, regular branches. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 3-5 inches long, 3/4-1-1/4 inches broad; oblong-lanceolate; finely and sharply serrate; bright green and shining above, paler beneath; petioles slender, 1/2-1 inch long, glandular near the blade. FLOWERS.--May-June, with the leaves; perfect; about 1/2 inch across, borne on slender pedicels in 4-5-flowered umbels, generally clustered, 2-3 together; calyx 5-cleft, campanulate; petals 5, white, 1/4 inch long; stamens 15-20. FRUIT.--July-August; a globular drupe, 1/4 inch in diameter, light red, with thick skin and sour flesh. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud 1/8 inch long, broadly ovoid, rather blunt, brownish, smooth. BARK.--Twigs at first lustrous, red, marked by orange colored lenticels, becoming brownish; red-brown and thin on the trunk, peeling off horizontally into broad, papery plates; bitter, aromatic. WOOD.--Light, soft, close-grained, light brown, with thin, yellow sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Throughout the northern portion of the state, extending southward to Ionia County. HABITAT.--Abundant on sand-lands; roadsides; burned-over lands; clearings; hillsides. NOTES.--Rapid of growth. Short-lived. [Illustration: +Canada Plum. Red Plum+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1/2. 4. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 5. Vertical section of flower, × 1. 6. Fruiting branchlet, × 1/2.] +ROSACEAE+ +Canada Plum. Red Plum+ _Prunus nigra Ait._ [_Prunus americana, v. nigra Waugh_] HABIT.--A small tree 20-25 feet high and 5-8 inches in trunk diameter; usually divides 5-6 feet from the ground into a number of stout, upright branches, forming a narrow, rigid crown. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 3-5 inches long and one-half as broad; oblong-ovate to obovate, abruptly acuminate at the apex; doubly crenate-serrate; thick and firm; glabrous, light green above, paler beneath; petioles short, stout, bearing 2 large red glands near the blade. FLOWERS.--May, before the leaves; perfect; slightly fragrant; about 1 inch across; borne on slender, glabrous, red pedicels in 2-3-flowered umbels; calyx 5-lobed, dark red; petals 5, white; stamens 15-20, with purple anthers; ovary 1-celled; style 1; stigma 1. FRUIT.--August-September; a fleshy drupe, about 1 inch long, oblong-ovoid, with a tough, thick, orange-red skin nearly free from bloom, and yellow flesh adherent to the flat stone. Eaten raw or cooked. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud absent; lateral buds 1/8-1/4 inch long, ovate, acute, chestnut-brown. BARK.--Twigs green, marked by numerous pale excrescences, later dark brown; thin, gray-brown and smooth on young trunks, but soon splitting off in large, thick plates, exposing the darker inner bark. WOOD.--Heavy, hard, strong, close-grained, light red-brown, with thin, lighter colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Upper Peninsula and the Lower Peninsula north of Lansing. HABITAT.--Prefers rich, alluvial soil along streams. NOTES.--Suckers freely, forming low, broad thickets. [Illustration: +Coffeetree. Kentucky Coffeetree+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Leaf, × 1/4. 3. Leaflet, × 1/2. 4. Vertical section of staminate flower, enlarged. 5. Vertical section of pistillate flower, enlarged. 6. Fruit, × 1/4.] +LEGUMINOSAE+ +Coffeetree. Kentucky Coffeetree+ _Gymnocladus dioica (L.) Koch_ [_Gymnocladus canadensis Lam._] HABIT.--A slender tree 50-75 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 2-3 feet; divides near the ground into several stems which spread slightly to form a narrow, pyramidal crown; branchlets stout, clumsy, blunt, with conspicuous leaf-scars. LEAVES.--Alternate, bipinnately compound, 1-3 feet long. Leaflets 40 or more, 2-2-1/2 inches long and one-half as broad; short-stalked; ovate, acute; entire; thin and firm; dark green above, pale yellow-green and glabrous beneath. Petioles stout, terete, glabrous. Appear late in spring. FLOWERS.--June, after the leaves; dioecious; greenish white; the staminate short-stalked, in racemose corymbs 3-4 inches long; the pistillate long-stalked, in racemes 10-12 inches long; calyx tubular, hairy; petals 5, keeled, nearly white; stamens 10; ovary hairy. FRUIT.--Ripens in autumn, but remains closed until late in winter; short-stalked, red-brown legumes 6-10 inches long, 1-1/2-2 inches wide, containing 6-9 large, flat seeds. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud absent; lateral buds minute, depressed, 2 in the axil of each leaf, bronze-brown, silky-pubescent. BARK.--Twigs coated with short, dense, reddish pubescence, becoming light brown; thick, deeply fissured and scaly on the trunk, dark gray. WOOD.--Heavy, somewhat soft, strong, coarse-grained, very durable in contact with the soil, light red-brown, with thin, lighter colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Southern Michigan as far north as the Grand River. Infrequent. HABITAT.--Prefers bottom-lands and rich soil. NOTES.--The seeds in early days were used as a substitute for coffee. [Illustration: +Honey Locust. Three-thorned Acacia+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Vertical section through lateral buds, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1/4. 4. Leaflet, × 1. 5. Staminate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 6. Staminate flower, enlarged. 7. Pistillate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 8. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 9. Fruit, × 1/3. 10. Spine from trunk, × 1/2.] +LEGUMINOSAE+ +Honey Locust. Three-thorned Acacia+ _Gleditsia triacanthos L._ HABIT.--A tree usually 50-75 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 2-3 feet; dividing near the ground into several large, upright branches which divide again into long, slender, horizontal branchlets; both trunk and large branches armed with stout, rigid, simple or branched spines. LEAVES.--Alternate, pinnately or bipinnately compound, 7-12 inches long. Leaflets 18 or more, 3/4-1-1/2 inches long, one-third as broad; lanceolate-oblong; remotely crenulate-serrate; thin; lustrous, dark green above, dull yellow-green beneath. Petioles and rachises pubescent. FLOWERS.--May-June, when the leaves are nearly full grown; polygamo-dioecious; the staminate in short, many-flowered, pubescent racemes; the pistillate in slender, few-flowered racemes; on shoots of the preceding season; calyx campanulate, hairy 3-5-lobed; petals 3-5, greenish; stamens 3-10; ovary 1-celled, woolly. FRUIT.--Autumn, falling in early winter; flat, pendent, twisted, brown legumes, 12-18 inches long, short-stalked in short racemes; seeds 12-14, oval, flattened. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud absent; lateral buds minute, 3 or more superposed, glabrous, brownish. BARK.--Twigs lustrous, red-brown, becoming gray-brown; thick on the trunk, iron-gray to blackish and deeply fissured into long, narrow ridges roughened by small scales. WOOD.--Hard, strong, coarse-grained, durable in contact with the ground, red-brown, with thin, pale sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Indigenous to the extreme southern portion of the state, but is planted as far north as Bay City. HABITAT.--Prefers deep, rich loam, but grows on a variety of soils. NOTES.--Grows rapidly and is long-lived and free from disease. Easily transplanted. The leaves appear late in spring and fall early in autumn. The stiff spines and long pods which litter the ground make the tree unsuitable for street or ornamental use. [Illustration: +Redbud. Judas-tree+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, front view, enlarged. 3. Portion of twig, side view, enlarged. 4. Leaf, × 1/2. 5. Flowering branchlet, × 1. 6. Vertical section of flower, enlarged. 7. Fruit, × 1/2.] +LEGUMINOSAE+ +Redbud. Judas-tree+ _Cercis canadensis L._ HABIT.--A small tree 20-30 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 10-15 inches; divided near the ground into stout, straggling branches to form a broad, flat crown. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 3-5 inches long and broad; heart-shaped or rounded; entire; thick; glabrous, dark green above, paler beneath, turning bright yellow in autumn; petioles slender, terete, enlarged at the base. FLOWERS.--April-May, before or with the leaves; perfect; 1/2 inch long; borne on short, jointed pedicels in fascicles of 4-8; calyx campanulate, 5-toothed, dark red; petals 5, rose color; stamens 10, in 2 rows. FRUIT.--June-July, remaining on the tree until early winter; a short-stalked legume 2-1/2-3 inches long, pointed at both ends, rose color; seeds 10-12, brownish, 1/4 inch long. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud absent; lateral buds 1/8 inch long, obtuse, somewhat flattened and appressed, brownish. BARK.--Twigs lustrous, brown, becoming dark or grayish brown; red-brown, deeply fissured, with a scaly surface on old trunks. WOOD.--Heavy, hard, coarse-grained, weak, dark red-brown, with thin, lighter colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Valleys of the Grand and Raisin Rivers and southward. HABITAT.--Prefers the borders of streams and rich bottom-lands, often in the shade of other trees. NOTES.--A rapid grower. Hardy within its range. Can be transplanted with success only when very young. Plants begin to produce flowers freely when 4-5 years old. Much used in landscape gardening. [Illustration: +Locust. Black Locust+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Vertical section through lateral buds, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1/2. 4. Raceme of flowers, × 1/2. 5. Flower, with part of corolla removed, enlarged. 6. Fruit, × 1/2.] +LEGUMINOSAE+ +Locust. Black Locust+ _Robinia pseudo-acacia L._ HABIT.--A tree 50-75 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 2-3 feet; forming a narrow, oblong crown of irregular, more or less contorted branches. LEAVES.--Alternate, compound, 8-14 inches long. Leaflets 7-21, short-petiolate, 1-2 inches long, about one-half as broad; ovate to oblong-oval; entire; very thin; dull dark green above, paler beneath, glabrous both sides. Petioles slender, pubescent. FLOWERS.--May-June, after the leaves; perfect; showy and abundant; very fragrant; borne on slender pedicels in loose, drooping racemes 4-5 inches long; about 1 inch long; calyx short, bell-shaped, 5-lobed, hairy; corolla papilionaceous, white, 5-petaled; stamens 10. FRUIT.--Late autumn, but persistent on the tree through the winter; a smooth, dark brown, flat pod 3-4 inches long, containing 4-8 small, flattish, brown seeds. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud absent; lateral buds minute, 3-4 superposed, partially sunken within the leaf-scar, rusty-hairy. BARK.--Twigs smooth, green, more or less rough-dotted at first, becoming red-brown and armed with prickles; dark red-brown and thick on old trunks, deeply furrowed into firm, sinuous ridges. WOOD.--Heavy, very strong and hard, close-grained, very durable in contact with the soil, brown, with very thin, pale yellow sapwood. NOTES.--Native to the Appalachian Mountains, but much planted in Michigan for ornamental and economic uses. Very rapid of growth in youth. Short-lived. Seriously attacked by borers. Spreads by underground shoots. [Illustration: +Ailanthus. Tree of Heaven+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Leaf, × 1/8. 3. Leaflet, × 1/2. 4. Staminate inflorescence, × 1/4. 5. Staminate flower, enlarged. 6. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 7. Fruit, × 1.] +SIMARUBACEAE+ +Ailanthus. Tree of Heaven+ _Ailanthus glandulosa Desf._ HABIT.--A handsome, rapid-growing, short-lived tree, attaining a height of 50-70 feet and a trunk diameter of 2-4 feet, with a spreading, rather loose and open crown and a coarse, blunt spray. LEAVES.--Alternate, pinnately compound, 1-3 feet long. Leaflets 11-41 in number, 2-6 inches long and about one-third as broad; ovate-lanceolate; entire with the exception of two or more coarse, glandular teeth at the base; glabrous, dark green above, paler beneath, turning a clear yellow in autumn or falling without change; ill-scented. Petioles smooth, terete, swollen at the base. FLOWERS.--June, when the leaves are full grown; polygamo-dioecious; small, yellow-green, borne in upright panicles 6-12 inches or more in length; calyx 5-lobed; petals 5, greenish, hairy; stamens 10. Staminate flowers ill-scented, pistillate almost free from odor. FRUIT.--October; 1-celled, 1-seeded samaras, spirally twisted, reddish or yellow-green, borne in crowded clusters. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud absent; lateral buds about 1/8 inch long, subglobose, brownish, downy. BARK.--Twigs yellowish to red-brown, velvety-downy; thin, grayish and shallowly fissured on old trunks. WOOD.--Soft, weak, of coarse and open grain, pale yellow, satiny, with thick, lighter colored sapwood. NOTES.--A native of China, but naturalized in the United States and planted frequently in southern Michigan as a foliage tree. Only the pistillate trees should be planted, as these are almost free from the objectionable odor of the staminate trees. The smoke and dust of our large cities have little effect on the foliage, and the trees are perfectly hardy in the southern part of the state. +SUMMER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF ACER+ a. Leaves simple; twigs usually without whitish bloom. b. Leaf-sinuses acute at the base. c. Leaf-lobes long and narrow, the sides of the terminal lobe diverging; leaves silvery white beneath; twigs rank-smelling when broken. _A. saccharinum_, p. 185. cc. Leaf-lobes short and broad, the sides of the terminal lobe converging; leaves not conspicuously white beneath; twigs not rank-smelling when broken. d. Leaves 2-4 inches broad, thin, not pentagonally 5-lobed; wings of fruit 3/4-1 inch long. e. Leaves distinctly white-downy beneath; twigs appressed-hairy, at least near the tip; fruit hanging in pendulous racemes, persistent on the tree until autumn; seed portion with pit-like depression on one side; usually a shrub or bushy tree. _A. spicatum_, p. 179. ee. Leaves not distinctly white-downy beneath; twigs glabrous; fruit hanging in clusters, falling in early summer; seed portion without pit-like depression on one side; medium-sized tree. _A. rubrum_, p. 187. dd. Leaves 4-7 inches broad, thick, pentagonally 5-lobed; wings of fruit 1-1/2 inches long. _A. pseudo-platanus_, p. 191. bb. Leaf-sinuses rounded at the base. c. Lower sides of leaves and petioles distinctly downy, the lobes undulate or entire; leaves very thick, drooping at the sides. _A. saccharum nigrum_, p. 183. cc. Lower sides of leaves and petioles essentially glabrous, the lobes serrate; leaves not thick, not drooping at the sides. d. Leaves coarsely and sparsely toothed or notched; bark not longitudinally white-striped; large trees. e. Twigs coarse; petioles exuding a milky juice when cut; wings of fruit diverging by nearly 180°; bark of the trunk closely fissured, not scaly. _A. platanoides_, p. 189. ee. Twigs slender; petioles not exuding a milky juice when cut; wings of fruit diverging only slightly; bark of the trunk deeply furrowed, often cleaving in long, thick plates. _A. saccharum_, p. 181. dd. Leaves finely and abundantly toothed; bark longitudinally white-striped; a bushy tree or shrub. aa. Leaves compound; twigs usually with whitish bloom. _A. negundo_, p. 193. +WINTER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF ACER+ a. Terminal buds usually under 1/4 inch in length. b. Buds white-woolly; twigs usually with a whitish bloom; opposite leaf-scars meeting; fruit often persistent on the tree until spring. _A. negundo_, p. 193. bb. Buds not white-woolly; twigs without whitish bloom; opposite leaf-scars not meeting; fruit not persistent on the tree in winter. c. Buds reddish or greenish; twigs bright red. d. Twigs strictly glabrous; buds glabrous; spherical flower buds clustered on the sides of the shoot; pith pink; large trees. e. Twigs rank-smelling when broken; tip of outer bud-scales often apiculate; tips of branches curving upwards; bark separating into long, thin flakes loose at the ends. _A. saccharinum_, p. 185. ee. Twigs not rank-smelling when broken; tip of outer bud-scales rounded; tips of branches not conspicuously curving upwards; bark rough-ridged, but seldom forming loose flakes. _A. rubrum_, p. 187. dd. Twigs appressed-hairy, at least near the tip; buds somewhat tomentose; spherical flower buds absent; pith brown; shrub or bushy tree. _A. spicatum_, p. 179. cc. Buds brownish; twigs brownish or grayish. d. Buds glabrous, or somewhat pubescent at the apex only; bark dark gray on the trunk. _A. saccharum_, p. 181. dd. Buds hoary-pubescent; bark sometimes almost black on the trunk. _A. saccharum nigrum_, p. 183. aa. Terminal buds usually 1/4-1/2 inch in length. b. Buds reddish; opposite leaf-scars meeting. c. Buds conspicuously stalked; bud-scales visible, 1 pair; bark longitudinally white-striped; small tree or large shrub. _A. pennsylvanicum_, p. 177. cc. Buds not conspicuously stalked; bud-scales visible, 2-3 pairs; bark not white-striped; large tree. _A. platanoides_, p. 189. bb. Buds bright green; opposite leaf-scars not meeting. _A. pseudo-platanus_, p. 191. [Illustration: +Striped Maple. Moosewood. Whistlewood+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 5. Vertical section of staminate flower, enlarged. 6. Pistillate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 7. Vertical section of pistillate flower, enlarged. 8. Fruit, × 3/4.] +ACERACEAE+ +Striped Maple. Moosewood. Whistlewood+ _Acer pennsylvanicum L._ HABIT.--A small tree at best, more often a large shrub, seldom attaining a height of more than 30 feet, with a short trunk 5-8 inches through. The striped, upright branches form a rather compact crown. LEAVES.--Opposite, simple, 5-6 inches long and nearly as broad; 3-lobed above the middle with short, tapering lobes; palmately 3-nerved; sharply doubly serrate; rounded or heart-shaped at the base; glabrous, yellow-green above, paler beneath, turning pale yellow in autumn; petioles stout, grooved. FLOWERS.--May-June, when the leaves are nearly full grown; usually monoecious; large, bright yellow, bell-shaped, in slender, drooping racemes 4-6 inches long; calyx 5-parted; petals 5; stamens 7-8; ovary downy. FRUIT.--Ripens in autumn; glabrous, paired samaras in long, drooping, racemose clusters, the wings 3/4 inch long, widely divergent, and marked on one side of each nutlet by a small cavity. WINTER-BUDS.--Bright red; terminal bud nearly 1/2 inch long, short-stalked, with bud-scales keeled; lateral buds smaller, appressed. BARK.--Twigs light green, mottled with black, smooth; trunk and branches red-brown, marked longitudinally by broad, pale stripes. WOOD.--Light, soft, close-grained, pinkish brown, with thick, lighter colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Abundant in the Upper Peninsula, extending southward as far as Roscommon County in the Lower Peninsula. HABITAT.--Cool, rocky or sandy woods, usually in the shade of other trees. NOTES.--In the Northwoods the green shoots are browsed by deer and moose. Valued mostly for its aesthetic qualities. Of little or no economic value. [Illustration: +Mountain Maple+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1/2. 4. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 5. Staminate flower, enlarged. 6. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 7. Fruit, × 1.] +ACERACEAE+ +Mountain Maple+ _Acer spicatum Lam._ HABIT.--A bushy tree sometimes 25-30 feet high, with a short trunk 6-8 inches in diameter; small, upright branches form a small, rounded crown. More often a straggling shrub. LEAVES.--Opposite, simple, 4-5 inches long and two-thirds as broad; 3-lobed above the middle, the lobes coarsely crenate-serrate with pointed teeth, the sinuses usually wide-angled and acute at the base; thin; glabrous, dark green above, covered with a whitish down beneath, turning scarlet and orange in autumn; veining prominent; petioles long, slender, with enlarged base. FLOWERS.--June, after the leaves are full grown; polygamo-monoecious; small, yellow-green; in erect, slightly compound, many-flowered, long-stemmed, terminal racemes; calyx downy, 5-lobed; petals 5; stamens 7-8; ovary tomentose. FRUIT.--July; bright red, turning brown in late autumn; small, glabrous, paired samaras, in pendulous, racemose clusters. WINTER-BUDS.--Small, flattish, acute, bright red, more or less tomentose; the terminal 1/8 inch long, containing the flowers. BARK.--Twigs reddish, slightly hairy; very thin, red-brown, smooth or slightly furrowed on the trunk. WOOD.--Light, soft, close-grained, light brown, with thick, lighter colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Common in the Upper Peninsula; extends as far south as Saginaw Bay. HABITAT.--Damp forests; rocky woods; along streams; always in the shade of other trees. NOTES.--Forms much of the undergrowth of our northern forests. Little used, except for fire-wood. [Illustration: +Sugar Maple. Hard Maple. Rock Maple+ 1. Winter twig, × 2. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 5. Staminate flower, enlarged. 6. Pistillate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 7. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 8. Fruit, × 1.] +ACERACEAE+ +Sugar Maple. Hard Maple. Rock Maple+ _Acer saccharum Marsh._ [_Acer saccharinum Wang._] HABIT.--A stately tree 60-100 feet in height, with a trunk diameter of 3-4 feet; in the open forming stout, upright branches near the ground, in forests making remarkably clean trunks to a good height; the crown is a broad, round-topped dome. LEAVES.--Opposite, simple, 3-5 inches long and broad; usually 5-lobed (sometimes 3-lobed), the lobes sparingly wavy-toothed, the sinuses broad and rounded at the base; thin and firm; opaque, dark green above, lighter and glabrous beneath, turning yellow and red in autumn; petioles long, slender. FLOWERS.--May, with the leaves; polygamo-monoecious or dioecious; on thread-like, hairy pedicels in nearly sessile corymbs; greenish yellow; calyx campanulate, 5-lobed; corolla 0; stamens 7-8; ovary hairy. FRUIT.--September-October, germinating the following spring; paired samaras, glabrous, with wings about 1 inch long, diverging slightly. WINTER-BUDS.--Small, acute, red-brown, glabrous or somewhat pubescent toward the apex, the terminal 1/4 inch long, the lateral smaller, appressed. BARK.--Twigs smooth, pale brown, becoming gray and smooth on the branches; old trunks dark gray, deeply furrowed, often cleaving up at one edge in long, thick plates. WOOD.--Heavy, hard, strong, close-grained, tough, durable, light brown, with thin, lighter colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Found throughout the entire state. HABITAT.--Prefers moist, rich soil in valleys and uplands and moist, rocky slopes. NOTES.--The most important hardwood in Michigan. The tree which produces the bulk of the maple sugar of the market. [Illustration: +Black Maple. Black Sugar Maple+ 1. Winter twig, × 2. 2. Leaf, × 1/2. 3. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flower, enlarged. 5. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 6. Fruit, × 1.] +ACERACEAE+ +Black Maple. Black Sugar Maple+ _Acer saccharum nigrum (Michx. f.) Britt._ [_Acer nigrum Michx._] HABIT.--A stately tree, sometimes reaching a height of 80 feet, with a trunk diameter of 2-3 feet; branches stout, forming a broad, rounded, symmetrical crown. LEAVES.--Opposite, simple, concave, 5-7 inches across, the breadth usually exceeding the length; usually 5-lobed at maturity, the two lower lobes being small, often reduced to a mere curve in the outline, the pointed lobes undulate or entire and narrowed from the broad, shallow sinuses; thick and firm; glabrous above, downy beneath; petioles stout, usually pendent, tomentose. The sides of the larger leaves often droop giving to the tree an air of depression. FLOWERS.--May, with the leaves; monoecious; in nearly sessile, umbel-like corymbs; about 1/4 inch long, yellow, on slender, hairy pedicels 2-3 inches long; calyx campanulate, pilose, 5-lobed; corolla 0; stamens 7-8; ovary hairy. FRUIT.--Ripens in autumn; glabrous, paired samaras, clustered on drooping pedicels; wings set wide apart, but only slightly diverging. WINTER-BUDS.--Small, ovoid, acute, with dark red-brown, acute scales, hoary-pubescent on the outer surface. BARK.--Twigs smooth, pale gray; becoming thick, deeply furrowed and sometimes almost black on the trunk. WOOD.--Hard, heavy, strong, close-grained, creamy white, with thin, lighter colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Lower Peninsula, south-eastern portion. HABITAT.--Prefers low, moist, rich soil of river-bottoms, but does well on gravelly soils and uplands. NOTES.--Very variable. A very good shade tree because of its dense foliage. It is claimed by some that the finest grades of maple sugar are made from the sap of this tree. [Illustration: +Silver Maple. Soft Maple+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flowering branchlet, × 1. 5. Staminate flower, enlarged. 6. Pistillate flowering branchlet, × 1. 7. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 8. Fruit, × 1/2.] +ACERACEAE+ +Silver Maple. Soft Maple+ _Acer saccharinum L._ [_Acer dasycarpum Ehrh._] HABIT.--A beautiful tree, growing to a height of 60-80 feet, with a trunk diameter of 2-4 feet, usually separating near the ground into 3-4 upright stems which are destitute of branches for a considerable distance. Usually the long, slender branches bend downwards, but with their tips ascending in a graceful curve. Crown broad, especially in its upper portion. LEAVES.--Opposite, simple, 3-6 inches long and nearly as broad; usually 5-lobed by narrow, acute sinuses which extend nearly to the midrib, the lobes often sublobed, sharply toothed; light green above, silvery white beneath, turning pale yellow in autumn; petioles long, slender, drooping. FLOWERS.--March-April, before the leaves; polygamo-monoecious or dioecious; small, yellow-green, in crowded, sessile umbels; calyx 5-lobed (sometimes each lobe again divided); corolla 0; stamens 3-7; ovary hairy. FRUIT.--May, germinating as soon as it reaches the ground; paired samaras, large, glabrous, curving inwards, one samara often aborted. WINTER-BUDS.--Dark red, blunt; the terminal about 1/4 inch long, with bud-scales often apiculate at the apex; flower-buds clustered on side spurs. BARK.--Twigs smooth, red-gray, lustrous; young trunks gray, smooth; old trunks dark gray, more or less furrowed, separating into thin, loose scales. WOOD.--Hard, strong, close-grained, rather brittle, perishable, pale brown, with thick, lighter colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Lower Peninsula south of Saginaw Bay. HABITAT.--Prefers low, rich bottom-lands, subject to occasional inundation, but not in swamps. NOTES.--A rapid grower, adapting itself to a variety of soils. Does not do well on dry, elevated ground. The first tree to blossom in early spring. [Illustration: +Red Maple. Soft Maple+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 1. 4. Fascicle of staminate flowers, × 1. 5. Staminate flower, enlarged. 6. Fascicle of pistillate flowers, × 1. 7. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 8. Fruit, × 3/4.] +ACERACEAE+ +Red Maple. Soft Maple+ _Acer rubrum L._ HABIT.--A medium-sized tree 40-50 feet high, occasionally in swamps 60-75 feet; trunk 1-3 feet in diameter; upright branches, which form a low, rather narrow, rounded crown. LEAVES.--Opposite, simple, 3-4 inches long and nearly as broad; 3-5-lobed by broad, acute sinuses, the lobes irregularly doubly serrate or toothed; glabrous, green above, whitish and generally glabrous beneath, turning bright scarlet in autumn; petioles long, slender. FLOWERS.--March-April, before the leaves; polygamo-monoecious or dioecious; in few-flowered fascicles on shoots of the previous year, the pistillate red, the staminate orange; sepals 4-5; petals 4-5; stamens 5-8; ovary smooth. FRUIT.--May-June, germinating immediately after reaching the ground; samaras small, on drooping pedicels 2-4 inches long; wings about 1 inch long, diverging at about a right angle. WINTER-BUDS.--Dark red, blunt; terminal bud about 1/8 inch long, with bud-scales rounded at the apex; flower-buds clustered on side spurs. BARK.--Twigs bright red, lustrous, becoming smooth and light gray on the branches; old trunks dark gray, ridged, separating into plate-like scales. WOOD.--Heavy, close-grained, not strong, light brown, with thick, lighter colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Throughout the entire state. HABITAT.--Prefers swamp-lands or banks of streams; rarely found on hillsides. NOTES.--A valuable shade and ornamental tree. Sugar has been made in small quantities from the sap. [Illustration: +Norway Maple+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Leaf, × 1/2. 3. Raceme of staminate flowers, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flower, enlarged. 5. Raceme of pistillate flowers, × 1/2. 6. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 7. Fruit, × 1/2.] +ACERACEAE+ +Norway Maple+ _Acer platanoides L._ HABIT.--A tall, handsome tree, with a height of 40-60 feet, and a trunk diameter of 1-2 feet, having a round, spreading crown of stout branches, resembling _A. saccharum_. Twigs coarse. LEAVES.--Opposite, simple, 5-7 inches broad, and almost as long; thin; 5-7-lobed at maturity, lobes remotely coarse-toothed with the teeth drawn out into filamentous points, separated by rounded, scallop-like sinuses; glabrous, bright green both sides, turning pale yellow in autumn; petioles long, slender, exuding a milky juice when cut. FLOWERS.--May-June, before or with the leaves; dioecious; large, yellow-green, in erect, short, flat racemes; sepals 5; petals 5; stamens 8. FRUIT.--Ripens in autumn and germinates the following spring; pendent on long stalks; large, glabrous, paired samaras, with wings 2 inches long, diverging by nearly 180°. WINTER-BUDS.--Yellow-green, red or dull red-brown; terminal bud about 1/4 inch long, broad, short-stalked, with bud-scales strongly keeled; lateral buds small, appressed; buds exuding a milky juice when cut. BARK.--Twigs lustrous, light brown to greenish; trunk dark gray, becoming closely fissured, not scaly. WOOD.--Moderately heavy, hard, close-grained, whitish or brownish, with white sapwood. NOTES.--Exotic from Europe. Extensively planted in cities for its abundant shade. The roots strike deep and spread laterally, enabling the tree to hold its own in a city environment. It holds its leaves two weeks longer in autumn than do our native maples. A rapid grower. [Illustration: +Sycamore Maple+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Leaf, × 1/2. 3. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flower, enlarged. 5. Perfect flower, enlarged. 6. Fruit, × 1/2.] +ACERACEAE+ +Sycamore Maple+ _Acer pseudo-platanus L._ HABIT.--A thrifty tree 50-60 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 2-3 feet; the crown roundish, spreading. LEAVES.--Opposite, simple, 4-7 inches across, and as long as broad; thick; pentagonally 5-lobed, the lobes more or less ovate, separated by very narrow, acute sinuses extending about half-way to the midrib, the lobes coarsely and irregularly blunt-serrate, crenate-serrate, or slightly lobed; upper surface dark green and shining, somewhat wrinkled, but paler dull green and glaucous beneath; petioles long, stout. FLOWERS.--April, before the leaves; polygamo-monoecious; large, greenish yellow, in pendent racemes of umbellate cymes of about three each; sepals 5; petals 5; stamens 8, hairy; ovary hairy. FRUIT.--Ripens in autumn and germinates the following spring; pendent on long stalks; large, glabrous, paired samaras, with wings 1-1/2 inches long, diverging at about a right angle. WINTER-BUDS.--Bright green; terminal bud 1/4-1/2 inch long, ovoid to subglobose, blunt, with bud-scales more or less keeled; lateral buds small, divergent. BARK.--Twigs lustrous, brown or gray, becoming slate colored on the branches; trunk gray or brownish, smooth or flaking off in short scales. WOOD.--Moderately heavy, hard, compact, brownish, with white sapwood. NOTES.--Exotic from Europe. Much planted in our cities, where it is thrifty, but short-lived. The crown is rather too broad for planting anywhere except on our widest streets. The leaves last two weeks longer in autumn than do those of our native maples. [Illustration: +Boxelder. Ash-leaved Maple+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Leaf, × 1/2. 3. Staminate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flower, enlarged. 5. Pistillate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 6. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 7. Fruit, × 1.] +ACERACEAE+ +Boxelder. Ash-leaved Maple+ _Acer negundo L._ [_Negundo aceroides Muench._] HABIT.--A sturdy little tree 30-50 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-2 feet. Trunk often divides near the ground into several stout, wide-spreading branches, forming a broad, unsymmetrical, open crown. LEAVES.--Opposite, pinnately compound. Leaflets 3-5 in number, 2-4 inches long, 1-1/2-2-1/2 inches broad; ovate or oval; nearly entire, irregularly and remotely coarse-toothed above the middle, or sometimes 3-lobed (often giving the leaflet a jagged outline); apex acute, base variable; glabrous or somewhat pubescent at maturity, with prominent veins. Petioles slender, 2-3 inches long, the enlarged base leaving prominent crescent-shaped scars partly surrounding the winter-buds. FLOWERS.--April, before or with the leaves; dioecious; small, yellow-green; the staminate in clusters on long, thread-like, hairy pedicels; the pistillate in narrow, drooping racemes; calyx hairy, 5-lobed; corolla 0; stamens 4-6; ovary pubescent. FRUIT.--Early summer, but hanging until late autumn or early spring; narrow, flat, winged samaras, in pairs, clustered in drooping, racemose clusters. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud 1/8-1/4 inch long, acute, inclosed in two dull red scales, often hoary or minutely pubescent; lateral buds obtuse, appressed. BARK.--Twigs greenish to purple, glaucous; trunk pale gray or light brown, deeply cleft into broad ridges. WOOD.--Light, soft, close-grained, weak, creamy white, with thick, hardly distinguishable sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Lower Peninsula as far north as Saginaw Bay. HABITAT.--Banks of streams and borders of swamps. Prefers deep, moist soil. NOTES.--Accommodates itself to almost any situation. Easily transplanted. Much planted for shade and ornament. Fast-growing, but short-lived. +SUMMER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF AESCULUS+ a. Leaflets usually 5; foliage ill-smelling when bruised; bark broken into thick plates; prickly bur about 1 inch in diameter. _A. glabra_, p. 199. aa. Leaflets usually 7; foliage not ill-smelling when bruised; bark broken into thin plates; prickly bur about 2 inches in diameter. _A. hippocastanum_, p. 197. +WINTER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF AESCULUS+ a. Terminal bud about 2/3 inch long; bud-scales covered with a glaucous bloom, not conspicuously resinous; bark broken into thick plates; prickly bur about 1 inch in diameter. _A. glabra_, p. 199. aa. Terminal bud 1-1-1/2 inches long; bud-scales conspicuously sticky-resinous, glistening; bark broken into thin plates; prickly bur about 2 inches in diameter. _A. hippocastanum_, p. 197. [Illustration: +Horse-chestnut+ 1. Winter twig, × 3/4. 2. Leaf, × 1/6. 3. Leaflet, × 1/2. 4. Flower, × 1. 5. Fruit, × 1/2.] +SAPINDACEAE+ +Horse-chestnut+ _Aesculus hippocastanum L._ HABIT.--A handsome tree, with a height of 40-60 feet and a trunk diameter of 1-2 feet, forming a broad, conical crown. The regularly occurring branches ascend from the trunk at first, gradually bend downwards as they lengthen, and end in a thick, upturning spray. LEAVES.--Opposite, digitately compound. Leaflets usually 7, rarely 5, 5-7 inches long, 1-1/2-2-1/2 inches broad; obovate, wedge-shaped at the base; irregularly and bluntly serrate; thick; rough, dark green above, paler beneath, turning a rusty yellow in autumn. Petioles long, grooved, swollen at the base. FLOWERS.--May-June, after the leaves; polygamo-monoecious; large, whitish, in showy, upright, terminal thyrses 8-12 inches long; pedicels jointed, 4-6-flowered; calyx campanulate, 5-lobed; petals 5, white, spotted with yellow and red, clawed; stamens 7, thread-like, longer than the petals. FRUIT.--October; a leathery, globular capsule about 2 inches in diameter, roughened with short spines; containing 1-3 large, smooth, lustrous, brown nuts, marked by large, pale scars. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal buds 1-1-1/2 inches long, acute, brownish, covered with glistening, resinous gum; inner scales yellowish, becoming 1-1/2-2 inches long in spring, remaining until the leaves are nearly half grown. BARK.--Twigs smooth, red-brown; trunk dark brown and broken into thin plates by shallow fissures; rich in tannin, bitter. WOOD.--Light, soft, close-grained, weak, whitish, with thin, light brown sapwood. NOTES.--A native of Greece, extensively cultivated throughout Europe and America, where it is a favorite shade tree. A double-flowered variety, _Aesculus hippocastanum, v. flòre plèno_, which bears no fruit is a common garden form. [Illustration: +Ohio Buckeye+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Leaf, × 1/6. 3. Leaflet, × 1/2. 4. Flower, × 2. 5. Fruit, × 1/2. 6. Nut, × 1/2.] +SAPINDACEAE+ +Ohio Buckeye+ _Aesculus glabra Willd._ HABIT.--A medium-sized tree 30-50 feet in height, with a trunk not over 2 feet in diameter; usually much smaller; slender, spreading branches, forming a broad, rounded crown; twigs thick. LEAVES.--Opposite, digitately compound. Leaflets usually 5, rarely 7, 3-6 inches long, 1-1/2-2-1/2 inches broad; ovate or oval, gradually narrowed to the entire base; irregularly and finely serrate; glabrous, yellow-green above, paler beneath, turning yellow in autumn. Petioles 4-6 inches long, slender, enlarged at the base. Foliage ill-smelling when bruised. FLOWERS.--April-May, after the leaves; polygamo-monoecious; small, yellow-green, in terminal panicles 5-6 inches long and 2-3 inches broad, more or less downy; pedicels 4-6-flowered; calyx campanulate, 5-lobed; petals 4, pale yellow, hairy, clawed; stamens 7, with long, hairy filaments. FRUIT.--October; a thick, leathery, prickly capsule, about 1 inch in diameter, containing a single large, smooth, lustrous, brown nut. A large pale scar gives the name "Buckeye". WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal buds 2/3 inch long, acute, resinous, brownish; inner scales yellow-green, becoming 1-1/2-2 inches long in spring and remaining until the leaves are nearly half grown. BARK.--Twigs smooth, red-brown, becoming ashy gray; old trunks densely furrowed and broken into thick plates; ill-smelling when bruised. WOOD.--Light, soft, close-grained, weak, whitish, with thin, light brown sapwood. NOTES.--A native of the Mississippi River Valley. Occasionally planted in southern Michigan for ornamental purposes, but is less popular than the Horse-chestnut. [Illustration: +Basswood+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Leaf, × 1/2. 3. Cyme of flowers, with its bract, × 1/2. 4. Flower, with two petals, petaloid scales and stamens removed, enlarged. 5. Stamen, enlarged. 6. Fruit, × 1/2.] +TILIACEAE+ +Basswood+ _Tilia americana L._ HABIT.--A tree usually 60-70 feet high, with a tall, straight trunk 2-4 feet in diameter; numerous slender branches form a dense, ovoid or rounded crown. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 5-6 inches long, 3-4 inches broad; obliquely heart-shaped; coarsely serrate; thick and firm; glabrous, dull dark green above, paler beneath; petioles slender, 1-2 inches long. FLOWERS.--June-July, after the leaves; perfect, regular; yellowish white, downy, fragrant; borne on slender pedicels in loose, drooping cymes, the peduncle attached for half its length to a narrow, oblong, yellowish bract; sepals 5, downy; petals 5, creamy white; stamens numerous, in 5 clusters; ovary 5-celled; stigma 5-lobed. FRUIT.--October; globose, nut-like, woody, gray, tomentose, about the size of peas. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud absent; lateral buds ovoid, acute, often lopsided, smooth, dark red, 1/4 inch long. BARK.--Twigs smooth, reddish gray, becoming dark gray or brown; dark gray and smooth on young stems, on old trunks thick, deeply furrowed into broad, scaly ridges. WOOD.--Light, soft, close-grained, tough, light red-brown, with thick sapwood of nearly the same color. DISTRIBUTION.--Common in most parts of the Lower Peninsula, frequent in the Upper Peninsula. HABITAT.--Prefers rich, well-drained, loamy soils. NOTES.--Rapid in growth. Easily transplanted. Recommended for street and ornamental planting. +SUMMER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF CORNUS+ a. Leaves mostly alternate; branches usually greenish; flowers not surrounded by large petal-like bracts; fruit globular, blue, borne many in loose clusters. _C. alternifolia_, p. 207. aa. Leaves opposite; branches usually reddish or yellowish; flowers surrounded by large petal-like bracts; fruit ovoid, scarlet, borne in close clusters of 3-4. _C. florida_, p. 205. +WINTER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF CORNUS+ a. Leaf-scars mostly alternate; buds light brown; branches usually greenish. _C. alternifolia_, p. 207. aa. Leaf-scars opposite; buds greenish; branches usually reddish or yellowish. _C. florida_, p. 205. [Illustration: +Flowering Dogwood. Dogwood. Boxwood+ 1. Winter twig, with leaf buds, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Winter twig, with flower bud, × 1. 4. Leaf, × 1/2. 5. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 6. Flower, enlarged. 7. Fruit, × 1.] +CORNACEAE+ +Flowering Dogwood. Dogwood. Boxwood+ _Cornus florida L._ HABIT.--A bushy tree with a height of 15-30 feet and a short trunk 8-12 inches in diameter; slender, spreading branches form a flat-topped crown. LEAVES.--Opposite, closely clustered at the ends of the branchlets, simple, 3-5 inches long, 2-3 inches broad; ovate to elliptical; obscurely wavy-toothed; thick and firm; bright green, covered with minute, appressed hairs above, pale and more or less pubescent beneath, turning bright scarlet in autumn; petioles short, grooved. FLOWERS.--May, with the leaves; perfect; greenish; in dense clusters, surrounded by 4 large, white or pinkish, petal-like bracts (often mistaken for the corolla), borne on short, stout peduncles; calyx 4-lobed, light green; petals 4, yellow-green; stamens 4, alternate with the petals; ovary 2-celled. FRUIT.--October; an ovoid, scarlet drupe, borne in close clusters of 3-4; flesh is bitter. WINTER-BUDS.--Leaf-buds narrow-conical, acute, greenish; flower-buds spherical or vertically flattened, grayish. BARK.--Twigs pale green, becoming red or yellow-green their first winter, later becoming light brown or red-gray; red-brown or blackish on the trunk, often separating into quadrangular, plate-like scales. WOOD.--Heavy, hard, strong, tough, close-grained, brownish, with thick, lighter colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Southern Michigan as far north as the Grand-Saginaw Valley. HABITAT.--Prefers rich, well-drained soil, usually under the shade of other trees. NOTES.--A valuable species for ornamental purposes. Rather slow of growth. [Illustration: +Blue Dogwood. Alternate-leaved Dogwood+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 3/4. 4. Flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 5. Flower, enlarged. 6. Fruiting branchlet, × 1/2.] +CORNACEAE+ +Blue Dogwood. Alternate-leaved Dogwood+ _Cornus alternifolia L. f._ HABIT.--A small tree or large shrub reaching a height of 25-30 feet and a trunk diameter of 6-8 inches; more often smaller than this. The long, slender branches are arranged in irregular whorls, forming flat, horizontal tiers, giving the tree a storied effect. LEAVES.--Mostly alternate and clustered at the ends of the branchlets; simple, 3-5 inches long, 2-1/2-3 inches broad; oval or ovate, long-pointed, wedge-shaped at the base; obscurely wavy-toothed; thin; dark green, nearly glabrous above, paler and covered with appressed hairs beneath, turning yellow and scarlet in autumn; petioles slender, grooved, hairy, with clasping bases. FLOWERS.--May-June, after the leaves; perfect; borne on slender pedicels in many-flowered, irregular, open cymes from the season's shoots; calyx cup-shaped, obscurely 4-toothed, covered with fine, silky, white hairs; petals 4, cream colored; stamens 4; ovary 2-celled. FRUIT.--October; a globular, blue-black drupe, borne in loose, red-stemmed clusters; flesh bitter. WINTER-BUDS.--Leaf-buds small, acute, light brown; flower-buds spherical or vertically flattened. BARK.--Twigs greenish or reddish, becoming smooth, dark green; thin, dark red-brown and shallowly fissured on the trunk. WOOD.--Heavy, hard, close-grained, red-brown, with thick, lighter colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Scattered throughout both peninsulas. HABITAT.--Prefers moist, well-drained soil on the borders of streams and swamps, often in the shade of other trees. NOTES.--Hardy throughout the state. Easily transplanted. The only _Cornus_ with alternate leaves and branches. [Illustration: +Black Gum. Pepperidge+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Portion of twig, enlarged. 3. Leaf, × 3/4. 4. Staminate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 5. Staminate flower, enlarged. 6. Pistillate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 7. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 8. Fruit, × 1/2.] +CORNACEAE+ +Black Gum. Pepperidge+ _Nyssa sylvatica Marsh._ [_Nyssa multiflora Wang._] HABIT.--A medium-sized tree 40-50 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-2 feet, forming a rounded to cylindrical crown of slender, spreading, pendulous branches and a stiff, flat spray. LEAVES.--Alternate, simple, 2-5 inches long, one-half as broad; oblong-obovate to oval; entire, or sometimes wavy-margined; thick and firm; very lustrous and dark green above, pale and often hairy beneath, turning bright scarlet, on the upper surface only, in autumn; petioles short. FLOWERS.--May-June, with the leaves; polygamo-dioecious; greenish; borne on slender, downy peduncles; the staminate slender-pedicelled, in many-flowered heads; the pistillate sessile, in several-flowered clusters; calyx cup-shaped, 5-toothed; petals 5; stamens 5-10; stigma stout, terete, recurved. FRUIT.--October; fleshy drupes, ovoid, blue-black, about 1/2 inch long, sour, in clusters of 1-3. WINTER-BUDS.--1/8-1/4 inch long, ovoid, obtuse, dark red. BARK.--Twigs greenish or light brown, smooth or often downy, becoming smooth, dark red-brown; thick, red-brown on old trunks, deeply furrowed. WOOD.--Heavy, soft, strong, very tough, difficult to split, not durable in contact with the soil, pale yellow, with thick, whitish sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Frequent in the southern half of the Lower Peninsula. Has been reported as far north as Manistee. HABITAT.--Prefers the borders of swamps and low, wet lands. Rarely flourishes in exposed situations. NOTES.--Of great ornamental value. Not easily transplanted. Pith of twigs with thin, transverse partitions. +SUMMER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF FRAXINUS+ a. Lateral leaflets sessile. _F. nigra_, p. 221. aa. Lateral leaflets petioluled. b. Twigs, petioles and lower sides of leaves pubescent. _F. pennsylvanica_, p. 215. bb. Twigs, petioles and lower sides of leaves essentially glabrous. c. Twigs prominently 4-angled. _F. quadrangulata_, p. 219. cc. Twigs terete. d. Lower sides of leaves essentially of the same color as the upper; leaflet-margins rather finely sharp-serrate. _F. pennsylvanica lanceolata_, p. 217. dd. Lower sides of leaves paler than the upper; leaflet-margins entire or obscurely serrate. _F. americana_, p. 213. WINTER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF FRAXINUS a. Twigs prominently 4-angled; fruit falling in early autumn. _F. quadrangulata_, p. 219. aa. Twigs terete; fruit often persistent on the tree until mid-winter or the following spring. b. Buds rusty-tomentose; twigs more or less downy. _F. pennsylvanica_, p. 215. bb. Buds not tomentose; twigs not downy. c. Terminal bud black or nearly so, showing 3 pairs of scales in cross-section; bud-scales apiculate at the apex; samaras with broad wings, the seed portion flattish; bark flaky, rubbing off on the hand. _F. nigra_, p. 221. cc. Terminal bud brownish, showing 4 pairs of scales in cross-section; bud-scales rounded at the apex; samaras with narrow wings, the seed portion terete; bark ridged, not flaky and rubbing off on the hand. d. Upper margin of leaf-scars deeply concave. _F. americana_, p. 213. dd. Upper margin of leaf-scars not concave, but straight across or projecting upward. _F. pennsylvanica lanceolata_, p. 217. [Illustration: +White Ash+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Leaf, × 1/4. 3. Staminate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flower, enlarged. 5. Pistillate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 6. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 7. Fruit, × 1.] +OLEACEAE+ +White Ash+ _Fraxinus americana L._ HABIT.--A large tree 50-75 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 2-3 feet; forming an open, pyramidal crown of long, slender, lateral branches and a stout, rather sparse spray. LEAVES.--Opposite, pinnately compound, 8-12 inches long. Leaflets usually 7-9, 3-5 inches long, 1-2 inches broad; short-stalked; ovate to oblong-lanceolate; entire or obscurely serrate; thick and firm; glabrous, dark green above, paler beneath. Petioles glabrous, stout, grooved. FLOWERS.--May, before the leaves; dioecious; borne in loose panicles on shoots of the previous season; calyx campanulate, 4-lobed; corolla 0; stamens 2, rarely 3; ovary 2-celled. FRUIT.--August-September, persistent on the branches until mid-winter or the following spring; samaras 1-2 inches long, in crowded, drooping, paniculate clusters 6-8 inches long. WINTER-BUDS.--Short, rather obtuse; bud-scales apiculate, keeled, 4 pairs, rusty-brown. BARK.--Twigs at first dark green, becoming gray or light brown, often covered with a glaucous bloom; gray, deeply furrowed into firm, narrow, flattened ridges on the trunk. WOOD.--Heavy, hard, strong, close-grained, tough, brown, with thick, lighter colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Of common occurrence throughout the state. HABITAT.--Prefers a rich, moist, loamy soil, but grows in any well-drained situation; common along stream-beds. NOTES.--Grows rapidly. Easily transplanted. Fairly free from disease. Leaves appear late in spring. [Illustration: +Red Ash+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Leaf, × 1/3. 3. Staminate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flower, enlarged. 5. Pistillate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 6. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 7. Fruit, × 1.] +OLEACEAE+ +Red Ash+ _Fraxinus pennsylvanica Marsh._ [_Fraxinus pubescens Lam._] HABIT.--A medium-sized tree 30-50 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-2 feet; stout, upright branches and slender branchlets form a compact, broad, irregular crown. LEAVES.--Opposite, pinnately compound, 10-12 inches long. Leaflets 7-9, 3-5 inches long, 1-1-1/2 inches broad; short-stalked; oblong-lanceolate to ovate; slightly serrate or entire; thin and firm; glabrous, yellow-green above, pale and silky-downy beneath. Petioles stout, pubescent. FLOWERS.--May, with the leaves; dioecious; borne in compact, downy panicles on shoots of the previous season; calyx cup-shaped, 4-toothed; corolla 0; stamens 2, rarely 3; ovary 2-celled. FRUIT.--Early autumn, persistent on the branches throughout the winter; samaras 1-2 inches long, in open, paniculate clusters. WINTER-BUDS.--Small, rounded; bud-scales rounded on the back, 3 pairs, rusty-brown, tomentose. BARK.--Twigs pale-pubescent at first, lasting 2-3 years or often disappearing during the first summer, finally ashy gray or brownish and often covered with a glaucous bloom; brown or dark gray on the trunk, with many longitudinal, shallow furrows; somewhat scaly. WOOD.--Heavy, hard, strong, brittle, coarse-grained, light brown, with thick, yellow-streaked sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Not a common tree. Most frequent in the southern half of the Lower Peninsula, but has been reported further north, i.e., Drummond's Island and Keweenaw County, Upper Peninsula. HABITAT.--Prefers wet or moist, rich loam; river-banks; swampy lowlands. NOTES.--A rapid grower in youth. Fairly immune from insect and fungous diseases. [Illustration: +Green Ash+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Leaf, × 1/3. 3. Staminate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flower, enlarged. 5. Pistillate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 6. Pistillate flower, enlarged. 7. Fruit, × 1.] +OLEACEAE+ +Green Ash+ _Fraxinus pennsylvanica lanceolata (Borkh.) Sarg._ [_Fraxinus lanceolata Borkh._] [_Fraxinus viridis Michx. f._] Considered by some authors to be a distinct species, and by others a variety of _F. pennsylvanica Marsh._, which it resembles. The main points of difference are: The usual absence of pubescence from the branchlets, the underside of the leaflets, and the petioles. The rather narrower, shorter, and more sharply serrate leaflets. The color of the leaves, which is bright green on both sides. A very hardy tree, of rapid growth and desirable habit, making it useful for ornamental and street planting. Easily transplanted. Of rare occurrence in Michigan, but has been reported from several localities. [Illustration: +Blue Ash+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Leaf, × 1/2. 3. Flowering branchlet, × 1. 4. Flower, enlarged. 5. Fruit, × 1/2.] +OLEACEAE+ +Blue Ash+ _Fraxinus quadrangulata Michx._ HABIT.--A large tree 50-80 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-3 feet; small, spreading branches and stout, 4-angled, more or less 4-winged branchlets form a narrow crown. LEAVES.--Opposite, pinnately compound, 8-12 inches long. Leaflets 5-9, usually 7, 3-5 inches long, 1-2 inches broad; short-stalked; ovate-oblong to lanceolate, long-pointed; coarsely serrate; thick and firm; yellow-green above, paler beneath, glabrous. Petioles slender, glabrous. FLOWERS.--April, before the leaves; perfect; borne in loose panicles on shoots of the previous season; calyx reduced to a ring; corolla 0; stamens 2; ovary 2-celled. FRUIT.--September-October, falling soon after; samaras 1-2 inches long, in long, loose, paniculate clusters. WINTER-BUDS.--Short, rather obtuse; bud-scales rounded on the back, 3 pairs, dark red-brown, somewhat pubescent. BARK.--Twigs orange, rusty-pubescent, becoming brownish or grayish; on the trunk light gray tinged with red, irregularly divided into large, plate-like scales, often with the shaggy appearance of a Shagbark Hickory. WOOD.--Heavy, hard, close-grained, brittle, light yellow-streaked with brown, with thick, light yellow sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Occasionally in the southern half of the Lower Peninsula. Nowhere abundant. HABITAT.--Prefers rich, limestone hills, but grows well in fertile bottom-lands. NOTES.--Hardy and grows rapidly. A blue dye is made by macerating the inner bark in water. [Illustration: +Black Ash+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Leaf, × 1/3. 3. Staminate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 4. Staminate flower, enlarged. 5. Pistillate flowering branchlet, × 1/2. 6. Pistillate flowers, enlarged. 7. Fruit, × 1.] +OLEACEAE+ +Black Ash+ _Fraxinus nigra Marsh._ [_Fraxinus sambucifolia Lam._] HABIT.--A tall tree 60-80 feet high, with a trunk diameter of 1-2 feet; slender, upright branches form in the forest a narrow crown, in the open a rounded, ovoid crown. LEAVES.--Opposite, pinnately compound, 12-16 inches long. Leaflets 7-11, 3-5 inches long, 1-2 inches broad; sessile, except the terminal; oblong to oblong-lanceolate, long-pointed; remotely, but sharply serrate; thin and firm; dark green above, paler beneath, glabrous. Petioles stout, grooved, glabrous. FLOWERS.--May, before the leaves; polygamo-dioecious; borne in loose panicles on shoots of the preceeding season; calyx 0; corolla 0; stamens 2; ovary 2-celled. FRUIT.--August-September, falling early, or sometimes hanging on the tree until the following spring; samaras 1-1-1/2 inches long, in open, paniculate clusters 8-10 inches long. WINTER-BUDS.--Ovoid, pointed; bud-scales rounded on the back, 3 pairs, almost black. BARK.--Twigs at first dark green, becoming ashy gray or orange, finally dark gray and warted; thin, soft ash-gray and scaly on the trunk. Bark flakes off on rubbing with the hand. WOOD.--Heavy, tough, coarse-grained, weak, rather soft, dark brown, with thin, lighter colored sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Common throughout most portions of Michigan. HABITAT.--Prefers deep, cold swamps and low river-banks, but grows in any good soil. NOTES.--Hardy throughout the state. Not easily transplanted. Foliage falls early in autumn. +SUMMER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF CATALPA+ a. Leaves 5-8 inches long, thick; flowers 1-1/2 inches across, prominently yellow-spotted; seeds with _pointed_, fringed wings at each end; branches rather crooked and straggling; bark thin, separating into thin scales on the trunk. _C. bignonioides_, p. 227. aa. Leaves 8-12 inches long, thin; flowers 2-1/2 inches across, not prominently spotted; seeds with _rounded_, wide-fringed wings at each end; branches not crooked and straggling; bark thick, separating into thick scales on the trunk. _C. speciosa_, p. 225. +WINTER KEY TO THE SPECIES OF CATALPA+ a. Fruiting capsules about 1/4 inch thick; seeds with _pointed_, fringed wings at each end; branches rather crooked and straggling; bark thin, separating into thin scales on the trunk. _C. bignonioides_, p. 227. aa. Fruiting capsules about 1/2 inch thick, seeds with _rounded_, wide-fringed wings at each end; branches not crooked and straggling; bark thick, separating into thick scales on the trunk. _C. speciosa_, p. 225. [Illustration: +Hardy Catalpa+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Leaf, × 1/4. 3. Panicle of flowers, × 3/8. 4. Fruit, × 1/2. 5. Seed, × 1.] +BIGNONIACEAE+ +Hardy Catalpa+ _Catalpa speciosa Warder._ HABIT.--A tree 50-75 feet high, with a short, often crooked trunk and a broad, rounded crown of slender, spreading branches and thick branchlets. LEAVES.--Opposite or whorled, simple, 8-12 inches long, 6-8 inches broad; heart-shaped; entire or sometimes slightly lobed; thick and firm; glabrous, dark green above, downy beneath, with clusters of dark, nectariferous glands in the axils of the primary veins, turning black and falling with the first severe frost; petioles long, stout, terete. FLOWERS.--June-July, after the leaves are full grown; perfect; borne on slender, purplish pedicels in open, few-flowered panicles 5-6 inches long; calyx 2-lobed, purple; corolla white with inconspicuous yellow spots, campanulate, 5-lobed, 2-1/2 inches broad; stamens 2, staminodia 3; ovary 2-celled. FRUIT.--Ripens in early autumn; slender, 2-celled, cylindrical capsule 10-20 inches long and about 1/2 inch thick; hangs on tree all winter, opening in spring before falling; seeds light brown, 1 inch long, with rounded, wide-fringed wings at each end. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud absent; lateral buds brownish, globose, inconspicuous. BARK.--Twigs greenish, often with purple tinge, becoming orange or red-brown and covered with a slight bloom the first winter, finally darker with age; thick, red-brown, broken into thick scales on the trunk. WOOD.--Light, soft, weak, coarse-grained, light brown, with very thin, almost white sapwood; very durable in contact with the soil. NOTES.--A native of Illinois, Indiana, and the states adjoining on the south, but much planted in Michigan as a shade and ornamental tree. Closely resembles _C. bignonioides_, but is a larger and hardier tree. [Illustration: +Catalpa+ 1. Winter twig, × 1. 2. Leaf, × 3/8. 3. Panicle of flowers, × 1/3. 4. Fruit, × 1/2. 5. Seed, × 1.] +BIGNONIACEAE+ +Catalpa+ _Catalpa bignonioides Walt._ [_Catalpa catalpa (L.) Karst._] HABIT.--A tree 40-30 feet high, with a short, thick trunk and a broad, irregular crown of long, crooked branches and coarse, upright branchlets. LEAVES.--Opposite or whorled, simple, 5-8 inches long, 4-5 inches broad; heart-shaped; entire or sometimes slightly lobed; thin and firm; glabrous, light green above, downy beneath, with dark, nectariferous glands in the axils of the primary veins, turning black and falling with the first severe frost; petioles long, stout, terete. FLOWERS.--June-July, after the leaves are full grown; perfect; borne on slender, hairy pedicels in compact, many-flowered panicles 8-10 inches long; calyx 2-lobed, green or purple; corolla white with yellow spots, campanulate, 5-lobed, 1-1/2 inches broad; stamens 2, staminodia 3; ovary 2-celled. FRUIT.--Ripens in early autumn; slender, 2-celled, cylindrical capsule 8-20 inches long and about 1/4 inch thick; hangs on tree all winter, opening in spring before falling; seeds silvery gray, 1 inch long, with pointed, fringed wings at each end. WINTER-BUDS.--Terminal bud absent; lateral buds, brownish, globose, inconspicuous. BARK.--Twigs greenish purple, becoming red-brown and marked by a network of thin, flat ridges; thin, red-brown on the trunk, separating into large, thin, irregular scales. WOOD.--Light, soft, weak, coarse-grained, light brown, with very thin, whitish sapwood; very durable in contact with the soil. NOTES.--A native of the Lower Mississippi River Basin, but naturalized in southern Michigan, where it is a popular shade and ornamental tree. Foliage appears very tardily in spring. [Illustration: +Sheepberry. Nannyberry+ 1. Winter twig, with leaf buds, × 1. 2. Winter twig, with flower bud, × 1. 3. Leaf, × 3/4. 4. Flower, enlarged. 5. Fruiting branchlet, × 1/2.] +CAPRIFOLIACEAE+ +Sheepberry. Nannyberry+ _Viburnum lentago L._ HABIT.--A low tree or shrub 15-25 feet high, with a short trunk 6-10 inches in diameter; numerous tortuous branches form a wide, compact, rounded crown. LEAVES.--Opposite, simple, 2-4 inches long, one-half as broad; ovate to suborbicular; finely and sharply serrate; thick and firm; lustrous, bright green above, pale and marked with tiny black dots beneath; petioles broad, grooved, more or less winged, about 1 inch long. FLOWERS.--May-June, after the leaves; perfect; small; cream-white, borne in stout-branched, scurfy, flat, terminal cymes 3-5 inches across; calyx tubular, 5-toothed; corolla 5-lobed, cream color or white, 1/4 inch across; stamens 5, with yellow anthers; ovary 1-celled, with short, thick, green style and broad stigma. FRUIT.--September; a fleshy drupe, 1/2 inch long, ovoid, flattened, blue-black, borne in few-fruited, red-stemmed clusters; stone oval, flat, rough; flesh sweet, edible. WINTER-BUDS.--Leaf-buds narrow, acute, red, scurfy-pubescent, 1/2 inch long; flower-buds swollen at the base, with spire-like apex, grayish with scurfy pubescence, 3/4 inch long. BARK.--Twigs at first light green, rusty-pubescent, becoming dark red-brown; red-brown on old trunks and broken into small, thick plates. WOOD.--Heavy, hard, close-grained, ill-smelling, dark orange-brown, with thin, whitish sapwood. DISTRIBUTION.--Frequent throughout the state. HABITAT.--Prefers rich, moist soil along the borders of forests; roadsides; river-banks. NOTES.--Too small for street use. Propagated from seed or by cuttings. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote A: See page xviii.] [Footnote B: See page xviii.] [Footnote C: Although formerly classed under PINACEAE, recent investigations show it to be the type of a distinct family.] [Footnote D: It is not intended that this key shall serve as a means of identification of any species of _Salix_ found in Michigan, but it has added simply to give a ready comparison of the four species which are described.] [Footnote E: It is difficult to distinguish between these species in the absence of summer characters. If leaves can be found on or beneath a tree which is sufficiently segregated from similar trees as to avoid any chance for error, the summer key on the opposite page may be used.] [Footnote F: A discussion has recently arisen as to whether _Betula lenta_ actually exists in the state, some botanists preferring the name _B. alleghanensis Britt._ for the tree we have so long called Black Birch. Pending further investigation the authors have thought best to retain the old name. Ref.--Britton: North American Trees, pp. 257-8.] [Footnote G: [1] means that the acorns mature in the autumn of the first season, hence mature acorns will not be found on the tree, but on the ground beneath the tree. [2] means that the acorns mature in the autumn of the second season, hence immature acorns will be found on the last season's twigs, and mature acorns on the ground beneath the tree.] +GLOSSARY+ _With page references to explanatory figures._ _Abortion._ Imperfect development or non-development of an organ or part. _Acuminate._ Gradually tapering to the apex. Page XII. _Acute._ Terminating with a sharp angle. Page XII. _Alternate._ Said of leaves, branches, buds, etc., scattered singly along the stem; not opposite. _Androgynous._ Composed of both staminate and pistillate flowers. _Anterior._ The front side of a flower, remote from the axis of inflorescence. _Anther._ The part of a stamen which bears the pollen. Page xiii. _Apetalous._ Without petals. _Apex._ The top, as the tip of a bud or the end of a leaf which is opposite the petiole. _Apiculate._ Ending in a short-pointed tip. _Appressed._ Lying close and flat against. _Aromatic._ Fragrant; with an agreeable odor. _Axil._ The upper one of the two angles formed by the juncture of a leaf with a stem. _Axillary._ Situated in an axil. _Bark._ The outer covering of a trunk or branch. _Bearded._ Bearing a long, bristle-like appendage, or furnished with long or stiff hairs. _Berry._ A fruit which is fleshy throughout. _Bi-pinnate._ Twice pinnate. _Blade._ The expanded portion of a leaf, etc. _Bloom._ A powdery or waxy substance easily rubbed off. _Bract._ A more or less modified leaf subtending a flower or belonging to an inflorescence. _Branch._ A secondary division of a trunk. _Branchlet._ A small branch. _Bud._ An undeveloped stem or branch, with or without scales. _Bud-scales._ Modified leaves covering a bud. _Bundle-scars._ Dots on the surface of a leaf-scar, which are scars left by the fibro-vascular bundles which run through the petiole into the blade of the leaf. Page XVI. _Bur._ A spiny fruit. _Calyx._ The outer part of a perianth, usually green in color. Page xiii. _Campanulate._ Bell-shaped. _Capsule._ A dry fruit of more than one carpel which splits at maturity to release the seeds. _Carpel._ A simple pistil, or one member of a compound pistil. _Catkin._ A spike of unisexual flowers, each subtended by a bract, and usually deciduous in one piece. _Chambered._ Said of pith which is interrupted by hollow spaces. _Ciliate._ Fringed with hairs on the margin. _Cinereous._ Ash-gray color. _Claw._ The narrow, stalk-like base of a petal, sepal, etc. _Cleft._ Cut about half-way to the middle. _Cluster._ A group of two or more organs (flowers, fruit, etc.) on a plant at a node or end of a stem. _Compound._ Composed of two or more similar parts united into a whole. _Compound leaf_, one divided into separate leaflets. _Cone._ A fruit with woody, overlapping scales. _Conical._ Cone-shaped, largest at the base and tapering to the apex. _Connective._ The portion of a stamen which connects the two cells of the anther. _Cordate._ Heart-shaped. Page XII. _Coriaceous._ Leather-like in texture. _Corky._ Made of, or like cork. _Corolla._ The inner part of a perianth, usually bright colored. Page XIII. _Corymb._ A flower-cluster in which the axis is shortened and the pedicels of the lower flowers lengthened, forming a flat-topped inflorescence, the marginal flowers blooming first. Page XIV. _Corymbose._ Arranged in corymbs. _Crenate._ Dentate, with the teeth much rounded. Page XIII. _Crenulate._ Finely crenate. _Crown._ The upper part of a tree, including the living branches with their foliage. _Cutting._ A piece of the stem, root or leaf which, if cut off and placed in contact with the soil, will form new roots and buds, reproducing the parent plant. _Cyme._ A broad and flattish inflorescence, the central flowers of which bloom first. Page XIV. _Cymose._ Arranged in cymes. _Deciduous._ Not persistent; falling away, as the leaves of a tree in autumn. _Decurrent._ Said of a leaf which extends down the stem below the point of fastening. _Decussate._ Alternating in pairs at right angles. _Dehiscent._ Opening by valves or slits. _Deltoid._ Delta-shaped. _Dentate._ Toothed, with the teeth usually pointed and directed outward. Page XIII. _Depressed._ Somewhat flattened from above. _Dichotomous._ Branching regularly in pairs. _Digitate._ Said of a compound leaf in which the leaflets are borne at the apex of the petiole; finger-shaped. _Dioecious._ Unisexual, with staminate and pistillate flowers on different individuals. _Distribution._ The geographical extent and limits of a species. _Divergent._ Said of buds, cones, etc., which point away from the twig, or of pine needles, etc., which spread apart. _Dorsal._ Pertaining to the back or outer surface of an organ. _Downy._ Covered with fine hairs. _Drupe._ A fleshy or pulpy fruit in which the inner portion is hard or stony. _Ellipsoid._ An elliptical solid. _Elliptical._ Oval or oblong with regularly rounded ends. Page XII. _Emarginate._ Notched at the apex. Page XII. _Entire._ Without divisions, lobes or teeth. _Excrescences._ Warty outgrowths or protuberances. _Exfoliate._ To cleave off, as of the outer layers of bark. _Falcate._ Scythe-shaped. _Fascicle._ A compact cluster of leaves or flowers. _Fascicled._ Arranged in fascicles. _Fastigiate._ Said of branches which are erect and near together. _Feather-veined._ Having veins extending from the midrib to the margin, feather-wise. _Fertile._ Capable of bearing fruit. _Fertilization._ The mingling of the contents of a male (pollen) and female (ovule) cell. _Filament._ The part of a stamen which bears the anther. Page XIII. _Filamentose_ or _Filamentous_. Composed of threads or filaments. _Flaky._ With loose scales easily rubbed off (bark). _Fleshy._ Succulent; juicy. _Flower._ An axis bearing stamens or pistils or both (calyx and corolla usually accompany these). _Fluted._ With rounded ridges. _Fruit._ The part of a plant which bears the seed. _Germinate._ To sprout, as of a seed. _Gibbous._ Swollen on one side. _Glabrous._ Neither rough, pubescent, nor hairy; smooth. _Gland._ Secreting surface or structure; a protuberance having the appearance of such an organ. _Glandular._ Bearing glands. _Glaucous._ Covered or whitened with a bloom. _Globose._ Spherical or nearly so. _Globular._ Nearly globose. _Gregarious._ Growing in groups or colonies. _Habit._ The general appearance of a plant, best seen from a distance. _Habitat._ The place where a plant naturally grows, as in water, clay soil, marsh, etc. _Hairy._ With long hairs. _Halberd-shaped._ Like an arrow-head, but with the basal lobes pointing outward nearly at right angles. Page XII. _Heartwood._ The dead central portion of the trunk or large branch of a tree. _Hirsute._ Covered with rather coarse or stiff hairs. _Hoary._ Gray-white with a fine, close pubescence. _Homogeneous._ Uniform; composed of similar parts or elements. _Hybrid._ A cross between two nearly related species, formed by the action of the pollen of one upon the pistil of the other, yielding an intermediate form. _Imbricate._ Overlapping, like the shingles on a roof. _Indehiscent._ Not opening by valves or slits; remaining persistently closed. _Indigenous._ Native and original to a region. _Inflorescence._ The flowering part of a plant, and especially its arrangement. _Internode._ The portion of a stem between two nodes. _Involucral._ Pertaining to an involucre. _Involucre._ A circle of bracts surrounding a flower or cluster of flowers. _Keeled._ With a central ridge like the keel of a boat. _Laciniate._ Cut into narrow, pointed lobes. _Lanceolate._ Lance-shaped, broadest above the base and tapering to the apex, but several times longer than wide. Page xii. _Lateral._ Situated on the side of a branch. _Leaf._ The green expansions borne by the branches of a tree, consisting of a blade with or without a petiole. _Leaflet._ One of the small blades of a compound leaf. _Leaf-scar._ The scar left on a twig by the falling of a leaf. Page XVI. _Legume._ A pod-like fruit composed of a solitary carpel and usually splitting open by both sutures (_Leguminosae_). _Lenticels._ Corky growths on young bark which admit air to the interior of a twig or branch. _Linear._ Long and narrow, with parallel edges (as pine needles). Page XII. _Lobe._ Any division of an organ, especially if rounded. _Lobed._ Provided with a lobe or lobes. Page XIII. _Lustrous._ Glossy; shining. _Membranaceous._ Thin and somewhat translucent. _Midrib._ The central vein of a leaf or leaflet. _Monoecious._ Unisexual, with staminate and pistillate flowers on the same individual. _Mucilaginous._ Slimy; resembling or secreting mucilage or gum. _Mucronate._ Tipped with a small, abrupt point. Page XII. _Naked_. Lacking organs or parts which are normally present in related species or genera. _Naturalized_. Said of introduced plants which are reproducing by self-sown seeds. _Nectariferous_. Producing nectar. _Node_. The place upon a stem which normally bears a leaf or whorl of leaves. _Nut_. A hard and indehiscent, 1-celled, 1-seeded fruit. _Nutlet_. A diminutive nut. _Oblanceolate_. Lanceolate, with the broadest part toward the apex. Page XII. _Oblique_. Slanting, or with unequal sides. _Oblong_. Longer than broad, with sides approximately parallel. Page XII. _Obovale_. Ovate, with the broadest part toward the apex. Page XII. _Obovoid_. An ovate solid with the broadest part toward the apex. _Obtuse_. Blunt or rounded at the apex. Page XII. _Opaque_. Dull; neither shining nor translucent. _Opposite_. Said of leaves, branches, buds, etc., on opposite sides of a stem at a node. _Orbicular_. Circular. Page XII. _Oval_. Broadly elliptical. Page XII. _Ovary_. The part of a pistil that contains the ovules. Page XIII. _Ovate_. Egg-shaped, with the broad end basal. Page XII. _Ovoid_. Solid ovate or solid oval. _Ovule_. The part of a flower which after fertilization becomes the seed. _Palmate_. Radiately lobed or divided; hand-shaped. _Panicle_. A loose, irregularly compound inflorescence with pedicellate flowers. Page XIV. _Paniculate_. Arranged in panicles or resembling a panicle. _Papilionaceous_. Butterfly-like, as in flowers of the _Leguminosae_. _Pedicel_. The stalk of a single flower in a compound inflorescence. _Pedicellate_. Borne on a pedicel. _Peduncle_. A primary flower-stalk, supporting either a cluster or a solitary flower. _Pendent._ Hanging downward. _Pendulous._ More or less hanging or declined. _Perfect._ Said of a flower with both stamens and pistil. Page XIII. _Perianth._ The calyx and corolla of a flower considered as a whole. _Persistent._ Long-continuous, as leaves through the winter, calyx on the fruit, etc. _Petal._ One of the divisions of a corolla. Page XIII. _Petiolate._ Having a petiole. _Petiole._ The stem or stalk of a leaf. _Petiolulate._ Having a petiolule. _Petiolule._ The stem or stalk of a leaflet. _Pilose._ Hairy with long, soft hairs. _Pinnate._ Compound, with the leaflets arranged along both sides of a common petiole. _Pistil._ The seed-bearing organ of a flower, normally consisting of ovary, style and stigma. Page XIII. _Pistillate._ Provided with a pistil, but usually without stamens. _Pith._ The softer central part of a twig or stem. Page XVI. _Pollen._ The fecundating grains borne in the anther. _Polygamo-dioecious._ Sometimes perfect, sometimes unisexual, both forms borne on different individuals. _Polygamo-monoecious._ Sometimes perfect, sometimes unisexual, both forms borne on the same individual. _Polygamous._ Sometimes perfect, sometimes unisexual, both forms borne on the same or on different individuals. _Pome._ A fleshy fruit, as the apple. _Posterior._ The back side of a flower, next to the axis of inflorescence. _Prickle._ A small spine growing from the bark. _Puberulent._ Minutely pubescent. _Puberulous._ Minutely pubescent. _Pubescence._ A covering of short, soft hairs. _Pubescent._ Covered with short, soft hairs. _Punctate._ Dotted with translucent or colored dots or pits. _Raceme._ A simple inflorescence of flowers on pedicels of equal length arranged on a common, elongated axis (rachis). Page XIV. _Racemose._ Resembling a raceme. _Rachis._ The central axis of a spike or raceme of flowers or of a compound leaf. _Recurved._ Curved downward or backward. _Reticulate._ Netted. _Rough._ Harsh to the touch; pubescent. _Rugose._ Wrinkled. _Samara._ An indehiscent winged fruit. _Sapwood._ The living outer portion of a trunk or large branch of a tree between the heartwood and the bark. _Scales._ Small modified leaves, usually thin and scarious, seen in buds and cones; the flakes into which the outer bark often divides. _Scaly._ Provided with scales. _Scarious._ Thin, dry, membranaceous; not green. _Scurfy._ Covered with small bran-like scales. _Seed._ The ripened ovule. _Sepal._ One of the divisions of a calyx. Page XIII. _Serrate._ Toothed, the teeth sharp and pointing forward. Page XIII. _Sessile._ Without a stalk. _Shrub._ A bushy, woody growth, usually branched at or near the base, less than 15 feet in height. _Simple._ Of one piece; not compound. _Sinuate._ Strongly wavy. Page XIII. _Sinuous._ In form like the path of a snake. _Sinus._ The cleft or space between two lobes. _Smooth._ Smooth to the touch; not pubescent. _Spatulate._ Wide and rounded at the apex, but gradually narrowed downward. Page XII. _Spike._ A simple inflorescence of sessile flowers arranged on a common, elongated axis (rachis). Page XIV. _Spine._ A sharp woody outgrowth from a stem. _Spray._ The aggregate of smaller branches and branchlets. _Stamen._ The pollen-bearing organ of a flower, normally consisting of filament and anther. Page XIII. _Staminate._ Provided with stamens, but usually without pistils. _Staminodium_. A sterile stamen. _Sterile_. Unproductive, as a flower without pistil, or a stamen without anther. _Stigma_. The part of a pistil which receives the pollen. Page XIII. _Stipules_. Leaf-like appendages on either side of a leaf at the base of the petiole. _Stipule-scar_. The scar left by the fall of a stipule. Page XV. _Striate_. Marked with fine longitudinal stripes or ridges. _Strobile_. A cone. _Style_. The part of a pistil connecting ovary with stigma. Page XIII. _Sub_-. A prefix applied to many botanical terms, indicating somewhat or slightly. _Subtend_. To lie under or opposite to. _Sucker_. A shoot arising from a subterranean part of a plant. _Superposed_. Placed above, as one bud above another at a node. _Suture_. A junction or line of dehiscence. _Terete_. Circular in cross-section. _Terminal_. Situated at the end of a branch. _Ternate_. In threes. _Tetrahedral_. Having, or made up of, four faces (triangles). _Thorn_. A stiff, woody, sharp-pointed projection. _Tolerant_. Capable of enduring more or less heavy shade. _Tomentose_. Densely pubescent with matted wool. _Toothed_. With teeth or short projections. _Torus_. The part of the axis of a flower which bears the floral organs. _Transverse_. Said of a wood section made at right angles with the axis of the stem; across the grain. _Tree_. Usually defined as a plant with a woody stem, unbranched at or near the base, reaching a height of at least 15 feet. _Trunk_. The main stem of a tree. _Turbinate_. Top-shaped. _Umbel_. A simple inflorescence of flowers on pedicels which radiate from the same point. Page XIV. _Umbellate_. Arranged in umbels. _Undulate_. With a wavy margin or surface. Page XIII. _Unisexual_. Of one sex, either staminate or pistillate; not perfect. _Veins._ Threads of fibro-vascular tissue in a leaf, petal, or other flat organ. _Villose_ or _Villous_. Covered with long, soft hairs. _Viscid._ Glutinous; sticky. _Whorl._ An arrangement of leaves or branches in a circle round an axis. _Wood._ The hard part of a stem lying between the pith and the bark. _Woolly._ Covered with long and matted or tangled hairs. INDEX TO THE ARTIFICIAL KEYS Summer Keys: Key to the genera, xxi. Key to the species of Acer, 172. Key to the species of Aesculus, 194. Key to the species of Betula, 84. Key to the species of Carya, 66. Key to the species of Catalpa, 222. Key to the species of Cornus, 202. Key to the species of Fraxinus, 210. Key to the species of Juglans, 60. Key to the species of Picea, 18. Key to the species of Pinus, 4. Key to the species of Populus, 44. Key to the species of Prunus, 152. Key to the species of Pyrus, 142. Key to the species of Quercus, 96. Key to the species of Salix, 34. Key to the species of Ulmus, 122. Winter Keys: Key to the genera, xxvii. Key to the species of Acer, 174. Key to the species of Aesculus, 195. Key to the species of Betula, 85. Key to the species of Carya, 67. Key to the species of Catalpa, 223. Key to the species of Cornus, 203. Key to the species of Fraxinus, 211. Key to the species of Juglans, 61. Key to the species of Picea, 19. Key to the species of Pinus, 5. Key to the species of Populus, 45. Key to the species of Prunus, 153. Key to the species of Pyrus, 143. Key to the species of Quercus, 98. Key to the species of Salix, 34. Key to the species of Ulmus, 123. INDEX TO THE TREES Abies balsamea, 27. Acacia, Three-thorned, 165. Acer dasycarpum, 185. negundo, 193. nigrum, 183. pennsylvanicum, 177. platanoides, 189. pseudo-platanus, 191. rubrum, 187. saccharinum, 181, 185. saccharum, 181, 189. saccharum nigrum, 183. spicatum, 179. Aesculus glabra, 199. hippocastanum, 197. hippocastanum, v. flòre plèno, 197. Ailanthus, 171. glandulosa, 171. Almondleaf Willow, 39. Alternate-leaved Dogwood, 207. Amelanchier canadensis, 149. American Crab, 145. Elm, 127. Arborvitae, 31. Ash, Black, 221. Blue, 219. Green, 217. Mountain, 147. Red, 215. White, 213. Ash-leaved Maple, 193. Aspen, 49. Largetooth, 51. Austrian Pine, 11. Balm of Gilead, 53. Hairy, 55. Balsam, 53, 55. Fir, 27. Basswood, 201. Beech, 93. Blue, 83. Water, 83. White, 93. Betula alba papyrifera, 91. alleghanensis, 87. lenta, 87. lutea, 89. papyrifera, 91. Birch, Black, 87. Canoe, 91. Cherry, 87. Gray, 89. Paper, 91. Sweet, 87. White, 91. Yellow, 89. Bitternut Hickory, 79. Black Ash, 221. Birch, 87. Cherry, 155. Gum, 209. Jack, 119. Locust, 169. Maple, 183. Oak, 115, 117. Pine, 11. Spruce, 23. Sugar Maple, 183. Walnut, 65. Willow, 37. Blue Ash, 219. Beech, 83. Dogwood, 207. Boxelder, 193. Boxwood, 205. Brittle Willow, 41. Buckeye, Ohio, 199. Bur Oak, 103. Butternut, 63. Buttonball-tree, 141. Button-wood, 141. Canada Plum, 161. Canoe Birch, 91. Carpinus caroliniana, 83. Carya alba, 69, 73. amara, 79. cordiformis, 79. glabra, 75, 77. laciniosa, 71. microcarpa, 75. ovata, 69. porcina, 77. sulcata, 71. tomentosa, 73. Castanea dentata, 95. sativa, v. americana, 95. vesca, v. americana, 95. Catalpa, 227. bignonioides, 225, 227. catalpa, 227. Hardy, 225. speciosa, 225. Cedar, Red, 33. White, 31. Celtis occidentalis, 131. Cercis canadensis, 167. Cherry Birch, 87. Cherry, Black, 155. Choke, 157. Pin, 159. Wild Red, 159. Chestnut, 95. Oak, 107. Chinquapin Oak, 107. Choke Cherry, 157. Coffeetree, 163. Kentucky, 163. Cork Elm, 129. Cornus alternifolia, 207. florida, 205. Cottonwood, 57. Crab, American, 145. Sweet, 145. Crack Willow, 41. Crataegus, 151. punctata, 150. Dogwood, 205. Alternate-leaved, 207. Blue, 207. Flowering, 205. Elm, American, 127. Cork, 129. Red, 125. Rock, 129. Slippery, 125. Water, 127. White, 127. Fagus americana, 93. atropunicea, 93. ferruginea, 93. grandifolia, 93. Fir, Balsam, 27. Scotch, 13. Flowering Dogwood, 205. Fraxinus americana, 213. lanceolata, 217. nigra, 221. pennsylvanica, 215, 217. pennsylvanica lanceolata, 217. pubescens, 215, quadrangulata, 219. sambucifolia, 221. virdis, 217. Ginkgo, 3. biloba, 3. Gleditsia triacanthos, 165. Gray Birch, 89. Green Ash, 217. Gum, Black, 209. Gymnocladus canadensis, 163. dioica, 163. Hackberry, 131. Hairy Balm of Gilead, 55. Hard Maple, 181. Hardy Catalpa, 225. Haw, 151. Hawthorn, 151. Hemlock, 29. Hickory, Bitternut, 79. Mocker Nut, 73. Pignut, 77. Shagbark, 69. Shellbark, 69, 71. Small Pignut, 75. Hicoria alba, 73. glabra, 77. glabra, v. odorata, 75. laciniosa, 71. microcarpa, 75. minima, 79. odorata, 75. ovata, 69. Hill's Oak, 115. Honey Locust, 165. Hornbeam, 81. Horse-chestnut, 197. Ironwood, 81. Jack Pine, 9. Judas-tree, 167. Juglans cinerea, 63. nigra, 65. Juniper, Red, 33. Juniperus virginiana, 33. Kentucky Coffeetree, 163. King Nut, 71. Largetooth Aspen, 51. Larix americana, 17. laricina, 17. Liriodendron tulipifera, 137. Locust, 169. Black, 169. Honey, 165. Lombardy Poplar, 59. Maclura aurantiaca, 133. pomifera, 133. Maidenhair Tree, 3. Malus coronaria, 145. Maple, Ash-leaved, 193. Black, 183. Black Sugar, 183. Hard, 181. Mountain, 179. Norway, 189. Red, 187. Rock, 181. Silver, 185. Soft, 185, 187. Striped, 177. Sugar, 181. Sycamore, 191. Mocker Nut Hickory, 73. Moosewood, 177. Morus rubra, 135. Mountain Ash, 147. Maple, 179. Mulberry, Red, 135. Nannyberry, 229. Napoleon's Willow, 43. Negundo aceroides, 193. Nettle-tree, 131. Northern Pin Oak, 115. Norway Maple, 189. Pine, 15. Spruce, 25. Nut, King, 71. Nyssa multiflora, 209. sylvatica, 209. Oak, Black, 115, 117. Bur, 103. Chestnut, 107. Chinquapin, 107. Hill's, 115. Northern Pin, 115. Pin, 111. Red, 109. Scarlet, 113. Shingle, 121. Swamp, 105. Swamp White, 105. White, 101. Yellow, 107, 117. Ohio Buckeye, 199. Osage Orange, 133. Ostrya virginiana, 81. Padus serotina, 155. virginiana, 157. Paper Birch, 91. Pepperidge, 209. Picea abies, 25. alba, 21. canadensis, 21. excelsa, 25. mariana, 23. nigra, 23. Pignut Hickory, 77. Small, 75. Pin Cherry, 159. Oak, 111. Oak, Northern, 115. Pine, Austrian, 11. Black, 11. Jack, 9. Norway, 15. Red, 15. Scotch, 13. Scrub, 9. White, 7. Pinus austriaca, 11. banksiana, 9. divaricata, 9. laricio austriaca, 11. resinosa, 15. strobus, 7. sylvestris, 13. Platanus occidentalis, 141. Plum, Canada, 161. Red, 161. Poplar, Lombardy, 59. Tulip, 137. White, 47. Populus alba, 47. balsamifera, 53, 55. balsamifera candicans, 55. candicans, 55. deltoides, 57. dilatata, 59. fastigiata, 59. grandidentata, 51. monilifera, 57. nigra italica, 59. tremuloides, 49. Prunus americana, v. nigra, 161. nigra, 161. pennsylvanica, 159. serotina, 155. virginiana, 157. Pyrus americana, 147. coronaria, 145. Quercus acuminata, 107. alba, 101. Alexanderi, 107. bicolor, 105. coccinea, 113. ellipsoidalis, 115. imbricaria, 121. macrocarpa, 103. marilandica, 119. muhlenbergii, 107. palustris, 111. platanoides, 105. rubra, 109. velutina, 117. Red Ash, 215. Cedar, 33. Cherry, Wild, 159. Elm, 125. Juniper, 33. Maple, 187. Mulberry, 135. Oak, 109. Pine, 15. Plum, 161. Redbud, 167. Robinia pseudo-acacia, 169. Rock Elm, 129. Maple, 181. Salisburia adiantifolia, 3. Salix, 35. amygdaloides, 39. babylonica, 43. fragilis, 41. nigra, 37. Sassafras, 139. officinale, 139. sassafras, 139. variifolium, 139. Scarlet Oak, 113. Scotch Fir, 13. Pine, 13. Scrub Pine, 9. Serviceberry, 149. Shagbark Hickory, 69. Sheepberry, 229. Shellbark Hickory, 69, 71. Shingle Oak, 121. Silver Maple, 185. Slippery Elm, 125. Small Pignut Hickory, 75. Soft Maple, 185, 187. Sorbus americana, 147. Spruce, Black, 23. Norway, 25. White, 21. Striped Maple, 177. Sugar Maple, 181. Black, 183. Swamp Oak, 105. White Oak, 105. Sweet Birch, 87. Crab, 145. Sycamore, 141. Maple, 191. Tamarack, 17. Thorn, 151. Thorn-apple, 151. Three-thorned Acacia, 165. Thuja occidentalis, 31. Tilia americana, 201. Toxylon pomiferum, 133. Tree, Maidenhair, 3. of Heaven, 171. Tsuga canadensis, 29. Tulip Poplar, 137. Tulip-tree, 137. Ulmus americana, 125, 127. fulva, 125, pubescens, 125. racemosa, 129. Thomasi, 129. Viburnum lentago, 229. Walnut, Black, 65. Water Beech, 83. Elm, 127. Weeping Willow, 43. Whistlewood, 177. White Ash, 213. Beech, 93. Birch, 91. Cedar, 31. Elm, 127. Oak, 101. Oak, Swamp, 105. Pine, 7. Poplar, 47. Spruce, 21. White-wood, 137. Wild Red Cherry, 159. Willow, 35. Almondleaf, 39. Black, 37. Brittle, 41. Crack, 41. Napoleon's, 43. Weeping, 43. Yellow Birch, 89. Oak, 107, 117. 
11377	----	THE MAN WHOM THE TREES LOVED ALGERNON BLACKWOOD 1912 ~I~ He painted trees as by some special divining instinct of their essential qualities. He understood them. He knew why in an oak forest, for instance, each individual was utterly distinct from its fellows, and why no two beeches in the whole world were alike. People asked him down to paint a favorite lime or silver birch, for he caught the individuality of a tree as some catch the individuality of a horse. How he managed it was something of a puzzle, for he never had painting lessons, his drawing was often wildly inaccurate, and, while his perception of a Tree Personality was true and vivid, his rendering of it might almost approach the ludicrous. Yet the character and personality of that particular tree stood there alive beneath his brush--shining, frowning, dreaming, as the case might be, friendly or hostile, good or evil. It emerged. There was nothing else in the wide world that he could paint; flowers and landscapes he only muddled away into a smudge; with people he was helpless and hopeless; also with animals. Skies he could sometimes manage, or effects of wind in foliage, but as a rule he left these all severely alone. He kept to trees, wisely following an instinct that was guided by love. It was quite arresting, this way he had of making a tree look almost like a being--alive. It approached the uncanny. "Yes, Sanderson knows what he's doing when he paints a tree!" thought old David Bittacy, C.B., late of the Woods and Forests. "Why, you can almost hear it rustle. You can smell the thing. You can hear the rain drip through its leaves. You can almost see the branches move. It grows." For in this way somewhat he expressed his satisfaction, half to persuade himself that the twenty guineas were well spent (since his wife thought otherwise), and half to explain this uncanny reality of life that lay in the fine old cedar framed above his study table. Yet in the general view the mind of Mr. Bittacy was held to be austere, not to say morose. Few divined in him the secretly tenacious love of nature that had been fostered by years spent in the forests and jungles of the eastern world. It was odd for an Englishman, due possibly to that Eurasian ancestor. Surreptitiously, as though half ashamed of it, he had kept alive a sense of beauty that hardly belonged to his type, and was unusual for its vitality. Trees, in particular, nourished it. He, also, understood trees, felt a subtle sense of communion with them, born perhaps of those years he had lived in caring for them, guarding, protecting, nursing, years of solitude among their great shadowy presences. He kept it largely to himself, of course, because he knew the world he lived in. HE also kept it from his wife--to some extent. He knew it came between them, knew that she feared it, was opposed. But what he did not know, or realize at any rate, was the extent to which she grasped the power which they wielded over his life. Her fear, he judged, was simply due to those years in India, when for weeks at a time his calling took him away from her into the jungle forests, while she remained at home dreading all manner of evils that might befall him. This, of course, explained her instinctive opposition to the passion for woods that still influenced and clung to him. It was a natural survival of those anxious days of waiting in solitude for his safe return. For Mrs. Bittacy, daughter of an evangelical clergy-man, was a self-sacrificing woman, who in most things found a happy duty in sharing her husband's joys and sorrows to the point of self-obliteration. Only in this matter of the trees she was less successful than in others. It remained a problem difficult of compromise. He knew, for instance, that what she objected to in this portrait of the cedar on their lawn was really not the price he had given for it, but the unpleasant way in which the transaction emphasized this breach between their common interests--the only one they had, but deep. Sanderson, the artist, earned little enough money by his strange talent; such checks were few and far between. The owners of fine or interesting trees who cared to have them painted singly were rare indeed, and the "studies" that he made for his own delight he also kept for his own delight. Even were there buyers, he would not sell them. Only a few, and these peculiarly intimate friends, might even see them, for he disliked to hear the undiscerning criticisms of those who did not understand. Not that he minded laughter at his craftsmanship--he admitted it with scorn--but that remarks about the personality of the tree itself could easily wound or anger him. He resented slighting observations concerning them, as though insults offered to personal friends who could not answer for themselves. He was instantly up in arms. "It really is extraordinary," said a Woman who Understood, "that you can make that cypress seem an individual, when in reality all cypresses are so _exactly_ alike." And though the bit of calculated flattery had come so near to saying the right, true, thing, Sanderson flushed as though she had slighted a friend beneath his very nose. Abruptly he passed in front of her and turned the picture to the wall. "Almost as queer," he answered rudely, copying her silly emphasis, "as that _you_ should have imagined individuality in your husband, Madame, when in reality all men are so _exactly_ alike!" Since the only thing that differentiated her husband from the mob was the money for which she had married him, Sanderson's relations with that particular family terminated on the spot, chance of prospective orders with it. His sensitiveness, perhaps, was morbid. At any rate the way to reach his heart lay through his trees. He might be said to love trees. He certainly drew a splendid inspiration from them, and the source of a man's inspiration, be it music, religion, or a woman, is never a safe thing to criticize. "I do think, perhaps, it was just a little extravagant, dear," said Mrs. Bittacy, referring to the cedar check, "when we want a lawnmower so badly too. But, as it gives you such pleasure--" "It reminds me of a certain day, Sophia," replied the old gentleman, looking first proudly at herself, then fondly at the picture, "now long gone by. It reminds me of another tree--that Kentish lawn in the spring, birds singing in the lilacs, and some one in a muslin frock waiting patiently beneath a certain cedar--not the one in the picture, I know, but--" "I was not waiting," she said indignantly, "I was picking fir-cones for the schoolroom fire--" "Fir-cones, my dear, do not grow on cedars, and schoolroom fires were not made in June in my young days." "And anyhow it isn't the same cedar." "It has made me fond of all cedars for its sake," he answered, "and it reminds me that you are the same young girl still--" She crossed the room to his side, and together they looked out of the window where, upon the lawn of their Hampshire cottage, a ragged Lebanon stood in a solitary state. "You're as full of dreams as ever," she said gently, "and I don't regret the check a bit--really. Only it would have been more real if it had been the original tree, wouldn't it?" "That was blown down years ago. I passed the place last year, and there's not a sign of it left," he replied tenderly. And presently, when he released her from his side, she went up to the wall and carefully dusted the picture Sanderson had made of the cedar on their present lawn. She went all round the frame with her tiny handkerchief, standing on tiptoe to reach the top rim. "What I like about it," said the old fellow to himself when his wife had left the room, "is the way he has made it live. All trees have it, of course, but a cedar taught it to me first--the 'something' trees possess that make them know I'm there when I stand close and watch. I suppose I felt it then because I was in love, and love reveals life everywhere." He glanced a moment at the Lebanon looming gaunt and somber through the gathering dusk. A curious wistful expression danced a moment through his eyes. "Yes, Sanderson has seen it as it is," he murmured, "solemnly dreaming there its dim hidden life against the Forest edge, and as different from that other tree in Kent as I am from--from the vicar, say. It's quite a stranger, too. I don't know anything about it really. That other cedar I loved; this old fellow I respect. Friendly though--yes, on the whole quite friendly. He's painted the friendliness right enough. He saw that. I'd like to know that man better," he added. "I'd like to ask him how he saw so clearly that it stands there between this cottage and the Forest--yet somehow more in sympathy with us than with the mass of woods behind--a sort of go-between. _That_ I never noticed before. I see it now--through his eyes. It stands there like a sentinel--protective rather." He turned away abruptly to look through the window. He saw the great encircling mass of gloom that was the Forest, fringing their little lawn. It pressed up closer in the darkness. The prim garden with its formal beds of flowers seemed an impertinence almost--some little colored insect that sought to settle on a sleeping monster--some gaudy fly that danced impudently down the edge of a great river that could engulf it with a toss of its smallest wave. That Forest with its thousand years of growth and its deep spreading being was some such slumbering monster, yes. Their cottage and garden stood too near its running lip. When the winds were strong and lifted its shadowy skirts of black and purple.... He loved this feeling of the Forest Personality; he had always loved it. "Queer," he reflected, "awfully queer, that trees should bring me such a sense of dim, vast living! I used to feel it particularly, I remember, in India; in Canadian woods as well; but never in little English woods till here. And Sanderson's the only man I ever knew who felt it too. He's never said so, but there's the proof," and he turned again to the picture that he loved. A thrill of unaccustomed life ran through him as he looked. "I wonder; by Jove, I wonder," his thoughts ran on, "whether a tree--er--in any lawful meaning of the term can be--alive. I remember some writing fellow telling me long ago that trees had once been moving things, animal organisms of some sort, that had stood so long feeding, sleeping, dreaming, or something, in the same place, that they had lost the power to get away...!" Fancies flew pell-mell about his mind, and, lighting a cheroot, he dropped into an armchair beside the open window and let them play. Outside the blackbirds whistled in the shrubberies across the lawn. He smelt the earth and trees and flowers, the perfume of mown grass, and the bits of open heath-land far away in the heart of the woods. The summer wind stirred very faintly through the leaves. But the great New Forest hardly raised her sweeping skirts of black and purple shadow. Mr. Bittacy, however, knew intimately every detail of that wilderness of trees within. He knew all the purple coombs splashed with yellow waves of gorse; sweet with juniper and myrtle, and gleaming with clear and dark-eyed pools that watched the sky. There hawks hovered, circling hour by hour, and the flicker of the peewit's flight with its melancholy, petulant cry, deepened the sense of stillness. He knew the solitary pines, dwarfed, tufted, vigorous, that sang to every lost wind, travelers like the gypsies who pitched their bush-like tents beneath them; he knew the shaggy ponies, with foals like baby centaurs; the chattering jays, the milky call of the cuckoos in the spring, and the boom of the bittern from the lonely marshes. The undergrowth of watching hollies, he knew too, strange and mysterious, with their dark, suggestive beauty, and the yellow shimmer of their pale dropped leaves. Here all the Forest lived and breathed in safety, secure from mutilation. No terror of the axe could haunt the peace of its vast subconscious life, no terror of devastating Man afflict it with the dread of premature death. It knew itself supreme; it spread and preened itself without concealment. It set no spires to carry warnings, for no wind brought messages of alarm as it bulged outwards to the sun and stars. But, once its leafy portals left behind, the trees of the countryside were otherwise. The houses threatened them; they knew themselves in danger. The roads were no longer glades of silent turf, but noisy, cruel ways by which men came to attack them. They were civilized, cared for--but cared for in order that some day they might be put to death. Even in the villages, where the solemn and immemorial repose of giant chestnuts aped security, the tossing of a silver birch against their mass, impatient in the littlest wind, brought warning. Dust clogged their leaves. The inner humming of their quiet life became inaudible beneath the scream and shriek of clattering traffic. They longed and prayed to enter the great Peace of the Forest yonder, but they could not move. They knew, moreover, that the Forest with its august, deep splendor despised and pitied them. They were a thing of artificial gardens, and belonged to beds of flowers all forced to grow one way.... "I'd like to know that artist fellow better," was the thought upon which he returned at length to the things of practical life. "I wonder if Sophia would mind him for a bit--?" He rose with the sound of the gong, brushing the ashes from his speckled waistcoat. He pulled the waistcoat down. He was slim and spare in figure, active in his movements. In the dim light, but for that silvery moustache, he might easily have passed for a man of forty. "I'll suggest it to her anyhow," he decided on his way upstairs to dress. His thought really was that Sanderson could probably explain his world of things he had always felt about--trees. A man who could paint the soul of a cedar in that way must know it all. "Why not?" she gave her verdict later over the bread-and-butter pudding; "unless you think he'd find it dull without companions." "He would paint all day in the Forest, dear. I'd like to pick his brains a bit, too, if I could manage it." "You can manage anything, David," was what she answered, for this elderly childless couple used an affectionate politeness long since deemed old-fashioned. The remark, however, displeased her, making her feel uneasy, and she did not notice his rejoinder, smiling his pleasure and content--"Except yourself and our bank account, my dear." This passion of his for trees was of old a bone of contention, though very mild contention. It frightened her. That was the truth. The Bible, her Baedeker for earth and heaven, did not mention it. Her husband, while humoring her, could never alter that instinctive dread she had. He soothed, but never changed her. She liked the woods, perhaps as spots for shade and picnics, but she could not, as he did, love them. And after dinner, with a lamp beside the open window, he read aloud from _ The Times_ the evening post had brought, such fragments as he thought might interest her. The custom was invariable, except on Sundays, when, to please his wife, he dozed over Tennyson or Farrar as their mood might be. She knitted while he read, asked gentle questions, told him his voice was a "lovely reading voice," and enjoyed the little discussions that occasions prompted because he always let her with them with "Ah, Sophia, I had never thought of it quite in _that_ way before; but now you mention it I must say I think there's something in it...." For David Bittacy was wise. It was long after marriage, during his months of loneliness spent with trees and forests in India, his wife waiting at home in the Bungalow, that his other, deeper side had developed the strange passion that she could not understand. And after one or two serious attempts to let her share it with him, he had given up and learned to hide it from her. He learned, that is, to speak of it only casually, for since she knew it was there, to keep silence altogether would only increase her pain. So from time to time he skimmed the surface just to let her show him where he was wrong and think she won the day. It remained a debatable land of compromise. He listened with patience to her criticisms, her excursions and alarms, knowing that while it gave her satisfaction, it could not change himself. The thing lay in him too deep and true for change. But, for peace' sake, some meeting-place was desirable, and he found it thus. It was her one fault in his eyes, this religious mania carried over from her upbringing, and it did no serious harm. Great emotion could shake it sometimes out of her. She clung to it because her father taught it her and not because she had thought it out for herself. Indeed, like many women, she never really _thought_ at all, but merely reflected the images of others' thinking which she had learned to see. So, wise in his knowledge of human nature, old David Bittacy accepted the pain of being obliged to keep a portion of his inner life shut off from the woman he deeply loved. He regarded her little biblical phrases as oddities that still clung to a rather fine, big soul--like horns and little useless things some animals have not yet lost in the course of evolution while they have outgrown their use. "My dear, what is it? You frightened me!" She asked it suddenly, sitting up so abruptly that her cap dropped sideways almost to her ear. For David Bittacy behind his crackling paper had uttered a sharp exclamation of surprise. He had lowered the sheet and was staring at her over the tops of his gold glasses. "Listen to this, if you please," he said, a note of eagerness in his voice, "listen to this, my dear Sophia. It's from an address by Francis Darwin before the Royal Society. He is president, you know, and son of the great Darwin. Listen carefully, I beg you. It is _most_ significant." "I _am_ listening, David," she said with some astonishment, looking up. She stopped her knitting. For a second she glanced behind her. Something had suddenly changed in the room, and it made her feel wide awake, though before she had been almost dozing. Her husband's voice and manner had introduced this new thing. Her instincts rose in warning. "_Do_ read it, dear." He took a deep breath, looking first again over the rims of his glasses to make quite sure of her attention. He had evidently come across something of genuine interest, although herself she often found the passages from these "Addresses" somewhat heavy. In a deep, emphatic voice he read aloud: '"It is impossible to know whether or not plants are conscious; but it is consistent with the doctrine of continuity that in all living things there is something psychic, and if we accept this point of view--'" "_If_," she interrupted, scenting danger. He ignored the interruption as a thing of slight value he was accustomed to. '"If we accept this point of view,'" he continued, '"we must believe that in plants there exists a faint copy of _what we know as consciousness in ourselves_ .'" He laid the paper down and steadily stared at her. Their eyes met. He had italicized the last phrase. For a minute or two his wife made no reply or comment. They stared at one another in silence. He waited for the meaning of the words to reach her understanding with full import. Then he turned and read them again in part, while she, released from that curious driving look in his eyes, instinctively again glanced over her shoulder round the room. It was almost as if she felt some one had come in to them unnoticed. "We must believe that in plants there exists a faint copy of what we know as consciousness in ourselves." "_If_," she repeated lamely, feeling before the stare of those questioning eyes she must say something, but not yet having gathered her wits together quite. "_Consciousness_," he rejoined. And then he added gravely: "That, my dear, is the statement of a scientific man of the Twentieth Century." Mrs. Bittacy sat forward in her chair so that her silk flounces crackled louder than the newspaper. She made a characteristic little sound between sniffling and snorting. She put her shoes closely together, with her hands upon her knees. "David," she said quietly, "I think these scientific men are simply losing their heads. There is nothing in the Bible that I can remember about any such thing whatsoever." "Nothing, Sophia, that I can remember either," he answered patiently. Then, after a pause, he added, half to himself perhaps more than to her: "And, now that I come to think about it, it seems that Sanderson once said something to me that was similar. "Then Mr. Sanderson is a wise and thoughtful man, and a safe man," she quickly took up, "if he said that." For she thought her husband referred to her remark about the Bible, and not to her judgment of the scientific men. And he did not correct her mistake. "And plants, you see, dear, are not the same as trees," she drove her advantage home, "not quite, that is." "I agree," said David quietly; "but both belong to the great vegetable kingdom." There was a moment's pause before she answered. "Pah! the vegetable kingdom, indeed!" She tossed her pretty old head. And into the words she put a degree of contempt that, could the vegetable kingdom have heard it, might have made it feel ashamed for covering a third of the world with its wonderful tangled network of roots and branches, delicate shaking leaves, and its millions of spires that caught the sun and wind and rain. Its very right to existence seemed in question. ~II~ Sanderson accordingly came down, and on the whole his short visit was a success. Why he came at all was a mystery to those who heard of it, for he never paid visits and was certainly not the kind of man to court a customer. There must have been something in Bittacy he liked. Mrs. Bittacy was glad when he left. He brought no dress-suit for one thing, not even a dinner-jacket, and he wore very low collars with big balloon ties like a Frenchman, and let his hair grow longer than was nice, she felt. Not that these things were important, but that she considered them symptoms of something a little disordered. The ties were unnecessarily flowing. For all that he was an interesting man, and, in spite of his eccentricities of dress and so forth, a gentleman. "Perhaps," she reflected in her genuinely charitable heart, "he had other uses for the twenty guineas, an invalid sister or an old mother to support!" She had no notion of the cost of brushes, frames, paints, and canvases. Also she forgave him much for the sake of his beautiful eyes and his eager enthusiasm of manner. So many men of thirty were already blase. Still, when the visit was over, she felt relieved. She said nothing about his coming a second time, and her husband, she was glad to notice, had likewise made no suggestion. For, truth to tell, the way the younger man engrossed the older, keeping him out for hours in the Forest, talking on the lawn in the blazing sun, and in the evenings when the damp of dusk came creeping out from the surrounding woods, all regardless of his age and usual habits, was not quite to her taste. Of course, Mr. Sanderson did not know how easily those attacks of Indian fever came back, but David surely might have told him. They talked trees from morning to night. It stirred in her the old subconscious trail of dread, a trail that led ever into the darkness of big woods; and such feelings, as her early evangelical training taught her, were temptings. To regard them in any other way was to play with danger. Her mind, as she watched these two, was charged with curious thoughts of dread she could not understand, yet feared the more on that account. The way they studied that old mangy cedar was a trifle unnecessary, unwise, she felt. It was disregarding the sense of proportion which deity had set upon the world for men's safe guidance. Even after dinner they smoked their cigars upon the low branches that swept down and touched the lawn, until at length she insisted on their coming in. Cedars, she had somewhere heard, were not safe after sundown; it was not wholesome to be too near them; to sleep beneath them was even dangerous, though what the precise danger was she had forgotten. The upas was the tree she really meant. At any rate she summoned David in, and Sanderson came presently after him. For a long time, before deciding on this peremptory step, she had watched them surreptitiously from the drawing-room window--her husband and her guest. The dusk enveloped them with its damp veil of gauze. She saw the glowing tips of their cigars, and heard the drone of voices. Bats flitted overhead, and big, silent moths whirred softly over the rhododendron blossoms. And it came suddenly to her, while she watched, that her husband had somehow altered these last few days--since Mr. Sanderson's arrival in fact. A change had come over him, though what it was she could not say. She hesitated, indeed, to search. That was the instinctive dread operating in her. Provided it passed she would rather not know. Small things, of course, she noticed; small outward signs. He had neglected _The Times_ for one thing, left off his speckled waistcoats for another. He was absent-minded sometimes; showed vagueness in practical details where hitherto he showed decision. And--he had begun to talk in his sleep again. These and a dozen other small peculiarities came suddenly upon her with the rush of a combined attack. They brought with them a faint distress that made her shiver. Momentarily her mind was startled, then confused, as her eyes picked out the shadowy figures in the dusk, the cedar covering them, the Forest close at their backs. And then, before she could think, or seek internal guidance as her habit was, this whisper, muffled and very hurried, ran across her brain: "It's Mr. Sanderson. Call David in at once!" And she had done so. Her shrill voice crossed the lawn and died away into the Forest, quickly smothered. No echo followed it. The sound fell dead against the rampart of a thousand listening trees. "The damp is so very penetrating, even in summer," she murmured when they came obediently. She was half surprised at her open audacity, half repentant. They came so meekly at her call. "And my husband is sensitive to fever from the East. No, _please do not throw away your cigars. We can sit by the open window and enjoy the evening while you smoke_." She was very talkative for a moment; subconscious excitement was the cause. "It is so still--so wonderfully still," she went on, as no one spoke; "so peaceful, and the air so very sweet ... and God is always near to those who need His aid." The words slipped out before she realized quite what she was saying, yet fortunately, in time to lower her voice, for no one heard them. They were, perhaps, an instinctive expression of relief. It flustered her that she could have said the thing at all. Sanderson brought her shawl and helped to arrange the chairs; she thanked him in her old-fashioned, gentle way, declining the lamps which he had offered to light. "They attract the moths and insects so, I think!" The three of them sat there in the gloaming. Mr. Bittacy's white moustache and his wife's yellow shawl gleaming at either end of the little horseshoe, Sanderson with his wild black hair and shining eyes midway between them. The painter went on talking softly, continuing evidently the conversation begun with his host beneath the cedar. Mrs. Bittacy, on her guard, listened--uneasily. "For trees, you see, rather conceal themselves in daylight. They reveal themselves fully only after sunset. I never _know_ a tree," he bowed here slightly towards the lady as though to apologize for something he felt she would not quite understand or like, "until I've seen it in the night. Your cedar, for instance," looking towards her husband again so that Mrs. Bittacy caught the gleaming of his turned eyes, "I failed with badly at first, because I did it in the morning. You shall see to-morrow what I mean--that first sketch is upstairs in my portfolio; it's quite another tree to the one you bought. That view"--he leaned forward, lowering his voice--"I caught one morning about two o'clock in very faint moonlight and the stars. I saw the naked being of the thing--" "You mean that you went out, Mr. Sanderson, at that hour?" the old lady asked with astonishment and mild rebuke. She did not care particularly for his choice of adjectives either. "I fear it was rather a liberty to take in another's house, perhaps," he answered courteously. "But, having chanced to wake, I saw the tree from my window, and made my way downstairs." "It's a wonder Boxer didn't bit you; he sleeps loose in the hall," she said. "On the contrary. The dog came out with me. I hope," he added, "the noise didn't disturb you, though it's rather late to say so. I feel quite guilty." His white teeth showed in the dusk as he smiled. A smell of earth and flowers stole in through the window on a breath of wandering air. Mrs. Bittacy said nothing at the moment. "We both sleep like tops," put in her husband, laughing. "You're a courageous man, though, Sanderson, and, by Jove, the picture justifies you. Few artist would have taken so much trouble, though I read once that Holman Hunt, Rossetti, or some one of that lot, painted all night in his orchard to get an effect of moonlight that he wanted." He chattered on. His wife was glad to hear his voice; it made her feel more easy in her mind. But presently the other held the floor again, and her thoughts grew darkened and afraid. Instinctively she feared the influence on her husband. The mystery and wonder that lie in woods, in forests, in great gatherings of trees everywhere, seemed so real and present while he talked. "The Night transfigures all things in a way," he was saying; "but nothing so searchingly as trees. From behind a veil that sunlight hangs before them in the day they emerge and show themselves. Even buildings do that--in a measure--but trees particularly. In the daytime they sleep; at night they wake, they manifest, turn active--live. You remember," turning politely again in the direction of his hostess, "how clearly Henley understood that?" "That socialist person, you mean?" asked the lady. Her tone and accent made the substantive sound criminal. It almost hissed, the way she uttered it. "The poet, yes," replied the artist tactfully, "the friend of Stevenson, you remember, Stevenson who wrote those charming children's verses." He quoted in a low voice the lines he meant. It was, for once, the time, the place, and the setting all together. The words floated out across the lawn towards the wall of blue darkness where the big Forest swept the little garden with its league-long curve that was like the shore-line of a sea. A wave of distant sound that was like surf accompanied his voice, as though the wind was fain to listen too: Not to the staring Day, For all the importunate questionings he pursues In his big, violent voice, Shall those mild things of bulk and multitude, The trees--God's sentinels ... Yield of their huge, unutterable selves But at the word Of the ancient, sacerdotal Night, Night of many secrets, whose effect-- Transfiguring, hierophantic, dread-- Themselves alone may fully apprehend, They tremble and are changed: In each the uncouth, individual soul Looms forth and glooms Essential, and, their bodily presences Touched with inordinate significance, Wearing the darkness like a livery Of some mysterious and tremendous guild, They brood--they menace--they appall. The voice of Mrs. Bittacy presently broke the silence that followed. "I like that part about God's sentinels," she murmured. There was no sharpness in her tone; it was hushed and quiet. The truth, so musically uttered, muted her shrill objections though it had not lessened her alarm. Her husband made no comment; his cigar, she noticed, had gone out. "And old trees in particular," continued the artist, as though to himself, "have very definite personalities. You can offend, wound, please them; the moment you stand within their shade you feel whether they come out to you, or whether they withdraw." He turned abruptly towards his host. "You know that singular essay of Prentice Mulford's, no doubt 'God in the Trees'--extravagant perhaps, but yet with a fine true beauty in it? You've never read it, no?" he asked. But it was Mrs. Bittacy who answered; her husband keeping his curious deep silence. "I never did!" It fell like a drip of cold water from the face muffled in the yellow shawl; even a child could have supplied the remainder of the unspoken thought. "Ah," said Sanderson gently, "but there _is_ 'God' in the trees. God in a very subtle aspect and sometimes--I have known the trees express it too--that which is _not_ God--dark and terrible. Have you ever noticed, too, how clearly trees show what they want--choose their companions, at least? How beeches, for instance, allow no life too near them--birds or squirrels in their boughs, nor any growth beneath? The silence in the beech wood is quite terrifying often! And how pines like bilberry bushes at their feet and sometimes little oaks--all trees making a clear, deliberate choice, and holding firmly to it? Some trees obviously--it's very strange and marked--seem to prefer the human." The old lady sat up crackling, for this was more than she could permit. Her stiff silk dress emitted little sharp reports. "We know," she answered, "that He was said to have walked in the garden in the cool of the evening"--the gulp betrayed the effort that it cost her--"but we are nowhere told that He hid in the trees, or anything like that. Trees, after all, we must remember, are only large vegetables." "True," was the soft answer, "but in everything that grows, has life, that is, there's mystery past all finding out. The wonder that lies hidden in our own souls lies also hidden, I venture to assert, in the stupidity and silence of a mere potato." The observation was not meant to be amusing. It was _not_ amusing. No one laughed. On the contrary, the words conveyed in too literal a sense the feeling that haunted all that conversation. Each one in his own way realized--with beauty, with wonder, with alarm--that the talk had somehow brought the whole vegetable kingdom nearer to that of man. Some link had been established between the two. It was not wise, with that great Forest listening at their very doors, to speak so plainly. The forest edged up closer while they did so. And Mrs. Bittacy, anxious to interrupt the horrid spell, broke suddenly in upon it with a matter-of-fact suggestion. She did not like her husband's prolonged silence, stillness. He seemed so negative--so changed. "David," she said, raising her voice, "I think you're feeling the dampness. It's grown chilly. The fever comes so suddenly, you know, and it might be wide to take the tincture. I'll go and get it, dear, at once. It's better." And before he could object she had left the room to bring the homeopathic dose that she believed in, and that, to please her, he swallowed by the tumbler-full from week to week. And the moment the door closed behind her, Sanderson began again, though now in quite a different tone. Mr. Bittacy sat up in his chair. The two men obviously resumed the conversation--the real conversation interrupted beneath the cedar--and left aside the sham one which was so much dust merely thrown in the old lady's eyes. "Trees love you, that's the fact," he said earnestly. "Your service to them all these years abroad has made them know you." "Know me?" "Made them, yes,"--he paused a moment, then added,--"made them _aware of your presence_; aware of a force outside themselves that deliberately seeks their welfare, don't you see?" "By Jove, Sanderson--!" This put into plain language actual sensations he had felt, yet had never dared to phrase in words before. "They get into touch with me, as it were?" he ventured, laughing at his own sentence, yet laughing only with his lips. "Exactly," was the quick, emphatic reply. "They seek to blend with something they feel instinctively to be good for them, helpful to their essential beings, encouraging to their best expression--their life." "Good Lord, Sir!" Bittacy heard himself saying, "but you're putting my own thoughts into words. D'you know, I've felt something like that for years. As though--" he looked round to make sure his wife was not there, then finished the sentence--"as though the trees were after me!" "'Amalgamate' seems the best word, perhaps," said Sanderson slowly. "They would draw you to themselves. Good forces, you see, always seek to merge; evil to separate; that's why Good in the end must always win the day--everywhere. The accumulation in the long run becomes overwhelming. Evil tends to separation, dissolution, death. The comradeship of trees, their instinct to run together, is a vital symbol. Trees in a mass are good; alone, you may take it generally, are--well, dangerous. Look at a monkey-puzzler, or better still, a holly. Look at it, watch it, understand it. Did you ever see more plainly an evil thought made visible? They're wicked. Beautiful too, oh yes! There's a strange, miscalculated beauty often in evil--" "That cedar, then--?" "Not evil, no; but alien, rather. Cedars grow in forests all together. The poor thing has drifted, that is all." They were getting rather deep. Sanderson, talking against time, spoke so fast. It was too condensed. Bittacy hardly followed that last bit. His mind floundered among his own less definite, less sorted thoughts, till presently another sentence from the artist startled him into attention again. "That cedar will protect you here, though, because you both have humanized it by your thinking so lovingly of its presence. The others can't get past it, as it were." "Protect me!" he exclaimed. "Protect me from their love?" Sanderson laughed. "We're getting rather mixed," he said; "we're talking of one thing in the terms of another really. But what I mean is--you see--that their love for you, their 'awareness' of your personality and presence involves the idea of winning you--across the border--into themselves--into their world of living. It means, in a way, taking you over." The ideas the artist started in his mind ran furious wild races to and fro. It was like a maze sprung suddenly into movement. The whirling of the intricate lines bewildered him. They went so fast, leaving but half an explanation of their goal. He followed first one, then another, but a new one always dashed across to intercept before he could get anywhere. "But India," he said, presently in a lower voice, "India is so far away--from this little English forest. The trees, too, are utterly different for one thing?" The rustle of skirts warned of Mrs. Bittacy's approach. This was a sentence he could turn round another way in case she came up and pressed for explanation. "There is communion among trees all the world over," was the strange quick reply. "They always know." "They always know! You think then--?" "The winds, you see--the great, swift carriers! They have their ancient rights of way about the world. An easterly wind, for instance, carrying on stage by stage as it were--linking dropped messages and meanings from land to land like the birds--an easterly wind--" Mrs. Bittacy swept in upon them with the tumbler-- "There, David," she said, "that will ward off any beginnings of attack. Just a spoonful, dear. Oh, oh! not _all_ !" for he had swallowed half the contents at a single gulp as usual; "another dose before you go to bed, and the balance in the morning, first thing when you wake." She turned to her guest, who put the tumbler down for her upon a table at his elbow. She had heard them speak of the east wind. She emphasized the warning she had misinterpreted. The private part of the conversation came to an abrupt end. "It is the one thing that upsets him more than any other--an east wind," she said, "and I am glad, Mr. Sanderson, to hear you think so too." ~III~ A deep hush followed, in the middle of which an owl was heard calling its muffled note in the forest. A big moth whirred with a soft collision against one of the windows. Mrs. Bittacy started slightly, but no one spoke. Above the trees the stars were faintly visible. From the distance came the barking of a dog. Bittacy, relighting his cigar, broke the little spell of silence that had caught all three. "It's rather a comforting thought," he said, throwing the match out of the window, "that life is about us everywhere, and that there is really no dividing line between what we call organic and inorganic." "The universe, yes," said Sanderson, "is all one, really. We're puzzled by the gaps we cannot see across, but as a fact, I suppose, there are no gaps at all." Mrs. Bittacy rustled ominously, holding her peace meanwhile. She feared long words she did not understand. Beelzebub lay hid among too many syllables. "In trees and plants especially, there dreams an exquisite life that no one yet has proved unconscious." "Or conscious either, Mr. Sanderson," she neatly interjected. "It's only man that was made after His image, not shrubberies and things...." Her husband interposed without delay. "It is not necessary," he explained suavely, "to say that they're alive in the sense that we are alive. At the same time," with an eye to his wife, "I see no harm in holding, dear, that all created things contain some measure of His life Who made them. It's only beautiful to hold that He created nothing dead. We are not pantheists for all that!" he added soothingly. "Oh, no! Not that, I hope!" The word alarmed her. It was worse than pope. Through her puzzled mind stole a stealthy, dangerous thing ... like a panther. "I like to think that even in decay there's life," the painter murmured. "The falling apart of rotten wood breeds sentiency, there's force and motion in the falling of a dying leaf, in the breaking up and crumbling of everything indeed. And take an inert stone: it's crammed with heat and weight and potencies of all sorts. What holds its particles together indeed? We understand it as little as gravity or why a needle always turns to the 'North.' Both things may be a mode of life...." "You think a compass has a soul, Mr. Sanderson?" exclaimed the lady with a crackling of her silk flounces that conveyed a sense of outrage even more plainly than her tone. The artist smiled to himself in the darkness, but it was Bittacy who hastened to reply. "Our friend merely suggests that these mysterious agencies," he said quietly, "may be due to some kind of life we cannot understand. Why should water only run downhill? Why should trees grow at right angles to the surface of the ground and towards the sun? Why should the worlds spin for ever on their axes? Why should fire change the form of everything it touches without really destroying them? To say these things follow the law of their being explains nothing. Mr. Sanderson merely suggests--poetically, my dear, of course--that these may be manifestations of life, though life at a different stage to ours." "The '_ breath_ of life,' we read, 'He breathed into them. These things do not breathe." She said it with triumph. Then Sanderson put in a word. But he spoke rather to himself or to his host than by way of serious rejoinder to the ruffled lady. "But plants do breathe too, you know," he said. "They breathe, they eat, they digest, they move about, and they adapt themselves to their environment as men and animals do. They have a nervous system too... at least a complex system of nuclei which have some of the qualities of nerve cells. They may have memory too. Certainly, they know definite action in response to stimulus. And though this may be physiological, no one has proved that it is only that, and not--psychological." He did not notice, apparently, the little gasp that was audible behind the yellow shawl. Bittacy cleared his throat, threw his extinguished cigar upon the lawn, crossed and recrossed his legs. "And in trees," continued the other, "behind a great forest, for instance," pointing towards the woods, "may stand a rather splendid Entity that manifests through all the thousand individual trees--some huge collective life, quite as minutely and delicately organized as our own. It might merge and blend with ours under certain conditions, so that we could understand it by _being_ it, for a time at least. It might even engulf human vitality into the immense whirlpool of its own vast dreaming life. The pull of a big forest on a man can be tremendous and utterly overwhelming." The mouth of Mrs. Bittacy was heard to close with a snap. Her shawl, and particularly her crackling dress, exhaled the protest that burned within her like a pain. She was too distressed to be overawed, but at the same time too confused 'mid the litter of words and meanings half understood, to find immediate phrases she could use. Whatever the actual meaning of his language might be, however, and whatever subtle dangers lay concealed behind them meanwhile, they certainly wove a kind of gentle spell with the glimmering darkness that held all three delicately enmeshed there by that open window. The odors of dewy lawn, flowers, trees, and earth formed part of it. "The moods," he continued, "that people waken in us are due to their hidden life affecting our own. Deep calls to sleep. A person, for instance, joins you in an empty room: you both instantly change. The new arrival, though in silence, has caused a change of mood. May not the moods of Nature touch and stir us in virtue of a similar prerogative? The sea, the hills, the desert, wake passion, joy, terror, as the case may be; for a few, perhaps," he glanced significantly at his host so that Mrs. Bittacy again caught the turning of his eyes, "emotions of a curious, flaming splendor that are quite nameless. Well ... whence come these powers? Surely from nothing that is ... dead! Does not the influence of a forest, its sway and strange ascendancy over certain minds, betray a direct manifestation of life? It lies otherwise beyond all explanation, this mysterious emanation of big woods. Some natures, of course, deliberately invite it. The authority of a host of trees,"--his voice grew almost solemn as he said the words--"is something not to be denied. One feels it here, I think, particularly." There was considerable tension in the air as he ceased speaking. Mr. Bittacy had not intended that the talk should go so far. They had drifted. He did not wish to see his wife unhappy or afraid, and he was aware--acutely so--that her feelings were stirred to a point he did not care about. Something in her, as he put it, was "working up" towards explosion. He sought to generalize the conversation, diluting this accumulated emotion by spreading it. "The sea is His and He made it," he suggested vaguely, hoping Sanderson would take the hint, "and with the trees it is the same...." "The whole gigantic vegetable kingdom, yes," the artist took him up, "all at the service of man, for food, for shelter and for a thousand purposes of his daily life. Is it not striking what a lot of the globe they cover ... exquisitely organized life, yet stationary, always ready to our had when we want them, never running away? But the taking them, for all that, not so easy. One man shrinks from picking flowers, another from cutting down trees. And, it's curious that most of the forest tales and legends are dark, mysterious, and somewhat ill-omened. The forest-beings are rarely gay and harmless. The forest life was felt as terrible. Tree-worship still survives to-day. Wood-cutters... those who take the life of trees... you see a race of haunted men...." He stopped abruptly, a singular catch in his voice. Bittacy felt something even before the sentences were over. His wife, he knew, felt it still more strongly. For it was in the middle of the heavy silence following upon these last remarks, that Mrs. Bittacy, rising with a violent abruptness from her chair, drew the attention of the others to something moving towards them across the lawn. It came silently. In outline it was large and curiously spread. It rose high, too, for the sky above the shrubberies, still pale gold from the sunset, was dimmed by its passage. She declared afterwards that it move in "looping circles," but what she perhaps meant to convey was "spirals." She screamed faintly. "It's come at last! And it's you that brought it!" She turned excitedly, half afraid, half angry, to Sanderson. With a breathless sort of gasp she said it, politeness all forgotten. "I knew it ... if you went on. I knew it. Oh! Oh!" And she cried again, "Your talking has brought it out!" The terror that shook her voice was rather dreadful. But the confusion of her vehement words passed unnoticed in the first surprise they caused. For a moment nothing happened. "What is it you think you see, my dear?" asked her husband, startled. Sanderson said nothing. All three leaned forward, the men still sitting, but Mrs. Bittacy had rushed hurriedly to the window, placing herself of a purpose, as it seemed, between her husband and the lawn. She pointed. Her little hand made a silhouette against the sky, the yellow shawl hanging from the arm like a cloud. "Beyond the cedar--between it and the lilacs." The voice had lost its shrillness; it was thin and hushed. "There ... now you see it going round upon itself again--going back, thank God!... going back to the Forest." It sank to a whisper, shaking. She repeated, with a great dropping sigh of relief--"Thank God! I thought ... at first ... it was coming here ... to us!... David ... to _you_ !" She stepped back from the window, her movements confused, feeling in the darkness for the support of a chair, and finding her husband's outstretched hand instead. "Hold me, dear, hold me, please ... tight. Do not let me go." She was in what he called afterwards "a regular state." He drew her firmly down upon her chair again. "Smoke, Sophie, my dear," he said quickly, trying to make his voice calm and natural. "I see it, yes. It's smoke blowing over from the gardener's cottage...." "But, David,"--and there was a new horror in her whisper now--"it made a noise. It makes it still. I hear it swishing." Some such word she used--swishing, sishing, rushing, or something of the kind. "David, I'm very frightened. It's something awful! That man has called it out...!" "Hush, hush," whispered her husband. He stroked her trembling hand beside him. "It is in the wind," said Sanderson, speaking for the first time, very quietly. The expression on his face was not visible in the gloom, but his voice was soft and unafraid. At the sound of it, Mrs. Bittacy started violently again. Bittacy drew his chair a little forward to obstruct her view of him. He felt bewildered himself, a little, hardly knowing quite what to say or do. It was all so very curious and sudden. But Mrs. Bittacy was badly frightened. It seemed to her that what she saw came from the enveloping forest just beyond their little garden. It emerged in a sort of secret way, moving towards them as with a purpose, stealthily, difficultly. Then something stopped it. It could not advance beyond the cedar. The cedar--this impression remained with her afterwards too--prevented, kept it back. Like a rising sea the Forest had surged a moment in their direction through the covering darkness, and this visible movement was its first wave. Thus to her mind it seemed... like that mysterious turn of the tide that used to frighten and mystify her in childhood on the sands. The outward surge of some enormous Power was what she felt... something to which every instinct in her being rose in opposition because it threatened her and hers. In that moment she realized the Personality of the Forest... menacing. In the stumbling movement that she made away from the window and towards the bell she barely caught the sentence Sanderson--or was it her husband?--murmured to himself: "It came because we talked of it; our thinking made it aware of us and brought it out. But the cedar stops it. It cannot cross the lawn, you see...." All three were standing now, and her husband's voice broke in with authority while his wife's fingers touched the bell. "My dear, I should _not_ say anything to Thompson." The anxiety he felt was manifest in his voice, but his outward composure had returned. "The gardener can go...." Then Sanderson cut him short. "Allow me," he said quickly. "I'll see if anything's wrong." And before either of them could answer or object, he was gone, leaping out by the open window. They saw his figure vanish with a run across the lawn into the darkness. A moment later the maid entered, in answer to the bell, and with her came the loud barking of the terrier from the hall. "The lamps," said her master shortly, and as she softly closed the door behind her, they heard the wind pass with a mournful sound of singing round the outer walls. A rustle of foliage from the distance passed within it. "You see, the wind _is_ rising. It _was_ the wind!" He put a comforting arm about her, distressed to feel that she was trembling. But he knew that he was trembling too, though with a kind of odd elation rather than alarm. "And it _was_ smoke that you saw coming from Stride's cottage, or from the rubbish heaps he's been burning in the kitchen garden. The noise we heard was the branches rustling in the wind. Why should you be so nervous?" A thin whispering voice answered him: "I was afraid for _you_, dear. Something frightened me for _you_. That man makes me feel so uneasy and uncomfortable for his influence upon you. It's very foolish, I know. I think... I'm tired; I feel so overwrought and restless." The words poured out in a hurried jumble and she kept turning to the window while she spoke. "The strain of having a visitor," he said soothingly, "has taxed you. We're so unused to having people in the house. He goes to-morrow." He warmed her cold hands between his own, stroking them tenderly. More, for the life of him, he could not say or do. The joy of a strange, internal excitement made his heart beat faster. He knew not what it was. He knew only, perhaps, whence it came. She peered close into his face through the gloom, and said a curious thing. "I thought, David, for a moment... you seemed... different. My nerves are all on edge to-night." She made no further reference to her husband's visitor. A sound of footsteps from the lawn warned of Sanderson's return, as he answered quickly in a lowered tone--"There's no need to be afraid on my account, dear girl. There's nothing wrong with me. I assure you; I never felt so well and happy in my life." Thompson came in with the lamps and brightness, and scarcely had she gone again when Sanderson in turn was seen climbing through the window. "There's nothing," he said lightly, as he closed it behind him. "Somebody's been burning leaves, and the smoke is drifting a little through the trees. The wind," he added, glancing at his host a moment significantly, but in so discreet a way that Mrs. Bittacy did not observe it, "the wind, too, has begun to roar... in the Forest... further out." But Mrs. Bittacy noticed about him two things which increased her uneasiness. She noticed the shining of his eyes, because a similar light had suddenly come into her husband's; and she noticed, too, the apparent depth of meaning he put into those simple words that "the wind had begun to roar in the Forest ...further out." Her mind retained the disagreeable impression that he meant more than he said. In his tone lay quite another implication. It was not actually "wind" he spoke of, and it would not remain "further out"...rather, it was coming in. Another impression she got too--still more unwelcome--was that her husband understood his hidden meaning. ~IV~ "David, dear," she observed gently as soon as they were alone upstairs, "I have a horrible uneasy feeling about that man. I cannot get rid of it." The tremor in per voice caught all his tenderness. He turned to look at her. "Of what kind, my dear? You're so imaginative sometimes, aren't you?" "I think," she hesitated, stammering a little, confused, still frightened, "I mean--isn't he a hypnotist, or full of those theosophical ideas, or something of the sort? You know what I mean--" He was too accustomed to her little confused alarms to explain them away seriously as a rule, or to correct her verbal inaccuracies, but to-night he felt she needed careful, tender treatment. He soothed her as best he could. "But there's no harm in that, even if he is," he answered quietly. "Those are only new names for very old ideas, you know, dear." There was no trace of impatience in his voice. "That's what I mean," she replied, the texts he dreaded rising in an unuttered crowd behind the words. "He's one of those things that we are warned would come--one of those Latter-Day things." For her mind still bristled with the bogeys of the Antichrist and Prophecy, and she had only escaped the Number of the Beast, as it were, by the skin of her teeth. The Pope drew most of her fire usually, because she could understand him; the target was plain and she could shoot. But this tree-and-forest business was so vague and horrible. It terrified her. "He makes me think," she went on, "of Principalities and Powers in high places, and of things that walk in the darkness. I did _not_ like the way he spoke of trees getting alive in the night, and all that; it made me think of wolves in sheep's clothing. And when I saw that awful thing in the sky above the lawn--" But he interrupted her at once, for that was something he had decided it was best to leave unmentioned. Certainly it was better not discussed. "He only meant, I think, Sophie," he put in gravely, yet with a little smile, "that trees may have a measure of conscious life--rather a nice idea on the whole, surely,--something like that bit we read in the Times the other night, you remember--and that a big forest may possess a sort of Collective Personality. Remember, he's an artist, and poetical." "It's dangerous," she said emphatically. "I feel it's playing with fire, unwise, unsafe--" "Yet all to the glory of God," he urged gently. "We must not shut our ears and eyes to knowledge--of any kind, must we?" "With you, David, the wish is always farther than the thought," she rejoined. For, like the child who thought that "suffered under Pontius Pilate" was "suffered under a bunch of violets," she heard her proverbs phonetically and reproduced them thus. She hoped to convey her warning in the quotation. "And we must always try the spirits whether they be of God," she added tentatively. "Certainly, dear, we can always do that," he assented, getting into bed. But, after a little pause, during which she blew the light out, David Bittacy settling down to sleep with an excitement in his blood that was new and bewilderingly delightful, realized that perhaps he had not said quite enough to comfort her. She was lying awake by his side, still frightened. He put his head up in the darkness. "Sophie," he said softly, "you must remember, too, that in any case between us and--and all that sort of thing--there is a great gulf fixed, a gulf that cannot be crossed--er--while we are still in the body." And hearing no reply, he satisfied himself that she was already asleep and happy. But Mrs. Bittacy was not asleep. She heard the sentence, only she said nothing because she felt her thought was better unexpressed. She was afraid to hear the words in the darkness. The Forest outside was listening and might hear them too--the Forest that was "roaring further out." And the thought was this: That gulf, of course, existed, but Sanderson had somehow bridged it. It was much later than night when she awoke out of troubled, uneasy dreams and heard a sound that twisted her very nerves with fear. It passed immediately with full waking, for, listen as she might, there was nothing audible but the inarticulate murmur of the night. It was in her dreams she heard it, and the dreams had vanished with it. But the sound was recognizable, for it was that rushing noise that had come across the lawn; only this time closer. Just above her face while she slept had passed this murmur as of rustling branches in the very room, a sound of foliage whispering. "A going in the tops of the mulberry trees," ran through her mind. She had dreamed that she lay beneath a spreading tree somewhere, a tree that whispered with ten thousand soft lips of green; and the dream continued for a moment even after waking. She sat up in bed and stared about her. The window was open at the top; she saw the stars; the door, she remembered, was locked as usual; the room, of course, was empty. The deep hush of the summer night lay over all, broken only by another sound that now issued from the shadows close beside the bed, a human sound, yet unnatural, a sound that seized the fear with which she had waked and instantly increased it. And, although it was one she recognized as familiar, at first she could not name it. Some seconds certainly passed--and, they were very long ones--before she understood that it was her husband talking in his sleep. The direction of the voice confused and puzzled her, moreover, for it was not, as she first supposed, beside her. There was distance in it. The next minute, by the light of the sinking candle flame, she saw his white figure standing out in the middle of the room, half-way towards the window. The candle-light slowly grew. She saw him move then nearer to the window, with arms outstretched. His speech was low and mumbled, the words running together too much to be distinguishable. And she shivered. To her, sleep-talking was uncanny to the point of horror; it was like the talking of the dead, mere parody of a living voice, unnatural. "David!" she whispered, dreading the sound of her own voice, and half afraid to interrupt him and see his face. She could not bear the sight of the wide-opened eyes. "David, you're walking in your sleep. Do--come back to bed, dear, _please!_" Her whisper seemed so dreadfully loud in the still darkness. At the sound of her voice he paused, then turned slowly round to face her. His widely-opened eyes stared into her own without recognition; they looked through her into something beyond; it was as though he knew the direction of the sound, yet cold not see her. They were shining, she noticed, as the eyes of Sanderson had shone several hours ago; and his face was flushed, distraught. Anxiety was written upon every feature. And, instantly, recognizing that the fever was upon him, she forgot her terror temporarily in practical considerations. He came back to bed without waking. She closed his eyelids. Presently he composed himself quietly to sleep, or rather to deeper sleep. She contrived to make him swallow something from the tumbler beside the bed. Then she rose very quietly to close the window, feeling the night air blow in too fresh and keen. She put the candle where it could not reach him. The sight of the big Baxter Bible beside it comforted her a little, but all through her under-being ran the warnings of a curious alarm. And it was while in the act of fastening the catch with one hand and pulling the string of the blind with the other, that her husband sat up again in bed and spoke in words this time that were distinctly audible. The eyes had opened wide again. He pointed. She stood stock still and listened, her shadow distorted on the blind. He did not come out towards her as at first she feared. The whispering voice was very clear, horrible, too, beyond all she had ever known. "They are roaring in the Forest further out... and I... must go and see." He stared beyond her as he said it, to the woods. "They are needing me. They sent for me...." Then his eyes wandering back again to things within the room, he lay down, his purpose suddenly changed. And that change was horrible as well, more horrible, perhaps, because of its revelation of another detailed world he moved in far away from her. The singular phrase chilled her blood, for a moment she was utterly terrified. That tone of the somnambulist, differing so slightly yet so distressingly from normal, waking speech, seemed to her somehow wicked. Evil and danger lay waiting thick behind it. She leaned against the window-sill, shaking in every limb. She had an awful feeling for a moment that something was coming in to fetch him. "Not yet, then," she heard in a much lower voice from the bed, "but later. It will be better so... I shall go later...." The words expressed some fringe of these alarms that had haunted her so long, and that the arrival and presence of Sanderson seemed to have brought to the very edge of a climax she could not even dare to think about. They gave it form; they brought it closer; they sent her thoughts to her Deity in a wild, deep prayer for help and guidance. For here was a direct, unconscious betrayal of a world of inner purposes and claims her husband recognized while he kept them almost wholly to himself. By the time she reached his side and knew the comfort of his touch, the eyes had closed again, this time of their own accord, and the head lay calmly back upon the pillows. She gently straightened the bed clothes. She watched him for some minutes, shading the candle carefully with one hand. There was a smile of strangest peace upon the face. Then, blowing out the candle, she knelt down and prayed before getting back into bed. But no sleep came to her. She lay awake all night thinking, wondering, praying, until at length with the chorus of the birds and the glimmer of the dawn upon the green blind, she fell into a slumber of complete exhaustion. But while she slept the wind continued roaring in the Forest further out. The sound came closer--sometimes very close indeed. ~V~ With the departure of Sanderson the significance of the curious incidents waned, because the moods that had produced them passed away. Mrs. Bittacy soon afterwards came to regard them as some growth of disproportion that had been very largely, perhaps, in her own mind. It did not strike her that this change was sudden for it came about quite naturally. For one thing her husband never spoke of the matter, and for another she remembered how many things in life that had seemed inexplicable and singular at the time turned out later to have been quite commonplace. Most of it, certainly, she put down to the presence of the artist and to his wild, suggestive talk. With his welcome removal, the world turned ordinary again and safe. The fever, though it lasted as usual a short time only, had not allowed of her husband's getting up to say good-bye, and she had conveyed his regrets and adieux. In the morning Mr. Sanderson had seemed ordinary enough. In his town hat and gloves, as she saw him go, he seemed tame and unalarming. "After all," she thought as she watched the pony-cart bear him off, "he's only an artist!" What she had thought he might be otherwise her slim imagination did not venture to disclose. Her change of feeling was wholesome and refreshing. She felt a little ashamed of her behavior. She gave him a smile--genuine because the relief she felt was genuine--as he bent over her hand and kissed it, but she did not suggest a second visit, and her husband, she noted with satisfaction and relief, had said nothing either. The little household fell again into the normal and sleepy routine to which it was accustomed. The name of Arthur Sanderson was rarely if ever mentioned. Nor, for her part, did she mention to her husband the incident of his walking in his sleep and the wild words he used. But to forget it was equally impossible. Thus it lay buried deep within her like a center of some unknown disease of which it was a mysterious symptom, waiting to spread at the first favorable opportunity. She prayed against it every night and morning: prayed that she might forget it--that God would keep her husband safe from harm. For in spite of much surface foolishness that many might have read as weakness. Mrs. Bittacy had balance, sanity, and a fine deep faith. She was greater than she knew. Her love for her husband and her God were somehow one, an achievement only possible to a single-hearted nobility of soul. There followed a summer of great violence and beauty; of beauty, because the refreshing rains at night prolonged the glory of the spring and spread it all across July, keeping the foliage young and sweet; of violence, because the winds that tore about the south of England brushed the whole country into dancing movement. They swept the woods magnificently, and kept them roaring with a perpetual grand voice. Their deepest notes seemed never to leave the sky. They sang and shouted, and torn leaves raced and fluttered through the air long before their usually appointed time. Many a tree, after days of roaring and dancing, fell exhausted to the ground. The cedar on the lawn gave up two limbs that fell upon successive days, at the same hour too--just before dusk. The wind often makes its most boisterous effort at that time, before it drops with the sun, and these two huge branches lay in dark ruin covering half the lawn. They spread across it and towards the house. They left an ugly gaping space upon the tree, so that the Lebanon looked unfinished, half destroyed, a monster shorn of its old-time comeliness and splendor. Far more of the Forest was now visible than before; it peered through the breach of the broken defenses. They could see from the windows of the house now--especially from the drawing-room and bedroom windows--straight out into the glades and depths beyond. Mrs. Bittacy's niece and nephew, who were staying on a visit at the time, enjoyed themselves immensely helping the gardeners carry off the fragments. It took two days to do this, for Mr. Bittacy insisted on the branches being moved entire. He would not allow them to be chopped; also, he would not consent to their use as firewood. Under his superintendence the unwieldy masses were dragged to the edge of the garden and arranged upon the frontier line between the Forest and the lawn. The children were delighted with the scheme. They entered into it with enthusiasm. At all costs this defense against the inroads of the Forest must be made secure. They caught their uncle's earnestness, felt even something of a hidden motive that he had; and the visit, usually rather dreaded, became the visit of their lives instead. It was Aunt Sophia this time who seemed discouraging and dull. "She's got so old and funny," opined Stephen. But Alice, who felt in the silent displeasure of her aunt some secret thing that alarmed her, said: "I think she's afraid of the woods. She never comes into them with us, you see." "All the more reason then for making this wall impreg--all fat and thick and solid," he concluded, unable to manage the longer word. "Then nothing--simply _nothing_--can get through. Can't it, Uncle David?" And Mr. Bittacy, jacket discarded and working in his speckled waistcoat, went puffing to their aid, arranging the massive limb of the cedar like a hedge. "Come on," he said, "whatever happens, you know, we must finish before it's dark. Already the wind is roaring in the Forest further out." And Alice caught the phrase and instantly echoed it. "Stevie," she cried below her breath, "look sharp, you lazy lump. Didn't you hear what Uncle David said? It'll come in and catch us before we've done!" They worked like Trojans, and, sitting beneath the wisteria tree that climbed the southern wall of the cottage, Mrs. Bittacy with her knitting watched them, calling from time to time insignificant messages of counsel and advice. The messages passed, of course, unheeded. Mostly, indeed, they were unheard, for the workers were too absorbed. She warned her husband not to get too hot, Alice not to tear her dress, Stephen not to strain his back with pulling. Her mind hovered between the homeopathic medicine-chest upstairs and her anxiety to see the business finished. For this breaking up of the cedar had stirred again her slumbering alarms. It revived memories of the visit of Mr. Sanderson that had been sinking into oblivion; she recalled his queer and odious way of talking, and many things she hoped forgotten drew their heads up from that subconscious region to which all forgetting is impossible. They looked at her and nodded. They were full of life; they had no intention of being pushed aside and buried permanently. "Now look!" they whispered, "didn't we tell you so?" They had been merely waiting the right moment to assert their presence. And all her former vague distress crept over her. Anxiety, uneasiness returned. That dreadful sinking of the heart came too. This incident of the cedar's breaking up was actually so unimportant, and yet her husband's attitude towards it made it so significant. There was nothing that he said in particular, or did, or left undone that frightened, her, but his general air of earnestness seemed so unwarranted. She felt that he deemed the thing important. He was so exercised about it. This evidence of sudden concern and interest, buried all the summer from her sight and knowledge, she realized now had been buried purposely, he had kept it intentionally concealed. Deeply submerged in him there ran this tide of other thoughts, desires, hopes. What were they? Whither did they lead? The accident to the tree betrayed it most unpleasantly, and, doubtless, more than he was aware. She watched his grave and serious face as he worked there with the children, and as she watched she felt afraid. It vexed her that the children worked so eagerly. They unconsciously supported him. The thing she feared she would not even name. But it was waiting. Moreover, as far as her puzzled mind could deal with a dread so vague and incoherent, the collapse of the cedar somehow brought it nearer. The fact that, all so ill-explained and formless, the thing yet lay in her consciousness, out of reach but moving and alive, filled her with a kind of puzzled, dreadful wonder. Its presence was so very real, its power so gripping, its partial concealment so abominable. Then, out of the dim confusion, she grasped one thought and saw it stand quite clear before her eyes. She found difficulty in clothing it in words, but its meaning perhaps was this: That cedar stood in their life for something friendly; its downfall meant disaster; a sense of some protective influence about the cottage, and about her husband in particular, was thereby weakened. "Why do you fear the big winds so?" he had asked her several days before, after a particularly boisterous day; and the answer she gave surprised her while she gave it. One of those heads poked up unconsciously, and let slip the truth. "Because, David, I feel they--bring the Forest with them," she faltered. "They blow something from the trees--into the mind--into the house." He looked at her keenly for a moment. "That must be why I love them then," he answered. "They blow the souls of the trees about the sky like clouds." The conversation dropped. She had never heard him talk in quite that way before. And another time, when he had coaxed her to go with him down one of the nearer glades, she asked why he took the small hand-axe with him, and what he wanted it for. "To cut the ivy that clings to the trunks and takes their life away," he said. "But can't the verdurers do that?" she asked. "That's what they're paid for, isn't it?" Whereupon he explained that ivy was a parasite the trees knew not how to fight alone, and that the verdurers were careless and did not do it thoroughly. They gave a chop here and there, leaving the tree to do the rest for itself if it could. "Besides, I like to do it for them. I love to help them and protect," he added, the foliage rustling all about his quiet words as they went. And these stray remarks, as his attitude towards the broken cedar, betrayed this curious, subtle change that was going forward to his personality. Slowly and surely all the summer it had increased. It was growing--the thought startled her horribly--just as a tree grows, the outer evidence from day to day so slight as to be unnoticeable, yet the rising tide so deep and irresistible. The alteration spread all through and over him, was in both mind and actions, sometimes almost in his face as well. Occasionally, thus, it stood up straight outside himself and frightened her. His life was somehow becoming linked so intimately with trees, and with all that trees signified. His interests became more and more their interests, his activity combined with theirs, his thoughts and feelings theirs, his purpose, hope, desire, his fate-- His fate! The darkness of some vague, enormous terror dropped its shadow on her when she thought of it. Some instinct in her heart she dreaded infinitely more than death--for death meant sweet translation for his soul--came gradually to associate the thought of him with the thought of trees, in particular with these Forest trees. Sometimes, before she could face the thing, argue it away, or pray it into silence, she found the thought of him running swiftly through her mind like a thought of the Forest itself, the two most intimately linked and joined together, each a part and complement of the other, one being. The idea was too dim for her to see it face to face. Its mere possibility dissolved the instant she focused it to get the truth behind it. It was too utterly elusive, made, protæan. Under the attack of even a minute's concentration the very meaning of it vanished, melted away. The idea lay really behind any words that she could ever find, beyond the touch of definite thought. Her mind was unable to grapple with it. But, while it vanished, the trail of its approach and disappearance flickered a moment before her shaking vision. The horror certainly remained. Reduced to the simple human statement that her temperament sought instinctively, it stood perhaps at this: Her husband loved her, and he loved the trees as well; but the trees came first, claimed parts of him she did not know. _She_ loved her God and him. _He_ loved the trees and her. Thus, in guise of some faint, distressing compromise, the matter shaped itself for her perplexed mind in the terms of conflict. A silent, hidden battle raged, but as yet raged far away. The breaking of the cedar was a visible outward fragment of a distant and mysterious encounter that was coming daily closer to them both. The wind, instead of roaring in the Forest further out, now cam nearer, booming in fitful gusts about its edge and frontiers. Meanwhile the summer dimmed. The autumn winds went sighing through the woods, leaves turned to golden red, and the evenings were drawing in with cozy shadows before the first sign of anything seriously untoward made its appearance. It came then with a flat, decided kind of violence that indicated mature preparation beforehand. It was not impulsive nor ill-considered. In a fashion it seemed expected, and indeed inevitable. For within a fortnight of their annual change to the little village of Seillans above St. Raphael--a change so regular for the past ten years that it was not even discussed between them--David Bittacy abruptly refused to go. Thompson had laid the tea-table, prepared the spirit lamp beneath the urn, pulled down the blinds in that swift and silent way she had, and left the room. The lamps were still unlit. The fire-light shone on the chintz armchairs, and Boxer lay asleep on the black horse-hair rug. Upon the walls the gilt picture frames gleamed faintly, the pictures themselves indistinguishable. Mrs. Bittacy had warmed the teapot and was in the act of pouring the water in to heat the cups when her husband, looking up from his chair across the hearth, made the abrupt announcement: "My dear," he said, as though following a train of thought of which she only heard this final phrase, "it's really quite impossible for me to go." And so abrupt, inconsequent, it sounded that she at first misunderstood. She thought he meant to go out into the garden or the woods. But her heart leaped all the same. The tone of his voice was ominous. "Of course not," she answered, "it would be _most_ unwise. Why should you--?" She referred to the mist that always spread on autumn nights upon the lawn, but before she finished the sentence she knew that _he_ referred to something else. And her heart then gave its second horrible leap. "David! You mean abroad?" she gasped. "I mean abroad, dear, yes." It reminded her of the tone he used when saying good-bye years ago, before one of those jungle expeditions she dreaded. His voice then was so serious, so final. It was serious and final now. For several moments she could think of nothing to say. She busied herself with the teapot. She had filled one cup with hot water till it overflowed, and she emptied it slowly into the slop-basin, trying with all her might not to let him see the trembling of her hand. The firelight and the dimness of the room both helped her. But in any case he would hardly have noticed it. His thoughts were far away.... ~VI~ Mrs. Bittacy had never liked their present home. She preferred a flat, more open country that left approaches clear. She liked to see things coming. This cottage on the very edge of the old hunting grounds of William the Conqueror had never satisfied her ideal of a safe and pleasant place to settle down in. The sea-coast, with treeless downs behind and a clear horizon in front, as at Eastbourne, say, was her ideal of a proper home. It was curious, this instinctive aversion she felt to being shut in--by trees especially; a kind of claustrophobia almost; probably due, as has been said, to the days in India when the trees took her husband off and surrounded him with dangers. In those weeks of solitude the feeling had matured. She had fought it in her fashion, but never conquered it. Apparently routed, it had a way of creeping back in other forms. In this particular case, yielding to his strong desire, she thought the battle won, but the terror of the trees came back before the first month had passed. They laughed in her face. She never lost knowledge of the fact that the leagues of forest lay about their cottage like a mighty wall, a crowding, watching, listening presence that shut them in from freedom and escape. Far from morbid naturally, she did her best to deny the thought, and so simple and unartificial was her type of mind that for weeks together she would wholly lose it. Then, suddenly it would return upon her with a rush of bleak reality. It was not only in her mind; it existed apart from any mere mood; a separate fear that walked alone; it came and went, yet when it went--went only to watch her from another point of view. It was in abeyance--hidden round the corner. The Forest never let her go completely. It was ever ready to encroach. All the branches, she sometimes fancied, stretched one way--towards their tiny cottage and garden, as though it sought to draw them in and merge them in itself. Its great, deep-breathing soul resented the mockery, the insolence, the irritation of the prim garden at its very gates. It would absorb and smother them if it could. And every wind that blew its thundering message over the huge sounding-board of the million, shaking trees conveyed the purpose that it had. They had angered its great soul. At its heart was this deep, incessant roaring. All this she never framed in words, the subtleties of language lay far beyond her reach. But instinctively she felt it; and more besides. It troubled her profoundly. Chiefly, moreover, for her husband. Merely for herself, the nightmare might have left her cold. It was David's peculiar interest in the trees that gave the special invitation. Jealousy, then, in its most subtle aspect came to strengthen this aversion and dislike, for it came in a form that no reasonable wife could possibly object to. Her husband's passion, she reflected, was natural and inborn. It had decided his vocation, fed his ambition, nourished his dreams, desires, hopes. All his best years of active life had been spent in the care and guardianship of trees. He knew them, understood their secret life and nature, "managed" them intuitively as other men "managed" dogs and horses. He could not live for long away from them without a strange, acute nostalgia that stole his peace of mind and consequently his strength of body. A forest made him happy and at peace; it nursed and fed and soothed his deepest moods. Trees influenced the sources of his life, lowered or raised the very heart-beat in him. Cut off from them he languished as a lover of the sea can droop inland, or a mountaineer may pine in the flat monotony of the plains. This she could understand, in a fashion at least, and make allowances for. She had yielded gently, even sweetly, to his choice of their English home; for in the little island there is nothing that suggests the woods of wilder countries so nearly as the New Forest. It has the genuine air and mystery, the depth and splendor, the loneliness, and there and there the strong, untamable quality of old-time forests as Bittacy of the Department knew them. In a single detail only had he yielded to her wishes. He consented to a cottage on the edge, instead of in the heart of it. And for a dozen years now they had dwelt in peace and happiness at the lips of this great spreading thing that covered so many leagues with its tangle of swamps and moors and splendid ancient trees. Only with the last two years or so--with his own increasing age, and physical decline perhaps--had come this marked growth of passionate interest in the welfare of the Forest. She had watched it grow, at first had laughed at it, then talked sympathetically so far as sincerity permitted, then had argued mildly, and finally come to realize that its treatment lay altogether beyond her powers, and so had come to fear it with all her heart. The six weeks they annually spent away from their English home, each regarded very differently, of course. For her husband it meant a painful exile that did his health no good; he yearned for his trees--the sight and sound and smell of them; but for herself it meant release from a haunting dread--escape. To renounce those six weeks by the sea on the sunny, shining coast of France, was almost more than this little woman, even with her unselfishness, could face. After the first shock of the announcement, she reflected as deeply as her nature permitted, prayed, wept in secret--and made up her mind. Duty, she felt clearly, pointed to renouncement. The discipline would certainly be severe--she did not dream at the moment how severe!--but this fine, consistent little Christian saw it plain; she accepted it, too, without any sighing of the martyr, though the courage she showed was of the martyr order. Her husband should never know the cost. In all but this one passion his unselfishness was ever as great as her own. The love she had borne him all these years, like the love she bore her anthropomorphic deity, was deep and real. She loved to suffer for them both. Besides, the way her husband had put it to her was singular. It did not take the form of a mere selfish predilection. Something higher than two wills in conflict seeking compromise was in it from the beginning. "I feel, Sophia, it would be really more than I could manage," he said slowly, gazing into the fire over the tops of his stretched-out muddy boots. "My duty and my happiness lie here with the Forest and with you. My life is deeply rooted in this place. Something I can't define connects my inner being with these trees, and separation would make me ill--might even kill me. My hold on life would weaken; here is my source of supply. I cannot explain it better than that." He looked up steadily into her face across the table so that she saw the gravity of his expression and the shining of his steady eyes. "David, you feel it as strongly as that!" she said, forgetting the tea things altogether. "Yes," he replied, "I do. And it's not of the body only, I feel it in my soul." The reality of what he hinted at crept into that shadow-covered room like an actual Presence and stood beside them. It came not by the windows or the door, but it filled the entire space between the walls and ceiling. It took the heat from the fire before her face. She felt suddenly cold, confused a little, frightened. She almost felt the rush of foliage in the wind. It stood between them. "There are things--some things," she faltered, "we are not intended to know, I think." The words expressed her general attitude to life, not alone to this particular incident. And after a pause of several minutes, disregarding the criticism as though he had not heard it--"I cannot explain it better than that, you see," his grave voice answered. "There is this deep, tremendous link,--some secret power they emanate that keeps me well and happy and--alive. If you cannot understand, I feel at least you may be able to--forgive." His tone grew tender, gentle, soft. "My selfishness, I know, must seem quite unforgivable. I cannot help it somehow; these trees, this ancient Forest, both seem knitted into all that makes me live, and if I go--" There was a little sound of collapse in his voice. He stopped abruptly, and sank back in his chair. And, at that, a distinct lump came up into her throat which she had great difficulty in managing while she went over and put her arms about him. "My dear," she murmured, "God will direct. We will accept His guidance. He has always shown the way before." "My selfishness afflicts me--" he began, but she would not let him finish. "David, He will direct. Nothing shall harm you. You've never once been selfish, and I cannot bear to hear you say such things. The way will open that is best for you--for both of us." She kissed him, she would not let him speak; her heart was in her throat, and she felt for him far more than for herself. And then he had suggested that she should go alone perhaps for a shorter time, and stay in her brother's villa with the children, Alice and Stephen. It was always open to her as she well knew. "You need the change," he said, when the lamps had been lit and the servant had gone out again; "you need it as much as I dread it. I could manage somehow until you returned, and should feel happier that way if you went. I cannot leave this Forest that I love so well. I even feel, Sophie dear"--he sat up straight and faced her as he half whispered it--"that I can _never_ leave it again. My life and happiness lie here together." And eve while scorning the idea that she could leave him alone with the Influence of the Forest all about him to have its unimpeded way, she felt the pangs of that subtle jealousy bite keen and close. He loved the Forest better than herself, for he placed it first. Behind the words, moreover, hid the unuttered thought that made her so uneasy. The terror Sanderson had brought revived and shook its wings before her very eyes. For the whole conversation, of which this was a fragment, conveyed the unutterable implication that while he could not spare the trees, they equally could not spare him. The vividness with which he managed to conceal and yet betray the fact brought a profound distress that crossed the border between presentiment and warning into positive alarm. He clearly felt that the trees would miss him--the trees he tended, guarded, watched over, loved. "David, I shall stay here with you. I think you need me really,--don't you?" Eagerly, with a touch of heart-felt passion, the words poured out. "Now more than ever, dear. God bless you for you sweet unselfishness. And your sacrifice," he added, "is all the greater because you cannot understand the thing that makes it necessary for me to stay." "Perhaps in the spring instead--" she said, with a tremor in the voice. "In the spring--perhaps," he answered gently, almost beneath his breath. "For they will not need me then. All the world can love them in the spring. It's in the winter that they're lonely and neglected. I wish to stay with them particularly then. I even feel I ought to--and I must." And in this way, without further speech, the decision was made. Mrs. Bittacy, at least, asked no more questions. Yet she could not bring herself to show more sympathy than was necessary. She felt, for one thing, that if she did, it might lead him to speak freely, and to tell her things she could not possibly bear to know. And she dared not take the risk of that. ~VII~ This was at the end of summer, but the autumn followed close. The conversation really marked the threshold between the two seasons, and marked at the same time the line between her husband's negative and aggressive state. She almost felt she had done wrong to yield; he grew so bold, concealment all discarded. He went, that is, quite openly to the woods, forgetting all his duties, all his former occupations. He even sought to coax her to go with him. The hidden thing blazed out without disguise. And, while she trembled at his energy, she admired the virile passion he displayed. Her jealousy had long ago retired before her fear, accepting the second place. Her one desire now was to protect. The wife turned wholly mother. He said so little, but--he hated to come in. From morning to night he wandered in the Forest; often he went out after dinner; his mind was charged with trees--their foliage, growth, development; their wonder, beauty, strength; their loneliness in isolation, their power in a herded mass. He knew the effect of every wind upon them; the danger from the boisterous north, the glory from the west, the eastern dryness, and the soft, moist tenderness that a south wind left upon their thinning boughs. He spoke all day of their sensations: how they drank the fading sunshine, dreamed in the moonlight, thrilled to the kiss of stars. The dew could bring them half the passion of the night, but frost sent them plunging beneath the ground to dwell with hopes of a later coming softness in their roots. They nursed the life they carried--insects, larvae, chrysalis--and when the skies above them melted, he spoke of them standing "motionless in an ecstasy of rain," or in the noon of sunshine "self-poised upon their prodigy of shade." And once in the middle of the night she woke at the sound of his voice, and heard him--wide awake, not talking in his sleep--but talking towards the window where the shadow of the cedar fell at noon: O art thou sighing for Lebanon In the long breeze that streams to thy delicious East? Sighing for Lebanon, Dark cedar; and, when, half charmed, half terrified, she turned and called to him by name, he merely said-- "My dear, I felt the loneliness--suddenly realized it--the alien desolation of that tree, set here upon our little lawn in England when all her Eastern brothers call her in sleep." And the answer seemed so queer, so "un-evangelical," that she waited in silence till he slept again. The poetry passed her by. It seemed unnecessary and out of place. It made her ache with suspicion, fear, jealousy. The fear, however, seemed somehow all lapped up and banished soon afterwards by her unwilling admiration of the rushing splendor of her husband's state. Her anxiety, at any rate, shifted from the religious to the medical. She thought he might be losing his steadiness of mind a little. How often in her prayers she offered thanks for the guidance that had made her stay with him to help and watch is impossible to say. It certainly was twice a day. She even went so far once, when Mr. Mortimer, the vicar, called, and brought with him a more or less distinguished doctor--as to tell the professional man privately some symptoms of her husband's queerness. And his answer that there was "nothing he could prescribe for" added not a little to her sense of unholy bewilderment. No doubt Sir James had never been "consulted" under such unorthodox conditions before. His sense of what was becoming naturally overrode his acquired instincts as a skilled instrument that might help the race. "No fever, you think?" she asked insistently with hurry, determined to get something from him. "Nothing that _I_ can deal with, as I told you, Madam," replied the offended allopathic Knight. Evidently he did not care about being invited to examine patients in this surreptitious way before a teapot on the lawn, chance of a fee most problematical. He liked to see a tongue and feel a thumping pulse; to know the pedigree and bank account of his questioner as well. It was most unusual, in abominable taste besides. Of course it was. But the drowning woman seized the only straw she could. For now the aggressive attitude of her husband overcame her to the point where she found it difficult even to question him. Yet in the house he was so kind and gentle, doing all he could to make her sacrifice as easy as possible. "David, you really _are_ unwise to go out now. The night is damp and very chilly. The ground is soaked in dew. You'll catch your death of cold." His face lightened. "Won't you come with me, dear,--just for once? I'm only going to the corner of the hollies to see the beech that stands so lonely by itself." She had been out with him in the short dark afternoon, and they had passed that evil group of hollies where the gypsies camped. Nothing else would grow there, but the hollies thrive upon the stony soil. "David, the beech is all right and safe." She had learned his phraseology a little, made clever out of due season by her love. "There's no wind to-night." "But it's rising," he answered, "rising in the east. I heard it in the bare and hungry larches. They need the sun and dew, and always cry out when the wind's upon them from the east." She sent a short unspoken prayer most swiftly to her deity as she heard him say it. For every time now, when he spoke in this familiar, intimate way of the life of the trees, she felt a sheet of cold fasten tight against her very skin and flesh. She shivered. How could he possibly know such things? Yet, in all else, and in the relations of his daily life, he was sane and reasonable, loving, kind and tender. It was only on the subject of the trees he seemed unhinged and queer. Most curiously it seemed that, since the collapse of the cedar they both loved, though in different fashion, his departure from the normal had increased. Why else did he watch them as a man might watch a sickly child? Why did he hunger especially in the dusk to catch their "mood of night" as he called it? Why think so carefully upon them when the frost was threatening or the wind appeared to rise? As she put it so frequently now herself--How could he possibly _know_ such things? He went. As she closed the front door after him she heard the distant roaring in the Forest. And then it suddenly struck her: How could she know them too? It dropped upon her like a blow that she felt at once all over, upon body, heart and mind. The discovery rushed out from its ambush to overwhelm. The truth of it, making all arguing futile, numbed her faculties. But though at first it deadened her, she soon revived, and her being rose into aggressive opposition. A wild yet calculated courage like that which animates the leaders of splendid forlorn hopes flamed in her little person--flamed grandly, and invincible. While knowing herself insignificant and weak, she knew at the same time that power at her back which moves the worlds. The faith that filled her was the weapon in her hands, and the right by which she claimed it; but the spirit of utter, selfless sacrifice that characterized her life was the means by which she mastered its immediate use. For a kind of white and faultless intuition guided her to the attack. Behind her stood her Bible and her God. How so magnificent a divination came to her at all may well be a matter for astonishment, though some clue of explanation lies, perhaps, in the very simpleness of her nature. At any rate, she saw quite clearly certain things; saw them in moments only--after prayer, in the still silence of the night, or when left alone those long hours in the house with her knitting and her thoughts--and the guidance which then flashed into her remained, even after the manner of its coming was forgotten. They came to her, these things she saw, formless, wordless; she could not put them into any kind of language; but by the very fact of being uncaught in sentences they retained their original clear vigor. Hours of patient waiting brought the first, and the others followed easily afterwards, by degrees, on subsequent days, a little and a little. Her husband had been gone since early morning, and had taken his luncheon with him. She was sitting by the tea things, the cups and teapot warmed, the muffins in the fender keeping hot, all ready for his return, when she realized quite abruptly that this thing which took him off, which kept him out so many hours day after day, this thing that was against her own little will and instincts--was enormous as the sea. It was no mere prettiness of single Trees, but something massed and mountainous. About her rose the wall of its huge opposition to the sky, its scale gigantic, its power utterly prodigious. What she knew of it hitherto as green and delicate forms waving and rustling in the winds was but, as it were the spray of foam that broke into sight upon the nearer edge of viewless depths far, far away. The trees, indeed, were sentinels set visibly about the limits of a camp that itself remained invisible. The awful hum and murmur of the main body in the distance passed into that still room about her with the firelight and hissing kettle. Out yonder--in the Forest further out--the thing that was ever roaring at the center was dreadfully increasing. The sense of definite battle, too--battle between herself and the Forest for his soul--came with it. Its presentiment was as clear as though Thompson had come into the room and quietly told her that the cottage was surrounded. "Please, ma'am, there are trees come up about the house," she might have suddenly announced. And equally might have heard her own answer: "It's all right, Thompson. The main body is still far away." Immediately upon its heels, then, came another truth, with a close reality that shocked her. She saw that jealousy was not confined to the human and animal world alone, but ran though all creation. The Vegetable Kingdom knew it too. So-called inanimate nature shared it with the rest. Trees felt it. This Forest just beyond the window--standing there in the silence of the autumn evening across the little lawn--this Forest understood it equally. The remorseless, branching power that sought to keep exclusively for itself the thing it loved and needed, spread like a running desire through all its million leaves and stems and roots. In humans, of course, it was consciously directed; in animals it acted with frank instinctiveness; but in trees this jealousy rose in some blind tide of impersonal and unconscious wrath that would sweep opposition from its path as the wind sweeps powdered snow from the surface of the ice. Their number was a host with endless reinforcements, and once it realized its passion was returned the power increased.... Her husband loved the trees.... They had become aware of it.... They would take him from her in the end.... Then, while she heard his footsteps in the hall and the closing of the front door, she saw a third thing clearly;--realized the widening of the gap between herself and him. This other love had made it. All these weeks of the summer when she felt so close to him, now especially when she had made the biggest sacrifice of her life to stay by his side and help him, he had been slowly, surely--drawing away. The estrangement was here and now--a fact accomplished. It had been all this time maturing; there yawned this broad deep space between them. Across the empty distance she saw the change in merciless perspective. It revealed his face and figure, dearly-loved, once fondly worshipped, far on the other side in shadowy distance, small, the back turned from her, and moving while she watched--moving away from her. They had their tea in silence then. She asked no questions, he volunteered no information of his day. The heart was big within her, and the terrible loneliness of age spread through her like a rising icy mist. She watched him, filling all his wants. His hair was untidy and his boots were caked with blackish mud. He moved with a restless, swaying motion that somehow blanched her cheek and sent a miserable shivering down her back. It reminded her of trees. His eyes were very bright. He brought in with him an odor of the earth and forest that seemed to choke her and make it difficult to breathe; and--what she noticed with a climax of almost uncontrollable alarm--upon his face beneath the lamplight shone traces of a mild, faint glory that made her think of moonlight falling upon a wood through speckled shadows. It was his new-found happiness that shone there, a happiness uncaused by her and in which she had no part. In his coat was a spray of faded yellow beech leaves. "I brought this from the Forest to you," he said, with all the air that belonged to his little acts of devotion long ago. And she took the spray of leaves mechanically with a smile and a murmured "thank you, dear," as though he had unknowingly put into her hands the weapon for her own destruction and she had accepted it. And when the tea was over and he left the room, he did not go to his study, or to change his clothes. She heard the front door softly shut behind him as he again went out towards the Forest. A moment later she was in her room upstairs, kneeling beside the bed--the side she slept on--and praying wildly through a flood of tears that God would save and keep him to her. Wind brushed the window panes behind her while she knelt. ~VIII~ One sunny November morning, when the strain had reached a pitch that made repression almost unmanageable, she came to an impulsive decision, and obeyed it. Her husband had again gone out with luncheon for the day. She took adventure in her hands and followed him. The power of seeing-clear was strong upon her, forcing her up to some unnatural level of understanding. To stay indoors and wait inactive for his return seemed suddenly impossible. She meant to know what he knew, feel what he felt, put herself in his place. She would dare the fascination of the Forest--share it with him. It was greatly daring; but it would give her greater understanding how to help and save him and therefore greater Power. She went upstairs a moment first to pray. In a thick, warm skirt, and wearing heavy boots--those walking boots she used with him upon the mountains about Seillans--she left the cottage by the back way and turned towards the Forest. She could not actually follow him, for he had started off an hour before and she knew not exactly his direction. What was so urgent in her was the wish to be with him in the woods, to walk beneath leafless branches just as he did: to be there when he was there, even though not together. For it had come to her that she might thus share with him for once this horrible mighty life and breathing of the trees he loved. In winter, he had said, they needed him particularly, and winter now was coming. Her love must bring her something of what he felt himself--the huge attraction, the suction and the pull of all the trees. Thus, in some vicarious fashion, she might share, though unknown to himself, this very thing that was taking him away from her. She might thus even lessen its attack upon himself. The impulse came to her clairvoyantly, and she obeyed without a sign of hesitation. Deeper comprehension would come to her of the whole awful puzzle. And come it did, yet not in the way she imagined and expected. The air was very still, the sky a cold pale blue, but cloudless. The entire Forest stood silent, at attention. It knew perfectly well that she had come. It knew the moment when she entered; watched and followed her; and behind her something dropped without a sound and shut her in. Her feet upon the glades of mossy grass fell silently, as the oaks and beeches shifted past in rows and took up their positions at her back. It was not pleasant, this way they grew so dense behind her the instant she had passed. She realized that they gathered in an ever-growing army, massed, herded, trooped, between her and the cottage, shutting off escape. They let her pass so easily, but to get out again she would know them differently--thick, crowded, branches all drawn and hostile. Already their increasing numbers bewildered her. In front, they looked so sparse and scattered, with open spaces where the sunshine fell; but when she turned it seemed they stood so close together, a serried army, darkening the sunlight. They blocked the day, collected all the shadows, stood with their leafless and forbidding rampart like the night. They swallowed down into themselves the very glade by which she came. For when she glanced behind her--rarely--the way she had come was shadowy and lost. Yet the morning sparkled overhead, and a glance of excitement ran quivering through the entire day. It was what she always knew as "children's weather," so clear and harmless, without a sign of danger, nothing ominous to threaten or alarm. Steadfast in her purpose, looking back as little as she dared, Sophia Bittacy marched slowly and deliberately into the heart of the silent woods, deeper, ever deeper. And then, abruptly, in an open space where the sunshine fell unhindered, she stopped. It was one of the breathing places of the forest. Dead, withered bracken lay in patches of unsightly grey. There were bits of heather too. All round the trees stood looking on--oak, beech, holly, ash, pine, larch, with here and there small groups of juniper. On the lips of this breathing space of the woods she stopped to rest, disobeying her instinct for the first time. For the other instinct in her was to go on. She did not really want to rest. This was the little act that brought it to her--the wireless message from a vast Emitter. "I've been stopped," she thought to herself with a horrid qualm. She looked about her in this quiet, ancient place. Nothing stirred. There was no life nor sign of life; no birds sang; no rabbits scuttled off at her approach. The stillness was bewildering, and gravity hung down upon it like a heavy curtain. It hushed the heart in her. Could this be part of what her husband felt--this sense of thick entanglement with stems, boughs, roots, and foliage? "This has always been as it is now," she thought, yet not knowing why she thought it. "Ever since the Forest grew it has been still and secret here. It has never changed." The curtain of silence drew closer while she said it, thickening round her. "For a thousand years--I'm here with a thousand years. And behind this place stand all the forests of the world!" So foreign to her temperament were such thoughts, and so alien to all she had been taught to look for in Nature, that she strove against them. She made an effort to oppose. But they clung and haunted just the same; they refused to be dispersed. The curtain hung dense and heavy as though its texture thickened. The air with difficulty came through. And then she thought that curtain stirred. There was movement somewhere. That obscure dim thing which ever broods behind the visible appearances of trees came nearer to her. She caught her breath and stared about her, listening intently. The trees, perhaps because she saw them more in detail now, it seemed to her had changed. A vague, faint alteration spread over them, at first so slight she scarcely would admit it, then growing steadily, though still obscurely, outwards. "They tremble and are changed," flashed through her mind the horrid line that Sanderson had quoted. Yet the change was graceful for all the uncouthness attendant upon the size of so vast a movement. They had turned in her direction. That was it. _They saw her._ In this way the change expressed itself in her groping, terrified thought. Till now it had been otherwise: she had looked at them from her own point of view; now they looked at her from theirs. They stared her in the face and eyes; they stared at her all over. In some unkind, resentful, hostile way, they watched her. Hitherto in life she had watched them variously, in superficial ways, reading into them what her own mind suggested. Now they read into her the things they actually _were_, and not merely another's interpretations of them. They seemed in their motionless silence there instinct with life, a life, moreover, that breathed about her a species of terrible soft enchantment that bewitched. It branched all through her, climbing to the brain. The Forest held her with its huge and giant fascination. In this secluded breathing spot that the centuries had left untouched, she had stepped close against the hidden pulse of the whole collective mass of them. They were aware of her and had turned to gaze with their myriad, vast sight upon the intruder. They shouted at her in the silence. For she wanted to look back at them, but it was like staring at a crowd, and her glance merely shifted from one tree to another, hurriedly, finding in none the one she sought. They saw her so easily, each and all. The rows that stood behind her also stared. But she could not return the gaze. Her husband, she realized, could. And their steady stare shocked her as though in some sense she knew that she was naked. They saw so much of her: she saw of them--so little. Her efforts to return their gaze were pitiful. The constant shifting increased her bewilderment. Conscious of this awful and enormous sight all over her, she let her eyes first rest upon the ground, and then she closed them altogether. She kept the lids as tight together as ever they would go. But the sight of the trees came even into that inner darkness behind the fastened lids, for there was no escaping it. Outside, in the light, she still knew that the leaves of the hollies glittered smoothly, that the dead foliage of the oaks hung crisp in the air about her, that the needles of the little junipers were pointing all one way. The spread perception of the Forest was focused on herself, and no mere shutting of the eyes could hide its scattered yet concentrated stare--the all-inclusive vision of great woods. There was no wind, yet here and there a single leaf hanging by its dried-up stalk shook all alone with great rapidity--rattling. It was the sentry drawing attention to her presence. And then, again, as once long weeks before, she felt their Being as a tide about her. The tide had turned. That memory of her childhood sands came back, when the nurse said, "The tide has turned now; we must go in," and she saw the mass of piled-up waters, green and heaped to the horizon, and realized that it was slowly coming in. The gigantic mass of it, too vast for hurry, loaded with massive purpose, she used to feel, was moving towards herself. The fluid body of the sea was creeping along beneath the sky to the very spot upon the yellow sands where she stood and played. The sight and thought of it had always overwhelmed her with a sense of awe--as though her puny self were the object of the whole sea's advance. "The tide has turned; we had better now go in." This was happening now about her--the same thing was happening in the woods--slow, sure, and steady, and its motion as little discernible as the sea's. The tide had turned. The small human presence that had ventured among its green and mountainous depths, moreover, was its objective. That all was clear within her while she sat and waited with tight-shut lids. But the next moment she opened her eyes with a sudden realization of something more. The presence that it sought was after all not hers. It was the presence of some one other than herself. And then she understood. Her eyes had opened with a click, it seemed, but the sound, in reality, was outside herself. Across the clearing where the sunshine lay so calm and still, she saw the figure of her husband moving among the trees--a man, like a tree, walking. With hands behind his back, and head uplifted, he moved quite slowly, as though absorbed in his own thoughts. Hardly fifty paces separated them, but he had no inkling of her presence there so near. With mind intent and senses all turned inwards, he marched past her like a figure in a dream, and like a figure in a dream she saw him go. Love, yearning, pity rose in a storm within her, but as in nightmare she found no words or movement possible. She sat and watched him go--go from her--go into the deeper reaches of the green enveloping woods. Desire to save, to bid him stop and turn, ran in a passion through her being, but there was nothing she could do. She saw him go away from her, go of his own accord and willingly beyond her; she saw the branches drop about his steps and hid him. His figure faded out among the speckled shade and sunlight. The trees covered him. The tide just took him, all unresisting and content to go. Upon the bosom of the green soft sea he floated away beyond her reach of vision. Her eyes could follow him no longer. He was gone. And then for the first time she realized, even at that distance, that the look upon his face was one of peace and happiness--rapt, and caught away in joy, a look of youth. That expression now he never showed to her. But she _had_ known it. Years ago, in the early days of their married life, she had seen it on his face. Now it no longer obeyed the summons of her presence and her love. The woods alone could call it forth; it answered to the trees; the Forest had taken every part of him--from her--his very heart and soul. Her sight that had plunged inwards to the fields of faded memory now came back to outer things again. She looked about her, and her love, returning empty-handed and unsatisfied, left her open to the invading of the bleakest terror she had ever known. That such things could be real and happen found her helpless utterly. Terror invaded the quietest corners of her heart, that had never yet known quailing. She could not--for moments at any rate--reach either her Bible or her God. Desolate in an empty world of fear she sat with eyes too dry and hot for tears, yet with a coldness as of ice upon her very flesh. She stared, unseeing, about her. That horror which stalks in the stillness of the noonday, when the glare of an artificial sunshine lights up the motionless trees, moved all about her. In front and behind she was aware of it. Beyond this stealthy silence, just within the edge of it, the things of another world were passing. But she could not know them. Her husband knew them, knew their beauty and their awe, yes, but for her they were out of reach. She might not share with him the very least of them. It seemed that behind and through the glare of this wintry noonday in the heart of the woods there brooded another universe of life and passion, for her all unexpressed. The silence veiled it, the stillness hid it; but he moved with it all and understood. His love interpreted it. She rose to her feet, tottered feebly, and collapsed again upon the moss. Yet for herself she felt no terror; no little personal fear could touch her whose anguish and deep longing streamed all out to him whom she so bravely loved. In this time of utter self-forgetfulness, when she realized that the battle was hopeless, thinking she had lost even her God, she found Him again quite close beside her like a little Presence in this terrible heart of the hostile Forest. But at first she did not recognize that He was there; she did not know Him in that strangely unacceptable guise. For He stood so very close, so very intimate, so very sweet and comforting, and yet so hard to understand--as Resignation. Once more she struggled to her feet, and this time turned successfully and slowly made her way along the mossy glade by which she came. And at first she marveled, though only for a moment, at the ease with which she found the path. For a moment only, because almost at once she saw the truth. The trees were glad that she should go. They helped her on her way. The Forest did not want her. The tide was coming in, indeed, yet not for her. And so, in another of those flashes of clear-vision that of late had lifted life above the normal level, she saw and understood the whole terrible thing complete. Till now, though unexpressed in thought or language, her fear had been that the woods her husband loved would somehow take him from her--to merge his life in theirs--even to kill him on some mysterious way. This time she saw her deep mistake, and so seeing, let in upon herself the fuller agony of horror. For their jealousy was not the petty jealousy of animals or humans. They wanted him because they loved him, but they did _ not_ want him dead. Full charged with his splendid life and enthusiasm they wanted him. They wanted him--alive. It was she who stood in their way, and it was she whom they intended to remove. This was what brought the sense of abject helplessness. She stood upon the sands against an entire ocean slowly rolling in against her. For, as all the forces of a human being combine unconsciously to eject a grain of sand that has crept beneath the skin to cause discomfort, so the entire mass of what Sanderson had called the Collective Consciousness of the Forest strove to eject this human atom that stood across the path of its desire. Loving her husband, she had crept beneath its skin. It was her they would eject and take away; it was her they would destroy, not him. Him, whom they loved and needed, they would keep alive. They meant to take him living. She reached the house in safety, though she never remembered how she found her way. It was made all simple for her. The branches almost urged her out. But behind her, as she left the shadowed precincts, she felt as though some towering Angel of the Woods let fall across the threshold the flaming sword of a countless multitude of leaves that formed behind her a barrier, green, shimmering, and impassable. Into the Forest she never walked again. And she went about her daily duties with a calm and quietness that was a perpetual astonishment even to herself, for it hardly seemed of this world at all. She talked to her husband when he came in for tea--after dark. Resignation brings a curious large courage--when there is nothing more to lose. The soul takes risks, and dares. Is it a curious short-cut sometimes to the heights? "David, I went into the Forest, too, this morning, soon after you I went. I saw you there." "Wasn't it wonderful?" he answered simply, inclining his head a little. There was no surprise or annoyance in his look; a mild and gentle _ennui_ rather. He asked no real question. She thought of some garden tree the wind attacks too suddenly, bending it over when it does not want to bend--the mild unwillingness with which it yields. She often saw him this way now, in the terms of trees. "It was very wonderful indeed, dear, yes," she replied low, her voice not faltering though indistinct. "But for me it was too--too strange and big." The passion of tears lay just below the quiet voice all unbetrayed. Somehow she kept them back. There was a pause, and then he added: "I find it more and more so every day." His voice passed through the lamp-lit room like a murmur of the wind in branches. The look of youth and happiness she had caught upon his face out there had wholly gone, and an expression of weariness was in its place, as of a man distressed vaguely at finding himself in uncongenial surroundings where he is slightly ill at ease. It was the house he hated--coming back to rooms and walls and furniture. The ceilings and closed windows confined him. Yet, in it, no suggestion that he found _her_ irksome. Her presence seemed of no account at all; indeed, he hardly noticed her. For whole long periods he lost her, did not know that she was there. He had no need of her. He lived alone. Each lived alone. The outward signs by which she recognized that the awful battle was against her and the terms of surrender accepted were pathetic. She put the medicine-chest away upon the shelf; she gave the orders for his pocket-luncheon before he asked; she went to bed alone and early, leaving the front door unlocked, with milk and bread and butter in the hall beside the lamp--all concessions that she felt impelled to make. Fore more and more, unless the weather was too violent, he went out after dinner even, staying for hours in the woods. But she never slept until she heard the front door close below, and knew soon afterwards his careful step come creeping up the stairs and into the room so softly. Until she heard his regular deep breathing close beside her, she lay awake. All strength or desire to resist had gone for good. The thing against her was too huge and powerful. Capitulation was complete, a fact accomplished. She dated it from the day she followed him to the Forest. Moreover, the time for evacuation--her own evacuation--seemed approaching. It came stealthily ever nearer, surely and slowly as the rising tide she used to dread. At the high-water mark she stood waiting calmly--waiting to be swept away. Across the lawn all those terrible days of early winter the encircling Forest watched it come, guiding its silent swell and currents towards her feet. Only she never once gave up her Bible or her praying. This complete resignation, moreover, had somehow brought to her a strange great understanding, and if she could not share her husband's horrible abandonment to powers outside himself, she could, and did, in some half-groping way grasp at shadowy meanings that might make such abandonment--possible, yes, but more than merely possible--in some extraordinary sense not evil. Hitherto she had divided the beyond-world into two sharp halves--spirits good or spirits evil. But thoughts came to her now, on soft and very tentative feet, like the footsteps of the gods which are on wool, that besides these definite classes, there might be other Powers as well, belonging definitely to neither one nor other. Her thought stopped dead at that. But the big idea found lodgment in her little mind, and, owing to the largeness of her heart, remained there unejected. It even brought a certain solace with it. The failure--or unwillingness, as she preferred to state it--of her God to interfere and help, that also she came in a measure to understand. For here, she found it more and more possible to imagine, was perhaps no positive evil at work, but only something that usually stands away from humankind, something alien and not commonly recognized. There _was_ a gulf fixed between the two, and Mr. Sanderson _had_ bridged it, by his talk, his explanations, his attitude of mind. Through these her husband had found the way into it. His temperament and natural passion for the woods had prepared the soul in him, and the moment he saw the way to go he took it--the line of least resistance. Life was, of course, open to all, and her husband had the right to choose it where he would. He had chosen it--away from her, away from other men, but not necessarily away from God. This was an enormous concession that she skirted, never really faced; it was too revolutionary to face. But its possibility peeped into her bewildered mind. It might delay his progress, or it might advance it. Who could know? And why should God, who ordered all things with such magnificent detail, from the pathway of a sun to the falling of a sparrow, object to his free choice, or interfere to hinder him and stop? She came to realize resignation, that is, in another aspect. It gave her comfort, if not peace. She fought against all belittling of her God. It was, perhaps, enough that He--knew. "You are not alone, dear in the trees out there?" she ventured one night, as he crept on tiptoe into the room not far from midnight. "God is with you?" "Magnificently," was the immediate answer, given with enthusiasm, "for He is everywhere. And I only wish that you--" But she stuffed the clothes against her ears. That invitation on his lips was more than she could bear to hear. It seemed like asking her to hurry to her own execution. She buried her face among the sheets and blankets, shaking all over like a leaf. ~IX~ And so the thought that she was the one to go remained and grew. It was, perhaps, first sign of that weakening of the mind which indicated the singular manner of her going. For it was her mental opposition, the trees felt, that stood in their way. Once that was overcome, obliterated, her physical presence did not matter. She would be harmless. Having accepted defeat, because she had come to feel that his obsession was not actually evil, she accepted at the same time the conditions of an atrocious loneliness. She stood now from her husband farther than from the moon. They had no visitors. Callers were few and far between, and less encouraged than before. The empty dark of winter was before them. Among the neighbors was none in whom, without disloyalty to her husband, she could confide. Mr. Mortimer, had he been single, might have helped her in this desert of solitude that preyed upon her mind, but his wife was there the obstacle; for Mrs. Mortimer wore sandals, believed that nuts were the complete food of man, and indulged in other idiosyncrasies that classed her inevitably among the "latter signs" which Mrs. Bittacy had been taught to dread as dangerous. She stood most desolately alone. Solitude, therefore, in which the mind unhindered feeds upon its own delusions, was the assignable cause of her gradual mental disruption and collapse. With the definite arrival of the colder weather her husband gave up his rambles after dark; evenings were spent together over the fire; he read The Times; they even talked about their postponed visit abroad in the coming spring. No restlessness was on him at the change; he seemed content and easy in his mind; spoke little of the trees and woods; enjoyed far better health than if there had been change of scene, and to herself was tender, kind, solicitous over trifles, as in the distant days of their first honeymoon. But this deep calm could not deceive her; it meant, she fully understood, that he felt sure of himself, sure of her, and sure of the trees as well. It all lay buried in the depths of him, too secure and deep, too intimately established in his central being to permit of those surface fluctuations which betray disharmony within. His life was hid with trees. Even the fever, so dreaded in the damp of winter, left him free. She now knew why: the fever was due to their efforts to obtain him, his efforts to respond and go--physical results of a fierce unrest he had never understood till Sanderson came with his wicked explanations. Now it was otherwise. The bridge was made. And--he had gone. And she, brave, loyal, and consistent soul, found herself utterly alone, even trying to make his passage easy. It seemed that she stood at the bottom of some huge ravine that opened in her mind, the walls whereof instead of rock were trees that reached enormous to the sky, engulfing her. God alone knew that she was there. He watched, permitted, even perhaps approved. At any rate--He knew. During those quiet evenings in the house, moreover, while they sat over the fire listening to the roaming winds about the house, her husband knew continual access to the world his alien love had furnished for him. Never for a single instant was he cut off from it. She gazed at the newspaper spread before his face and knees, saw the smoke of his cheroot curl up above the edge, noticed the little hole in his evening socks, and listened to the paragraphs he read aloud as of old. But this was all a veil he spread about himself of purpose. Behind it--he escaped. It was the conjurer's trick to divert the sight to unimportant details while the essential thing went forward unobserved. He managed wonderfully; she loved him for the pains he took to spare her distress; but all the while she knew that the body lolling in that armchair before her eyes contained the merest fragment of his actual self. It was little better than a corpse. It was an empty shell. The essential soul of him was out yonder with the Forest--farther out near that ever-roaring heart of it. And, with the dark, the Forest came up boldly and pressed against the very walls and windows, peering in upon them, joining hands above the slates and chimneys. The winds were always walking on the lawn and gravel paths; steps came and went and came again; some one seemed always talking in the woods, some one was in the building too. She passed them on the stairs, or running soft and muffled, very large and gentle, down the passages and landings after dusk, as though loose fragments of the Day had broken off and stayed there caught among the shadows, trying to get out. They blundered silently all about the house. They waited till she passed, then made a run for it. And her husband always knew. She saw him more than once deliberately avoid them--because _she_ was there. More than once, too, she saw him stand and listen when he thought she was not near, then heard herself the long bounding stride of their approach across the silent garden. Already _he_ had heard them in the windy distance of the night, far, far away. They sped, she well knew, along that glade of mossy turf by which she last came out; it cushioned their tread exactly as it had cushioned her own. It seemed to her the trees were always in the house with him, and in their very bedroom. He welcomed them, unaware that she also knew, and trembled. One night in their bedroom it caught her unawares. She woke out of deep sleep and it came upon her before she could gather her forces for control. The day had been wildly boisterous, but now the wind had dropped, only its rags went fluttering through the night. The rays of the full moon fell in a shower between the branches. Overhead still raced the scud and wrack, shaped like hurrying monsters; but below the earth was quiet. Still and dripping stood the hosts of trees. Their trunks gleamed wet and sparkling where the moon caught them. There was a strong smell of mould and fallen leaves. The air was sharp--heavy with odor. And she knew all this the instant that she woke; for it seemed to her that she had been elsewhere--following her husband--as though she had been _out_! There was no dream at all, merely the definite, haunting certainty. It dived away, lost, buried in the night. She sat upright in bed. She had come back. The room shone pale in the moonlight reflected through the windows, for the blinds were up, and she saw her husband's form beside her, motionless in deep sleep. But what caught her unawares was the horrid thing that by this fact of sudden, unexpected waking she had surprised these other things in the room, beside the very bed, gathered close about him while he slept. It was their dreadful boldness--herself of no account as it were--that terrified her into screaming before she could collect her powers to prevent. She screamed before she realized what she did--a long, high shriek of terror that filled the room, yet made so little actual sound. For wet and shimmering presences stood grouped all round that bed. She saw their outline underneath the ceiling, the green, spread bulk of them, their vague extension over walls and furniture. They shifted to and fro, massed yet translucent, mild yet thick, moving and turning within themselves to a hushed noise of multitudinous soft rustling. In their sound was something very sweet and sinning that fell into her with a spell of horrible enchantment. They were so mild, each one alone, yet so terrific in their combination. Cold seized her. The sheets against her body had turned to ice. She screamed a second time, though the sound hardly issued from her throat. The spell sank deeper, reaching to the heart; for it softened all the currents of her blood and took life from her in a stream--towards themselves. Resistance in that moment seemed impossible. Her husband then stirred in his sleep, and woke. And, instantly, the forms drew up, erect, and gathered themselves in some amazing way together. They lessened in extent--then scattered through the air like an effect of light when shadows seek to smother it. It was tremendous, yet most exquisite. A sheet of pale-green shadow that yet had form and substance filled the room. There was a rush of silent movement, as the Presences drew past her through the air,--and they were gone. But, clearest of all, she saw the manner of their going; for she recognized in their tumult of escape by the window open at the top, the same wide "looping circles"--spirals as it seemed--that she had seen upon the lawn those weeks ago when Sanderson had talked. The room once more was empty. In the collapse that followed, she heard her husband's voice, as though coming from some great distance. Her own replies she heard as well. Both were so strange and unlike their normal speech, the very words unnatural. "What is it, dear? Why do you wake me _now_ ?" And his voice whispered it with a sighing sound, like wind in pine boughs. "A moment since something went past me through the air of the room. Back to the night outside it went." Her voice, too, held the same note as of wind entangled among too many leaves. "My dear, it _was_ the wind." "But it called, David. It was calling _you_--by name!" "The air of the branches, dear, was what you heard. Now, sleep again, I beg you, sleep." "It had a crowd of eyes all through and over it--before and behind--" Her voice grew louder. But his own in reply sank lower, far away, and oddly hushed. "The moonlight, dear, upon the sea of twigs and boughs in the rain, was what you saw." "But it frightened me. I've lost my God--and you--I'm cold as death!" "My dear, it is the cold of the early morning hours. The whole world sleeps. Now sleep again yourself." He whispered close to her ear. She felt his hand stroking her. His voice was soft and very soothing. But only a part of him was there; only a part of him was speaking; it was a half-emptied body that lay beside her and uttered these strange sentences, even forcing her own singular choice of words. The horrible, dim enchantment of the trees was close about them in the room--gnarled, ancient, lonely trees of winter, whispering round the human life they loved. "And let me sleep again," she heard him murmur as he settled down among the clothes, "sleep back into that deep, delicious peace from which you called me." His dreamy, happy tone, and that look of youth and joy she discerned upon his features even in the filtered moonlight, touched her again as with the spell of those shining, mild green presences. It sank down into her. She felt sleep grope for her. On the threshold of slumber one of those strange vagrant voices that loss of consciousness lets loose cried faintly in her heart-- "There is joy in the Forest over one sinner that--" Then sleep took her before she had time to realize even that she was vilely parodying one of her most precious texts, and that the irreverence was ghastly. And though she quickly slept again, her sleep was not as usual, dreamless. It was not woods and trees she dreamed of, but a small and curious dream that kept coming again and again upon her; that she stood upon a wee, bare rock I the sea, and that the tide was rising. The water first came to her feet, then to her knees, then to her waist. Each time the dream returned, the tide seemed higher. Once it rose to her neck, once even to her mouth, covering her lips for a moment so that she could not breathe. She did not wake between the dreams; a period of drab and dreamless slumber intervened. But, finally, the water rose above her eyes and face, completely covering her head. And then came explanation--the sort of explanation dreams bring. She understood. For, beneath the water, she had seen the world of seaweed rising from the bottom of the sea like a forest of dense green-long, sinuous stems, immense thick branches, millions of feelers spreading through the darkened watery depths the power of their ocean foliage. The Vegetable Kingdom was even in the sea. It was everywhere. Earth, air, and water helped it, way of escape there was none. And even underneath the sea she heard that terrible sound of roaring--was it surf or wind or voices?--further out, yet coming steadily towards her. And so, in the loneliness of that drab English winter, the mind of Mrs. Bittacy, preying upon itself, and fed by constant dread, went lost in disproportion. Dreariness filled the weeks with dismal, sunless skies and a clinging moisture that knew no wholesome tonic of keen frosts. Alone with her thoughts, both her husband and her God withdrawn into distance, she counted the days to Spring. She groped her way, stumbling down the long dark tunnel. Through the arch at the far end lay a brilliant picture of the violet sea sparkling on the coast of France. There lay safety and escape for both of them, could she but hold on. Behind her the trees blocked up the other entrance. She never once looked back. She drooped. Vitality passed from her, drawn out and away as by some steady suction. Immense and incessant was this sensation of her powers draining off. The taps were all turned on. Her personality, as it were, streamed steadily away, coaxed outwards by this Power that never wearied and seemed inexhaustible. It won her as the full moon wins the tide. She waned; she faded; she obeyed. At first she watched the process, and recognized exactly what was going on. Her physical life, and that balance of mind which depends on physical well-being, were being slowly undermined. She saw that clearly. Only the soul, dwelling like a star apart from these and independent of them, lay safe somewhere--with her distant God. That she knew--tranquilly. The spiritual love that linked her to her husband was safe from all attack. Later, in His good time, they would merge together again because of it. But meanwhile, all of her that had kinship with the earth was slowly going. This separation was being remorselessly accomplished. Every part of her the trees could touch was being steadily drained from her. She was being--removed. After a time, however, even this power of realization went, so that she no longer "watched the process" or knew exactly what was going on. The one satisfaction she had known--the feeling that it was sweet to suffer for his sake--went with it. She stood utterly alone with this terror of the trees ... mid the ruins of her broken and disordered mind. She slept badly; woke in the morning with hot and tired eyes; her head ached dully; she grew confused in thought and lost the clues of daily life in the most feeble fashion. At the same time she lost sight, too, of that brilliant picture at the exist of the tunnel; it faded away into a tiny semicircle of pale light, the violet sea and the sunshine the merest point of white, remote as a star and equally inaccessible. She knew now that she could never reach it. And through the darkness that stretched behind, the power of the trees came close and caught her, twining about her feet and arms, climbing to her very lips. She woke at night, finding it difficult to breathe. There seemed wet leaves pressing against her mouth, and soft green tendrils clinging to her neck. Her feet were heavy, half rooted, as it were, in deep, thick earth. Huge creepers stretched along the whole of that black tunnel, feeling about her person for points where they might fasten well, as ivy or the giant parasites of the Vegetable Kingdom settle down on the trees themselves to sap their life and kill them. Slowly and surely the morbid growth possessed her life and held her. She feared those very winds that ran about the wintry forest. They were in league with it. They helped it everywhere. "Why don't you sleep, dear?" It was her husband now who played the rôle of nurse, tending her little wants with an honest care that at least aped the services of love. He was so utterly unconscious of the raging battle he had caused. "What is it keeps you so wide awake and restless?" "The winds," she whispered in the dark. For hours she had been watching the tossing of the trees through the blindless windows. "They go walking and talking everywhere to-night, keeping me awake. And all the time they call so loudly to you." And his strange whispered answer appalled her for a moment until the meaning of it faded and left her in a dark confusion of the mind that was now becoming almost permanent. "The trees excite them in the night. The winds are the great swift carriers. Go with them, dear--and not against. You'll find sleep that way if you do." "The storm is rising," she began, hardly knowing what she said. "All the more then--go with them. Don't resist. They'll take you to the trees, that's all." Resist! The word touched on the button of some text that once had helped her. "Resist the devil and he will flee from you," she heard her whispered answer, and the same second had buried her face beneath the clothes in a flood of hysterical weeping. But her husband did not seem disturbed. Perhaps he did not hear it, for the wind ran just then against the windows with a booming shout, and the roaring of the Forest farther out came behind the blow, surging into the room. Perhaps, too, he was already asleep again. She slowly regained a sort of dull composure. Her face emerged from the tangle of sheets and blankets. With a growing terror over her--she listened. The storm was rising. It came with a sudden and impetuous rush that made all further sleep for her impossible. Alone in a shaking world, it seemed, she lay and listened. That storm interpreted for her mind the climax. The Forest bellowed out its victory to the winds; the winds in turn proclaimed it to the Night. The whole world knew of her complete defeat, her loss, her little human pain. This was the roar and shout of victory that she listened to. For, unmistakably, the trees were shouting in the dark. These were sounds, too, like the flapping of great sails, a thousand at a time, and sometimes reports that resembled more than anything else the distant booming of enormous drums. The trees stood up--the whole beleaguering host of them stood up--and with the uproar of their million branches drummed the thundering message out across the night. It seemed as if they had all broken loose. Their roots swept trailing over field and hedge and roof. They tossed their bushy heads beneath the clouds with a wild, delighted shuffling of great boughs. With trunks upright they raced leaping through the sky. There was upheaval and adventure in the awful sound they made, and their cry was like the cry of a sea that has broken through its gates and poured loose upon the world.... Through it all her husband slept peacefully as though he heard it not. It was, as she well knew, the sleep of the semi-dead. For he was out with all that clamoring turmoil. The part of him that she had lost was there. The form that slept so calmly at her side was but the shell, half emptied. And when the winter's morning stole upon the scene at length, with a pale, washed sunshine that followed the departing tempest, the first thing she saw, as she crept to the window and looked out, was the ruined cedar lying on the lawn. Only the gaunt and crippled trunk of it remained. The single giant bough that had been left to it lay dark upon the grass, sucked endways towards the Forest by a great wind eddy. It lay there like a mass of drift-wood from a wreck, left by the ebbing of a high spring-tide upon the sands--remnant of some friendly, splendid vessel that once sheltered men. And in the distance she heard the roaring of the Forest further out. Her husband's voice was in it. 
16116	----	[Illustration: Frontispiece. "Come forth into the light of things, Let Nature be your Teacher." --WORDSWORTH.] STUDIES OF TREES BY J.J. LEVISON, M.F. Lecturer on Ornamental and Shade Trees, Yale University Forest School; Forester to the Department of Parks, Brooklyn, N.Y. FIRST EDITION FIRST THOUSAND 1914 PREFACE In presenting this volume, the author is aware that there are several excellent books, dealing with one phase or another of tree life, already before the public. It is believed, however, that there is still need for an all-round book, adapted to the beginner, which gives in a brief and not too technical way the most important facts concerning the identification, structure and uses of our more common trees, and which considers their habits, enemies and care both when growing alone and when growing in groups or forests. In the chapters on the identification of trees, the aim has been to bring before the student only such characters and facts as shall help him to distinguish the tree readily during all seasons of the year. Special stress is laid in each case on the most striking peculiarities. Possible confusion with other trees of similar appearance is prevented as far as possible through comparisons with trees of like form or habit. Only such information is given concerning the structure and requirements of trees as will enable the reader better to understand the subsequent chapters. In the second half of the book, practical application is made of the student's general knowledge thus acquired, and he is acquainted with the fundamental principles of planting, care, forestry, wood identification and nature study. The author recognizes the vastness of the field he is attempting to cover and the impossibility of even touching, in a small hand-book of this character, on every phase of tree study. He presumes no further; yet he hopes that by adhering to what is salient and by eliminating the less important, though possibly interesting, facts, he is able to offer a general and elementary _résumé_ of the whole subject of value to students, private owners, farmers and teachers. In the preparation of Chapter VIII on "Our Common Woods: Their Identification, Properties and Uses," considerable aid has been received from Prof. Samuel J. Record, author of "Economic Woods of the United States." Acknowledgment is also due to the U.S. Forest Service for the photographs used in Figs. 18, 122 to 138 inclusive and 142; to Dr. George B. Sudworth, Dendrologist of the U.S. Forest Service, for checking up the nomenclature in the lists of trees under Chapter V; to Dr. E.P. Felt, Entomologist of the State of New York, for suggestions in the preparation of the section of the book relating to insects; to Dr. W.A. Murrill, Assistant Director of the New York Botanical Gardens, for Fig. 108; and to Mr. Hermann W. Merkel, Chief Forester of the New York Zoological Park, for Figs. 26, 59 and 60. J.J. LEVISON. BROOKLYN, N.Y. June, 1914. CONTENTS CHAPTER I HOW TO IDENTIFY TREES The Pines The Spruce and Hemlock The Red Cedar and Arbor-vitae CHAPTER II HOW TO IDENTIFY TREES (Continued) The Larch and Cypress The Horsechestnut, Ash, and Maple Trees Told by their Form Trees Told by their Bark or Trunk The Oaks and Chestnut CHAPTER III HOW TO IDENTIFY TREES (Continued) The Hickories, Walnut, and Butternut Tulip Tree, Sweet Gum, Linden, Magnolia, Locust, Catalpa, Dogwood, Mulberry, and Osage Orange CHAPTER IV THE STRUCTURE AND REQUIREMENTS OF TREES CHAPTER V WHAT TREES TO PLANT AND HOW Trees for the Lawn Trees for the Street Trees for Woodland Trees for Screening CHAPTER VI THE CARE OF TREES Insects Injurious to Trees and How to Combat Them Important Insects Tree Diseases Pruning Trees Tree Repair CHAPTER VII FORESTRY What Forestry Is and What It Does Care of the Woodland CHAPTER VIII OUR COMMON WOODS: THEIR IDENTIFICATION, PROPERTIES AND USES Woods Without Pores (Soft woods) Woods with Pores (Hard woods) CHAPTER IX AN OUTDOOR LESSON ON TREES INTRODUCTION A good many popular books on trees have been published in the United States in recent years. The continually increasing demand for books of this character indicates the growing public interest not only in the trees that we pass in our daily walks, but also in the forest considered as a community of trees, because of its aesthetic and protective value and its usefulness as a source of important economic products. As a nation, we are thinking more about trees and woods than we were wont to do in the years gone by. We are growing to love the trees and forests as we turn more and more to outdoor life for recreation and sport. In our ramblings along shady streets, through grassy parks, over wooded valleys, and in mountain wildernesses we find that much more than formerly we are asking ourselves what are these trees, what are the leaf, flower, twig, wood and habit characteristics which distinguish them from other trees; how large do they grow; under what conditions of soil and climate do they thrive best; what are their enemies and how can they be overcome; what is their value for wood and other useful products; what is their protective value; are they useful for planting along streets and in parks and in regenerating forests; how can the trees of our streets and lawns be preserved and repaired as they begin to fail from old age or other causes? All these questions and many more relating to the important native and exotic trees commonly found in the states east of the Great Lakes and north of Maryland Mr. Levison has briefly answered in this book. The author's training as a forester and his experience as a professional arboriculturist has peculiarly fitted him to speak in an authoritative and interesting way about trees and woods. The value of this book is not in new knowledge, but in the simple statement of the most important facts relating to some of our common trees, individually and collectively considered. A knowledge of trees and forests adds vastly to the pleasures of outdoor life. The more we study trees and the more intimate our knowledge of the forest as a unit of vegetation in which each tree, each flower, each animal and insect has its part to play in the complete structure, the greater will be our admiration of the wonderful beauty and variety exhibited in the trees and woods about us. J.W. TOUMEY, Director, Yale University Forest School. NEW HAVEN, CONN., June, 1914. STUDIES OF TREES CHAPTER I HOW TO IDENTIFY TREES There are many ways in which the problem of identifying trees may be approached. The majority attempt to recognize trees by their leaf characters. Leaf characters, however, do not differentiate the trees during the other half of the year when they are bare. In this chapter the characterizations are based, as far as possible, on peculiarities that are evident all year round. In almost every tree there is some one trait that marks its individuality and separates it, at a glance, from all other trees. It may be the general form of the tree, its mode of branching, bark, bud or fruit. It may be some variation in color, or, in case of the evergreen trees, it may be the number and position of the needles or leaves. The species included in the following pages have thus been arranged in groups based on these permanent characters. The individual species are further described by a distinguishing paragraph in which the main character of the tree is emphasized in heavy type. The last paragraph under each species is also important because it classifies all related species and distinguishes those that are liable to be confused with the particular tree under consideration. GROUP I. THE PINES [Illustration: FIG. 1.--Twig of the Austrian Pine.] How to tell them from other trees: The pines belong to the _coniferous_ class of trees; that is, trees which bear cones. The pines may be told from the other coniferous trees by their leaves, which are in the form of _needles_ two inches or more in length. These needles keep green throughout the entire year. This is characteristic of all coniferous trees, except the larch and cypress, which shed their leaves in winter. [Illustration: FIG. 2.--Twig of the White Pine.] The pines are widely distributed throughout the Northern Hemisphere, and include about 80 distinct species with over 600 varieties. The species enumerated here are especially common in the eastern part of the United states, growing either native in the forest or under cultivation in the parks. The pines form a very important class of timber trees, and produce beautiful effects when planted in groups in the parks. How to tell them from each other: The pine needles are arranged in _clusters_; see Fig. 1. Each species has a certain characteristic number of needles to the cluster and this fact generally provides the simplest and most direct way of distinguishing the different pines. In the white pine there are _five_ needles to each cluster, in the pitch pine _three_, and in the Scotch pine _two_. The Austrian pine also has two needles to the cluster, but the difference in size and character of the needles will distinguish this species from the Scotch pine. THE WHITE PINE (_Pinus strobus_) Distinguishing characters: The tree can be told at close range by the number of needles to each cluster, Fig. 2. There are *five* needles to each cluster of the white pine. They are bluish green, slender, and about four inches in length. At a distance the tree may be told by the *right angles* which the branches form with the main trunk, Fig. 3. No other pine shows this character. Form and size: A tall tree, the stateliest of the evergreens. Range: Eastern North America. Soil and location: Prefers a deep, sandy soil, but will grow in almost any soil. Enemies: Sucking insects forming white downy patches on the bark and twigs, the _white pine weevil_, a boring insect, and the _white pine blister rust_, a fungus, are among its principal enemies. [Illustration: FIG. 3.--The White Pine.] Value for planting: Aside from its value as an ornamental tree, the white pine is an excellent tree to plant on abandoned farms and for woodlands and windbreaks throughout the New England States, New York, Pennsylvania, and the Lake States. Commercial value: The wood is easily worked, light, durable, and will not warp. It is used for naval construction, lumber, shingles, laths, interior finish, wooden ware, etc. Other characters: The _fruit_ is a cone, four to six inches long. Comparisons: The tree is apt to be confused with the _Bhotan pine_ (_Pinus excelsa_), which is commonly grown as an ornamental tree. The Bhotan pine, however, has needles much longer and more drooping in appearance. THE PITCH PINE (_Pinus rigida_) Distinguishing characters: Here there are *three* needles to each cluster, Fig. 4. They are dark, yellowish-green needles about four inches long. The rough-looking _branches_ of the tree may be seen _studded with cones_ throughout the year, and _clusters of leaves_ may be seen _sprouting directly from the trunk_ of the tree; see Fig. 5. The last two are very characteristic and will distinguish the tree at a glance. Form and size: It is a low tree of uncertain habit and extremely rough looking at every stage of its life. It is constantly full of dead branches and old cones which persist on the tree throughout the year. Range: Eastern United States. Soil and location: Grows in the poorest and sandiest soils where few other trees will grow. In New Jersey and on Long Island where it is native, it proves so hardy and persistent that it often forms pure stands excluding other trees. [Illustration: FIG. 4.--Twig of the Pitch Pine.] Enemies: None of importance. Value for planting: Well adapted for the sea coast and other exposed places. It is of extremely uncertain habit and is subject to the loss of the lower limbs. It frequently presents a certain picturesqueness of outline, but it could not be used as a specimen tree on the lawn. [Illustration: FIG. 5.--The Pitch Pine.] Commercial value: The wood is coarse grained and is used for rough lumber, fuel, and charcoal. Other characters: The _fruit_ is a cone one to three inches long, persistent on the tree for several years. THE SCOTCH PINE (_Pinus sylvestris_) Distinguishing characters: There are *two* needles to each cluster, and these are _short_ compared with those of the white pine, and _slightly twisted_; see Fig. 6. The _bark_, especially along the upper portion of the trunk, _is reddish_ in color. Form and size: A medium-sized tree with a short crown. Range: Europe, Asia, and eastern United States. Soil and location: Will do best on a deep, rich, sandy soil, but will also grow on a dry, porous soil. Enemies: In Europe the Scotch pine has several insect enemies, but in America it appears to be free from injury. Value for planting: Suitable for windbreaks and woodland planting. Many excellent specimens may also be found in our parks. Commercial value: In the United States, the wood is chiefly used for fuel, though slightly used for barrels, boxes, and carpentry. In Europe, the Scotch pine is an important timber tree. Comparisons: The Scotch pine is apt to be confused with the _Austrian pine_ (_Pinus austriaca_), because they both have two needles to each cluster. The needles of the Austrian pine, however, are much longer, coarser, straighter, and darker than those of the Scotch pine; Fig. 1. The form of the Austrian pine, too, is more symmetrical and compact. [Illustration: FIG. 6.--Twig of the Scotch Pine.] The _red pine_ (_Pinus resinosa_) is another tree that has two needles to each cluster, but these are much longer than those of the Scotch pine (five to six inches) and are straighter. The bark, which is reddish in color, also differentiates the red pine from the Austrian pine. The position of the cones on the red pine, which point outward and downward at maturity, will also help to distinguish this tree from the Scotch and the Austrian varieties. GROUP II. THE SPRUCE AND HEMLOCK How to tell them from other trees: The spruce and hemlock belong to the evergreen class and may be told from the other trees by their _leaves_. The characteristic leaves of the spruce are shown in Fig. 9; those of the hemlock in Fig. 10. These are much shorter than the needles of the pines but are longer than the leaves of the red cedar or arbor vitae. They are neither arranged in clusters like those of the larch, nor in feathery layers like those of the cypress. They adhere to the tree throughout the year, while the leaves of the larch and cypress shed in the fall. The spruces are pyramidal-shaped trees, with tall and tapering trunks, thickly covered with branches, forming a compact crown. They are widely distributed throughout the cold and temperate regions of the northern hemisphere, where they often form thick forests over extended areas. There are eighteen recognized species of spruce. The Norway spruce has been chosen as a type for this group because it is so commonly planted in the northeastern part of the United States. The hemlock is represented by seven species, confined to temperate North America, Japan, and Central and Western China. [Illustration: FIG. 7.--The Norway Spruce.] How to tell them from each other: The needles and branches of the spruce are _coarse_; those of the hemlock are _flat and graceful_. The individual leaves of the spruce, Fig. 9, are four-sided and green or blue on the under side, while those of the hemlock, Fig. 10, are flat and are _marked by two white lines_ on the under side. THE NORWAY SPRUCE (_Picea excelsa_) Distinguishing characters: The characteristic appearance of the full-grown tree is due to the *drooping branchlets* carried on *main branches which bend upward* (Fig. 7). Leaf: The leaves are dark green in color and are _arranged spirally_, thus making the twigs coarser to the touch than the twigs of the hemlock or fir. In cross-section, the individual leaflet is quadrilateral, while that of the pine is triangular. Form and size: A large tree with a straight, undivided trunk and a well-shaped, conical crown (Fig. 7). Range: Northern Europe, Asia, northern North America. Soil and location: Grows in cool, moist situations. Enemies: The foliage of the spruce is sometimes affected by _red spider_, but is apt to be more seriously injured by drought, wind, and late frosts. Value for planting: Commonly planted as an ornamental tree and for hedges. It does well for this purpose in a cool northern climate, but in the vicinity of New York City and further south it does not do as well, losing its lower branches at an early age, and becoming generally scraggly in appearance. [Illustration: FIG. 8.--A Group of Hemlock.] Commercial value: The wood is light and soft and is used for construction timber, paper pulp, and fuel. Other characters: The _fruit_ is a large slender cone, four to seven inches long. Comparisons: The _white spruce_ (_Picea canadensis_) may be told from the Norway spruce by the whitish color on the under side of its leaves and the unpleasant, pungent odor emitted from the needles when bruised. The cones of the white spruce, about two inches long, are shorter than these of the Norway spruce, but are longer than those of the black spruce. It is essentially a northern tree growing in all sorts of locations along the streams and on rocky mountain slopes as far north as the Arctic Sea and Alaska. It often appears as an ornamental tree as far south as New York and Pennsylvania. The _black spruce_ (_Picea mariana_) may be told from the other spruces by its small cone, which is usually only about one inch in length. In New England it seldom grows to as large a size as the other spruce trees. It covers large areas in various parts of northern North America and grows to its largest size in Manitoba. The black spruce has little value as an ornamental tree. The _Colorado blue spruce_ (_Picea parryana_ or _Picea pungens_) which is commonly used as an ornamental tree on lawns and in parks, can be told from the other spruces by its pale-blue or sage-green color and its sharp-pointed, coarse-feeling twigs. Its small size and sharp-pointed conical form are also characteristic. It grows to a large size in Colorado and the Middle West. In the Eastern States and in northern Europe where it is planted as an ornamental tree, it is usually much smaller. [Illustration: FIG. 9.--Twig of the Norway Spruce.] HEMLOCK (_Tsuga canadensis_) Distinguishing characters: Its leaves are arranged in *flat layers*, giving a flat, horizontal and graceful appearance to the whole branch (Fig. 8). The individual leaves are dark green above, lighter colored below, and are *marked by two white lines on the under side* (Fig. 10). The leaves are arranged on little stalks, a characteristic that does not appear in the other evergreen trees. Form and size: A large tree with a broad-based pyramidal head, and a trunk conspicuously tapering toward the apex. The branches extend almost to the ground. Range: The hemlock is a northern tree, growing in Canada and the United States. Soil and location: Grows on all sorts of soils, in the deepest woods as well as on high mountain slopes. Enemies: None of importance. Value for planting: The hemlock makes an excellent hedge because it retains its lowest branches and will stand shearing. In this respect it is preferable to the spruce. It makes a fair tree for the lawn and is especially desirable for underplanting in woodlands, where the shade from the surrounding trees is heavy. In this respect it is like the beech. Commercial value: The wood is soft, brittle, and coarse-grained, and is therefore used mainly for coarse lumber. Its bark is so rich in tannin that it forms one of the chief commercial products of the tree. Other characters: The _fruit_ is a small cone about ¾ of an inch long, which generally hangs on the tree all winter. [Illustration: FIG. 10.--Twig of the Hemlock.] GROUP III. THE RED CEDAR AND ARBOR-VITAE How to tell them from other trees: The red cedar (juniper) and arbor-vitae may be told from other trees by their _leaves_, which remain on the tree and keep green throughout the entire year. These leaves differ from those of the other evergreens in being much shorter and of a distinctive shape as shown in Figs. 12 and 13. The trees themselves are much smaller than the other evergreens enumerated in this book. Altogether, there are thirty-five species of juniper recognized and four of arbor-vitae. The junipers are widely distributed over the northern hemisphere, from the Arctic region down to Mexico in the New World, and in northern Africa, China, and Japan in the Old World. The arbor-vitae is found in northeastern and northwestern America, China, and Japan. The species mentioned here are those commonly found in America. How to tell them from each other: The _twigs_ of the arbor-vitae are _flat and fan-like_ as in Fig. 13; the twigs of the red cedar are _needle-shaped or scale-like_ as in Fig. 12. The foliage of the arbor-vitae is of a lighter color than that of the red cedar, which is sombre green. The arbor-vitae will generally be found growing in moist locations, while the red cedar will grow in dry places as well. The arbor-vitae generally retains its lower branches in open places, while the branches of the red cedar start at some distance from the ground. RED CEDAR (_Juniperus virginiana_) [Illustration: FIG. 11.--The Red Cedar.] Distinguishing characters: The tree can best be told at a glance by its general form, size and leaves. It is a medium-sized tree with a _symmetrical, cone-like form_, Fig. 11, which, however, broadens out somewhat when the tree grows old. Its color throughout the year is dull green with a tinge of brownish red, and its bark peels in thin strips. [Illustration: FIG. 12(a).--Twig of Young Cedar. FIG. 12(b).--Twig of Cedar (Older Tree).] Leaf: In young trees the leaf is needle-shaped, pointed, and marked by a white line on its under side, Fig. 12(a). In older trees it is scale-like, Fig. 12(b), and the white line on its under side is indistinct. Range: Widely distributed over nearly all of eastern and central North America. Soil and location: Grows on poor, gravelly soils as well as in rich bottom lands. Enemies: The "_cedar apple_," commonly found on this tree, represents a stage of the apple rust, and for that reason it is not desirable to plant such trees near orchards. Its wood is also sometimes attacked by small _boring insects_. Value for planting: Its characteristic slender form gives the red cedar an important place as an ornamental tree, but its chief value lies in its commercial use. Commercial value: The wood is durable, light, smooth and fragrant, and is therefore used for making lead-pencils, cabinets, boxes, moth-proof chests, shingles, posts, and telegraph poles. Other characters: The _fruit_ is small, round and berry-like, about the size of a pea, of dark blue color, and carries from one to four bony seeds. Other common names: The red cedar is also often called _juniper_ and _red juniper_. Comparisons: The red cedar is apt to be confused with the _low juniper_ (_Juniperus communis_) which grows in open fields all over the world. The latter, however, is generally of a low form with a flat top. Its leaves are pointed and prickly, never scale-like, and they are whitish above and green below. Its bark shreds and its fruit is a small round berry of agreeable aromatic odor. ARBOR-VITAE; NORTHERN WHITE CEDAR (_Thuja occidentalis_) Distinguishing characters: The *branchlets* are extremely *flat and fan-like*, Fig. 13, and have an agreeable _aromatic odor_ when bruised. The tree is an evergreen with a _narrow conical form_. [Illustration: FIG. 13.--Twig of the Arbor-vitae.] Leaf: Leaves of two kinds, one scale-like and flat, the other keeled, all tightly pressed to the twig (see Fig. 13). Form and size: A close, conical head with dense foliage near the base. Usually a small tree, but in some parts of the northeastern States it grows to medium size with a diameter of two feet. Range: Northern part of North America. Soil and location: Inhabits low, swampy lands; in the State of Maine often forming thick forests. Enemies: Very seldom affected by insects. Value for planting: Is hardy in New England, where it is especially used for hedges. It is also frequently used as a specimen tree on the lawn. Commercial value: The wood is durable for posts, ties, and shingles. The bark contains considerable tannin and the juices from the tree have a medicinal value. Other characters: The _fruit_ is a cone about ½ inch long. Other common names: Arbor-vitae is sometimes called _white cedar_ and _cedar_. Comparisons: The arbor-vitae is apt to be confused with the true _white cedar_ (_Chamaecyparis thyoides_) but the leaves of the latter are sharp-pointed and not flattened or fan-shaped. CHAPTER II HOW TO IDENTIFY TREES--(Continued) GROUP IV. THE LARCH AND CYPRESS How to tell them from other trees: In summer the larch and cypress may easily be told from other trees by their _leaves_. These are needle-shaped and arranged in clusters with numerous leaves to each cluster in the case of the larch, and feathery and flat in the case of the cypress. In winter, when their leaves have dropped off, the trees can be told by their cones, which adhere to the branches. There are nine recognized species of larch and two of bald cypress. The larch is characteristically a northern tree, growing in the northern and mountainous regions of the northern hemisphere from the Arctic circle to Pennsylvania in the New World, and in Central Europe, Asia, and Japan in the Old World. It forms large forests in the Alps of Switzerland and France. The European larch and not the American is the principal species considered here, because it is being planted extensively in this country and in most respects is preferable to the American species. The bald cypress is a southern tree of ancient origin, the well-known cypress of Montezuma in the gardens of Chepultepec having been a species of Taxodium. The tree is now confined to the swamps and river banks of the South Atlantic and Gulf States, where it often forms extensive forests to the exclusion of all other trees. In those regions along the river swamps, the trees are often submerged for several months of the year. How to tell them from each other: In summer the larch may be told from the cypress by its leaves (compare Figs. 14 and 16). In winter the two can be distinguished by their characteristic forms. The larch is a broader tree as compared with the cypress and its form is more conical. The cypress is more slender and it is taller. The two have been grouped together in this study because they are both coniferous trees and, unlike the other Conifers, are both deciduous, their leaves falling in October. [Illustration: FIG. 14.--Twig of the Larch in Summer.] THE EUROPEAN LARCH (_Larix europaea_) Distinguishing characters: Its leaves, which are needle-shaped and about an inch long, are borne in *clusters* close to the twig, Fig. 14. There are many leaves to each cluster. This characteristic together with the *spire-like* form of the crown will distinguish the tree at a glance. Leaf: The leaves are of a light-green color but become darker in the spring and in October turn yellow and drop off. The cypress, which is described below, is another cone-bearing tree which sheds its leaves in winter. [Illustration: FIG. 15.--Twig of the Larch in Winter.] Form and size: A medium-sized tree with a conical head and a straight and tapering trunk. (See Fig. 90.) Range: Central Europe and eastern and central United States. Soil and location: Requires a deep, fresh, well-drained soil and needs plenty of light. It flourishes in places where our native species would die. Grows very rapidly. Enemies: The larch is subject to the attacks of a _sawfly_, which has killed many trees of the American species. A _fungus_ (_Trametes pini_) which causes the tree to break down with ease is another of its enemies. Value for planting: A well-formed tree for the lawn. It is also useful for group planting in the forest. Commercial value: Because its wood is strong and durable the larch is valuable for poles, posts, railroad ties, and in shipbuilding. [Illustration: FIG. 16.--Twig of the Cypress.] Other characters: The _fruit_ is a small cone about one inch long, adhering to the tree throughout the winter. [Illustration: FIG. 17.--The Bald Cypress.] Comparisons: The tree is apt to be confused with the _American larch_, also known as _tamarack_ and _hackmatack_, but differs from it in having longer leaves, cones twice as large and more abundant and branches which are more pendulous. The larch differs from the bald cypress in the broader form of its crown and the cluster-like arrangement of its leaves. The twigs of the bald cypress are flat and feathery. The larch and bald cypress have the common characteristics of both shedding their leaves in winter and preferring to grow in moist or swampy soils. The larch, especially the native species, forms the well-known tamarack swamps of the north. The bald cypress grows in a similar way in groups in the southern swamps. BALD CYPRESS (_Taxodium distichum_) Distinguishing characters: The *feathery character* of the *twigs*, Fig. 16, and the *spire-like form* of the tree, Fig. 17, which is taller and more slender than the larch, will distinguish this species from others. [Illustration: FIG. 18.--Cypress "Knees."] Leaf: The leaves drop off in October, though the tree is of the cone-bearing kind. In this respect it is like the larch. Form and size: Tall and pyramidal. Range: The cypress is a southern tree, but is found under cultivation in parks and on lawns in northern United States. Soil and location: Grows naturally in swamps, but will also do well in ordinary well-drained, good soil. In its natural habitat it sends out special roots above water. These are known as "_cypress knees_" (Fig. 18) and serve to provide air to the submerged roots of the tree. Enemies: None of importance. Value for planting: An excellent tree for park and lawn planting. Commercial value: The wood is light, soft, and easily worked. It is used for general construction, interior finish, railroad ties, posts and cooperage. Other characters: The _bark_ is thin and scaly. The _fruit_ is a cone about an inch in diameter. The general _color_ of the tree is a dull, deep green which, however, turns orange brown in the fall. Comparisons: The cypress and the larch are apt to be confused, especially in the winter, when the leaves of both have dropped. The cypress is more slender and is taller in form. The leaves of each are very different, as will be seen from the accompanying illustrations. GROUP V. THE HORSECHESTNUT, ASH AND MAPLE How to tell them from other trees: The horsechestnut, ash, and maple have their branches and buds arranged on their stems *opposite* each other as shown in Figs. 20, 22 and 24. In other trees, this arrangement is *alternate*, as shown in Fig. 19. How to tell these three from each other. If the bud is large--an inch to an inch and a half long--dark brown, and _sticky_, it is a _horsechestnut_. If the bud is _not sticky_, much smaller, and _rusty brown to black_ in color, and the ultimate twigs, of an olive green color, are _flattened_ at points below the buds, it is an _ash_. [Illustration: FIG. 19.--Alternate Branching (Beech.)] If it is not a horsechestnut nor an ash and its small buds have many scales covering them, the specimen with branches and buds opposite must then be a _maple_. Each of the maples has one character which distinguishes it from all the other maples. For the sugar maple, this distinguishing character is the _sharp point of the bud_. For the silver maple it is the _bend in the terminal twig_. For the red maple it is the _smooth gray-colored bark_. For the Norway maple it is the _reddish brown color of the full, round bud_, and for the box elder it is the _greenish color of its terminal twig_. The form of the tree and the leaves are also characteristic in each of the maples, but for the beginner who does not wish to be burdened with too many of these facts at one time, those just enumerated will be found most certain and most easily followed. [Illustration: FIG. 20.--Opposite Branching (Horsechestnut.)] THE HORSECHESTNUT (_Aesculus hippocastanum_) Distinguishing characters: The *sticky* nature of the *terminal bud* and its *large size* (about an inch long). The bud is dark brown in color. See Fig. 20. Leaf: Five to seven leaflets, usually seven. Fig. 21. Form and size: Medium-sized tree, pyramidal head and coarse twigs. Range: Europe and eastern United States. Soil and location: Prefers a deep, rich soil. Enemies: The leaves are the favorite food of caterpillars and are subject to a blight which turns them brown prematurely. The trunk is often attacked by a disease which causes the flow of a slimy substance. Value for planting: On account of its showy flowers, the horsechestnut is a favorite for the park and lawn. Commercial value: The wood is not durable and is not used commercially. Other characters: The _flowers_ appear in large white clusters in May and June. The _fruit_ is large, round, and prickly. [Illustration: FIG. 21.--Leaf of the Horsechestnut.] Comparisons: The _red horsechestnut_ differs from this tree in having red flowers. The _buckeye_ is similar to the horsechestnut, but its bud is not sticky and is of a lighter gray color, while the leaf generally has only five leaflets. THE WHITE ASH (_Fraxinus americana_) Distinguishing characters: The terminal *twigs* of glossy olive green color are *flattened* below the bud. Fig. 22. The bud is rusty-brown. [Illustration: FIG. 22.--Twig of White Ash.] Leaf: Five to nine leaflets. Fig. 23. Form and size: A large tree with a straight trunk. Range: Eastern North America. Soil and location: Rich, moist soil. Enemies: In cities it is very often attacked by sucking insects. Value for planting: The white ash grows rapidly. On account of its insect enemies in cities, it should be used more for forest planting and only occasionally for ornament. Commercial value: It has a heavy, tough, and strong wood, which is valuable in the manufacture of cooperage stock, agricultural implements, and carriages. It is superior in value to the black ash. Other characters: The _bark_ is gray. The _flowers_ appear in May. Comparisons: The white ash is apt to be confused with the _black ash_ (_Fraxinus nigra_), but differs from the latter in having a lighter-colored bud. The bud of the black ash is black. The bark of the white ash is darker in color and the terminal twigs are more flattened than those of the black ash. [Illustration: FIG. 23.--Leaf of White Ash.] SUGAR MAPLE (_Acer saccharum_) Distinguishing characters: The *bud is sharp-pointed*, scaly, and reddish brown. Fig. 24. [Illustration: FIG. 24.--Twig of the Sugar Maple.] Leaf: Has sharp points and round sinus. Fig. 25. Form and size: The crown is oval when the tree is young and round in old age. Fig. 26. Range: Eastern United States. Soil and location: Moist and deep soil, and cool, shady positions. Enemies: Subject to drouth, especially in cities. Is attacked by the _sugar maple borer_ and the _maple phenacoccus_, a sucking insect. Value for planting: Its rich and yellow color in the fall, and the fine spread of its crown make it a desirable tree for the lawn, especially in the country. Commercial value: Its wood is hard and takes a good polish; used for interior finish and furniture. The tree is also the source of maple sugar. Fig. 27. Other characters: The _bark_ is smooth in young trees and in old trees it shags in large plates. The _flowers_ appear in the early part of April. Other common names: The sugar maple is sometimes called _rock maple_ or _hard maple_. SILVER MAPLE (_Acer saccharinum_) Distinguishing characters: The tips of the *twigs curve upwards* (Fig. 28), the bark is scaly, and the leaves are very deeply cleft and are silvery on the under side. [Illustration: FIG. 25.--Leaf of Sugar Maple.] Leaf: Deeply cleft and silvery under side. Fig. 29. Form and size: A large tree with the main branches separating from the trunk a few feet from the ground. The terminal twigs are long, slender, and drooping. Range: Eastern United States. Soil and location: Moist places. Enemies: The _leopard moth_, a wood-boring insect, and the _cottony-maple scale_, a sucking insect. [Illustration: FIG. 26.--The Sugar Maple.] Value for planting: Grows too rapidly and is too short-lived to be durable. Commercial value: Its wood is soft, weak, and little used. Other characters: The _bark_ is light gray, smooth at first and scaly later on. The scales are free at each end and attached in the center. The _flowers_ appear before the leaves in the latter part of March or early April. [Illustration: FIG. 27.--Tapping the Sugar Maple.] Other common names: The silver maple is sometimes known as _soft maple_ or _white maple_. RED MAPLE (_Acer rubrum_) [Illustration: FIG. 28.--Terminal Twig of Silver Maple.] Distinguishing characters: The *bark is smooth and light gray*, like that of the beech, on the upper branches in older trees, and in young trees over the whole trunk. Fig. 30. The buds are in clusters, and the terminal twigs, Fig. 31, are quite red. [Illustration: FIG. 29.--Leaf of the Silver Maple.] Leaf: Whitish underneath with three-pointed lobes. Fig. 32. Form and size: A medium-sized tree with a narrow, round head. Range: Eastern North America. Soil and location: Prefers moist places. Enemies: Leaf blotches (_Rhytisma acerinum_) which, however, are not very injurious. Value for planting: Suitable as a shade tree for suburban streets. Its rich red leaves in the fall make it attractive for the lawn. [Illustration: FIG. 30.--Bark of the Red Maple.] Commercial value: Its wood is heavy, close-grained, and takes a good polish. Used for furniture and fuel. Other characters: The _bud_ is small, round, and red. The _flowers_ appear before the leaves are out in the early part of April. [Illustration: FIG. 31.--Twig of the Red Maple.] [Illustration: FIG. 32.--Leaf of the Red Maple.] Other common names: The red maple is sometimes known as _swamp maple_. [Illustration: FIG. 33.--Twig of Norway Maple.] Comparisons: The red maple is apt to be confused with the silver maple, but the latter can be distinguished by its turned-up twigs and scaly bark over the whole trunk of the tree, which presents a sharp contrast to the straight twig and smooth bark of the red maple. The latter has a bark similar to the beech, but its branches are _opposite_, while those of the beech are _alternate_. NORWAY MAPLE (_Acer platanoides_) Distinguishing characters: The bud, Fig. 33, is *oval and reddish-brown* in color; when taken off, a *milky juice exudes*. The bark is close. Fig. 34 [Illustration: FIG. 34.--Bark of Norway Maple.] Leaf: Like the leaf of the sugar maple but thicker in texture and darker in color. Fig. 35. Form and size: A tall tree with a broad, round head. Range: Europe and the United States. Soil and location: Will grow in poor soil. Enemies: Very few. Value for planting: One of the best shade trees. Commercial value: None. Other characters: The _bark_ is close like that of the mockernut hickory. Comparisons: The Norway maple is apt to be confused with the _sycamore maple_ (_Acer pseudoplatanus_), but differs from the latter in having a reddish bud instead of a green bud, and a close bark instead of a scaly bark. BOX ELDER (_Acer negundo_) Distinguishing characters: The terminal *twigs are green*, and the buds are round and small. Fig. 36. Leaf: Has three to seven leaflets. [Illustration: FIG. 35.--Leaf of Norway Maple.] Form and size: A medium-sized tree with a short trunk and wide-spreading top. Range: Eastern United States to the Rocky Mountains. Soil and location: Grows rapidly in deep, moist soil and river valleys, but accommodates itself to the dry and poor soil conditions of the city. [Illustration: Figure 36.--Twig of the Box Elder.] Enemies: Few. Value for planting: Used as a shade tree in the Middle West, but the tree is so ill formed and so short-lived that it is not to be recommended. Commercial value: None. The wood is soft. Other characters: The _bark_ of the trunk is smooth and yellowish-green in young trees and grayish brown in older specimens. The _flowers_ appear in the early part of April. The _fruit_ takes the form of yellowish-green keys which hang on the tree till late fall. Other common names: The box elder is also commonly known as the _ash-leaf maple_. GROUP VI. TREES TOLD BY THEIR FORM: ELM, POPLAR, GINGKO AND WILLOW How to tell them from other trees: The trees described in this group are so distinctive in their general _form_ that they may, for the purpose of study, be grouped together, and distinguished from all other trees by this characteristic. How to tell them from each other: The American elm is _vase-like_ in shape; the Lombardy poplar is narrow and _spire-like_; the gingko, or maidenhair tree, is _odd_ in its mode of _branching_; and the weeping willow is extremely _pendulous_. AMERICAN ELM (_Ulmus americana_) Distinguishing characters: The tree can be told at a glance by its general branching habit. The limbs arch out into a wide-spreading *fan or vase-like crown* which loses itself in numerous fine drooping branchlets. See Fig. 37. [Illustration: FIG. 37.--American Elm.] Leaf: The leaves are simple, alternate, and from 2 to 5 inches long. [Illustration: FIG. 38.--English Elm in Winter.] Form and size: It is a tall tree with a trunk that divides a short distance above ground. Its general contour, together with the numerous branches that interlace its massive crown, give the elm an interesting and stately appearance which is unequaled by any other tree. [Illustration: FIG. 39.--Lombardy Poplar.] Range: Eastern North America. Soil and location: The elm prefers a deep, rich and moist soil, but will adapt itself even to the poor soil of the city street. Enemies: _The leopard moth_, a wood-boring insect, and the _elm leaf beetle_, a leaf-eating insect, are the two most important enemies of the tree. Their ravages are very extensive. Value for planting: The tree has a character of its own which cannot be duplicated for avenue or lawn planting. Commercial value: The wood is strong and tough and therefore has a special value for cooperage, agricultural implements, carriages, and shipbuilding. Other characters: The _buds_ are small, brown, and smooth, while those of the European elms are covered with down. The _small side twigs_ come out at almost right angles to the larger terminal twigs, which is not the case in other species of elm. [Illustration: FIG. 40.--Leaf of Carolina Poplar.] Other common names: _White elm_. Comparisons: The _English elm_ (_Ulmus campestris_) is also a tall, dignified tree commonly seen under cultivation in America, but may be told from the American species by the difference in their general contour. The branches of the English species spread out but do not arch like those of the American elm, and the bark of the English elm is darker and coarser, Fig. 38. Little tufts of dead twigs along the main branches and trunk of the tree are characteristic of the English elm and will frequently help to distinguish it from the American elm. The _Camperdown elm_ may be recognized readily by its dwarf size and its low drooping umbrella-shaped crown. LOMBARDY OR ITALIAN POPLAR (_Populus nigra, var. italica_) Distinguishing characters: Its *tall, slender, spire-like form* and rigidly *erect branches*, which commence low on the trunk, make this tree very distinct at all seasons of the year. See Fig. 39. Leaf: Triangular in shape, similar to that of the Carolina poplar but smaller, see Fig. 40. Range: Asia, Europe, and North America. Soil and location: The poplar is easily grown in poor soil, in any location, and is very hardy. Value for planting: The tree has a distinctive form which makes it valuable for special landscape effects. It is also used for shelter belts and screening. Like all poplars it is short lived and will stand pruning well. Commercial value: None. [Illustration: FIG. 41.--Carolina Poplar.] Comparisons: The _Carolina poplar_, or Cottonwood (_Populus deltoides_) can be told from the Lombardy poplar by its wider crown and its more open branching, Fig. 41. It may be recognized by its big terminal twigs, which are light yellow in color and coarser than those of the Lombardy poplar, Fig. 42. Its bark is smooth, light and yellowish-green in young trees, and dark gray and fissured in older specimens. Its large, conical, glossy, chestnut-brown bud is also characteristic, Fig. 42. Its flowers, in the form of large catkins, a peculiarity of all poplars, appear in the early spring. The Carolina poplar is commonly planted in cities because it grows rapidly and is able to withstand the smoke and drouth conditions of the city. Where other trees, however, can be substituted with success, the poplar should be avoided. Its very fast growth is really a point against the tree, because it grows so fast that it becomes too tall for surrounding property, and its wood being extremely soft and brittle, the tree frequently breaks in windstorms. In many cases it is entirely uprooted, because it is not a deep-rooted tree. Its larger roots, which spread near the surface, upset the sidewalk or prevent the growth of other vegetation on the lawn, while its finer rootlets, in their eager search for moisture, penetrate and clog the joints of neighboring water and sewer pipes. The tree is commonly attacked by the _oyster-shell scale_, an insect which sucks the sap from its bark and which readily spreads to other more valuable trees like the elm. The female form of this tree is even more objectionable than the male, because in the early spring the former produces an abundance of cotton from its seeds which litters the ground and often makes walking dangerous. The only justification for planting the Carolina poplar is in places where the conditions for tree growth are so poor that nothing else will grow, and in those cases the tree should be cut back periodically in order to keep it from becoming too tall and scraggly. It is also desirable for screening in factory districts and similar situations. [Illustration: FIG. 42.--Bud of the Carolina Poplar.] The _silver_ or _white poplar_ (_Populus alba_) may be told from the other poplars by its characteristic smooth, _whitish-green bark_, often spotted with dark blotches, Fig. 43. The _leaves are silvery-white_ and downy on the under side. The twigs are dark green in color and densely covered with a white down. It grows to very large size and forms an irregular, wide-spreading, broad head, which is characteristically different from that of any of the other poplars. [Illustration: FIG. 43.--Bark of the Silver Poplar.] The _quaking aspen_ (_Populus tremuloides_), the _large-toothed aspen_ (_Populus grandidentata_) and the _balsam poplar_ or _balm of Gilead_ (_Populus balsamifera_) are other common members of the poplar group. The quaking aspen may be told by its reddish-brown twigs, narrow sharp-pointed buds, and by its small finely toothed leaves. The large-toothed aspen has thicker and rather downy buds and broader and more widely toothed leaves. The balsam poplar has a large bud thickly covered with a sticky, pungent, gelatinous substance. GINGKO OR MAIDENHAIR TREE (_Gingko biloba_) [Illustration: FIG. 44.--Gingko Trees.] Distinguishing characters: The *peculiar branches* of this tree *emerge upward* from a straight tapering trunk *at an angle of about 45°* and give to the whole tree a striking, Oriental appearance, which is quite different from that of any other tree, Fig. 44. Leaf: Like that of a leaflet of maidenhair fern, Fig. 45. Range: A native of northern China and introduced into eastern North America. Soil and location: The gingko will grow in poor soils. Enemies: Practically free from insects and disease. [Illustration: FIG. 45.--Leaves of the Gingko Tree.] Value for planting: It makes a valuable tree for the street where heavy shade is not the object and forms an excellent wide-spreading specimen tree on the lawn. Other characters: The _fruit_ consists of a stone covered by sweet, ill-smelling flesh. The tree is dioecious, there being separate male and female trees. The male tree is preferable for planting in order to avoid the disagreeable odor of the fruit which appears on the female trees when about thirty years old. The male tree has a narrower crown than the female tree. The buds (Fig. 46) are very odd and are conspicuous on the tree throughout the winter. The leaves of the gingko shed in the winter. In this respect the tree is like the larch and the bald cypress. [Illustration: FIG. 46.--Bud of the Gingko Tree.] The gingko belongs to the yew family, which is akin to the pine family. It is therefore a very old tree, the remains of the forests of the ancient world. The gingko in its early life is tall and slender with its few branches close to the stem. But after a time the branches loosen up and form a wide-spreading crown. In the Orient it attains enormous proportions and in this country it also grows to a fairly large size when planted on the open lawn or in groups far apart from other trees so that it can have plenty of room to spread. It then produces a picturesque effect of unusual interest. WEEPING WILLOW (_Salix babylonica_) Distinguishing characters: All the willows have a single cap-like scale to the bud, and this species has an unusually *drooping mass of slender branchlets* which characterizes the tree from all others, Fig. 47. [Illustration: FIG. 47.--Weeping Willow.] Form and size: It grows to large size. Range: Asia and Europe and naturalized in eastern United States. Soil and location: Prefers moist places near streams and ponds. Enemies: None of importance. Value for planting: The weeping willow has a special ornamental effect in cemeteries and along lakes and river banks in parks. Commercial value: It is used in the United States for charcoal and for fuel. Comparisons: The _pussy willow_ (_Salix discolor_) may easily be told from the other willows by its small size; it is often no higher than a tall shrub. Its branches are _reddish green_ and the buds are dark red, smooth and glossy. The predominating color of the twigs and buds in the pussy willow is therefore a shade of _red_, while in the weeping willow it is _yellowish green_. GROUP VII. TREES TOLD BY THEIR BARK OR TRUNK: SYCAMORE, BIRCH, BEECH, BLUE BEECH, IRONWOOD, AND HACKBERRY How to tell them from other trees: The _color of the bark or the form of the trunk_ of each of the trees in this group is distinct from that of any other tree. How to tell them from each other: In the sycamore, the bark is _mottled_; in the white birch, it is _dull white_; in the beech, it is _smooth and gray_; in the hackberry, it is covered with numerous _corky warts_; in the blue beech, the trunk of the tree is _fluted_, as in Fig. 54, and in the ironwood, the bark _peels_ in thin perpendicular strips. [Illustration: FIG. 48.--Bark of the Sycamore Tree.] THE SYCAMORE OR PLANE TREE (_Platanus occidentalis_) Distinguishing characters: The peculiar *mottled appearance* of the *bark* (Fig. 48) in the trunk and large branches is the striking character here. The bark produces this effect by shedding in large, thin, brittle plates. The newly exposed bark is of a yellowish green color which often turns nearly white later on. *Round seed balls*, about an inch in diameter, may be seen hanging on the tree all winter. In this species, the seed balls are usually solitary, while in the Oriental sycamore, a European tree similar to the native one, they appear in clusters of two, or occasionally of three or four. See Fig. 49. [Illustration: FIG. 49.--Seed-balls of the Oriental Sycamore. Note one Seed-ball cut in half.] [Illustration: FIG. 50.--Gray or White Birch Trees.] Leaf: The stem of the leaf completely covers the bud. This is a characteristic peculiar to sycamores. Form and size: A large tree with massive trunk and branches and a broad head. Range: Eastern and southern United States. Soil and location: Prefers a deep rich soil, but will adapt itself even to the poor soil of the city street. Enemies: The sycamore is frequently attacked by a fungus (_Gloeosporium nervisequum_), which curls up the young leaves and kills the tips of the branches. Late frosts also often injure its young twigs. The Oriental sycamore, which is the European species, is more hardy in these respects than the native one and is therefore often chosen as a substitute. Value for planting: The Occidental sycamore is now planted very little, but the Oriental sycamore is used quite extensively in its place, especially as a shade tree. The Oriental sycamore is superior to the native species in many ways. It is more shapely, faster growing, and hardier than the native one. Both sycamores will bear transplanting and pruning well. [Illustration: FIG. 51.--Bark of the Black or Sweet Birch.] Commercial value: The wood of the sycamore is coarse-grained and hard to work; used occasionally for inside finishing in buildings. Other names: _Buttonball_, _buttonwood_. Comparisons: The _Oriental sycamore_ (_Platanus orientalis_) an introduced species, is apt to be confused with the Occidental sycamore, but may be told from the latter by the number of seed balls suspended from the tree. In the case of the Oriental species, the seed balls hang in _pairs_ or (rarely) three or four together. In the Occidental, the seed balls are generally _solitary_ and very rarely in pairs. GRAY OR WHITE BIRCH (_Betula populifolia_) Distinguishing characters: The *dull-white color of the bark* on the trunk and the _dark triangular patches below the insertion of the branches_ distinguish this tree; see Fig. 50. The bark of the young trunks and branches is reddish-brown in color and glossy. The bark adheres closely to the trunk of the tree and does not peel in loose, shaggy strips, as in the case of the yellow or golden birch. It is marked by small raised horizontal lines which are the lenticels or breathing pores. These lenticels are characteristic of all birch and cherry trees. In addition to the distinction in the color of the bark, an important character which distinguishes the gray birch from all other species of birch, is found in the *terminal twigs*, which are *rough* to the touch. Form and size: A small tree. Frequently grows in clumps. Range: Eastern United States. Soil and location: The gray birch does best in a deep, rich soil, but will also grow in poor soils. Enemies: The _bronze-birch borer_, a wood-destroying insect, and _Polyporus betulinus_, a fungus, are its chief enemies. Value for planting: Its graceful habit and attractive bark gives the tree an important place in ornamental planting. It may be used to advantage with evergreens, and produces a charming effect when planted by itself in clumps. [Illustration: FIG. 52.--Bark of the Beech.] [Illustration: FIG. 53.--Buds of the Beech Tree.] Commercial value: The wood is soft and not durable. It is used in the manufacture of small articles and for wood pulp. Other characters: The _fruit is a catkin_. Comparisons: The _paper birch_ (_Betula papyrifera_) is apt to be confused with the gray birch, because both have a white bark. The bark of the paper birch, however, is a clear white and peels off in thin papery layers instead of being close. It very seldom shows any dark triangular markings on the trunk. Its terminal twigs are not rough and its trunk is usually straighter and freer from branches. The _black_ or _sweet birch_ (_Betula lenta_) has a bark similar to the gray birch, except that its color is dark gray. See Fig. 51. The twigs have an aromatic taste. [Illustration: FIG. 54.--Trunk of Blue Beech.] [Illustration: FIG. 55.--Bark of the Ironwood.] The _yellow birch_ (_Betula lutea_) has a yellowish or golden bark which constantly peels in thin, ragged, horizontal films. The _European white birch_ (_Betula alba_) has a dull-white bark like the native white birch, but has smooth terminal twigs instead of rough ones. It is commonly seen in the United States on lawns and in parks. AMERICAN BEECH (_Fagus americana_) Distinguishing characters: The *close-fitting, smooth, gray bark* will tell this tree from all others except the red maple and yellow-wood. See Fig. 52. The red maple may then be easily eliminated by noting whether the branches are alternate or opposite. They are alternate in the beech and opposite in the maple. The yellow-wood may be eliminated by noting the size of the bud. The *bud* in the yellow-wood is hardly noticeable and of a golden yellow color, while that of the beech is very *long, slender, and sharp-pointed*, and chestnut brown in color. See Fig. 53. Form and size: It grows tall in the woods, but on the open lawn spreads out into a massive, round-headed tree. Range: Eastern Canada and United States. Soil and location: Prefers a rich, well-drained soil, but will grow in any good soil. Enemies: _Aphides_ or plant lice that suck the sap from the leaves in spring and early summer are the chief enemies of the tree. Value for planting: The pleasing color of its bark, its fine spread of branches, which gracefully droop down to the ground, and its autumnal coloring, make the beech a favorite for lawn and park planting. The several European species of beech are equally charming. [Illustration: FIG. 56.--Bark of the Hackberry.] Commercial value: The wood is strong, close-grained, and tough. It is used mainly for cooperage, tool handles, shoe lasts, chairs, etc., and for fuel. Other characters: The _fruit_ is a prickly burr encasing a sharply triangular nut which is sweet and edible. Comparisons: The _European beech_ (_Fagus sylvatica_), and its weeping, purple-leaved, and fern-leaved varieties, are frequently met with in parks and may be told from the native species by its darker bark. The weeping form may, of course, be told readily by its drooping branches. The leaves of the European beeches are broader and less serrated than those of the American beech. BLUE BEECH OR HORNBEAM (_Carpinus caroliniana_) Distinguishing characters: The *fluted* or muscular effect of its *trunk* will distinguish the tree at a glance, Fig. 54. Leaf: Doubly serrated; otherwise the same as that of ironwood. Form and size: A low-spreading tree with branches arching out at various angles, forming a flattened head with a fine, slender spray. Range: Very common in the eastern United States. Soil and location: Grows in low wet woods. Enemies: None of importance. Value for planting: Its artistic branching and curious trunk give the tree an important place in park planting. Commercial value: None. Other characters: The bark is smooth and bluish gray in color. Comparisons: The blue beech or hornbeam is often confused with the _ironwood_ or _hop hornbeam_ (_Ostrya virginiana_). The ironwood, however, has a characteristic bark that peels in perpendicular, short, thin segments, often loose at the ends. See Fig. 55. This is entirely different from the close, smooth, and fluted bark of the blue beech. The color of the bark in the ironwood is brownish, while that of the blue beech is bluish-gray. The buds of the ironwood are greenish with brown tips, while the bud of the blue beech shows no green whatever. HACKBERRY (_Celtis occidentalis_) Distinguishing characters: The tree may be told readily from other trees by the *corky tubercles* on the bark of the lower portion of the trunk. See Fig. 56. Leaf: Has three predominating veins and is a bit more developed on one side than on the other. Form and size: A small or medium-sized tree with a single stem and broad conical crown. Range: United States and Canada. Soil and location: Grows naturally in fertile soils, but will adapt itself to almost sterile soils as well. Enemies: The hackberry is usually free from disease, though often its leaves are covered with insect galls. Value for planting: It is extensively planted as a shade tree in the Middle West, and is frequently seen as an ornamental tree in the East. Commercial value: It has little economic value except for fuel. Other characters: The _fruit_ is berry-like, with a hard pit. The fleshy outer part is sweet. Other common names: _Nettle tree_; _sugarberry_. GROUP VIII. THE OAKS AND CHESTNUT How to tell them from other trees: The oaks are rather difficult to identify and, in studying them it will often be necessary to look for more than one distinguishing character. The oaks differ from other trees in bearing _acorns_. Their _leaves_ have many lobes and their upper lateral _buds_ cluster at the top of the twigs. The general contour of each oak presents a characteristic branching and sturdiness uncommon in other trees. The chestnut differs from other trees in bearing _burs_ and its _bark_ is also distinctly characteristic. How to tell them from each other: There are two groups of oaks, the _white oak_ and the _black oak_. The white oaks mature their acorns in one year and, therefore, only acorns of the same year can be found on trees of this group. The black oaks take two years in which to mature their acorns and, therefore, young acorns of the present year and mature acorns of the previous year may be found on the same tree at one time. The _leaves_ of the white oaks have rounded margins and rounded lobes as in Fig. 57, while those of the black oaks have pointed margins and sharp pointed lobes as shown in Figs. 60, 62 and 64. The _bark_ of the white oaks is light colored and breaks up in loose flakes as in Fig. 58, while that of the black oaks is darker and deeply ridged or tight as in Figs. 59 and 61. The white oak is the type of the white oak group and the black, red and pin oaks are types of the other. For the characterization of the individual species, the reader is referred to the following pages. [Illustration: FIG. 57.--Leaf and Fruit of White Oak. (Quercus alba.)] WHITE OAK (_Quercus alba_) Distinguishing characters: The massive ramification of its branches is characteristic of this species and often an easy clue to its identification. The *bark* has a *light gray color*--lighter than that of the other oaks--and breaks into soft, loose flakes as in Fig. 58. The *leaves are deeply lobed* as in Fig. 57. The *buds are small, round and congested* at the end of the year's growth. The acorns usually have no stalks and are set in shallow, rough cups. The kernels of the acorns are white and palatable. Form and size: The white oak grows into a large tree with a wide-spreading, massive crown, dissolving into long, heavy, twisted branches. When grown in the open it possesses a short sturdy trunk; in the forest its trunk is tall and stout. Range: Eastern North America. [Illustration: FIG. 58.--Bark of White Oak. (Quercus alba.)] Soil and location: The white oak thrives in almost any well-drained, good, deep soil except in a very cold and wet soil. It requires plenty of light and attains great age. Enemies: The tree is comparatively free from insects and disease except in districts where the Gipsy moth is common, in which case the leaves of the white oak are a favorite food of its caterpillars. [Illustration: FIG. 59.--Bark of Black Oak. (Quercus velutina).] Value for planting: The white oak is one of the most stately trees. Its massive form and its longevity make the tree suitable for both lawn and woodland planting but it is not used much because it is difficult to transplant and grows rather slowly. Commercial value: The wood is of great economic importance. It is heavy, hard, strong and durable and is used in cooperage, construction work, interior finish of buildings and for railroad ties, furniture, agricultural implements and fuel. Comparisons: The _swamp white oak_ (_Quercus platanoides_) is similar to the white oak in general appearance of the bark and form and is therefore liable to be confused with it. It differs from the white oak, however, in possessing a more straggly habit and in the fact that the bark on the under side of its branches shags in loose, large scales. Its buds are smaller, lighter colored and more downy and its acorns are more pointed and with cups more shallow than those of the white oak. The tree also grows in moister ground, generally bordering swamps. [Illustration: FIG. 60.--Leaf and Fruit of Black Oak. (Quercus velutina).] BLACK OAK (_Quercus velutina_) Distinguishing characters: The *bark* is black, rough and cut up into firm *ridges* especially at the base of the tree, see Fig. 59. The _inner bark_ has a _bright yellow color_: the *leaves* have _sharp points_ and are wider at the base than at the tip as shown in Fig. 60. The buds are _large, downy_ and _sharp pointed_. The acorns are small and have deep, scaly cups the inner margins of which are downy. The kernels are yellow and bitter. Form and size: The tree grows in an irregular form to large size, with its branches rather slender as compared with the white oak and with a more open and narrow crown. Range: Eastern North America. Soil and location: It will grow in poor soils but does best where the soil is rich and well drained. Enemies: None of importance. Value for planting: The black oak is the poorest of the oaks for planting and is rarely offered by nurserymen. Commercial value: The wood is heavy, hard and strong, but checks readily and is coarse grained. It is of little value except for fuel. The bark is used for tannin. Other common names: _Yellow oak_. Comparisons: The black oak might sometimes be confused with the _red_ and _scarlet oaks_. The yellow, bitter inner bark will distinguish the black oak from the other two. The light-colored, smooth bark of the red oak and the dark, ridged bark of the black oak will distinguish the two, while the bark of the scarlet oak has an appearance intermediate between the two. The buds of the three species also show marked differences. The buds of the black oak are covered with hairs, those of the scarlet oak have fewer hairs and those of the red are practically free from hairs. The leaves of each of the three species are distinct and the growth habits are different. RED OAK (_Quercus rubra_) Distinguishing characters: The *bark* is perpendicularly fissured into long, _smooth, light gray strips_ giving the trunk a characteristic *pillar effect* as in Figs. 61 and 94. It has the straightest trunk of all the oaks. The leaves possess _more lobes_ than the leaves of any of the other species of the black oak group, see Fig. 62. The acorns, the largest among the oaks, are semispherical with the cups extremely shallow. The buds are large and sharp pointed, but not as large as those of the black oak. They also have a few fine hairs on their scales, but are not nearly as downy as those of the Black oak. [Illustration: FIG. 61--Bark of Red Oak.] Form and size: The red oak is the largest of the oaks and among the largest of the trees in the northern forests. It has a straight trunk, free from branches to a higher point than in the white oak, see Fig. 94. The branches are less twisted and emerge at sharper angles than do those of the white oak. Range: It grows all over Eastern North America and reaches north farther than any of the other oaks. Soil and location: It is less fastidious in its soil and moisture requirements than the other oaks and therefore grows in a great variety of soils. It requires plenty of light. [Illustration: FIG. 62.--Leaf and Fruit of Red Oak.] Enemies: Like most of the other oaks, this species is comparatively free from insects and disease. Value for planting: The red oak grows faster and adapts itself better to poor soil conditions than any of the other oaks and is therefore easy to plant and easy to find in the nurseries. It makes an excellent street tree, is equally desirable for the lawn and is hardly surpassed for woodland planting. Commercial value: The wood is hard and strong but coarse grained, and is used for construction timber, interior finish and furniture. It is inferior to white oak where strength and durability are required. PIN OAK (_Quercus palustris_) Distinguishing characters: Its method of *branching* will characterize the tree at a glance. It develops a well-defined _main_ ascending _stem_ with numerous _drooping_ side _branches_ as in Fig. 63. The buds are very small and sharp pointed and the leaves are small as in Fig. 64. The bark is dark, firm, smooth and in close ridges. The acorn is small and carries a light brown, striped nut, wider than long and bitter. The cup is shallow, enclosing only the base of the nut. [Illustration: FIG. 63.--Pin Oaks in Winter.] Form and size: The pin oak is a medium-sized tree in comparison with other oaks. It develops a tall, straight trunk that tapers continuously through a pyramidal crown of low, drooping tender, branches. Range: Eastern North America. Soil and location: It requires a deep, rich, moist soil and grows naturally near swamps. Its roots are deep and spreading. The tree grows rapidly and is easily transplanted. Enemies: None of importance. Value for planting: The pin oak is an extremely graceful tree and is therefore extensively used for planting on lawns and on certain streets where the tree can find plenty of water and where conditions will permit its branches to droop low. Commercial value: The wood is heavy and hard but coarse grained and liable to check and warp. Its principal use is in the construction of houses and for shingles. [Illustration: FIG. 64.--Leaf and Fruit of Pin Oak.] CHESTNUT (_Castanea dentata_) Distinguishing characters: The *bark* in young trees is smooth and of a marked reddish-bronze color, but when the tree grows older, the bark breaks up into *diamond-shaped ridges*, sufficiently characteristic to distinguish the tree at a glance, see Fig. 65. A close examination of the _terminal twig_ will show _three ridges_ and _two grooves_ running down along the stem from the base of each leaf or leaf-scar. The twig has no true terminal bud. The fruit, a large, round *bur*, prickly without and hairy within and enclosing the familiar dark brown, sweet edible nuts is also a distinguishing mark of the tree. Leaf: The leaves are distinctly long and narrow. They are from 6 to 8 inches long. Form and size: The chestnut is a large tree with a massive trunk and broad spreading crown. The chestnut tree when cut, sprouts readily from the stump and therefore in places where the trees have once been cut, a group of two to six trees may be seen emerging from the old stump. [Illustration: FIG. 65.--Trunk of Chestnut Tree.] Range: Eastern United States. Soil and location: It will grow on rocky as well as on fertile soils and requires plenty of light. Enemies: During the past nine years nearly all the chestnut trees in the United States have been attacked by a fungus disease (_Diaporthe parasitica_, Mur.) which still threatens the entire extinction of the chestnut trees in this country. No remedy has been discovered and all affected trees should be cut down and the wood utilized before it decays and becomes worthless. No species of chestnut tree is entirely immune from this disease, though some species are highly resistant. Value for planting: The chestnut is one of the most rapidly growing hardwood trees but, on account of its disease, which is now prevalent everywhere, it is not wise to plant chestnut trees for the present. Commercial value: The wood is light, not very strong and liable to warp. It is durable when brought in contact with the soil and is therefore used for railroad ties, fence-posts, poles, and mine timbers. It is also valuable for interior finish in houses and for fuel. Its bark is used in the manufacture of tanning extracts and the nuts are sold in cities in large quantities. CHAPTER III HOW TO IDENTIFY TREES--(Continued) GROUP IX. THE HICKORIES, WALNUT AND BUTTERNUT How to tell them from other trees and from each other: The hickory trees, though symmetrical, have a rugged _appearance_ and the _branches_ are so sturdy and black as to give a special distinction to this group. The _buds_ are different from the buds of all other trees and sufficiently characteristic to distinguish the various species of the group. The _bark_ is also a distinguishing character. The walnut and butternut have _chambered piths_ which distinguish them from all other trees and from each other. SHAGBARK HICKORY (_Hicoria ovata_) Distinguishing characters: The yellowish brown *buds* nearly as large as those of the mockernut hickory, _are each provided with two long, dark, outer scales_ which stand out very conspicuously as shown in Fig. 67. The *bark* in older specimens *shags* off in rough strips, sometimes more than a foot long, as shown in Fig. 68. These two characters will readily distinguish the tree at all seasons of the year. [Illustration: FIG. 66.--A Shagbark Hickory Tree.] Leaf: The leaf is compound, consisting of 5 or 7 leaflets, the terminal one generally larger. Form and size: A tall, stately tree--the tallest of the hickories--of rugged form and fine symmetry, see Fig. 66. Range: Eastern North America. Soil and location: The shagbark hickory grows in a great variety of soils, but prefers a deep and rather moist soil. Enemies: The _hickory bark borer_ (_Scolytus quadrispinosus_) is its principal enemy. The insect is now killing thousands of hickory trees in the vicinity of New York City and on several occasions has made its appearance in large numbers in other parts of the country. Value for planting: It is difficult to transplant, grows slowly and is seldom found in nurseries. [Illustration: FIG. 67.--Bud of the Shagbark Hickory.] Commercial value: The wood is extremely tough and hard and is used for agricultural implements and for the manufacture of wagons. It is excellent for fuel and the nuts are of great value as a food. Other characters: The fruit is a nut covered by a thick husk that separates into 4 or 5 segments. The kernel is sweet. Other common names: _Shellbark hickory_. MOCKERNUT HICKORY (_Hicoria alba_) [Illustration: FIG. 68.--Bark of the Shagbark Hickory.] Distinguishing characters: The *bud* is the largest among the hickories--nearly half an inch long--is hard and oval and covered with _yellowish brown_ downy _scales_ which _do not project_ like those of the shagbark hickory, see Fig. 69. The twigs are extremely coarse. The *bark* is very tight on the trunk and branches and has a _close_, hard, _wavy_ appearance as in Fig. 70. Leaf: The leaf consists of 5, 7 or 9 leaflets all of which are large and pubescent and possess a distinct resinous odor. Form and size: A tall tree with a broad spreading head. Range: Eastern North America. Soil and location: The mockernut hickory grows on a great variety of soils, but prefers one which is rich and well-drained. Enemies: The same as for the shagbark hickory. Value for planting: It is not commonly planted. Commercial value: The wood is similar to that of the shagbark hickory and is put to the same uses. Other characters: The fruit is a nut, larger and covered with a shell thicker than that of the shagbark. The husk is also thicker and separates into four segments nearly to the base. The kernel is small and sweet. Other common names: _Bigbud hickory_; _whiteheart hickory_. Comparisons: The _pignut hickory_ (_Hicoria glabra_), sometimes called broom hickory or brown hickory, often has a shaggy bark, but differs from both the shagbark and the mockernut hickory in possessing buds very much smaller, twigs more slender and leaflets fewer. The nut has a thinner husk which does not separate into four or five segments. The tree prefers drier ground than the other hickories. [Illustration: FIG. 69.--Bud of the Mockernut Hickory.] The _bitternut_ (_Hicoria minima_) can be told from the mockernut and other species of hickory by its bud, which has no scales at all. The color of its bud is a characteristic orange yellow. The bark is of a lighter shade than the bark of the mockernut hickory and the leaflets are more numerous than in any of the hickories, varying from 7 to 11. Its nuts are bitter. BLACK WALNUT (_Juglans nigra_) Distinguishing characters: By cutting a twig lengthwise, it will be seen that its *pith* is divided into little _chambers_ as shown in Fig. 71. The bud is dark gray and satiny. The bark is dark brown and deeply ridged and the fruit is the familiar round walnut. [Illustration: FIG. 70.--Bark of the Mockernut Hickory.] Form and size: A tall tree with a spreading crown composed of stout branches. In the open it grows very symmetrically. Range: Eastern United States. Soil and location: The black walnut prefers a deep, rich, fertile soil and requires a great deal of light. Enemies: The tree is a favorite of many caterpillars. Value for planting: It forms a beautiful spreading tree on open ground, but is not planted to any extent because it is hard to transplant. It grows slowly unless the soil is very deep and rich, develops its leaves late in the spring and sheds them early in the fall and produces its fruit in great profusion. Commercial value: The wood is heavy, strong, of chocolate brown color and capable of taking a fine polish. It is used for cabinet making and interior finish of houses. The older the tree, usually, the better the wood, and the consumption of the species in the past has been so heavy that it is becoming rare. The European varieties which are frequently planted in America as substitutes for the native species yield better nuts, but the American species produces better wood. [Illustration: FIG. 71.--Twig of the Black Walnut. Note the large chambers in the pith.] [Illustration: FIG. 72.--Twig of the Butternut. Note the small chambers in the pith.] Other characters: The _fruit_ is a large round nut about two inches in diameter, covered with a smooth husk which at first is dull green in color and later turns brown. The husk does not separate into sections. The kernel is edible and produces an oil of commercial value. The _leaves_ are compound and alternate with 15 to 23 leaflets to each. Comparisons: The _butternut_ (_Juglans cinerea_) is another tree that has the pith divided into little chambers, but the little chambers here are shorter than in the black walnut, as may be seen from a comparison of Figs. 71 and 72. The bark of the butternut is light gray while that of the black walnut is dark. The buds in the butternut are longer than those of the black walnut and are light brown instead of gray in color. The form of the tree is low and spreading as compared with the black walnut. The fruit in the butternut is elongated while that of the black walnut is round. The leaves of the butternut have fewer leaflets and these are lighter in color. GROUP X. TULIP TREE, SWEET GUM, LINDEN, MAGNOLIA, LOCUST, CATALPA, DOGWOOD, MULBERRY AND OSAGE ORANGE TULIP TREE (_Liriodendron tulipifera_) Distinguishing characters: There are four characters that stand out conspicuously in the tulip tree--the *bud*, the *trunk*, the persistent *fruit cups* and the wedged *leaf*. The bud, Fig. 74, about three-quarters of an inch long, is covered by two purplish scales which lend special significance to its whole appearance. The trunk is extremely individual because it rises stout and shaft-like, away above the ground without a branch as shown in Fig. 73. The tree flowers in the latter part of May but the cup that holds the fruit persists throughout the winter. The leaf, Fig. 75, has four lobes, is nearly as broad as it is long and so notched at the upper end that it looks different from any other leaf. [Illustration: FIG. 73.--The Tulip Tree.] [Illustration: FIG. 74.--Bud of the Tulip Tree.] Form and size: The tulip tree is one of the largest, stateliest and tallest of our trees. Range: Eastern United States. Soil and location: Requires a deep, moist soil. Enemies: Comparatively free from insects and disease. Value for planting: The tree has great value as a specimen on the lawn but is undesirable as a street tree because it requires considerable moisture and transplants with difficulty. It should be planted while young and where it can obtain plenty of light. It grows rapidly. Commercial value: The wood is commercially known as _whitewood_ and _yellow poplar_. It is light, soft, not strong and easily worked. It is used in construction, for interior finish of houses, woodenware and shingles. It has a medicinal value. Other characters: The _flower_, shown in Fig. 75, is greenish yellow in color, appears in May and resembles a tulip; hence the name tulip tree. The _fruit_ is a cone. Other common names: _Whitewood_; _yellow poplar_; _poplar_ and _tulip poplar_. SWEET GUM (_Liquidambar styraciflua_) [Illustration: FIG. 75.--Leaf and Flower of the Tulip Tree.] Distinguishing characters: The _persistent, spiny_, long-stemmed round *fruit*; _the corky growths on the_ *twigs*, the characteristic _star-shaped_ *leaves* (Fig. 76) and the very shiny greenish brown buds and the perfect symmetry of the tree are the chief characters by which to identify the species. Form and size: The sweet gum has a beautiful symmetrical shape, forming a true monopodium. [Illustration: FIG. 76.--Leaf and Fruit of the Sweet Gum. Note the corky ridges along the twig.] Range: From Connecticut to Florida and west to Missouri. Soil and location: Grows in any good soil but prefers low wet ground. It grows rapidly and needs plenty of light. Enemies: Is very often a favorite of leaf-eating caterpillars. Value for planting: The tree is sought for the brilliant color of its foliage in the fall, and is suitable for planting both on the lawn and street. In growing the tree for ornamental purposes it is important that it should be frequently transplanted in the nursery and that it be transported with burlap wrapping around its roots. Commercial value: The wood is reddish brown in color, tends to splinter and is inclined to warp in drying. It is used in cooperage, veneer work and for interior finish. Other characters: On the smaller branches there are irregular developments of cork as shown in Fig. 76, projecting in some cases to half an inch in thickness. Other common names: _Red gum_. Comparisons: The _cork elm_ is another tree that possesses corky ridges along its twigs, but this differs from the sweet gum in wanting the spiny fruit and its other distinctive traits. AMERICAN LINDEN (_Tilia Americana_) [Illustration: FIG. 77.--Bud of the Linden Tree.] Distinguishing characters: The great distinguishing feature of any linden is the *one-sided* character of its *bud* and *leaf*. The bud, dark red and conical, carries a sort of protuberance which makes it extremely one sided as shown in Fig. 77. The leaf, Fig. 78, is heart-shaped with the side nearest the branch largest. [Illustration: FIG. 78.--Leaves and Flowers of the European Linden.] Form and size: The American Linden is a medium-sized tree with a broad round head. Range: Eastern North America and more common in the north than in the south. Soil and location: Requires a rich, moist soil. [Illustration: FIG. 79.--European Linden Tree.] [Illustration: FIG. 80.--Bud of the Umbrella Tree.] Enemies: Its leaves are a favorite food of caterpillars and its wood is frequently attacked by a boring insect known as the _linden borer_ (_Saperda vestita_). Value for planting: The linden is easily transplanted and grows rapidly. It is used for lawn and street planting but is less desirable for these purposes than the European species. Commercial value: The wood is light and soft and used for paper pulp, woodenware, cooperage and furniture. The tree is a favorite with bee keepers on account of the large quantities of nectar contained in its flowers. Other characters: The _fruit_ is like a pea, gray and woody. The _flowers_ appear in early July, are greenish-yellow and very fragrant. Other common names: _Bass-wood_; _lime-tree_; _whitewood_. Comparisons: The _European lindens_, Fig. 79, of which there are several species under cultivation, differ from the native species in having buds and leaves smaller in size, more numerous and darker in color. THE MAGNOLIAS The various species of magnolia trees are readily distinguished by their buds. They all prefer moist, rich soil and have their principal value as decorative trees on the lawn. They are distinctly southern trees; some species under cultivation in the United States come from Asia, but the two most commonly grown in the Eastern States are the cucumber tree and the umbrella tree. [Illustration: FIG. 81.--Bark of the Black Locust.] CUCUMBER TREE (_Magnolia acuminata_) Distinguishing characters: The *buds* are _small_ and _slender_ compared with those of the other magnolia trees and are _covered_ with small silvery silky _hairs_. The *habit* of the tree is to form a straight axis of great height with a symmetrical mass of branches, producing a perfect monopodial crown. The tree is sometimes known as _mountain magnolia_. UMBRELLA TREE (_Magnolia tripetala_) Distinguishing characters: The _buds_, Fig. 80, are extremely _long_, often one and a half inches, have a _purple color_ and _are smooth_. The tree does not grow to large size and produces an open spreading head. Its leaves, twelve to eighteen inches long, are larger than those of the other magnolia trees. The tree is sometimes called _elkwood_. BLACK LOCUST (_Robinia pseudacacia_) Distinguishing characters: The *bark* of the trunk is _rough_ and _deeply ridged_, as shown in Fig. 81. The *buds* are _hardly noticeable_; the twigs sometimes bear small spines on one side. The leaves are large, compound, and fern-like. The individual leaflets are small and delicate. Form and size: The locust is a medium-sized tree developing a slender straight trunk when grown alongside of others; see Fig. 82. Range: Canada and United States. Soil and location: The locust will grow on almost any soil except a wet, heavy one. It requires plenty of light. Enemies: The _locust borer_ has done serious damage to this tree. The grubs of this insect burrow in the sapwood and kill the tree or make it unfit for commercial use. The _locust miner_ is a beetle which is now annually defoliating trees of this species in large numbers. Value for planting: It has little value for ornamental planting. Commercial value: Though short-lived, the locust grows very rapidly. It is extremely durable in contact with the soil and possesses great strength. It is therefore extensively grown for fence-posts and railroad ties. Locust posts will last from fifteen to twenty years. The wood is valuable for fuel. [Illustration: FIG. 82.--Black Locust Trees.] Other characters: The _flowers_ are showy pea-shaped panicles appearing in May and June. The _fruit_ is a small pod. Other common names: _Yellow locust_; _common locust_; _locust_. Comparisons: The _honey locust_ (_Gleditsia triacanthos_) can be told from the black locust by the differences in their bark. In the honey locust the bark is not ridged, has a sort of dark iron-gray color and is often covered with clusters of stout, sharp-pointed thorns as in Fig. 83. The fruit is a large pod often remaining on the tree through the winter. This tree has an ornamental, but no commercial value. [Illustration: FIG. 83.--Bark of the Honey Locust.] HARDY CATALPA (_Catalpa speciosa_) Distinguishing characters: The tree may be told by its *fruit*, which hang in long slender pods all winter. The leaf-scars appear on the stem in whorls of three and rarely opposite each other. Form and size: The catalpa has a short, thick and twisted trunk with an irregular head. Range: Central and eastern United States. [Illustration: FIG. 84.--Hardy Catalpa Trees.] [Illustration: FIG. 85.--Bark of the Flowering Dogwood.] Soil and location: It grows naturally on low bottom-lands but will also do well in poor, dry soils. Enemies: Practically free from disease and insects. Value for planting: The catalpa grows very rapidly and is cultivated in parks for ornament and in groves for commercial purposes. The _hardy catalpa_ is preferable to the _common catalpa_ for planting. Commercial value: The wood is extremely durable in contact with the soil and is consequently used for posts and railroad ties. Other characters: The _flowers_, which appear in late June and early July, are large, white and very showy. Other common names: _Indian bean_; _western catalpa_. Comparisons: The _white flowering dogwood_ (_Cornus florida_) is a small tree which also has its leaves in whorls of three or sometimes opposite. It can be readily told from other trees, however, by the small square plates into which the outer bark on the trunk divides itself, see Fig. 85, and by the characteristic drooping character of its branches. It is one of the most common plants in our eastern deciduous forests. It is extremely beautiful both in the spring and in the fall and is frequently planted for ornament. There are many varieties of dogwood in common use. WHITE MULBERRY (_Morus alba_) A small tree recognized by its _small round reddish brown buds_ and _light brown, finely furrowed_ (wavy looking) _bark_. The tree, probably a native of China, is grown under cultivation in eastern Canada and United States. It grows rapidly in moist soil and is not fastidious in its light requirements. Its chief value is for screening and for underplanting in woodlands. The _red mulberry_ (_Morus rubra_) is apt to be confused with the white mulberry, but differs in the following characters: The leaves of the red mulberry are rough on the upper side and downy on the under side, whereas the leaves of the white mulberry are smooth and shiny. The buds in the red are larger and more shiny than those of the white. The _Osage orange_ (_Toxylon pomiferum_) is similar to the mulberry in the light, golden color of its bark, but differs from it in possessing conspicuous spines along the twigs and branches and a more ridged bark. CHAPTER IV THE STRUCTURE AND REQUIREMENTS OF TREES To be able fully to appreciate trees, their mode of life, their enemies and their care, one must know something of their structure and life requirements. Structure of trees: Among the lower forms of plants there is very little distinction between the various parts--no differentiation into root, stem, or crown. Often the lower forms of animal and vegetable life are so similar that one cannot discriminate between them. But as we ascend in the scale, the various plant forms become more and more complex until we reach the tree, which is the largest and highest form of all plants. The tree is a living organism composed of cells like any other living organism. It has many parts, every one of which has a definite purpose. The three principal parts are: the stem, the crown, and the root. The stem: If we examine the cross-section of a tree, Fig. 86, we will notice that it is made up of numerous rings arranged in sections of different color and structure. The central part is known as the _pith_. Around the pith comes a dark, close-grained series of rings known as the _heartwood_, and outside the heartwood comes a lighter layer, the _sapwood_. The _cambium layer_ surrounds the sapwood and the _bark_ covers all. The cambium layer is the most important tissue of the tree and, together with part of the sapwood, transports the water and food of the tree. It is for this reason that a tree may be hollow, without heart and sapwood, and still produce foliage and fruit. [Illustration: FIG. 86.--The Cross-Section of a Tree.] The crown: The crown varies in form in different species and is developed by the growth of new shoots from buds. The bud grows out to a certain length and forms the branch. Afterwards it thickens only and does not increase in length. New branches will then form from other buds on the same branch. This explains in part the characteristic branching of trees, Fig. 87. [Illustration: FIG. 87.--Characteristic Form and Branching of Trees. The trees in the photograph are pin oaks.] The leaves are the stomach and lungs of the tree. Their broad blades are a device to catch the sunlight which is needed in the process of digesting the food of the tree. The leaves are arranged on the twigs in such a way as to catch the most sunlight. The leaves take up the carbonic acid gas from the air, decompose it under the influence of light and combine it with the minerals and water brought up by the roots from the soil. The resulting chemical combinations are the sugars and starches used by the cambium layer in building up the body of the tree. A green pigment, _chlorophyll_, in the leaf is the medium by which, with the aid of sunlight, the sugars are manufactured. [Illustration: FIG. 88.--Roots of a Hemlock Tree in their Search for Water.] The chlorophyll gives the leaf its green color, and this explains why a tree pales when it is in a dying condition or when its life processes are interfered with. The other colors of the leaf--the reds, browns and yellows of the fall or spring--are due to other pigments. These are angular crystals of different hues, which at certain times of the year become more conspicuous than at others, a phenomenon which explains the variation in the colors of the leaves during the different seasons. It is evident that a tree is greatly dependent upon its leaves for the manufacture of food and one can, therefore, readily see why it is important to prevent destruction of the leaves by insects or through over-trimming. The root: The root develops in much the same manner as the crown. Its depth and spread will vary with the species but will also depend somewhat upon the condition of the soil around it. A deep or a dry soil will tend to develop a deep root, while a shallow or moist soil will produce a shallow root, Fig. 88. The numerous fine hairs which cover the roots serve the purpose of taking up food and water from the soil, while the heavy roots help to support the tree. The root-hairs are extremely tender, are easily dried out when exposed to the sun and wind, and are apt to become overheated when permitted to remain tightly packed for any length of time. These considerations are of practical importance in the planting of trees and in the application of fertilizers. It is these fine rootlets far away from the trunk of the tree that have to be fed, and all fertilizers must, therefore, be applied at points some distance from the trunk and not close to it, where merely the large, supporting roots are located. In the cultivation of trees the same principle holds true. Requirements of trees: Trees are dependent upon certain soil and atmospheric conditions which influence their growth and development. (1) Influence of moisture: The form of the tree and its growth and structure depend greatly upon the supply of moisture. Botanists have taken the moisture factor as the basis of classification and have subdivided trees into those that grow in moist places (_hydrophytes_), those that grow in medium soils (_mesophytes_), and those that grow in dry places (_xerophytes_). Water is taken up by the roots of the tree from the soil. The liquid absorbed by the roots carries in solution the mineral salts--the food of the tree--and no food can be taken up unless it is in solution. Much of the water is used by the tree and an enormous amount is given off in the process of evaporation. [Illustration: FIG. 89.--Dead Branches at the Top Caused by Insufficient Water.] These facts will explain some of the fundamental principles in the care of trees. To a tree growing on a city street or on a lawn where nature fails to supply the requisite amount of water, the latter must be supplied artificially, especially during the hot summer months, or else dead branches may result as seen in Fig. 89. Too much thinning out of the crown causes excessive evaporation, and too much cutting out in woodlands causes the soil to dry and the trees to suffer for the want of moisture. This also explains why it is essential, in wooded areas, to retain on the ground the fallen leaves. In decomposing and mixing with the soil, the fallen leaves not only supply the trees with food material, but also tend to conserve moisture in the ground and to prevent the drying out of the soil. Raking off the leaves from wooded areas, a practice common in parks and on private estates--hurts the trees seriously. Some soils may have plenty of moisture, but may also be so heavily saturated with acids or salts that the tree cannot utilize the moisture, and it suffers from drought just the same as if there had been no moisture at all in the soil. Such soils are said to be "physiologically dry" and need treatment. In the development of disease, moisture is a contributing factor and, therefore, in cavities or underneath bandages where there is likely to be an accumulation of moisture, decay will do more damage than in places that are dry and exposed to the sun. (2) Influence of soil: Soil is made up of fine particles of sand and rock and of vegetable matter called _humus_. A tree will require a certain soil, and unsuitable soils can be very often modified to suit the needs of the tree. A deep, moderately loose, sandy loam, however, which is sufficiently aerated and well supplied with water, will support almost any tree. Too much of any one constituent will make a soil unfit for the production of trees. If too much clay is present the soil becomes "stiff." If too much vegetable matter is present, the soil becomes "sour." The physical character of the soil is also important. By physical character is meant the porosity which results from breaking up the soil. This is accomplished by ploughing or cultivation. In nature, worms help to do this for the soil, but on streets an occasional digging up of the soil about the base of the tree is essential. Humus or the organic matter in the soil is composed of litter, leaves and animal ingredients that have decayed under the influence of bacteria. The more vegetable matter in the humus, the darker the soil; and therefore a good soil such as one finds on the upper surface of a well-tilled farm has quite a dark color. When, however, a soil contains an unusual quantity of humus, it is known as "muck," and when there is still more humus present we find _peat_. Neither of these two soils is suitable for proper tree growth. [Illustration: FIG. 90.--A Tree in the Open. Note the full development of the wide crown with branches starting near the ground. The tree is the European larch.] (3) Influence of light: Light is required by the leaves in the process of assimilation. Cutting off some of the light from a tree affects its form. This is why trees grown in the open have wide-spreading crowns with branches starting near the ground as in Fig. 90, while the same species growing in the forest produces tall, lanky trees, free from branches to but a few feet from the top as in Fig. 91. Some trees can endure more shade than others, but all will grow in full light. This explains why trees like the beech, hemlock, sugar maple, spruce, holly and dogwood can grow in the shade, while the poplar, birch and willow require light. It also explains why, in the forest, the lower branches die and fall off--a process known in Forestry as "natural pruning," The influence of light on the form of trees should be well understood by all those who plant trees and by those designing landscape effects. [Illustration: FIG. 91.--A Tree in The Forest. Note the tall stem free from branches and the small, narrow crown.] (4) Influence of heat: Trees require a certain amount of heat. They receive it partly from the sun and partly from the soil. Evaporation prevents the overheating of the crown. The main stem of the tree is heated by water from the soil; therefore trees in the open begin growth in the spring earlier than trees in the forest because the soil in the open is warmer. Shrubs begin their growth earlier than trees because of the nearness of their crowns to their root systems. This also explains why a warm rain will start vegetation quickly. Too much heat will naturally cause excessive drying of the roots or excessive evaporation from the leaves and therefore more water is needed by the tree in summer than in winter. (5) Influence of season and frost: The life processes of a tree are checked when the temperature sinks below a certain point. The tree is thus, during the winter, in a period of rest and only a few chemical changes take place which lead up to the starting of vegetation. In eastern United States, growth starts in April and ceases during the latter part of August or in early September. The different parts of a tree may freeze solid during the winter without injury, provided the tree is a native one. Exotic trees may suffer greatly from extreme cold. This is one of the main reasons why it is always advisable to plant native trees rather than those that are imported and have not yet been acclimatized. Frosts during mid-winter are not quite as injurious as early and late frosts and, therefore, if one is going to protect plants from the winter's cold, it is well to apply the covering early enough and to keep it on late enough to overcome this difficulty. The mechanical injuries from frost are also important. Snow and sleet will weigh down branches but rarely break them, while frost will cause them to become brittle and to break easily. Those who climb and prune trees should be especially cautious on frosty days. (6) Influence of air: On the under side of leaves and on other surfaces of a tree little pores known as _stomata_ may be found. In the bark of birch and cherry trees these openings are very conspicuous and are there known as _lenticels_. These pores are necessary for the breathing of the tree (respiration), whereby carbonic acid gas is taken in from the air and oxygen given out. The process of assimilation depends upon this breathing process and it is therefore evident that when the stomata are clogged as may occur where a tree is subjected to smoke or dust, the life processes of the tree will be interfered with. The same injurious effect results when the stomata of the roots are interfered with. Such interference may occur in cases where a heavy layer of soil is piled around the base of a tree, where the soil about the base of a tree is allowed to become compact, where a tree is planted too deep, or where the roots are submerged under water for any length of time. In any case the air cannot get to the roots and the tree suffers. Nature takes special cognizance of this important requirement in the case of cypress trees, which habitually grow under water. Here the trees are provided with special woody protuberances known as "cypress knees," which emerge above water and take the necessary air. See Fig. 18. Conclusions: From the foregoing it will be seen that trees have certain needs that nature or man must supply. These requirements differ with the different species, and in all work of planting and care as well as in the natural distribution of trees it is both interesting and necessary to observe these individual wants, to select species in accordance with local conditions and to care for trees in conformity with their natural needs. CHAPTER V WHAT TREES TO PLANT AND HOW The following classification will show the value of the more important trees for different kinds of planting. The species are arranged in the order of their merit for the particular object under consideration and the comments accompanying each tree are intended to bring out its special qualifications for that purpose. Conditions for tree growth in one part of the country differ from those of another and these lists, especially applicable to the Eastern States, may not at all fit some other locality. TREES BEST FOR THE LAWN DECIDUOUS 1. American elm (_Ulmus americana_) One of the noblest of trees. Possesses a majestic, wide-spreading, umbrella-shaped crown; is easily transplanted, and is suited to a variety of soils. 2. Pin oak (_Quercus palustris_) Has a symmetrical crown with low-drooping branches; requires a moist situation. 3. European linden (_Tilia microphylla_) Possesses a beautiful shade-bearing crown; grows well in ordinary soil. 4. Red maple (_Acer rubrum_) Shows pleasing colors at all seasons; grows best in a fairly rich, moist soil. 5. Copper beech (_Fagus sylvatica_, _alropurpurea_) Exceedingly beautiful in form, bark, and foliage and possesses great longevity and sturdiness. It is difficult to transplant and therefore only small trees from 6 to 10 feet in height should be used. 6. Coffee tree (_Gymnocladus dioicus_) A unique and interesting effect is produced by its coarse branches and leaves. It is free from insects and disease; requires plenty of light; will grow in poor soils. 7. European white birch (_Belula alba_) A graceful tree and very effective as a single specimen on the lawn, or in a group among evergreens; should be planted in early spring, and special care taken to protect its tender rootlets. 8. Gingko or Maiden-hair tree (_Gingko biloba_) Where there is plenty of room for the spread of its odd branches, the gingko makes a picturesque specimen tree. It is hardy and free from insect pests and disease. 9. Horsechestnut (_Aesculus hippocastanum_) Carries beautiful, showy flowers, and has a compact, symmetrical low-branched crown; is frequently subject to insects and disease. The red flowering horsechestnut (_A. rubicunda_) is equally attractive. [Illustration: FIG. 92.--A Lawn Tree. European Weeping Beech.] 10. Sugar maple (_Acer saccharum_) Has a symmetrical crown and colors beautifully in the fall; requires a rich soil and considerable moisture. 11. Soulange's magnolia (_Magnolia soulangeana_) Extremely hard and flowers in early spring before the leaves appear. 12. Flowering dogwood (_Cornus florida_) Popular for its beautiful white flowers in the early spring and the rich coloring of its leaves in the fall; does not grow to large size. The red-flowering variety of this tree, though sometimes not quite as hardy, is extremely beautiful. 13. Japanese maple (_Acer polymorphum_) It has several varieties of different hues and it colors beautifully in the fall; it does not grow to large size. CONIFEROUS 14. Oriental spruce (_Picea orientalis_) Forms a dignified, large tree with a compact crown and low branches; is hardy. 15. Austrian pine (_Pinus austriaca_) Is very hardy; possesses a compact crown; will grow in soils of medium quality. 16. Bhotan pine (_Pinus excelsa_) Grows luxuriantly; is dignified and beautiful; requires a good soil, and in youth needs some protection from extreme cold. 17. White pine (_Pinus strobus_) Branches gracefully and forms a large, dignified tree; will thrive on a variety of soils. 18. European larch (_Larix europaea_) Has a beautiful appearance; thrives best in moist situations. 19. Blue spruce (_Picea pungens_) Extremely hardy; forms a perfect specimen plant for the lawn. 20. Japanese umbrella pine (_Sciadopitys verlicillata_) Very hardy; retains a compact crown. An excellent specimen plant when grouped with other evergreens on the lawn. Does not grow to large size. 21. Mugho pine (_Pinus mughus_) A low-growing evergreen; hardy; important in group planting. 22. Obtuse leaf Japanese cypress (_Retinospora obtusa_) Beautiful evergreen of small size; hardy; desirable for group planting. 23. English yew (_Taxus baccata_) An excellent evergreen usually of low form; suitable for the lawn, massed with others or as a specimen plant; will grow in the shade of other trees. There are various forms of this species of distinctive value. TREES BEST FOR THE STREET 1. Oriental sycamore (_Platanus orientalis_) Very hardy; will adapt itself to city conditions; grows fairly fast and is highly resistant to insects and disease. 2. Norway maple (_Acer platanoides_) Very hardy; possesses a straight trunk and symmetrical crown; is comparatively free from insects and disease and will withstand the average city conditions. 3. Red oak (_Quercus rubra_) Fastest growing of the oaks; very durable and highly resistant to insects and disease; will grow in the average soil of the city street. [Illustration: FIG. 93.--Street Trees. Norway Maples.] 4. Gingko (_Gingko biloba_) Hardy and absolutely free from insects and disease; suited for narrow streets, and will permit of close planting. 5. European linden (_Tilia microphylla_) Beautiful shade-bearing crown; is very responsive to good soil and plenty of moisture. 6. American elm (_Ulmus americana_) When planted in rows along an avenue, it forms a tall majestic archway of great beauty. It is best suited for wide streets and should be planted further apart than the other trees listed above. Requires a fairly good soil and plenty of moisture, and is therefore not suited for planting in the heart of a large city. 7. Pin oak (_Quercus palustris_) This tree exhibits its greatest beauty when its branches are allowed to droop fairly low. It, moreover, needs plenty of moisture to thrive and the tree is therefore best suited for streets in suburban sections, where these conditions can be more readily met. 8. Red maple (_Acer rubrum_) Beautiful in all seasons of the year; requires a rich soil and considerable moisture. TREES BEST FOR WOODLAND FOR OPEN PLACES 1. Red oak (_Quercus rubra_) Grows rapidly to large size and produces valuable wood; will grow in poor soil. 2. White pine (_Pinus strobus_) Rapid grower; endures but little shade; wood valuable; will do well on large range of soils. 3. Red pine (_Pinus resinosa_) Very hardy; fairly rapid growing tree. 4. Tulip tree (_Liriodendron tulipifera_) Grows rapidly into a stately forest tree with a clear tall trunk; wood valuable; requires a fairly moist soil. Use a small tree, plant in the spring, and pay special attention to the protection of the roots in planting. 5. Black locust (_Robinia pseudacacia_) Grows rapidly; adapts itself to poor, sandy soils. The wood is suitable for posts and ties. 6. White ash (_Fraxinus americana_) Grows rapidly; prefers moist situations. Wood valuable. 7. American elm (_Ulmus americana_) Grows rapidly to great height; will not endure too much shade; does best in a deep fertile soil. Wood valuable. 8. European larch (_Larix europaea_) Grows rapidly; prefers moist situations. [Illustration: FIG. 94.--Woodland Trees. Red Oaks.] FOR PLANTING UNDER THE SHADE OF OTHER TREES 9. Beech (_Fagus_) Will stand heavy shade; holds the soil well along banks and steep slopes. Both the American and the English species are desirable. 10. Hemlock (_Tsuga canadensis_) Will stand heavy shade and look effective in winter as well as in summer. 11. Dogwood (_Cornus florida_) Will grow under other trees; flowers beautifully in the spring and colors richly in the fall. 12. Blue beech (_Carpinus caroliniana_) Native to the woodlands of the Eastern States; looks well in spring and fall. TREES BEST FOR SCREENING 1. Hemlock (_Tsuga canadensis_) Will stand shearing and will screen in winter as well as in summer. Plant from 2 to 4 feet apart to form a hedge. 2. Osage orange (_Toxylon pomiferum_) Very hardy. Plant close. 3. English hawthorn (_Crataegus oxyacantha_) Flowers beautifully and grows in compact masses. Plant close. 4. Lombardy poplar (_Populus nigra var. italica_) Forms a tall screen and grows under the most unfavorable conditions. Plant 8 to 12 feet apart. Quality of trees: Trees grown in a nursery are preferable for transplanting to trees grown in the forest. Nursery-grown trees possess a well-developed root system with numerous fibrous rootlets, a straight stem, a symmetrical crown, and a well-defined leader. Trees grown in neighboring nurseries are preferable to those grown at great distances, because they will be better adapted to local climatic and soil conditions. The short distances over which they must be transported also will entail less danger to the roots through drying. For lawn planting, the branches should reach low to the ground, while for street purposes the branches should start at about seven feet from the ground. For street planting, it is also important that the stem should be perfectly straight and about two inches in diameter. For woodland planting, the form of the tree is of minor consideration, though it is well to have the leader well defined here as well as in the other cases. See Fig. 95. When and how to procure the trees: The trees should be selected in the nursery personally. Some persons prefer to seal the more valuable specimens with leaden seals. Fall is the best time to make the selection, because at that time one can have a wider choice of material. Selecting thus early will also prevent delay in delivery at the time when it is desired to plant. When to plant: The best time to plant trees is early spring, just before growth begins, and after the frost is out of the ground. From the latter part of March to the early part of May is generally the planting period in the Eastern States. Where one has to plant both coniferous and deciduous trees, it is best to get the deciduous in first, and then the conifers. How to plant: The location of the trees with relation to each other should be carefully considered. On the lawn, they should be separated far enough to allow for the full spread of the tree. On streets, trees should be planted thirty to thirty-five feet apart and in case of the elm, forty to fifty feet. In woodlands, it is well to plant as close as six feet apart where small seedlings are used and about twelve feet apart in the case of trees an inch or more in diameter. An abundance of good soil (one to two cubic yards) is essential with each tree where the specimens used are an inch or two in diameter. A rich mellow loam, such as one finds on the surface of a well-tilled farm, is the ideal soil. Manure should never be placed in direct contact with the roots or stem of the tree. Protection of the roots from drying is the chief precaution to be observed during the planting process, and for this reason a cloudy day is preferable to a sunny day for planting. In case of evergreens, the least exposure of the roots is liable to result disastrously, even more so than in case of deciduous trees. This is why evergreens are lifted from the nursery with a ball of soil around the roots. All bruised roots should be cut off before the tree is planted, and the crown of the tree of the deciduous species should be slightly trimmed in order to equalize the loss of roots by a corresponding decrease in leaf surface. The tree should be set into the tree hole at the same depth that it stood in the nursery. Its roots, where there is no ball of soil around them, should be carefully spread out and good soil should be worked in carefully with the fingers among the fine rootlets. Every root fibre is thus brought into close contact with the soil. More good soil should be added (in layers) and firmly packed about the roots. The last layer should remain loose so that it may act as a mulch or as an absorbent of moisture. The tree should then be thoroughly watered. [Illustration: FIG. 95.--Specifications for a Street Tree.] After care: During the first season the tree should be watered and the soil around its base slightly loosened at least once a week, especially on hot summer days. Where trees are planted on streets, near the curb, they should also be fastened to stakes and protected with a wire guard six feet high. See Fig. 95. Wire netting of ½-inch mesh and 17 gauge is the most desirable material. [Illustration: FIG. 96.--A Home Nursery. (Austrian pines in front.)] Suggestions for a home or school nursery: Schools, farms, and private estates may conveniently start a tree nursery on the premises and raise their own trees. Two-year seedling trees or four-year transplants are best suited for this purpose. These may be obtained from several reliable nurseries in various parts of the country that make a specialty of raising small trees for such purposes. The cost of such trees should be from three to fifteen dollars per thousand. The little trees, which range from one to two feet in height, will be shipped in bundles. Immediately upon arrival, the bundles should be untied and the trees immersed in a pail containing water mixed with soil. The bundles should then be placed in the ground temporarily, until they can be set out in their proper places. In this process, the individual bundles should be slanted with their tops toward the south, and the spot chosen should be cool and shady. At no time should the roots of these plants be exposed, even for a moment, to sun and wind, and they should always be kept moist. The little trees may remain in this trench for two weeks without injury. They should then be planted out in rows, each row one foot apart for conifers and two feet for broadleaf trees. The individual trees should be set ten inches apart in the row. Careful weeding and watering is the necessary attention later on. CHAPTER VI THE CARE OF TREES STUDY I. INSECTS INJURIOUS TO TREES AND HOW TO COMBAT THEM In a general way, trees are attacked by three classes of insects, and the remedy to be employed in each case depends upon the class to which the insect belongs. The three classes of insects are: 1. Those that *chew* and swallow some portion of the leaf; as, for example, the elm leaf beetle, and the tussock, gipsy, and brown-tail moths. 2. Those that *suck* the plant juices from the leaf or bark; such as the San José scale, oyster-shell, and scurfy scales, the cottony maple scale, the maple phenacoccus on the sugar maples, and the various aphides on beech, Norway maple, etc. 3. Those that *bore* inside of the wood or inner bark. The principal members of this class are the leopard moth, the hickory-bark borer, the sugar-maple borer, the elm borer, and the bronze-birch borer. The chewing insects are destroyed by spraying the leaves with arsenate of lead or Paris green. The insects feed upon the poisoned foliage and thus are themselves poisoned. The sucking insects are killed by a contact poison: that is, by spraying or washing the affected parts of the tree with a solution which acts externally on the bodies of the insects, smothering or stifling them. The standard solutions for this purpose are kerosene emulsion, soap and water, tobacco extract, or lime-sulfur wash. [Illustration: FIG. 97.--A Gas-power Spraying Apparatus.] The boring insects are eliminated by cutting out the insect with a knife, by injecting carbon bisulphide into the burrow and clogging the orifice immediately after injection with putty or soap, or in some cases where the tree is hopelessly infested, by cutting down and burning the entire tree. [Illustration: FIG. 98.--A Barrel Hand-pump Spraying Outfit.] For information regarding the one of these three classes to which any particular insect belongs, and for specific instructions on the application of a remedy, the reader is advised to write to his State Entomologist or to the U.S. Bureau of Entomology at Washington, D.C. The letter should state the name of the tree affected, together with the character of the injury, and should be accompanied by a specimen of the insect, or by a piece of the affected leaf or bark, preferably by both. The advice received will be authentic and will be given without charge. [Illustration: FIG. 99.--Egg-masses of the Tussock Moth.] When to spray: _In the case of chewing insects_, the latter part of May is the time to spray. The caterpillars hatch from their eggs, and the elm leaf beetle leaves its winter quarters at that time. _In the case of sucking insects_, the instructions will have to be more specific, depending upon the particular insect in question. Some sucking insects can best be handled in May or early June when their young emerge, others can be effectively treated in the fall or winter when the trees are dormant. How to spray: Thoroughness is the essential principle in all spraying. In the case of leaf-eating insects, this means covering every leaf with the poison and applying it to the under side of the leaves, where the insects generally feed. In the case of sucking insects, thoroughness means an effort to touch every insect with the spray. It should be borne in mind that the insect can be killed only when hit with the chemical. The solution should be well stirred, and should be applied by means of a nozzle that will coat every leaf with a fine, mist-like spray. Mere drenching or too prolonged an application will cause the solution to run off. Special precautions should be taken with contact poisons to see that the formula is correct. Too strong a solution will burn the foliage and tender bark. Spraying apparatus: There are various forms of spraying apparatus in the market, including small knapsack pumps, barrel hand-pumps, and gasolene and gas-power sprayers, Figs. 97 and 98. Hose and nozzles are essential accessories. One-half inch, three-ply hose of the best quality is necessary to stand the heavy pressure and wear. Two 50-foot lengths is the usual quantity required for use with a barrel hand-pump. Each line of hose should be supplied with a bamboo pole 10 feet long, having a brass tube passed through it to carry the nozzle. The Vermorel nozzle is the best type to use. The cost of a barrel outfit, including two lines of hose, nozzles and truck, should be from $30 to $40. Power sprayers cost from $150 to $300 or more. Spraying material: _Arsenate of lead_ should be used in the proportion Of 4 pounds of the chemical to 50 gallons of water. A brand of arsenate of lead containing at least 14 per cent of arsenic oxide with not more than 50 per cent of water should be insisted upon. This spray may be used successfully against caterpillars and other leaf-eating insects in the spring or summer. _Whale-oil soap_ should be used at the rate of 1½ pounds of the soap to 1 gallon of hot water, if applied to the tree in winter. As a spray in summer, use 1 pound of the soap to 5 gallons of water. This treatment is useful for most sucking insects. _Lime-sulfur wash_ is an excellent material to use against sucking insects, such as the San José scale and other armored scales. The application of a lime-sulfur wash when put on during the dormant season is not likely to harm a tree and has such an excellent cleansing effect that the benefits to be derived in this direction alone are often sufficient to meet the cost of the treatment. Lime-sulfur wash consists of a mixture, boiled one hour, of 40 pounds of lime and 80 pounds of sulfur, in 50 gallons of water. It may be had in prepared form and should then be used at the rate of 1 gallon to about 9 gallons of water in winter or early spring before the buds open. At other times of the year and for the softer-bodied insects a more diluted mixture, possibly 1 part to 30 or 40 parts of water, should be used, varying with each case separately. _Kerosene emulsion_ consists of one-half pound of hard soap, 1 gallon of boiling water, and 2 gallons of kerosene. It may be obtained in prepared form and is then to be used at the rate of one part of the solution to nine parts of water when applied in winter or to the bark only in summer. Use 2 gallons of the solution to a 40-gallon barrel of water when applying it to the leaves in the summer. Kerosene emulsion is useful as a treatment for scale insects. _Tobacco water_ should be prepared by steeping one-half pound of tobacco stems or leaves in a gallon of boiling water and later diluting the product with 5 to 10 gallons of water. It is particularly useful for plant lice in the summer. The life history of an insect: In a general way, all insects have four stages of transformation before a new generation is produced. It is important to consider the nature of these four stages in order that the habits of any particular insect and the remedies applicable in combating it may be understood. All insects develop from _eggs_, Fig. 99. The eggs then hatch into caterpillars or grubs, which is the _larva_ stage, in which most insects do the greatest damage to trees. The caterpillars or grubs grow and develop rapidly, and hence their feeding is most ravenous. Following the larva stage comes the third or _pupa_ stage, which is the dormant stage of the insect. In this stage the insect curls itself up under the protection of a silken cocoon like the tussock moth, or of a curled leaf like the brown-tail moth, or it may be entirely unsheltered like the pupa of the elm leaf beetle. After the pupa stage comes the _adult insect_, which may be a moth or a beetle. A study of the four stages of any particular insect is known as a study of its _life history_. The important facts to know about the life history of an insect are the stage in which it does most of its feeding, and the period of the year in which this occurs. It is also important to know how the insect spends the winter in order to decide upon a winter treatment. IMPORTANT INSECTS THE ELM LEAF BEETLE Life history: The elm leaf beetle, Fig. 100, is annually causing the defoliation of thousands of elm trees throughout the United States. Several successive defoliations are liable to kill a tree. The insects pass the winter in the beetle form, hiding themselves in attics and wherever else they can secure shelter. In the middle of May when the buds of the elm trees unfold, the beetles emerge from their winter quarters, mate, and commence eating the leaves, thus producing little holes through them. While this feeding is going on, the females deposit little, bright yellow eggs on the under side of the leaves, which soon hatch into small larvae or grubs. The grubs then eat away the soft portion of the leaf, causing it to look like lacework. The grubs become full grown in twenty days, crawl down to the base of the tree, and there transform into naked, orange-colored pupae. This occurs in the early part of August. After remaining in the pupa stage about a week, they change into beetles again, which either begin feeding or go to winter quarters. Remedies: There are three ways of combating this insect: First, by _spraying the foliage_ with arsenate of lead in the latter part of May while the beetles are feeding, and repeating the spraying in June when the larvae emerge. The spraying method is the one most to be relied on in fighting this insect. A second, though less important remedy, consists in _destroying the pupae_ when they gather in large quantities at the base of the tree. This may be accomplished by gathering them bodily and destroying them, or by pouring hot water or a solution of kerosene over them. In large trees it may be necessary to climb to the crotches of the main limbs to get some of them. The third remedy lies in gathering and _destroying the adult beetles_ when found in their winter quarters. The application of bands of burlap or "tanglefoot," or of other substances often seen on the trunks of elm trees is useless, since these bands only prevent the larvae from crawling down from the leaves to the base and serve to prevent nothing from crawling up. Scraping the trunks of elm trees is also a waste of effort. [Illustration: FIG. 100.--The Elm Leaf Beetle. (After Dr. E.P. Felt.) 1. Egg cluster, enlarged. 1a. Single egg, greatly enlarged. 2. Young larva, enlarged. 3. Full grown larva, much enlarged. 4. Pupa, enlarged. 5. Overwintered beetle, enlarged. 6. Fresh, brightly colored beetle, enlarged. 7. Under surface of leaf showing larvae feeding. 8. Leaf eaten by larvae. 9. Leaf showing holes eaten by beetles.] THE TUSSOCK MOTH Life history: This insect appears in the form of a red-headed, yellow-colored caterpillar during the latter part of May, and in June and July. The caterpillars surround themselves with silken cocoons and change into pupae. The mature moths emerge from the cocoons after a period of about two weeks, and the females, which are wingless, soon deposit their eggs on the bark of trees, on twigs, fences, and other neighboring objects. These eggs form white clusters of nearly 350 individual eggs each, and are very conspicuous all winter, see Fig. 101. Remedies: There are two ways of combating this insect: (1) By spraying with arsenate of lead for the caterpillars during the latter part of May and early June. (2) By removing and destroying the egg masses in the fall or winter. [Illustration: FIG. 101.--The Tussock Moth. (After Dr. E.P. Felt.) 1. Caterpillar. 2. Male moth. 3. Female moth laying eggs. 4 Cocoons. 5. Cast skins of caterpillar. 6. Work of young caterpillar. 7. Male pupa. 8 and 9. Girdled branches.] THE GIPSY MOTH Life history: This insect, imported from Europe to this country in 1868, has ever since proved a serious enemy of most shade, forest, and fruit trees in the New England States. It even feeds on evergreens, killing the trees by a single defoliation. The insect appears in the caterpillar stage from April to July. It feeds at night and rests by day. The mature caterpillar, which is dark in color, may be recognized by rows of blue and red spots along its back. After July, egg masses are deposited by the female moths on the bark of trees, and on leaves, fences, and other neighboring objects. Here they remain over the winter until they hatch in the spring. The flat egg masses are round or oval in shape, and are yellowish-brown in color. See Fig. 102. Remedies: Spray for the caterpillars in June with arsenate of lead and apply creosote to the egg masses whenever found. THE BROWN-TAIL MOTH Life history: This insect was introduced here from Europe in 1890 and has since done serious damage to shade, forest, and fruit trees, and to shrubs in the New England States. It appears in the caterpillar stage in the early spring and continues to feed on the leaves and buds until the last of June. Then the caterpillars pupate, the moths come out, and in July and August the egg clusters appear. These hatch into caterpillars which form nests for themselves by drawing the leaves together. Here they remain protected until the spring. See Fig. 103. Remedies: Collect the winter nests from October to April and burn them. Also spray the trees for caterpillars in early May and especially in August with arsenate of lead. [Illustration: FIG. 102.--The Gipsy Moth. (After F.W. Rane Mass. State Forester.)] [Illustration: FIG. 103.--The Brown-tail Moth. (After F.W. Rane, Mass. State Forester.)] [Illustration: FIG. 104.--Larva of the Leopard Moth.] THE FALL WEBWORM The caterpillars of this insect congregate in colonies and surround themselves with a web which often reaches the size of a foot or more in diameter. These webs are common on trees in July and August. Cutting off the webs or burning them on the twigs is the most practical remedy. [Illustration: FIG. 105.--Branch Showing Work of the Leopard Moth Larva.] THE LEOPARD MOTH Life history: This insect does its serious damage in the grub form. The grubs which are whitish in color with brown heads, and which vary in size from 3/8 of an inch to 3 inches in length (Fig. 104), may be found boring in the wood of the branches and trunk of the tree all winter. Fig. 105. The leopard moth requires two years to complete its round of life. The mature moths are marked with dark spots resembling a leopard's skin, hence the name. Fig. 106. It is one of the commonest and most destructive insects in the East and is responsible for the recent death of thousands of the famous elm trees in New Haven and Boston. Fig. 107. [Illustration: FIG. 106.--The Leopard Moth.] Remedies: Trees likely to be infested with this insect should be examined three or four times a year for wilted twigs, dead branches, and strings of expelled frass; all of which may indicate the presence of this borer. Badly infested branches should be cut off and burned. Trees so badly infested that treatment becomes too complicated should be cut down and destroyed. Where the insects are few and can be readily reached, an injection of carbon bisulphide into the burrow, the orifice of which is then immediately closed with soap or putty, will often destroy the insects within. [Illustration: FIG. 107.--Elm Tree Attacked by the Leopard Moth.] THE HICKORY BARK BORER Life history: This insect is a small brown or black beetle in its mature form and a small legless white grub in its winter stage. The beetles appear from June to August. In July they deposit their eggs in the outer sapwood, immediately under the bark of the trunk and larger branches. The eggs soon hatch and the grubs feed on the living tissue of the tree, forming numerous galleries. The grubs pass the winter in a nearly full-grown condition, transform to pupae in May, and emerge as beetles in June. Remedies: The presence of the insect can be detected by the small holes in the bark of the trees and the fine sawdust which is ejected from these holes, when the insects are active. It is important to emphasize the advisability of detecting the fine sawdust because that is the best indication of the actual operations of the hickory bark borer. These holes, however, will not be noticeable until the insect has completed its transformation. In summer, the infested trees show wilted leaves and many dead twigs. Holes in the base of the petioles of these leaves are also signs of the working of the insect. Since the insect works underneath the bark, it is inaccessible for treatment and all infested trees should be cut down and burned, or the bark removed and the insects destroyed. This should be done before the beetles emerge from the tree in June. PLANT LICE OR APHIDES These often appear on the under side of the leaves of the beech, Norway maple, tulip tree, etc. They excrete a sweet, sticky liquid called "honey-dew," and cause the leaves to curl or drop. Spraying with whale-oil soap solution formed by adding one pound of the soap to five gallons of water is the remedy. STUDY II. TREE DISEASES Because trees have wants analogous to those of human beings, they also have diseases similar to those which afflict human beings. In many cases these diseases act like cancerous growths upon the human body; in some instances the ailment may be a general failing due to improper feeding, and in other cases it may be due to interference with the life processes of the tree. How to tell an ailing tree: Whatever the cause, an ailing tree will manifest its ailment by one or more symptoms. A change of color in the leaves at a time when they should be perfectly green indicates that the tree is not growing under normal conditions, possibly because of an insufficiency of moisture or light or an overdose of foreign gases or salts. Withering of the leaves is another sign of irregularity in water supply. Dead tops point to some difficulty in the soil conditions or to some disease of the roots or branches. Spotted leaves and mushroom-like growths or brackets protruding from the bark as in Fig. 108, are sure signs of disease. In attempting to find out whether a tree is healthy or not, one would therefore do well to consider whether the conditions under which it is growing are normal or not; whether the tree is suitable for the location; whether the soil is too dry or too wet; whether the roots are deprived of their necessary water and air by an impenetrable cover of concrete or soil; whether the soil is well drained and free from foreign gases and salts; whether the tree is receiving plenty of light or is too much exposed; and whether it is free from insects and fungi. If, after a thorough examination, it is found that the ailment has gone too far, it may not be wise to try to save the tree. A timely removal of a tree badly infested with insects or fungi may often be the best procedure and may save many neighboring trees from contagious infection. For this, however, no rules can be laid down and much will depend on the local conditions and the judgment and knowledge of the person concerned. [Illustration: FIG. 108.--A Bracket Fungus (_Elfvingia megaloma_) on a Tulip Tree.] Fungi as factors of disease: The trees, the shrubs and the flowers with which we are familiar are rooted in the ground and derive their food both from the soil and from the air. There is, however, another group of plants,--_the fungi_,--the roots of which grow in trees and other plants and which obtain their food entirely from the trees or plants upon which they grow. The fungi cannot manufacture their own food as other plants do and consequently absorb the food of their host, eventually reducing it to dust. The fungi are thus disease-producing factors and the source of most of the diseases of trees. When we can see fungi growing on a tree we may safely assume that they are already in an advanced state of development. We generally discover their presence when their fruiting bodies appear on the surface of the tree as shown in Fig 109. These fruiting bodies are the familiar mushrooms, puffballs, toadstools or shelf-like brackets that one often sees on trees. In some cases they spread over the surface of the wood in thin patches. They vary in size from large bodies to mere pustules barely visible to the naked eye. Their variation in color is also significant, ranging from colorless to black and red but never green. They often emulate the color of the bark, Fig. 110. Radiating from these fruiting bodies into the tissues of the tree are a large number of minute fibers, comprising the _mycelium_ of the fungus. These fibers penetrate the body of the tree in all directions and absorb its food. The mycelium is the most important part of the fungous growth. If the fruiting body is removed, another soon takes its place, but if the entire mycelium is cut out, the fungus will never come back. The fruiting body of the fungus bears the seed or _spores_. These spores are carried by the wind or insects to other trees where they take root in some wound or crevice of the bark and start a new infestation. [Illustration: FIG. 109.--The Fruiting Body of a Fungus.] The infestation will be favored in its growth if the spore can find plenty of food, water, warmth and darkness. As these conditions generally exist in wounds and cavities of trees, it is wise to keep all wounds well covered with coal tar and to so drain the cavities that moisture cannot lodge in them. This subject will be gone into more fully in the following two studies on "Pruning Trees" and "Tree Repair." [Illustration: FIG. 110.--The Birch-fungus rot. (_Polyponis betulinus_ Fr.) Note the similarity in the color of the fruiting body and bark of the tree.] While the majority of the fungi grow on the trunks and limbs of trees, some attack the leaves, some the twigs and others the roots. Some fungi grow on living wood some on dead wood and some on both. Those that attack the living trees are the most dangerous from the standpoint of disease. The chestnut disease: The disease which is threatening the destruction of all the chestnut trees in America is a fungus which has, within recent years, assumed such vast proportions that it deserves special comment. The fungus is known as _Diaporthe parasitica_ (Murrill), and was first observed in the vicinity of New York in 1905. At that time only a few trees were known to have been killed by this disease, but now the disease has advanced over the whole chestnut area in the United States, reaching as far south as Virginia and as far west as Buffalo. Fig. 111 shows the result of the chestnut disease. The fungus attacks the cambium tissue underneath the bark. It enters through a wound in the bark and sends its fungous threads from the point of infection all around the trunk until the latter is girdled and killed. This may all happen within one season. It is not until the tree has practically been destroyed that the disease makes its appearance on the surface of the bark in the form of brown patches studded with little pustules that carry the spores. When once girdled, the tree is killed above the point of infection and everything above dies, while some of the twigs below may live until they are attacked individually by the disease or until the trunk below their origin is infected. All species of chestnut trees are subject to the disease. The Japanese and Spanish varieties appear to be highly resistant, but are not immune. Other species of trees besides chestnuts are not subject to the disease. [Illustration: FIG. 111.--Chestnut Trees Killed by the Chestnut Disease.] There is no remedy or preventive for this disease. From the nature of its attack, which is on the inner layer of the tree, it is evident that all applications of fungicides, which must necessarily be applied to the outside of the tree, will not reach the disease. Injections are impossible and other suggested remedies, such as boring holes in the wood for the purpose of inserting chemicals, are futile. The wood of the chestnut tree, within three or four years after its death, is still sound and may be used for telephone and telegraph poles, posts, railroad ties, lumber and firewood. Spraying for fungous diseases: Where a fungous disease is attacking the leaves, fruit, or twigs, spraying with Bordeaux mixture may prove effective. The application of Bordeaux mixture is deterrent rather than remedial, and should therefore be made immediately before the disease appears. The nature of the disease and the time of treatment can be determined without cost, by submitting specimens of affected portions of the plant for analysis and advice to the State Agricultural Experiment Station or to the United States Department of Agriculture. Bordeaux mixture, the standard fungicide material, consists of a solution of 6 pounds of copper sulphate (blue vitriol) with 4 pounds of slaked lime in 50 gallons of water. It may be purchased in prepared form in the open market, and when properly made, has a brilliant sky-blue color. Spraying with Bordeaux mixture should be done in the fall, early spring, or early summer, but never during the period when the trees are in bloom. STUDY III. PRUNING TREES FUNDAMENTAL PRINCIPLES Trees are very much like human beings in their requirements, mode of life and diseases, and the general principles applicable to the care of one are equally important to the intelligent treatment of the other. The removal of limbs from trees, as well as from human beings, must be done sparingly and judiciously. Wounds, in both trees and human beings, must be disinfected and dressed to keep out all fungus or disease germs. Fungous growths of trees are similar to human cancers, both in the manner of their development and the surgical treatment which they require. Improper pruning will invite fungi and insects to the tree, hence the importance of a knowledge of fundamental principles in this branch of tree care. [Illustration: FIG. 112.--A Tree Pruned Improperly and too Severely.] Time: Too much pruning at one time should never be practiced (Fig. 112), and no branch should be removed from a tree without good reason for so doing. Dead and broken branches should be removed as soon as observed, regardless of any special pruning season, because they are dangerous, unsightly and carry insects and disease into the heart of the tree. But all other pruning, whether it be for the purpose of perfecting the form in shade trees, or for increasing the production of fruit in orchard trees, should be confined to certain seasons. Shade and ornamental trees can best be pruned in the fall, while the leaves are still on the tree and while the tree itself is in practically a dormant state. Proper cutting: All pruning should be commenced at the top of the tree and finished at the bottom. A shortened branch (excepting in poplars and willows, which should be cut in closely) should terminate in small twigs which may draw the sap to the freshly cut wound; where a branch is removed entirely, the cut should be made-close and even with the trunk, as in Fig. 113. Wherever there is a stub left after cutting off a branch, the growing tissue of the tree cannot cover it and the stub eventually decays, falls out and leaves a hole (see Fig. 114), which serves to carry disease and insects to the heart of the tree. This idea of close cutting cannot be over-emphasized. Where large branches have to be removed, the splitting and ripping of the bark along the trunk is prevented by making one cut beneath the branch, about a foot or two away from the trunk, and then another above, close to the trunk. [Illustration: FIG. 113.--Branches Properly Cut Close to the Trunk.] Too severe pruning: In pruning trees, many people have a tendency to cut them back so severely as to remove everything but the bare trunk and a few of the main branches. This process is known as "heading back." It is a method, however, which should not be resorted to except in trees that are very old and failing, and even there only with certain species, like the silver maple, sycamore, linden and elm. Trees like the sugar maple will not stand this treatment at all. The willow is a tree that will stand the process very readily and the Carolina poplar must be cut back every few years, in order to keep its crown from becoming too tall, scraggy and unsafe. [Illustration: FIG. 114.--A Limb Improperly Cut. Note how the stub is decaying and the resulting cavity is becoming diseased.] Covering wounds: The importance of immediately covering all wounds with coal tar cannot be overstated. If the wound is not tarred, the exposed wood cracks, as in Fig. 115, providing suitable quarters for disease germs that will eventually destroy the body of the tree. Coal tar is by far preferable to paint and other substances for covering the wound. The tar penetrates the exposed wood, producing an antiseptic as well as a protective effect. Paint only forms a covering, which may peel off in course of time and which will later protrude from the cut, thus forming, between the paint and the wood, a suitable breeding place for the development of destructive fungi or disease. The application of tin covers, burlap, or other bandages to the wound is equally futile and in most cases even injurious. [Illustration: FIG. 115.--Result of a Wound not Covered with Coal Tar. The exposed wood cracked and decay set in.] SPECIAL CONSIDERATIONS Pruning shade trees: Here, the object is to produce a symmetrical crown and to have the lowest branches raised from the ground sufficiently high to enable pedestrians to pass under with raised umbrellas. Such pruning should, therefore, necessarily be light and confined to the low limbs and dead branches. Pruning lawn trees: Here the charm of the tree lies in the low reach of the branches and the compactness of the crown. The pruning should, therefore, be limited to the removal of dead and diseased branches only. Pruning forest trees: Forest trees have a greater commercial value when their straight trunks are free from branches. In the forest, nature generally accomplishes this result and artificial pruning seldom has to be resorted to. Trees in the forest grow so closely together that they shut out the sunlight from their lower limbs, thus causing the latter to die and fall off. This is known as natural pruning. In some European forests, nature is assisted in its pruning by workmen, who saw off the side branches before they fall of their own accord; but in this country such practice would be considered too expensive, hence it is seldom adopted. TOOLS USED IN PRUNING Good tools are essential for quick and effective work in pruning. Two or three good saws, a pair of pole-shears, a pole-saw, a 16-foot single ladder, a 40-foot extension ladder of light spruce or pine with hickory rungs, a good pruning knife, plenty of coal tar, a fire-can to heat the tar, a pole-brush, a small hand brush and plenty of good rope comprise the principal equipment of the pruner. SUGGESTIONS FOR THE SAFETY OF TREE CLIMBERS 1. Before climbing a tree, judge its general condition. The trunk of a tree that shows age, disease, or wood-destroying insects generally has its branches in an equally unhealthy condition. 2. The different kinds of wood naturally differ in their strength and elasticity. The soft and brash woods need greater precautions than the strong and pliable ones. The wood of all the poplars, the ailanthus, the silver maple and the chestnut, catalpa and willow is either too soft or too brittle to be depended upon without special care. The elm, hickory and oak have strong, flexible woods and are, therefore, safer than others. The red oak is weaker than the other oaks. The sycamore and beech have a tough, cross-grained wood which is fairly strong. The linden has a soft wood, while the ash and gum, though strong and flexible, are apt to split. 3. Look out for a limb that shows fungous growths. Every fungus sends fibers into the main body of the limb which draw out its sap. The interior of the branch then loses its strength and becomes like a powder. Outside appearances sometimes do not show the interior condition, but one should regard a fungus as a danger sign. 4. When a limb is full of holes or knots, it generally indicates that borers have been working all kinds of galleries through it, making it unsafe. The silver maple and sycamore maple are especially subject to borers which, in many cases, work on the under side of the branch so that the man in the tree looking down cannot see its dangerous condition. 5. A dead limb with the bark falling off indicates that it died at least three months before and is, therefore, less safe than one with its bark tightly adhering to it. 6. Branches are more apt to snap on a frosty day when they are covered with an icy coating than on a warm summer day. 7. Always use the pole-saw and pole-shears on the tips of long branches, and use the pole-hook in removing dead branches of the ailanthus and other brittle trees where it would be too dangerous to reach them otherwise. 8. Be sure of the strength of a branch before tying an extension ladder to it. STUDY IV. TREE REPAIR Where trees have been properly cared for from their early start, wounds and cavities and their subsequent elaborate treatment have no place. But where trees have been neglected or improperly cared for, wounds and cavities are bound to occur and early treatment becomes a necessity. There are two kinds of wounds on trees: (1) surface wounds, which do not extend beyond the inner bark, and (2) deep wounds or cavities, which may range from a small hole in a crotch to the hollow of an entire trunk. Surface wounds: Surface wounds (Fig. 116) are due to bruised bark, and a tree thus injured can no longer produce the proper amount of foliage or remain healthy very long. The reason for this becomes very apparent when one looks into the nature of the living or active tissue of a tree and notes how this tissue becomes affected by such injuries. [Illustration: FIG. 116.--A Surface Wound Properly Freed from Decayed Wood and Covered with Coal Tar.] This living or active tissue is known as the "cambium layer," and is a thin tissue situated immediately under the bark. It must completely envelop the stem, root and branches of the trees. The outer bark is a protective covering to this living layer, while the entire interior wood tissue chiefly serves as a skeleton or support for the tree. The cambium layer is the real, active part of the tree. It is the part which transmits the sap from the base of the tree to its crown; it is the part which causes the tree to grow by the formation of new cells, piled up in the form of rings around the heart of the tree; and it is also the part which prevents the entrance of insects and disease to the inner wood. From this it is quite evident that any injury to the bark, and consequently to this cambium layer alongside of it, will not only cut off a portion of the sap supply and hinder the growth of the tree to an extent proportional to the size of the wound, but will also expose the inner wood to the action of decay. The wound may, at first, appear insignificant, but, if neglected, it will soon commence to decay and thus to carry disease and insects into the tree. The tree then becomes hollow and dangerous and its life is doomed. Injury to the cambium layer, resulting in surface wounds, may be due to the improper cutting of a branch, to the bite of a horse, to the cut of a knife or the careless wielding of an axe, to the boring of an insect, or to the decay of a fungous disease. (See Fig. 117.) Whatever the cause, _the remedy lies in cleaning out all decayed wood, removing the loose bark and covering the exposed wood with coal tar_. In cutting off the loose bark, the edges should be made smooth before the coal tar is applied. Loose bark, put back against a tree, will never grow and will only tend to harbor insects and disease. Bandages, too, are hurtful because, underneath the bandage, disease will develop more rapidly than where the wound is exposed to the sun and wind. The application of tin or manure to wounds is often indulged in and is equally injurious to the tree. The secret of all wound treatment is to keep the wound _smooth, clean_ to the live tissue, _and well covered_ with coal tar. The chisel or gouge is the best tool to employ in this work. A sharp hawk-billed knife will be useful in cutting off the loose bark. Coal tar is the best material for covering wounds because it has both an antiseptic and a protective effect on the wood tissue. Paint, which is very often used as a substitute for coal tar, is not as effective, because the paint is apt to peel in time, thus allowing moisture and disease to enter the crevice between the paint and the wood. [Illustration: FIG. 117.--A Neglected Surface Wound. Note the rough surface of the wound, the want of a coal tar covering and the fungous growth that followed.] Cavities: Deep wounds and cavities are generally the result of stubs that have been permitted to rot and fall out. Surface wounds allowed to decay will deepen in course of time and produce cavities. Cavities in trees are especially susceptible to the attack of disease because, in a cavity, there is bound to exist an accumulation of moisture. With this, there is also considerable darkness and protection from wind and cold, and these are all ideal conditions for the development of disease. The successful application of a remedy, in all cavity treatment, hinges on this principal condition--_that all traces of disease shall be entirely eliminated before treatment is commenced_. Fungous diseases attacking a cavity produce a mass of fibers, known as the "mycelium," that penetrate the body of the tree or limb on which the cavity is located. In eliminating disease from a cavity, it is, therefore, essential to go _beyond_ the mere decaying surface and to cut out all fungous fibers that radiate into the interior of the tree. Where these fibers have penetrated so deeply that it becomes impossible to remove every one of them, the tree or limb thus affected had better be cut down. (Fig. 118.) The presence of the mycelium in wood tissue can readily be told by the discolored and disintegrated appearance of the wood. The filling in a cavity, moreover, should serve to prevent the accumulation of water and, where a cavity is perpendicular and so located that the water can be drained off without the filling, the latter should be avoided and the cavity should merely be cleaned out and tarred. (Fig. 116.) Where the disease can be entirely eliminated, where the cavity is not too large, and where a filling will serve the practical purpose of preventing the accumulation of moisture, the work of filling should be resorted to. [Illustration: FIG. 118.--A Cavity Filled in a Tree that Should Have Been Cut Down. Note how the entire interior is decayed and how the tree fell apart soon after treatment.] Filling should be done in the following manner: First, the interior should be thoroughly freed from diseased wood and insects. The chisel, gouge, mall and knife are the tools, and it is better to cut deep and remove every trace of decayed wood than it is to leave a smaller hole in an unhealthy state. The inner surface of the cavity should then be covered with a coat of white lead paint, which acts as a disinfectant and helps to hold the filling. Corrosive sublimate or Bordeaux mixture may be used as a substitute for the white lead paint. A coat of coal tar over the paint is the next step. The cavity is then solidly packed with bricks, stones and mortar as in Fig. 119, and finished with a layer of cement at the mouth of the orifice. This surface layer of cement should not be brought out to the same plane with the outer bark of the tree, but should rather recede a little beyond the growing tissue (cambium layer) which is situated immediately below the bark, Fig. 120. In this way the growing tissue will be enabled to roll over the cement and to cover the whole cavity if it be a small one, or else to grow out sufficiently to overlap the filling and hold it as a frame holds a picture. The cement is used in mixture with sand in the proportion of one-third of cement to two-thirds of sand. When dry, the outer layer of cement should be covered with coal tar to prevent cracking. [Illustration: FIG. 119.--A Cavity in the Process of being Filled.] [Illustration: FIG. 120--The Same Cavity Properly Filled.] Trees that tend to split: Certain species of trees, like the linden and elm, often tend to split, generally in the crotch of several limbs and sometimes in a fissure along the trunk of the tree. Midwinter is the period when this usually occurs and timely action will save the tree. The remedy lies in fastening together the various parts of the tree by means of bolts or chains. A very injurious method of accomplishing this end is frequently resorted to, where each of the branches is bound by an iron band and the bands are then joined by a bar. The branches eventually outgrow the diameter of the bands, causing the latter to cut through the bark of the limbs and to destroy them. Another method of bracing limbs together consists in running a single bolt through them and fastening each end of the bolt with a washer and nut. This method is preferable to the first because it allows for the growth of the limbs in thickness. [Illustration: FIG. 121.--Diagram Showing the Triple-bar Method of Fastening Limbs.] A still better method, however, consists in using a bar composed of three parts as shown in Fig. 121. Each of the two branches has a short bolt passed through it horizontally, and the two short bolts are then connected by a third bar. This arrangement will shift all the pressure caused by the swaying of the limbs to the middle connecting-bar. In case of a windstorm, the middle bar will be the one to bend, while the bolts which pass through the limbs will remain intact. The outer ends of the short bolts should have their washers and nuts slightly embedded in the wood of the tree, so that the living tissue of the tree may eventually grow over them in such a way as to hold the bars firmly in place and to exclude moisture and disease. The washers and nuts on the inner side of the limbs should also be embedded. A chain is sometimes advantageously substituted for the middle section of the bar and, in some cases, where more than two branches have to be joined together, a ring might take the place of the middle bar or chain. Bolts on a tree detract considerably from its natural beauty and should, therefore, be used only where they are absolutely necessary for the safety of the tree. They should be placed as high up in the tree as possible without weakening the limbs. CHAPTER VII FORESTRY STUDY I. WHAT FORESTRY IS AND WHAT IT DOES Although Forestry is not a new idea but, as a science and an art, has been applied for nearly two thousand years, there are many persons who still need an explanation of its aims and principles. Forestry deals with the establishment, protection and utilization of forests. By establishment, is meant the planting of new forests and the cutting of mature forests, in such a way as to encourage a natural growth of new trees without artificial planting or seeding. The planting may consist of sowing seed, or of setting out young trees. The establishment of a forest by cutting may consist of the removal of all mature trees and dependence upon the remaining stumps to reproduce the forest from sprouts, or it may consist of the removal of only a portion of the mature trees, thus giving the young seedlings on the ground room in which to grow. By protection, is meant the safeguarding of the forest from fire, wind, insects, disease and injury for which man is directly responsible. Here, the forester also prevents injury to the trees from the grazing and browsing of sheep and goats, and keeps his forest so well stocked that no wind can uproot the trees nor can the sun dry up the moist forest soil. [Illustration: FIG. 122.--A Forest of Bull Pine Cut on Forestry Principles. (Photograph taken on the Black Hills National Forest, South Dakota.)] By utilization, is meant the conservative and intelligent harvesting of the forest, with the aim of obtaining the greatest amount of product from a given area, with the least waste, in the quickest time, and without the slightest deterioration of the forest as a whole. The forester cuts his mature trees, only, and generally leaves a sufficient number on the ground to preserve the forest soil and to cast seed for the production of a new crop. In this way, he secures an annual output without hurting the forest itself. He studies the properties and values of the different woods and places them where they will be most useful. He lays down principles for so harvesting the timber and the by-products of the forest that there will be the least waste and injury to the trees which remain standing. He utilizes the forest, but does not cut enough to interfere with the neighboring water-sheds, which the forests protect. [Illustration: 123.--A White Pine Plantation, in Rhode Island, Where the Crowns of the Trees Have Met. The trees are fifteen years old and in many cases every other tree had to be removed.] Forestry, therefore, deals with a vast and varied mass of information, comprising all the known facts relating to the life of a forest. It does not deal with the individual tree and its planting and care,--that would be arboriculture. Nor does it consider the grouping of trees for aesthetic effect,--that would be landscape gardening. It concerns itself with the forest as a community of trees and with the utilization of the forest on an economic basis. Each one of these activities in Forestry is a study in itself and involves considerable detail, of which the reader may obtain a general knowledge in the following pages. For a more complete discussion, the reader is referred to any of the standard books on Forestry. The life and nature of a forest: When we think of a forest we are apt to think of a large number of individual trees having no special relationship to each other. Closer observation, however, will reveal that the forest consists of a distinct group of trees, sufficiently dense to form an unbroken canopy of tops, and that, where trees grow so closely together, they become very interdependent. It is this interdependence that makes the forest different from a mere group of trees in a park or on a lawn. In this composite character, the forest enriches its own soil from year to year, changes the climate within its own bounds, controls the streams along its borders and supports a multitude of animals and plants peculiar to itself. This communal relationship in the life history of the forest furnishes a most interesting story of struggle and mutual aid. Different trees have different requirements with regard to water, food and light. Some need more water and food than others, some will not endure much shade, and others will grow in the deepest shade. In the open, a tree, if once established, can meet its needs quite readily and, though it has to ward off a number of enemies, insects, disease and windstorm--its struggle for existence is comparatively easy. In the forest, the conditions are different. Here, the tree-enemies have to be battled with, just as in the open, and in addition, instead of there being only a few trees on a plot of ground, there are thousands growing on the same area, all demanding the same things out of a limited supply. The struggle for existence, therefore, becomes keen, many falling behind and but few surviving. [Illustration: FIG. 124.--Measuring the Diameter of a Tree and Counting its Annual Rings.] This struggle begins with the seed. At first there are thousands of seeds cast upon a given area by the neighboring trees or by the birds and the winds. Of these, only a few germinate; animals feed on some of them, frost nips some and excessive moisture and unfavorable soil conditions prevent others from starting. The few successful ones soon sprout into a number of young trees that grow thriftily until their crowns begin to meet. When the trees have thus met, the struggle is at its height. The side branches encroach upon each other (Fig. 123), shut out the light without which the branches cannot live, and finally kill each other off. The upper branches vie with one another for light, grow unusually fast, and the trees increase in height with special rapidity. This is nature's method of producing clear, straight trunks which are so desirable for poles and large timber. In this struggle for dominance, some survive and tower above the others, but many become stunted and fail to grow, while the majority become entirely overtopped and succumb in the struggle; see Fig. 139. But in this strife there is also mutual aid. Each tree helps to protect its neighbors against the danger of being uprooted by the wind, and against the sun, which is liable to dry up the rich soil around the roots. This soil is different from the soil on the open lawn. It consists of an accumulation of decayed leaves mixed with inorganic matter, forming, together, a rich composition known as _humus_. The trees also aid each other in forming a close canopy that prevents the rapid evaporation of water from the ground. The intensity of these conditions will vary a great deal with the composition of the forest and the nature and habits of the individual trees. By composition, or type of forest, is meant the proportion in which the various species of trees are grouped; i.e., whether a certain section of woodland is composed of one species or of a mixture of species. By habit is meant the requirements of the trees for light, water and food. [Illustration: FIG. 125.--Mountain Slopes in North Carolina Well Covered with Forests.] Some trees will grow in deep shade while others will demand the open. In the matter of water and food, the individual requirements of different trees are equally marked. The natural rapidity of growth of different species is also important, and one caring for a forest must know this rate of growth, not only as to the individual species, but also with respect to the forest as a whole. If he knows how fast the trees in a forest grow, both in height and diameter, he will know how much wood, in cubic feet, the forest produces in a year, and he can then determine how much he may cut without decreasing the capital stock. The rate of growth is determined in this way: A tree is cut and the rings on the cross-section surface are counted and measured; see Fig. 124. Each ring represents one year's growth. The total number of rings will show the age of the tree. By a study of the rings of the various species of trees on a given plot, the rate of growth of each species in that location can be ascertained and, by knowing the approximate number of trees of each species on the forest area, the rate of growth of the whole forest for any given year can be determined. [Illustration: FIG. 126.--Bottom Lands Buried in Waste from Deforested Mountains. Wu-t'ai-shan, Shan-si Province, China.] [Illustration: FIG. 127.--Eroded Slope in Western North Carolina.] Forests prevent soil erosion and floods: Forests help to regulate the flow of streams and prevent floods. Most streams are bordered by vast tracts of forest growths. The rain that falls on these forest areas is absorbed and held by the forest soil, which is permeated with decayed leaves, decayed wood and root fibers. The forest floor is, moreover, covered with a heavy undergrowth and thus behaves like a sponge, absorbing the water that falls upon it and then permitting it to ooze out gradually to the valleys and rivers below. A forest soil will retain one-half of its own quantity of water; i.e., for every foot in depth of soil there can be six inches of water and, when thus saturated, the soil will act as a vast, underground reservoir from which the springs and streams are supplied (Fig. 125). Cut the forest down and the land becomes such a desert as is shown in Fig. 126. The soil, leaves, branches and fallen trees dry to dust, are carried off by the wind and, with the fall of rain, the soil begins to wash away and gullies, such as are shown in Fig. 127, are formed. Streams generally have their origins in mountain slopes and there, too, the forests, impeding the sudden run off of the water which is not immediately absorbed, prevent soil erosion. [Illustration: FIG. 128.--Flood in Pittsburgh, Pa.] Where the soil is allowed to wash off, frequent floods are inevitable. Rain which falls on bare slopes is not caught by the crowns of trees nor held by the forest floor. It does not sink into the ground as readily as in the forest. The result is that a great deal of water reaches the streams in a short time and thus hastens floods. At other periods the streams are low because the water which would have fed them for months has run off in a few days. The farms are the first to suffer from the drouths that follow and, during the period of floods, whole cities are often inundated. Fig. 128 shows such a scene. The history of Forestry is full of horrible incidents of the loss of life and property from floods which are directly traceable to the destruction of the local forests and, on the other hand, there are many cases on record where flood conditions have been entirely obviated by the planting of forests. France and Germany have suffered from inundations resulting from forest devastation and, more than a hundred years ago, both of these countries took steps to reforest their mountain slopes, and thereby to prevent many horrible disasters. [Illustration: FIG. 129.--Planting a Forest with Seedling Trees on the Nebraska National Forest. The man on the right is placing the tree in a slit just made with the spade. The man on the left is shoveling the dry sand from the surface before making the slit for the tree.] [Illustration: FIG. 130.--Diagrammatic Illustration of a Selection Forest.] How forests are established: New forests may be started from seed or from shoots, or suckers. If from seed, the process may be carried on in one of three ways: First, by sowing the seed directly on the land. Second, by first raising young trees in nurseries and later setting them out in their permanent locations in the forest. This method is applicable where quick results are desired, where the area is not too large, or in treeless regions and large open gaps where there is little chance for new trees to spring up from seed furnished by the neighboring trees. It is a method extensively practiced abroad where some of the finest forests are the result. The U.S. government, as well as many of the States, maintain forest-tree nurseries where millions of little trees are grown from seed and planted out on the National and State forests. Fig. 129 shows men engaged in this work. The fundamental principles of starting and maintaining a nursery have already been referred to in the chapter on "What Trees to Plant and How." The third method of establishing a forest from seed is by cutting the trees in the existing forest so that the seed falling from the remaining trees will, with the addition of light and space, readily take root and fill in the gaps with a vigorous growth of trees, without artificial seeding or planting. This gives rise to several methods of cutting or harvesting forests for the purpose of encouraging natural reproduction. The cutting may extend to single trees over the whole area or over only a part of the whole area. Where the cutting is confined to single trees, the system is known as the "Selection System," because the trees are selected individually, with a view to retaining the best and most vigorous stock and removing the overcrowding specimens and those that are fully mature or infested with disease or insects. Fig. 130 is a diagrammatic illustration of the operation of this system. In another system the cutting is done in groups, or in strips, and the number of areas of the groups or strips is extended from time to time until the whole forest is cleared. This system is illustrated in Fig. 131. Still another method consists in encouraging trees which will thrive in the shade, such as the beech, spruce and hemlock, to grow under light-demanding trees like the pine. This system presents a "two-storied" forest and is known by that name. The under story often has to be established by planting. [Illustration: FIG. 131.--Diagrammatic Illustration of the Group or Strip System.] In the system of reproducing forests from shoots or suckers, all trees of a certain species on a given area are cut off and the old stumps and roots are depended upon to produce a new set of sprouts, the strongest of which will later develop into trees. The coniferous trees do not lend themselves at all to this system of treatment, and, among the broadleaf trees, the species vary in their ability to sprout. Some, like the chestnut and poplar, sprout profusely; others sprout very little. How forests are protected: Forestry also tries to protect the forests from many destructive agencies. Wasteful lumbering and fire are the worst enemies of the forest. Fungi, insects, grazing, wind, snow and floods are the other enemies. [Illustration: FIG. 132.--The Result of a Forest Fire. The trees, lodgepole pine and Englemann spruce, are all dead and down. Photograph taken in the Colorado National Forest, Colorado.] By wasteful lumbering is meant that the forest is cut with no regard for the future and with considerable waste in the utilization of the product. Conservative lumbering, which is the term used by foresters to designate the opposite of wasteful lumbering, will be described more fully later in this study. Protection from fire is no less important than protection from wasteful lumbering. Forest fires are very common in this country and cause incalculable destruction to life and property; see Fig. 132. From ten to twelve million acres of forest-land are burnt over annually and the timber destroyed is estimated at fifty millions of dollars. The history of Forestry abounds in tales of destructive fires, where thousands of persons have been killed or left destitute, whole towns wiped out, and millions of dollars in property destroyed. In most cases, these uncontrollable fires started from small conflagrations that could readily, with proper fire-patrol, have been put out. There are various ways of fighting fires, depending on the character of the fire,--whether it is a surface fire, burning along the surface layer of dry leaves and small ground vegetation, a ground fire, burning below the surface, through the layer of soil and vegetable matter that generally lines the forest floor, or a top fire, burning high up in the trees. When the fire runs along the surface only, the injury extends to the butts of the trees and to the young seedlings. Such fires can be put out by throwing dirt or sand over the fire, by beating it, and, sometimes, by merely raking the leaves away. Ground fires destroy the vegetable mold which the trees need for their sustenance. They progress slowly and kill or weaken the roots of the trees. [Illustration: FIG. 133.--A Top Fire near Bear Canyon, Arizona.] Top fires, Fig. 133, are the most dangerous, destroying everything in their way. They generally develop from surface fires, though sometimes they are started by lightning. They are more common in coniferous forests, because the leaves of hardwoods do not burn so readily. Checking the progress of a top fire is a difficult matter. Some fires will travel as rapidly as five miles an hour, and the heat is terrific. The only salvation for the forest lies, in many cases, in a sudden downpour of rain, a change of wind, or some barrier which the fire cannot pass. A barrier of this kind is often made by starting another fire some distance ahead of the principal one, so that when the two fires meet, they will die out for want of fuel. In well-kept forests, strips or lanes, free from inflammable material, are often purposely made through the forest area to furnish protection against top fires. Carefully managed forests are also patrolled during the dry season so that fires may be detected and attacked in their first stages. Look-out stations, watch-towers, telephone-connections and signal stations are other means frequently resorted to for fire protection and control. Notices warning campers and trespassers against starting fires are commonly posted in such forests. (Fig. 143.) [Illustration: FIG. 134.--Sheep Grazing on Holy Cross National Forest, Colorado. The drove consists of 1600 sheep, of which only part are shown in the photograph.] The grazing of sheep, goats and cattle in the forest is another important source of injury to which foresters must give attention. In the West this is quite a problem, for, when many thousands of these animals pass through a forest (Fig. 134), there is often very little young growth left and the future reproduction of the forest is severely retarded. Grazing on our National Forests is regulated by the Government. As a means of protection against insects and fungi, all trees infested are removed as soon as observed and in advance of all others, whenever a lumbering operation is undertaken. [Illustration: FIG. 135.--A Typical Montana Sawmill.] How forests are harvested: Forestry and forest preservation require that a forest should be cut and not merely held untouched. But it also demands that the cutting shall be done on scientific principles, and that only as much timber shall be removed in a given time as the forest can produce in a corresponding period. After the cutting, the forest must be left in a condition to produce another crop of timber within a reasonable time: see Fig. 122. These fundamental requirements represent the difference between conservative lumbering and ordinary lumbering. Besides insuring a future supply of timber, conservative lumbering, or lumbering on forestry principles, also tends to preserve the forest floor and the young trees growing on it, and to prevent injury to the remaining trees through fire, insects and disease. It provides for a working plan by which the kind, number and location of the trees to be cut are specified, the height of the stumps is stipulated and the utilization of the wood and by-products is regulated. Conservative lumbering provides that the trees shall be cut as near to the ground as possible and that they shall be felled with the least damage to the young trees growing near by. The branches of the trees, after they have been felled, must be cut and piled in heaps, as shown in Fig. 122, to prevent fire. When the trunks, sawed into logs, are dragged through the woods, care is taken not to break down the young trees or to injure the bark of standing trees. Waste in the process of manufacture is provided against, uses are found for the material ordinarily rejected, and the best methods of handling and drying lumber are employed. Fig. 135 shows a typical sawmill capable of providing lumber in large quantities. In the utilization of the by-products of the forest, such as turpentine and resin, Forestry has devised numerous methods for harvesting the crops with greater economy and with least waste and injury to the trees from which the by-products are obtained. Fig. 136 illustrates an improved method by which crude turpentine is obtained. [Illustration: FIG. 136.--Gathering Crude Turpentine by the Cup and Gutter Method. This system, devised by foresters, saves the trees and increases the output.] Forestry here and abroad: Forestry is practiced in every civilized country except China and Turkey. In Germany, Forestry has attained, through a long series of years, a remarkable state of scientific thoroughness and has greatly increased the annual output of the forests of that country. In France, Switzerland, Austria, Hungary, Norway, Sweden, Russia and Denmark, Forestry is also practiced on scientific principles and the government in each of these countries holds large tracts of forests in reserve. In British India one finds a highly efficient Forest Service and in Japan Forestry is receiving considerable attention. In the United States, the forest areas are controlled by private interests, by the Government and by the States. On privately owned forests, Forestry is practiced only in isolated cases. The States are taking hold of the problem very actively and in many of them we now find special Forestry Commissions authorized to care for vast areas of forest land reserved for State control. These Commissions employ technically trained foresters who not only protect the State forests, but also plant new areas, encourage forest planting on private lands and disseminate forestry information among the citizens. New York State has such a Commission that cares for more than a million acres of forest land located in the northern part of the State. Many other States are equally progressive. The United States Government is the most active factor in the preservation of our forests. The Government to-day owns over two hundred million acres of forest land, set aside as National Forests. There are one hundred and fifty individual reserves, distributed as shown in Fig. 137 and cared for by the Forest Service, a bureau in the Department of Agriculture. Each of the forests is in charge of a supervisor. He has with him a professional forester and a body of men who patrol the tract against fire and the illegal cutting of timber. Some of the men are engaged in planting trees on the open areas and others in studying the important forest problems of the region. Fig. 138. [Illustration: FIG. 137.--Map Showing Our National Forests.] [Illustration: FIG. 138.--Government Foresters in Missouri Studying the Growth and Habits of Trees. They are standing in water three feet deep.] Where cutting is to be done on a National Forest, the conditions are investigated by a technically trained forester and the cutting is regulated according to his findings. Special attention is given to discovering new uses for species of trees which have hitherto been considered valueless, and the demand upon certain rare species is lessened by introducing more common woods which are suitable for use in their place. Aside from the perpetuation of the national forests, the U.S. Forest Service also undertakes such tree studies as lie beyond the power or means of private individuals. It thus stands ready to cooperate with all who need assistance. STUDY II. CARE OF THE WOODLAND Almost every farm, large private estate or park has a wooded area for the purpose of supplying fuel or for enhancing the landscape effect of the place. In most instances these wooded areas are entirely neglected or are so improperly cared for as to cause injury rather than good. In but very few cases is provision made for a future growth of trees after the present stock has gone. Proper attention will increase and perpetuate a crop of good trees just as it will any other crop on the farm, while the attractiveness of the place may be greatly enhanced through the intelligent planting and care of trees. How to judge the conditions: A close examination of the wooded area may reveal some or all of the following unfavorable conditions: The trees may be so crowded that none can grow well. A few may have grown to large size but the rest usually are decrepit, and overtopped by the larger trees. They are, therefore, unable, for the want of light and space, to develop into good trees. Fig. 139 shows woodland in such condition. [Illustration: FIG. 139.--Woodland which Needs Attention. The trees are overcrowded.] There may also be dead and dying trees, trees infested with injurious insects and fungi and having any number of decayed branches. The trees may be growing so far apart that their trunks will be covered with suckers as far down as the ground, or there may be large, open gaps with no trees at all. Here the sun, striking with full force, may be drying up the soil and preventing the decomposition of the leaves. Grass soon starts to grow in these open spaces and the whole character of the woodland changes as shown in Figs. 140 and 141. [Illustration: FIG. 140.--First Stage of Deterioration. The woodland is too open and grass has taken the place of the humus cover.] Where any of these conditions exist, the woodland requires immediate attention. Otherwise, as time goes on, it deteriorates more and more, the struggle for space among the crowded and suppressed trees becomes more keen, the insects in the dying trees multiply and disease spreads from tree to tree. Under such conditions, the soil deteriorates and the older trees begin to suffer. [Illustration: FIG. 141.--Second Stage of Deterioration. The Surface Soil of the Wooded Area Has Washed Away and the Trees Have Died.] The attention required for the proper care of woodland may be summed up under the four general heads of _soil preservation_, _planting_, _cutting_, and _protection_. Improvement by soil preservation: The soil in a wooded area can best be preserved and kept rich by doing two things; by retaining the fallen leaves on the ground and by keeping the ground well covered with a heavy growth of trees, shrubs and herbaceous plants. The fallen leaves decompose, mix with the soil and form a dark-colored material known as _humus_. The humus supplies the tree with a considerable portion of its food and helps to absorb and retain the moisture in the soil upon which the tree is greatly dependent. A heavy growth of trees and shrubs has a similar effect by serving to retain the moisture in the soil. Improvement by planting: The planting of new trees is a necessity on almost any wooded area. For even where the existing trees are in good condition, they cannot last forever, and provision must be made for others to take their place after they are gone. The majority of the wooded areas in our parks and on private estates are not provided with a sufficient undergrowth of desirable trees to take the place of the older ones. Thus, also, the open gaps must be planted to prevent the soil from deteriorating. Waste lands on farms which are unsuited for farm crops often offer areas on which trees may profitably be planted. These lands are sufficiently good in most cases to grow trees, thus affording a means of turning into value ground which would otherwise be worthless. It has been demonstrated that the returns from such plantations at the end of fifty years will yield a six per cent investment and an extra profit of $151.97 per acre, the expense totaling at the end of fifty years, $307.03. The value of the land is estimated at $4 per acre and the cost of the trees and planting at $7 per acre. The species figured on here is white pine, one of the best trees to plant from a commercial standpoint. With other trees, the returns will vary accordingly. [Illustration: FIG. 142.--A Farm Woodlot.] The usual idea that it costs a great deal to plant several thousand young trees is erroneous. An ordinary woodlot may be stocked with a well-selected number of young trees at a cost less than the price generally paid for a dozen good specimen trees for the front lawn. It is not necessary to underplant the woodlot with big trees. The existing big trees are there to give character to the forest and the new planting should be done principally as a future investment and as a means of perpetuating the life of the woodlot. Young trees are even more desirable for such planting than the older and more expensive ones. The young trees will adapt themselves to the local soil and climatic conditions more easily than the older ones. Their demand for food and moisture is more easily satisfied, and because of their small cost, one can even afford to lose a large percentage of them after planting. The young plants should be two-year-old seedlings or three-year-old "transplants." Two-year-old seedlings are trees that have been grown from the seed in seed beds until they reach that age. They run from two to fifteen inches in height, depending upon the species. Three-year-old "transplants" have been grown from the seed in seed beds and at the end of the first or second year have been taken up and transplanted into rows, where they grow a year or two longer. They are usually a little taller than the two-year-old seedlings, are much stockier and have a better root system. For this reason, three-year-old transplants are a little more desirable as stock for planting. They will withstand drought better than seedlings. The best results from woodland planting are obtained with native-grown material. Such stock is stronger, hardier and better acclimated. Foreign-grown stock is usually a little cheaper, owing to the fact that it has been grown abroad, under cheap labor conditions. The trees may be purchased from reputable dealers, of whom there are many in this country. These dealers specialize in growing young trees and selling them at the low cost of three to ten dollars per thousand. In States in which a Forestry Commission has been inaugurated, there have also been established State nurseries where millions of little trees are grown for reforestation purposes. In order to encourage private tree planting, the Forestry Commissions are usually willing to sell some of these trees at cost price, under certain conditions, to private land owners. Inquiries should be made to the State Forestry Commission. Great care must be taken to select the species most suitable for the particular soil, climatic and light conditions of the woodlot. The trees which are native to the locality and are found growing thriftily on the woodlot, are the ones that have proven their adaptability to the local conditions and should therefore be the principal species used for underplanting. A list from which to select the main stock would, therefore, vary with the locality. In the Eastern States it would comprise the usual hardy trees like the red, pin and scarlet oaks, the beech, the red and sugar maples, the white ash, the tulip tree, sycamore, sweet gum and locust among the deciduous trees; the white, Austrian, red, pitch and Scotch pines, the hemlock and the yew among the conifers. With the main stock well selected, one may add a number of trees and shrubs that will give to the woodland scene a pleasing appearance at all seasons. The brilliant autumnal tints of the sassafras, pepperidge, blue beech, viburnum, juneberry and sumach are strikingly attractive. The flowering dogwood along the drives and paths will add a charm in June as well as in autumn and an occasional group of white birch will have the same effect if planted among groups of evergreens. Additional undergrowth of native woodland shrubs, such as New Jersey tea, red-berried elder and blueberry for the Eastern States, will augment the naturalness of the scene and help to conserve the moisture in the soil. Two or three years' growth will raise these plants above all grass and low vegetation, and a sprinkling of laurel, rhododendron, hardy ferns and a few intermingling colonies of native wild flowers such as bloodroot, false Solomon's seal and columbines for the East, as a ground cover will put the finishing touches to the forest scene. As to methods of planting the little trees, the following suggestions may prove of value. As soon as the plants are received, they should be taken from the box and dipped in a thick puddle of water and loam. The roots must be thoroughly covered with the mud. Then the bundles into which the little trees are tied should be loosened and the trees placed in a trench dug on a slant. The dirt should be placed over the roots and the exposed parts of the plants covered with brush or burlap to keep away the rays of the sun. When ready for planting, a few plants are dug up, set in a pail with thin mud at the bottom and carried to the place of planting. The most economical method of planting is for one man to make the holes with a mattock. These holes are made about a foot in diameter, by scraping off the sod with the mattock and then digging a little hole in the dirt underneath. A second man follows with a pail of plants and sets a single plant in this hole with his hands, see Fig. 129, making sure that the roots are straight and spread out on the bottom of the hole. The dirt should then be packed firmly around the plant and pressed down with the foot. Improvement by cutting: The removal of certain trees in a grove is often necessary to improve the quality of the better trees, increase their growth, make the place accessible, and enhance its beauty. Cutting in a wooded area should be confined to suppressed trees, dead and dying trees and trees badly infested with insects and disease. In case of farm woodlands, mature trees of market value may be cut, but in parks and on private estates these have a greater value when left standing. The cutting should leave a clean stand of well-selected specimens which will thrive under the favorable influence of more light and growing space. Considerable care is required to prevent injury to the young trees when the older specimens are cut and hauled out of the woods. The marking of the trees to be removed can best be done in summer when the dead and live trees can be distinguished with ease and when the requisite growing space for each tree can be judged better from the density of the crowns. The cutting, however, can be done most advantageously in winter. Immediately after cutting all diseased and infested wood should be destroyed. The sound wood may be utilized for various purposes. The bigger logs may be sold to the local lumber dealers and the smaller material may be used for firewood. The remaining brush should be withdrawn from the woodlot to prevent fire during the dry summer months. In marking trees for removal, a number of considerations are to be borne in mind besides the elimination of dead, diseased and suppressed trees. When the marker is working among crowding trees of equal height, he should save those that are most likely to grow into fine specimen trees and cut out all those that interfere with them. The selection must also favor trees which are best adapted to the local soil and climatic conditions and those which will add to the beauty of the place. In this respect the method of marking will be different from that used in commercial forestry, where the aim is to net the greatest profit from the timber. In pure forestry practice, one sees no value in such species as dogwood, ironwood, juneberry, sumac and sassafras, and will therefore never allow those to grow up in abundance and crowd out other trees of a higher market value. But on private estates and in park woodlands where beauty is an important consideration, such species add wonderful color and attractiveness to the forest scene, especially along the roads and paths, and should be favored as much as the other hardier trees. One must not mark too severely in one spot or the soil will be dried out from exposure to sun and wind. When the gaps between the trees are too large, the trees will grow more slowly and the trunks will become covered with numerous shoots or suckers which deprive the crowns of their necessary food and cause them to "die back." Where the trees are tall and slim or on short and steep hillsides, it is also important to be conservative in marking in order that the stand may not be exposed to the dangers of windfall. No hard-and-fast rule can be laid down as to what would constitute a conservative percentage of trees to cut down. This depends entirely on the local conditions and on the exposure of the woodlot. But in general it is not well to remove more than twenty per cent of the stand nor to repeat the cutting on the same spot oftener than once in five or six years. The first cutting will, of course, be the heaviest and all subsequent cuttings will become lighter and lighter until the woodlot is put in good growing condition. On private estates and parks, where beauty is the chief aim, the woodland should be kept as natural, informal and as thick as possible. Where the woodland is cut up by many paths and drives, density of vegetation will add to the impression of depth and distance. Protection: This subject has already been discussed considerably in the previous study on Forestry, and here it becomes necessary merely to add a few suggestions with special reference to private and park woodlands. Guarding woodlands from _fire_ is the most important form of protection. Surface fires are very common on small woodland holdings and the damage done to the standing vegetation is generally underestimated. An ordinary ground or surface fire on a woodland area will burn up the leaf-litter and vegetable mold, upon which the trees depend so much for food and moisture, and will destroy the young seedlings on the ground. Where the fire is a little more severe, the older trees are badly wounded and weakened and the younger trees are frequently killed outright. Insects and disease find these trees an easy prey, and all related forest conditions commence to deteriorate. Constant watchfulness and readiness to meet any emergency are the keynote of effective fire protection. Notices similar to the one shown in Fig. 143 often help to prevent fires. It is also helpful to institute strict rules against dropping lighted matches or tobacco, or burning brush when the ground is very dry, or leaving smouldering wood without waiting to see that the fire is completely out. There should be many roads and foot-paths winding through the woodland in order that they may serve as checks or "fire lanes" in time of fire. These roads and paths should be kept free from brush and leaves and should be frequently patrolled. When made not too wide, unpretentious and in conformity with the natural surroundings, such drives and paths can become a very interesting feature of the place, winding through the woodland, exposing its charms and affording opportunity for pleasant driving and walking. The borders of the paths can be given special attention by placing the more beautiful native shrubs in prominent positions where they can lend increased attractiveness. In case of fire, it should be possible to call for aid by telephone directly from the woodland and to find within easy reach the tools necessary to combat fire. It is also important to obtain the co-operation of one's neighbors in protecting the adjoining woodlands, because the dangers from insects, disease and fire threatening one bit of woodland area are more or less dependent upon the conditions in the adjoining woodland. [Illustration: FIG. 143.--Poster Suitable for Private Woodlands and Forest Parks. The translations in Italian and Polish have been used by the writer in this particular instance to meet the local needs.] As to other forms of protection, passing mention may be made of the importance of keeping out cattle, sheep and hogs from the woods, of eliminating all insects and disease, of keeping the ground free from brush and other inflammable material, of retaining on the ground all fallen leaves and keeping the forest well stocked with little trees and shrubs. Forest lands may be exempted from taxation: In New York and other States there exists a State law providing for exemption or reduction in taxes upon lands which are planted with forest trees or maintained as wooded areas. The object of the law is to encourage home forestry and to establish fairness in the agricultural land-tax law by placing forest lands in the same category with other crop-producing lands. For detailed information and a copy of the law, one should address the local State Forestry Commission. CHAPTER VIII OUR COMMON WOODS: THEIR IDENTIFICATION, PROPERTIES AND USES Woods have different values for various practical purposes because of their peculiarities in structure. A knowledge of the structural parts of wood is therefore necessary as a means of recognizing the wood and of determining why one piece is stronger, heavier, tougher, or better adapted for a given service than another. Structure of wood: If one examines a cross-section of the bole of a tree, he will note that it is composed of several distinct parts, as shown in Fig. 145. At the very center is a small core of soft tissue known as the _pith_. It is of much the same structure as the pith of cornstalk or elder, with which all are familiar. At the outside is the _bark_, which forms a protective covering over the entire woody system. In any but the younger stems, the bark is composed of an inner, live layer, and an outer or dead portion. Between the pith at the center and the bark at the outside is the wood. It will be noted that the portion next to the bark is white or yellowish in color. This is the _sapwood_. It is principally through the sapwood that the water taken in by the roots is carried up to the leaves. In some cases the sapwood is very thin and in others it is very thick, depending partly on the kind of tree, and partly on its age and vigor. The more leaves on a tree the more sapwood it must have to supply them with moisture. [Illustration: FIG. 144.--Pine Wood. (Magnified 30 times.)] Very young trees are all sapwood, but, as they get older, part of the wood is no longer needed to carry sap and it becomes _heartwood_. Heartwood is darker than the sapwood, sometimes only slightly, but in other instances it may vary from a light-brown color to jet black. It tends to fill with gums, resins, pigments and other substances, but otherwise its structure is the same as that of the sapwood. [Illustration: FIG. 145.--Cross-section of Oak.] The wood of all our common trees is produced by a thin layer of cells just beneath the bark, the _cambium_. The cambium adds new wood on the outside of that previously formed and new bark on the inside of the old bark. A tree grows most rapidly in the spring, and the wood formed at that time is much lighter, softer and more porous than that formed later in the season, which is usually quite hard and dense. These two portions, known as _early wood_ or spring wood, and _late wood_ or summer wood, together make up one year's growth and are for that reason called _annual rings_. Trees such as palms and yucca do not grow in this way, but their wood is not important enough in this country to warrant a description. [Illustration: FIG. 146.--White Oak Wood. (Magnified 20 times.)] If the end of a piece of oak wood is examined, a number of lines will be seen radiating out toward the bark like the spokes in a wheel. These are the _medullary rays_. They are present in all woods, but only in a few species are they very prominent to the unaided eye. These rays produce the "flakes" or "mirrors" that make quartersawed (radially cut) wood so beautiful. They are thin plates or sheets of cells lying in between the other wood cells. They extend out into the inner bark. While much may be seen with the unaided eye, better results can be secured by the use of a good magnifying glass. The end of the wood should be smoothed off with a very sharp knife; a dull one will tear and break the cells so that the structure becomes obscured. With any good hand lens a great many details will then appear which before were not visible. In the case of some woods like oak, ash, and chestnut, it will be found that the early wood contains many comparatively large openings, called _pores_, as shown in Figs. 146 and 147. Pores are cross-sections of vessels which are little tube-like elements running throughout the tree. The vessels are water carriers. A wood with its large pores collected into one row or in a single band is said to be _ring-porous_. Fig. 146 shows such an arrangement. A wood with its pores scattered throughout the year's growth instead of collected in a ring is _diffuse-porous_. Maple, as shown in Fig. 152, is of this character. [Illustration: FIG. 147.--Example of the Black Oak Group. (Quercus coccinea.) (Magnified 20 times.)] All of our broadleaf woods are either ring-porous or diffuse-porous, though some of them, like the walnut, are nearly half way between the two groups. If the wood of hickory, for example, be examined with the magnifying lens, it will be seen that there are numerous small pores in the late wood, while running parallel with the annual rings are little white lines such as are shown in Fig. 149. These are lines of _wood parenchyma_. Wood parenchyma is found in all woods, arranged sometimes in tangential lines, sometimes surrounding the pores and sometimes distributed over the cross-section. The dark, horn-like portions of hickory and oak are the _woodfibers_. They give the strength to wood. In many of the diffuse-porous woods, the pores are too small to be seen with the unaided eye, and in some cases they are not very distinct even when viewed with a magnifier. It is necessary to study such examples closely in order not to confuse them with the woods of conifers. The woods of conifers are quite different in structure from broadleaf woods, though the difference may not always stand out prominently. Coniferous woods have no pores, their rays are always narrow and inconspicuous, and wood parenchyma is never prominent. The woods of the pines, spruces, larches, and Douglas fir differ from those of the other conifers in having _resin ducts_, Fig. 144. In pines these are readily visible to the naked eye, appearing as resinous dots on cross-sections and as pin scratches or dark lines on longitudinal surfaces. The presence or absence of resin ducts is a very important feature in identifying woods, hence it is very important to make a careful search for them when they are not readily visible. How to identify a specimen of wood: The first thing to do in identifying a piece of wood is to cut a smooth section at the end and note (without the magnifier) the color, the prominence of the rays and pores, and any other striking features. If the pores are readily visible, the wood is from a broadleaf tree; if the large pores are collected in a ring it belongs to the ring-porous division of the broadleaf woods. If the rays are quite conspicuous and the wood is hard and heavy, it is oak, as the key given later will show. Close attention to the details of the key will enable one to decide to what group of oaks it belongs. In most cases the structure will not stand out so prominently as in oak, so that it is necessary to make a careful study with the hand lens. If pores appear, their arrangement, both in the early wood and in the late wood, should be carefully noted; also whether the pores are open or filled with a froth-like substance known as _tyloses_. Wood parenchyma lines should be looked for, and if present, the arrangement of the lines should be noted. [Illustration: FIG. 148.--(Magnified about 8 times.)] If no pores appear under the magnifying lens, look closely for resin ducts. If these are found, note whether they are large or small, numerous or scattered, open or closed, lighter or darker than the wood. Note also whether the late wood is very heavy and hard, showing a decided contrast to the early wood, or fairly soft and grading into the early wood without abrupt change. Weigh the piece in your hand, smell a fresh-cut surface to detect the odor, if any, and taste a chip to see if anything characteristic is discoverable. Then turn to the following key: KEY I. WOODS WITHOUT PORES--CONIFERS OR SO-CALLED "SOFTWOODS" A. Woods with resin ducts. 1. Pines. Fig. 144. Resin ducts numerous, prominent, fairly evenly distributed. Wood often pitchy. Resinous odor distinct. Clear demarcation between heart and sapwood. There are two groups of pines--soft and hard. (a) Soft Pines. Wood light, soft, not strong, even-textured, very easy to work. Change from early wood to late wood is gradual and the difference in density is not great. (b) Hard Pines. Wood variable but typically rather heavy, hard and strong, uneven textured, fairly easy to work. Change from early wood to late wood is abrupt and the difference in density and color is very marked, consequently alternate layers of light and dark wood show. The wood of nearly all pines is very extensively employed in construction work and in general carpentry. 2. Douglas fir. Resin ducts less numerous and conspicuous than in the pines, irregularly distributed, often in small groups. Odorless or nearly so. Heartwood and sapwood distinct. The wood is of two kinds. In one the growth rings are narrow and the wood is rather light and soft, easy to work, reddish yellow in color; in the other the growth rings are wide, the wood is rather hard to work, as there is great contrast between the weak early wood and the very dense late wood of the annual rings. Douglas fir is a tree of great economic importance on the Pacific Coast. The wood is much like hard pine both in its appearance and its uses. 3. Spruces. Resin ducts few, small, unevenly distributed; appearing mostly as white dots. Wood not resinous; odorless. The wood is white or very light colored with a silky luster and with little contrast between heart and sapwood. It is a great deal like soft pine, though lighter in color and with much fewer and smaller resin ducts. The wood is used for construction, carpentry, oars, sounding boards for musical instruments, and paper pulp. 4. Tamarack. Resin ducts the same as in the spruces. The color of the heartwood is yellowish or russet brown; that of the distinct sapwood much lighter. The wood is considerably like hard pine, but lacks the resinous odor and the resin ducts are much fewer and smaller. The wood is used largely for cross-ties, fence posts, telegraph and telephone poles, and to a limited extent for lumber in general construction. B. Woods without resin ducts. 1. Hemlock. The wood has a disagreeable, rancid odor, is splintery, not resinous, with decided contrast between early and late wood. Color light brown with a slight tinge of red, the heart little if any darker than the sapwood. Hemlock makes a rather poor lumber which is used for general construction, also for cross-ties, and pulp. 2. Balsam fir. Usually odorless, not splintery, not resinous, with little contrast between early and late wood. Color white or very light brown with a pinkish hue to the late wood. Heartwood little if any darker than the sapwood. Closely resembles spruce, from which it can be distinguished by its absence of resin ducts. The wood is used for paper pulp in mixture with spruce. Also for general construction to some extent. 3. Cypress. Odorless except in dark-colored specimens which are somewhat rancid. Smooth surface of sound wood looks and feels greasy or waxy. Moderate contrast between early and late wood. Color varies from straw color to dark brown, often with reddish and greenish tinge. Heartwood more deeply colored than the sapwood but without distinct boundary line. Wood used in general construction, especially in places where durability is required; also for shingles, cooperage, posts, and poles. 4. Red Cedar. Has a distinct aromatic odor. Wood uniform-textured; late wood usually very thin, inconspicuous. Color deep reddish brown or purple, becoming dull upon exposure; numerous minute red dots often visible under lens. Sapwood white. Red cedar can be distinguished from all the other conifers mentioned by the deep color of the wood and the very distinct aromatic odor. Wood largely used for pencils; also for chests and cabinets, posts, and poles. It is very durable in contact with the ground. _Western red cedar_ is lighter, softer, less deeply colored and less fragrant than the common Eastern cedar. It grows along the Pacific Coast and is extensively used for shingles throughout the country. 5. Redwood. Wood odorless and tasteless, uniform-textured, light and weak, rather coarse and harsh. Color light cherry. Close inspection under lens of a small split surface will reveal many little resin masses that appear as rows of black or amber beads which are characteristic of this wood. Redwood is confined to portions of the Pacific Coast. It is used for house construction, interior finish, tanks and flumes, shingles, posts, and boxes. It is very durable. II. WOODS WITH PORES--BROADLEAF, OR SO-CALLED "HARDWOODS" A. Ring-porous. 1. Woods with a portion of the rays very large and conspicuous. Oak. The wood of all of the oaks is heavy, hard, and strong. They may be separated into two groups. The white oaks and the red or black oaks. (a) White oaks. Pores in early wood plugged with tyloses, collected in a few rows. Fig. 146. The transition from the large pores to the small ones in the late wood is abrupt. The latter are very small, numerous, and appear as irregular grayish bands widening toward the outer edge of the annual ring. Impossible usually to see into the small pores with magnifier. (b) Red or black oaks. Pores are usually open though tyloses may occur, Fig. 147; the early wood pores are in several rows and the transition to the small ones in late wood is gradual. The latter are fewer, larger and more distinct than in white oak and it is possible to see into them with a hand lens. The wood of the oaks is used for all kinds of furniture, interior finish, cooperage, vehicles, cross-ties, posts, fuel, and construction timber. 2. Woods with none of the rays large and conspicuous. (a) Pores in late wood small and in radial lines, wood parenchyma in inconspicuous tangential lines. Chestnut. Pores in early wood in a broad band, oval in shape, mostly free from tyloses. Pores in late wood in flame-like radial white patches that are plainly visible without lens. Color medium brown. Nearly odorless and tasteless. Chestnut is readily separated from oak by its weight and absence of large rays; from black ash by the arrangement of the pores in the late wood; from sassafras by the arrangement of the pores in the late wood, the less conspicuous rays, and the lack of distinct color. The wood is used for cross-ties, telegraph and telephone poles, posts, furniture, cooperage, and tannin extract. Durable in contact with the ground. (b) Pores in late wood small, not radially arranged, being distributed singly or in groups. Wood parenchyma around pores or extending wing-like from pores in late wood, often forming irregular tangential lines. 1. Ash. Pores in early wood in a rather broad band (occasionally narrow), oval in shape, see Fig. 148, tyloses present. Color brown to white, sometimes with reddish tinge to late wood. Odorless and tasteless. There are several species of ash that are classed as white ash and one that is called black or brown ash. (a) White ash. Wood heavy, hard, strong, mostly light colored except in old heartwood, which is reddish. Pores in late wood, especially in the outer part of the annual ring, are joined by lines of wood parenchyma. (b) Black ash. Wood more porous, lighter, softer, weaker, and darker colored than white ash. Pores in late wood fewer and larger and rarely joined by tangential lines of wood parenchyma. The wood of the ashes is used for wagon and carriage stock, agricultural implements, oars, furniture, interior finish, and cooperage. It is the best wood for bent work. [Illustration: FIG. 149.--Hickory Wood. (Magnified 45 times.)] 2. Locust. Pores in early wood in a rather narrow band, round, variable in size, densely filled with tyloses. Color varying from golden yellow to brown, often with greenish hue. Very thin sapwood, white. Odorless and almost tasteless. Wood extremely heavy and hard, cutting like horn. Locust bears little resemblance to ash, being harder, heavier, of a different color, with more distinct rays, and with the pores in late wood in larger groups. The wood is used for posts, cross-ties, wagon hubs, and insulator pins. It is very durable in contact with the ground. (c) Pores in late wood comparatively large, not in groups or lines. Wood parenchyma in numerous fine but distinct tangential lines. [Illustration: FIG. 150.--Elm. (Magnified 25 times.)] Hickory, Fig. 149. Pores in early wood moderately large, not abundant, nearly round, filled with tyloses. Color brown to reddish brown; thick sapwood, white. Odorless and tasteless. Wood very heavy, hard, and strong. Hickory is readily separated from ash by the fine tangential lines of wood parenchyma and from oak by the absence of large rays. The wood is largely used for vehicles, tool handles, agricultural implements, athletic goods, and fuel. (d) Pores in late wood small and in conspicuous wavy tangential bands. Wood parenchyma not in tangential lines. Elm. Pores in early wood not large and mostly in a single row, Fig. 150 (several rows in slippery elm), round, tyloses present. Color brown, often with reddish tinge. Odorless and tasteless. Wood rather heavy and hard, tough, often difficult to split. The peculiar arrangement of the pores in the late wood readily distinguishes elm from all other woods except _hackberry_, from which it may be told by the fact that in elm the medullary rays are indistinct, while they are quite distinct in hackberry; moreover, the color of hackberry is yellow or grayish yellow instead of brown or reddish brown as in elm. The wood is used principally for slack cooperage; also for hubs, baskets, agricultural implements, and fuel. [Illustration: FIG. 151.--(Magnified about 8 times.)] B. Diffuse-porous. 1. Pores varying in size from rather large to minute, the largest being in the early wood. Intermediate between ring-porous and diffuse-porous. Black Walnut. Color rich dark or chocolate brown. Odor mild but characteristic. Tasteless or nearly so. Wood parenchyma in numerous, fine tangential lines. Wood heavy and hard, moderately stiff and strong. The wood is used principally for furniture, cabinets, interior finish, moulding, and gun stocks. 2. Pores all minute or indistinct, evenly distributed throughout annual ring. (a) With conspicuously broad rays. 1. Sycamore. Fig. 151. Rays practically all broad. Color light brown, often with dark stripes or "feather grain." Wood of medium weight and strength, usually cross-grained, difficult to split. The wood is used for general construction, woodenware, novelties, interior finish, and boxes. 2. Beech. With only a part of the rays broad, the others very fine, Fig. 151. Color pale reddish brown to white; uniform. Wood heavy, hard, strong, usually straight-grained. The wood is used for cheap furniture, turnery, cooperage, woodenware, novelties, cross-ties, and fuel. Much of it is distilled. (b) Without conspicuously broad rays. 1. Cherry. Rays rather fine but very distinct. Color of wood reddish brown. Wood rather heavy, hard, and strong. The wood is used for furniture, cabinet work, moulding, interior finish, and miscellaneous articles. 2. Maple, Fig. 152. With part of the rays rather broad and conspicuous, the others very fine. Color light brown tinged with red. The wood of the hard maple is very heavy, hard and strong; that of the soft maples is rather light, fairly strong. Maple most closely resembles birch, but can be distinguished from it through the fact that in maple the rays are considerably more conspicuous than in birch. The wood is used for slack cooperage, flooring, interior finish, furniture, musical instruments, handles, and destructive distillation. 3. Tulip-tree, yellow poplar or whitewood. Rays all fine but distinct. Color yellow or brownish yellow; sapwood white. Wood light and soft, straight-grained, easy to work. The wood is used for boxes, woodenware, tops and bodies of vehicles, interior finish, furniture, and pulp. 4. Red or sweet gum. Rays all fine but somewhat less distinct than in tulip tree. Color reddish brown, often with irregular dark streaks producing a "watered" effect on smooth boards; thick sapwood, grayish white. Wood rather heavy, moderately hard, cross-grained, difficult to work. The best grades of figured red gum resemble Circassian walnut, but the latter has much larger pores unevenly distributed and is less cross-grained than red gum. The wood is used for finishing, flooring, furniture, veneers, slack cooperage, boxes, and gun stocks. [Illustration: FIG. 152.--Maple. (Magnified 25 times.)] 5. Black or sweet birch, Fig. 151. Rays variable in size but all rather indistinct. Color brown, tinged with red, often deep and handsome. Wood heavy, hard, and strong, straight-grained, readily worked. Is darker in color and has less prominent rays than maple. The wood is used for furniture, cabinet work, finishing, and distillation. 6. Cottonwood. Rays extremely fine and scarcely visible even under lens. Color pale dull brown or grayish brown. Wood light, soft, not strong, straight-grained, fairly easy to work. Cottonwood can be separated from other light and soft woods by the fineness of its rays, which is equaled only by willow, which it rather closely resembles. The wood is largely used for boxes, general construction, lumber, and pulp. How to judge the quality of wood: To know the name of a piece of wood means, in a general way, to know certain qualities that are common to all other pieces of wood of that species, but it does not explain the special peculiarities of the piece in question or why that particular piece is more suitable or unsuitable for a particular purpose than another piece of the same species. The mere identification of the wood does not explain why a particular piece is tougher, stronger or of darker color than another piece of the same species or even of the same tree. The reason for these special differences lies in the fact that wood is not a homogeneous material like metal. Within the same tree different parts vary in quality. The heartwood is generally heavier and of deeper color than the sapwood. The butt is superior to the top wood, and the manner in which the wood was sawed and dried will affect its quality. Knots, splits, checks, and discoloration due to incipient decay are defects worth considering. Wood that looks lusterless is usually defective, because the lack of luster is generally due to disease. Woods that are hard wear best. Hardness can be determined readily by striking the wood with a hammer and noting the sound produced. A clear, ringing sound is a sign of hardness. The strength of a piece of wood can be judged by its weight after it is well dried. Heavy woods are usually strong. A large amount of late wood is an indication of strength and the production of a clear sound when struck with a hammer is also an evidence of strength. CHAPTER IX AN OUTDOOR LESSON ON TREES The importance of nature study in the training of the child is now well recognized. The influences of such study from the hygienic, moral and aesthetic point of view are far reaching and cannot be expressed in dollars and cents. In his association with nature, the child is led to observe more closely and to know and to be fond of what is truly beautiful in life--beautiful surroundings, beautiful thoughts and beautiful deeds. He is inspired with reverence for law, order and truth because he sees it constantly reflected in all works of nature. The social instinct is highly developed and even the parents are often bettered through the agency of their children. The only way, however, to study nature--especially plants--is to study it out of doors. Our present tendency to gather in cities demands the upbuilding influences of trips into the open in order to equip the child mentally and physically to face the world and its work with the strength and tenacity characteristic of the country-bred. Moreover, the study of objects rather than books is an axiom in modern education and here, too, we can readily see that the best way to study trees is to take the pupil to the trees. Such studies are more lasting than book study because they emphasize the spirit and the goal rather than the petty facts. Educators and parents are now recognizing the value of outdoor trips for their children and are beginning to indulge in them quite frequently. In many instances teachers about to take out their children for a day have inquired of the writer how to go about giving a general field lesson when they reached the park or woodland. The purpose of this chapter is to answer such a question and yet it is evident that it cannot be answered completely. What to observe out doors and how to present one's impressions is a broad question and varies with the knowledge and ability of the teacher as well as with the age and experience of the children. The how and the what in nature study is of greater import than the hard, dry facts and that must be left entirely to the teacher. A few suggestions, however, may not be amiss: 1. General observations with a view to character building: First of all it is important to remember that the great value of all tree and nature study is the inculcation in the minds of the children of an appreciation and love for the beautiful. Inspiring them to _love_ trees generally means more than teaching them to _know_ trees. Mere facts about trees taught in an academic way are often no more lasting than the formulae in trigonometry which most of us have long ago forgotten. The important thing is that permanent results be left and nothing else will produce such lasting impressions as the study of trees out of doors. [Illustration: FIG. 153.--Trees Have Individuality.] General observations about trees can be made by pointing out the beauty and character of the individual forms and branching, their harmony in their relations to each other as factors of a beautiful composition and the wealth of shades and colors in their leaves, bark and flowers. Compare, for instance, the intricate ramification of an American elm with the simple branching of a sugar maple, the sturdiness of a white oak with the tenderness of a soft maple, the wide spread of a beech with the slender form of a Lombardy poplar, the upward pointing branches of a gingko with the drooping form of a weeping willow. At close range, each of these trees reveals itself as an individual with a character quite its own. At little distance you may see them grouped together, subordinating their individuality and helping to blend into a beautiful composition with a character all its own. There is nothing more inspiring than the variety of greens in the spring foliage, the diversity of color in the spring blossoms and the wonderful display of autumnal tints offered by the sweet gum, sassafras, dogwood, black gum, red maple, sugar maple, scarlet oak, blue beech, sorrel tree, ash and gingko. The white bark of the gray birch, the dark bark of the black oak, the gray of the beech, the golden yellow of the mulberry and the mottled bark of the sycamore are interesting comparisons. The smooth bark of the mockernut hickory contrasts greatly with the shaggy bark of the shagbark hickory--members of the same family and yet how different. A wonderful opportunity is thus offered for a comparative study of human nature--individuality and community life, all reflected in trees. With this preliminary study and with the addition of some remarks on the value of trees as health givers and moral uplifters, the child is interested and attracted. The lesson so far has attained its aim. 2. Specific observations with a view to training the observative powers: The child's training in closeness of observation and scientific precision may be the next consideration. His enthusiasm will now prompt him to lend his interest for greater detail. We can teach him to recognize a few of the common trees by their general characters--an American elm by its fan-shaped form, a gray birch by its white bark, a white pine by the five needles to each cluster, a horsechestnut by its opposite branching and big sticky bud and a willow by its drooping habit. After that we may introduce, if the age of the pupils justifies, more details extending to greater differences which distinguish one species from another. The lesson might continue by pointing out the requirements of trees for water and light. Find a tree on some slope where the roots are exposed and another which is being encroached upon by its neighbor, and show how in one case the roots travel in search of water and food and in the other the branches bend toward the light, growing more vigorously on that side. Compare the trees on the open lawn with those in the grove and show how those in the open have grown with branches near the ground while those in the woodland are slender, tall and free from branches to some distance above the ground. Point out the lenticels on the bark of birch and sweet cherry trees and explain how trees breathe. Compare this process with that of the human body. You may now come across an old stump and here you can point out the structure of the wood--the sapwood, cambium and bark. You can illustrate the annual rings and count the age of the tree. At another point you may find a tree with a wound or bruised bark and here you can readily make a closer study of the cambium layer and its manner of growth. The adaptation of plants to the seasonal changes opens another interesting field of study for beginners. If the season is the fall or winter, note how the trees have prepared themselves for the winter's cold by terminating the flow of sap, by dropping their leaves too tender to resist the winter's cold, and by covering their buds with scales lined with down on the inside. Observe how the insects have spun for themselves silken nests or remain preserved in the egg state over the winter. If the season is spring or summer the opposite may be noted. See how everything turns to life; how the buds are opening, the leaves emerging, the sap running, seeds germinating and flowers blooming. The soil conditions on the lawn and in the grove furnish another interesting feature of comparison and study. In the grove, you can demonstrate the decomposition of the fallen leaves, the formation of humus and its value to the tree. The importance of the forest soil as a conservator of water and its relation to stream flow and soil erosion can be brought out at this juncture. An eroded bank and a slope covered with trees and shrubs would provide excellent models for this study. A consideration of the economic value of the trees would also be in place. 3. Civic lessons reflected in trees: The community life of trees in the grove, their growth, struggles for light and food and their mutual aid can be brought out and compared with the community life among people. The trees may here be seen struggling with each other for light and food, forcing each other's growth upward, some winning out and developing into stalwart and thrifty specimens and others becoming suppressed or entirely killed. On the other hand they may be seen helping each other in their community growth by protecting each other from windfall and by contributing to the fertility of the forest soil in dropping their leaves and shading the ground so that these fallen leaves may decompose readily. [Illustration: FIG. 154.--Trees also Grow in Communities.] 4. Enemies of trees: An old stump or tree may be seen crumbling away under the influence of fungi and here the children may be shown the effects of tree diseases both as destroyers of life and as up-builders, because fungi turn to dust the living trees and build up others by furnishing them with the decomposed wood matter. Insects too, may be invading the old dead tree, and something of their nature, habits and influences may be gone into. They may be shown as wood borers, leaf eaters, or sap suckers, all injurious to the tree. On the other hand they may be shown as seed disseminators and as parasites on other injurious insects; all benefactors. Forest fires as an enemy of trees might be touched upon by noting how easily the leaves may be ignited and a surface fire started when the season is dry. Top and ground fires emanating from surface fires can then be readily explained. [Illustration: FIG. 155.--Trees Blend Together to Form a Beautiful Composition.] 5. Expression: The pupils have by this time been taught to feel the beautiful, to observe carefully and to reason intelligently and they may now be trained to express themselves properly. This may be accomplished by asking them to remember their observations and to write about them in the classroom. The lesson may be supplemented with effective reading about trees and forests. Interesting reading matter of this sort can be found in abundance in children's readers, in special books on the subject and in Arbor Day Manuals published by the various State Education Departments. 6. Preparation: In order to save time looking for objects of interest and for the purpose of correlating the various observations so that all will follow in orderly sequence, it is well for the teacher or leader to go over the ground beforehand and note the special features of interest. The various topics can then be given some thought and a brief synopsis can be drawn up to serve as a memorandum and guide on the trip. It is also well to be provided with a hatchet to cut into some decayed stump, a trowel to dig up the forest soil, a knife for cutting off twigs and a hand reading glass for examining the structural parts of the various objects under observation. A camera is always a valuable asset because the photographs hung in the classroom become records of great interest to all participants. 7. Suggestions for forming tree clubs: A good way to interest children in trees and nature study is to form, among them, a Tree Club. The idea has been fully developed in Brooklyn, N.Y., Newark, N.J., and other cities and consists of forming clubs of children in the public schools and private institutions for the purpose of interesting them in the trees around their school and their homes. The members of these clubs are each given the tree warden's badge of authority and assigned to some special duty in the preservation of the local trees. A plan of study and of outdoor trips is laid out for them by their director and at stated periods they are given illustrated lectures on trees and taken to the neighboring parks or woodlands. INDEX Acer negundo, -- platanoides, -- polymorphum, -- pseudoplatanus, -- rubrum, -- saccharinum, -- saccharum, Aesculus hippocastanum, -- rubicunda, Ailing tree, how to tell an, Air, influence of, Alternate branched trees, American beech, -- elm, -- larch, -- linden, Annual rings, Aphides or plant lice, Apple rust, Arbor-vita and red cedar, description of, -- (northern white cedar), Arsenate of lead, Ash, wood, -- black, -- white, Ash-leaf maple, Aspen, large-toothed, --, quaking, Austrian pine, Bald cypress, Balm of Gilead, Balsam, fir, --, poplar, Bark, Bark, how to prevent splitting when removing branches, -- or trunk, trees told by their, Bass-wood, Bean, Indian, Beech, American, --, blue, or hornbeam, --, copper, --, European, -- tree, Beetle, elm leaf, Betula alba, -- lutea, -- lenta, -- papyrifera, -- populifolia, Bhotan pine, Bigbud hickory, Birch, black, --, European white, -- fungus rot, --, gray, --, paper, --, sweet, -- tree, --, white, --, yellow, Bitternut hickory, Black ash, -- birch, -- locust, -- oak, -- or sweet birch, -- spruce, -- walnut, Blotches, leaf, Blue beech, or hornbeam, -- spruce, Bolting limbs, Bordeaux mixture, Borer, bronze-birch, --, hickory bark, --, linden, --, locust, --, sugar maple, Boring insects, Box-elder, Bracing limbs, various methods of, Bracket fungus, Branches, dead and broken, removal of, --, how to prevent bark splitting when removing, Broadleaf or "hardwoods," Bronze-birch borer, Brooklyn, N.Y., Broom hickory, Brown hickory, Brown-tail moth, Buckeye, Butternut, Buttonball, Buttonwood, By-products of forests, utilization of, Cambium layer, Camperdown elm, Care in selecting trees suitable for the soil, Carolina poplar, Carpinus caroliniana, Castanea dentata, Catalpa speciosa, Caterpillars, Caterpillars, leaf-eating, --, spraying for, Catkin, Cattle grazing in forests a source of injury, Cavities, fungous diseases attacking, -- how caused, --, manner of filling, Cedar apple, --, white, Celtis occidentalis, Chamaecyparis thyoides, Character building and trees, Chestnut, -- and oaks, -- disease, Chewing insects, Cherry, Child training in observation and precision, Chlorophyll, Civic lessons reflected in trees, Climbing trees, precautions, Clubs, tree, Coffee tree, Colorado blue spruce, Color of leaves, Common catalpa, -- locust, Community life of trees, Conifers or "softwoods," Coniferous trees, Copper beech, Cork elm, Cornus florida, Corrosive sublimate, Cottonwood, Cottony-maple scale, Crataegus oxyacantha, Crown, Cucumber tree, Cypress, -- and larch, description of, --, bald, -- knees, -- obtuse leaf, Japanese, Dead and broken branches, removal of, Deciduous trees, Destroying injurious insects, methods of, -- pupae, Developing disease, moisture a factor in, Diaporthe parasitica, Diffuse-porous woods, Disease, fungi as factors of, -- moisture a factor in developing, Dogwood, flowering, Douglas fir, Effect of heat on trees, Elkwood, Elm, --, American, --, Camperdown, --, cork, --, English, -- leaf beetle, --, poplar, gingko and willow trees, told by their form, --, white, Enemies of trees, Enemy of trees, forest fires as an English elm, -- hawthorn, -- yew, European beech, -- larch, -- linden, -- weeping birch, -- white birch, Fall webworm, Fagus, -- americana, -- sylvatica, Fern, maidenhair, Fighting forest fires, various ways of, Filling cavities, manner of, Fire, guarding woodlands from, Flowering dogwood, Foliage, spraying, Forest fires as an enemy of trees, -- --, various ways of fighting, -- lands, exemption from taxation, --, life and nature of, -- trees, pruning, Forestry in various countries, --, what it is and what it does, Forests, grazing cattle in, a source of injury, Forest Service, U.S., --, harvesting, --, harvesting of, to increase production, --, how established, --, how harvested, --, how protected, --, how they help to regulate streams and prevent floods, --, method of establishing, --, planting, with seedling trees, -- prevent soil erosion, --, protecting from destructive agencies, --, safeguarding, --, utilization of by-products, Fraxinus americana, -- nigra, Frost, effect of, on trees, Fungi and insects, protection against, -- as factors of disease, Fungous diseases attacking cavities, -- diseases, spraying for, Fungus, fruiting body of, Gingko biloba, -- or maidenhair tree, Gipsy moth, Gleditsia triacanthos, Gloeosporium nervisequum, Gray or white birch, Grazing effect on forests, Grove and lawn, study of soil conditions on, Gum, red or sweet, Gymnocladus dioicus, Hackberry tree, Hackmatack, Hard maple, -- pines, "Hardwoods," or broadleaf trees, Hardy catalpa, Harvesting forests, Harvesting of forests to increase production, Hawthorn, English, Healthy tree, conditions which indicate, Heartwood, Heat, effect of, on trees, Hemlock, -- and spruce, description of, Hickory, -- bark borer, --, bigbud, --, bitternut, --, broom, --, brown, --, mockernut, --, pignut, --, shagbark, --, shellbark, --, whiteheart, Hicoria alba, -- glabra, -- minima, -- ovata, Honey locust, Hop hornbeam, Hornbeam, (blue beech), Horsechestnut, --, red, Humus, Hydrophytes, Important insects, Improperly pruned trees, Indian bean, Individuality of trees, Insects and fungi, protection against, --, boring, --, chewing, -- galls, --, important kinds of, -- injurious to trees, --, leaf-eating, --, methods of destroying injurious, --, nature, habits and influences of, --, sucking, --, the four stages, or life history of, Ironwood tree, Italian or Lombardy poplar, Japanese maple, -- umbrella pine, Juglans cinerea, -- nigra, Juniper, Juniperus communis, Juniperus virginiana, Kerosene emulsion, Knees, cypress, Larch, American, -- and cypress, description of, -- European, Large-toothed aspen, Larix europaea, Lawn and grove, study of soil conditions on, Lawn trees, -- --, pruning, Leaf blotches, Leaf-eating caterpillars, ----, insect, Leaves, --, needle-shaped, --, scale-like, --, star-shaped, Lenticels, Leopard moth, Lesson on trees, outdoor, Light, influence of, on trees, Limbs, various methods of bracing, Lime-sulphur wash, Lime-tree, Linden, American, -- borer, --, European, Liquidambar styraciflua, Liriodendron, tulipifers, Location of trees, care to be exercised in, Locust, --, black, -- borer, --, common, --, honey, -- miner, --, yellow, Lombardy or Italian poplar, Low juniper, Magnolia acuminata, --, mountain, -- soulangeana, --, Soulange's, -- tripetala, Magnolias, the, Maiden-hair fern, -- or gingko tree, Maple wood, --, ash-leaf, --, hard, --, Japanese, --, Norway, -- phenacoccus, --, red, --, rock, --, silver, --, soft, -- sugar, -- swamp, --, sycamore, --, white, Mesophytes, Method of covering wounds, Methods of destroying injurious insects, Mockernut hickory, Moisture a factor in developing disease, --, influence of, on trees, Moral influence of trees, Morus alba, -- rubra, Moth, gipsy, --, leopard, Mountain magnolia, Mugho pine, Mulberry, red, --, white, National forests, Needle-shaped leaves, Nettle tree, Newark, N.J., Northern white cedar (arbor-vitae), Norway maple, -- spruce, Nursery, tree, Oak, --, black, --, pin, --, red, --, scarlet, --, swamp white, --, white, --, yellow, Oaks and chestnut, Observations about trees, general, -- and precision, child training in, Obtuse Japanese cypress, Opposite branched trees, Orange, Osage, Oriental spruce, -- sycamore, Osage orange, Ostrya virginiana, Outdoor lesson on trees, Oyster-shell scale, Paper birch, Picea canadensis, -- excelsa, -- mariana, -- orientalis, -- parryana, -- pungens, Pignut hickory, Pin oak, Pine, Austrian, --, Bhotan, --, Mugho, --, red, --, Scotch, -- trees, -- weevil, white, --, white, Pines, Pinus Austriaca, -- excelsa, -- mughus, -- resinosa, -- rigida, -- strobus, -- sylvestris, Pitch pine, Pith, Plane or sycamore tree, Plant lice, or aphides, -- study, value of, for children, -- trees, how to, Planting forests, -- forests with seedling trees, -- little trees, methods of, --, improving woodland by, -- new trees, -- trees, -- -- most economical method, -- -- on land unsuitable for crops, Plants, adaptation of, to seasonal changes, Platanus occidentalis, -- orientalis, Polyporus betulinus, Poplar, balsam, --, Carolina, --, Lombardy or Italian, --, silver, --, tulip, --, white, --, yellow, Populus alba, -- balsamifera, -- deltoides, -- grandidentata, -- nigra, -- tremuloides, Pores in wood, -- small or indistinct, -- varying in size, Poster for private woodlands, Precautions against fire, Protection against fungi and insects, Pruning forest trees, -- lawn trees, -- shade trees, --, tools used in, --, too severe, -- trees, fundamental principles, -- --, time for, Pussy willow, Quaking aspen, Quality of trees, how to judge, Quality of wood, how to judge, Quercus alba, -- palustris, -- platanoides, -- rubra, -- velutina, Red cedar, -- -- and arbor-vitae, description of, -- gum, -- horsechestnut, -- juniper, -- maple, -- mulberry, -- oak, -- pine, -- or black oaks, -- or sweet gum, Red spider, Redwood, Removal of dead and broken branches, -- of trees, how to mark, Requirements of trees, Retinospora obtusa, Rhytisma acerinum, Ring-porous woods, Robinia pseudacacia, Rock maple, Roots, --, development of, --, protection of, from drying, Rust, apple, Safeguarding forests, Salix babylonica, Salix discolor, Saperda vestita, Sapwood, Sawfly, Scale, cottony-maple, --, oyster-shell, Scale-like leaves, Scarlet oak, Sciadopitys verticillata, Scolytus quadrispinosus, Scotch pine, Screening trees, Season, influence of, Seasons for spraying trees, Seedling trees, planting forests with, Shade trees, pruning, Shagbark hickory, Shellbark hickory, Silver maple, -- poplar, Soft maple, -- pines, "Softwoods" or conifers, Soil erosion, forests prevent, --, influence of, on trees, -- of wooded areas, preserving, --, physical character of, important for production of trees, Soulange's magnolia, Specifications for street tree, Specimens of wood, how to identify, Split trees, Spray trees, how to, Spraying apparatus, -- foliage, -- for caterpillars, -- for fungous diseases, -- material, arsenate of lead, kerosene emulsion, lime-sulfur wash, tobacco water, whale-oil soap, -- trees, seasons for, -- trees, thoroughness essential, Spruce and hemlock, description of, --, black, --, blue, --, Oriental, --, Norway, --, white, Spruces, Star-shaped leaves, Stem, Stomata, Streets, trees for, Structure of trees, -- of woods, Sucking insects, Sugarberry, Sugar maple, -- maple borer, Suggestions for forming tree clubs, -- for outdoor study of trees, -- for planting little trees, -- for safety of tree climbers, -- for tree nursery, Surface wounds, Swamp maple, -- white oak, Sweet birch, -- gum, Sycamore, -- maple, -- tree, Tamarack, Taxation, forest lands exempt from, Taxodium distichum, Taxus baccata, Thuja occidentalis, Tilia americana, -- microphylla, Tobacco water, Tools used in pruning, Toxylon pomiferum, Training a child to recognize trees, -- children in observation and precision, Trametes pini, Treating surface wounds, Tree, ailing, how to tell an, -- and nature study, value of, --, beech, --, birch, --, blue beech, -- climbers, suggestions for safety of, -- clubs, suggestions for forming, --, coffee, -- diseases, -- diseases, effects of, as destroyers and up-builders, -- growth, conditions for, in different localities, --, hackberry, --, iron wood, --, nettle, -- nursery, suggestions for, --, plane, -- repair, --, sycamore, --, tulip, --, weeping willow, Trees and character building, --, care of, --, care to be exercised in location of, --, civic lessons reflected in, --, community life of, --, coniferous, --, crowding, --, deciduous, --, effect of frost on, --, effect of heat on, --, enemies of, -- for lawns, -- for screening, -- for streets, -- for woodland, --, general observations about, --, hickories, walnut, and butternut, --, how to identify, --, how to mark for removal, --, how to plant, --, how to spray, --, improperly pruned, --, individuality of --, influence of light on, --, influence of moisture on, --, influence of soil on, --, insects injurious to, --, measuring diameter of, --, methods of planting little, --, methods of removing, --, nature and habits of individual, --, needs that nature or man must supply, --, outdoor lesson on, --, physical character of soil important for production of, --, planting, on land unsuitable for crops, --, pruning, fundamental principles, --, --, how to cut properly, --, quality, --, rapidity of growth of different species, --, requirements of, --, seasons for spraying, --, setting, --, structure of, --, study of rings of various species, --, suggestions for outdoor study of, --, suggestions, for planting little, -- suitable for the soil, care in selecting, --, tendency to split, --, thoroughness essential in spraying, --, time for pruning, -- told by their bark or trunk, --, training a child to recognize, --, value of, as health givers and moral uplifters, --, what to plant and how, --, when and how to procure, --, when to plant, --, when to spray, --, wooded areas improved by planting new, --, yew, Tsuga canadensis, Tulip poplar, -- tree, Tussock moth, Ulmus americana, -- campestris, Umbrella pine, Japanese, -- tree, Value of plant study for children, -- of tree and nature study, -- of trees as health givers and moral uplifters, Walnut, --, black, Wasteful lumbering, Weeping willow tree, Western catalpa, Whale-oil soap, White ash, -- birch, European, -- cedar, -- elm, -- flowering dogwood, Whiteheart hickory, White maple, -- mulberry, -- oak, -- oak, swamp, -- or gray birch, -- pine, -- pine weevil, -- poplar, -- spruce, Whitewood, Willow, weeping, --, pussy, Wood, diffuse-porous, --, diseased, disposal of, --, early, -- fibers, --, how to identify specimens, --, how to judge quality of, --, late, -- medullary rays, -- parenchyma, -- resin ducts, --, ring-porous, -- spring, --, structure, of, -- summer, Woodland, care of the, -- how to improve by removing trees, -- how to judge, unfavorable conditions, -- trees, Woodlands, other means of protecting, Woodlot, small cost of well-selected young trees for the, Wood, structure of, Wooded areas improved by planting new trees, -- areas, preserving soil of, Woods, identification, properties and uses of common, --, ring-porous, -- with large and conspicuous rays, -- with pores, -- with resin ducts, -- with small and inconspicuous rays, -- without pores, -- without resin ducts, Wounds, importance of covering, --, methods of covering, --, treating surface, Xerophytes, Yellow birch, -- locust, -- oak, -- poplar, Yew, English, Yew trees, Young trees for the woodlot, small cost of well-selected, 
28764	----	Getting Acquainted with the Trees BY J. HORACE McFARLAND _Illustrated from Photographs by the Author_ NEW YORK THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1914 Copyright, 1904 By The Outlook Company * * * * * Published April, 1904 Reprinted April, 1904 New edition September, 1906 Reprinted August, 1913 March, 1914. Foreword These sketches are, I fear, very unscientific and unsystematic. They record the growth of my own interest and information, as I have recently observed and enjoyed the trees among which I had walked unseeing far too many years. To pass on, as well as I can, some of the benefit that has come into my own life from this wakened interest in the trees provided by the Creator for the resting of tired brains and the healing of ruffled spirits, as well as for utility, is the reason for gathering together and somewhat extending the papers that have brought me, as they have appeared in the pages of "The Outlook," so many letters of fellowship and appreciation from others who have often seen more clearly and deeply into the woods than I may hope to. Driven out from my desk by weariness sometimes--and as often, I confess, by a rasped temper I would fain hide from display--I have never failed to find rest, and peace, and much to see and to love, among the common and familiar trees, to which I hope these mere hints of some of their features not always seen may send others who also need their silent and beneficent message. J. H. McF. _March 17, 1904_ Contents PAGE A STORY OF SOME MAPLES 1 THE GROWTH OF THE OAK 25 PINES 49 APPLES 73 WILLOWS AND POPLARS 95 THE ELM AND THE TULIP 131 NUT-BEARING TREES 157 SOME OTHER TREES 185 INDEX 235 BOTANICAL NAMES 239 List of Illustrations PAGE Silver maple flowers 4 Young leaves of the red maple 7 "The Norway maple breaks into a wonderful bloom" 9 Samaras of the sugar maple 11 A mature sycamore maple 13 Sycamore maple blossoms 15 Flowers of the ash-leaved maple 17 Ash-leaved maples in bloom 19 Striped maple 21 The swamp white oak in winter 29 Flowers of the pin-oak 31 The swamp white oak in early spring 36 An old post-oak 39 A blooming twig of the swamp white oak 41 Acorns of the English oak 47 A lone pine on the Indian river 53 Hemlock Hill, Arnold Arboretum 56 The long-leaved pines of the South 61 Fountain-like effect of the young long-leaved pines 62 An avenue of white pines 67 Cones of the white spruce 71 An apple orchard in winter 78 When the apple trees blossom 81 The Spectabilis crab in bloom 84 Fruits of the wild crab 87 The beauty of a fruiting apple branch 91 Bloom of double-flowering apple 94 A weeping willow in early spring 100 The weeping willow in a storm 103 A pussy-willow in a park 106 Blooms of the white willow 108, 109 A white willow in a characteristic position 112 Clump of young white willows 116 White poplars in spring-time 119 Carolina poplar as a street tree 123 Winter aspect of the cottonwood 126 Lombardy poplar 129 A mature American elm 136 The delicate tracery of the American elm in winter 139 The English elm in winter 143 Winter effect of tulip trees 148 A great liriodendron in bloom 150 Flowers of the liriodendron 153 The wide-spreading black walnut 162 The American sweet chestnut in winter 165 Sweet chestnut blooms 167 The chinquapin 170 A shagbark hickory in bloom 173 The true nut-eater 178 The American beech in winter 180 The witch-hazel 181 Sweet birch in spring 191 Yellow birches 192 Flowers of the spice-bush 194 Leaves and berries of the American holly 195 American holly tree at Trenton 196 Floral bracts or involucres of the dogwood 199 The red-bud in bloom 201 Blooms of the shad-bush 206 Flowers of the American linden 207 The American linden 209 Flowers of the black locust 211 Young trees of the black locust 212 The sycamore, or button-ball 215 Button-balls--fruit of the sycamore 217 The liquidambar 220 The leaves and fruit of the liquidambar 222 The papaw in bloom 226 Flowers of the papaw 227 The persimmon tree in fruiting time 231 Berries of the spice-bush 234 * * * * * A Story of Some Maples This is not a botanical disquisition; it is not a complete account of all the members of the important tree family of maples. I am not a botanist, nor a true scientific observer, but only a plain tree-lover, and I have been watching some trees bloom and bud and grow and fruit for a few years, using a camera now and then to record what I see--and much more than I see, usually! In the sweet springtime, when the rising of the sap incites some to poetry, some to making maple sugar, and some to watching for the first flowers, it is well to look at a few tree-blooms, and to consider the possibilities and the pleasures of a peaceful hunt that can be made with profit in city street or park, as well as along country roadsides and in the meadows and the woods. Who does not know of the maples that are all around us? Yet who has seen the commonest of them bloom in very early spring, or watched the course of the peculiar winged seed-pods or "keys" that follow the flowers? The white or "silver" maple of streets or roadsides, the soft maple of the woods, is one of the most familiar of American trees. Its rapid and vigorous growth endears it to the man who is in a hurry for shade, and its sturdy limbs are the joy of the tree-butcher who "trims" them short in later years. [Illustration: Silver maple flowers] Watch this maple in very early spring--even before spring is any more than a calendar probability--and a singular bloom will be found along the slender twigs. Like little loose-haired brushes these flowers are, coming often bravely in sleet and snow, and seemingly able to "set" and fertilize regardless of the weather. They hurry through the bloom-time, as they must do to carry out the life-round, for the graceful two-winged seeds that follow them are picked up and whirled about by April winds, and, if they lodge in the warming earth, are fully able to grow into fine little trees the same season. Examine these seed-pods, keys, or samaras (this last is a scientific name with such euphony to it that it might well become common!), and notice the delicate veining in the translucent wings. See the graceful lines of the whole thing, and realize what an abundant provision Dame Nature makes for reproduction,--for a moderate-sized tree completes many thousands of these finely formed, greenish yellow, winged samaras, and casts them loose for the wind to distribute during enough days to secure the best chances of the season. This same silver maple is a bone of contention among tree-men, at times. Some will tell you it is "coarse"; and so it is when planted in an improper place upon a narrow street, allowed to flourish unrestrained for years, and then ruthlessly cropped off to a headless trunk! But set it on a broad lawn, or upon a roadside with generous room, and its noble stature and grace need yield nothing to the most artistic elm of New England. And in the deep woods it sometimes reaches a majesty and a dignity that compel admiration. The great maple at Eagles Mere is the king of the bit of primeval forest yet remaining to that mountain rest spot. It towers high over mature hemlocks and beeches, and seems well able to defy future centuries. But there is another very early maple to watch for, and it is one widely distributed in the Eastern States. The red or scarlet maple is well named, for its flowers, not any more conspicuous in form than those of its close relation, the silver maple, are usually bright red or yellow, and they give a joyous color note in the very beginning of spring's overture. Not long are these flowers with us; they fade, only to be quickly succeeded by even more brilliant samaras, a little more delicate and refined than those of the silver maple, as well as of the richest and warmest hue. Particularly in New England does this maple provide a notable spring color showing. [Illustration: Young leaves of the red maple] The leaves of the red maple--it is also the swamp maple of some localities--as they open to the coaxing of April sun and April showers, have a special charm. They are properly red, but mingled with the characteristic color is a whole palette of tints of soft yellow, bronze and apricot. As the little baby leaflets open, they are shiny and crinkly, and altogether attractive. One thinks of the more aristocratic and dwarfed Japanese maples, in looking at the opening of these red-brown beauties, and it is no pleasure to see them smooth out into sedate greenness. Again, in fall, a glory of color comes to the leaves of the red maple; for they illumine the countryside with their scarlet hue, and, as they drop, form a brilliant thread in the most beautiful of all carpets--that of the autumn leaves. I think no walk in the really happy days of the fall maturity of growing things is quite so pleasant as that which leads one to shuffle through this deep forest floor covering of oriental richness of hue. As the ground warms and the sun searches into the hearts of the buds, the Norway maple, familiar street tree of Eastern cities, breaks into a wonderful bloom. Very deceptive it is, and taken for the opening foliage by the casual observer; yet there is, when these flowers first open, no hint of leaf on the tree, save that of the swelling bud. All that soft haze of greenish yellow is bloom, and bloom of the utmost beauty. The charm lies not in boldness of color or of contrast, but at the other extreme--in the delicacy of differing tints, in the variety of subtle shades and tones. There are charms of form and of fragrance, too, in this Norway maple--the flowers are many-rayed stars, and they emit a faint, spicy odor, noticeable only when several trees are together in bloom. And these flowers last long, comparatively; so long that the greenish yellow of the young leaves begins to combine with them before they fall. The tints of flower and of leaf melt insensibly into each other, so that, as I have remarked before, the casual observer says, "The leaves are out on the Norway maples,"--not knowing of the great mass of delightful flowers that have preceded the leaves above his unseeing eyes. I emphasize this, for I hope some of my readers may be on the outlook for a new pleasure in early spring--the blooming of this maple, with flowers so thoroughly distinct and so entirely beautiful. [Illustration: "The Norway maple breaks into a wonderful bloom"] The samaras to follow on this Norway maple are smaller than those of the other two maples mentioned, and they hang together at a different angle, somewhat more graceful. I have often wondered how the designers, who work to death the pansies, the roses and the violets, have managed to miss a form or "motive" of such value, suggesting at once the near-by street and far-away Egypt. [Illustration: Samaras of the sugar maple] A purely American species, and one of as much economic importance as any leaf-dropping tree, is the sugar maple, known also as rock maple--one designation because we can get sweetness from its sap, the other because of the hardness of its wood. The sugar maples of New England, to me, are more individual and almost more essentially beautiful than the famed elms. No saccharine life-blood is drawn from the elm; therefore its elegance is considered. I notice that we seldom think much of beauty when it attaches to something we can eat! Who realizes that the common corn, the American maize, is a stately and elegant plant, far more beautiful than many a pampered pet of the greenhouse? But this is not a corn story--I shall hope to be heard on the neglected beauty of many common things, some day--and we can for the time overlook the syrup of the sugar maple for its delicate blossoms, coming long after the red and the silver are done with their flowers. These sugar-maple blooms hang on slender stems; they come with the first leaves, and are very different in appearance from the flowers of other maples. The observer will have no trouble in recognizing them after the first successful attempt, even though he may be baffled in comparing the maple leaves by the apparent similarity of the foliage of the Norway, the sugar and the sycamore maples at certain stages of growth. [Illustration: A mature sycamore maple] After all, it is the autumn time that brings this maple most strongly before us, for it flaunts its banners of scarlet and yellow in the woods, along the roads, with an insouciant swing of its own. The sugar possibility is forgotten, and it is a pure autumn pleasure to appreciate the richness of color, to be soon followed by the more sober cognizance of the elegance of outline and form disclosed when all the delicate tracery of twig and bough stands revealed against winter's frosty sky. The sugar maple has a curious habit of ripening or reddening some of its branches very early, as if it was hanging out a warning signal to the squirrels and the chipmunks to hurry along with their storing of nuts against the winter's need. I remember being puzzled one August morning as I drove along one of Delaware's flat, flat roads, to know what could possibly have produced the brilliant, blazing scarlet banner that hung across a distant wood as if a dozen red flags were being there displayed. Closer approach disclosed one rakish branch on a sugar maple, all afire with color, while every other leaf on the tree yet held the green of summer. Again in the mountains, one late summer, half a lusty sugar maple set up a conflagration which, I was informed, presaged its early death. But the next summer it grew as freely as ever, and retained its sober green until the cool days and nights; just as if the ebullition of the season previous was but a breaking out of extra color life, rather than a suggestion of weakness or death. [Illustration: Sycamore maple blossoms] The Norway maple is botanically _Acer platanoides_, really meaning plane-like maple, from the similarity of its leaves to those of the European plane. The sycamore maple is _Acer Pseudo-platanus_, which, being translated, means that old Linnæus thought it a sort of false plane-like maple. Both are European species, but both are far more familiar, as street and lawn trees, to us dwellers in cities than are many of our purely American species. There is a little difference in the bark of the two, and the leaves of the sycamore, while almost identical in form, are darker and thicker than those of the Norway, and they are whitish underneath, instead of light green. The habit of the two is twin-like; they can scarcely be distinguished when the leaves are off. But the flowers are totally different, and one would hardly believe them to be akin, judging only by appearances. The young leaves of the sycamore maple are lush and vigorous when the long, grape-like flower-clusters appear below the twigs. "Racemes" they are, botanically--and that is another truly good scientific word--while the beautiful Norway maple's flowers must stand the angular designation of "corymbs." But don't miss looking for the sycamore maple's long, pendulous racemes. They seem more grape-like than grape blossoms; and they stay long, apparently, the transition from flower to fruit being very gradual. I mind me of a sycamore I pass every winter day, with its dead fruit-clusters, a reminiscence of the flower-racemes, swinging in the frosty breeze, waiting until the spring push of the life within the twigs shoves them off. To be ready to recognize this maple at the right time, it is well to observe and mark the difference between it and the Norway in the summer time, noting the leaves and the bark as suggested above. [Illustration: Flowers of the ash-leaved maple] Another maple that is different is one variously known as box-elder, ash-leaved maple, or negundo. Of rapid growth, it makes a lusty, irregular tree. Its green-barked, withe-like limbs seem willing to grow in any direction--down, up, sidewise--and the result is a peculiar formlessness that has its own merit. I think of a fringe of box-elders along Paxton Creek, decked in early spring with true maple flowers on thread-like stems, each cluster surmounted by soft green foliage apparently borrowed from the ash, and it seems that no other tree could fit better into the place or the season. Then I remember another, a single stately tree that has had a great field all to itself, and stands up in superb dignity, dominating even the group of pin-oaks nearest to it. 'Twas the surprising mist of bloom on this tree that took me up the field on a run, one spring day, when the running was sweet in the air, but sticky underfoot. The color effect of the flowers is most delicate, and almost indescribable in ordinary chromatic terms. Don't miss the acquaintance of the ash-leaved maple at its flowering time, in the very flush of the springtime, my tree-loving friends! I have not found a noticeable fragrance in the flowers of the box-elder, such as is very apparent where there is a group of Norway maples in bloom together. The red maples also give to the air a faint and delightfully spicy odor, under favorable conditions. May I hint that the lusty box-elder, when it is booming along its spring growth, furnishes a loose-barked whistle stick about as good as those that come from the willow? The generous growth that provides its loosening sap can also spare a few twigs for the boys, and they will be all the better for a melodious reason for the spring ramble. [Illustration: The ash-leaved maples in bloom] The striped maple of Pennsylvania, a comparatively rare and entirely curious small tree or large shrub, is not well known, though growing freely as "elkwood" and "moosewood" in the Alleghanies, because it is rather hard to transplant, and thus offers no inducements to the nurserymen. These good people, like the rest of us, move along the lines of least resistance, wherefore many a fine tree or fruit is rare to us, because shy or difficult of growth, or perhaps unsymmetrical. The fine Rhode Island Greening apple is unpopular because the young tree is crooked, while the leather-skinned and punk-fleshed Ben Davis is a model of symmetry and rapidity of growth. Our glorious tulip tree of the woods, because of its relative difficulty in transplanting, has had to be insisted upon from the nurserymen by those who know its superb beauty. For the same reason this small charming maple, with the large, soft, comfortable leaves upon which the deer love to browse, is kept from showing its delicate June bloom and its remarkable longitudinally striped bark in our home grounds. I hope some maple friends will look for it, and, finding, admire this, the aristocrat among our native species. [Illustration: Striped maple] The mountain maple--the nurserymen call it _Acer spicatum_--is another native of rather dwarf growth. It is bushy, and not remarkable in leaf, its claim for distinction being in its flowers and samaras, which are held saucily up, above the branches on which they grow, rather than drooping modestly, as other maples gracefully bear their bloom and fruit. These shiny seeds or keys are brightly scarlet, as well, and thus very attractive in color. There is a reason for this, in nature's economy; for while the loosely hung samaras of the other maples are distributed by the breezes, the red pods of this mountain maple hold stiffly upward to attract the birds upon whom it largely depends for that sowing which must precede its reproduction. Of the other maples of America--a score of them there are--I might write pages, to weariness. The black maple of the Eastern woods, the large-leaved maples of the West, these and many more are in this great family, to say nothing of the many interesting cultivated forms and variations introduced from European nurseries, and most serviceable in formal ornamental planting. But I have told of those I know best and those that any reader can know as well in one season, if he looks for them with the necessary tree love which is but a fine form of true love of God's creation. This love, once implanted, means surer protection for the trees, otherwise so defenseless against the unthinking vandalism of commercialism or incompetence--a vandalism that has not only devastated our American forests, but mutilated shamefully many trees of priceless value in and about our cities. Of the Japanese maples--their leaves seemingly a showing of the ingenuity of these Yankees of the Orient, in their twists of form and depths of odd color--I could tell a tale, but it would be of the tree nursery and not of the broad outdoors. Let us close the book and go afield, in park or meadow, on street or lawn, and look to the maples for an unsuspected feast of bloom, if it be spring, or for richness of foliage in summer and autumn; and in coldest winter let us notice the delicate twigs and yet sturdy structure of this tree family that is most of all characteristic of the home, in city or country. The Growth of the Oak The old saw has it, "Great oaks from little acorns grow," and all of us who remember the saying have thus some idea of what the beginning of an oak is. But what of the beginning of the acorn? In a general way, one inferentially supposes that there must be a flower somewhere in the life-history of the towering white oak that has defied the storms of centuries and seems a type of everything sturdy and strong and masculine; but what sort of a flower could one imagine as the source of so much majesty? We know of the great magnolias, with blooms befitting the richness of the foliage that follows them. We see, and some of us admire, the exquisitely delicate blossoms of that splendid American tree, the tulip or whitewood. We inhale with delight the fragrance that makes notable the time when the common locust sends forth its white racemes of loveliness. But we miss, many of us, the flowering of the oaks in early spring, and we do not realize that this family of trees, most notable for rugged strength, has its bloom of beginning at the other end of the scale, in flowers of delicate coloring and rather diminutive size. The reason I missed appreciating the flowers of the oak--they are quite new to me--for some years of tree admiration was because of the distracting accompaniment the tree gives to the blooms. Some trees--most of the maples, for instance--send out their flowers boldly ahead of the foliage, and it is thus easy to see what is happening above your head, as you stroll along drinking in the spring's nectar of spicy air. Others, again, have such showy blooms that the mass of foliage only accentuates their attractiveness, and it is not possible to miss them. [Illustration: The swamp white oak in winter] But the oak is different; it is, as modest as it is strong, and its bloom is nearly surrounded by the opening leaves in most seasons and in most of the species I am just beginning to be acquainted with. Then, too, these opening leaves are of such indescribable colors--if the delicate chromatic tints they reflect to the eye may be so strongly named--that they harmonize, and do not contrast, with the flowers. It is with them almost as with a fearless chipmunk whose acquaintance I cultivated one summer--he was gay with stripes of soft color, yet he so fitted any surroundings he chose to be in that when he was quiet he simply disappeared! The oak's flowers and its exquisite unfolding of young foliage combine in one effect, and it is an effect so beautiful that one easily fails to separate its parts, or to see which of the mass of soft pink, gray, yellow and green is bloom and which of it is leafage. [Illustration: Flowers of the pin-oak] Take the pin-oak, for instance, and note the softness of the greenery above its flowers. Hardly can we define the young leaves as green--they are all tints, and all beautiful. This same pin-oak, by the way (I mean the one the botanists call _Quercus palustris_), is a notable contradiction of the accepted theory that an oak of size and dignity cannot be reared in a lifetime. There are hundreds of lusty pin-oaks all over the Eastern States that are shading the homes of the wise men who planted them in youth, and they might well adorn our parks and avenues in place of many far less beautiful and permanent trees. With ordinary care, and in good soil, the pin-oak grows rapidly, and the characteristic spreading habit and the slightly down-drooping branches are always attractive. In its age it has not the ruggedness of its kin, though it assumes a stately and somewhat formal habit, and, I must confess, accumulates some ragged dead branches in its interior. This raggedness is easily cared for, for the tree requires--and few trees do--no "trimming" of its outer branches. The interior twigs that the rapid growth of the tree has deprived of air and light can be quickly and easily removed. In Washington, where street-tree planting has been and is intelligently managed under central authority, the avenues of pin-oaks are a splendid feature of the great boulevards which are serving already as a model to the whole country. Let us plant oaks, and relieve the monotony of too many maples, poplars and horse-chestnuts along our city and village highways. I like, too, to see the smooth little acorns of the pin-oak before the leaves drop; they seem so finished and altogether pleasing, and with the leaves make a classical decorative motive worth more attention from designers. While I am innocent of either ability or intent to write botanically of the great oak family, I ought perhaps to transcribe the information that the flowers we see--if we look just at the right time in the spring--are known as "staminate catkins,"--which, being interpreted, means that there are also pistillate flowers, much less conspicuous, but exceedingly necessary if acorns are to result; and also the fact that the familiar "pussy-willow" of our acquaintance is the same form of bloom--the catkin, or ament. I ought to say, too, that some of the oaks perfect acorns from blossoms in one year, while others must grow through two seasons before they are mature. Botanically, the oak family is nearly a world family, and we Americans, though possessed of many species, have no monopoly of it. Indeed, if I may dare to refer the reader to that great storehouse of words, the Encyclopædia Britannica, I think he will find that the oak is there very British, and that the English oak, surely a magnificent tree in England anyway, is patriotically glorified to the writer. But we want to talk of some of our own oaks. The one thoroughly characteristic is surely the noble white oak, a tree most admirable in every way, and most widely distributed over the Northern States. Its majestic form, as it towers high above the ordinary works of man, conveys the repose of conscious strength to the beholder. There is a great oak in Connecticut to which I make pilgrimages, and from which I always get a message of rest and peace. There it stands, strong, full-powered, minding little the most furious storms, a benediction to every one who will but lift his eyes. There it has stood in full majesty for years unknown, for it was a great oak, so run the title-deeds, way back in 1636, when first the white man began to own land in the Connecticut Valley. At first sight it seems not large, for its perfect symmetry conceals its great size; but its impression grows as one looks at it, until it seems to fill the whole landscape. I have sat under it in spring, when yet its leafy canopy was incomplete; I have looked into its green depths in midsummer, when its grateful shadow refreshed the highway; I have seen the sun set in redness beyond its bare limbs, the snowy countryside emphasizing its noble lines; I have tried to fathom the mystery in its sturdy heart overhead when the full moon rode in the sky; and always that "great oak of Glastonbury" has soothed and cheered and rested, and taken me nearer the Giver of all such good to restless humanity. Do I wonder at my friend who has built his home where he may look always at this white oak, or that he raged in anger when a crabbed neighbor ruthlessly cut down a superb tree of the same kind that was on his property line, in order that he might run his barbed-wire fence straight? No; I agree with him that this tree-murderer has probably a barbed-wire heart, and we expect that his future existence will be treeless, at least! [Illustration: The swamp white oak in early spring] Sometimes this same white oak adapts itself to the bank of a stream, though its true character develops best in the drier ground. Its strength has been its bane, for the value of its timber has caused many a great isolated specimen to be cut down. It is fine to know that some States--Massachusetts, Connecticut, and Rhode Island also, I think--have given to trees along highways, and in situations where they are part of the highway landscape, the protection of a wise law. Under this law each town appoints a tree-warden, serving without pay (and therefore with love), who may seal to the town by his label such trees as are truly the common possession, regardless of whose land they happen to be on. If the owner desires to cut down a tree thus designated, he must first obtain permission, after stating satisfactory reasons, of the annual town-meeting, and this is not so easy as to make cutting very frequent. The whole country should have such a law, and I should enjoy its application right here in Pennsylvania, where oaks of a hundred years have been cut down to make room for a whisky sign, and where a superb pin-oak that I passed today is devoted to an ignominious use. If I may venture to become hortatory, let me say that the responsibility for the preservation of the all-too-few remaining great primeval trees, and of their often notable progeny, in our Eastern States, rests with those who care for trees, not alone with those who ought to care. To talk about the greatness and beauty of a fine oak or maple or tulip, to call attention to its shade value, and to appeal to the cupidity of the ground owner by estimating how much less his property will be worth when the trees are gone or have been mishandled, will aid to create the necessary public sentiment. And to provide wise laws, as may be often done with proper attention, is the plain duty and the high privilege of the tree-loving citizen. The trees are defenseless, and they are often unreplaceable; if you love them protect them as you would your children. The white-oak leaf is the most familiar and characteristic, perhaps, of the family; but other species, close to the white oak in habit, show foliage of a very different appearance. The swamp white oak, for instance, is a noble tree, and in winter particularly its irregular branches give it an especial expression of rugged strength as it grows along a brookside; but its leaves smooth up on the edges, giving only a hint of the deep serrations that typify its upland brother. Deeply green above are these leaves and softly white below, and in late summer there appears, here and there, on a stout stem, a most attractive acorn of large size. Its curious cup gives a hint, or more than a hint, as to the special designating character of another oak, the mossy-cup or bur. This latter species is beautiful in its habit, rich in its foliage, and the fringed or mossed acorns are of a remarkable size. [Illustration: An old post-oak] Of all the oaks, the sturdy but not lofty post-oak spreads the richest display of foliage. Its peculiar habit leads to the even placing of its violoncello-shaped leaves, and its generous crop of acorns gives added distinction in late summer. It is fine in the forest, and a notable ornament anywhere. It has been said that a proper penance for an offending botanist would be a compulsory separation and description of the involved and complicated goldenrod family; and I would suggest that a second edition of the same penance might be a requirement to name off-hand the first dozen oak trees the same poor botanist might meet. So much do the foliage, the bark, and the habit of growth vary, and so considerable is the difference between individuals of the same species, that the wisest expert is likely to be the most conservative. An unbotanical observer, who comes at the family just because he loves trees in general, and is poking his eyes and his camera into unusual places, doesn't make close determinations; he tells what he thinks he sees, and leaves exact work to the scientists. [Illustration: A blooming twig of the swamp white oak] There are some oaks, however, that have borrowed the foliage of other trees so cunningly that one at first scouts the possibility of the Quercus parentage, until he sees an undeniable acorn thrusting itself forward. Then he is sure that what seemed a rather peculiarly shaped chestnut tree, with somewhat stumpy foliage, is none other than the chestnut-oak. A fine tree it is, too, this same chestnut-oak, with its masquerading foliage of deep green, its upright and substantial habit, its rather long and aristocratic-looking acorns. The authorities tell that its wood, too, is brownish and valuable; but we tree-lovers are not enthusiastic over mere timber values, because that means the killing of the trees. The willow-oak will not deceive, because its habit is so oak-like and so willow-less; but its foliage is surely borrowed from its graceful and more rapidly growing neighbor. Not so large, by any means, as the white oak or the chestnut-oak, it has somewhat rough and reddish bark, and its acorns are perfected in the second year of their growth, close to the twigs, in the way of the pin-oak. The general aspect of the tree is upright, rather than spreading, and it partakes thus of the maple character in its landscape effect. The willow-oak is one of the species I would, if I were writing a tree-planting article, heartily commend to those who wish to add adornment to the countryside that shall be permanent and satisfactory. Just a hint here: nursery-grown oaks, now obtainable from any modern establishment, have usually been frequently moved or transplanted, as the trade term goes, and this means that they have established a somewhat self-contained root system, which will give them far greater vigor and cause them to take hold sooner when finally placed in a situation where they are to be permanent features. The reason is plain: the forest seedling, in the fierce struggle for existence usually prevailing, must send its roots far and wide for food, and when it is dug out their feeding capacity is so seriously curtailed as to check the growth of the tree for many years. The nursery-grown tree, on the contrary, has been brought up "by hand," and its food has always been convenient to it, leading to more rapid growth and a more compact root system. I only interject this prosaic fact here in the hope that some of my tree-loving readers will undertake to plant some oaks instead of only the soft-wooded and less permanent maples, poplars, and the like. Another simulative leaf is that of the laurel-oak, and it is color and gloss as well as shape that have been borrowed from its humbler neighbor in the forest. The shining green of the laurel is seen in these oak leaves; they are also half evergreen, thus being one of the family particularly belonging to our Southern States, and hardly enduring the chill of the winters north of Virginia. It is one of the galaxy of oaks I remember as providing a special interest in the Georgia forests, where the long-leaved pine also gave a new tree sensation to the visitor from the North, who at first could hardly imagine what those lovely little green fountains of foliage were that he saw along the roadside and in the woods. The Georgia oaks seem to me to have a richness of foliage, a color and substance and shine, that compare only with the excellence of two other products of the same State--the peach and the watermelon. The long summer and the plenitude of sunshine seem to weave into these products luxuriance found nowhere else; and when one sees for the first time a happy, rollicking bunch of round-eyed negro children, innocent alike of much clothing or any trouble, mixing up with the juicy Georgia melon under the shade of a luxuriant oak, he gets a new conception of at least one part of the race problem! One of the things I wanted much to see when I first traveled South was the famed live-oak, the majesty and the mournfulness of which had been long sung into me. Perhaps I expected too much, as I did of the palmetto, another part of my quest, but surely there was disappointment when I was led, on the banks of the Manatee River in Florida, to see a famous live-oak. It was tall and grand, but its adornment of long, trailing gray Spanish moss, which was to have attached the sadness to it, seemed merely to make it unkempt and uncomfortable. I was instantly reminded of a tree at home in the far North that I had never thought particularly beautiful, but which now, by comparison, took on an attractiveness it has never since lost. Imagine a great spreading weeping willow turned dingy gray, and you have a fair picture of a moss-covered live-oak; but you will prefer it green, as is the willow, I believe. One day a walk about Savannah, which city has many splendid live-oaks in its parks and squares, involved me in a sudden shower, when, presto! the weeping willow of the North was reincarnated before my eyes, for the falling rain turned the dingy moss pendants of the live-oak to the whitish green that makes the willow such a delightful color-note in early spring. I have been thankful often for that shower, for it gave a better feeling about the live-oak, and made me admire the weeping willow. The live-oak, by the way, has a leaf very little like the typical oak--it is elliptical in shape and smooth in outline. The curious parasitic moss that so frequently covers the tree obscures the really handsome foliage. The English Oak, grand tree that it is, grows well in America, as everything English should by right, and there are fine trees of this _Quercus Robur_ on Long Island. The acorns are of unusual elegance, as the photograph which shows them will prove. The red oak, the black oak, the scarlet oak, all splendid forest trees of the Northeast, are in the group of confusion that can be readily separated only by the timber-cruiser, who knows every tree in the forest for its economic value, or by the botanist, with his limp-bound Gray's Manual in hand. I confess to bewilderment in five minutes after the differences have been explained to me, and I enjoyed, not long ago, the confusion of a skilful nurseryman who was endeavoring to show me his young trees of red oak which the label proved to be scarlet! But the splendidly effective trees themselves can be fully appreciated, and the distinctions will appear as one studies carefully the features of these living gifts of nature's greenness. The trees wait on one, and once the habit of appreciation and investigation is formed, each walk afield, in forest or park, leads to the acquirement of some new bit of tree-lore, that becomes more precious and delightful as it is passed on and commented upon in association with some other member of the happily growing fraternity of nature-lovers. [Illustration: Acorns of the English oak] These oak notes are not intended to be complete, but only to suggest some points for investigation and appreciation to my fellows in the brotherhood. I have never walked between Trenton and New York, and therefore never made the desired acquaintance with the scrub-oaks along the way. Nor have I dipped as fully into the oak treasures of the Arnold Arboretum as I want to some day. But my camera is yet available and the trees are waiting; the tree love is growing and the tree friends are inviting, and together we will add to the oak knowledge and to that thankfulness for God and life and love and friends that the trees do most constantly cause to flourish. The Pines In popular estimation, the pines seem to belong to the North, not quite so exclusively as do the palms to the South. The ragged, picturesque old pines, spruces and hemlocks of our remembrance carry with them the thought of great endurance, long life and snowy forests. We think of them, too, as belonging to the mountains, not to the plains; as clothing steep slopes with their varied deep greens rather than as standing against the sky-line of the sea. Yet I venture to think that the most of us in the East see oftenest the pines peculiar to the lowlands, as we flit from city to city over the steel highways of travel, and have most to do, in an economical sense, with a pine that does not come north of the Carolinas--the yellow pine which furnishes our familiar house-flooring. The pine family, as we discuss it, is not all pines, in exactitude--it includes many diverse trees that the botanist describes as conifers. These cone-bearing trees are nearly all evergreens--that is, the foliage persists the year round, instead of being deciduous, as the leaf-dropping maples, oaks, birches, and the like are scientifically designated. Historically the pines are of hoary age, for they are closely related to the growths that furnished the geologic coal measures stored up in the foundations of the earth for our use now. Economically, too, all the pine family together is of vast importance--"the most important order of forest trees in the economy of civilized man," says Dr. Fernow; for, as he adds, the cone-bearing trees "have furnished the bulk of the material of which our civilization is built." As usual, civilization has destroyed ruthlessly, thoughtlessly, almost viciously, in using this material; wherefore the devastation of the forests, moving them back from us farther and farther until in many regions they are but a thin fringe, has left most of us totally unfamiliar with these trees, of the utmost beauty as well as of the greatest value. [Illustration: A lone pine on the Indian River] To know anything at all of the spruces, pines and hemlocks is to love them for the refreshment there is in their living presence, rather than to consider them merely for the timber value. But the point of view differs immensely with one's occupation. I remember finding in the depths of an Alleghany forest a comparatively rare native orchid, then new to me--the round-leaved _or orbicular habenaria_. While I was gloating over it with my camera a gray-haired native of the neighborhood joined me, and, to my surprise, assisted in the gloating--he, too, loved the woods and the plants. Coming a little later to a group of magnificent hemlocks, with great, clean, towering trunks reaching up a hundred feet through the soft maples and yellow birches and beeches which seemed dwarfed by these veterans, I exclaimed in admiration. "Yes," he said, "them's mighty fine hemlocks. I calc'late thet one to the left would bark near five dollars' wuth!" On the rare plant we had joined in esthetic appreciation, but the hemlock was to the old lumberman but a source of tan-bark. This search for tannin, by the way, is to blame for much wanton destruction. Young hemlocks, from four to six inches in diameter, are felled, stripped of their bark, and left cumbering the ground, to invite fire and to make of the woods an unkempt cemetery. The fall of a tree from natural causes is followed by the interesting and beauty-making process of its mossy decay and return to the forest floor, furnishing in the process nourishment for countless seedlings and plants. A tree felled in maturity under enlightened forest management is all removed for its timber, and leaves the ground clear; but the operations of the bark-hunter leave only hideous destruction and a "slash" that is most difficult to clear in later years. This same hemlock makes a most impressive forest. To walk among primeval hemlocks brings healing to the mind and peace to the soul, as one realizes fully that "the groves were God's first temples," and that God is close to one in these beneficent solitudes, where petty things must fall away, vexations cease, and man's spiritual nature absorb the message of the forest. [Illustration: Hemlock Hill, Arnold Arboretum (Boston)] I wonder how many of my readers realize that an exquisite bit of real hemlock forest lies not five miles from Boston Common? At the Arnold Arboretum, that noble collection of trees and plants, "Hemlock Hill" is assuming deeper majesty year after year as its trees gain age and size. It presents exactly the pure forest conditions, and makes accessible to thousands the full beauty and soothing that nothing but a coniferous forest can provide for man. There is the great collateral advantage, too, that to reach Hemlock Hill, the visitor must use a noble entrance, and pass other trees and plants which, in the adequate setting here given, cannot but do him much good, and prepare him for the deep sylvan temple of the hemlocks he is seeking. To visit the Arboretum at the time when the curious variety of the apple relatives--pyruses and the like--bloom, is to secure a great benefit of sight and scent, and it is almost certain to make one resolve to return when these blossoms shall, by nature's perfect work, have become fruit. Here the fruit is grown for its beauty only, and thus no gastronomic possibilities interfere with the appreciation of color, and form, and situation! But again, to come to the Arboretum some time during the reign of the lilacs is to experience an even greater pleasure, perhaps, for here the old farm garden "laylock" assumes a wonderful diversity of form and color, from the palest wands of the Persian sorts to the deepest blue of some of the French hybrids. The pines themselves will well repay any investigation and appreciation. Seven species are with us in the New England and Middle Atlantic States, seven more are found South, while the great West, with its yet magnificent forests, has twenty-five pines of distinct character. The white pine is perhaps most familiar to us, because of its economic importance, and it is as well the tallest and most notable of all those we see in the East. From its first essay as a seedling, with its original cluster of five delicate blue-green leaflets, to its lusty youth, when it is spreading and broad, if given room to grow, it is a fine object, and I have had some thrills of joy at finding this splendid common thing planted in well-placed groups on the grounds of wealthy men, instead of some Japanese upstart with a name a yard long and a truly crooked Oriental disposition! In age the white pine dominates any landscape, wearing even the scars of its long battle with the elements with stately dignity. A noble pair of white pines on the shore of Lake Champlain I remember especially--they were the monarchs of the lakeside as they towered above all other trees. Ragged they were, their symmetry gone long years ago through attacks of storms and through strife with the neighboring trees that had succumbed while they only suffered and stood firm. Yet they seemed all complete, of proved strength and staying power, and their aspect was not of defiance or anger, but rather indicative of beneficent strength, as if they said, "Here we stand; somewhat crippled, it is true, but yet pointing upright to the heavens, yet vigorous, yet seed-bearing and cheerful!" Another group of these white pines that stood close to some only less picturesque red pines on the shores of a pond deep in the Adirondacks emphasized again for me one May day the majesty of this beneficent friend of mankind; and yet another old pine monarch against the sunset sky pointed the westward way from the picturesque Cornell campus, and alas! also pointed the danger to even this one unreplaceable tree when modern "enterprise" constructs a trolley line on a scenic route, ruthlessly destroying the very features that make the route desirable, rather than go to any mechanical trouble! My readers will easily recall for themselves just the same sort of "old pine" groups they have record of on memory's picture-gallery, and will, I am sure, agree with me as to the informality, dignity and true beauty of these survivors of the forest, all of which deserve to be appreciatively cared for, against any encroachment of train, trolley or lumberman. I am ashamed to say I have not yet seen the blossoms of the white pine, which the botanists tell us come in early spring, minute and light brown, to be followed by the six-inch-long cones which mature the second year. I promise my camera that another spring it shall be turned toward these shy blossoms. [Illustration: The long-leaved pines of the South] [Illustration: The fountain-like effect of the young long-leaved pine] Any one who has traveled south of Virginia, even by the Pullman way of not seeing, cannot fail to have noted the lovely green leaf-fountains springing up from the ground along the railroads. These are the young trees of the long-leaved or Southern yellow pine. How beautiful they are, these narrow leaves of vivid green, more than a foot long, drooping gracefully from the center outward, with none of the stiffness of our Northern species! In some places they seem to fairly bubble in green from all the surface of the ground, so close are they. And the grand long-leaved pine itself, maintained in lusty vigor above these greeneries, is a tree of simple dignity, emphasized strongly when seen at its best either in the uncut forest, or in a planted avenue. We of the North are helping to ruin the next generation of Southern pines by lavish use, for decorations, of the young trees of about two feet high, crowded with the long drooping emerald needles. The little cut-off pine lasts a week or two, in a parlor--it took four or five years to grow! All pine-cones are interesting, and there is a great variation between the different species. The scrub-pine one sees along the railroads between New York and Philadelphia has rather stubby cones, while the pitch-pine, beloved of the fireplace for its "light-knots," has a somewhat pear-shaped and gracefully disposed cone. A most peculiar cone is that of a variety of the Norway pine, which, among other species brought from Europe, is valued for ornament. The common jack-pine of the Middle States hillsides wears symmetrical and handsome cones with dignity. Cones are, of course, the fruits or seed-holders of the pine, but the seeds themselves are found at the base of the scales, or parts of the cones, attached in pairs. Each cone, like an apple, has in its care a number of seeds, which it guards against various dangers until a kindly soil encourages the rather slow germination characteristic of the order. The nurserymen have imported many pines from Europe, which give pleasing variety to our ornamental plantings, and aid in enriching the winter coloring. The Austrian pine and the Scotch pine are welcome additions to our own pine family. In these days of economic chemistry and a deficient rag supply, every reader of these words is probably in close proximity to an important spruce product--paper. The manufacturers say, with hand on heart, that they do not use _much_ wood pulp, but when one has passed a great paper-mill flanked on all sides by piles of spruce logs, with no bales of rags in sight anywhere, he is tempted to think otherwise! Modern forestry is now planting trees on waste lands for the pulp "crop," and the common poplar is coming in to relieve the spruces. Beautiful trees are these spruces and firs, either in the forest or when brought by the planter to his home grounds. The leaves are much shorter than those of most pines, and clothe the twigs closely. There is a vast variety in color, too, from the wonderful whitish or "glaucous" blue of the Colorado blue spruce, to the deep shining green of Nordmann's fir, a splendid introduction from the Caucasus. Look at them, glistening in the winter sun, or drooping with the clinging snow; walk in a spruce wood, inhaling the bracing balsamic fragrance which seems so kindly to the lungs; hark to the music of the wind in their tops, telling of health and purity, of God's love and provision for man's mind and heart, and you will begin to know the song of the firs. To really hear this grand symphony, for such it then becomes, you must listen to the wind playing on the tops of a great primeval coniferous forest, of scores and hundreds of acres or miles in extent. And even then, many visits are needed, for there are movements to this symphony--the allegro of the gale, the scherzo of the easy morning breeze, the deep adagio of a rain-storm, and the andante of warm days and summer breezes, when you may repose prone upon a soft carpet of pine needles, every sense made alert, yet soothed, by the master-theme you are hearing. There is a little wood of thick young pines, interspersed with hard maple and an occasional birch, close by the lake of the Eagles, where my summers are made happy. The closeness of the pines has caused their lower branches to die, as always in the deep forest, and the falling needles, year by year, have deepened the soft brown carpet that covers the forest floor. Some one, years ago, struck by the aisles that the straight trunks mark out so clearly, called this the "Cathedral Woods." The name seems appropriate at all times, but especially when, on a warm Sunday afternoon, I lie at ease on the aromatic carpet, hearing the soft organ tones in the pine tops, and drinking in God's forest message. [Illustration: An avenue of white pines] I have visited these pine woods at midnight, when a full moon, making brilliant the near-by lake, gave but a ghostly gloom in the deep, deep silence of the Cathedral; but, more impressive, I have often trodden through in a white fog, when the distance was misty and dim, and the aisles seemed longer and higher, and to lead one further away from the trifles of temper and trial. Indeed, I do not believe that any one who has but once fully received from the deep forest that which it gives out so freely and constantly can ever think of things trivial, or of minor annoyances, while again within its soothing portals. But of the trees of the forest of pine and spruce it must be noted that sometimes the deepest, glossiest green of the leaves as presented to the eye only hides the dainty, white-lined interior surface of those same leaves. To the outside, a somber dignity, unassailable, untouched by frost or sun, protective, defenseful, as nature often appears to the careless observer; but inside is light, softly reflected, revealing unsuspected delicacies of structure and finish. To us who are not woodsmen or "timber-cruisers" the most familiar of all the spruces is the introduced form from Norway. Its yellowish green twigs are bright and cheerful, and in specimens that have reached the fruiting age the crown of cones, high up in the tree, is an additional charm, for these soft brown "strobiles," as the botanist calls them, are smooth and regular, and very different from those of the rugged pines. I have often been told that the Norway spruce was short-lived, and that it became unkempt in age; but now that I have lived for ten years and more beside a noble specimen, I know that the change from the upreaching push of youth to the semi-drooping sedateness of maturity is only a taking on of dignity. There stands on the home grounds of a true tree-lover in Pennsylvania a Norway spruce that has been untouched by knife or disaster since its planting many years ago. No pruning has shortened in its "leader" or top, no foolish idea of "trimming it up" has been allowed to deprive it of the very lowest branches, which, in consequence, now sweep the ground in full perfection, while the unchecked point of the tree still aspires upward forty feet above. A beautiful object is this tree--perhaps the most beautiful of all the conifers in my friend's great "pinetum," with its scores of rare species. Let me ask, then, those who would set this or any other tree of evergreen about the home, to see to it that the young tree from the nursery has all its lower branches intact, and that its top has never been mutilated. With care, such specimens may be obtained and successfully transplanted, and will grow in time to a lovely old age of steady greenness. The balsam fir is almost indistinguishable from the Norway spruce when young, but soon grows apart from it in habit, and is hardly as desirable, even though a native. It is rich in the true balsamic odor; and this, again, is its destruction; for one "spruce pillow" may destroy a half dozen trees! [Illustration: Cones of the white spruce] The white cedar, our common juniper, with its aromatic blue berries or fruits, is perhaps the most familiar of all the native evergreens. It comes to us of Pennsylvania all too freely at Christmas time, when the tree of joy and gifts may mean, in the wholesale, sad forest destruction. This juniper I have associated particularly with the dogwood and the red-bud, to the bloom of which it supplies a most perfect background in the favorite Conewago park, a purely natural reservation of things beautiful along the Pennsylvania railroad. Its lead-pencil sister, the red cedar, reaches our literary senses as closely as does the pulp-making spruce! I might write much of the rare introduced cypresses from Japan and China, and of the peculiar variations that have been worked out by the nurserymen among the native pines and firs; yet this would not be talk of the trees of the open ground, but rather of the nursery and the park. Also, if I had but seen them, there would be much to say about the magnificent conifers of the great West, from the giant red-woods, or sequoias, of the Mariposa grove in California to the richly varied pines of the Rockies. But I can only suggest to my readers the intimate consideration of all this great pine family, so peculiarly valuable to mankind, and the use of some of the pines and spruces about the home for the steady cheer of green they so fully provide. Apples Well do I remember one of the admonitions of my youth, brought upon me by an attempt to take apple-blossoms from a tree in bloom because they were beautiful. I was told that it was wrong to pluck for any purpose the flowers of fruit trees, because the possible fruitage might thereby be reduced. That is, feeding the eye was improper, but it was always in order to conserve all the possibilities for another organ of the body. In those days we had not learned that nature provides against contingencies, and that not one-tenth of all the blossoms would be needed to "set" as much fruit as the tree could possibly mature. The apple, well called the king of fruits, is worthy of all admiration as a fruit; but I do not see why that need interfere in the least with its consideration as an object of beauty. On the contrary, such consideration is all the better for the apple, which is not only most desirable and pleasing in its relation to the dessert, the truly celebrated American pie, the luscious dumpling of the housewife, and the Italian's fruit-stand of our cities, but is at the same time a benefaction to the eye and the sense of beauty, in tree, in blossom, and in fruit. It is of the esthetic value of the apple I would write, leaving its supreme place in pomology unassailed. Look at the young apple tree in the "nursery row," where it has been growing a year since it was "budded"--that is, mysteriously changed from the wild and untamed fruit of nature to the special variety designed by the nurseryman. It is a straight, shapely wand, in most varieties, though it is curious to find that some apples, notably the favorite Rhode Island Greening, start in promptly to be picturesquely crooked and twisty. As it grows and branches under the cultivation and guidance of the orchardist, it maintains a lusty, hearty aspect, its yellowish, reddish or brownish twigs--again according to variety--spreading out to the sun and the air freely. A decade passes, and the sparse showing of bloom that has decorated it each spring gradually gives place to a great glory of flowers. The tree is about to bear, and it assumes the character of maturity; for while it grows on soberly for many years, there is now a spreading, a sort of relaxation, very different from the vigorous upshooting of its early youth. After a crop or two, the tree has become, to the eye, the familiar orchard member, and it leans a little from the blasts of winter, twists aside from the perpendicular, spreads comfortably over a great expanse of ground, and settles down to its long, useful, and truly beautiful life. While the young orchard is trim and handsome, I confess to a greater liking for the rugged old trees that have followed blossom with fruit in unstinted profusion for a generation. There is a certain character of sturdy good-will about these substantial stems that the clinging snows only accentuate in winter. The framework of limb and twig is very different from that of the other trees, and the twisty lines seem to mean warmth and cheer, even against a frosty sky. And these old veterans are house trees, too--they do not suggest the forest or the broad expanse of nature, but, instead, the proximity of man and the home, the comfortable summer afternoon under their copious leafage, the great piles of ruddy-cheeked fruit in autumn. [Illustration: An apple orchard in winter] I need hardly say anything of the apple-blossoms, for those who read these words are almost certain to have long appreciated their delicately fragrant blush and white loveliness. The apricot and the cherry are the first of the fruit trees to sing the spring song, and they cover themselves with white, in advance of any sign of green leaves on their twigs. The apple has an advantage; coming more deliberately, the little pink buds are set amidst the soft greens of the opening foliage, and the leaves and flowers expand together in their symphony of color and fragrance. The grass has grown lush by this time, the dandelions are punctuating it with gold, and everything is in the full riot of exuberant springtime. But there are apples and apples and apples. Even the plain orchard gives us a difference in flowers, as well as in tree aspect. Notice the trees this coming May; mark the flat, white flowers on one tree, the cup-shaped, pink-veined blooms on another. Follow both through the fruiting, and see whether the sweeter flower brings the more sugary fruit. This fact ascertained, perhaps it may be followed up by observation of the distinctive color of the twigs and young branches--for there are wide differences in this respect, and the canny tree-grower knows his pets afar. Perhaps there is a "crab" in the old orchard, ready to give the greatest burst of bloom--for the crab-apple flower is usually finer and more fragrant than any other of the cultivated forms. It is an especial refuge of the birds and the bees, you will find, and it invites them with its rare fragrance and deeper blush, so that they may work all the more earnestly at the pollination without which all this richness of bloom would be ineffective in nature's reproductive scheme. [Illustration: When the apple trees blossom] This same crab-apple is soon to be, as its brilliant fruit matures, a notable object of beauty, for few ornamental trees can vie with its display of shining color. There was a great old crab right in the flower garden of my boyhood home, amid quaint box-trees, snowballs and lilacs. Lilies-of-the-valley flourished in its shadow, the delicate bleeding-heart mingled with old-fashioned irises and peonies at its feet. From early spring until mid-August the crab-apple held court of beauty there--and an always hungry boy often found something in addition to beauty in the red and yellow fruits that were acid but aromatic. With a little attention, if one would plant crab-apples for their loveliness of fruit hue and form, a fine contrast of color may be had; for some varieties are perfect in clear yellow, against others in deepest scarlet, bloom-covered with blue haze, and yet others which carry all the colors from cream to crimson--the latter as the warm sun paints deeper. Why do we not plant more fruit trees for beauty? Not one of our familiar fruits will fail us in this respect, if so considered. The apricot will often have its white flowers open to match the purity of the last snow, the cherry will follow with a burst of bloom, the apples and crab-apples will continue the show, aided by plum and pear and peach, and the quince--ah, there's a flower in a green enamel setting!--will close the blooming-time. But the cherry fruits now redden in shining roundness, the earlier apples throw rich gleams of color to the eye, and there is chromatic beauty until frost bids the last russets leave their stems, leaving bare the framework of the trees, to teach us in lines of symmetry and efficiency how strength and elegance are combined in nature's handiwork. Do you fear that some of the fruit may be taken? What of it? Plant for beauty, and the fruit is all extra--give it away freely, and pass on to others some of God's good gifts, to your own true happiness! There is another crab-apple that is distinctive in its elegance, color and fragrance. It is the true "wild crab" of Eastern North America, and one who makes its acquaintance in blooming time will never forget it. The tree is not large, and it is likely to be set with crooked, thorny branches; but the flowers! Deep pink or rosy red chalices, rather longer than the commonplace apple-blossom, and hanging on long and slender stems in a certain picturesquely stiff disposition, they are a joy for the senses of sight and fragrance. This notable native may be found on rich slopes and in dry glades--it is not fond of swamps. It is grown by some enlightened nurserymen, too, and can well be planted in the home grounds to their true adornment. The blossoms give way to form handsome yellow fruits, about an inch in diameter, which are themselves much more ornamental than edible, for even the small boy will not investigate a second time the bitter flesh. I have heard that a cider of peculiar "hardness" and potency, guaranteed to unsettle the firmest head, is made from these acid fruits--but I have not found it necessary to extend my tree studies in that direction. [Illustration: The Spectabilis crab in bloom] The states west of Kansas do not know this lovely wild crab, to which the botanists give a really euphonious designation as _Pyrus coronaria_. There is a prairie-states crab-apple, which I have never seen, but which, I am told, has nothing like the beauty of our exquisite Eastern native. This Western species lacks the long stem and the bright color of the flowers of our favorite, and its fruits, while quite as viciously sour, are a dull and greasy green. The great West has many other things, but we have the wild crab-apple. Rather between, as to beauty, is the native crab-apple of the Southland, which is known as the Soulard crab. It is not as attractive as our own Eastern gem, a pure native possession, and one which our foreign friends envy us. Curiously enough, our own fruiting apple is not a native of America. It was at a meeting of a New England pomological association that I heard, several years ago, an old man of marvelous memory and power of observation tell of his recollections of seventy years, notable among which was his account of seeing the first good apples, as a boy, during a visit in the state of New York. Think of it! the most widely grown and beautiful of all our fruits hardly older than the railroad in America! We owe the apples we eat to Europe, for the start, the species being probably of Himalayan origin. America has greatly developed the apple, however, as one who has looked over the fruit tables at any great exposition will promptly testify, and nearly all our really good varieties are of American origin. Moreover, we are the greatest apple-growers in the world, and the yearly production probably exceeds a hundred millions of barrels. [Illustration: Fruits of the wild crab] The curious story of "Johnny Appleseed" is given us by historians, who tell us of this semi-religious enthusiast who roamed barefoot over the wilds of Ohio and Indiana a century ago, sowing apple-seeds in the scattered clearings, and living to see the trees bearing fruit, selections from which probably are interwoven among the varieties of today. New varieties of apples, by the way, come from seeds sown, and trees grown from them, with a bare chance that one in ten thousand may be worth keeping. When a variety seems thus worthy, "buds" or "scions" from the original tree are "budded" or "grafted" by the nurseryman into young seedling trees, which are thus changed into the selected sort. To sow the seeds of your favorite Baldwin does not imply that you will get Baldwin trees, by any means; you will more likely have a partial reversion to the acid and bitter original species. It is not only for the fruit that we are indebted to the Old World, but also for some distinctively beautiful and most ornamental varieties of the apple, not by any means as well known among us as they ought to be. The nurserymen sell as an ornamental small tree a form known as "Parkman's double-flowering crab," which produces blooms of much beauty, like delicate little roses. Few of them, however, know of the glorious show that the spring brings where there is a proper planting of the Chinese and Japanese crab-apples, with some other hybrids and varieties. To readers in New England a pilgrimage to Boston is always in order. In the Public Gardens are superb specimens of these crab-apples from the Orient, as well as those native to this continent, and for several weeks in May they may be enjoyed. They _are_ enjoyed by the Bostonians, who are in this, as in many things, better served by their authorities than is any other American city. What other city, for instance, gives its people such a magnificent spring show of hyacinths, tulips, daffodils and the like? It is at the wonderful Arnold Arboretum, that Mecca of tree-lovers just outside of Boston and really within its superbly managed park system, that the greatest show of the "pyrus family," as the apples and pears are botanically called, may be found. Here have been gathered the lovely blooming trees of all the hardy world, to the delight of the eye and the nose, and the education of the mind. To me the most impressive of all was a wonderful Siberian crab (one must look for _Pyrus baccata_ on the label, as the Arboretum folks are not in love with "common" names) close by the little greenhouses. Its round head was purely white, with no hint of pink, and the mass of bloom that covered it was only punctuated by the green of the expanding leaves. The especial elegance of this crab was in its whiteness, and that elegance was not diminished by the later masses of little yellow and red, almost translucent, fruits. A somewhat smaller tree is commonly called the Chinese flowering apple, and its early flowers remind one strongly of the beauty of our own wild crab, as they are deeper in color than most of the crabs, being almost coral-red in bud. This "spectabilis," as it is familiarly called, is a gem, as it opens the season of the apple blooms with its burst of pink richness. The beauty-loving Japanese have a festival at the time of the cherry-blooming--and it is altogether a festival of beauty, not connected with the food that follows the flowers. They actually dare to cut the blossoms, too, for adornment, and all the populace take time to drink in the message of the spring. Will we workaday Americans ever dare to "waste" so much time, and go afield to absorb God's provision of soul and sense refreshment in the spring, forgetting for the time our shops and desks, our stores and marts? [Illustration: The beauty of a fruiting apple branch] Professor Sargent, that deep student of trees who has built himself a monument, which is also a beneficence to all mankind, in the great volumes of his "Silva of North America," lives not far from Boston, and he loves especially that jewel of the apple family which, for want of a common name, I must designate scientifically as _Pyrus floribunda_. On his own magnificent estate, as well as at the Arboretum, this superb shrub or small tree riots in rosy beauty in early spring. While the leaves do come with these flowers, they are actually crowded back out of apparent sight by the straight wands of rose-red blooms, held by the twisty little tree at every angle and in indescribable beauty. If the visitor saw nothing but this Floribunda apple--"abundant flowering" sure enough--on his pilgrimage, he might well be satisfied, especially if he then and there resolved to see it again, either as he planted it at home or journeyed hither another spring for the enlargement of his soul. There are other of these delightful crabs or apples to be enjoyed--Ringo, Kaido, Toringo--nearly all of Japanese origin, all of distinct beauty, and all continuing that beauty in handsome but inedible fruits that hang most of the summer. My tree-loving friends can well study these, and, I hope, plant them, instead of repeating continually the monotonously familiar shrubs and trees of ordinary commerce. But I have not spoken enough of one notable feature of the every-day apple tree that we may see without a journey to the East. The fully set fruiting branch of an apple tree in health and vigor, properly nurtured and protected against fungous disease by modern "spraying," is a thing of beauty in its form and color. See those deep red Baldwins shine overhead in the frosty air of early fall; note the elegance of form and striping on the leathery-skinned Ben Davis; appreciate true apples of gold set in green enamel on a tree of the sunny Bellefleur! These in the fall; but it is hardly full summer before the closely set branches of Early Harvest are as beautiful as any orange-tree, or the more upright Red Astrachan is ablaze with fruit of red and yellow. Truly, an apple orchard might be arranged to give a series of pictures of changing beauty of color and growth from early spring until fall frost, and then to follow with a daily panorama of form and line against snow and sky until the blossoms peeped forth again. Let us learn, if we do not already love the apple tree, to love it for its beauty all the year! [Illustration] Willows and Poplars "By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion. Upon the willows in the midst thereof we hanged our harps." Thus sang the Psalmist of the sorrows of the exiles in Babylon, and his song has fastened the name of the great and wicked city upon one of the most familiar willows, while also making it "weep"; for the common weeping willow is botanically named _Salix Babylonica_. It may be that the forlorn Jews did hang their harps upon the tree we know as the weeping willow, that species being credited to Asia as a place of origin; but it is open to doubt, for the very obvious reason that the weeping willow is distinctly unadapted to use as a harp-rack, and one is at a loss to know just how the instruments in question would have been hung thereon. It is probable that the willows along the rivers of Babylon were of other species, and that the connection of the city of the captivity and the tears of the exiles with the long, drooping branches of the noble tree which has thus been sorrowfully named was a purely sentimental one. Indeed, the weeping willow is also called Napoleon's willow, because the great Corsican found much pleasure in a superb willow of the same species which stood on the lonely prison isle of St. Helena, and from twigs of which many trees in the United States have been grown. The willow family presents great contrasts, both physical and sentimental. It is a symbol both of grief and of grace. The former characterization is undoubtedly because of the allusion of the one hundred and thirty-seventh Psalm, as quoted above, thoughtlessly extended through the centuries; and the latter, as when a beautiful and slender woman is said to be of "willowy" form, obviously because of the real grace of the long, swinging wands of the same tree. I might hint that a better reason for making the willow symbolize grief is because charcoal made from its twigs and branches is an important and almost essential ingredient of gunpowder, through which a sufficiency of grief has undoubtedly entered the world! Willow twigs seem the very essence of fragility, as they break from the parent tree at a touch; and yet one of the willows furnishes the tough, pliable and enduring withes from which are woven the baskets of the world. The willows, usually thin in branch, sparse of somewhat pale foliage, of so-called mournful mien, are yet bursting with vigor and life; indeed, the spread and the value of the family is by reason of this tenacity and virility, which makes a broken twig, floating on the surface of a turbid stream, take root and grow on a sandy bank where nothing else can maintain itself, wresting existence and drawing strength and beauty from the very element whose ravages of flood and current it bravely withstands. Apparently ephemeral in wood, growing quickly and perishing as quickly, the willows nevertheless supply us with an important preservative element, extracted from their bitter juices. Salicylic acid, made from willow bark, prevents change and arrests decay, and it is an important medical agent as well. [Illustration: A weeping willow in early spring] Flexible and seemingly delicate as the little tree is when but just established, there is small promise of the rugged and sturdy trunk that in a few years may stand where the chance twig lodged. And the color of the willows--ah! there's a point for full enthusiasm, for this family of grief furnishes a cheerful note for every month in the year, and runs the whole scale of greens, grays, yellows and browns, and even adds to the winter landscape touches of blazing orange and bright red across the snow. Before ever one has thought seriously of the coming of spring, the long branchlets of the weeping willow have quickened into a hint of lovely yellowish green, and those same branchlets will be holding their green leaves against a wintry blast when most other trees have given up their foliage under the frost's urgency. Often have the orange-yellow twigs of the golden osier illumined a somber countryside for me as I looked from the car window; and close by may be seen other willow bushes of brown, green, gray, and even purple, to add to the color compensation of the season. Then may come into the view, as one flies past, a great old weeping willow rattling its bare twigs in the wind; and, if a stream is passed, there are sure to be seen on its banks the sturdy trunks of the white and the black willows at least. Think of an average landscape with the willows eliminated, and there will appear a great vacancy not readily filled by another tree. The weeping willow has always made a strong appeal to me, but never one of simple grief or sorrow. Its expression is rather of great dignity, and I remember watching in somewhat of awe one which grew near my childhood's home, as its branches writhed and twisted in a violent rain-storm, seeming then fairly to agonize, so tossed and buffeted were they by the wind. But soon the storm ceased, the sun shone on the rounded head of the willow, turning the raindrops to quickly vanishing diamonds, and the great tree breathed only a gentle and benignant peace. When, in later years, I came to know the moss-hung live-oak of the Southland, the weeping willow assumed to me a new dignity and value in the northern landscape, and I have strongly resented the attitude of a noted writer on "Art Out of Doors" who says of it: "I never once have seen it where it did not hurt the effect of its surroundings, or at least, if it stood apart from other trees, where some tree of another species would not have looked far better." One of the great merits of the tree, its difference of habit, its variation from the ordinary, is thus urged against it. [Illustration: The weeping willow in a storm] I have spoken of the basket willow, which is scientifically _Salix viminalis_, and an introduction from Europe, as indeed are many of the family. In my father's nursery grew a great patch of basket willows, annually cut to the ground to make a profusion of "sprouts," from which were cut the "tying willows" used to bind firmly together for shipment bundles of young trees. It was an achievement to be able to take a six-foot withe, and, deftly twisting the tip of it under the heel to a mass of flexible fiber, tie this twisted portion into a substantial loop; and to have this novel wooden rope then endure the utmost pull of a vigorous man, as he braced his feet against the bundle of trees in binding the withe upon it, gave an impression of anything but weakness on the part of the willow. Who has not admired the soft gray silky buds of the "pussy" willow, swelling with the spring's impulse, and ripening quickly into a "catkin" loaded with golden pollen? Nowadays the shoots of this willow are "forced" into bud by the florists, and sold in the cities in great quantities; but really to see it one must find the low tree or bush by a stream in the woods, or along the roadside, with a chance to note its fullness of blossom. It is finest just when the hepaticas are at their bluest on the warm hillsides; and, one sunny afternoon of a spring journey along the north branch of the Susquehanna river, I did not know which of the two conspicuous ornaments of the deeply wooded bank made me most anxious to jump from the too swiftly moving train. This pussy-willow has pleasing leaves, and is a truly ornamental shrub or small tree which will flourish quite well in a dry back yard, as I have reason to know. One bright day in February I found a pussy-willow tree, with its deep purple buds showing not a hint of the life within. The few twigs brought home quickly expanded when placed in water, and gave us their forecast of the spring. One twig was, out of curiosity, left in the water after the catkins had faded, merely to see what would happen. It bravely sent forth leaves, while at the base little white rootlets appeared. Its vigor appealing to us, it was planted in an arid spot in our back yard, and it is now, after a year and a half, a handsome, slender young tree that will give us a whole family of silken pussy-buds to stroke and admire another spring. [Illustration: A pussy-willow in a park] This same little tree is called also the glaucous willow, and it is botanically _Salix discolor_. It is more distinct than some others of the family, for the willow is a great mixer. The tree expert who will unerringly distinguish between the red oak and the scarlet oak by the precise angle of the spinose margins of the leaves (how I admire an accuracy I do not possess!) will balk at which is crack willow, or white willow, or yellow or blue willow. The abundant vigor and vitality and freedom of the family, and the fact that it is of what is known as the dioecious habit--that is, the flowers are not complete, fertile and infertile flowers being borne on separate trees--make it most ready to hybridize. The pollen of the black willow may fertilize the flower of the white willow, with a result that certainly tends to grayness on the worrying head of the botanist who, in after years, is trying to locate the result of the cross! [Illustration: Blossoms of the white willow] There is much variety in the willow flowers--and I wonder how many observers really notice any other willow "blossoms" than those of the showy pussy? A superb spring day afield took me along a fascinatingly crooked stream, the Conodoguinet, whose banks furnish a congenial and as yet protected (because concealed from the flower-hunting vandal) home for wild flowers innumerable and most beautiful, as well as trees that have ripened into maturity. An earlier visit at the time the bluebells were ringing out their silent message on the hillside, in exquisite beauty, with the lavender phlox fairly carpeting the woods, gave a glimpse of some promising willows on the other side of the stream. Twilight and letters to sign--how hateful the desk and its work seem in these days of springing life outside!--made a closer inspection impossible then, but a golden Saturday afternoon found three of us, of like ideals, hastening to this tree and plant paradise. A mass of soft yellow drew us from the highway across a field carpeted thickly with bluet or "quaker lady," to the edge of the stream, where a continuous hum showed that the bees were also attracted. It was one splendid willow in full bloom, and I could not and as yet cannot safely say whether it is the crack willow or the white willow; but I can affirm of a certainty that it was a delight to the eye, the mind and the nostrils. The extreme fragility of the smaller twigs, which broke away from the larger limbs at the lightest shake or jar, gave evidence of one of Nature's ways of distributing plant life; for it seems that these twigs, as I have previously said, part company with the parent tree most readily, float away on the stream, and easily establish themselves on banks and bars, where their tough, interlacing roots soon form an almost impregnable barrier to the onslaught of the flood. Only a stone's throw away there stood a great old black willow, with a sturdy trunk of ebon hue, crowned with a mass of soft green leafage, lighter where the breeze lifted up the under side to the sunlight. Many times, doubtless, the winds had shorn and the sleet had rudely trimmed this old veteran, but there remained full life and vigor, even more attractive than that of youth. Most of the willows are shrubs rather than trees, and there are endless variations, as I have before remarked. Further, the species belonging at first in the Eastern Hemisphere have spread well over our own side of the globe, so that it seems odd to regard the white willow and the weeping willow as foreigners. At Niagara Falls, in the beautiful park on the American side, on the islands amid the toss of the waters, there are many willows, and those planted by man are no less beautiful than those resulting from Nature's gardening. In spring I have had pleasure in some splendid clumps of a form with lovely golden leaves and a small, furry catkin, found along the edge of the American rapids. I wonder, by the way, how many visitors to Niagara take note of the superb collection of plants and trees there to be seen, and which it is a grateful relief to consider when the mind is wearied with the majesty and the vastness of Nature's forces shown in the cataract? The birds are visitors to Goat Island and the other islets that divide the Niagara River, and they have brought there the plants of America in wonderful variety. [Illustration: A white willow in a characteristic position] There is one willow that has been used by the nurserymen to produce a so-called weeping form, which, like most of these monstrosities, is not commendable. The goat willow is a vigorous tree introduced from Europe, having large and rather broad and coarse leaves, dark green above and whitish underneath. It is taken as a "stock," upon which, at a convenient height, the skilled juggler with trees grafts a drooping or pendulous form known as the Kilmarnock willow, thus changing the habit of the tree so that it then "weeps" to the ground. Fortunately, the original tree sometimes triumphs, the graft dies, and a lusty goat willow rears a rather shapely head to the sky. This Kilmarnock willow is a favorite of the peripatetic tree agent, and I have enjoyed hugely one notable evidence of his persuasive eloquence to be seen in a Lebanon Valley town, inhabited by the quaint folk known as Pennsylvania Germans. All along the line of the railroad traversing this valley may be seen these distorted willows decorating the prim front yards, and they are not so offensive when used with other shrubs and trees. In this one instance, however, the tree agent evidently found a customer who was persuaded that if one Kilmarnock willow was a good thing to have, a dozen of them was twelve times better; wherefore his dooryard is grotesquely adorned with that many flourishing weepers, giving an aspect that is anything but decorous or solemn. Some time the vigilance of the citizen will be relaxed, it may be hoped; he will neglect to cut away the recurring shoots of the parent trees, and they will escape and destroy the weeping form which provides so much sarcastic hilarity for the passers-by. The willow, with its blood relation, the poplar, is often "pollarded," or trimmed for wood, and its abundant vigor enables it to recover from this process of violent abbreviation more satisfactorily than do most trees. The result is usually a disproportionately large stem or bole, for the lopping off of great branches always tends to a thickening of the main stem. The abundant leafage of both willow and poplar soon covers the scars, and there is less cause to mourn than in the case of maples or other "hard-wooded" trees. If my readers will only add a willow section to their mental observation outfit, there will be much more to see and appreciate. Look for and enjoy in the winter the variation in twig color and bark hue; notice how smoothly lies the covering on one stem, all rugged and marked on another. In the earliest spring examine the swelling buds, of widely differing color and character, from which shortly will spring forth the catkins or aments of bloom, followed by the leaves of varied colors in the varied species, and with shapes as varied. Vivid green, soft gray, greenish yellow; dull surface and shining surface above, pale green to almost pure white beneath; from the long and stringy leaf of the weeping willow to the comparatively broad and thick leaf of the pussy-willow--there is variety and interest in the foliage well worth the attention of the tree-lover. When winter comes, there will be another set of contrasts to see in the way the various species lose their leaves and get ready for the rest time during which the buds mature and ripen, and the winter colors again shine forth. [Illustration: Clump of young white willows] These observations may be made anywhere in America, practically, for the willow is almost indifferent to locality, growing everywhere that its far-reaching roots can find the moisture which it loves, and which it rapidly transpires to the thirsty air. As Miss Keeler well remarks, "The genus Salix is admirably fitted to go forth and inhabit the earth, for it is tolerant of all soils and asks only water. It creeps nearer to the North Pole than any other woody plant except its companion the birch. It trails upon the ground or rises one hundred feet in the air. In North America it follows the water-courses to the limit of the temperate zone, enters the tropics, crosses the equator, and appears in the mountains of Peru and Chili.... The books record one hundred and sixty species in the world, and these sport and hybridize to their own content and to the despair of botanists. Then, too, it comes of an ancient line; for impressions of leaves in the cretaceous rocks show that it is one of the oldest of plants." Common it is, and therefore overlooked; but the reader may well resolve to watch the willow in spring and summer, with its bloom and fruit; to follow its refreshing color through winter's chill; to observe its cheer and dignity; and to see the wind toss its slender wands and turn its graceful leaves. The poplars and the willows are properly considered together, for together they form the botanical world family of the _Salicaceæ_. Many characteristics of bloom and growth, of sap and bark, unite the two, and surely both, though alike common to the world, are common and familiar trees to the dwellers in North America. [Illustration: White poplars in spring-time] One of my earliest tree remembrances has to do with a spreading light-leaved growth passed under every day on the way to school--and, like most school-boys, I was not unwilling to stop for anything of interest that might put off arrival at the seat of learning. This great tree had large and peculiar winter buds, that always seemed to have advance information as to the coming of spring, for they would swell out and become exceedingly shiny at the first touch of warm sun. Soon the sun-caressing would be responded to by the bursting of the buds, or the falling away of their ingenious outer protecting scales, which dropped to the ground, where, sticky and shining, and extraordinarily aromatic in odor, they were just what a curious school-boy enjoyed investigating. "Balm of Gilead" was the name that inquiry brought for this tree, and the resinous and sweet-smelling buds which preceded the rather inconspicuous catkins or aments of bloom seemed to justify the Biblical designation. Nearly a world tree is this poplar, which in some one of its variable forms is called also tacamahac, and balsam poplar as well. Its cheerful upright habit, really fine leaves and generally pleasing air commend it, but there is one trouble--it is almost too vigorous and anxious to spread, which it does by means of shoots or "suckers," upspringing from its wide area of root-growth, thus starting a little forest of its own that gives other trees but small chance. But on a street, where the repression of pavements and sidewalks interferes with this exuberance, the balsam poplar is well worth planting. The poplars as a family are pushing and energetic growers, and serve a great purpose in the reforestation of American acres that have been carelessly denuded of their tree cover. Here the trembling aspen particularly, as the commonest form of all is named, comes in to quickly cover and shade the ground, and give aid to the hard woods and the conifers that form the value of the forest growth. This same American aspen, a consideration of the lightly hung leaves of which has been useful to many poets, is a well-known tree of graceful habit, particularly abundant in the forests north of Pennsylvania and New Jersey, and occupying clearings plentifully and quickly. Its flowers are in catkins, as with the rest of the family, and, like other poplars, they are in two kinds, male and female, or staminate and pistillate, which accounts for some troubles the inexperienced investigator has in locating them. There is another aspen, the large-toothed form, that is a distinct botanical species; but I have never been able to separate it, wherefore I do not try to tell of it here, lest I fall under condemnation as a blind leader, not of the blind, but of those who would see! In many cities, especially in cities that have experienced real-estate booms, and have had "extensions" laid out "complete with all improvements," there is to be seen a poplar that has the merit of quick and pleasing growth and considerable elegance as well. Alas, it is like the children of the tropics in quick beauty and quick decadence! The Carolina poplar, it is called, being a variety of the wide-spread cottonwood. Grow? All that is needed is to cut a lusty branch of it, point it, and drive it into the earth--it will do the rest! This means cheap trees and quick growth, and that is why whole new streets in West Philadelphia, for instance, are given up to the Carolina poplar. Its clear, green, shining leaves, of good size, coming early in spring; its easily guided habit, either upright or spreading; its very rapid growth, all commend it. But its coarseness and lack of real strength, and its continual invitation to the tree-butcher and the electric lineman, indicate the undesirability of giving it more than a temporary position, to shade while better trees are growing. [Illustration: The Carolina poplar as a street tree] But I must not get into the economics of street-tree planting. I started to tell of the blossoms of this same Carolina poplar, which are decidedly interesting. Just when the sun has thoroughly warmed up the air of spring there is a sudden, rapid thickening of buds over one's head on this poplar. One year the tree under my observation swelled and swelled its buds, which were shining more and more in the sun, until I was sure the next day would bring a burst of leaves. But the weather was dry, and it was not until that wonderful solvent and accelerator of growing things, a warm spring rain, fell softly upon the tree, that the pent-up life force was given vent. Then came, not leaves, but these long catkins, springing out with great rapidity, until in a few hours the tree glowed with their redness. A second edition of the shower, falling sharply, brought many of the catkins to the ground, where they lay about like large caterpillars. The whole process of this blooming was interesting, curious, but hardly beautiful, and it seemed to fit in with the restless character of the poplar family--a family of trees with more vigor than dignity, more sprightliness than grace. As Professor Bailey says of the cottonwood, "It is cheerful and restive. One is not moved to lie under it as he is under a maple or an oak." Yet there are not wanting some poplars of impressive character. One occurs to me, growing on a wide street of my home town, opposite a church with a graceful spire. This white or silver-leaved poplar has for many years been a regular prey of the gang of tree-trimmers, utterly without knowledge of or regard for trees, that infests this town. They hack it shamefully, and I look at it and say, "Well, the old poplar is ruined now, surely!" But a season passes, and I look again, to see that the tremendous vigor of the tree has triumphed over the butchers; its sores have been concealed, new limbs have pushed out, and it has again, in its unusual height, assumed a dignity not a whit inferior to that of the church spire opposite. [Illustration: Winter aspect of the cottonwood tree] This white poplar is at its best on the bank of a stream, where its small forest of "suckers" most efficiently protects the slope against the destructive action of floods. One such tree with its family and friends I saw in full bloom along the Susquehanna, and it gave an impression of solidity and size, as well as of lusty vigor, and I have always liked it since. The cheerful bark is not the least of its attractions--but it is a tree for its own place, and not for every place, by reason of the tremendous colonizing power of its root-sprouts. I wonder, by the way, if many realize the persistence and vigor of the roots of a tree of the "suckering" habit? Some years ago an ailanthus, a tree of vigor and beauty of foliage but nastiness of flower odor, was cut away from its home when excavation was being made for a building, which gave me opportunity to follow a few of its roots. One of them traveled in search of food, and toward the opportunity of sending up a shoot, over a hundred feet! The impending scarcity of spruce logs to feed the hungry maws of the machines that make paper for our daily journals has turned attention to several forms of the rapid-growing poplar for this use. The aspen is acceptable, and also the Carolina poplar, and these trees are being planted in large quantities for the eventual making of wood-pulp. Even today, many newspapers are printed on poplar, and exposure to the rays of the truth-searching sun for a few hours will disclose the yellowness of the paper, if not of the tree from which it has been ground. [Illustration: Lombardy poplar] Few whose eyes are turned upward toward the trees have failed to note that exclamation-point of growth, the Lombardy poplar. Originating in that portion of Europe indicated by its common name, and, indeed, a botanical form of the European black poplar, it is nevertheless widely distributed in America. When it has been properly placed, it introduces truly a note of distinction into the landscape. Towering high in the air, and carrying the eye along its narrowly oval contour to a skyward point, it is lofty and pleasing in a park. It agreeably breaks the sky-line in many places, and is emphatic in dignified groups. To plant it in rows is wrong; and I say this as an innocent offender myself. In boyhood I lived along the banks of the broad but shallow Susquehanna, and enjoyed the boating possible upon that stream when it was not reduced, as graphically described by a disgusted riverman, to merely a heavy dew. Many times I lost my way returning to the steep bluff near my home after the sun had gone to rest, and a hard pull against the swift current would ensue as I skirted the bank, straining eyes for landmarks in the dusk. It occurred to me to plant six Lombardy poplars on the top of the bluff, which might serve as easily recognized landmarks. Four of them grew, and are now large trees, somewhat offensive to a quickened sense of appropriateness. Long since the old home has been swallowed up by the city's advance, and I suppose none who now see those four spires of green on the river-bank even guess at the reason for their existence. The poplar family, as a whole, is exuberant with vigor, and interesting more on that account than by reason of its general dignity or strength or elegance. It is well worth a little attention and study, and the consideration particularly of its bloom periods, to which I commend the tree-sense of my readers as they take the tree walks that ought to punctuate these chapters. The Elm and the Tulip America has much that is unique in plant and tree growth, as one learns who sees first the collections of American plants shown with pride by acute gardeners and estate owners in England and on the European Continent. Many a citizen of our country must needs confess with some shame that his first estimation of the singular beauty of the American laurel has been born in England, where the imported plants are carefully nurtured; and the European to whom the rhododendrons of his own country and of the Himalayas are familiar is ready to exclaim in rapture at the superb effect and tropical richness of our American species, far more lusty and more truly beautiful here than the introductions which must be heavily paid for and constantly coddled. For no trees, however, may Americans feel more pride than for our American elms and our no less American tulip, the latter miscalled tulip "poplar." Both are trees practically unique to the country, both are widespread over Eastern North America, both are thoroughly trees of the people, both attain majestic proportions, both are long-lived and able to endure much hardship without a full giving up of either beauty or dignity. The American elm--how shall I properly speak of its exceeding grace and beauty! In any landscape it introduces an element of distinction and elegance not given by any other tree. Looking across a field at a cluster of trees, there may be a doubt as to the identity of an oak, a chestnut, a maple, an ash, but no mistake can be made in regard to an elm--it stands alone in the simple elegance of its vase-like form, while its feathery branchlets, waving in the lightest breeze, add to the refined and classic effect. I use the word "classic" advisedly, because, although apparently out of place in describing a tree, it nevertheless seems needed for the form of the American elm. The elm is never rugged as is the oak, but it gives no impression of effeminacy or weakness. Its uprightness is forceful and strong, and its clean and shapely bole impresses the beholder as a joining of gently outcurving columns, ample in strength and of an elegance belonging to itself alone. If I may dare to compare man-made architectural forms with the trees that graced the garden of Eden, I would liken the American elm (it is also the water elm and the white elm, and botanically _Ulmus Americana_) to the Grecian types, combining stability with elegance, rather than to the more rugged works of the Goths. Yet the free swing of the elm's wide-spreading branches inevitably suggests the pointed Gothic arch in simplicity and obvious strength. It is difficult to say when the American elm is most worthy of admiration. In summer those same arching branches are clothed and tipped with foliage of such elegance and delicacy as the form of the tree would seem to predicate. The leaf itself is ornate, its straight ribs making up a serrated and pointed oval form of the most interesting character. These leaves hang by slender stems, inviting the gentlest zephyr to start them to singing of comfort in days of summer heat. The elm is fully clothed down to the drooping tips of the branchlets with foliage, which, though deepest green above, reflects, under its dense shade, a soft light from the paler green of the lower side. It is no wonder that New England claims fame for her elms, which, loved and cared for, arch over the long village streets that give character to the homes of the descendants of the Puritan fathers. The fully grown elm presents to the sun a darkly absorbent hue, and to the passer-by who rests beneath its shade the most grateful and restful color in all the rainbow's palette. [Illustration: A mature American elm] Then, too, the evaporative power of these same leaves is simply enormous, and generally undreamed of. Who would think that a great, spreading elm, reaching into the air of August a hundred feet, and shading a circle of nearly as great diameter, was daily cooling the atmosphere with tons of water, silently drawn from the bosom of Mother Earth! Like many other common trees, the American elm blooms almost unnoticed. When the silver maple bravely pushes out its hardy buds in earliest spring--or often in what might be called latest winter--the elm is ready, and the sudden swelling of the twigs, away above our heads in March or April, is not caused by the springing leaves, but is the flowering effort of this noble tree. The bloom sets curiously about the yet bare branches, and the little brownish yellow or reddish flowers are seemingly only a bunch of stamens. They do their work promptly, and the little flat fruits, or "samaras," are ripened and dropped before most of us realize that the spring is fully upon us. These seeds germinate readily, and I recall the great pleasure with which a noted horticultural professor showed me what he called his "elm lawn," one summer. It seemed that almost every one of the thousands of seeds that, just about the time his preparations for sowing a lawn were completed, had softly fallen from the great elm which guards and shades his dooryard, had found good ground, and the result was a miniature forest of tiny trees, giving an effect of solid green which was truly a tree lawn. [Illustration: The delicate tracery of the American elm in winter] But, after all, I think it is in winter that the American elm is at its finest, for then stand forth most fully revealed the wonderful symmetry of its structure and the elegance of its lines. It has one advantage in its great size, which is well above the average, for it lifts its graceful head a hundred feet or more above the earth. The stem is usually clean and regular, and the branches spread out in closely symmetrical relation, so that, as seen against the cold sky of winter, leafless and bare, they seem all related parts of a most harmonious whole. Other great trees are notable for the general effect of strength or massiveness, individual branches departing much from the average line of the whole structure; but the American elm is regular in all its parts, as well as of general stateliness. As I have noted, the people of the New England States value and cherish their great elms, and they are accustomed to think themselves the only possessors of this unique tree. We have, however, as good elms in Pennsylvania as there are in New England, and I hope the day is not far distant when we shall esteem them as highly. The old elm monarch which stands at the gingerbread brownstone entrance of the Capitol Park in Pennsylvania's seat of government has had a hard battle, defenseless as it is, against the indifference of those whom it has shaded for generations, and who carelessly permitted the telegraph and telephone linemen to use it or chop it at their will. But latterly there has been an awakening which means protection, I think, for this fine old landmark. The two superb elms, known as "Paul and Virginia," that make notable the north shore of the Susquehanna at Wilkesbarre, are subjects of local pride; which seems, however, not strong enough to prevent the erection of a couple of nasty little shanties against their great trunks. There can be no doubt, however, that the sentiment of reverence for great trees, and of justice to them for their beneficent influence, is spreading westward and southward from New England. It gives me keen pleasure to learn of instances where paths, pavements or roadways have been changed, to avoid doing violence to good trees; and a recent account of the creation of a trust fund for the care of a great oak, as well as a unique instance in Georgia, where a deed has been recorded giving a fine elm a quasi-legal title to its own ground, show that the rights of trees are coming to be recognized. I have said little of the habitat, as the botanist puts it, of the American elm. It graces all North America east of the Rockies, and the specimens one sees in Michigan or Canada are as happy, apparently, as if they grew in Connecticut or in Virginia. Our increasingly beautiful national Capital, the one city with an intelligent and controlled system of tree-planting, shows magnificent avenues of flourishing elms. But I must not forget some other elms, beautiful and satisfactory in many places. It is no discredit to our own American elm to say that the English elm is a superb tree in America. It seems to be characteristically British in its sturdy habit, and forms a grand trunk. [Illustration: The English elm in winter] The juicy inner bark of the red or "slippery" elm was always acceptable, in lieu of the chewing-gum which had not then become so common, to a certain ever-hungry boy who used to think as much of what a tree would furnish that was eatable as he now does of its beauty. Later, the other uses of the bark of this tree became known to the same boy, but it was many years before he came really to know the slippery elm. One day a tree branch overhead showed what seemed to be remarkable little green flowers, which on examination proved to be, instead, the very interesting fruit of this elm, each little seed securely held inside a very neat and small flat bag. Looking at it earlier the next spring, the conspicuous reddish brown color of the bud-scales was noted. I have never seen the "wahoo," or winged elm of the South, and there are several other native elms, as well as a number of introductions from the Eastern Hemisphere, with which acquaintance is yet to be made. All of them together, I will maintain with the quixotic enthusiasm of lack of knowledge, are not worth as much as one-half hour spent in looking up under the leafy canopy of our own preëminent American elm--a tree surely among those given by the Creator for the healing of the nations. The tulip-tree, so called obviously because of the shape of its flowers, has a most mellifluous and pleasing botanical name, _Liriodendron Tulipifera_--is not that euphonious? Just plain "liriodendron"--how much better that sounds as a designation for one of the noblest of American forest trees than the misleading "common" names! "Tulip-tree," for a resemblance of the form only of its extraordinary blooms; "yellow poplar," probably because it is not yellow, and is in no way related to the poplars; and "whitewood," the Western name, because its wood is whiter than that of some other native trees. "Liriodendron" translated means "lily-tree," says my learned friend who knows Greek, and that is a fitting designation for this tree, which proudly holds forth its flowers, as notable and beautiful as any lily, and far more dignified and refined than the gaudy tulip. I like to repeat this smooth-sounding, truly descriptive and dignified name for a tree worthy all admiration. Liriodendron! Away with the "common" names, when there is such a pleasing scientific cognomen available! By the way, why should people who will twist their American tongues all awry in an attempt to pronounce French words in which the necessary snort is unexpressed visually and half the characters are "silent," mostly exclaim at the alleged difficulty of calling trees and plants by their world names, current among educated people everywhere, while preferring some misleading "common" name? Very few scientific plant names are as difficult to pronounce as is the word "chrysanthemum," and yet the latter comes as glibly from the tongue as do "geranium," "rhododendron," and the like. Let us, then, at least when we have as good a name as liriodendron for so good a tree, use it in preference to the most decidedly "common" names that belie and mislead. I have said that this same tulip-tree--which I will call liriodendron hereafter, at a venture--is a notable American tree, peculiar to this country. So believed the botanists for many years, until an inquiring investigator found that China, too, had the same tree, in a limited way. We will still claim it as an American native, and tell the Chinamen they are fortunate to have such a superb tree in their little-known forests. They have undoubtedly taken advantage, in their art forms, of its peculiarly shaped leaves, if not of the flowers and the curious "candlesticks" that succeed them. [Illustration: Winter effect of tulip trees] Let us consider this liriodendron first as a forest tree, as an inhabitant of the "great woods" that awed the first intelligent observers from Europe, many generations back. Few of our native trees reach such a majestic height, here on the eastern side of the continent, its habitat. Ordinarily it builds its harmonious structure to a height of seventy or a hundred feet; but occasional individuals double this altitude, and reach a trunk diameter of ten feet. While in the close forest it towers up with a smooth, clean bole, in open places it assumes its naturally somewhat conical form very promptly. Utterly dissimilar in form from the American elm, it seems to stand for dignity, solidity and vigor, and yet to yield nothing in the way of true elegance. The botanists tell us it prefers deep and moist soil, but I know that it lives and seems happy in many soils and in many places. Always and everywhere it shows a clean, distinct trunk, its brown bark uniformly furrowed, but in such a manner as to give a nearly smooth appearance at a little distance. The branches do not leave the stem so imperceptibly as do those which give the elm its very distinct form, but rather start at a right angle, leaving the distinct central column of solid strength unimpaired. The winter tracery of these branches, and the whole effect of the liriodendron without foliage, is extremely distinct and pleasing. I have in mind a noble group of great liriodendrons which I first saw against an early April sky of blue and white. The trees had grown close, and had interlaced their somewhat twisty branches, so that the general impression was that of one great tree supported on several stems. The pure beauty of these very tall and very stately trees, thus grouped and with every twig sharply outlined, I shall always remember. The liriodendron is more fortunate than some other trees, for it has several points of attractiveness. Its stature and its structure are alike notable, its foliage entirely unique, and its flowers and seed-pods even more interesting. The leaf is very easily recognized when once known. It is large, but not in any way coarse, and is thrust forth as the tree grows, in a peculiarly pleasing way. Sheathed in the manner characteristic of the magnolia family, of which the liriodendron is a notable member, the leaves come to the light practically folded back on themselves, between the two protecting envelopes, which remain until the leaf has stretched out smoothly. Yellowish green at first, they rapidly take on the bright, strong green of maturity. The texture is singularly refined, and it is a pleasure to handle these smooth leaves, of a shape which stamps them at once on the memory, and of a coloring, both above and below, that is most attractive. They are maintained on long, slender stems, or "petioles," and these stems give a great range of flexibility, so that the leaves of the liriodendron are, as Henry Ward Beecher puts it, "intensely individual, each one moving to suit himself." [Illustration: A great liriodendron in bloom] Of course all this moving, and this out-breaking of the leaves from their envelopes, take place far above one's head, on mature trees. It will be found well worth while, however, for the tree-lover to look in the woods for the rather numerous young trees of the tulip, and to observe the very interesting way in which the growth proceeds. The beautiful form and color of the leaves may also be thus conveniently noted, as also in the autumn the soft, clear yellow early assumed. It is the height and spread of the liriodendron that keep its truly wonderful flowers out of the public eye. If they were produced on a small tree like the familiar dogwood, for instance, so that they might be nearer to the ground, they would receive more of the admiration so fully their due. In Washington, where, as I have said, trees are planted by design and not at random, there are whole avenues of liriodendrons, and it was my good fortune one May to drive between these lines of strong and shapely young trees just when they were in full bloom. The appearance of these beautiful cups, each one held upright, not drooping, was most striking and elegant. Some time, other municipalities will learn wisdom from the example set in Washington, and we may expect to see some variety in our street trees, now monotonously confined for the most part to the maples, poplars, and a few good trees that would be more valued if interspersed with other equally good trees of different character. The pin-oak, the elm, the sweet-gum, or liquidambar, the ginkgo, and a half-dozen or more beautiful and sturdy trees, do admirably for street planting, and ought to be better known and much more freely used. [Illustration: Flowers of the liriodendron] I have seen many rare orchids brought thousands of miles and petted into a curious bloom--indeed, often more curious than beautiful. If the bloom of the liriodendron, in all its delicate and daring mingling of green and yellow, cream and orange, with its exquisite interior filaments, could be labeled as a ten-thousand-dollar orchid beauty from Borneo, its delicious perfume would hardly be needed to complete the raptures with which it would be received into fashionable flower society. But these lovely cups stand every spring above our heads by millions, their fragrance and form, their color and beauty, unnoticed by the throng. As they mature into the brown fruit-cones that hold the seeds, and these in turn fall to the ground, to fulfil their purpose of reproduction, there is no week in which the tree is not worthy of attention; and, when the last golden leaf has been plucked by the fingers of the winter's frost, there yet remain on the bare branches the curious and interesting candlestick-like outer envelopes of the fruit-cones, to remind us in form of the wonderful flower, unique in its color and attractiveness, that gave its sweetness to the air of May and June. These two trees--the elm and the liriodendron--stand out strongly as individuals in the wealth of our American trees. Let all who read and agree in my estimate, even in part, also agree to try, when opportunity offers, to preserve these trees from vandalism or neglect, realizing that the great forest trees of our country are impossible of replacement, and that their strength, majesty and beauty are for the good of all. Nut-Bearing Trees What memories of chestnutting parties, of fingers stained with the dye of walnut hulls, and of joyous tramps afield in the very heart of the year, come to many of us when we think of the nuts of familiar knowledge! Hickory-nuts and butternuts, too, perhaps hazelnuts and even beechnuts--all these American boys and girls of the real country know. In the far South, and, indeed, reaching well up into the Middle West, the pecan holds sway, and a majestic sway at that, for its size makes it the fellow of the great trees of the forest, worthy to be compared with the chestnut, the walnut, and the hickory. But it has usually been of nuts to eat that we have thought, and the chance for palatable food has, just as with some of the best of the so-called "fruit" trees--all trees bear fruit!--partially closed our eyes to the interest and beauty of some of these nut-bearers. My own tree acquaintance has proceeded none too rapidly, and I have been--and am yet--as fond of the toothsome nuts as any one can be who is not a devotee of the new fad that attempts to make human squirrels of us all by a nearly exclusive nut diet. I think that my regard for a nut tree as something else than a source of things to eat began when I came, one hot summer day, under the shade of the great walnut at Paxtang. Huge was its trunk and wide the spread of its branches, while the richness of its foliage held at bay the strongest rays of the great luminary. How could I help admiring the venerable yet lusty old tree, conferring a present benefit, giving an instant and restful impression of strength, solidity, and elegance, while promising as well, as its rounded green clusters hung far above my head, a great crop of delicious nut-fruit when the summer's sun it was so fully absorbing should have done its perfect work! Alas for the great black walnut of Paxtang! It went the way of many another tree monarch whose beauty and living usefulness were no defense against sordid vandalism. In the course of time a suburb was laid out, including along its principal street, and certainly as its principal natural ornament, this massive tree, around which the Indians who roamed the "great vale of Pennsylvania" had probably gathered in council. The sixty-foot "lot," the front of which the tree graced, fell to the ownership of a man who, erecting a house under its beneficent protection, soon complained of its shade. Then came a lumber prospector, who saw only furniture in the still flourishing old black walnut. His offer of forty dollars for the tree was eagerly accepted by the Philistine who had the title to the land, and although there were not wanting such remonstrances as almost came to a breaking of the peace, the grand walnut ended its hundreds of years of life to become mere lumber for its destroyers! The real estate man who sold the land greatly admired the tree himself, realizing also its great value to the suburb, and had never for one moment dreamed that the potential vandal who bought the tree-graced parcel of ground would not respect the inherent rights of all his neighbors. He told me of the loss with tears in his eyes and rage in his language; and I have never looked since at the fellow who did the deed without reprobation. More than that, he has proven a theory I hold--that no really good man would do such a thing after he had been shown the wrong of it--by showing himself as dishonest in business as he was disregardful of the rights of the tree and of his neighbors. [Illustration: The wide-spreading black walnut] The black walnut is a grand tree from any point of view, even though it so fully absorbs all water and fertility as to check other growth under its great reach of branches. The lines it presents to the winter sky are as rugged as those of the oak, but there is a great difference. And this ruggedness is held far into the spring, for the black walnut makes no slightest apparent effort at growth until all the other trees are greening the countryside. Then with a rush come the luxuriant and tropical compound leaves, soon attaining their full dignity, and adding to it also a smooth polish on the upper surface. The walnut's flowers I have missed seeing, I am sorry to say, while registering a mental promise not to permit another season to pass without having that pleasure. Late in the year the foliage has become scanty, and the nut-clusters hang fascinatingly clear, far above one's head, to tempt the climb and the club. The black walnut is a tree that needs our care; for furniture fashion long used its close-grained, heavy, handsome wood as cruelly as the milliners did the herons of Florida from which were torn the "aigrets," now happily "out of style." Though walnut furniture is no longer the most popular, the deadly work has been done, for the most part, and but few of these wide-spread old forest monarchs yet remain. Scientific forestry is now providing, in many plantings, and in many places, another "crop" of walnut timber, grown to order, and using waste land. It is to such really beneficent, though entirely commercial work, that we must look for the future of many of our best trees. The butternut, or white walnut, has never seemed so interesting to me, nor its fruit so palatable, probably because I have seen less of it. The so-called "English" walnut, which is really the Persian walnut, is not hardy in the eastern part of the United States, and, while a tree of vast commercial importance in the far West, does not come much into the view of a lover of the purely American trees. [Illustration: The American sweet chestnut] Of the American sweet chestnut as a delightful nut-fruit I need say nothing more than that it fully holds its place against "foreign intervention" from the East; even though these European and Japanese chestnuts with their California-bred progeny give us fruit that is much larger, and borne on trees of very graceful habit. No one with discrimination will for a moment hesitate, after eating a nut of both, to cheerfully choose the American native as best worth his commendation, though he may come to understand the food value, after cooking, of the chestnuts used so freely in parts of Europe. [Illustration: Sweet chestnut blossoms] As a forest tree, however, our American sweet chestnut has a place of its own. Naturally spreading in habit when growing where there is room to expand, it easily accommodates itself to the more cramped conditions of our great woodlands, and shoots upward to light and air, making rapidly a clean and sturdy stem. What a beautiful and stately tree it is! And when, late in the spring, or indeed right on the threshold of summer, its blooming time comes, it stands out distinctly, having then few rivals in the eye of the tree-lover. The locust and the tulip are just about done with their floral offering upon the altar of the year when the long creamy catkins of the sweet chestnut spring out from the fully perfected dark green leaf-clusters. Peculiarly graceful are these great bloom heads, high in the air, and standing nearly erect, instead of hanging down as do the catkins of the poplars and the birches. The odor of the chestnut flower is heavy, and is best appreciated far above in the great tree, where it may mingle with the warm air of June, already bearing a hundred sweet scents. There stands bright in my remembrance one golden June day when I came through a gateway into a wonderful American garden of purely native plants maintained near Philadelphia, the rock-bound drive guarded by two clumps of tall chestnuts, one on either side, and both in full glory of bloom. There could not have been a more beautiful, natural, or dignified entrance; and it was just as beautiful in the early fall, when the deep green of the oblong-toothed leaves had changed to clear and glowing yellow, while the flowers had left their perfect work in the swelling and prickly green burs which hid nuts of a brown as rich as the flesh was sweet. Did you, gentle reader, ever saunter through a chestnut grove in the later fall, when the yellow had been browned by the frosts which brought to the ground alike leaves and remaining burs? There is something especially pleasant in the warmth of color and the crackle of sound on the forest floor, as one really shuffles through chestnut leaves in the bracing November air, stooping now and then for a nut perchance remaining in the warm and velvety corner of an opened bur. Here in Pennsylvania, and south of Mason and Dixon's line, there grows a delightful small tree, brother to the chestnut, bearing especially sweet little nuts which we know as chinquapins. They are darker brown, and the flesh is very white, and rich in flavor. I could wish that the chinquapin, as well as the chestnut, was included among the trees that enlightened Americans would plant along roadsides and lanes, with other fruit trees; the specific secondary purpose, after the primary enjoyment of form, foliage and flower, being to let the future passer-by eat freely of that fruit provided by the Creator for food and pleasure, and costing no more trouble or expense than the purely ornamental trees more frequently planted. Both chestnut and chinquapin are beautiful ornamental trees; and some of the newer chestnut hybrids, of parentage between the American and the European species, are as graceful as the most highly petted lawn trees of the nurserymen. Indeed, the very same claim may be made for a score or more of the standard fruit trees, alike beautiful in limb tracery, in bloom, and in the seed-coverings that we are glad to eat; and some time we shall be ashamed not to plant the fruit trees in public places, for the pleasure and the refreshing of all who care. [Illustration: The chinquapin] One of the commonest nut trees, and certainly one of the most pleasing, is the hickory. There are hickories and hickories, and some are shellbarks, while others are bitternuts or pignuts. The form most familiar to the Eastern States is the shagbark hickory, and its characteristic upright trees, tall and finely shaped, never wide-spreading as is the chestnut under the encouragement of plenty of room and food, are admirable from any standpoint. There is a lusty old shagbark in Wetzel's Swamp that has given me many a pleasant quarter-hour, as I have stood at attention before its symmetrical stem, hung with slabs of brown bark that seem always just ready to separate from the trunk. The aspect of this tree is reflected in its very useful timber, which is pliant but tough, requiring less "heft" for a given strength, and bending with a load easily, only to instantly snap back to its position when the stress slackens. Good hickory is said to be stronger than wrought iron, weight for weight; and I will answer for it that no structure of iron can ever have half the grace, as well as strength, freely displayed by this same old shagbark of the lowlands near my home. Curious as I am to see the blooms of the trees I am getting acquainted with, there are many disappointments to be endured--as when the favorite tree under study is reached a day too late, and I must wait a year for another opportunity. It was, therefore, with much joy that I found that a trip carefully timed for another fine old hickory along the Conodoguinet--an Indian-named stream of angles, curves, many trees and much beauty--had brought me to the quickly passing bloom feast of this noble American tree. The leaves were about half-grown and half-colored, which means that they displayed an elegance of texture and hue most pleasing to see. And the flowers--there they were, hanging under the twigs in long clusters of what I might describe as ends of chenille, if it were not irreverent to compare these delicate greenish catkins with anything man-made! [Illustration: A shagbark hickory in bloom] This fine shagbark was kind to the cameraman, for some of its lower branches drooped and hung down close enough to the "bars" of the rail fence to permit the photographic eye to be turned on them. Then came the tantalizing wait for stillness! I have frequently found that a wind, absolutely unnoticeable before, became obtrusively strong just when the critical moment arrived, and I have fancied that the lightly hung leaflets I have waited upon fairly shook with merriment as they received the gentle zephyr, imperceptible to my heated brow, but vigorous enough to keep them moving. Often, too--indeed nearly always--I have found that after exhausting my all too scanty stock of patience, and making an "exposure" in despair, the errant blossoms and leaflets would settle down into perfect immobility, as if to say, "There! don't be cross--we'll behave," when it was too late. But the shagbark at last was good to me, and I could leave with the comfortable feeling that I was carrying away a little bit of nature's special work, a memorandum of her rather private processes of fruit-making, without injuring any part of the inspected trees. It has been a sorrow to me that I have not seen that great hickory later in the year, when the clusters of tassels have become bunches of husk-covered nuts. To get really acquainted with any tree, it should be visited many times in a year. Starting with the winter view, one observes the bark, the trend and character of the limbs, the condition of the buds. The spring opening of growth brings rapid changes, of both interest and beauty, to be succeeded by the maturity of summer, when, with the ripened foliage overhead, everything is different. Again, when the fruit is on, and the touch of Jack Frost is baring the tree for the smoother passing of the winds of winter, there is another aspect. I have great respect for the tree-lover who knows unerringly his favorites at any time of the year, for have I not myself made many mistakes, especially when no leaves are at hand as pointers? The snow leaves nothing to be seen but the cunning framework of the tree--tell me, then, is it ash, or elm, or beech? Which is sugar-maple, and which red, or sycamore? One summer walk in the deep forest, my friend the doctor, who knows many things besides the human frame, was puzzled at a sturdy tree bole, whose leaves far overhead mingled so closely with the neighboring greenery of beech and birch that in the dim light they gave no help. First driving the small blade of his pocket-knife deep into the rugged bark of the tree in question, he withdrew it, and then smelled and tasted, exclaiming, "Ah, I thought so; it _is_ the wild cherry!" And, truly, the characteristic prussic-acid odor, the bitter taste, belonging to the peach and cherry families, were readily noted; and another Sherlock Holmes tree fact came to me! Of other hickories I know little, for the false shagbark, the mockernut, the pignut, and the rest of the family have not been disclosed to me often enough to put me at ease with them. There are to be more tree friends, both human and arborescent, and more walks with the doctor and the camera, I hope! We of the cold North, as we crack the toothsome pecan, hardly realize its kinship with the hickory. It is full brother to our shellbark, which is, according to botany, _Hicoria ovata_, while the Southern tree is _Hicoria pecan_. A superb tree it is, too, reaching up amid its vigorous associates of the forests of Georgia, Alabama and Texas to a height exceeding one hundred and fifty feet. Its upright and elegant form, of a grace that conceals its great height, its remarkable usefulness, and its rather rapid growth, commend it highly. The nut-clusters are striking, having not only an interesting outline, but much richness of color, in greens and russets. [Illustration: The American beech in winter] It may seem odd to include the beech under the nut-bearing trees, to those of us who know only the nursery-grown forms of the European beech, "weeping" and twisted, with leaves of copper and blood, as seen in parks and pleasure-grounds. But the squirrels would agree; they know well the sweet little triangular nuts that ripen early in fall. The pure American beech, uncontaminated and untwisted with the abnormal forms just mentioned, is a tree that keeps itself well in the eye of the woods rambler; and that eye is always pleasured by it, also. Late in winter, the light gray branches of a beech thicket on a dry hillside on the edge of my home city called attention to their clean elegance amid sordid and forbidding surroundings, and it was with anger which I dare call righteous that I saw a hideous bill-board erected along the hillside, to shut out the always beautiful beeches from sight as I frequently passed on a trolley car! I have carefully avoided buying anything of the merchants who have thus set up their announcements where they are an insult; and it might be noted that these and other offensive bill-boards are to others of like mind a sort of reverse advertising--they tell us what _not_ to purchase. [Illustration: The true nut-eater] Years ago I chanced to be present at a birth of beech leaves, up along Paxton Creek. It was late in the afternoon, and our reluctant feet were turning homeward, after the camera had seen the windings of the creek against the softening light, when the beeches over-arching the little stream showed us this spring marvel. The little but perfectly formed leaves had just opened, in pairs, with a wonderful covering of silvery green, as they hung downward toward the water, yet too weak to stand out and up to the passing breeze. The exquisite delicacy of these trembling little leaves, the arching elegance of the branches that had just opened them to the light, made it seem almost sacrilegious to turn the lens upon them. Often since have I visited the same spot, in hope to see again this awakening, but without avail. The leaves show me their silky completeness, rustling above the stream in softest tree talk; the curious staminate flower-clusters hang like bunches of inverted commas; the neat little burs, with their inoffensive prickles, mature and discharge the angular nuts--but I am not again, I fear, to be present at the hour of the leaf-birth of the beech's year. The beech, by the way, is tenacious of its handsome foliage. Long after most trees have yielded their leaves to the frost, the beech keeps its clothing, turning from the clear yellow of fall to lightest fawn, and hanging out in the forest a sign of whiteness that is cheering in the winter and earliest spring. These bleached-out leaves will often remain until fairly pushed off by the opening buds of another year. [Illustration: The witch-hazel] Of the hazelnut or filbert, I know nothing from the tree side, but I cannot avoid mentioning another botanically unrelated so-called hazel--the witch-hazel. This small tree is known to most of us only as giving name to a certain soothing extract. It is worthy of more attention, for its curious and delicately sweet yellow flowers, seemingly clusters of lemon-colored threads, are the very last to bloom, opening bravely in the very teeth of Jack Frost. They are a delight to find, on the late fall rambles; and the next season they are followed by the still more curious fruits, which have a habit of suddenly opening and fairly ejaculating their seeds. A plucked branch of these fruits, kept in a warm place a few hours, will show this--another of nature's efficient methods for spreading seeds, in full operation--if one watches closely enough. The flowers and the fruits are on the tree at the same time, just as with the orange of the tropics. Speaking of a tropical fruit, I am reminded that the greatest nut of all, though certainly not an American native, is nevertheless now grown on American soil. Some years ago a grove of lofty cocoanut palms in Yucatan fascinated me, and the opportunity to drink the clear and refreshing milk (not milky at all, and utterly different from the familiar contents of the ripened nut of commerce) was gladly taken. Now the bearing trees are within the bounds of the United States proper, and the grand trees in Southern Florida give plenty of fruit. The African citizens of that neighborhood are well aware of the refreshing character of the "juice" of the green cocoanut, and a friend who sees things for me with a camera tells with glee how a "darky" at Palm Beach left him in his wheel-chair to run with simian feet up a sloping trunk, there to pull, break open, and absorb the contents of a nut, quite as a matter of course. I have myself seen the Africans of the Bahamas in the West Indies climbing the glorious cocoa palms of the coral keys, throwing down the mature nuts, and then, with strong teeth, stripping the tough outer covering to get at the refreshing interior. All these nut trees are only members of the great family of trees given by God for man's good, I firmly believe; for man first comes into Biblical view in a garden of trees, and the city and the plain are but penances for sin! Some Other Trees In preceding chapters of this series I have treated of trees in a relationship of family, or according to some noted similarity. There are, however, some trees of my acquaintance of which the family connections are remote or unimportant, and there are some other trees of individual merit with the families of which I am not sufficiently well acquainted to speak familiarly as a whole. Yet many of these trees, looked at by themselves, are as beautiful, interesting, and altogether worthy as any of which I have written, and they are also among the familiar trees of America. Therefore I present a few of them apart from the class treatment. * * * * * One day in very early spring--or was it very late in winter?--I walked along the old canal road, looking for some evidence in tree growth that spring was really at hand. Buds were swelling, and here and there a brave robin could be heard telling about it in song to his mate (I think that settled the season as earliest spring!); but beyond the bud evidences the trees seemed to be silent on the subject. Various herbs showed lusty beginnings, and the skunk-cabbage, of course, had pushed up its tropical richness in defiance of any late frost, pointing the way to its peculiar red-purple flowers, long since fertilized and turning toward maturity. The search seemed vain, until a glint of yellow just ahead, too deep to proceed from the spice-bush I was expecting to find, drew me to the very edge of the water, there to see hanging over and reflected in the stream a mass of golden catkins. Looking closely, and touching the little tree, I disengaged a cloud of pollen and a score of courageous bees, evidently much more pleased with the sweet birch than with the near-by skunk-cabbage flowers. Sweet birch it was; the stiff catkins, that had all winter held themselves in readiness, had just burst into bloom with the sun's first warmth, introducing a glint of bright color into the landscape, and starting the active double work of the bees, in fertilizing flowers while gathering honey, that was not to be intermitted for a single sunshine hour all through the season. A little later, along the great Susquehanna, I found in full bloom other trees of this same birch, beloved of boys--and of girls--for its aromatic bark. Certainly picturesque and bright, the little trees were a delight to the winter-wearied eye, the mahogany twigs and the golden catkins, held at poise over the water, being full of spring suggestion. All of the birches--I wish I knew them better!--are good to look at, and I think the bees, the woodpeckers, the humming-birds and other wood folk must find some of them good otherwise. At Eagles Mere there was a yellow birch in the bark of which scores of holes had been drilled by the woodpeckers or the bees, at regularly spaced intervals, to let the forest life drink at will of the sweet sap. I remember also that my attempt to photograph a score of bees, two large brown butterflies and one humming-bird, all in attendance upon this birch feast, was a surprising failure. I secured a picture of the holes in the bark, to be sure, but the rapidly moving insect and bird life was too quick for an exposure of even a fraction of a second, and my negative was lifeless. These same yellow birches, picturesque in form, ragged in light-colored bark, give a brightness all their own to the deep forest, mostly of trees with rather somber bark. A woodsman told me one summer of the use of old birch bark for starting a fire in the wet woods, and I have since enjoyed collecting the bark from fallen trees in the forest. It strips easily, in large pieces, from decayed stems, and when thrown on an open fire, produces a cheery and beautiful blaze, as well as much heat; while, if cunningly handled, by its aid a fire can be kindled even in a heavy rain. [Illustration: Sweet birch in early spring] The great North Woods show us wonderful birches. Paddling through one of the Spectacle ponds, along the Racquette river, one early spring day, I came upon a combination of white pine, red pine, and paper-birch that was simply dazzling in effect. This birch has bark, as every one knows, of a shining creamy white. Not only its color, but its tenacity, resistance to decay, and wonderful divisibility, make this bark one of the most remarkable of nature's fabrics. To the Indian and the trapper it has long been as indispensable as is the palm to the native of the tropics. [Illustration: Yellow birches] There are other good native birches, and one foreigner--the true white birch--whose cut-leaved form, a familiar lawn tree of drooping habit, is worth watching and liking. The name some of the nurserymen have given it, of "nine-bark," is significantly accurate, for at least nine layers may be peeled from the glossy whiteness of the bark of a mature tree. I intend to know more of the birches, and to see how the two kinds of flowers act to produce the little fruits, which are nuts, though they hardly look so. And I would urge my tree-loving friends to plant about their homes these cheery and most elegantly garbed trees. The spice-bush, of which I spoke above, is really a large shrub, and is especially notable for two things--the way it begins the spring, and the way it ends the fall. About my home, it is the first of wild woods trees to bloom, except perhaps the silver maple, which has a way of getting through with its flowers unnoticed before spring is thought of. One finds the delicate little bright yellow flowers of the spice-bush clustered thickly along the twigs long before the leaves are ready to brave the chill air. After the leaves have fallen in the autumn, these flowers stand out in a reincarnation of scarlet and spicy berries, which masquerade continually as holly berries when cunningly introduced amid the foliage of the latter. Between spring and fall the spice-bush is apparently invisible. [Illustration: Flowers of the spice-bush] [Illustration: Leaves and berries of the American holly] How many of us, perfectly familiar with "the holly berry's glow" about Christmas time, have ever seen a whole tree of holly, set with berries? Yet the trees, sometimes fifty feet high, of American holly--and this is very different from the English holly in leaf--grow all along the Atlantic sea-board, from Maine to Florida, and are especially plenty south of Maryland and Delaware. There is one superb specimen in Trenton, New Jersey's capital, which is of the typical form, and when crowded with scarlet berries it is an object of great beauty. One reason why many of us have not seen holly growing in the wild is that it seems to prefer the roughest and most inaccessible locations. Years ago I was told that I might see plenty of holly growing freely in the Pennsylvania county of my home. "But," my informant added, "you will need to wear heavy leather trousers to get to it!" The nurserymen are removing this difficulty by growing plants of all the hollies--American, Japanese, English and Himalayan--so that they may easily be set in the home grounds, with their handsome evergreen foliage and their berries of red or black. [Illustration: American holly tree at Trenton, N. J.] One spring, the season and my opportunities combined to provide a most pleasing feast of color in the tree quest. It was afforded by the juxtaposition at Conewago of the bloom-time of the deep pink red-bud, miscalled "Judas tree," and the large white dogwood,--both set against the deep, almost black green of the American cedar, or juniper. These two small trees, the red-bud and the dogwood, are of the class of admirable American natives that are notable rather for beauty and brightness of bloom than for tree form or size. The common dogwood--_Cornus florida_ of the botany--appears in bloom insidiously, one might say; for the so-called flowers open slowly, and they are green in color, and easily mistaken for leaves, after they have attained considerable size. Gradually the green pales to purest white, and the four broad bracts, with the peculiar little pucker at the end of each, swell out from the real flowers, which look like stamens, to a diameter of often four inches. With these flowers clustered thickly on the usually flat, straight branches, the effect against the green or brown of near-by trees is startling. The dogwood's horizontal branching habit makes every scrap of its lovely white blooms effective to the beholder on the ground below, but far more striking if one may see it from above, as looking down a hillside. Though the dogwood blooms before its leaves are put forth, the foliage sometimes catches up with the flowers; and this foliage is itself a pleasure, because of its fineness and its regular venation, or marking with ribs. In the fall, when the flowers of purest white have been succeeded by oblong berries of brightest scarlet, the foliage remains awhile to contrast with the brilliance of the fruit. The frosts soon drop the leaves, and then the berries stand out in all their attractiveness, offering food to every passing bird, and thus carrying out another of nature's cunning provisions for the reproduction of the species. Seeds in the crops of birds travel free and far, and some fall on good ground! Is it not sad to know that the brave, bold dogwood, holding out its spring flag of truce from arduous weather, and its autumn store of sustenance for our feathered friends, is in danger of extinction from the forest because its hardy, smooth, even-grained white wood has been found to be especially available in the "arts"? I feel like begging for the life of every dogwood, as too beautiful to be destroyed for any mere utility. [Illustration: Floral bracts or involucres of the dogwood] I have been wondering as to the reason for the naming of the cornuses as dogwoods, and find in Bailey's great Cyclopedia of Horticulture the definite statement that the name was attached to an English red-branched species because a decoction of the bark was used to wash mangy dogs! This is but another illustration of the inadequacy and inappropriateness of "common" names. There are many good dogwoods--the Cornus family is admirable, both in its American and its foreign members--but I must not become encyclopedic in these sketches of just a few tree favorites. I will venture to mention one shrub dogwood--I never heard its common name, but it has three botanical names (_Cornus sericea_, or _coerulea_, or _Amomum_, the latter preferred) to make up for the lack. It ought to be called the blue-berried dogwood, by reason of its extremely beautiful fruit, which formed a singular and delightful contrast to the profusion of red and scarlet fruits so much in evidence, one September day, in Boston's berry-full Franklin Park. [Illustration: The red-bud in bloom] The red-bud, as I have said, is miscalled Judas-tree, the tradition being that it was on a tree of this family, but not of the American branch, happily and obviously, that the faithless disciple hanged himself after his final interview with the priests who had played upon his cupidity. Indeed, tradition is able to tell even now marvelous stories to travelers, and not long ago I was more amused than edified to hear an eloquent clergyman just returned from abroad tell how he had been shown the fruits of the Judas-tree, "in form like beautiful apples, fair to the eye, but within bitter and disappointing;" and he moralized just as vigorously on this fable as if it had been true, as he thought it. He didn't particularly relish the suggestion that the pulpit ought to be fairly certain of its facts, whether of theology or of science, in these days; but he succumbed to the submission of authority for the statement that the Eastern so-called Judas-tree, _Cercis siliquastrum_, bore a small pod, like a bean, and was not unpleasant, any more than the pod was attractive. I mention this only in reprobation of the unpleasant name that really hurts the estimation of one of the most desirable and beautiful of America's smaller trees. The American red-bud is a joy in the spring about dogwood time, for it is all bloom, and of a most striking color. Deep pink, or purplish light red, or clear bright magenta--all these color names fit it approximately only. One is conscious of a warm glow in looking toward the little trees, with every branch clear down to the main stem not only outlined but covered with richest color. There is among the accompanying illustrations (page 201) a photograph of a small but characteristic red-bud in bloom, looking at which reminds me of one of the pleasantest experiences of my outdoor life. With a cameristic associate, I was in a favorite haunt, seeing dogwoods and red-buds and other things of spring beauty, when a sudden warm thunder shower overtook us. Somewhat protected in our carriage--and it would have been more fun if we had stood out to take the rain as comfortably as did the horse--we saw the wonder of the reception of a spring shower by the exuberant plant life we were there to enjoy. When the clouds suddenly obscured the sky, and the first drops began to fall, the soft new umbrellas of the May-apples, raised to shield the delicate white flowers hidden under them from the too ardent sunshine, reversed the usual method by closing tightly and smoothly over the blooms, thus protecting perfectly their pollen hearts, and offering little resistance to the sharp wind that brought the rain. At our very feet we could see the open petals of the spring beauty coil up into tight little spirals, the young leaves on the pin-oaks draw in toward the stems from which they had been expanding. Over the low fence, the blue phlox, that dainty carpeting of the May woods, shut its starry flowers, and lay close to the ground. Quiet as we were, we could see the birds find sheltered nooks in the trees about us. But soon the rain ceased, the clouds passed away, and the sun shone again, giving us a rainbow promise on the passing drops. Everything woke up! The birds were first to rejoice, and a veritable oratorio of praise and joyfulness sounded about our ears. The leaves quickly expanded, fresher than ever; the flowers uncurled and unfolded, the May-apple umbrellas raised again; and all seemed singing a song as joyous as that of the birds, though audible only to the nerves of eye and brain of the human beings who had thus witnessed another of nature's interior entertainments. How much we miss by reason of fear of a little wetting! Many of the finest pictures painted by the Master of all art are visible only in rain and in mist; and the subtlest coloring of tree leaf and tree stem is that seen only when the dust is all washed away by the shower that should have no terrors for those who care for the truths of nature. In these days of rain-proof clothing, seeing outdoors in the rain is not even attended by the slightest discomfort, and I have found my camera quite able to stand a shower! Another of the early spring-flowering small trees--indeed, the earliest one that blooms in white--is the shad-bush, or service-berry. Again the "common" names are trifling and inadequate; shad-bush because the flowers come when the shad are ascending the rivers along which the trees grow, and service-berry because the pleasant fruits are of service, perhaps! June-berry, another name, is better; but the genus owns the mellifluous name of Amelanchier, and the term Canadensis belongs to the species with the clouds of little white flowers shaped like a thin-petaled star. The shad-bush blooms with the trilliums--but I may not allow the spring flowers to set me spinning on another hank! [Illustration: Blooms of the shad-bush] Searching for early recollections of trees, I remember, when a boy of six or seven, finding some little green berries or fruits, each with its long stem, on the pavement under some great trees in the Capitol Park of my home town. I could eat these; and thus they pleased the boy as much as the honey-sweet flowers that gave rise to them now please the man. The noble American linden, one of the really great trees of our forests, bears these delicate whitish flowers, held in rich clusters from a single stem which is attached for part of its length to a curious long green bract. If these flowers came naked on the tree, as do those of the Norway maple, for instance, they would be easily seen and admired of men, but being withheld until the splendid heart-shaped foliage is well out, the blooms miss the casual eye. But the bees see them; they know the linden for their own, and great stores of sweetest honey follow a year when abundant pasture of these flowers is available. [Illustration: Flowers of the American linden] A kindly tree is this linden, or lime, or basswood, to give it all its common names. Kindly as well as stately, but never rugged as the oak, or of obvious pliant strength as the hickory. The old tree invites to shade under its limbs crowded with broad leaves; the young tree is lusty of growth and clean of bark, a model of rounded beauty and a fine variant from the overworked maples of our streets. Again, the tale of woe! for the great lindens of our forests are nearly all gone. Too useful for timber; too easy to fell; its soft, smooth, even wood too adaptable to many uses! Cut them all; strip the bark for "bast," or tying material; America is widening; the sawmills cannot be idle; scientific and decent forestry, so successful and so usual in Europe, is yet but a dream for future generations here in America! But other lindens, those of Europe especially, are loved of the landscape architect and the Germans. "Unter den Linden," Berlin's famous street, owes its name, fame and shade to the handsome European species, the white-lined leaves of which turn up in the faintest breeze, to show silvery against the deep green of their upper surfaces. Very many of these fine lindens are being planted now in America by landscape architects, and there are some lindens on Long Island just as prim and trim as any in Berlin. Indeed, there is a sort of German "offiziere" waxed-mustache air of superiority about them, anyway! [Illustration: The American linden] There is an all-pervading Middle States tree that I might give a common name to as the "fence-post tree," because it is so often grown for that use only, by reason of its enduring timber and its exceeding vigor under hard usage. Yet the common black locust is one of the most distinct and pleasing American trees of moderate height. Distinct it is in its framework in winter, mayhap with the twisted pods of last season's fruits hanging free; distinct again in its long-delayed late-coming acacia-like foliage; but fragrant, elegant and beautiful, as well as distinct, when in June it sets forth its long, drooping racemes of whitest and sweetest flowers. These come only when warm weather is an assured fact, and the wise Pennsylvania Germans feel justified in awaiting the blooming of the locust before finally discarding their winter underclothing! For years a family of my knowledge has held it necessary, for its proper conduct, to have in order certain floral drives. First the apple blossom drive introduces the spring, and the lilac drive confirms the impression that really the season is advancing; but the locust drive is the sweetest of all, taking these nature lovers along some shady lanes, beside the east bank of a great river, and in places where, the trees planted only for the fence utility of the hard yellow wood, these fragrant flowers, hanging in grace and elegance far above the highway, have redeemed surroundings otherwise sordid and mean. [Illustration: Flowers of the black locust] I want Americans to prize the American locust for its real beauty. The French know it, and show with pride their trifling imported specimens. We cannot exterminate the trees, and there will be plenty for posts, too; but let us realize its sweetness and elegance, as well as the durability of its structure. [Illustration: Young trees of the black locust] There are fashions in trees, if you please, and the nurserymen set them. Suddenly they discover the merits of some long-forgotten tree, and it jumps into prominence. Thus, only a few years ago, the pin-oak came into vogue, to the lasting benefit of some parks, avenues and home grounds. Then followed the sycamore, but it had to be the European variety, for our own native "plane tree," or "button-ball," is too plentiful and easy to sing much of a tree-seller's song about. This Oriental plane is a fine tree, however, and the avenue in Fairmount Park that one may see from trains passing over the Schuylkill river is admirable. The bark is mottled in green, and especially bright when wet with rain. As the species is free from the attacks of a nasty European "bug," or fungus, which is bothering the American plane, it is much safer to handle, commercially. But our stately American sycamore is in a different class. One never thinks of it as a lawn tree, or as bordering a fashionable roadway; rather the expectation is to find it along a brook, in a meadow, or in some rather wild and unkempt spot. As one of the scientific books begins of it, "it is a tree of the first magnitude." I like that expression; for the sycamore gives an impression of magnitude and breadth; it spreads out serenely and comfortably. My friend Professor Bailey says _Platanus occidentalis_, which is the truly right name of this tree, has no title to the term sycamore; it is properly, as his Cyclopedia gives it, Buttonwood, or Plane. Hunting about a little among tree books, I find the reason for this, and that it explains another name I have never understood. The sycamore of the Bible, referred to frequently in the Old Testament, traditionally mentioned as the tree under which Joseph rested with Mary and the young child on the way to Egypt, and into which Zaccheus climbed to see what was going on, was a sort of fig tree--"Pharaoh's Fig," in fact. When the mystery-plays of the centuries gone by were produced in Europe, the tree most like to what these good people thought was the real sycamore furnished the branches used in the scene-setting--and it was either the oriental plane, or the sycamore-leaved maple that was chosen, as convenient. The name soon attached itself to the trees; and when homesick immigrants looked about the new world of America for some familiar tree, it was easy enough to see a great similarity in our buttonwood, which thus soon became sycamore. [Illustration: The sycamore, or button-ball] So much for information, more or less legendary, I confess; but the great tree we are discussing is very tangible. Indeed, it is always in the public eye; for it carries on a sort of continuous disrobing performance! The snake sheds his skin rather privately, and comes forth in his new spring suit all at once; the oak and the maple, and all the rest of them continually but invisibly add new bark between the splitting or stretching ridges of the old; but our wholesome friend the sycamore is quite shamelessly open about it, dropping off a plate or a patch here and there as he grows and swells, to show us his underwear, which thus at once becomes overcoat, as he goes on. At first greenish, the under bark thus exposed becomes creamy white, mostly; and I have had a conceit that the colder the winter, the whiter would be those portions of Mr. Buttonball's pajamas he cared to expose to us the next spring! [Illustration: Button-balls--fruit of the sycamore] The leaves of the sycamore are good to look at, and efficient against the sun. The color above is not as clear and sharp as that of the maple; underneath the leaves are whitish, and soft, or "pubescent," as the botanical term goes. Quite rakishly pointed are the tips, and the whole effect, in connection with the balls,--which are first crowded clusters of flowers, and then just as crowded clusters of seeds--is that of a gentleman of the old school, dignified in his knee-breeches and cocked hat, fully aware that he is of comfortable importance! Those little button-balls that give name to this good American tree follow the flower clusters without much change of form--they _were_ flowers, they _are_ seeds--and they stay by the tree persistently all winter, blowing about in the sharp winds. After a while one is banged often enough to open its structure, and then the carrying wind takes on its wings the neat little cone-shaped seeds, each possessed of its own silky hairs to help float it gently toward the ground--and thus is another of nature's curious rounds of distribution completed. A tree is never without interest to those whose eyes have been opened to some of the wonders and perfections of nature. Nevertheless, there is a time in the year's round when each tree makes its special appeal. It may be in the winter, when every twig is outlined sharply against the cold sky, and the snow reflects light into the innermost crevices of its structure, that the elm is most admirable. When the dogwood has on its white robe in May and June, it then sings its song of the year. The laden apple tree has a pure glory of the blossoms, and another warmer, riper glory of the burden of fruit, but we think most kindly of its flowering time. Some trees maintain such a continuous show of interest and beauty that it is difficult to say on any day, "_Now_ is this tulip or this oak at its very finest!" Again, the spring redness of the swamp maple is hardly less vivid than its mature coloring of the fall. But as to the liquidambar, or sweet-gum, there can be no question. Interesting and elegant the year round, its autumn covering of polished deep crimson starry leaves is so startlingly beautiful and distinct as to almost take it out of comparison with any other tree. Others have nearly the richness of color, others again show nearly the elegance of leaf form, but no one tree rivals completely the sweet-gum at the time when the autumn chill has driven out all the paleness in its leaf spectrum, leaving only the warm crimson that seems for awhile to defy further attacks of frost. As to shape, the locality settles that; for, a very symmetrical small to maximum-sized tree in the North and on high dry places, in the South and in wet places north it becomes another "tree of the first magnitude," wide-spreading and heavy. A stellar comparison seems to fit, because of these wonderful leaves. They struck me at first, hunting photographs one day, as some sort of a maple; but what maple could have such perfection of star form? A maple refined, perfected, and indeed polished, one might well think, for while other trees have shining leaves, they are dull in comparison with the deep-textured gloss of these of the sweet-gum. [Illustration: The liquidambar] Here, too, is a tree for many places; an adaptable, cosmopolitan sort of arboreal growth. At its full strength of hard, solid, time-defying wooded body on the edge of some almost inaccessible swamp of the South, where its spread-out roots and ridgy branches earn for it another common name as the "alligator tree," it is in a park or along a private driveway at the North quite the acme of refined tree elegance, all the summer and fall. It takes on a rather narrow, pyramidal head, broadening as it ages, but never betraying kin with its fellow of the swamp, save perhaps when winter has bared its peculiar winged and strangely "corky" branches. [Illustration: The star-shaped leaves and curious fruits of the liquidambar, late in the summer.] These odd branches bear, on some trees particularly, a noticeable ridge, made up of the same substance which in the cork-oak of Europe furnishes the bottle-stoppers of commerce. It makes the winter structure of the sweet-gum most distinct and picturesque, which appearance is accentuated by the interesting little seed-balls, or fruits, rounded and spiny, that hang long from the twigs. These fruits follow quickly an inconspicuous flower that in April or May has made its brief appearance, and they add greatly to the general attractiveness of the tree on the lawn, to my mind. Years ago I first made acquaintance with the liquidambar, as it ought always to be called, one wet September day, when an old tree-lover took me out on his lawn to see the rain accentuate the polish on the starry leaves and drip from the little many-pointed balls. I found that day that a camera would work quite well under an umbrella, and I obtained also a mind-negative that will last, I believe, as long as I can think of trees. The next experience was in another state, where a quaint character, visited on business, struck hands with me on tree-love, and took me to see his pet liquidambar at the edge of a mill-pond. That one was taller, and quite stately; it made an impression, deepened again when the third special showing came, this time on a college campus, the young tree being naked and corky, and displayed with pride by the college professor who had gotten out of his books into real life for a joyous half day. He wasn't the botany professor, if you please; that dry-as-dust gentleman told me, when I inquired as to what I might find in early bloom, or see with the eyes of an ignorant plant-lover, that there was "nothing blooming, and nothing of interest." He added that he had a fine herbarium where I might see all the plants I wanted, nicely dried and spread out with pins and pasters, their roots and all! Look at _dead_ plants, their roots indecently exposed to mere curiosity, on a bright, living early April day? Not much! I told my trouble to the professor of agriculture, whose eyes brightened, as he informed me he had no classes for that morning, and--"We would see!" We _did_ see a whole host of living things outdoors,--flowers peeping out; leaves of the willows, just breaking; buds ready to burst; all nature waiting for the sun's call of the "grand entrée." It was a good day; but I pitied that poor old dull-eyed herbarium specimen of a botanical professor, in whose veins the blood was congealing, when everything about called on him to get out under the rays of God's sun, and study, book in hand if he wanted, the bursting, hurrying facts of the imminent spring. But a word more about the liquidambar--the name by which I hope the tree we are discussing may be talked of and thought of. Old Linnæus gave it that name, because it described euphoniously as well as scientifically the fact that the sap which exudes from this fine American tree _is_ liquid amber. Now isn't that better than "gum" tree? With trees in general as objects of interest, I have always felt a special leaning toward tropical trees, probably because they were rare, and indeed not to be seen outside of the conservatory in our Middle States. My first visit to Florida was made particularly enjoyable by reason of the palms and bananas there to be seen, and I have by no means lost the feeling of admiration for the latter especially. In Yucatan there were to be seen other and stranger growths and fruits, and the novelty of a great cocoanut grove is yet a memory not eclipsed by the present-day Floridian and Bahamian productions of the same sort. It was, therefore, with some astonishment that I came to know, a few years ago, more of a little tree bearing a fruit that had been familiar from my boyhood, but which I was then informed was the sole northern representative of a great family of tropical fruits, and which was fairly called the American banana. The papaw it was; a fruit all too luscious and sweet, when fully ripe in the fall, for most tastes, but appealing strongly to the omnivorous small boy. I suppose most of my readers know its banana-like fruits, four or five inches long, green outside, but filled with soft and sweet aromatic yellow pulp, punctuated by several fat bean-like seeds. [Illustration: The papaw in bloom] But it is the very handsome and distinct little tree, with its decidedly odd flowers, I would celebrate, rather than the fruits. This tree, rather common to shady places in eastern America as far north as New York, is worth much attention, and worth planting for its spreading richness of foliage. The leaves are large, and seem to carry into the cold North a hint of warmth and of luxuriant growth not common, by any means--I know of only one other hardy tree, the cucumber magnolia, with an approaching character. The arrangement of these handsome papaw leaves on the branches, too, makes the complete mass of regularly shaped greenery that is the special characteristic of this escape from the tropics; and, since I have seen the real papaw of the West Indies in full glory, I am more than ever glad for the handsomer tree that belongs to the regions of cold and vigor. [Illustration: Flowers of the papaw] The form of our papaw, or _Asimina triloba_--the botanical name is rather pleasing--is noticeable, and as characteristic as its leafage. See these side branches, leaving the slender central stem with a graceful up-curve, but almost at once swinging down, only to again curve upward at the ends! Are they not graceful? Such branches as these point nature's marvelous engineering, to appreciate which one needs only to try to imagine a structure of equal grace and efficiency, made with any material of the arts. How awkward and clumsy steel would be, or other metal! Along these swinging curved branches, as we see them in the April winds, there appear hints of the leaf richness that is to come--but something else as well. These darkest purple-red petals, almost black, as they change from the green of their opening hue, make up the peculiar flowers of the papaw. There is gold in the heart of the flower, not hid from the bees, and there is much of interest for the seeker for spring knowledge as well; though I advise him not to smell the flowers. Almost the exact antithesis of the dogwood is the bloom of this tree; for, both starting green when first unfolded from the buds, the papaw's flowers advance through browns and yellows, dully mingled, to the deep vinous red of maturity. The dogwood's final banner of white is unfolded through its progress of greens, about the same time or a little later. A pleasant and peculiar small tree is this papaw, not nearly so well known or so highly esteemed as it ought to be. Another tree with edible fruits--but here there will be a dispute, perhaps!--is the persimmon. I mean the American persimmon, indissolubly associated in our own Southland with the darky and the 'possum, but also well distributed over Eastern North America as far north as Connecticut. The botanical name of the genus is Diospyros, liberally translated as "fruit of the gods," or "Jove's fruit." If his highness of Olympus was, by any chance, well acquainted with our 'simmon just before frost, he must have had a copper-lined mouth, to choose it as his peculiar fruit! Making a moderate-sized tree of peculiar and pleasing form, its branches twisting regardless of symmetry, the persimmon in Pennsylvania likes the country roadsides, especially along loamy banks. Here it has unequaled opportunity for hanging out its attractively colored fruits. As one drives along in early fall, just before hard frost, these fine-looking little tomato-like globes of orange and red are advertised in the wind by the absence of the early dropping foliage. They look luscious and tempting; indeed, they _are_ tempting! Past experience--you need but one--had prepared me for this "bunko" fruit; but my friend would not believe me, one day in early October--he must taste for himself. Taste he did, and generously, for the first bite is pleasing, and does not alarm, wherefore he had time, before his insulted nerves of mouth and tongue gave full warning, to absorb two of the 'simmons. Whew! What a face he made when the puckering juice got to work, and convinced him that he had been sucking a disguised lump of alum. Choking and gasping, he called for the water we were far from; and _he_ won't try an unfrosted persimmon again! My clerical friend who brought home the fairy tale about the red-bud, or Judas-tree, might well have based his story on the American persimmon, but for the fact that this puckery little globe, so brilliant and so deceptive before frost, loses both its beauty and its astringency when slightly frozen. Then its tender flesh is suave and delicious, and old Jove might well choose it for his own. [Illustration: The persimmon tree in fruiting time] But the tree--that is a beauty all summer, with its shining leaves, oblong, pointed and almost of the magnolia shape. It will grace any situation, and is particularly one of the trees worth planting along highways, to relieve the monotony of too many maples, ashes, horse-chestnuts and the like, and to offer to the passer-by a tempting fruit of which he will surely not partake too freely when it is most attractive. I read that toward the Western limit of its range the persimmon, in Louisiana, Eastern Kansas and the Indian Territory, becomes another tree of the first magnitude, towering above a hundred feet. This would be well worth seeing! There is another persimmon in the South, introduced from Japan, the fruits of which are sold on the fruit-stands of Philadelphia, Boston and New York. This, the "kaki" of Japan, is a small but business-like tree, not substantially hardy north of Georgia, which provides great quantities of its beautiful fruits, rich in coloring and sweet to the taste, and varying greatly in size and form in its different varieties. These 'simmons do not need the touch of frost, nor do they ever attain the fine, wild, high flavor of the frost-bitten Virginian fruits; the tree that bears them has none of the irregular beauty of our native persimmon, nor does it approach in size to that ornament of the countryside. * * * * * And now, in closing these sketches, I become most keenly sensible of their deficiencies. Purely random bits they are, coming from a busy man, and possessing the one merit of frankness. Deeply interested in trees, but lacking the time for continuous study, I have been turning my camera and my eyes upon the growths about me, asking questions, mentally recording what I could see, and, while thankful for the rest and the pleasure of the pursuit, always sorry not to go more fully into proper and scientific tree knowledge. At times my lack in this respect has made me ashamed to have written at all upon trees; but with full gratitude to the botanical explorers whose labors have made such superficial observations as mine possible, I venture to send forth these sketches, without pretension as to the statement of any new facts or features. [Illustration: Berries of the spice-bush] If anything I have here set down shall induce among those who have looked and read with me from nature's open book the desire to go more deeply into the fascinating tree lore that always awaits and inevitably rewards the effort, I shall cry heartily, "God-speed!" Index Illustrations are indicated by a prefixed asterisk (*). For botanical names, see page 239. Acorn, beginning of, 27. Alligator tree, 221. Amelanchier, 205. American trees in Europe, 133. Apple blossoms, 75, 80. Apple, beauty of fruiting branch, 91 Apple, Chinese flowering, 90. Apple, Crab, 80. Apple trees, fruiting, 93; in blossom, *81. Apples, 73. Apples, Ben Davis, Bellefleur, Baldwin, Early Harvest, Red Astrachan, 93; Rhode Island Greening, 76; Winesap, fruit, *75. Apple orchard in winter, *78. Apples, Crab, fruit-cluster, *73. Apples, propagation of, 88. Arnold Arboretum, 57, 89. Aspen, American, 121. Aspen, Large-toothed, 121. Aspen, Trembling (poplar), 121. Bailey, Prof. L. H., quoted, 125. Balm of Gilead, 118. Beech, American, *177, 178. Beech, birth of leaves, 179. Bill-boards, 179. Birch-bark for fuel, 190. Birch, Paper, 190. Birch, Sweet, 188, *185, *191. Birch, White, 193. Birch, Yellow, 189, *192. Butternut, 164. Buttonball, *215. Buttonwood, 214. Cathedral Woods (pines), 68. Cedar, White, 71. Cherry, Wild, 176. Chestnut, American Sweet, 166, *165. Chestnut burs, *157. Chestnut grove in fall, 168. Chestnut, Sweet, blossoms, *167. Chinquapin, 169, *170. Cocoanut, 182. Common names, 146. Cones of the pines, 64. Cornus sericea, 200. Cottonwood (poplar), 125. Crab-apple, 80; Floribunda, 92; Parkman's, 88; Siberian, 89; Spectabilis, *84. Crab-apple, Wild, 85. Crab-apples, Chinese and Japanese, 88; Ringo, Kaido, Toringo, 93. Crab, Wild, 83. Crab, Soulard, 86. Crab, Wild, fruit, *87. Cypress, 72. Diospyros, 229. Dogwood berries, *187. Dogwood, Blue-berried, 200. Dogwood, White, 197, *199. Elkwood, 20. Elm and the Tulip, 131. Elm, American, *ix, 134, *136, 137, 139. Elm at Capitol Park, 141. Elm, English, 142; *143. Elm lawn, 138. Elm, Slippery, 142; seed-pods, *131. Elm, Wahoo or Winged, 144. Elms, Paul and Virginia, 141. Fence-post tree (locust), 210. Fernow, Dr., on pines, 52. Filbert, 181. Fir, Balsam, 70. Fir, Nordmann's, 65. Firs, 65. Fruit trees for beauty, 82. Goat Island, plants on, 113. Habenaria, Round-leaved, 54. Hazelnut, 181. Hemlock, 55. Hemlock Hill, *56. Hickory, False Shagbark, 176. Hickory, Mockernut, 176. Hickory, Pignut, 176. Hickory, Shagbark, 171, *173. Hollies, Japanese, English, Himalayan, 195. Holly, American, 194, *196. Holly, leaves and berries, *195. Johnny Appleseed, 87. Judas-tree, 201. Judas-tree, Eastern, 202. June-berry, 205. Juniper, Common, 71. Kaki, 233. Keeler, Miss, quoted, 117. Linden, American, 206; flowers, *207, *209. Linden, European, 208. Liquidambar, 219, *220; fruits, *222. Liriodendron, 145; candlesticks, 147; buds opening, 149; flowers of, *150, 153. Liriodendrons in Washington, 152. Locust, Black, 210; flowers, *211. Locust, young trees, *212. Maple, Ash-leaved, Box-elder, or Negundo, 17; flowers, *17; in bloom, *19. Maple, Black, 22. Maple, Japanese, 23. Maple, Large-leaved, 22. Maple, Mountain, 21. Maple, Norway, 8; bloom, *9; samaras, *1. Maple, Red, Scarlet or Swamp, 6; young leaves, *7. Maple, Silver, 4; flowers, *4; samaras, *3. Maple, Striped, 20, *21. Maple, Sugar, 10; samaras, *11. Maple, Sycamore, *13, 15; blossoms, *15. Maples, A Story of Some, 1. Moosewood, 20. Niagara, plants and trees, 111. Nut-bearing Trees, 157. Oak, Chestnut, 42; flowers, *25. Oak, English, 33, 46; acorns, *47. Oak, The Growth of the, 25. Oak, Laurel, 43. Oak, Live, 45. Oak, Mossy Cup or Bur, 38. Oak, Pin, 30; acorns, *27; flowers, *31. Oak, Post, *39, 40. Oak, Swamp White, 38; flowers, *41; in early spring, *36; in winter, *29. Oak, White, 33. Oak, Willow, 42. Oaks, blooming of, 28. Oaks in Georgia, 44. Oaks, Red, Black, Scarlet, 46. Orchard, apple, 77. Papaw, 225; flowers, *227; in bloom, *226. Paxtang walnut, 160. Pecan, 176; nuts, *159. Persimmons, American, 229. Persimmon, Japanese, *v, 232. Persimmon tree in fruit, *231. Pine, Austrian, 64. Pine, Jack, 64. Pine, Long-leaved or Southern, 63; forest, *61; young trees, *62. Pine on Indian River, *53. Pine, Pitch, 64. Pine, Red, 59. Pine, Scrub, 64. Pine, White, *vii, 59; cone, *51. Pines of America, 58. Pines, The, 49. Pines, White, avenue of, *67. Plane, Oriental, 213. Plane-tree, 213. Poplar, Aspen, 121. Poplar, Balsam, or Balm of Gilead, 118. Poplar, Carolina, 122; as street tree, *123; blooming of, 124; flowers, *95. Poplar, Cottonwood, 125; in winter, *126. Poplar, Lombardy, 128, *129. Poplar, White or Silver-leaved, 125. Poplar, Yellow, 145. Poplars (and Willows), 95, 118. Poplars for pulp-making, 128. Poplars, White, in spring, *119. Pyrus family, 89. Rain, flowers in, 203. Red-bud, 201; in bloom, *201. Red-woods, 72. Salicylic acid from willows, 99. Salix, genus (Willows), 117. Sargent, Prof. Charles S., 92. Sequoias, 72. Service-berry, 205. Shad-bush, 205; flowers, *206. Skunk-cabbage, 188. Some Other Trees, 185. Spice-bush, 193; flowers, *194; berries, 234. Spruce, Colorado Blue, 65. Spruce, Norway, 69; cones, *49. Spruce, White, cones, *71. Spruces, 65. Squirrels as nut-eaters, *179. Strobiles (cones) of spruce, 69. Sweet-gum, 219. Sycamore, 214, *215; fruits, *217. Tree-warden law, 35. Tropical trees, 225. Tulip (and Elm), 131, 145. Tulip flowers, *133; structure of, 148. Tulip tree in winter, *148. Walnut, Black, 160; in winter, *162. Walnut, English or Persian, 164. Walnut, White, 164. Washington, tree planting in, 32. Whitewood, 145. Willow, Basket, 104. Willow, Black, 110. Willow family, contrasts of, 98. Willow, glaucous (pussy), 107. Willow, Goat, 113. Willow, Golden, 111. Willow, Kilmarnock, 113. Willow, Napoleon's, 98. Willow, Pussy, 105; blooms, *97; in park, *106. Willow, Weeping, 102; in early spring, *100; in storm, *103. Willow, White, 108; blossoms, *108, 109; clump, *116; tree by stream, *112. Willows and Poplars, 95. Willows, colors of, 101. Willows, Crack, Yellow, Blue, 107. Willows of Babylon, 97. Witch-hazel, 181; flowers, *181. Botanical Names The standard used in determining the botanical names is Bailey's "Cyclopedia of American Horticulture." COMMON NAME BOTANICAL NAME PAGE Amelanchier Amelanchier Canadensis 205 Aspen, American Populus tremuloides 121 Aspen, Large-toothed Populus grandidentata 121 Beech, American Fagus ferruginea 178 Birch, Paper Betula papyrifera 190 Birch, Sweet Betula lenta 188 Birch, White Betula populifolia 193 Birch, Yellow Betula lutea 189 Butternut Juglans cinerea 164 Buttonball } { 215 Buttonwood }Platanus occidentalis { 214 Chestnut, American Sweet Castanea Americana 166 Chinquapin Castanea pumila 169 Cocoanut Cocos nucifera 182 Cottonwood (poplar) Populus deltoides 125 Crab-apple, Siberian Pyrus baccata 89 Crab-apple, Wild Pyrus coronaria 85 Crab, Soulard Pyrus Soulardi 86 Dogwood, Blue-berried Cornus sericea 200 Dogwood, White Cornus florida 197 Elm, American Ulmus Americana 134 Elm, English Ulmus campestris 142 Elm, Slippery or Red Ulmus fulva 142 Elm, Wahoo or Winged Ulmus alata 144 Filbert Corylus Americana 181 Fir, Balsam Abies balsamea 70 Fir, Nordmann's Abies Nordmanniana 65 Habenaria, Round-leaved Habenaria orbiculata 54 Hazelnut Corylus Americana 181 Hemlock Tsuga Canadensis 55 Hickory, False Shagbark Hicoria glabra, var. 176 microcarpa Hickory, Mockernut Hicoria alba 176 Hickory, Pignut Hicoria glabra 176 Hickory, Shagbark Hicoria ovata 171 Holly, American Ilex opaca 194 Judas-tree Cercis Canadensis 201 Judas-tree, Eastern Cercis Siliquastrum 202 June-berry Amelanchier Botryapium 205 Juniper, Common Juniperus communis 71 Kaki Diospyros Kaki 233 Linden, American Tilia Americana 206 Linden, European Tilia tomentosa 208 Liquidambar Liquidambar styraciflua 219 Liriodendron Liriodendron Tulipifera 145 Locust, Black Robinia Pseudacacia 210 Maple, Ash-leaved, Box-elder or Negundo Acer Negundo 17 Maple, Black Acer nigrum 22 Maple, Japanese Acer palmatum 23 Maple, Large-leaved Acer macrophyllum 22 Maple, Mountain Acer spicatum 21 Maple, Norway Acer platanoides 8 Maple, Red, Scarlet Acer rubrum 6 or Swamp Maple, Silver, White Acer saccharinum 4 or Soft Maple, Striped, Acer Pennsylvanicum 20 of Pennsylvania Maple, Sugar Acer saccharum 10 Maple, Sycamore Acer Pseudo-platanus 15 Oak, Chestnut Quercus Prinus 42 Oak, English Quercus pedunculata 33, 46 Oak, Laurel Quercus laurifolia 43 Oak, Live Quercus Virginiana 45 Oak, Mossy Cup or Bur Quercus macrocarpa 38 Oak, Pin Quercus palustris 30 Oak, Post Quercus stellata 40 Oak, Swamp White Quercus bicolor 38 Oak, White Quercus alba 33 Oak, Willow Quercus Phellos 42 Papaw Asimina triloba 225 Pecan Hicoria Pecan 176 Persimmon, American Diospyros Virginiana 229 Persimmon, Japanese Diospyros Kaki 232 Pine, Austrian Pinus Laricio, var. 64 Austriaca Pine, Long-leaved or Pinus palustris 63 Southern Pine, Pitch Pinus rigida 64 Pine, Red Pinus resinosa 59 Pine, Scrub Pinus Virginiana 64 Pine, White Pinus Strobus 59 Plane, Oriental Platanus orientalis 213 Plane-tree Platanus occidentalis 213 Poplar, Aspen Populus tremuloides 121 Poplar, Balsam, or Populus balsamifera 118 Balm of Gilead Poplar, Carolina Populus deltoides, 122 var. Caroliniana Poplar, Cottonwood Populus deltoides 125 Poplar, Lombardy Populus nigra, 128, *129 var. Italica Poplar, White or Populus alba 125 Silver-leaved Poplar, Yellow Liriodendron 145 Tulipifera Red-bud Cercis Canadensis 201 Service-berry Amelanchier vulgaris 205 Shad-bush Amelanchier 205 Canadensis Skunk-cabbage Spathyema foeetida 188 Spice-bush Benzoin oderiferum 193 Spruce, Colorado Blue Picea pungens 65 Spruce, Norway Picea excelsa 69 Sweet-gum Liquidambar 219 styraciflua Sycamore Platanus occidentalis 214 Walnut, Black Juglans nigra 160 Walnut, English or Juglans regia 164 Persian Walnut, White Juglans cinerea 164 Whitewood Liriodendron 145 Tulipifera Willow, Basket Salix viminalis 104 Willow, Black Salix nigra 110 Willow, Goat Salix Caprea 113 Willow, Golden Salix vitellina 111 Willow, Kilmarnock. Salix Caprea, var. 113 pendula Willow, Pussy Salix discolor 105 Willow, Weeping Salix Babylonica 102 Willow, White Salix alba 108 Witch-hazel Hamamelis Virginiana 181 * * * * * The following pages are advertisements of +------------------------------+ |THE MACMILLAN STANDARD LIBRARY| | | |THE MACMILLAN FICTION LIBRARY | | | |THE MACMILLAN JUVENILE LIBRARY| | | |THE MACMILLAN STANDARD LIBRARY| +------------------------------+ This series has taken its place as one of the most important popular-priced editions. The "Library" includes only those books which have been put to the test of public opinion and have not been found wanting,--books, in other words, which have come to be regarded as standards in the fields of knowledge--literature, religion, biography, history, politics, art, economics, sports, sociology, and belles lettres. 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CRAWFORD--Fair Margaret: A Portrait DAVIS--A Friend of Cæsar. DRUMMOND--The Justice of the King. ELIZABETH AND HER GERMAN GARDEN. GALE--Loves of Pelleas and Etarre. HERRICK--The Common Lot. LONDON--Adventure. LONDON--Burning Daylight LOTI--Disenchanted. LUCAS--Mr. Ingleside. MASON---The Four Feathers. NORRIS--Mother. OXENHAM--The Long Road. PRYOR---The Colonel's Story. REMINGTON--Ermine of the Yellowstone. ROBERTS--Kings in Exile. ROBINS---The Convert. ROBINS--A Dark Lantern. WARD--David Grieve. WELLS--The Wheels of Chance. THE MACMILLAN JUVENILE LIBRARY ALTSHELER--The Horsemen of the Plains. BACON--While Caroline Was Growing. CARROLL--Alice's Adventures and Through the Looking Glass. DIX--A Little Captive Lad. GREENE--Pickett's Gap. LUCAS--Slow Coach. MABIE--Book of Christmas. MAJOR--The Bears of Blue River. MAJOR--Uncle Tom Andy Bill. NESBIT--The Railway Children. WHYTE--The Story Book Girls. WRIGHT--Dream Fox Story Book. WRIGHT--Aunt Jimmy's Will. 
38896	----	[Illustration: [See p. 28 THE HOLLOW TREE AND DEEP WOODS PEOPLE Mr. Crow, Mr. Turtle, Mr. 'Coon, Mr. 'Possum, Mr. Robin, Mr. Squirrel, Mr. Dog, Mr. Rabbit THEN MR. DOG SAID: "I KNOW ALL ABOUT MENAGERIES, FOR I HAVE BEEN TO ONE"] THE HOLLOW TREE SNOWED-IN BOOK BEING A CONTINUATION OF THE STORIES ABOUT THE HOLLOW TREE AND DEEP WOODS PEOPLE BY ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE AUTHOR OF "THE HOLLOW TREE AND DEEP WOODS BOOK" WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. M. CONDÉ [Illustration] NEW YORK AND LONDON HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS M C M X BOOKS BY ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE THE HOLLOW TREE SNOWED-IN BOOK. Crown 8vo $1.50 THE SHIP-DWELLERS. Illustrated 8vo 1.50 THE TENT-DWELLERS. Illustrated Post 8vo 1.50 THE HOLLOW TREE AND DEEP WOODS BOOK. Illustrated. Post 8vo 1.50 FROM VAN-DWELLER TO COMMUTER. Ill'd. Post 8vo 1.50 LIFE OF THOMAS NAST. Ill'd 8vo _net_ 5.00 HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, N. Y. Copyright, 1910, by HARPER & BROTHERS Published October, 1910 _Printed in the United States of America_ TO ALL DWELLERS IN THE BIG DEEP WOODS OF DREAM [Illustration: MAP OF THE HOLLOW TREE AND DEEP WOODS COUNTRY] EXPLANATION OF MAP THE top of the map is South. This is always so with the Hollow Tree People. The cross on the shelf below the edge of the world (where the ladder is) is where Mr. Dog landed, and the ladder is the one brought by Mr. Man for him to climb back on. The tree that Mr. Man cut down shows too. The spot on the edge of the world is where the Hollow Tree People sometimes sit and hang their feet over, and talk. A good many paths show, but not all by a good deal. The bridge and plank near Mr. Turtle's house lead to the Wide Grass Lands and Big West Hills. The spots along the Foot Race show where Grandpaw Hare stopped, and the one across the fence shows where Mr. Turtle landed. Most of the other things tell what they are, and all the things are a good deal farther apart than they look. Of course there was not room on the map for everything. TO FRIENDS OLD AND NEW I WONDER if you have ever heard a story which begins like this: "Once upon a time, in the far depths of the Big Deep Woods, there was a Big Hollow Tree with three hollow branches. In one of these there lived a 'Coon, in another a 'Possum, and in the third a Big Black Crow." That was the way the first story began in a book which told about the Hollow Tree People and their friends of the Big Deep Woods who used to visit them, and how they all used to sit around the table, or by the fire, in the parlor-room down-stairs, where they kept most of their things, and ate and talked and had good times together, just like folk.[A] And the stories were told to the Little Lady by the Story Teller, and there were pictures made for them by the Artist, and it was all a long time ago--so long ago that the Little Lady has grown to be almost a big lady now, able to read stories for herself, and to write them, too, sometimes. But the Story Teller and the Artist did not grow any older. The years do not make any difference to them. Like the Hollow Tree People they remain always the same, for though to see them you might think by their faces and the silver glint in their hair that they are older, it would not be so, because these things are only a kind of enchantment, made to deceive, when all the time they are really with the Hollow Tree People in the Big Deep Woods, where years and enchantments do not count. It was only Mr. Dog, because he lived too much with Mr. Man, who grew old and went away to that Far Land of Evening which lies beyond the sunset, taking so many of the Hollow Tree stories with him. We thought these stories were lost for good when Mr. Dog left us, but that was not true, for there came another Mr. Dog--a nephew of our old friend--and he grew up brave and handsome, and learned the ways of the Hollow Tree People, and their stories, and all the old tales which the first Mr. Dog did not tell. And now, too, there is another Little Lady--almost exactly like the first Little Lady--and it may be that it is this Little Lady, after all, who keeps the Artist and the Story Teller young, for when she thought they might be growing older, and forgetting, she went with them away from the House of Many Windows, in the city, to the House of Low Ceilings and Wide Fireplaces--a queer old house like Mr. Rabbit's--built within the very borders of the Big Deep Woods, where they could be always close to Mr. 'Coon and Mr. 'Possum and the Old Black Crow, and all the others, and so learn all the new tales of the Hollow Tree. FOOTNOTE: [A] _The Hollow Tree and Deep Woods Book_, by the same author and artist. CONTENTS PAGE TO FRIENDS OLD AND NEW 7 THE FIRST SNOWED-IN STORY 15 MR. DOG AT THE CIRCUS 21 THE SECOND SNOWED-IN STORY 39 THE WIDOW CROW'S BOARDING-HOUSE 57 THE FINDING OF THE HOLLOW TREE 71 THE THIRD SNOWED-IN STORY 87 THE FOURTH SNOWED-IN STORY 103 THE "SNOWED-IN" LITERARY CLUB 119 THE "SNOWED-IN" LITERARY CLUB--PART II 143 THE DISCONTENTED FOX 155 MR. 'POSSUM'S GREAT STORY 173 THE BARK OF OLD HUNGRY-WOLF 191 AN EARLY SPRING CALL ON MR. BEAR 219 MR. CROW'S GARDEN 239 WHEN JACK RABBIT WAS A LITTLE BOY 261 A HOLLOW TREE PICNIC 273 ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE THE HOLLOW TREE AND DEEP WOODS PEOPLE _Frontispiece_ MAP OF THE HOLLOW TREE AND DEEP WOODS COUNTRY 4 GATHERING NICE PIECES OF WOOD 17 THE PANTRY IN THE HOLLOW TREE 24 "SLIPPED IN BEHIND HIM WHEN HE WENT INTO THE TENT" 29 "HE LOOKED SMILING AND GOOD-NATURED, AND I WENT OVER TO ASK HIM SOME QUESTIONS" 31 "GAVE ME AN EXTRA BIG SWING AND CRACK" 35 ALL AT ONCE HE HEARD A FIERCE BARK CLOSE BEHIND HIM 43 "THEN I SUDDENLY FELT LIKE A SHOOTING-STAR" 47 "THEN MR. DOG SAID, 'TELL ME ANOTHER'" 49 "AND DID ROLL OFF THE EDGE OF THE WORLD, SURE ENOUGH" 53 "I SET OUT FOR HOME WITHOUT WAITING TO SAY GOOD-BYE" 55 CAME CLATTERING DOWN RIGHT IN FRONT OF MR. DOG 61 SO THEN MR. DOG TRIED TO GET MR. 'POSSUM ON HIS SHOULDER 64 HE WAS AN OLD BACHELOR AND LIKED TO HAVE HIS OWN WAY 67 THEY SAW MR. CROW OUT IN THE YARD CUTTING WOOD FOR HIS MOTHER-IN-LAW 69 HAD TO STAY AT HOME AND PEEL POTATOES 75 LISTENED NOW AND THEN AT WIDOW CROW'S DOOR TO BE SURE SHE WAS ASLEEP 79 MR. 'POSSUM SAID HE'D JUST GET ON AND HOLD THE THINGS 81 MR. 'POSSUM AND MR. 'COON TRIED TO PUT UP THE STOVE 83 MR. FOX SAID HE DIDN'T HAVE MUCH TO DO FOR A FEW MINUTES AND HE'D ACT AS JUDGE 93 SAILING ALONG, JUST TOUCHING THE HIGHEST POINTS 97 AWAY WENT MR. TORTOISE, CLEAR OVER THE TOP RAIL 99 SET OUT FOR HOME BY A BACK WAY 101 TRIED TO SPLICE HIS PROPERTY BACK IN PLACE 107 GRANDFATHER WOULD LIGHT HIS PIPE AND THINK IT OVER 109 SET UP HIS EARS AND WENT BY, LICKETY-SPLIT 111 "'GLAD TO SEE YOU,' SAID KING LION; 'I WAS JUST THINKING ABOUT HAVING A NICE RABBIT FOR BREAKFAST'" 113 GOT AROUND THE TABLE AND BEGAN TO WORK 125 MR. 'POSSUM WANTED TO KNOW WHAT MR. RABBIT MEANT BY SPINNING THEIR TAILS 129 MR. DOG SAID HE HAD MADE A FEW SKETCHES 133 MR. 'POSSUM SAID IT MIGHT BE A GOOD ENOUGH STORY, BUT IT COULDN'T BE TRUE 137 SO THEN MR. RABBIT SAID THEY MUST CHOOSE WHO WOULD BE "IT" 147 MR. 'POSSUM HAD TO PUT ON THE HANDKERCHIEF AND DO MORE EXERCISING THAN ANY OF THEM 149 WOULD FIND IT ON THE MANTEL-SHELF OR PERHAPS ON MR. CROW'S BALD HEAD 152 MR. 'POSSUM SAID HE HADN'T MEANT ANYTHING AT ALL BY WHAT HE HAD SAID ABOUT THE STORY 162 AND SO THIS CAT GREW RICH AND FAT 164 HIS CLERKS 167 A SOLEMN LOOK WAS IN HIS FACE 168 QUOTH HE, "MY PRIDE IS SATISFIED; THIS KINGDOM BUSINESS DOES NOT PAY" 171 AUNT MELISSY HAD ARRANGED A BUNDLE FOR UNCLE SILAS, AND SHE HAD FIXED UP THE HIRED MAN TOO 179 DIDN'T LOOK AS IF SHE BELONGED TO THE REST OF OUR CROWD 181 THE BALLOON WENT OVER THE WIDE BLUE WATER JUST AFTER IT GOT OUR FAMILY 184 MR. TURTLE SAID THAT WHAT MR. 'POSSUM HAD TOLD THEM WAS TRUE 189 ONE DAY MR. CROW FOUND HE WAS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE BARREL OF EVERYTHING 195 THEN MR. 'COON SLAMMED HIS DOOR 199 MR. 'POSSUM SAID NOT TO MOVE, THAT HE WOULD GO AFTER A PIECE OF WOOD 201 HE WOULD SMOKE IN THE SUN WHEN THE MORNINGS WERE FAIR 203 WITH A LOOK AND A SIGH THEY WOULD STAND AND BEHOLD 204 THE TASTIEST PASTRY THAT EVER WAS KNOWN 205 THEN TO STIR AND TO BAKE HE BEGAN RIGHT AWAY 206 THE GREEDY OLD RAVEN, BUT GREEDY NO MORE 208 LOOKED STRAIGHT AT MR. 'POSSUM AND SAID, "WHAT WAS THAT YOU WERE CHEWING JUST NOW?" 211 THEY WENT ALONG, SAYING WHAT A NICE MAN THEY THOUGHT MR. BEAR WAS 224 MR. BEAR MUST HAVE BEEN VERY TIRED AND GONE TO SLEEP RIGHT WHERE HE WAS 226 MR. 'COON SCRATCHED HIS BACK AGAINST A LITTLE BUSH 234 MR. RABBIT THANKED HIM FROM ACROSS THE RIVER 237 ONE SAID IT WAS ONE WAY AND THE OTHER THE OTHER WAY 247 MR. CROW DECIDED TO THIN OUT A FEW OF JACK RABBIT'S THINGS 251 MR. CROW WAS ALMOST AFRAID TO BRING ON THE SALAD 255 JACK RABBIT CAPERED AND LAUGHED ALL THE WAY HOME 259 TOOK HER PARASOL AND HER RETICULE AND A CAN OF BERRIES, AND STARTED 265 AND HE MADE SOME STRIPES, TOO--MOSTLY ON TOP OF THE STOVE 267 LITTLE JACK KNEW PERFECTLY WELL THAT SHE WASN'T AT ALL PLEASED 269 PROMISED NEVER TO DISOBEY HIS MOTHER AGAIN 271 AND HE TASTED OF THAT A LITTLE, TOO 278 MR. 'POSSUM LEANED HIS BACK AGAINST A TREE AND READ HIMSELF TO SLEEP 280 SO MR. 'POSSUM PROMISED, AND MR. 'COON UNTIED HIM 282 "AND WHAT DO YOU THINK THEY SAW?" 284 THE FIRST SNOWED-IN STORY [Illustration: GATHERING NICE PIECES OF WOOD] IN WHICH THE READER LEARNS TO KNOW THE HOLLOW TREE PEOPLE AND THEIR FRIENDS, AND THE LITTLE LADY, AND THE STORY TELLER NOW this is the beginning of the Hollow Tree stories which the Story Teller told the Little Lady in the queer old house which stands in the very borders of the Big Deep Woods itself. They were told in the Room of the Lowest Ceiling and the Widest Fire--a ceiling so low that when the Story Teller stands upright it brushes his hair as he walks, and a fire so deep that pieces of large trees do not need to be split but can be put on whole. In the old days, several great-grandfathers back, as the Hollow Tree People might say, these heavy sticks were drawn in by a horse that came right through the door and dragged the wood to the wide stone hearth. It is at the end of New-Year's Day, and the Little Lady has been enjoying her holidays, for Santa Claus found his way down the big stone chimney and left a number of things she wanted. Now, when the night is coming down outside, and when inside there is a heap of blazing logs and a rocking-chair, it is time for the Story Teller. The Story Teller generally smokes and looks into the fire when he tells a Hollow Tree story, because the Hollow Tree People always smoke and look into the fire when _they_ tell _their_ stories, and the Little Lady likes everything to be "just the same," and the stories must be always told just the same, too. If they are not, she stops the Story Teller and sets him right. So while the Little Woman passes to and fro, putting away the tea-things, the Story Teller lights his pipe, and rocks, and looks into the fire, and holds the Little Lady close, and begins the Tales of the Hollow Tree. "Once upon a time," he begins-- "Once upon a time," murmurs the Little Lady, settling herself. "Yes, once upon a time, in the old days of the Hollow Tree, when Mr. Dog had become friends with the 'Coon and the 'Possum and the Old Black Crow who lived in the three hollow branches of the Big Hollow Tree, and used to meet together in their parlor-room down-stairs and invite all their friends, and have good times together, just like folk--" "But they live there now, don't they?" interrupts the Little Lady, suddenly sitting up, "and still have their friends, just the same?" "Oh yes, of course, but this was one of the old times, you know." The Little Lady settles back, satisfied. "Go on telling, now," she says. "Well, then, this was one of the times when all the Deep Woods People had been invited to the Hollow Tree for Christmas Day, and were snowed in. Of course they didn't expect to be snowed in. Nobody ever expects to be snowed in till it happens, and then it's too late." "Was that the Christmas that Mr. Dog played Santa Claus and brought all the presents, and Mr. Squirrel and Mr. Robin and Mr. Turtle and Jack Rabbit came over, and they all sat around the fire and ate things and told nice stories? You said you would tell about that, and you never did." "I am going to tell it now, as soon as a Little Lady gets real still," says the Story Teller. So then the Little Lady _is_ "real still," and he tells the first snowed-in story, which is called: MR. DOG AT THE CIRCUS THE HOLLOW TREE PEOPLE LEARN SOMETHING VERY IMPORTANT ABOUT SHOWS THAT was a great Christmas in the Hollow Tree. The 'Coon and the 'Possum and the Old Black Crow had been getting ready for it for a long time, and brought in ever so many nice things to eat, which Mr. Crow had cooked for them, for Mr. Crow is the best cook of anybody in the Big Deep Woods. Then Mr. Dog had brought a lot of good things, too, which he had borrowed from Mr. Man's house, so they had the finest Christmas dinner that you can think of, and plenty for the next day when it would be even better, because chicken and turkey and dressing and such things are always better the next day, and even the _third_ day, with gravy, than they are when they are first cooked. [Illustration: THE PANTRY IN THE HOLLOW TREE] Then, when they were all through and were standing around, smoking their new pipes and looking at each other's new neckties and other Christmas things, Mr. Crow said that he and Mr. Squirrel would clear off the table if the others would get in some wood and stir up the fire and set the room to rights, so they could gather round and be comfortable by-and-by; and then, he said, it might snow as much as it liked as long as they had plenty of wood and things to eat inside. So then they all skurried around getting on their things to go out after wood--all except Mr. Crow and Mr. Squirrel, who set about clearing off the table and doing up the dishes. And pretty soon Mr. Dog and Mr. 'Coon and the rest were hopping about where the snow was falling so soft and silent among the big, leafless trees, gathering nice pieces of wood and brushing the snow off of them and piling them into the first down-stairs of the Hollow Tree, which the 'Coon and 'Possum and Old Black Crow use for their wood-house and general store-room. It was great fun, and they didn't feel the least bit cold after their warm dinner and with all that brisk exercise. Mr. Robin didn't help carry the wood in. He was hardly strong enough for that, but he hopped about and looked for good pieces, and when he found one he would call to Mr. 'Coon or Mr. 'Possum, or maybe to one of the others, to throw it on his shoulder and carry it in, and then he would tell whoever it happened to be how strong he was and how fine he looked with that great chunk on his shoulder, and would say that he didn't suppose there was another 'Coon, or 'Possum, or Turtle, or Rabbit, or Dog that could begin to stand up straight under such a chunk as that anywhere outside of a menagerie. Mr. Robin likes to say pleasant things to his friends, and is always popular. And each one tried to carry the biggest load of wood to show how strong he was, and pretty soon they had the lower room of the Hollow Tree piled up high with the finest chunks and kindling pieces to be found anywhere. Then they all hurried up-stairs, stamping the snow off their feet, and gathered around the nice warm fire in the big parlor which was just below the three big hollow branches where the 'Coon and 'Possum and the Old Black Crow had their rooms. Mr. Crow and Mr. Squirrel were through with the table by this time, and all hands lit their pipes, and looked into the fire, and smoked, and rested, and thought a little before they began talking--thinking, of course, of what a good time they were having, and how comfortable and nice it was to be inside and warm when such a big snow was falling outside. Mr. 'Possum was the first one to say anything. He said he had been thinking of what Mr. Robin had said about them being outside of a menagerie, and that, come to think about it, he believed he didn't know what a menagerie was, unless it was a new name for a big dinner, as that was the only thing he could think of now that they were outside of, and he said if that was so, and if he could get outside of two menageries, he thought he could carry in a bigger chunk than any two chunks there were down-stairs. Then all the others laughed a good deal, and Mr. 'Coon said he had thought that perhaps a menagerie was something to wear that would make anybody who had it on very strong, and able to stand up under a big load, and to eat as much as Mr. 'Possum could, or even more. But Mr. Robin said that it didn't mean either of those things. He said he didn't really know what it did mean himself, but that it must be some kind of a place that had a great many large creatures in it, for he had heard his grandmother quite often call his grandfather the biggest goose outside of a menagerie, though, being very young then, Mr. Robin couldn't remember just what she had meant by it. Mr. Rabbit said he thought that the word "menagerie" sounded like some kind of a picnic, with swings and nice lively games, and Mr. Crow said that once when he was flying he passed over a place where there was a big sign that said "Menagerie" on it, and that there were some tents and a crowd of people and a great noise, but that he hadn't seen anything that he could carry off without being noticed, so he didn't stop. Mr. Squirrel thought that from what Mr. Crow said it must be a place where there would be a lot of fine things to see, and Mr. Turtle said that he was a good deal over three hundred years old and had often heard of a menagerie, but that he had never seen one. He said he had always supposed that it was a nice pond of clear water, with a lot of happy turtles and fish and wild geese and duck and such things, in it, and maybe some animals around it, all living happily together, and taken care of by Mr. Man, who brought them a great many good things to eat. He had always thought he would like to live in a menagerie, he said, but that nobody had ever invited him, and he had never happened to come across one in his travels. Mr. Dog hadn't been saying anything all this time, but he knocked the ashes out of his pipe now, and filled it up fresh and lit it, and cleared his throat, and began to talk. It made him smile, he said, to hear the different ways people thought of a thing they had never seen. He said that Mr. Turtle was the only one who came anywhere near to what a menagerie really was, though of course Mr. Crow _had_ seen one on the outside. Then Mr. Dog said: [Illustration: "SLIPPED IN BEHIND HIM WHEN HE WENT INTO THE TENT"] "I know all about menageries, on the outside and the inside too, for I have been to one. I went once with Mr. Man, though I wasn't really invited to go. In fact, Mr. Man invited me to stay at home, and tried to slip off from me; but I watched which way he went, and took long roundin's on him, and slipped in behind him when he went into the tent. He didn't know for a while that I was there, and I wasn't there so very long. But it was plenty long enough--a good deal longer than I'd ever stay again, unless I was tied. "I never saw so many wild, fierce-looking creatures in my life as there were in that menagerie, and they were just as wild and fierce as they looked. They had a lot of cages full of them and they had some outside of cages, though I don't know why they should leave any of those dangerous animals around where they could damage folks that happened to come in reach, as I did. Those animals outside didn't look as wild and fierce as those in the cages, but they were. "I kept in the crowd, close behind Mr. Man at first, and nobody knew I was there, but by-and-by he climbed up into a seat to watch some people all dressed up in fancy clothes ride around a ring on horses, which I didn't care much about, so I slipped away, and went over to where there were some things that I wanted to take my time to and see quietly. "There was an animal about my size and style tied over in one corner of the tent, behind a rope, with a sign in front of him which said, 'The Only Tame Hyena in the World.' He looked smiling and good-natured, and I went over to ask him some questions. [Illustration: "HE LOOKED SMILING AND GOOD-NATURED, AND I WENT OVER TO ASK HIM SOME QUESTIONS"] "But that sign wasn't true. He wasn't the least bit tame, and I'm sure now that he wasn't smiling. He grabbed me before I had a chance to say a word, and when I jerked loose, which I did right away, for I didn't want to stir up any fuss there, I left quite a piece of my ear with the tame hyena, and tripped backward over the rope and rolled right in front of a creature called an elephant, about as big as a house and not as useful. "I suppose they thought _he_ was tame, too, but he must have been tamed by the same man, for he grabbed me with a kind of a tail that grew on the end of his nose--a thing a good deal like Mr. 'Possum's tail, only about a million times as big--and I could hear my ribs crack as he waved me up and down. "Of course, as I say, I didn't want to stir up any fuss, but I couldn't keep still under such treatment as that, and I called right out to Mr. Man, where he sat looking at the fancy people riding, and told him that I had had enough of the show, and if he wanted to take any of me home he ought not to wait very long, but come over that way and see if he couldn't get the tame elephant to practise that performance on the hyena or the next dog, because I had had plenty, and was willing to go home just as I was, all in one piece, even if not very lively. "Mr. Man _came_, too, and so did a lot of the others. They seemed to think that I was more to look at than those riding people; and some of them laughed, though what there was happening that was funny I have never been able to guess to this day. I kept right on telling Mr. Man what I wanted him to do, and mebbe I made a good deal of noise about it, for it seemed to stir up those other animals. There was a cage full of lions that started the most awful roaring you can think of, and a cage of crazy-looking things they called monkeys that screeched and howled and swung back and forth in rings and held on to the bars, and all the other things joined in, until I couldn't tell whether I was still saying anything or not. I suppose they were all jealous of the elephant because of the fun he was having, and howling to be let out so they could get hold of me too. "Well, you never heard of such a time. It nearly broke up the show. Everybody ran over to look, and even the riding people stopped their horses to enjoy it, too. If it only hadn't been so dangerous and unpleasant I should have been proud of the way they came to see me perform. "But Mr. Man didn't seem to like it much. I heard him tell somebody, as loud as he could, that I would be killed, and that I was the best dog he ever had, and that if I _was_ killed he'd sue the show. "That made me proud, too, but I wished he wouldn't wait to sue the show, but would do something right away, and just then a man with a fancy dress on and a stick with a sharp iron hook on it came running up and said something I didn't understand and hit the elephant with the hook end of the stick, and he gave me an extra big swing and crack and flung me half-way across the tent, where I landed on a bunch of hay right in front of a long-necked thing called a camel--another terrible tame creature, I suppose--who had me about half eaten up with his old long under lip, before Mr. Man could get over there. "When Mr. Man did get hold of me, he said that I'd better take what was left of me home, for they were going to feed the animals pretty soon, and that I would likely get mixed up with the bill of fare. "After that he took me to the entrance and pushed me outside, and I heard all those fierce creatures in the cages growl and roar louder than ever, as if they had expected to sample me and were sorry to see me go. [Illustration: "GAVE ME AN EXTRA BIG SWING AND CRACK"] "That's what a menagerie is--it's a place where they have all the kinds of animals and things in the world, for show, and a good many birds, and maybe turtles, too, but they don't have any fine clear pond. They have just a big tent, like the one Mr. Crow saw, and a lot of cages inside. They keep most of the animals in cages, and they ought to keep them all there, and I don't think they feed them very much, nor the best things, or they wouldn't look so fierce and hungry. "They just keep them for Mr. Man and his friends to look at and talk about, and if Mr. Turtle will take my advice he will keep out of a menagerie and live in the Wide Blue Water where he was born. I wouldn't have gone there again unless I had been tied and dragged there, or unless they had put those tame animals into cages with the others. No doubt there are some very fine, strong animals in a menagerie, but they wouldn't be there if they could help it, and if anybody ever invites any of you to join a menagerie, take my advice and don't do it." Then Mr. Dog knocked the ashes out of his pipe again, and all the other Deep Woods People knocked the ashes out of _their_ pipes, too, and filled them up fresh, and one said one thing, and one said another about being in a menagerie or out of it, and every one thought it would be a terrible thing to be shut up in a cage, except Mr. 'Possum, who said he wouldn't mind it if they would let him sleep enough and give him all he could eat, but that a cage without those things would be a lonesome place. Then Mr. 'Coon said that a little adventure had happened to him once which he had never mentioned before, because he had never known just what to make of it; but he knew now, he said, that he had come very near getting into a menagerie, and he would tell them just what happened. The Story Teller looked down at the quiet figure in his lap. The Little Lady's head was nestled close to his shoulder, and her eyes were straining very hard to keep open. "I think we will save Mr. 'Coon's story till another night," he said. THE SECOND SNOWED-IN STORY MR. 'COON TELLS HOW HE CAME NEAR BEING A PART OF A MENAGERIE, AND HOW HE ONCE TOLD A STORY TO MR. DOG "YOU can tell about Mr. 'Coon, now--the story you didn't tell last night, you know," and the Little Lady wriggles herself into a comfortable corner just below the Story Teller's smoke, and looks deep into a great cavern of glowing embers between the big old andirons, where, in her fancy, she can picture the Hollow Tree people and their friends. "Why, yes, let me see--" says the Story Teller. "Mr. Dog had just told about being at the menagerie, you know, and Mr. 'Coon was just going to tell how he came very near getting into a menagerie himself." "Oh yes, of course--well, then, all the Hollow Tree people, the 'Coon and 'Possum and the Old Black Crow, and their friends who were visiting them--Mr. Dog and Mr. Robin and Jack Rabbit and Mr. Turtle and Mr. Squirrel--knocked the ashes out of their pipes and filled them up fresh--" "No, they had just done that." "That's so, I forgot. Well, anyway, as soon as they got to smoking and settled back around the fire again Mr. 'Coon told them his story, and I guess we'll call it MR. 'COON'S EARLY ADVENTURE Mr. 'Coon said he was quite young when it happened, and was taking a pleasant walk one evening, to think over things a little, and perhaps to pick out a handy tree where Mr. Man's chickens roosted, when all at once he heard a fierce bark close behind him, and he barely had time to get up a tree himself when a strange and very noisy Mr. Dog was leaping about at the foot of the tree, making a great fuss, and calling every moment for Mr. Man to hurry, for he had a young 'coon treed. "Of course I laid pretty low when I heard that," Mr. 'Coon said, "for I knew that Mr. Man would most likely have a gun, so I got into a bunch of leaves and brush that must have been some kind of an old nest and scrooched down so that none of me would show. [Illustration: ALL AT ONCE HE HEARD A FIERCE BARK CLOSE BEHIND HIM] "Then by-and-by I heard some big creature come running through the brush, and I peeked over a little, and there, sure enough, was Mr. Man with a long gun, and I noticed that he wore a thing on his head--a sort of hat, I suppose--made of what looked to be the skin of some relative of mine. "Of course that made me mad. I hadn't cared so much until I saw that; but I said right then to myself that any one who would do such a thing as that never could be a friend of mine, no matter how much he tried. So I scrooched down and laid low in that old nest, and didn't move or let on in any way that I was there. "Then I heard Mr. Man walking around the tree and talking to his dog and telling him that there wasn't anything up in that tree at all, and that Mr. Dog had just been fooling him. I could tell by his voice that he was getting mad at Mr. Dog, and I hoped that he'd get mad enough pretty soon to take a stick to him for chasing me up a tree like that, and then calling for Mr. Man to come and see me when there wasn't really anything to look at. "But Mr. Dog kept galloping around the tree and barking out, over and over, that I was there; that he had seen me, and that he knew that I was hiding up there somewhere; and pretty soon I heard Mr. Man going away, and I peeked over again. "Sure enough, he was going, but Mr. Dog was staying right there, sitting under the tree and looking up and making a good deal more noise than there was any need of to let me know he hadn't gone. I didn't see why he stayed there. I wished he'd go away and tend to his own business. "Being quite young, I still lived with my folks over near the Wide Grass Lands, and I wanted to get home for supper. It was a good way to go, for the tree I had climbed was over close to the edge of the world where the sun and moon rise, and you all know that's a good way, even from here. "Well, he didn't go, but just sat there, barking up that tree, and after a long time I heard somebody coming again, and I peeked over and there was Mr. Man, hurrying back, this time with an axe. I knew, right then, there was going to be trouble. I knew they were going to cut that tree down, and that I should most likely have quite a fuss with Mr. Dog, and perhaps go home with a black eye and a scratched nose, and then get whipped again for fighting, after I got there." Mr. 'Coon stopped and knocked the ashes out of his pipe and filled it up fresh, and all the others knocked the ashes out of their pipes and filled them up fresh, too. Then Mr. 'Possum poked up the fire and told Mr. Turtle to bring a stick of wood from down-stairs, and when it was blazing up high and bright again they all stepped over to the window a minute, to see how hard it was snowing and banking up outside, then went back to their chairs around the fire, and stretched out their feet and leaned back and smoked, and listened to the rest of Mr. 'Coon's story. Mr. 'Coon said he didn't like the sound of that axe when Mr. Man began to cut the tree down. "Every time he struck the tree I could feel it all through me," he said, "and I knew if he kept that noise up long enough it would give me a nervous headache. I wished the tree would hurry up and drop, so we could have what muss we were going to, and get it over with. I'd have got out of that old nest and made a jump for another tree if there had been any near enough, but there wasn't, so I just laid low and gritted my teeth and let him chop. "Well, by-and-by that tree began to go down. It seemed to teeter a little at first, this way and that; then it went very slow in one direction; then it went a little faster; then it went a good deal faster; then I suddenly felt like a shooting-star, I came down so fast, and there was a big crash, and I thought I had turned into a lot of stars, sure enough, and was shooting in every direction, and the next I knew I was tied to a tree, hand and foot and around the middle, and Mr. Man and Mr. Dog were sitting and looking at me, and grinning, and talking about what they were going to do. [Illustration: "THEN I SUDDENLY FELT LIKE A SHOOTING-STAR"] "Mr. Man wasn't scolding Mr. Dog any more. He was telling him what a good thing it was they had caught me alive, for now they could sell me to a show and get a great deal more for me than they could for my skin. I didn't know what a show was, then, or that a show is a menagerie, but I know now, and I can see just what they meant. "Pretty soon Mr. Man told Mr. Dog to stay there and watch me while he went home after a box to put me in. He said he didn't think it would be safe to carry me in his arms, and he was right about that. "So then Mr. Man walked off, and left Mr. Dog guarding me, and saying unpleasant things to me now and then. "At first I wouldn't answer him; but pretty soon I happened to think of something pleasant to say: "'Mr. Dog,' I said, 'I know a good story, if you'd like me to tell it. Mr. Man may be a good while getting that box, and mebbe you'd like to hear something to pass the time.' "Mr. Dog said he would. He said that Mr. Man would most likely have to make the box, and he didn't suppose he knew where the hammer and nails were, and it might be dark before Mr. Man got back. "I felt a good deal better when I heard Mr. Dog say that, and I told him a story I knew about how Mr. Rabbit lost his tail, and Mr. Dog laughed and seemed to like it, and said, 'Tell me another.'" [Illustration: "THEN MR. DOG SAID, 'TELL ME ANOTHER'"] Before Mr. 'Coon could go on with his story, Mr. Rabbit said that of course if that old tale had helped Mr. 'Coon out of trouble he was very glad, but that it wasn't at all true, and that some time _he_ would tell them himself the true story of how it happened. Then they all said that they hoped he would, for they'd always wanted to hear that story told right, and then Mr. 'Coon went on with his adventure. Mr. 'Coon said that when Mr. Dog said, "Tell me another," he knew he was in a good-humor, and that he felt better and better himself. "I thought if Mr. Man didn't come back too soon," he said, "I might get along pretty well with Mr. Dog. "'I know another story, Mr. Dog,' I said--'the funniest story there is. It would make you laugh until you fell over the edge of the world, but I can't tell it here.' "'Why,' he said--'why can't you tell it here as well as anywhere?' "'Because it has to be acted,' I said, 'and my hands are tied.' "'Will you tell it if I untie your hands?' said Mr. Dog. "'Well,' I said, 'I'll begin it, and you can see how it goes.' "So Mr. Dog came over and untied my hands, for he said he could tie them again before Mr. Man came back, because he knew Mr. Man hadn't found that hammer yet. "'You can't get loose with just your hands untied, can you?' he said. "'No, of course not, Mr. Dog,' I said, pleasant and polite as could be. "'Let's see you try,' said Mr. Dog. "So I twisted and pulled, and of course I couldn't get loose. "'Now tell the story,' said Mr. Dog. "So I said: 'Once there was a man who had a very bad pain in his chest, and he took all kinds of medicine, and it didn't do him any good. And one day the Old Wise Man of the Woods told him if he would rub his chest with one hand and pat his head with the other, it might draw the pain out the top and cure him. So the man with the pain in his chest tried it, and he did it this way.' "Then I showed Mr. Dog just how he did it, and Mr. Dog thought that was funny, and laughed a good deal. "'Go on and tell the rest of it,' he said. 'What happened after that?' "But I let on as if I'd just remembered something, and I said, 'Oh, Mr. Dog, I'm _so_ sorry, but I can't tell the rest of that story here, and it's the funniest part, too. I know you'd laugh till you rolled over the edge of the world.' "'Why can't you tell the rest of that story here as well as anywhere?' said Mr. Dog, looking anxious. "'Because it has to be acted with the feet,' I said, 'and my feet are tied.' "'Will you tell it if I untie your feet?' said Mr. Dog. "'Well, I'll do the best I can,' I said. "So Mr. Dog came over and untied my feet. He said he knew that Mr. Man hadn't found the nails or the pieces to make the box yet, and there would be plenty of time to tie me again before Mr. Man got back. "'You can't get loose, anyway, with just your hands and feet untied, can you?' he said. "'No, of course not, Mr. Dog,' I said, more pleasant and polite than ever. "'Let's see you try,' said Mr. Dog. "So I squirmed and twisted, but of course with a strong string around my waist and tied behind I couldn't do anything. "'Now go on with the story,' said Mr. Dog. [Illustration: "AND DID ROLL OFF THE EDGE OF THE WORLD, SURE ENOUGH"] "'Well,' I said, 'the pain left his chest, but it went into his back, and he had a most terrible time, until one day the Old Wise Man of the Woods came along and told him that he thought he ought to know enough by this time to rub his back where the pain was and pat his head at the same time to draw it out at the top. So then the man with the pain rubbed his back and patted his head this way,' and I showed Mr. Dog how he did it; and I rubbed a good while about where the knot was, and made a face to show how the man with the pain looked, and then I said the pain came back into his chest again instead of being drawn out at the top; and I changed about and rubbed there awhile, and then I went around to my back again, chasing that pain first one side and the other; and then I said that the Old Wise Man of the Woods came along one day and told him that he must kick with his feet too if he ever wanted to get rid of that pain, because, after all, it might have to be kicked out at the bottom; and when I began to kick and dance with both feet and to rub with my hands at the same time, Mr. Dog gave a great big laugh--the biggest laugh I ever heard anybody give--and fell right down and rolled over and over, and did roll off the edge of the world, sure enough. "I heard him go clattering into a lot of brush and blackberry bushes that are down there, and just then I got that back knot untied, and I stepped over and looked down at Mr. Dog, who had lodged in a brier patch on a shelf about ten feet below the edge, where Mr. Man would have to get him up with a ladder or a rope. "'Do you want to hear the rest of the story, Mr. Dog?' I said. "'I'll story _you_,' he said, 'when I catch you!' "'I told you you'd laugh till you fell off the edge of the world,' I said. [Illustration: "I SET OUT FOR HOME WITHOUT WAITING TO SAY GOOD-BYE"] "'I'll make _you_ laugh,' he said, 'when I catch you!' "Then I saw he was cross about something, and I set out for home without waiting to say good-bye to Mr. Man, for I didn't want to waste any more time, though I missed my supper and got a scolding besides. "But I was glad I didn't bring home a black eye and scratched nose, and I'm more glad than ever now that Mr. Man didn't get back in time with that box, or I might be in a menagerie this minute instead of sitting here smoking and telling stories and having a good time on Christmas Day." The Story Teller looks down at the Little Lady. "I'm glad Mr. 'Coon didn't get into the menagerie, aren't you?" she says. "Very glad," says the Story Teller. "He went lickety-split home, didn't he?" "He did that!" "I like them to go lickety-split better than lickety-cut, don't you?" says the Little Lady. "They seem to go so much faster." "Ever so much faster," says the Story Teller. THE WIDOW CROW'S BOARDING-HOUSE EARLY DOINGS OF THE HOLLOW TREE PEOPLE AND HOW THEY FOUND A HOME ANYBODY can tell by her face that the Little Lady has some plan of her own when the Story Teller is ready next evening to "sit by the fire and spin." "I want you to tell me," she says, climbing up into her place, "how the 'Coon and 'Possum and the Old Black Crow ever got to living together in the Hollow Tree." That frightens the Story Teller. He is all ready with something different. "Good gracious!" he says, "that is an old story that all the Deep Woods People have known ever so long." "But I don't know it," says the Little Lady, "and I'd like to know that before you tell anything else. Rock, and tell it." So the Story Teller rocks slowly, and smokes, and almost forgets the Little Lady in remembering that far-away time, and presently he begins. Well, it was all so long ago that perhaps I can't remember it very well. Mr. 'Possum was a young man in those days--a nice spry young fellow; and he used to think it was a good deal of fun to let Mr. Dog--who wasn't friendly then, of course--try to catch him; and when Mr. Dog would get pretty close and come panting up behind him, Mr. 'Possum would scramble up a tree, and run out on to the longest limb and swing from it, head down, and laugh, and say: "Come right up, Mr. Dog! Always at home to you, Mr. Dog! Don't stop to knock!" And then Mr. Dog would race around under the tree and make a great to do, and sometimes Mr. 'Possum would swing back and forth, and pretty soon give a great big swing and let go, and Mr. Dog would think surely he had him then, and bark and run to the place where he thought he was going to drop. Only Mr. 'Possum didn't drop--not far; for he had his limb all picked out, and he would catch it with his tail as he went by, and it would bend and sway with him, and he would laugh, and call again: "Don't go, Mr. Dog! Mr. Man can get up the cows alone to-night!" [Illustration: CAME CLATTERING DOWN RIGHT IN FRONT OF MR. DOG] And then Mr. Dog would remember that he was a good ways from home, and that if he wasn't there in time to help Mr. Man get up the cows there might be trouble; and he would set out lickety-split for home, with Mr. 'Possum calling to him as he ran. But one time Mr. 'Possum made a mistake. He didn't know it, but he was getting older and a good deal fatter than he had been at first, and when he swung out for another limb that way, and let go, he missed the limb and came clattering down right in front of Mr. Dog. He wasn't hurt much, for the ground was soft, and there was a nice thick bed of leaves; but I tell you he was scared, and when Mr. Dog jumped right on top of him, and grabbed him, he gave himself up for lost, sure enough. But Mr. 'Possum is smart in some ways, and he knows how to play "dead" better than any other animal there is. He knew that Mr. Dog would want to show him to Mr. Man, and that he was too heavy for Mr. Dog to carry. He had thought about all that, and decided what to do just in that little second between the limb and the ground, for Mr. 'Possum can think quick enough when anything like that happens. So when he struck the ground he just gave one little kick with his hind foot and a kind of a sigh, as if he was drawing his last breath, and laid there: and even when Mr. Dog grabbed him and shook him he never let on, but acted almost deader than if he had been really dead and no mistake. Then Mr. Dog stood with his paws out and his nose down close, listening, and barking once in a while, and thinking maybe he would come to pretty soon, but Mr. 'Possum still never let on, or breathed the least little bit, and directly Mr. Dog started to drag him toward Mr. Man's house. That was a hard job, and every little way Mr. Dog would stop and shake Mr. 'Possum and bark and listen to see if he was really dead, and after a while he decided that he was, and started to get Mr. Man to come and fetch Mr. 'Possum home. But he only went a few steps, the first time, and just as Mr. 'Possum was about to jump up and run he came hurrying back, and stood over him and barked and barked as loud as ever he could for Mr. Man to come and see what he had for him. But Mr. Man was too far away, and even if he heard Mr. Dog he didn't think it worth while to come. So then Mr. Dog tried to get Mr. 'Possum on his shoulder, to carry him that way; but Mr. 'Possum made himself so limp and loose and heavy that every time Mr. Dog would get him nearly up he would slide off again and fall all in a heap on the leaves; and Mr. Dog couldn't help believing that he was dead, to see him lying there all doubled up, just as he happened to drop. [Illustration: SO THEN MR. DOG TRIED TO GET MR. 'POSSUM ON HIS SHOULDER] So, then, by-and-by Mr. Dog really did start for Mr. Man's, and Mr. 'Possum lay still, and just opened one eye the least bit to see how far Mr. Dog had gone, and when he had gone far enough Mr. 'Possum jumped up quick as a wink and scampered up a tree, and ran out on a limb and swung with his head down, and called out: "Don't go away, Mr. Dog! We've had such a nice visit together! Don't go off mad, Mr. Dog! Come back and stay till the cows come home!" Then Mr. Dog was mad, I _tell_ you, and told him what he'd do next time; and he set out for home fast as he could travel, and went in the back way and hid, for Mr. Man was already getting up the cows when he got there. Well, Mr. 'Possum didn't try that swinging trick on Mr. Dog any more. He found out that it was dangerous, the way he was getting, and that made him think he ought to change his habits in other ways too. For one thing, he decided he ought to have some regular place to stay where he could eat and sleep and feel at home, instead of just travelling about and putting up for the night wherever he happened to be. Mr. 'Possum was always quite stylish, too, and had a good many nice clothes, and it wasn't good for them to be packed about all the time; and once some of his best things got rained on and he had to sleep on them for a long time to get them pressed out smooth again. So Mr. 'Possum made up his mind to find a home. He was an old bachelor and never wanted to be anything else, because he liked to have his own way, and go out all times of the night, and sleep late if he wanted to. So he made up his mind to look up a good place to board--some place that would be like a home to him--perhaps in a private family. One day when he was walking through the woods thinking about it, and wondering how he ought to begin to find a place like that, he met Mr. Z. 'Coon, who was one of his oldest friends in the Big Deep Woods. They had often been hunting together, especially nights, for Mr. 'Coon and Mr. 'Possum always like that time best for hunting, and have better luck in the dark than any other time. Mr. 'Coon had had his troubles with Mr. Dog, too, and had come very near getting caught one night when Mr. Man and some of his friends were out with Mr. Dog and his relatives and several guns looking for a good Sunday dinner. Mr. 'Coon _would_ have got caught that time, only when Mr. Man cut the tree down that he was in he gave a big jump as the tree was falling and landed in another tree, and then ran out on a limb and jumped to another tree that wasn't so far away, and then to another, so that Mr. Man and his friends and all the dog family lost track of him entirely. [Illustration: HE WAS AN OLD BACHELOR AND LIKED TO HAVE HIS OWN WAY] But Mr. 'Coon was tired of that kind of thing too, and wanted some place where he could be comfortable, and where he could lock the door nights and feel safe. Mr. 'Coon was a bachelor, like Mr. 'Possum, though he had once been disappointed in love, and told about it sometimes, and looked sad, and even shed tears. So when he met Mr. 'Possum that day they walked along and talked about finding a place to live, and just as they were wondering what they ought to do they happened to notice, right in front of them, a little piece of birch bark tacked up on a tree, and when they read it, it said: MRS. WIDOW CROW. WILL TAKE A FEW GUESTS. SINGLE GENTLEMEN PREFERRED; PLEASANT LOCATION NEAR RACE-TRACK. Then Mr. 'Possum scratched his head and tried to think, and Mr. 'Coon scratched _his_ head and tried to think, and pretty soon Mr. 'Coon said: [Illustration: THEY SAW MR. CROW OUT IN THE YARD CUTTING WOOD FOR HIS MOTHER-IN-LAW] "Oh yes, I know about that. That's Mr. Crow's mother-in-law. He had a wife until last year, and his mother-in-law used to live with them. I believe she was pretty cross, but I've heard Mr. Crow say she was a good cook, and that he had learned to cook a great many things himself. I heard some time ago that she had moved over by the race-track, and perhaps Mr. Crow is boarding with her. Let's go over and see." So away they went, saying how nice it would be to be really settled, and pretty soon they got over to Mrs. Widow Crow's, and there, sure enough, they saw Mr. Crow out in the yard cutting wood for his mother-in-law; and when they asked him about the advertisement, he said he was helping her to get started, and she had two nice rooms, and that Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon would be just the ones to fill them. So they went right in and saw Mrs. Widow Crow about it, and by night they had their things moved and were all settled, and Widow Crow got a nice supper for them, and Mr. Crow helped her, and worked as hard as if he were a hired man instead of a boarder like the others, which he was, because he paid for his room as much as anybody, and got scolded besides when he didn't do things to suit his mother-in-law. THE FINDING OF THE HOLLOW TREE HOW THE 'COON AND 'POSSUM AND THE OLD BLACK CROW MOVED AND SET UP HOUSEKEEPING WELL, the Widow Crow set a very good table, and everything in her boarding-house went along quite well for a while, and Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon both said what a good thing it was to have a home, and Mr. Crow said so too, though he didn't look as if he enjoyed it as much as he said, for his mother-in-law kept him so busy cutting and carrying wood and helping her with the cooking that he never had any time for himself at all. Even when Mr. Rabbit and some of his friends had the great fall handicap race he had to stay at home and peel potatoes, and not see it, besides being scolded all the time for wanting to go to such a thing as a rabbit race anyway. And Mr. Crow was sad because it reminded him of his married life, which he was trying to forget--Mrs. Crow having been the image of his mother-in-law and exactly like her about races and peeling potatoes and such things. And by-and-by, Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon didn't like it so much, either. Widow Crow got so she scolded them, too, about their habits, especially about being out nights and lying in bed next morning, and she wouldn't give them any breakfast unless they got up in time. At last she even asked them to take care of their own rooms and to do other work, the same as Mr. Crow did; and she didn't cook as good things, nor as many of them, as she did when they first came. Then one day when they complained a little--not very much, for they were afraid of the Widow Crow, but a little--she told them that if they didn't like what she gave them they could find a place they liked better, and that she was tired of their ways anyhow. [Illustration: HAD TO STAY AT HOME AND PEEL POTATOES] So then Mr. Crow and Mr. 'Coon and Mr. 'Possum all got together and talked it over. And Mr. Crow said _they_ might be pretty tired of it, but that they couldn't in a hundred years, thinking night and day, think how tired of it _he_ was. He said if they would just say the word he would take the things that belonged to him out of that house, and the three of them would find some good place and all live together, and never have anything more to do with mothers-in-law or their families. He said he knew how to cook as well as she did, and really liked to cook when he was in a pleasant place and wasn't henpecked to death. And he said if they moved his things they had better do it at night while his mother-in-law was asleep, so as not to disturb her. Well, Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon both spoke right up and said _they'd_ go in a minute, and that they'd hunt up the place to live that very day, though it wasn't the best time of year to move. And Mr. Crow said: "I know where there's a big Hollow Tree that would be _just_ the place. It's the biggest tree in the Big Deep Woods. It has three big hollow branches that would do for rooms, and with a little work it could be made into the finest place anywhere. The Old Wise Man of the Woods once lived there and fixed it all up with nice stairs, and a fireplace, and windows, and doors with good latches on them, and it's still just as he left it. All it needs are a few repairs, and we could move right in. I found it once as I was flying over, and I could tell _you_, so you could find it. It's in a thick swampy place, and you would never guess it was there if you didn't know it. Mr. Dog knows about it, but he never could get in if we kept the door latched, and it's not so far away from Mr. Man's that we could not borrow, when we ran out of little things we needed." Well, Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon took the directions from Mr. Crow, and went right off to look at the Hollow Tree that very day, and decided they'd take it, and pitched in to clean it up and get it ready to live in. And next day they came with a hammer and some nails and worked all day again, and Mr. Rabbit heard the noise and came over and looked through the place and said how nice it was; and they were so tired at night that they never thought of going out, and were up early for breakfast. Widow Crow was so surprised she forgot what she had always scolded them for before, and scolded them this time for getting up so early that they had to stand around and wait for breakfast to be put on the table. But they didn't seem to mind the scolding at all, and Mr. Crow looked happier than he had looked for months, and skipped around and helped set the table, and brought in a big wood-box full of wood, and when Widow Crow scolded him for getting chips on the floor he laughed. Then she boxed his ears and told him he ought to remember the poor Missing One at such a time, and Mr. Crow said he did, and could almost imagine she was there now. Well, Mr. 'Coon and Mr. 'Possum got the Hollow Tree all ready, that day, and that night they moved. The Widow Crow was pretty fat, and liked to go to bed early, and sleep sound, and leave Mr. Crow to do the evening dishes; and that evening Mr. 'Coon and Mr. 'Possum pitched in and helped him, and they got through in a jiffy and began to move. Mr. Crow said he knew his own things, and that he wouldn't take any that belonged to the Missing One, because they had mostly come from her mother; and, besides, they would be a sad reminder, and didn't seem to go with the kind of a place they had planned to have. He said if they didn't have enough things they could borrow a few from Mr. Man when Mr. Man went away and left his windows open, and that they wouldn't need much to begin with. So then they got Mr. Crow's cook-stove out of the back store-room, and a table that was his, and some chairs from different parts of the house, and a few dishes which had come to him from his side of the family, and they tiptoed around and listened now and then at Widow Crow's door to be sure she was asleep. They knew she _was_ by the sound; but still they were very quiet until Mr. 'Possum started to bring a rocking-chair of Mr. Crow's down-stairs and somehow got his legs through the rounds and fell and rolled clear to the bottom, expressing his feelings as he came down. [Illustration: LISTENED NOW AND THEN AT WIDOW CROW'S DOOR TO BE SURE SHE WAS ASLEEP] That woke up Widow Crow with a jump, and she sat up in bed and called "Thieves!" and "Help!" and Mr. Crow ran to her door and said that it wasn't anything, only those scamps Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon had been out late again. He said they had brought home one of Mr. Man's beehives and had dropped it because the bees woke up just as they were climbing the stairs. Then Mrs. Crow called out quick, and said for him not to dare to open that door and let those pesky bees into her room, and that she hoped they'd sting that 'Possum and 'Coon until they wouldn't be able to tell themselves apart. She said she bet she'd get that pair out of her house if she lived through the night. Then she rolled over and went to sleep again, and Mr. 'Possum got up and limped a little, but wasn't much damaged, and they got all the things outside and loaded up, and set out for the Hollow Tree. [Illustration: MR. 'POSSUM SAID HE'D JUST GET ON AND HOLD THE THINGS] It was moonlight and Mr. Crow led the way, and the minute they were far enough off to be sure they wouldn't wake up Widow Crow they sang the chorus of a song that Mr. Rabbit had made for them the day before when he called at the Hollow Tree, and they had told him what they were going to do. That was the "Hollow Tree Song," which, of course, everybody in the Big Deep Woods knows now, but it had never been sung there before, and when they joined in the chorus, Then here's to the 'Possum and the Old Black Crow And the 'Coon with a one, two, three! And here's to the hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow-- Then here's to the Hollow Tree, Mr. Owl, who was watching them from a limb overhead, thought he had never heard anything quite so fine. Well, they couldn't get along very fast, for the things got so heavy and they had to rest so often that it began to look as if they wouldn't get to the Hollow Tree by morning. But just as they got out into a little open place that was about half-way there they saw somebody coming, and who do you suppose it was? "I know," says the Little Lady, "it was the Old Wise Man of the Woods, to tell them they couldn't have his house." No, he didn't live there any more--he had gone away for good. No, it wasn't the Old Wise Man; it was Mr. Rabbit and Mr. Turtle, coming to help them move. Mr. Rabbit had gone all the way to the Wide Blue Water after Mr. Turtle because he is so strong, and they would have been there a good deal sooner, only Mr. Turtle didn't get home till late, and travels slow. Well, it wasn't so hard to move after that. They just set the cook-stove on Mr. Turtle's back and piled on as much as would stay on, and he kept telling them to put on more, until pretty soon Mr. 'Possum said that he would just get on and hold the things from slipping off, which he did, and sat on the stove and rode and swung his feet and held the other things, while Mr. Crow and the rest walked and carried what was left. [Illustration: MR. 'POSSUM AND MR. 'COON TRIED TO PUT UP THE STOVE] And when they got to the Hollow Tree it was just about sun-up, and Mr. 'Possum said if they didn't have breakfast pretty soon he would starve to death with being up all night and working so hard holding on those things. So then Mr. Crow told him that he and Mr. 'Coon could set up the stove, and that he would unpack the food and stir up something as quick as he could if the others would bring a little wood and some water from the spring, and place the things around inside; for he saw a cloud coming, he said, and it might rain. And Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon tried to put up the stove in a hurry, and the pieces of pipe didn't fit very well, and they came as near having a quarrel over it as they ever did over anything, for even the best friends can't always put up stovepipe together without thinking and sometimes saying unpleasant things about each other, especially when they are hungry and not very warm and the house is all upset. Mr. 'Coon said he only wished he had another hand and he would do that job alone, and Mr. 'Possum told him that if he'd been provided with a handy and useful tail he'd _have_ the same as another hand, and could work more and not wish so much. Then Mr. Rabbit came to help them, and just as they got it about up it all came down again, and Mr. Crow said that if they'd all go away he'd set up the stove himself; which he did in about a minute, and had a fire in it and the coffee on in no time. Then the others rushed around and got the things straightened out, and a fire in the fireplace, and they said how nice their rooms were, and when Mr. Crow called they all came hurrying down, and in about another minute the 'Coon and 'Possum and the Old Black Crow, with Mr. Rabbit and Mr. Turtle, all sat down to the first meal in the Hollow Tree. It was then that Jack Rabbit read all of the "Hollow Tree Song" he had made for them, and they all sang it together; and then the storm that Mr. Crow had seen coming did come, and they shut all the doors and windows tight, and sat before the fire and smoked and went to sleep, because they were so tired with being up all night. And that was the first day in the Hollow Tree, and how the 'Possum and 'Coon and Old Black Crow came to live there, and they live there still. THE THIRD SNOWED-IN STORY MR. RABBIT TELLS SOME INTERESTING FAMILY HISTORY THE Little Lady waited until the Story Teller had lit his pipe and sat looking into the great open fire, where there was a hickory log so big that it had taken the Story Teller and the Little Lady's mother with two pairs of ice-tongs to drag it to the hearth and get it into place. Pretty soon the Little Lady had crept in between the Story Teller's knees. Then in another minute she was on one of his knees, helping him rock. Then she said: "Did Mr. Rabbit tell his story next? He promised to tell about losing his tail, you know." The Story Teller took his pipe from his mouth a moment, and sat thinking and gazing at the big log, which perhaps reminded him of one of the limbs of the Hollow Tree, where the 'Coon and 'Possum and the Old Black Crow lived and had their friends visit them that long-ago snowy Christmastime. "Why, yes," he said, "that's so, Mr. Rabbit _did_ tell that story. When Mr. 'Coon got through telling how he came near getting into a menagerie, they all said that it certainly was a very narrow escape, and Mr. 'Coon said he shouldn't wonder if that menagerie had to quit business, just because he wasn't in it; and Mr. 'Possum said he thought if anything would _save_ a menagerie that would, for it would keep them from being eaten out of house and home." Then Mr. 'Coon said that if that was so, Mr. 'Possum had saved at least three menageries by staying right where he was in the Big Deep Woods. This made Mr. Squirrel and Mr. Robin laugh, and the rest wondered what those two gigglers had noticed that was funny. Then they all knocked the ashes out of their pipes again, and walked over to the window, and looked at the snow banking up outside and piling up on the bare limbs of the big trees. They said how early it got dark this time of year, especially on a cloudy day. And pretty soon Mr. Crow said they had just about time for one more story before supper, and that Mr. Rabbit ought to tell now about how, a long time ago, his family had lost their tails. Mr. Rabbit didn't seem to feel very anxious to tell it, but they told him that he had promised, and that now was as good a time as any, so they went back and sat down, and Mr. Rabbit told them THE TRUE STORY OF THE HARE AND THE TORTOISE, AND HOW JACK RABBIT LOST HIS TAIL "Once upon a time," he said, "a great many great-grandfathers back, my family had long bushy tails, like Mr. Squirrel and Mr. Fox, only a good deal longer and finer and softer, and _very handsome_." When Mr. Rabbit said that, Mr. Squirrel sniffed and twitched his nose and gave his nice bushy tail a flirt, but he didn't say anything. Mr. Rabbit went right on. "Well, there was one fine, handsome rabbit who had the longest and plumiest tail of any of the family, and was very proud of it. He was my twenty-seventh great-grandfather, and was called 'Mr. Hare.' He was young and smart then, and thought he was a good deal smarter than he really was, though he was smart enough and handsome enough to set the style for all the other rabbits, and not much ever happened to him, because he could beat anything running that there was in the Big Deep Woods. "That twenty-seventh great-grandfather of mine was very proud of his running, and used to brag that in a foot-race he could beat anything that lived between the Wide Grass Lands and the Edge of the World. He used to talk about it to almost everybody that came along, and one day when he met one of the Turtle family who used to be called 'Mr. Tortoise' in those days, he stopped and began to brag to him how fast he could run and how nobody in the Big Deep Woods dared to race with him. "But Mr. Turtle, he just smiled a little and said: 'Oh, pshaw! you can't run very fast. I believe I can beat you myself!' "Well, that did make Grandfather Hare laugh--and made him a little mad, too. "'You!' he said. 'Why, I'll give you within ten yards of that rail fence of Mr. Man's, half a mile away, and then beat you across it. Just travel along, and some time this afternoon, when you get down that way, I'll come back and let you see me go by. But you'll have to look quick if you see me, for I'll be going fast.' "But Mr. Tortoise said he didn't want any start at all, that he was ready to begin the race right then; and that made Grandpaw Hare laugh so loud that Mr. Fox heard him as he was passing, and came over to see what the fun was. Then he said that he hadn't much to do for a few minutes, and that he'd stay and act as judge. He thought a race like that wouldn't last long; and it didn't, though it wasn't at all the kind of a race he had expected. "Well, he put Mr. Tortoise and my twenty-seventh great-grandfather side by side, and then he stood off and said, 'Go!' and thought it would all be over in a minute. [Illustration: MR. FOX SAID HE DIDN'T HAVE MUCH TO DO FOR A FEW MINUTES AND HE'D ACT AS JUDGE] "Grandpaw Hare gave one great big leap, about twenty feet long, and then stopped. He was in no hurry, and he wanted to have some fun with Mr. Tortoise. He looked around to where Mr. Tortoise was coming straddling and panting along, and he laughed and rolled over to see how solemn he looked, and how he was travelling as if he meant to get somewhere before dark. He was down on all fours so he could use all his legs at once, and anybody would think, to look at him, that he really expected to win that race. "The more my Grandpaw Hare looked at him the more he laughed, and then he would make another long leap forward and stop, and look back, and wait for Mr. Tortoise to catch up again. "Then he would call to him, or maybe go back and take roundin's on him, and say, 'Come along there, old tobacco-box. Are you tied to something?' Mr. Fox would laugh a good deal, too, and he told my ancestor to go on and finish the race--that he couldn't wait around there all day. And pretty soon he said if they were going to fool along like that, he'd just go down to the fence and take a nap till they got there; and for Grandpaw Rabbit to call to him when he really started to come, so he could wake up and judge the finish. "Mr. Fox he loped away to the fence and laid down and went to sleep in the shade, and Grandpaw Hare thought it would be fun to pretend to be asleep, too. I've heard a story told about it that says that he really did go to sleep, and that Mr. Tortoise went by him and got to the fence before he woke up. But that is not the way it happened. My twenty-seventh great-grandfather was too smart to go to sleep, and even if he had gone to sleep, Mr. Tortoise made enough noise pawing and scratching along through the grass and gravel to wake up forty of our family. "My ancestor would wait until he came grinding along and got up even with him, then suddenly he'd sit up as if he'd been waked out of a nice dream and say, 'Hello, old coffee-mill! What do you want to wake me up for when I'm trying to get a nap?' Then he would laugh a big laugh and make another leap, and lie down and pretend again, with his fine plumy tail very handsome in the sun. "But Grandpaw Hare carried the joke a little too far. He kept letting Mr. Tortoise get up a little closer and closer every time, until Mr. Tortoise would almost step on him before he would move. And that was just what Mr. Tortoise wanted, for about the next time he came along he came right up behind my ancestor, but instead of stepping on him, he gave his head a quick snap, just as if he were catching fish, and grabbed my Grandpaw Hare by that beautiful plumy tail, and held on, and pinched, and my ancestor gave a squeal and a holler and set out for that rail fence, telling his troubles as he came. "Mr. Fox had gone sound asleep and didn't hear the rumpus at first, and when he did, he thought grandpaw was just calling to him to wake up and be ready to judge the race, so he sat up quick and watched them come. He saw my twenty-seventh great-grandfather sailing along, just touching the highest points, with something that looked like an old black wash-pan tied to his tail. "When Mr. Fox saw what it was, he just laid down and laughed and rolled over, and then hopped up on the top rail and called, out 'All right, I'm awake, Mr. Hare! Come right along, Mr. Hare; you'll beat him yet!' "Then he saw my ancestor stop and shake himself, and paw, and roll over, to try to get Mr. Tortoise loose, which of course he couldn't do, for, as we all know, whenever any of the Turtle family get a grip they never let go till it thunders, and this was a bright day. So pretty soon grandpaw was up and running again with Mr. Tortoise sailing out behind and Mr. Fox laughing to see them come, and calling out: 'Come right along, Mr. Hare! come right along! You'll beat him yet!' [Illustration: SAILING ALONG, JUST TOUCHING THE HIGHEST POINTS] "But Mr. Fox made a mistake about that. Grandpaw Hare was really ahead, of course, when he came down the homestretch, but when he got pretty close to the fence he made one more try to get Mr. Tortoise loose, and gave himself and his tail a great big swing, and Mr. Tortoise didn't let go quite quick enough, and off came my twenty-seventh great-grandfather's beautiful plumy tail, and away went Mr. Tortoise with it, clear over the top rail of the fence, and landed in a brier patch on the other side. "Well, Grandpaw Hare was in such a state as you never heard of! He forgot all about the race at first, and just raved about his great loss, and borrowed Mr. Fox's handkerchief to tie up what was left, and said that he never in the world could show his face before folks again. "And Mr. Fox stopped laughing as soon as he could, and was really quite sorry for him, and even Mr. Tortoise looked through the fence, and asked him if he didn't think it could be spliced and be almost as good as ever. "He said he hadn't meant to commit any damage, and that he hoped Mr. Hare would live to forgive him, and that now there was no reason why my grandpaw shouldn't beat him in the next race. [Illustration: AWAY WENT MR. TORTOISE, CLEAR OVER THE TOP RAIL] "Then my ancestor remembered about the race and forgot his other loss for a minute, and declared that Mr. Tortoise didn't win the race at all--that he couldn't have covered that much ground in a half a day alone, and he asked Mr. Fox if he was going to let that great straddle-bug ruin his reputation for speed and make him the laughing-stock of the Big Deep Woods, besides all the other damage he had done. "Then Mr. Fox scratched his head, and thought about it, and said he didn't see how he could help giving the race to Mr. Tortoise, for it was to be the first one across the fence, and that Mr. Tortoise was certainly the first one across, and that he'd gone over the top rail in style. "Well, that made Grandpaw Hare madder than ever. He didn't say another word, but just picked up his property that Mr. Tortoise handed him through the fence, and set out for home by a back way, studying what he ought to do to keep everybody from laughing at him, and thinking that if he didn't do something he'd have to leave the country or drown himself, for he had always been so proud that if people laughed at him he knew he could never show his face again. "And that," said Mr. Rabbit, "is the true story of that old race between the Hare and the Tortoise, and of how the first Rabbit came to lose his tail. I've never told it before, and none of my family ever did; but so many stories have been told about the way those things happened that we might just as well have this one, which is the only true one so far as I know." [Illustration: SET OUT FOR HOME BY A BACK WAY] Then Mr. Rabbit lit his pipe and leaned back and smoked. Mr. Dog said it was a fine story, and he wished he could have seen that race, and Mr. Turtle looked as if he wanted to say something, and did open his mouth to say it, but Mr. Crow spoke up, and asked what happened after that to Mr. Rabbit's twenty-seventh great-grandfather, and how it was that the rest of the Rabbits had short tails, too. Then Mr. Rabbit said that that was another story, and Mr. Squirrel and Mr. Robin wanted him to tell it right away, but Mr. Crow said they'd better have supper now, and Mr. 'Possum thought that was a good plan, and Mr. 'Coon, too, and then they all hurried around to get up some sticks of wood from down-stairs, and to set the table, and everybody helped, so they could get through early and have a nice long evening. And all the time the snow was coming down outside and piling higher and higher, and they were being snowed in without knowing it, for it was getting too dark to see much when they tried again to look out the window through the gloom of the Big Deep Woods. THE FOURTH SNOWED-IN STORY MR. JACK RABBIT CONTINUES HIS FAMILY HISTORY "DID they have enough left for supper--enough for all the visitors, I mean?" asks the Little Lady the next evening, when the Story Teller is ready to go on with the history of the Hollow Tree. "Oh yes, they had plenty for supper, and more, too. They had been getting ready a good while for just such a time as this, and had carried in a lot of food, and they had a good many nice things down in the store-room where the wood was, but they didn't need those yet. They just put on what they had left from their big dinner, and Mr. Crow stirred up a pan of hot biscuits by his best receipt, and they passed them back and forth across the table so much that Mr. 'Possum said they went like hot cakes, sure enough, and always took two when they came his way." And they talked a good deal about the stories that Mr. 'Coon and Mr. Rabbit had told them, and everybody thought how sly and smart Mr. 'Coon had been to fool Mr. Dog that way; and Mr. 'Coon said that, now he came to think it over, he supposed it was a pretty good trick, though it really hadn't seemed so specially great to him at the time. He said he didn't think it half as smart as Mr. Tortoise's trick on Mr. Rabbit's Grandpaw Hare, when he beat him in the foot-race and went over the fence first, taking Mr. Hare's tail with him. And then they wondered if that had all really happened as Mr. Rabbit had told it--all but Mr. Turtle, who just sat and smiled to himself and didn't say anything at all, except "Please pass the biscuits," now and then, when he saw the plate being set down in front of Mr. 'Possum. Then by-and-by they all got through and hurried up and cleared off the table, and lit their pipes, and went back to the fire, and pretty soon Jack Rabbit began to tell HOW THE REST OF THE RABBITS LOST THEIR TAILS "Well," he said, "my twenty-seventh great-grandfather Hare didn't go out again for several days. He put up a sign that said 'Not at Home,' on his door, and then tried a few experiments, to see what could be done. [Illustration: TRIED TO SPLICE HIS PROPERTY BACK IN PLACE] "He first tried to splice his property back into place, as Mr. Tortoise had told him he might, but that plan didn't work worth a cent. He never could get it spliced on straight, and if he did get it about right, it would lop over or sag down or something as soon as he moved, and when he looked at himself in the glass he made up his mind that he'd rather do without his nice plumy brush altogether than to go out into society with it in that condition. "So he gave it up and put on some nice all-healing ointment, and before long what there was left of it was all well, and a nice bunch of soft, white cottony fur had grown out over the scar, and Grandpaw Hare thought when he looked at himself in the glass that it was really quite becoming, though he knew the rest of his family would always be saying things about it, and besides they would laugh at him for letting Mr. Tortoise beat him in a foot-race. "Sometimes, when there was nobody around, my grandfather would go out into the sun and light his pipe and lean up against a big stone, or maybe a stump, and think it over. [Illustration: GRANDFATHER WOULD LIGHT HIS PIPE AND THINK IT OVER] "And one morning, as he sat there thinking, he made up his mind what he would do. Mr. Lion lived in the Big Deep Woods in those days, and he was King. Whenever anything happened among the Deep Woods People that they couldn't decide for themselves, they went to where King Lion lived, in a house all by himself over by the Big West Hills, and he used to settle the question; and sometimes, when somebody that wasn't very old, and maybe was plump and tender, had done something that wasn't just right, King Lion would look at him and growl and say it was too bad for any one so young to do such things, and especially for them to grow up and keep on doing them; so he would have him for breakfast, or maybe for dinner, and that would settle everything in the easiest and shortest way. "Of course Grandfather Hare knew very well that Mr. Tortoise and Mr. Fox wouldn't go with him to King Lion, for they would be afraid to, after what they had done, so he made up his mind to go alone and tell him the whole story, because he was as sure as anything that King Lion would decide that he had really won the race, and would be his friend, which would make all the other Deep Woods People jealous and proud of him again, and perhaps make them wish they had nice bunches of white cottony fur in the place of long dragging tails that were always in the way. "And then some day he would show King Lion where Mr. Fox and Mr. Tortoise lived. [Illustration: SET UP HIS EARS AND WENT BY, LICKETY-SPLIT] "My Grandfather Hare didn't stop a minute after he thought of that, but just set out for King Lion's house over at the foot of the Big West Hills. He had to pass by Mr. Fox's house, and Mr. Fox called to him, but Grandpaw Hare just set up his ears as proud as could be and went by, lickety-split, without looking at Mr. Fox at all. "It was a good way to King Lion's house, but Grandpaw Hare didn't waste any time, and he was there almost before he knew it. "When he got to King Lion's door he hammered on the knocker, and when nobody came right away he thought maybe the King was out for a walk. But that wasn't so. King Lion had been sick for two or three days, and he was still in bed, and had to get up and get something around him before he could let Grandpaw in. "Grandpaw Hare had sat down on the steps to wait, when all at once the door opened behind him and he felt something grab him by the collar and swing him in and set him down hard on a seat, and then he saw it was King Lion, and he didn't much like his looks. "'So it was you, was it, making that noise?' he said. 'Well, I'm glad to see you, for I was just thinking about having a nice rabbit for breakfast.' [Illustration: "'GLAD TO SEE YOU,' SAID KING LION; 'I WAS JUST THINKING ABOUT HAVING A NICE RABBIT FOR BREAKFAST'"] "Then my twenty-seventh great-grandfather knew he'd made a mistake, coming to see King Lion when he was feeling that way, and he had to think pretty quick to know what to say. But our family have always been pretty quick in their thoughts, and Grandpaw Hare spoke right up as polite as could be, and said he would do anything he could to find a nice young plump rabbit for King Lion, and that he would even be proud to be a king's breakfast himself, only he wasn't so very young nor so very plump, and, besides, there was that old prophecy about the king and the cotton-tailed rabbit, which of course, he said, King Lion must have heard about. "Then King Lion said that my twenty-seventh great-grandfather was plenty young enough and plenty plump enough, and that he'd never heard of any prophecy about a cotton-tailed rabbit, and that he'd never heard of a cotton-tailed rabbit, either. "Then Grandpaw Hare just got up and turned around, and as he turned he said, as solemnly as he could: 'When the King eats a hare with a cotton tail, Then the King's good health will fail.' "Well, that scared the King a good deal, for he was just getting over one sick spell, and he was afraid if he had another right away he'd die sure. He sat down and asked Grandpaw Hare to tell him how he came to have a tail like that, and grandpaw told him, and it made the King laugh and laugh, until he got well, and he said it was the best joke he ever heard of, and that he'd have given some of the best ornaments off of his crown to have seen that race. "And the better King Lion felt the hungrier he got, and when my Grandfather Hare asked him if he wouldn't decide the race in his favor, he just glared at him and said if he didn't get out of there and hunt him up a nice, young, plump, long-tailed rabbit, he'd eat him--cotton tail, prophecy, and all--for he didn't go much on prophecies anyway. "Then Grandpaw Hare got right up and said, 'Good-day' and backed out and made tracks for the rest of his family, and told them that King Lion had just got up from a sick spell that had given him an appetite for long-tailed rabbits. He said that the King had sent him out to get one, and that King Lion would most likely be along himself pretty soon. He said the sooner the Rabbit family took pattern after the new cotton-tailed style the more apt they'd be to live to a green old age and have descendants. "Well, that was a busy day in the Big Deep Woods. The Rabbit family got in line by a big smooth stump that they picked out for the purpose, and grandpaw attended to the job for them, and called out 'Next!' as they marched by. He didn't have to wait, either, for they didn't know what minute King Lion might come. Mr. Tortoise and Mr. Fox came along and stopped to see the job, and helped grandpaw now and then when his arm got tired, and by evening there was a pile of tails by that stump as big as King Lion's house, and there never was such a call for the all-healing ointment as there was that night in the Big Deep Woods. "And none of our family ever did have tails after that, for they never would grow any more, and all the little new rabbits just had bunches of cotton, too, and that has never changed to this day. "And when King Lion heard how he'd been fooled by Grandpaw Hare with that foolish prophecy that he just made up right there, out of his head, he knew that everybody would laugh at him as much as he had laughed at Mr. Hare, and he moved out of the country and never came back, and there's never been a king in the Big Deep Woods since, so my twenty-seventh great-grandfather did some good, after all. "And that," said Mr. Rabbit, "is the whole story of the Hare and the Tortoise and how the Rabbit family lost their tails. It's never been told outside of our family before, but it's true, for it's been handed down, word for word, and if Mr. Fox or Mr. Tortoise were alive now they would say so." Mr. Rabbit filled his pipe and lit it, and Mr. Crow was just about to make some remarks, when Mr. Turtle cleared his throat and said: "The story that Mr. Rabbit has been telling is all true, every word of it--I was there." Then all the Deep Woods People took their pipes out of their mouths and just looked at Mr. Turtle with their mouths wide open, and when they could say anything at all, they said: "_You were there!_" You see, they could never get used to the notion of Mr. Turtle's being so old--as old as their twenty-seventh great-grandfathers would have been, if they had lived. "Yes," said Mr. Turtle, "and it all comes back to me as plain as day. It happened two hundred and fifty-eight years ago last June. They used to call us the Tortoise family then, and I was a young fellow of sixty-seven and fond of a joke. But I was surprised when I went sailing over that fence, and I didn't mean to carry off Mr. Hare's tail. Dear me, how time passes! I'm three hundred and twenty-five now, though I don't feel it." Then they all looked at Mr. Turtle again, for though they believed he was old, and might possibly have been there, they thought it pretty strange that he could be the very Mr. Tortoise who had won the race. Mr. 'Possum said, pretty soon, that when anybody said a thing like that, there ought to be some way to prove it. Then Mr. Turtle got up and began taking off his coat, and all the others began to get out of the way, for they didn't know what was going to happen to Mr. 'Possum, and they wanted to be safe; and Mr. 'Possum rolled under the table, and said that he didn't mean anything--that he loved Mr. Turtle, and that Mr. Turtle hadn't understood the way he meant it at all. But Mr. Turtle wasn't the least bit mad. He just laid off his coat, quietly, and unbuttoned his shirt collar, and told Mr. 'Coon and Mr. Crow to look on the back of his shell. And then Mr. Dog held a candle, and they all looked, one after another, and there, sure enough, carved right in Mr. Turtle's shell, were the words: BEAT MR. HARE FOOT-RACE JUNE 10, 1649 "That," said Mr. Turtle, "was my greatest joke, and I had it carved on my shell." And all the rest of the forest people said that a thing like that was worth carving on anybody's shell that had one, and when Mr. Turtle put on his coat they gave him the best seat by the fire, and sat and looked at him and asked questions about it, and finally all went to sleep in their chairs, while the fire burned low and the soft snow was banking up deeper and deeper, outside, in the dark. THE "SNOWED-IN" LITERARY CLUB MR. RABBIT PROPOSES SOMETHING TO PASS THE TIME "DID the Hollow Tree People and their company sleep in their chairs all night?" asks the Little Lady, as soon as she has finished her supper. "And were they snowed in when they woke up next morning?" The Story Teller is not quite ready to answer. He has to fill his pipe first, and puff a little and look into the fire before he sits down, and the Little Lady climbs into her place. The Little Lady knows the Story Teller, and waits. When he begins to rock a little she knows he has remembered, and then pretty soon he tells her about the "Snowed-In" Literary Club. Well, the Hollow Tree People went to sleep there by the fire and they stayed asleep a long while, for they were tired with all the good times and all the good things to eat they had been having. And when they woke up once, they thought it was still night, for it was dark, though they thought it must be about morning, because the fire was nearly out, and Mr. 'Possum said if there was anybody who wasn't too stiff he wished they'd put on a stick of wood, as he was frozen so hard that he knew if he tried to move he'd break. So Mr. Turtle, who had been drawn up mostly into his shell, and Mr. Dog, who was used to getting up at all hours of the night, stretched and yawned and crept down after some sticks and dry pieces and built up a good fire, and pretty soon they were all asleep again, as sound as ever. And when they woke up next time it was still just as dark, and the fire had gone almost out again, and Mr. 'Coon and Mr. Crow, too, said they didn't understand it, at all, for a fire like that would generally keep all night and all day too, and here two fires had burned out and it was still as dark as ever. Then Mr. Crow lit a splinter and looked at the clock, and said he must have forgotten to wind it, or maybe it was because it was so cold, as it had stopped a little after twelve, and Mr. 'Possum said that from the way he felt it was no wonder the clock had stopped, for if he could tell anything by his feelings it must be at least day after to-morrow. He said he felt so empty that every time he breathed he could hear the wind whistle through his ribs. That made Mr. Rabbit think of something, and he stepped over to the window. Then he pushed it up a little, and put out his hand. But he didn't put it out far, for it went right into something soft and cold. Mr. Rabbit came over to where Mr. Crow was poking up the fire, bringing some of the stuff with him. "Now," he said, "you can all see what's the matter. We're snowed in. The snow is up over the window, and that's why it's so dark. It may be up over the top of the tree, and we may have been asleep here for a week, for all we know." Then they all gathered around to look at the snow, and went to the window and got some more, and tried to tell whether it was day or night, and Mr. Crow and Mr. 'Coon and Mr. 'Possum ran up-stairs to their rooms, and called back that it was day, for the snow hadn't come quite up to the tops of their windows. And it was day, sure enough, and quite late in the afternoon at that, but they couldn't tell just what day it was, or whether they had slept one night, or two nights, or even longer. Well, of course the first thing was to get something to eat and a big fire going, and even Mr. 'Possum scrambled around and helped carry wood, so he could get warm quicker. They still had a good deal to eat in the Hollow Tree, and they were not much worried. Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon remembered another time they were snowed in, when Mr. Crow had fed them on Johnnie cake and gravy, and they thought that if everything else gave out it would be great fun to live like that again. When they had finished eating breakfast, or dinner, or whatever it was, for it was nearer supper-time than anything else, they began to think of things to do to amuse themselves, and they first thought they'd have some more stories, like Mr. Rabbit's. But Mr. Rabbit, who is quite literary, and a good poet, said it would be better to make it a kind of a club, and each have a poem, or a story, or a song; or if anybody couldn't do any of those he must dance a jig. Then they all remembered a poetry club that Mr. Rabbit had got up once and how nice it was, and they all said that was just the thing, and they got around the table and began to work away at whatever they were going to do for the "Snowed-In" Literary Club. [Illustration: GOT AROUND THE TABLE AND BEGAN TO WORK] Mr. Rabbit wasn't very long at his piece, and pretty soon he jumped up and said he was through, and Mr. 'Possum said that if that was so, he might go down and bring up some wood and warm up the brains of the rest of them. So Mr. Rabbit stirred up the fire, and sat down and looked into it, and read over his poem to himself and changed a word here and there, and thought how nice it was; and by-and-by Mr. Dog said he was through, and Mr. Robin said he was through, too. Then Mr. Rabbit said he thought that would be more than enough for one evening anyway, and that the others might finish their pieces to-morrow and have them ready for the next evening. So then they all gathered around the fire again, and everybody said that as Mr. Rabbit had thought of the club first, he must be the first to read his piece. Mr. Rabbit said he was sure it would be more modest for some one else to read first, but that he was willing to start things going if they wanted him to. Then he stood up, and turned a little to the light, and took a nice position, and read his poem, which was called SNOWED IN _By J. Rabbit_ Oh, the snow lies white in the woods to-night-- The snow lies soft and deep; And under the snow, I know, oh, ho! The flowers of the summer sleep. The flowers of the summer sleep, I know, Snowed in like you and me-- Under the sheltering leaves, oh, ho, As snug and as warm as we-- As snug and as warm from the winter storm As we of the Hollow Tree. Snowed in are we in the Hollow Tree, And as snug and as warm as they we be-- Snowed in, snowed in, Are we, are we, And as snug as can be in the Hollow Tree, The wonderful Hollow Tree. Oh, the snow lies cold on wood and wold, But never a bit comes in, As we smoke and eat, and warm our feet, And sit by the fire and spin: And what care we for the winter gales, And what care we for the snow-- As we sit by the fire and spin our tales And think of the things we know? As we spin our tales in the winter gales And wait for the snow to go? Oh, the winds blow high and the winds blow low, But what care we for the wind and snow, Spinning our tales of the long ago As snug as snug can be? For never a bit comes in, comes in, As we sit by the fire and spin, and spin The tales we know, of the long ago, In the wonderful Hollow Tree. Mr. Rabbit sat down then, and of course everybody spoke up as soon as they could get their breath and said how nice it was, and how Mr. Rabbit always expressed himself better in poetry than anybody else could in prose, and how the words and rhymes just seemed to flow along as if he were reeling it off of a spinning-wheel and could keep it up all day. And Mr. Rabbit smiled and said he supposed it came natural, and that sometimes it was harder to stop than it was to start, and that he _could_ keep it up all day as easy as not. Then Mr. 'Possum said he'd been afraid that was what _would_ happen, and that if Mr. Rabbit hadn't stopped pretty soon that he--Mr. 'Possum, of course--would have been so tangled up in his mind that somebody would have had to come and undo the knot. Then he said he wanted to ask some questions. He said he wanted to know what "wold" meant, and also what Mr. Rabbit meant by spinning their tails. He said he hadn't noticed that any of them were spinning their tails, and that he couldn't do it if he tried. He said that he could curl his tail and hang from a limb or a peg by it, and he had found it a good way to go to sleep when things were on his mind, and that he generally had better dreams when he slept that way. [Illustration: MR. 'POSSUM WANTED TO KNOW WHAT MR. RABBIT MEANT BY SPINNING THEIR TAILS] He said that of course Mr. Rabbit's poem had been about tails of the long ago, and he supposed that he meant the ones which his family had lost about three hundred years ago, according to Mr. Turtle, but that he didn't believe they ever could spin them much, or that Mr. Rabbit could spin what he had left. Mr. 'Possum was going on to say a good deal more on the subject, but Mr. Rabbit interrupted him. He said he didn't suppose there was anybody else in the world whose food seemed to do him so little good as Mr. 'Possum's, and that very likely it was owing to the habit he had of sleeping with his head hanging down in that foolish way. He said he had never heard of anybody who ate so much and knew so little. Of course, he said, everybody might not know what "wold" meant, as it wasn't used much except by poets who used the best words, but that it meant some kind of a field, and it was better for winter use, as it rhymed with "cold" and was nearly always used that way. As for Mr. 'Possum's other remark, he said he couldn't imagine how anybody would suppose that the tales he meant were those other tails which were made to wave or wag or flirt or hang from limbs by, instead of being stories to be told or written, just as the Deep Woods People were telling and writing them now. He said there was an old expression about having a peg to hang a tale on, and that it was most likely gotten up by one of Mr. 'Possum's ancestors or somebody who knew as little about such things as Mr. 'Possum, and that another old expression which said "Thereby hangs a tale" was just like it, because the kind of tales he meant didn't hang, but were always told or written, while the other kind always did hang, and were never told or written, but were only sometimes told or written about, and it made him feel sad, he said, to have to explain his poem in that simple way. Then Mr. 'Possum said that he was sorry Mr. Rabbit felt that way, because he didn't feel at all that way himself, and had only been trying to discuss Mr. Rabbit's nice poem. He said that of course Mr. Rabbit couldn't be expected to know much about tails, never having had a real one himself, and would be likely to get mixed up when he tried to write on the subject. He said he wouldn't mention such things again, and that he was sorry and hoped that Mr. Rabbit would forgive him. And Mr. Rabbit said that he was sorry, too--sorry for Mr. 'Possum--and that he thought whoever was ready had better read the next piece. Then Mr. Dog said that he supposed that he was as ready as he'd ever be, and that he'd like to read his and get it off his mind, so he wouldn't be so nervous and could enjoy listening to the others. He wasn't used to such things, he said, and couldn't be original like Mr. Rabbit, but he knew a story that was told among the fowls in Mr. Man's barn-yard, and that he had tried to write it in a simple way that even Mr. 'Possum would understand. His story was about a duck--a young and foolish duck--who got into trouble, and Mr. Dog said he had made a few sketches to go with it, and that they could be handed around while he was reading. Now he would begin, he said, and the name of his story was ERASTUS, THE ROBBER DUCK _By Mr. Dog, with Sketches_ Once upon a time there was a foolish young duck named Erastus (called 'Rastus, for short). He was an only child, and lived with his mother in a small house on the bank of a pond at the foot of the farm-yard. Erastus thought himself a brave duck; he would chase his shadow, and was not afraid of quite a large worm. As he grew older he did not tell his mother everything. Once he slipped away, and went swimming alone. Then a worm larger than any he had ever seen came up out of the water, and would have swallowed Erastus if he had not reached the shore just in time, and gone screaming to his mother. His mother said the great worm was a water-snake, and she told Erastus snake-stories which gave him bad dreams. [Illustration: MR. DOG SAID HE HAD MADE A FEW SKETCHES] Erastus grew quite fast, and soon thought he was nearly grown up. Once he tried to smoke with some other young ducks behind the barn. It made Erastus sick, and his mother found it out. She gave Erastus some unpleasant medicine, and made him stay in bed a week. Erastus decided that he would run away. While his mother was taking her morning bath he packed his things in a little valise she had given him for Christmas. Then he slipped out the back door and made for the woods as fast as he could go. He had made up his mind to be a robber, and make a great deal of money by taking it away from other people. He had begun by taking a small toy pistol which belonged to Mr. Man's little boy. He wore it at his side. His mother had read to him about robbers. Erastus also had on his nice new coat and pretty vest. He did not rob anybody that day. There was nothing in the woods but trees and vines. Erastus tripped over the vines and hurt himself, and lost the toy pistol. Then it came night, and he was very lonesome. For the first time in his life Erastus missed his mother. There was a nice full moon, but Erastus did not care for it. Some of the black shadows about him looked as if they might be live things. By-and-by he heard a noise near him. Erastus the Robber Duck started to run; but he was lost, and did not know which way to go. All at once he was face to face with some large animal. It wore a long cape and a mask. It also carried a real pistol which it pointed at Erastus and told him to hold up his wings. Erastus the Robber Duck held up his wings as high as possible, and tried to get them higher. It did not seem to Erastus that he could hold them up high enough. His mother had read to him about robbers. Then the robber took all the things that Erastus had in his pockets. He took his new knife and his little watch; also the nice bag which his mother had given him for Christmas. Erastus kept his wings up a good while after the robber had gone. He was afraid the robber had not gone far enough. When he put them down they were cramped and sore. Then he heard something again, and thought it was the robber coming back after his clothes. Erastus fled with great speed, taking off his garments as he ran. At last he reached the edge of the wood, not far from where he lived. It was just morning, and his mother saw him coming. She looked sad, and embraced him. It was the first time Erastus had been out all night. Erastus was not allowed to go swimming or even to leave the yard for a long time. Whenever he remembered that night in the woods he shivered, and his mother thought he had a chill. Then she would put him to bed and give him some of the unpleasant medicine. Erastus did not tell his mother _all_ that had happened that night for a good while. He was ashamed to do so. But one day when he seemed quite sick and his mother was frightened, he broke down and told her all about it. Then his mother forgave him, and he got well right away. After that Erastus behaved, and grew to be the best and largest duck in Mr. Man's farm-yard. * * * * * While Mr. Dog had been reading his story the Hollow Tree People--the 'Coon and the 'Possum and the Old Black Crow--had been leaning forward and almost holding their breath, and Mr. Dog felt a good deal flattered when he noticed how interested they were. When he sat down he saw that Mr. 'Possum's mouth was open and his tongue fairly hanging out with being so excited. [Illustration: MR. 'POSSUM SAID IT MIGHT BE A GOOD ENOUGH STORY, BUT IT COULDN'T BE TRUE] Then before any of the others could say a word, Mr. 'Possum said that it might be a good enough story, but that it couldn't be true. He said that he wasn't a judge of stories, but that he was a judge of ducks--young ducks, or old either--and that no young duck could pass the night in the Big Deep Woods and get home at sunrise or any other time, unless all the other animals were snowed in or locked up in a menagerie, and that the animal that had met Erastus might have robbed him, of course, but he would have eaten him first, and then carried off what was left, unless, of course, that robber was a rabbit, and he said that he didn't believe any rabbit would have spunk enough to be in that business. Mr. Rabbit was about to say something just then, but Mr. Crow and Mr. 'Coon both interrupted and said they thought Mr. 'Possum was right for once, except about Mr. Rabbit, who was plenty brave enough, but too much of a gentleman to be out robbing people at night when he could be at home in bed asleep. Then Mr. Dog said: "I don't know whether the story is true or not. I wrote it down as I heard it among Mr. Man's fowls, and I know the duck that they still call Erastus, and he's the finest, fattest--" But Mr. Dog didn't get any further. For the Hollow Tree People broke in and said, all together: "Oh, take us to see him, Mr. Dog! Or perhaps you could bring him to see us. Invite him to spend an evening with us in the Hollow Tree. Tell him we will have him for dinner and invite our friends. Oh, do, Mr. Dog!" But Mr. Dog knew what they meant by having him for dinner, and he said he guessed Mr. Man would not be willing to have Erastus go out on an invitation like that, and that if Erastus came, Mr. Man might take a notion to visit the Hollow Tree himself. Then the Hollow Tree People all said, "Oh, never mind about Erastus! He's probably old and disagreeable anyway. We don't think we would care for him. But it was a nice story--very nice, indeed." And pretty soon Mr. Dog said he'd been thinking about the robber animal, too, and had made up his mind that it might have been one of Mr. Cat's family--for Mr. Man's little boy and girl had a book with a nice poem in it about a robber cat, and a robber dog, too, though he didn't think that the dog could have been any of _his_ family. Mr. Cat, he said, would not be likely to care for Erastus, feathers and all, that way, and no doubt it really was Mr. Cat who robbed him. Mr. Dog said that he had once heard of a Mr. Cat who wanted to be king--perhaps after Mr. Lion had gone out of the king business, and that there was an old poem about it that Mr. Dog's mother used to sing to him, but he didn't think it had ever been put into a book. He said there were a good many things in it he didn't suppose the Hollow Tree People would understand because it was about a different kind of a country--where his mother had been born--but that if they really would like to hear it he would try to remember it for them, as it would be something different from anything they had been used to. Then the Hollow Tree People and their friends all said how glad they would be to hear it, for they always liked to hear about new things and new parts of the country; so Mr. Dog said that if some of the others would read or sing or dance their jigs first, perhaps it would come to him and he would sing it for them by and by. Then Mr. Robin spoke up and said that he thought Mr. Dog's story had a good moral in it, and he said that _his_ story (Mr. Robin's, of course) was that kind of a story, too. Perhaps he'd better tell it now, he said, while their minds were running that way, though as for Mr. 'Possum's mind it seemed to be more on how good Erastus might be cooked than how good he had become in his behavior. He was sorry, he said, that his story didn't have any ducks in it, young or old, but that perhaps Mr. 'Possum and the others would be willing to wait for the nice pair of cooked ones now hanging in Mr. Crow's pantry, to be served at the end of the literary exercises. But Mr. 'Possum said "No," he wasn't willing to wait any longer--that Mr. Dog's story and the mention of those nice cooked fowls was more than he could bear, and that if it was all the same to Mr. Robin and the others he voted to have supper first, and then he'd be better able to stand a strictly moral story on a full stomach. Mr. Crow and Mr. 'Coon said that was a good idea, and Mr. Rabbit said he thought they'd better postpone Mr. Robin's story until the next evening, as Mr. 'Possum had taken up so much time with his arguments that he must be hungrier than usual, and if he put in as much more time eating, it would be morning before they were ready to go on with the literary programme. Then they all looked at the clock and saw that it really was getting late, though that was the only way they could tell, for the snow covered all the windows and made no difference between day and night in the Hollow Tree. THE "SNOWED-IN" LITERARY CLUB--Part II MR. RABBIT STARTS SOME NEW AMUSEMENTS IT was still dark in the Hollow Tree when the Deep Woods People woke up next morning, but they knew what was the matter now, and could tell by the clock and the fire that it was day outside, even before Mr. 'Possum ran up to his room and looked out the window and came back shivering, because he said the snow was blowing and drifting and some had drifted in around his windows and made his room as cold as all outdoors. He said he was willing to stay by the fire while this spell lasted, and take such exercise as he needed by moving his chair around to the table when he wanted to eat. Mr. 'Coon said that Mr. 'Possum might exercise himself on a little wood for the cook-stove in Mr. Crow's kitchen if he wanted any breakfast, and that if this spell kept up long enough, they wouldn't have anything left but exercise to keep them alive. So Mr. 'Possum went down-stairs after an armful of stove-wood, and he stayed a good while, though they didn't notice it at the time. Then they all helped with the breakfast, and after breakfast they pushed back all the things and played "Blind Man's Buff," for Mr. Rabbit said that even if moving his chair from the fire to the table and back again was enough exercise for Mr. 'Possum, it wasn't enough for _him_, and the others said so, too. [Illustration: SO THEN MR. RABBIT SAID THEY MUST CHOOSE WHO WOULD BE "IT"] So then Mr. Rabbit said they must choose who would be "It" first, and they all stood in a row and Mr. Rabbit said: "Hi, ho, hickory dee-- One for you and one for me; One for the ones you try to find, And one for the one that wears the blind," which was a rigmarole Mr. Rabbit had made up himself to use in games where somebody had to be "It," and Mr. Rabbit said it around and around the circle on the different ones--one word for each one--until he came to the word "blind" and that was Mr. 'Possum, who had to put on the handkerchief and do more exercising than any of them, until he caught Mr. Turtle, who had to be "It" quite often, because he couldn't get out of the way as well as the others. And Mr. 'Possum was "It" a good deal, too, and Mr. 'Coon, and all the rest, though Mr. Robin was "It" less than anybody, because he was so little and spry that he could get out of the way. Then when they were tired of "Blind Man's Buff" they played "Pussy Wants a Corner" and "Forfeits," and Mr. 'Possum had to make a speech to redeem his forfeit, and he began: "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN" (though there were no ladies present)--"I am pleased to see you all here this evening" (though it wasn't evening) "looking so well dressed and well fed. It is better to be well fed than well dressed. It is better to be well dressed than not dressed at all. It is better to be not dressed at all than not fed at all. Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you for your kind attention and applause"--though they hadn't applauded yet, but they did, right away, and said it was a good speech, and Mr. Crow said it reminded him that it was about dinner-time, and that he would need some more wood. So Mr. 'Possum got right up to get the stove-wood again, which everybody thought was very good of Mr. 'Possum, who wasn't usually so spry and willing. [Illustration: MR. 'POSSUM HAD TO PUT ON THE HANDKERCHIEF AND DO MORE EXERCISING THAN ANY OF THEM] Then in the afternoon they had games again, but nice quiet games, for they were all glad to sit down, and they played "Button! Button! Who's Got the Button?" and nobody could tell when Mr. 'Possum had the button, for his face didn't show it, because he was nearly always looking straight into the fire, and seemed to be thinking about something away off. And when the fire got low, he always jumped up and offered to go down into the store-room after the wood, and they all said how willing and spry Mr. 'Possum was getting all at once, and when he stayed a good while down-stairs they didn't think anything about it--not at the time--or if they did they only thought he was picking out the best pieces to burn. They played "Drop the Handkerchief," too, and when they got through Mr. Rabbit performed some tricks with the handkerchief and the button that made even Mr. 'Possum pay attention because they were so wonderful. There was one trick especially that Mr. Rabbit did a great many times because they liked it so much, and were so anxious to guess how it was done. Mr. Rabbit told them it was a trick that had come down to him from his thirty-second great-grandfather, and must never be told to any one. It was a trick where he laid the button in the centre of the handkerchief and then folded the corners down on it, and pressed them down each time so that they could see that the button was still there, and he would let them press on it, too, to prove it, and then when he would lift up the handkerchief by the two corners nearest him there would be no button at all, and he would find it on the mantel-shelf or perhaps on Mr. Crow's bald head, or in Mr. 'Possum's pocket, or some place like that. But one time, when Mr. Rabbit had done it over and over, and maybe had grown a little careless, he lifted the handkerchief by the corners nearest him, and there was the button sticking fast, right in the centre of the handkerchief, for it had a little beeswax on it, to make it stick to one of the corners next to Mr. Rabbit, and by some mistake Mr. Rabbit had turned the button upside down! Then they all laughed, and all began to try it for themselves, and Mr. Rabbit laughed too, though perhaps he didn't feel much like it, and told them that they had learned one of the greatest secrets in his family, and that he would now tell them the adage that went with it if they would promise never to tell either the secret or the adage, and they all promised, and Mr. Rabbit told them the adage, which was: "When beeswax grows on the button-tree, No one knows what the weather'll be." [Illustration: WOULD FIND IT ON THE MANTEL-SHELF OR PERHAPS ON MR. CROW'S BALD HEAD] "That," said Mr. Rabbit, "is a very old adage. I don't know what it means exactly, but I'm sure it means something, because old adages always do mean something, though often nobody can find out just what it is, and the less they seem to mean the better they are, as adages. There are a great many old adages in our family, and they have often got my ancestors out of trouble. When we didn't have an old one to fit the trouble we made a new one, and by-and-by it got old too, and useful in different ways, because by that time it didn't seem to mean anything special, and could be used almost anywhere." Then the Deep Woods People all said there was never anybody who knew so much and could do so many things as Mr. Jack Rabbit, and how proud they all were to have him in their midst, and Mr. Rabbit showed them how to do all the tricks he knew, and they all practised them and tried them on each other until Mr. Crow said he must look after the supper, and Mr. 'Possum ran right off after an armful of stove-wood, and everybody helped with everything there was to do, for they were having such a good time and were so hungry. And after supper they all sat around the fire again and smoked a little before anybody said anything, until by-and-by Mr. Rabbit said that they would go on now with the literary club, and that Mr. Robin might read the story he had mentioned the night before. So Mr. Robin got up, and stood on a chair, and made a nice bow. He said it was not really his own story he had written, but one that his grandmother used to tell him sometimes, though he didn't think it had ever been put into a book. Then Mr. Rabbit spoke up and said that that didn't matter, that of course everybody couldn't be original, and that the story itself was the main thing and the way you told it. He said if Mr. Robin would go right on with the story now it would save time. So then they all knocked the ashes out of their pipes--all except Mr. Robin, who began right off to read his story: THE DISCONTENTED FOX MR. ROBIN TELLS HOW A FOX LEARNED A GOOD LESSON BY TAKING A LONG JOURNEY ONCE upon a time there was a Fox who lived at the foot of a hill and had a _nice garden_. One morning when he began to hoe in it he got tired, and the sun was _very hot_. Then the Fox didn't like to hoe any more, and made up his mind that it wasn't very pleasant to have a garden, anyway. So then he started out to travel and find _pleasant things_. He put on his best clothes, and the first house he came to belonged to a Rabbit who kept bees. And the Rabbit showed the Fox his bees and how to take out the honey. And the Fox said, "What _pleasant work_!" and wanted to take out honey too. But when he did there was a bee on the honey, and it stung the Fox on the nose. And that hurt the Fox, and his nose began to swell up, and he said: "This is not pleasant work _at all_!" and of course it wasn't--not for _him_--though the Rabbit seemed to enjoy it _more than ever_. So the Fox travelled on, and the next house he came to belonged to a Crow who made pies. And the Fox looked at him awhile and said, "What _pleasant work_!" And the Crow let the Fox help him, and when the Fox went to take a pie out of the oven he burnt his fingers _quite badly_. Then he said, "No, it is _not_ pleasant work--not for _me_!" and that was true, though the Crow seemed to enjoy it _more than ever_. So the Fox went on again, and the next house he came to belonged to a 'Coon who milked cows. And the Fox watched him milk, and pretty soon he said: "What pleasant work that _is_! Let _me_ milk." So the 'Coon let the Fox milk, and the Cow put her foot in the milk-pail and upset it _all over_ the Fox's nice _new clothes_. And the Fox was mad, and said: "This work is not in the _least_ pleasant!" and he _hurried away_, though the 'Coon seemed to enjoy it _more than ever_. And the next house the Fox came to belonged to a Cat who played the fiddle. And the Fox listened awhile and said: "What pleasant work that _must be_!" and he borrowed the Cat's fiddle. But when he started down the road playing, a Man ran around the corner and shot a loud gun at him, and that was not pleasant, _either_, though the Cat seemed to enjoy it _more than ever_. So the Fox kept on travelling and _doing_ things that he thought would be _pleasant_, but that did not turn out to _be_ pleasant--not for _him_--until by-and-by he had travelled _clear around the world_ and had come up on the other side, _back_ to his _own garden_ again. And his garden was just the same as he had left it, only the things had grown bigger, and there were _some weeds_. And the Fox jumped over the fence and commenced to _hoe_ the _weeds_, and pretty soon he said, "Why, this is _pleasant_!" Then he hoed some more, and said, "Why, what pleasant work _this is_!" So he kept on hoeing and finding it pleasant until by-and-by the weeds were _all gone_, and the _Rabbit_ and the _Crow_ and the _Cat_ and the _'Coon_ came and traded him honey and pies and milk and music for vegetables, because he had the best garden in the world. And he _has yet_! * * * * * When Mr. Robin got through and sat down, Mr. Squirrel spoke up and said it was a good story because it had a moral lesson in it and taught folks to like the things they knew best how to do, and Mr. 'Possum said yes, that might be so, but that the story couldn't be true, because none of those animals would have enjoyed seeing that Fox leave them, but would have persuaded him to stay and help them, and would have taught him to do most of the work. Then Mr. Robin spoke up and said that Mr. 'Possum thought everybody was like himself, and that anyway Mr. 'Possum didn't need the lesson in that story, for he already liked to do the things he could do best, which were to eat and sleep and let other people do the work, though of course he had been very good about getting the wood, lately, which certainly was unusual. Then Mr. 'Possum said he didn't see why Mr. Robin should speak in that cross way when he had only meant to be kind and show him the mistake in his story, so he could fix it right. And Mr. Rabbit said that as Mr. 'Possum seemed to know so much how stories and poems ought to be written, perhaps he'd show now what he could do in that line himself. Mr. 'Possum said he hadn't written anything because it was too much trouble, but that he would tell them a story if they would like to hear it--something that had really happened, because he had been there, and was old enough to remember. But before he began Mr. Robin said that as they had not cared much about his story he would like to recite a few lines he had thought of, which would perhaps explain how he felt, and all the animals said, "Of course, go right on," and Mr. Robin bowed and recited a little poem he had made, called ONLY ME _By C. Robin_ How came a little bird like me A place in this fine group to win? My mind is small--it has to be-- The little place I keep it in. How came a little bird like me To be here in the Hollow Tree? When all the others know so much, And are so strong and gifted too, How can I dare to speak of such As I can know, and think, and do? How can a little bird like me Belong here in the Hollow Tree? [Illustration: MR. 'POSSUM SAID HE HADN'T MEANT ANYTHING AT ALL BY WHAT HE HAD SAID ABOUT THE STORY] Well, when Mr. Robin finished that, all the others spoke right up and said that Mr. Robin must never write anything so sad as that again. They said his story was just as good as it could be, and that Mr. Robin was one of the smartest ones there; and Mr. 'Possum burst into tears, and said that he hadn't meant anything at all by what he had said about the story, and that some time, when they were all alone, Mr. Robin must tell it to him again, and he would try to have sense enough to understand it. Then he ran over to Mr. Robin, and was going to embrace him and weep on his shoulder, and would very likely have mashed him if Mr. Turtle hadn't dragged him back to his seat and told him that he had done damage enough to people's feelings without killing anybody, and the best thing he could do now would be to go on with a story of his own if he had any. But Mr. 'Possum said he was too sleepy now, so Mr. Dog sang the poem which he had promised the evening before because, he said, singing would be a nice thing to go to sleep on. Mr. Dog's song was called THE CAT WHO WOULD BE KING There was cat who kept a store, With other cats for customers. His milk and mice All packed in ice-- His catnip all in canisters. Fresh milk he furnished every day-- Two times a day and sometimes three-- And so this cat Grew rich and fat And proud as any cat could be. But though so fat and rich he grew He was not satisfied at all-- At last quoth he, "A king I'll be Of other cats both great and small." [Illustration: AND SO THIS CAT CREW RICH AND FAT] [Illustration] Then hied he to the tinner cat, Who made for him a tinsel crown, And on the street, A king complete, He soon went marching up and down. [Illustration] Now, many cats came out to see, And some were filled with awe at him; While some, alack, Behind his back Did laugh and point a paw at him. [Illustration: HIS CLERKS] Mice, milk, and catnip did he scorn; He went to business less and less-- And everywhere He wore an air Of arrogance and haughtiness. His clerks ate catnip all day long-- They spent much time in idle play; They left the mice From off the ice-- They trusted cats who could not pay. [Illustration: A SOLEMN LOOK WAS IN HIS FACE] While happy in his tin-shop crown Each day the king went marching out, Elate because He thought he was The kind of king you read about. But lo, one day, he strolled too far, And in a dim and dismal place A cat he met, Quite small, and yet A solemn look was in his face. One fiery eye this feline wore-- A waif he was of low degree-- No gaudy dress Did he possess, Nor yet a handsome cat was he. But lo, he smote that spurious king And stripped him of his tinsel crown, Then like the wind Full close behind He chased His Highness into town. With cheers his subjects saw him come. He did not pause--he did not stop, But straight ahead He wildly fled Till he was safe within his shop. He caught his breath and gazed about-- A sorry sight did he behold: No catnip there Or watchful care-- No mice and milk and joy of old. He heaved a sigh and dropped a tear-- He sent those idle clerks away-- Quoth he, "My pride Is satisfied; This kingdom business does not pay." With care once more he runs his store, His catnip all in canisters-- His milk and mice All packed in ice, And humbly serves his customers. [Illustration: QUOTH HE, "MY PRIDE IS SATISFIED; THIS KINGDOM BUSINESS DOES NOT PAY"] MR. 'POSSUM'S GREAT STORY MR. 'POSSUM TELLS THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF THE 'POSSUM FAMILY, TO THE SURPRISE OF HIS FRIENDS "NOW this," said the Story Teller, "is the story that Mr. 'Possum told the 'Snowed-In' Literary Club in the Hollow Tree. It must be a true story, because Mr. 'Possum said so, and, besides, anybody that knows Mr. 'Possum would know that he could never in the world have made it up out of his head." The Little Lady doesn't quite like that. "But Mr. 'Possum is smart," she says. "He knows ever so much." "Oh yes, of course, and that's why he never _has_ to make up things. He just tells what he knows, and this time he told HOW UNCLE SILAS AND AUNT MELISSY MOVED "You may remember," he said, "my telling you once about Uncle Silas and Aunt Melissy Lovejoy, who lived in a nice place just beyond the Wide Paw-paw Hollows, and how Uncle Silas once visited Cousin Glenwood in town and came home all dressed up, leading a game chicken, and with a bag of shinny-sticks, and a young man to wait on him; and how Aunt Melissy--instead of being pleased, as Uncle Silas thought she would be--got mad when she saw him, and made him and the young man take off all their nice clothes and go to work in the garden, and kept them at it with that bag of shinny-sticks until fall.[B] "Well, this story is about them, too. I went to live with them soon after that, because I lost both of my parents one night when Mr. Man was hunting in the Black Bottoms for something to put in a pan with some sweet potatoes he had raised that year, and I suppose I would have been used with sweet potatoes too if I hadn't come away from there pretty lively instead of trying our old playing-dead trick on Mr. Man and his friends. "I thought right away that Mr. Man might know the trick, so I didn't wait to try it myself, but took out for the Wide Paw-paw Hollows, to visit Uncle Silas Lovejoy, who was an uncle on my mother's side, and Aunt Melissy and my little cousins; and they all seemed glad to see me, especially my little cousins, until they found they had to give me some of their things and most of their food, because I was young and growing, besides being quite sad about my folks, and so, of course, had to eat a good deal to keep well and from taking my loss too hard. "But by-and-by Uncle Lovejoy said that he didn't believe that he and the hired man--who was the same one he had brought home to wait on him when he came from town--to be his valet, he said--though he got to be a hired man right after Aunt Melissy met him and got hold of the shinny-sticks--Aunt Melissy being a spry, stirring person who liked to see people busy. I remember how she used to keep me and my little cousins busy until sometimes I wished I had stayed with my folks and put up with the sweet potatoes and let Uncle Silas and his family alone." Mr. 'Possum stopped to light his pipe, and Mr. Rabbit said that he supposed, of course, Mr. 'Possum knew his story and how to tell it, but that if he ever intended to finish what Uncle Lovejoy had said about himself and the hired man he wished he'd get at it pretty soon. Mr. 'Possum said of course he meant to, as soon as he could get his breath, and think a minute. "Well, then," he said, "Uncle Silas told Aunt Melissy that he didn't believe he and the hired man could raise and catch enough for the family since I had come to stay with them, and he thought they had better move farther west to a place where the land was better and where Mr. Man's chickens were not kept up in such close, unhealthy places, but were allowed to roost out in the open air, on the fences and in the trees. He said he didn't think their house was quite stylish enough either, which he knew would strike Aunt Melissy, who was a Glenwood, and primpy, and fond of the best things. "So then we began to pack up right away, and Uncle Silas and Aunt Melissy quarrelled a good deal about what was worth taking and what wasn't, and they took turns scolding the hired man about a good many things he didn't do and almost all of the things he did do, and my little cousins and I had a fine time running through the empty rooms and playing with things we had never seen before, but we had to keep out of Aunt Melissy's reach if we wanted to enjoy it much. "Well, by-and-by we were all packed up and ready to start. We had everything in bundles or tied together, and Aunt Melissy had arranged a big bundle for Uncle Silas to carry, and several things to tie and hang about on his person in different places, and she had fixed up the hired man too, besides some bundles for me and my little cousins. "Aunt Melissy said she would take charge of the lunch-basket and lead the way, and she was all dressed up and carried an umbrella, and didn't look much as if she belonged to the rest of our crowd. [Illustration: AUNT MELISSY HAD ARRANGED A BUNDLE FOR UNCLE SILAS, AND SHE HAD FIXED UP THE HIRED MAN TOO] "It was pretty early when we started, for it was getting dangerous to camp out in that section, and we wanted to get as far as we could the first day, though we didn't any of us have any idea then how long a trip we _would_ make that day, nor of the way we were going to make it. Nobody could guess a guess like that, even if he was the best guesser in the world and made his living that way." Mr. 'Possum stopped to light his pipe again, and said that if anybody wanted a chance to guess how far they went that first day and how they travelled, they could guess now. But the Hollow Tree People said they didn't want to guess, and they did want Mr. 'Possum to go ahead and tell them about it. "Well," said Mr. 'Possum, "we travelled fifty miles that first day, and we travelled it in less than two hours." "Fifty miles in two hours!" said all the Hollow Tree People. And Jack Rabbit said: "Why, a menagerie like that couldn't travel fifty miles in two years!" "But we did, though," said Mr. 'Possum; "we travelled it in a balloon." "In a balloon!" "Well, not exactly in a balloon, but _with_ a balloon. It happened just as I'm going to tell you. [Illustration: DIDN'T LOOK AS IF SHE BELONGED TO THE REST OF OUR CROWD] "We went along pretty well until we got to the Wide Grass Lands, though Aunt Melissy scolded Uncle Silas a good deal because he got behind and didn't stand up in a nice stylish way with all the things he had to carry, and she used her umbrella once on the hired man because he dropped the clock. "When we got out to the Wide Grass Lands there was a high east wind blowing, getting ready for a storm, and when we got on top of a little grassy hill close to the Wide Blue Water it blew Uncle Silas and the hired man so they could hardly stand up, and it turned Aunt Melissy's umbrella wrong side out, which made her mad, and she said that it was Uncle Silas's fault and mine, and that she had never wanted to move anyway. "But just then one of my little cousins looked up in the sky and said, 'Oh, look at that funny bird!' and we all looked up, and there was a great big long bag of a thing coming right toward us, not very high up, and Uncle Silas spoke up and said 'That's a balloon,' for Uncle Silas had seen one in town when he was there visiting Cousin Glenwood, and the hired man, too. Then while we were all standing there watching it, we saw that there was a long rope that hung from the balloon most to the ground, and that it had something tied to the end of it (a big iron thing with a lot of hooks on it), and that it was swooping down straight toward us. "Uncle Silas called out as loud as he could, 'That's the anchor! Look out!' but it was too late to look out, for it was coming as fast as the wind blew the balloon, and Uncle Silas and the hired man being loaded with the things couldn't move very quick, and the rest of us were too scared to know which way to jump, and down came that thing right among us, and I saw it catch among Uncle Silas's furniture and the hired man's, and I heard Uncle Silas say, 'Grab hold, all of you!' and we all did, some one way and some another, and away we went. "Well, it was certainly very curious how we all were lucky enough to get hold of that anchor, with all our bundles and things; but of course we could do it better than if we had not been given those nice useful tails which belong to our family. I had hold that way, and some of the others did, too. Uncle Silas didn't need to hold on at all, for some of the furniture was tied to him, and he just sat back in a chair that was hung on behind and took it easy, though he did drop some of his things when he first got aboard, and Aunt Melissy scolded him for that as soon as she caught her breath and got over being frightened and was sitting up on her part of the anchor enjoying the scenery. [Illustration: THE BALLOON WENT OVER THE WIDE BLUE WATER JUST AFTER IT GOT OUR FAMILY] "I never had such a trip as that before, and never expect to have one again. The balloon went over the Wide Blue Water just after it got our family, and we were all afraid we would be let down in it and drowned; but the people who were in the balloon threw out something heavy which we thought at first they were throwing at us, but it must have been something to make the balloon go up; for we did go up until Aunt Melissy said if we'd just get a little nearer one of those clouds she'd step out on it and live there, as she'd always wanted to do since she was a child. "Then we all sat up and held on tight, above and below, and said what a nice day it was to travel, and that we'd always travel that way hereafter; and Uncle Silas and the hired man unhooked their furniture, so they could land easier when the time came, and Aunt Melissy passed around the lunch, and we looked down and saw the water and the land again and a lot of houses and trees, and Aunt Melissy said that nobody could ever made her believe the world was that big if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes. "And Uncle Silas and the hired man said that of course this was going pretty fast, but that they had travelled a good deal faster sometimes when they were in town with Cousin Glenwood, and pretty soon he showed us the town where Cousin Glenwood lived, and he and the hired man tried to point out the house to us, but they couldn't agree about which it was because the houses didn't look the same from up there in the air as they did from down on the ground. "I know I shall never forget that trip. We saw ever so many different Mr. Men and Mr. Dogs, and animals of every kind, and houses that had chimneys taller than any tree, and a good many things that even Uncle Silas did not know about. Then by-and-by we came to some woods again--the biggest kind of Big Deep Woods--and we saw that we were getting close to the tree-tops, and we were all afraid we would get hit by the branches and maybe knocked off with our things. "And pretty soon, sure enough, that anchor did drop right down among the trees, and such a clapping and scratching as we did get! "We shut our eyes and held on, and some of our furniture was brushed off of Uncle Silas and the hired man, and Aunt Melissy lost her umbrella, and I lost a toy chicken, which I could never find again. Then all at once there was a big sudden jerk that jarred Uncle Silas loose, and made Aunt Melissy holler that she was killed, and knocked the breath out of the rest of us for a few minutes. "But we were all there, and the anchor was fast on the limb of a big tree--a tree almost as big as the Hollow Tree, and hollow, just like it, with a nice handy place to go in. "So when we got our senses back we picked up all our things that we could find, and moved into the new place, and Aunt Melissy looked at the clock, which was still running, and it was just a little over two hours since we started. "Then pretty soon we heard Mr. Man and his friends who had been up in the balloon coming, and we stayed close inside till they had taken the anchor and everything away, and after that, when it was getting dark, Uncle Silas and the hired man went out and found, not very far off, where there were some nice chickens that roosted in handy places, and brought home two or three, and Aunt Melissy set up the stove and cooked up a good supper, and we all sat around the kitchen fire, and the storm that the east wind had been blowing up came along sure enough and it rained all night, but we were snug and dry, and went to sleep mostly in beds made down on the floor, and lay there listening to the rain and thinking what a nice journey we'd had and what a good new home we'd found. "And it _was_ a good place, for I lived there till I grew up, and if I'm not mistaken some of Uncle Silas's and Aunt Melissy's children live there still. I haven't heard from any of them for a long time, but I am thinking of going on a visit over that way in the spring, and if that balloon is still running I'm going to travel with it. "And that," said Mr. 'Possum, "is a true story--all true, every word, for I was there." Nobody said anything for a minute or two after Mr. 'Possum had finished his story--nobody _could_ say anything. Then Mr. Rabbit coughed a little and remarked that he was glad that Mr. 'Possum said that the story was true, for no one would ever have suspected it. He said if Mr. 'Possum hadn't said it was true he would have thought it was one of those pleasant dreams that Mr. 'Possum had when he slept hanging to a peg head down. But Mr. Turtle, who had been sitting with his eyes shut and looking as if he were asleep, knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and said that what Mr. 'Possum had told them was true--at least, _some_ of it was true; for he himself had been sitting in the door of his house on the shore of the Wide Blue Water when the balloon passed over, and he had seen Uncle Silas Lovejoy's family sitting up there anchored and comfortable; and he had picked up a chair that Uncle Silas had dropped, and he had it in his house to this day, it being a good strong chair and better than any that was made nowadays. Well, of course after that nobody said anything about Mr. 'Possum's story not being true, for they remembered how old and wise Mr. Turtle was and could always prove things, and they all talked about it a great deal, and asked Mr. 'Possum a good many questions. They said how nice it was to know somebody who had had an adventure like that, and Mr. Rabbit changed his seat so he could be next to Mr. 'Possum, because he said he wanted to write it all down to keep. [Illustration: MR. TURTLE SAID THAT WHAT MR. 'POSSUM HAD TOLD THEM WAS TRUE] And Mr. 'Possum said he never would forget how good those chickens tasted that first night in the new home, and that Mr. Rabbit mustn't forget to put them in. Then they all remembered that they were hungry now, and Mr. Crow and Mr. Squirrel and Mr. Robin hustled around to get a bite to eat before bedtime, and Mr. 'Possum hurried down to bring up the stove-wood, and was gone quite awhile, though nobody spoke of it--not then--even if they did wonder about it a little--and after supper they all sat around the fire again and smoked and dropped off to sleep while the clock ticked and the blaze flickered about and made queer shadows on the wall of the Hollow Tree. FOOTNOTE: [B] _Hollow Tree and Deep Woods Book._ THE BARK OF OLD HUNGRY-WOLF HOW THE HOLLOW TREE PEOPLE HAVE A MOST UNWELCOME VISITOR, AND WHAT BECOMES OF HIM "WHAT made Mr. 'Possum so anxious to get the wood, and what made him stay down-stairs so long when he went after it?" asks the Little Lady next evening, when the Story Teller is lighting his pipe and getting ready to remember the history of the Hollow Tree. "We're coming to that. You may be sure there was some reason for it, for Mr. 'Possum doesn't hurry after wood or stay long in a cold place if he can help it, unless he has something on his mind. Perhaps some of the Deep Woods People thought of that too, but if they did they didn't say anything--not at the time. I suppose they thought it didn't matter much, anyhow, if they got the wood." So they went right on having a good time, keeping up a nice fire, and eating up whatever they had; for they thought the big snow couldn't last as long as their wood and their things to eat, and every day they went up to look out of the up-stairs windows to see how much had melted, and every day they found it just about the same, only maybe a little crustier on top, and the weather stayed _very cold_. But they didn't mind it so long as they were warm and not hungry, and they played games, and recited their pieces, and sang, and danced, and said they had never had such a good time in all their lives. But one day when Mr. Crow went down into the store-room for supplies he found that he was at the bottom of the barrel of everything they had, and he came up looking pretty sober, though he didn't say anything about it--not then, for he knew there were plenty of bones and odds and ends he could scrape up, and he had a little flour and some meal in his pantry; so he could make soup and gravy and johnny-cake and hash, which he did right away, and they all said how fine such things were for a change, and told Mr. Crow to go right on making them as long as he wanted to, even if the snow stayed on till spring. And Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon said it was like old times, and that Mr. Crow was probably the very best provider in the Big Deep Woods. [Illustration: ONE DAY MR. CROW FOUND HE WAS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE BARREL OF EVERYTHING] Mr. Crow smiled, too, but he didn't feel like it much, for he knew that even johnny-cake and gravy wouldn't last forever, and that unless the snow went away pretty soon they would all be hungry and cold, for the wood was getting low, too. And one morning, when Mr. Crow went to his meal-sack and his flour-bag and his pile of odds and ends there was just barely enough for breakfast, and hardly that. And Mr. Crow didn't like to tell them about it, for he knew they all thought he could keep right on making johnny-cake and gravy forever, because they didn't have to stop to think where things came from, as he did, and he was afraid they would blame him when there was nothing more left. So the Old Black Crow tried to step around lively and look pleasant, to keep anybody from noticing, because he thought it might turn warm that day and melt the snow; and when breakfast was ready he put on what there was and said he hadn't cooked very much because he had heard that light breakfasts were better for people who stayed in the house a good deal, and as for himself, he said he guessed he wouldn't eat any breakfast that morning at all. Then while the others were eating he crept down-stairs and looked at the empty boxes and barrels and the few sticks of wood that were left, and he knew that if that snow didn't melt off right away they were going to have a _very hard time_. Then he came back up in the big living-room and went on up-stairs to his own room, to look out the window to see if it wasn't going to be a warm, melting day. But Mr. Crow came back pretty soon. He came back in a hurry, too, and he slammed his door and locked it, and then let go of everything and just slid down-stairs. Then the Deep Woods People jumped up quick from the table and ran to him, for they thought he was having a fit of some kind, and they still thought so when they looked into his face: for Mr. Crow's eyes were rolled up and his bill was pale, and when he tried to speak he couldn't. And Mr. Rabbit said it was because Mr. Crow had done without his breakfast, and he ran to get something from the table; but Mr. Crow couldn't eat, and then they saw that some of the feathers on top of his head were turning gray, and they knew he had seen some awful thing just that little moment he was in his room. So then they all looked at one another and wondered what it was, and they were glad Mr. Crow had locked the door. Then they carried him over to the fire, and pretty soon he got so he could whisper a little, and when they knew what he was saying they understood why he was so scared and why he had locked the door; for the words that Mr. Crow kept whispering over and over were: "Old Hungry-Wolf! Old Hungry-Wolf! Old Hungry-Wolf!" All the Deep Woods People know what that means. They know that when Old Hungry-Wolf comes, or even when you hear him bark, it means that there is no food left in the Big Deep Woods for anybody, and that nobody can tell how long it will be before there _will_ be food again. And all the Deep Woods People stood still and held their breath and listened for the bark of Old Hungry-Wolf, because they knew Mr. Crow had seen his face looking in the window. And they all thought they heard it, except Mr. 'Possum, who said he didn't believe it was Old Hungry-Wolf at all that Mr. Crow had seen, but only Mr. Gray Wolf himself, who had perhaps slipped out and travelled over the snow to see if they were all at home and comfortable. But Mr. Crow said: "No, no; it was Old Hungry-Wolf! He was big and black, and I saw his great fiery eyes!" Then Mr. 'Possum looked very brave, and said he would see if Old Hungry-Wolf was looking into his window too, and he went right up, and soon came back and said there wasn't any big black face at his window, and he thought that Mr. Crow's empty stomach had made him imagine things. So then Mr. 'Coon said that he would go up to _his_ room if the others would like to come along, and they could see for themselves whether Old Hungry-Wolf was trying to get in or not. [Illustration: THEN MR. 'COON SLAMMED HIS DOOR] Then they all went very quietly up Mr. 'Coon's stair (all except Mr. 'Possum, who stayed with Mr. Crow), and they opened Mr. 'Coon's door and took one look inside, and then Mr. 'Coon he slammed _his_ door shut, and locked it, and they all let go of everything and came sliding down in a heap, for they had seen the great fiery eyes and black face of Old Hungry-Wolf glaring in at Mr. 'Coon's window. So they all huddled around the fire and lit their pipes--for they still had some tobacco--and smoked, but didn't say anything, until by-and-by Mr. Crow told them that there wasn't another bite to eat in the house and very little wood, and that that was the reason why Old Hungry-Wolf had come. And they talked about it in whispers--whether they ought to exercise any more, because though exercise would help them to keep warm and save wood, it would make them hungrier. And some of them said they thought they would try to go to sleep like Mr. Bear, who slept all winter and never knew that he was hungry until spring. So they kept talking, and now and then they would stop and listen, and they all said they could hear the bark of Old Hungry-Wolf--all except Mr. 'Possum, which was strange, because Mr. 'Possum is fond of good things and would be apt to be the very first to hear Old Hungry's bark. [Illustration: MR. 'POSSUM SAID NOT TO MOVE, THAT HE WOULD GO AFTER A PIECE OF WOOD] And when the fire got very low and it was getting cold, Mr. 'Possum said for them not to move; that he would go down after a piece of wood, and he would attend to the fire as long as the wood lasted, and try to make it last as long as possible. And every time the fire got very low Mr. 'Possum would bring a piece of wood, and sometimes he stayed a good while (just for one piece of wood), but they still didn't think much about it--not then. What they did think about was how hungry they were, and Mr. 'Crow said he knew he could eat as much as the old ancestor of his that was told about in a book which he had once borrowed from Mr. Man's little boy who had left it out in the yard at dinner-time. Then they all begged Mr. Crow to get the book and read it to them, and perhaps they could imagine they were not so hungry. So Mr. Crow brought the book and read them the poem about THE RAVENOUS RAVEN Oh, there was an old raven as black as could be, And a wonderful sort of a raven was he; For his house he kept tidy, his yard he kept neat, And he cooked the most marvellous dainties to eat. He could roast, he could toast, he could bake, he could fry, He could stir up a cake in the wink of an eye, He could boil, he could broil, he could grill, he could stew-- Oh, there wasn't a thing that this bird couldn't do. He would smoke in the sun when the mornings were fair, And his plans for new puddings and pies would prepare; But, alas! like the famous Jim Crow with his shelf, He was greedy, and ate all his dainties himself. [Illustration: HE WOULD SMOKE IN THE SUN WHEN THE MORNINGS WERE FAIR] It was true he was proud of the things he could cook, And would call in his neighbors sometimes for a look, Or a taste, it may be, when his pastry was fine; But he'd never been known to invite them to dine. With a look and a sigh they could stand and behold All the puddings so brown and the sauces of gold; With a taste and a growl they'd reluctantly go Praying vengeance to fall on that greedy old crow. [Illustration: WITH A LOOK AND A SIGH THEY WOULD STAND AND BEHOLD] Now, one morning near Christmas when holly grows green, And the best of good things in the markets are seen, He went out for a smoke in the crisp morning air, And to think of some holiday dish to prepare. Mr. Rabbit had spices to sell at his store, Mr. Reynard had tender young chicks by the score, And the old raven thought, as he stood there alone, Of the tastiest pastry that ever was known. Then away to the market he hurried full soon, Dropping in for a chat with the 'possum and 'coon Just to tell them his plans, which they heard with delight, And to ask them to call for a moment that night [Illustration: THE TASTIEST PASTRY THAT EVER WAS KNOWN] For a look and a taste of his pastry so fine, And he hinted he might even ask them to dine. Then he hurried away, and the rest of the day Messrs. 'Possum and 'Coon were expectant and gay. Oh, he hurried away and to market he went, And his money for spices and poultry he spent, While behind in the market were many, he knew, Who would talk of the marvellous things he would do; So with joy in his heart and with twinkling eye He returned to his home his new project to try, Then to stir and to bake he began right away, And his dish was complete at the end of the day. [Illustration: THEN TO STIR AND TO BAKE HE BEGAN RIGHT AWAY] Aye, the marvel was done--'twas a rich golden hue, And its smell was delicious--the old raven knew That he never had made such a pastry before, And a look of deep trouble his countenance wore; "For," thought he, "I am certain the 'possum and 'coon That I talked with to-day will be coming here soon, And expect me to ask them to dine, when, you see, There is just a good feast in this dainty for me." Now, behold, he'd scarce uttered his thoughts when he heard At the casement a tapping--this greedy old bird-- And the latch was uplifted, and gayly strode in Both the 'coon and the 'possum with faces agrin. They were barbered and brushed and arrayed in their best, In the holiday fashion their figures were dressed, While a look in each face, to the raven at least, Said, "We've come here to-night, sir, prepared for a feast." And the raven he smiled as he said, "Howdy-do?" For he'd thought of a plan to get rid of the two; And quoth he, "My dear friends, I am sorry to say That the wonderful pastry I mentioned to-day When it came to be baked was a failure complete, Disappointing to taste and disturbing to eat. I am sorry, dear friends, for I thought 'twould be fine; I am sorry I cannot invite you to dine." And the 'coon and the 'possum were both sorry, too, And suspicious, somewhat, for the raven they knew. They declared 'twas too bad all that pudding to waste, And they begged him to give them at least just a taste, But he firmly refused and at last they departed, While the greedy old crow for the dining-room started, And the pie so delicious he piled on his plate, And he ate, and he ate, and he ate, and he ate! [Illustration: THE GREEDY OLD RAVEN, BUT GREEDY NO MORE] Well, next morn when the 'possum and 'coon passed along They could see at the raven's that something was wrong, For no blue curling smoke from the chimney-top came; So they opened his door and they called out his name, And they entered inside, and behold! on the floor Was the greedy old raven, but greedy no more: For his heart it was still--not a flutter was there-- And his toes were turned up and the table was bare; Now his epitaph tells to the whole country-side How he ate, and he ate, and he ate till he died. When Mr. Crow finished, Mr. Rabbit said it was certainly an interesting poem, and if he just had a chance now to eat till he died he'd take it, and Mr. 'Coon said he'd give anything to know how that pie had tasted, and he didn't see how any _one_ pie could be big enough to kill anybody that felt as hungry as _he_ did now. And Mr. 'Possum didn't say much of anything, but only seemed drowsy and peaceful-like, which was curious for _him_ as things were. Well, all that day, and the next day, and the next, there wasn't anything to eat, and they sat as close as they could around the little fire and wished they'd saved some of the big logs and some of the food, too, that they had used up so fast when they thought the big snow would go away. And the bark of Old Hungry-Wolf got louder and louder, and he began to gnaw, too, and they all heard it, day and night--all except Mr. 'Possum, who said he didn't know why, but that for some reason he couldn't hear a sound like that at all, which was _very_ strange, indeed. But there was something else about Mr. 'Possum that was strange. He didn't get any thinner. All the others began to show the change right away, but Mr. 'Possum still looked the same, and still kept cheerful, and stepped around as lively as ever, and that was _very strange_. By-and-by, when Mr. 'Possum had gone down-stairs for some barrel staves to burn, for the wood was all gone, Mr. Rabbit spoke of it, and said he couldn't understand it; and then Mr. 'Coon, who had been thinking about it too, said he wondered why it sometimes took Mr. 'Possum so long to get a little bit of wood. Then they all remembered how Mr. 'Possum had stayed so long down-stairs whenever he went, even before Old Hungry-Wolf came to the Hollow Tree, and they couldn't understand it _at all_. And just then Mr. 'Possum came up with two little barrel staves which he had been a long time getting, and they all turned and looked at him very closely, which was a thing they had never done until that time. And before Mr. 'Possum noticed it, they saw him chew--a kind of last, finishing chew--and then give a little swallow--a sort of last, finishing swallow--and just then he noticed them watching him, and he stopped right in his tracks and dropped the two little barrel staves and looked very scared and guilty, which was strange, when he had always been so willing about the wood. Then they all got up out of their chairs and looked straight at Mr. 'Possum, and said: "What was that you were chewing just now?" And Mr. 'Possum couldn't say a word. [Illustration: LOOKED STRAIGHT AT MR. 'POSSUM AND SAID, "WHAT WAS THAT YOU WERE CHEWING JUST NOW?"] Then they all said: "What was that you were swallowing just now?" And Mr. 'Possum couldn't say a word. Then they all said: "Why do you always stay so long when you go for wood?" And Mr. 'Possum couldn't say a word. Then they all said: "Why is it that you don't get thin, like the rest of us?" And Mr. 'Possum couldn't say a word. Then they all said: "Why is it you never hear the bark of Old Hungry-Wolf?" And Mr. 'Possum said, very weakly: "I did think I heard it a little while ago." Then they all said: "And was that why you went down after wood?" And once more Mr. 'Possum couldn't say a word. Then they all said: "What have you got _down there_ to eat? And _where_ do you keep it?" Then Mr. 'Possum seemed to think of something, and picked up the two little barrel staves and brought them over to the fire and put them on, and looked very friendly, and sat down and lit his pipe and smoked a minute, and said that climbing the stairs had overcome him a little, and that he wasn't feeling very well, but if they'd let him breathe a minute he'd tell them all about it, and how he had been preparing a nice surprise for them, for just such a time as this; but when he saw they had found out something, it all came on him so sudden that, what with climbing the stairs and all, he couldn't quite gather himself, but that he was all right now, and the surprise was ready. "Of course you know," Mr. 'Possum said, "that I have travelled a good deal, and have seen a good many kinds of things happen, and know about what to expect. And when I saw how fast we were using up the food, and how deep the snow was, I knew we might expect a famine that even Mr. Crow's johnny-cake and gravy wouldn't last through; and Mr. Crow mentioned something of the kind once himself, though he seemed to forget it right away again, for he went on giving us just as much as ever. But I didn't forget about it, and right away I began laying aside in a quiet place some of the things that would keep pretty well, and that we would be glad to have when Old Hungry-Wolf should really come along and we had learned to live on lighter meals and could make things last." Mr. 'Possum was going right on, but Mr. 'Coon interrupted him, and said that Mr. 'Possum could call it living on lighter meals if he wanted to but that he hadn't eaten any meal at all for three days, and that if Mr. 'Possum had put away anything for a hungry time he wished he'd get it out right now, without any more explaining, for it was food that he wanted and not explanations, and all the others said so too. Then Mr. 'Possum said he was just coming to that, but he only wished to say a few words about it because they had seemed to think that he was doing something that he shouldn't, when he was really trying to save them from Old Hungry-Wolf, and he said he had kept his surprise as long as he could, so it would last longer, and that he had been pretending not to hear Old Hungry's bark just to keep their spirits up, and he supposed one of the reasons why he hadn't got any thinner was because he hadn't been so worried, and had kept happy in the nice surprise he had all the time, just saving it for when they would begin to need it most. As to what he had been chewing and swallowing when he came up-stairs, Mr. 'Possum said that he had been taking just the least little taste of some of the things to see if they were keeping well--some nice cooked chickens, for instance, from a lot that Mr. Crow had on hand and didn't remember about, and a young turkey or two, and a few ducks, and a bushel or so of apples, and a half a barrel of doughnuts, and-- But Mr. 'Possum didn't get any further, for all the Deep Woods People made a wild scramble for the stairs, with Mr. 'Possum after them, and when they got down in the store-room he took them behind one of the big roots of the Hollow Tree, and there was a passageway that none of them had ever suspected, and Mr. 'Possum lit a candle and led them through it and out into a sort of cave, and there, sure enough, were all the things he had told them about and some mince-pies besides. And there was even some wood, for Mr. 'Possum had worked hard to lay away a supply of things for a long snowed-in time. Then all the Hollow Tree People sat right down there and had some of the things, and by-and-by they carried some more up-stairs, and some wood, too, and built up a fine big fire, and lit their pipes and smoked, and forgot everything unpleasant in the world. And they all said how smart and good Mr. 'Possum was to save all that food for the very time when they would need it most, when all the rest of them had been just eating it up as fast as possible and would have been now without a thing in the world except for Mr. 'Possum. Then Mr. 'Possum asked them if they could hear Old Hungry-Wolf any more, and they listened but they couldn't hear a sound, and then they went up into Mr. Crow's room, and into Mr. 'Coon's room, and into Mr. 'Possum's room, and they couldn't see a thing of him anywhere, though it was just the time of day to see him, for it was late in the evening--the time Old Hungry-Wolf is most likely to look in the window. And that night it turned warm, and the big snow began to thaw; and it thawed, and it thawed, and all the brooks and rivers came up, and even the Wide Blue Water rose so that the Deep Woods Company had to stay a little longer in the Hollow Tree, even when all the snow was nearly gone. Mr. Rabbit was pretty anxious to get home, and started out one afternoon with Mr. Turtle along, because Mr. Turtle is a good swimmer. But there was too much water to cross and they came back again just at sunset, and Mr. Crow let them in,[C] so they had to wait several days longer. But Mr. 'Possum's food lasted, and by the time it was gone they could get plenty more; and when they all went away and left the three Hollow Tree People together again, they were very happy because they had had such a good time; and the 'Coon and 'Possum and the Old Black Crow were as good friends as ever, though the gray feathers on the top of Mr. Crow's head never did turn quite black again, and some of the Deep Woods People call him "Silver-Top" to this day. The Little Lady looks anxiously at the Story Teller. "Did Old Hungry-Wolf ever get inside of the Hollow Tree?" she asks. "No, he never did get inside; they only saw him through the window, and heard him bark." "And why couldn't Mr. 'Possum ever hear him sometimes?" "Well, you see, Old Hungry isn't a real wolf, but only a shadow wolf--the shadow of famine. He only looks in when people dread famine, and he only barks and gnaws when they feel it. A famine, you know, is when one is very hungry and there is nothing to eat. I don't think Mr. 'Possum was very hungry, and he had all those nice things laid away, so he would not care much about that old shadow wolf, which is only another name for hunger." The Little Lady clings very close to the Story Teller. "Will we ever see Old Hungry-Wolf and hear his bark?" The Story Teller sits up quite straight, and gathers the Little Lady tight. "Good gracious, no!" he says. "He moved out of our part of the country before you were born, and we'll take good care that he doesn't come back any more." "I'm glad," says the Little Lady. "You can sing now--you know--the 'Hollow Tree Song.'" FOOTNOTE: [C] See picture on cover. AN EARLY SPRING CALL ON MR. BEAR MR. 'POSSUM'S CURIOUS DREAM AND WHAT CAME OF IT "WHAT did they do then?" asks the Little Lady. "What did the Deep Woods People all do after they got through being snowed in?" "Well, let's see. It got to be spring then pretty soon--early spring--of course, and Mr. Jack Rabbit went to writing poetry and making garden; Mr. Robin went to meet Mrs. Robin, who had been spending the winter down South; Mr. Squirrel, who is quite young, went to call on a very nice young Miss Squirrel over toward the Big West Hills; Mr. Dog had to help Mr. Man a good deal with the spring work; Mr. Turtle got out all his fishing-things and looked them over, and the Hollow Tree People had a general straightening up after company. They had a big house-cleaning, of course, with most of their things out on the line, and Mr. 'Possum said that he'd just about as soon be snowed-in for good as to have to beat carpets and carry furniture up and down stairs all the rest of his life." But they got through at last, and everything was nice when they were settled, only there wasn't a great deal to be had to eat, because it had been such a long, cold winter that things were pretty scarce and hard to get. One morning Mr. 'Possum said he had had a dream the night before, and he wished it would come true. He said he had dreamed that they were all invited by Mr. Bear to help him eat the spring breakfast which he takes after his long winter nap, and that Mr. Bear had about the best breakfast he ever sat down to. He said he had eaten it clear through, from turkey to mince-pie, only he didn't get the mince-pie because Mr. Bear had asked him if he'd have it hot or cold, and just as he made up his mind to have some of both he woke up and didn't get either. Then Mr. 'Coon said he wished he could have a dream like that; that he'd take whatever came along and try to sleep through it, and Mr. Crow thought a little while and said that sometimes dreams came true, especially if you helped them a little. He said he hadn't heard anything of Mr. Bear this spring, and it was quite likely he had been taking a longer nap than usual. It might be a good plan, he thought, to drop over that way and just look in in passing, because if Mr. Bear should be sitting down to breakfast he would be pretty apt to ask them to sit up and have a bite while they told him the winter news. Then Mr. 'Possum said that he didn't believe anybody in the world but Mr. Crow would have thought of that, and that hereafter he was going to tell him every dream he had. They ought to start right away, he said, because if they should get there just as Mr. Bear was clearing off the table it would be a good deal worse than not getting the mince-pie in his dream. So they hurried up and put on their best clothes and started for Mr. Bear's place, which is over toward the Edge of the World, only farther down, in a fine big cave which is fixed up as nice as a house and nicer. But when they got pretty close to it they didn't go so fast and straight, but just sauntered along as if they were only out for a little walk and happened to go in that direction, for they thought Mr. Bear might be awake and standing in his door. They met Mr. Rabbit about that time and invited him to go along, but Mr. Rabbit said his friendship with Mr. Bear was a rather distant one, and that he mostly talked to him from across the river or from a hill that had a good clear running space on the other slope. He said Mr. Bear's taste was good, for he was fond of his family, but that the fondness had been all on Mr. Bear's side. [Illustration: THEY WENT ALONG, SAYING WHAT A NICE MAN THEY THOUGHT MR. BEAR WAS] So the Hollow Tree People went along, saying what a nice man they thought Mr. Bear was, and saying it quite loud, and looking every which way, because Mr. Bear might be out for a walk too. But they didn't see him anywhere, and by-and-by they got right to the door of his cave and knocked a little, and nobody came. Then they listened, but couldn't hear anything at first, until Mr. 'Coon, who has very sharp ears, said that he was sure he heard Mr. Bear breathing and that he must be still asleep. Then the others thought they heard it, too, and pretty soon they were sure they heard it, and Mr. 'Possum said it was too bad to let Mr. Bear oversleep himself this fine weather, and that they ought to go in and let him know how late it was. So then they pushed open the door and went tiptoeing in to where Mr. Bear was. They thought, of course, he would be in bed, but he wasn't. He was sitting up in a big armchair in his dressing-gown, with his feet up on a low stool, before a fire that had gone out some time in December, with a little table by him that had a candle on it which had burned down about the time the fire went out. His pipe had gone out too, and they knew that Mr. Bear had been smoking, and must have been very tired and gone to sleep right where he was, and hadn't moved all winter long. [Illustration: MR. BEAR MUST HAVE BEEN VERY TIRED AND GONE TO SLEEP RIGHT WHERE HE WAS] It wasn't very cheerful in there, so Mr. 'Possum said maybe they'd better stir up a little fire to take the chill off before they woke Mr. Bear, and Mr. 'Coon found a fresh candle and lighted it, and Mr. Crow put the room to rights a little, and wound up the clock, and set it, and started it going. Then when the fire got nice and bright they stood around and looked at Mr. Bear, and each one said it was a good time now to wake him up, but nobody just wanted to do it, because Mr. Bear isn't always good-natured, and nobody could tell what might happen if he should wake up cross and hungry, and he'd be likely to do that if his nap was broken too suddenly. Mr. 'Possum said that Mr. Crow was the one to do it, as he had first thought of this trip, and Mr. Crow said that it was Mr. 'Possum's place, because it had been in his dream. Then they both said that as Mr. 'Coon hadn't done anything at all so far, he might do that. Mr. 'Coon said that he'd do it quick enough, only he'd been listening to the way Mr. Bear breathed, and he was pretty sure he wouldn't be ready to wake up for a week yet, and it would be too bad to wake him now when he might not have been resting well during the first month or so of his nap and was making it up now. He said they could look around a little and see if Mr. Bear's things were keeping well, and perhaps brush up his pantry so it would be nice and clean when he did wake. Then Mr. Crow said he'd always wanted to see Mr. Bear's pantry, for he'd heard it was such a good place to keep things, and perhaps he could get some ideas for the Hollow Tree; and Mr. 'Possum said that Mr. Bear had the name of having a bigger pantry and more things in it than all the rest of the Deep Woods People put together. So they left Mr. Bear all nice and comfortable, sleeping there by the fire, and lit another candle and went over to his pantry, which was at the other side of the room, and opened the door and looked in. Well, they couldn't say a word at first, but only just looked at one another and at all the things they saw in that pantry. First, on the top shelf there was a row of pies, clear around. Then on the next shelf there was a row of cakes--first a fruit-cake, then a jelly-cake, then another fruit-cake and then another jelly-cake, and the cakes went all the way around, too, and some of them had frosting on them, and you could see the raisins in the fruit-cake and pieces of citron. Then on the next shelf there was a row of nice cooked partridges, all the way around, close together. And on the shelf below was a row of meat-pies made of chicken and turkey and young lamb, and on the shelf below that there was a row of nice canned berries, and on the floor, all the way around, there were jars of honey--nice comb honey that Mr. Bear had gathered in November from bee-trees. Mr. Crow spoke first. "Well, I never," he said, "never in all my life, saw anything like it!" And Mr. 'Coon and Mr. 'Possum both said: "He can't do it--a breakfast like that is too much for _any_ bear!" Then Mr. Crow said: "He oughtn't to be _allowed_ to do it. Mr. Bear is too nice a man to lose." And Mr. 'Possum said: "He _mustn't_ be allowed to do it--we'll help him." "Where do you suppose he begins?" said Mr. 'Coon. "At the top, very likely," said Mr. Crow. "He's got it arranged in courses." "I don't care where he begins," said Mr. 'Possum; "I'm going to begin somewhere, now, and I think I will begin on a meat-pie." And Mr. Crow said he thought he'd begin on a nice partridge, and Mr. 'Coon said he believed he'd try a mince-pie or two first, as a kind of a lining, and then fill in with the solid things afterward. So then Mr. 'Possum took down his meat-pie, and said he hoped this wasn't a dream, and Mr. Crow took down a nice brown partridge, and Mr. 'Coon stood up on a chair and slipped a mince-pie out of a pan on the top shelf, and everything would have been all right, only he lost his balance a little and let the pie fall. It made quite a smack when it struck the floor, and Mr. 'Possum jumped and let his pie fall, too, and that made a good deal more of a noise, because it was large and in a tin pan. Then Mr. Crow blew out the light quick, and they all stood perfectly still and listened, for it seemed to them a noise like that would wake the dead, much more Mr. Bear, and they thought he would be right up and in there after them. But Mr. Bear was too sound asleep for that. They heard him give a little cough and a kind of a grunt mixed with a sleepy word or two, and when they peeked out through the door, which was open just a little ways, they saw him moving about in his chair, trying first one side and then the other, as if he wanted to settle down and go to sleep again, which he didn't do, but kept right on grunting and sniffing and mumbling and trying new positions. Then, of course, the Hollow Tree People were scared, for they knew pretty well he was going to wake up. There wasn't any way to get out of Mr. Bear's pantry except by the door, and you had to go right by Mr. Bear's chair to get out of the cave. So they just stood there, holding their breath and trembling, and Mr. 'Possum wished now it _was_ a dream, and that he could wake up right away before the nightmare began. Well, Mr. Bear he turned this way and that way, and once or twice seemed about to settle down and sleep again; but just as they thought he really had done it, he sat up pretty straight and looked all around. Then the Hollow Tree People thought their time had come, and they wanted to make a jump, and run for the door, only they were afraid to try it. Mr. Bear yawned a long yawn, and stretched himself, and rubbed his eyes open, and looked over at the fire and down at the candle on the table and up at the clock on the mantel. The 'Coon and 'Possum and the Old Black Crow thought, of course, he'd know somebody had been there by all those things being set going, and they expected him to roar out something terrible and start for the pantry first thing. But Mr. Bear didn't seem to understand it at all, or to suppose that anything was wrong, and from what he mumbled to himself they saw right away that he thought he'd been asleep only a little while instead of all winter long. "Humph!" they heard him growl, "I must have gone to sleep, and was dreaming it's time to wake up. I didn't sleep long, though, by the way the fire and the candle look, besides it's only a quarter of ten, and I remember winding the clock at half after eight. Funny I feel so hungry, after eating a big supper only two hours ago. Must be the reason I dreamed it was spring. Humph! guess I'll just eat a piece of pie and go to bed." So Mr. Bear got up and held on to his chair to steady himself, and yawned some more and rubbed his eyes, for he was only about half awake yet, and pretty soon he picked up his candle and started for the pantry. Then the Hollow Tree People felt as if they were going to die. They didn't dare to breathe or make the least bit of noise, and just huddled back in a corner close to the wall, and Mr. 'Possum all at once felt as if he must sneeze right away, and Mr. 'Coon would have given anything to be able to scratch his back, and Mr. Crow thought if he could only cough once more and clear his throat he wouldn't care whether he had anything to eat, ever again. And Mr. Bear he came shuffling along toward the pantry with his candle all tipped to one side, still rubbing his eyes and trying to wake up, and everything was just as still as still--all except a little scratchy sound his claws made dragging along the floor, though that wasn't a nice sound for the Hollow Tree People to hear. And when he came to the pantry door Mr. Bear pushed it open quite wide and was coming straight in, only just then he caught his toe a little on the door-sill and _stumbled_ in, and that was too much for Mr. 'Possum, who turned loose a sneeze that shook the world. Then Mr. Crow and Mr. 'Coon made a dive under Mr. Bear's legs, and Mr. 'Possum did too, and down came Mr. Bear and down came his candle, and the candle went out, but not any quicker than the Hollow Tree People, who broke for the cave door and slammed it behind them, and struck out for the bushes as if they thought they'd never live to get there. But when they got into some thick hazel brush they stopped a minute to breathe, and then they all heard Mr. Bear calling "Help! Help!" as loud as he could, and when they listened they heard him mention something about an earthquake and that the world was coming to an end. Then Mr. 'Possum said that from the sound of Mr. Bear's voice he seemed to be unhappy about something, and that it was too bad for them to just pass right by without asking what was the trouble, especially if Mr. Bear, who had always been so friendly, should ever hear of it. So then they straightened their collars and ties and knocked the dust off a little, and Mr. 'Coon scratched his back against a little bush and Mr. Crow cleared his throat, and they stepped out of the hazel patch and went up to Mr. Bear's door and pushed it open a little and called out: "Oh, Mr. Bear, do you need any help?" [Illustration: MR. 'COON SCRATCHED HIS BACK AGAINST A LITTLE BUSH] "Oh yes," groaned Mr. Bear, "come quick! I've been struck by an earthquake and nearly killed, and everything I've got must be ruined. Bring a light and look at my pantry!" So then Mr. 'Coon ran with a splinter from Mr. Bear's fire and lit the candle, and Mr. Bear got up, rubbing himself and taking on, and began looking at his pantry shelves, which made him better right away. "Oh," he said, "how lucky the damage is so small! Only two pies and a partridge knocked down, and they are not much hurt. I thought everything was lost, and my nerves are all upset when I was getting ready for my winter sleep. How glad I am you happened to be passing. Stay with me, and we will eat to quiet our nerves." Then the Hollow Tree People said that the earthquake had made them nervous too, and that perhaps a little food would be good for all of them; so they flew around just as if they were at home, and brought Mr. Bear's table right into the pantry, and some chairs, and set out the very best things and told Mr. Bear to sit right up to the table and help himself, and then all the others sat up, too, and they ate everything clear through, from meat-pie to mince-pie, just as if Mr. 'Possum's dream had really come true. And Mr. Bear said he didn't understand how he could have such a good appetite when he had such a big supper only two hours ago, and he said that there must have been two earthquakes, because a noise of some kind had roused him from a little nap he had been taking in his chair, but that the real earthquake hadn't happened until he got to the pantry door, where he stumbled a little, which seemed to touch it off. He said he hoped he'd never live to go through with a thing like that again. Then the Hollow Tree People said they had heard both of the shocks, and that the last one was a good deal the worst, and that of course such a thing would sound a good deal louder in a cave anyway. And by-and-by, when they were all through eating, they went in by the fire and sat down and smoked, and Mr. Bear said he didn't feel as sleepy as he thought he should because he was still upset a good deal by the shock, but that he guessed he would just crawl into bed while they were there, as it seemed nice to have company. So he did, and by-and-by he dropped off to sleep again, and the Hollow Tree People borrowed a few things, and went out softly and shut the door behind them. They stopped at Mr. Rabbit's house on the way home, and told him they had enjoyed a nice breakfast with Mr. Bear, and how Mr. Bear had sent a partridge and a pie and a little pot of honey to Mr. Rabbit because of his fondness for the family. Then Mr. Rabbit felt quite pleased, because it was too early for spring vegetables and hard to get good things for the table. "And did Mr. Bear sleep all summer?" asks the Little Lady. [Illustration: MR. RABBIT THANKED HIM FROM ACROSS THE RIVER] No, he woke up again pretty soon, for he had finished his nap, and of course the next time when he looked around he found his fire out and the candle burned down and the clock stopped, so he got up and went outside, and saw it was spring and that he had slept a good deal longer than usual. But when he went to eat his spring breakfast he couldn't understand why he wasn't very hungry, and thought it must be because he'd eaten two such big suppers. "But why didn't the Hollow Tree People tell him it was spring and not let him go to bed again?" Well, I s'pose they thought it wouldn't be very polite to tell Mr. Bear how he'd been fooled, and, besides, he needed a nice nap again after the earthquake--anyhow, he thought it was an earthquake, and was a good deal upset. And it was a long time before he found out what _had really_ happened, and he never would have known, if Mr. Rabbit hadn't seen him fishing one day and thanked him from across the river for the nice breakfast he had sent him by the Hollow Tree People. That set Mr. Bear to thinking, and he asked Mr. Rabbit a few questions about things in general and earthquakes in particular, and the more he found out and thought about it the more he began to guess just how it was, and by-and-by when he did find out all about it, he didn't care any more, and really thought it quite a good joke on himself for falling asleep in his chair and sleeping there all winter long. MR. CROW'S GARDEN THE HOLLOW TREE PEOPLE LEARN HOW TO RAISE FINE VEGETABLES ONE morning, right after breakfast in the Hollow Tree, Mr. Crow said he'd been thinking of something ever since he woke up, and if the 'Coon and the 'Possum thought it was a good plan he believed he'd do it. He said of course they knew how good Mr. Rabbit's garden always was, and how he nearly lived out of it during the summer, Mr. Rabbit being a good deal of a vegetarian; by which he meant that he liked vegetables better than anything, while the Hollow Tree People, Mr. Crow said, were a little different in their tastes, though he didn't know just what the name for them was. He said he thought they might be humanitarians, because they liked the things that Mr. Man and other human beings liked, but that he wasn't sure whether that was the right name or not. Then Mr. 'Possum said for him to never mind about the word, but to go on and talk about his plan if it had anything to do with something to eat, for he was getting pretty tired of living on little picked-up things such as they had been having this hard spring, and Mr. 'Coon said so too. So then Mr. Crow said: "Well, I've been planning to have a garden this spring like Mr. Rabbit's." "Humph!" said Mr. 'Possum, "I thought you were going to start a chicken farm." But Mr. Crow said "No," that the Big Deep Woods didn't seem a healthy place for chickens, and that they could pick up a chicken here and there by-and-by, and then if they had nice green pease to go with it, or some green corn, or even a tender salad, it would help out, especially when they had company like Mr. Robin, or Mr. Squirrel, or Mr. Rabbit, who cared for such things. So then the 'Coon and the 'Possum both said that to have green pease and corn was a very good idea, especially when such things were mixed with young chickens with plenty of dressing and gravy, and that as this was a pleasant morning they might walk over and call on Jack Rabbit so that the Old Black Crow could find out about planting things. Mr. 'Possum said that his uncle Silas Lovejoy always had a garden, and he had worked it a good deal when he was young, but that he had forgotten just how things should be planted, though he knew the moon had something to do with it, and if you didn't get the time right the things that ought to grow up would grow down and the down things would all grow up, so that you'd have to dig your pease and pick your potatoes when the other way was the fashion and thought to be better in this climate. So then the Hollow Tree People put on their things and went out into the nice April sunshine and walked over to Jack Rabbit's house, saying how pleasant it was to take a little walk this way when everything was getting green, and they passed by where Mr. and Mrs. Robin were building a new nest, and they looked in on a cozy little hollow tree where Mr. Squirrel, who had just brought home a young wife from over by the Big West Hills, had set up housekeeping with everything new except the old-fashioned feather-bed and home-made spread which Miss Squirrel had been given by her folks. They looked through Mr. Squirrel's house and said how snug it was, and that perhaps it would be better not to try to furnish it too much at once, as it was nice just to get things as one was able, instead of doing everything at the start. When they got to Mr. Rabbit's house he was weaving a rag carpet for his front room, and they all stood behind him and watched him weave, and by-and-by Mr. 'Coon wanted to try it, but he didn't know how to run the treadle exactly, and got some of the strands too loose and some too tight, so he gave it up, and they all went out to look at Mr. Rabbit's garden. Well, Mr. Rabbit did have a nice garden. It was all laid out in rows, and was straight and trim, and there wasn't a weed anywhere. He had things up, too--pease and lettuce and radishes--and he had some tomato-plants growing in a box in the house, because it was too early to put them out. Mr. Rabbit said that a good many people bought their plants, but that he always liked to raise his own from seed, because then he knew just what they were and what to expect. He told them how to plant the different things and about the moon, and said there was an old adage in his family that if you remembered it you'd always plant at the right time. The adage, he said, was: "Pease and beans in the light of the moon-- Both in the pot before it's June." And of course you only had to change "light" to "dark" and use it for turnips and potatoes and such things, though really it was sometimes later than June, but June was near enough, and rhymed with "moon" better than July and August. He said he would give Mr. Crow all the seeds he wanted, and that when he was ready to put out tomatoes he would let him have plenty of plants too. Then Mr. 'Coon said it would be nice to have a few flower seeds, and they all looked at Mr. 'Coon because they knew he had once been in love, and they thought by his wanting flowers that he might be going to get that way again. But Mr. Rabbit said he was fond of flowers, too, especially the old-fashioned kind, and he picked out some for Mr. 'Coon; and then he went to weaving again, and the Hollow Tree People watched him awhile, and he pointed out pieces of different clothes he had had that he was weaving into his carpet, and they all thought how nice it was to use up one's old things that way. Then by-and-by the Hollow Tree People went back home, and they began their garden right away. It was just the kind of a day to make garden and they all felt like it, so they spaded and hoed and raked, and didn't find it very easy because the place had never been used for a garden before, and there were some roots and stones; and pretty soon Mr. 'Possum said that Mr. Crow and Mr. 'Coon might go on with the digging and he would plant the seeds, as he had been used to such work when he lived with his uncle Silas as a boy. So then he took the seeds, but he couldn't remember Mr. Rabbit's adages which told whether beets and carrots and such things as grow below the ground had to be planted in the dark of the moon or the light of the moon, and it was the same about beans and pease and the things that grow above the ground; and when he spoke to Mr. Crow and Mr. 'Coon about it, one said it was one way and the other the other way, and then Mr. 'Possum said he wasn't planting the things in the moon anyhow, and he thought Mr. Rabbit had made the adages to suit the day he was going to plant and that they would work either way. So then Mr. 'Possum planted everything there was, and showed Mr. 'Coon how to plant his flower seeds; and when they were all done they stood off and admired their nice garden, and said it was just about as nice as Jack Rabbit's, and maybe nicer in some ways, because it had trees around it and was a pleasant place to work. [Illustration: ONE SAID IT WAS ONE WAY AND THE OTHER THE OTHER WAY] Well, after that they got up every morning and went out to look at their garden, to see if any of the things were coming up; and pretty soon they found a good _many_ things coming up, but they were not in hills and rows, and Mr. 'Possum said they were weeds, because he remembered that Uncle Silas's weeds had always looked like those, and how he and his little cousins had had to hoe them. So then they got their hoes and hoed every morning, and by-and-by they had to hoe some during the day too, to keep up with the weeds, and the sun was pretty hot, and Mr. 'Possum did most of his hoeing over by the trees where it wasn't so sunny, and said that hereafter he thought it would be a good plan to plant all their garden in the shade. And every day they kept looking for the seeds to come up, and by-and-by a few did come up, and then they were quite proud, and went over and told Jack Rabbit about it, and Mr. Rabbit came over to give them some advice, and said he thought their garden looked pretty well for being its first year and put in late, though it looked to him, he said, as if some of it had been planted the wrong time of the moon, and he didn't think so much shade was very good for most things. But Mr. 'Possum said he'd rather have more shade and less things, and he thought next year he'd let his part of the garden out on shares. Well, it got hotter and hotter, and the weeds grew more and more, and the Hollow Tree People had to work and hoe and pull nearly all day in the sun to keep up with them, and they would have given it up pretty soon, only they wanted to show Jack Rabbit that they could have a garden too, and by-and-by, when their things got big enough to eat, they were so proud that they invited Mr. Rabbit to come over for dinner, and they sent word to Mr. Turtle, too, because he likes good things and lives alone, not being a family man like Mr. Robin and Mr. Squirrel. Now of course the Hollow Tree People knew that they had no such fine things in their garden as Jack Rabbit had in his, and they said they couldn't expect to, but they'd try to have other things to make up; and Mr. Crow was cooking for two whole days getting his chicken-pies and his puddings and such things ready for that dinner. And then when the morning came for it he was out long before sun-up to pick the things in the garden while they were nice and fresh, with the dew on them. But when Mr. Crow looked over his garden he felt pretty bad, for, after all, the new potatoes were little and tough, and the pease were small and dry, and the beans were thin and stringy, and the salad was pretty puny and tasteless, and the corn was just nubbins, because it didn't grow in a very good place and maybe hadn't been planted or tended very well. So Mr. Crow walked up and down the rows and thought a good deal, and finally decided that he'd just take a walk over toward Jack Rabbit's garden to see if Mr. Rabbit's things were really so much better after all. It was just about sunrise, and Mr. Crow knew Jack Rabbit didn't get up so soon, and he made up his mind he wouldn't wake him when he got there, but would just take a look over his nice garden and come away again. So when he got to Mr. Rabbit's back fence he climbed through a crack, and sat down in the weeds to rest a little and to look around, and he saw that Mr. Rabbit's house was just as still and closed up as could be, and no signs of Jack Rabbit anywhere. So then Mr. Crow stepped out into the corn patch and looked along at the rows of fine roasting ears, which made him feel sad because of those little nubbins in his own garden, and then he saw the fine fat pease and beans and salads in Jack Rabbit's garden, and it seemed to him that Mr. Rabbit could never in the world use up all those things himself. Then Mr. Crow decided that he would thin out a few of Jack Rabbit's things, which seemed to be too thick anyway to do well. It would be too bad to disturb Mr. Rabbit to tell him about it, and Mr. Crow didn't have time to wait for him to get up if he was going to get his dinner ready on time. So Mr. Crow picked some large ears of corn and some of Mr. Rabbit's best pease and beans and salads, and filled his apron with all he could carry, and climbed through the back fence again, and took out for home without wasting any more time. And when he got there Mr. 'Coon and Mr. 'Possum were just getting up, and he didn't bother to tell them about borrowing from Mr. Rabbit's garden, but set out some breakfast, and as soon as it was over pitched in to get ready for company. Mr. 'Coon and Mr. 'Possum flew around, too, to make the room look nice, and by-and-by everything was ready, and the table was set, and the Hollow Tree People were all dressed up and looking out the window. [Illustration: MR. CROW DECIDED TO THIN OUT A FEW OF JACK RABBIT'S THINGS] Then pretty soon they saw Mr. Turtle coming through the timber, and just then Jack Rabbit came in sight from the other direction. Mr. Turtle had brought a basket of mussels, which always are nice with a big dinner, like oysters, and Mr. Rabbit said he would have brought some things out of his garden, only he knew the Hollow Tree People had a garden, too, this year, and would want to show what they could do in that line themselves. He said he certainly must take a look at their garden because he had heard a good deal about it from Mr. Robin. Then Mr. Crow felt a little chilly, for he happened to think that if Mr. Rabbit went out into their garden and then saw the fine things which were going to be on the table he'd wonder where they came from. So he said right away that dinner was all ready, and they'd better sit down while things were hot and fresh. Then they all sat down, and first had the mussels which Mr. Turtle had brought, and there were some fine sliced tomatoes with them, and Mr. Rabbit said he hadn't supposed that such fine big tomatoes as those could come out of a new garden that had been planted late, and that he certainly must see the vines they came off of before he went home, because they were just as big as his tomatoes, if not bigger, and he wanted to see just how they could do so well. And Mr. Crow felt _real_ chilly, and Mr. 'Coon and Mr. 'Possum both said they hadn't supposed their tomatoes were so big and ripe, though they hadn't looked at them since yesterday. But Mr. Rabbit said that a good many things could happen over night, and Mr. Crow changed the subject as quick as he could, and said that things always looked bigger and better on the table than they did in the garden, but that he'd picked all the real big, ripe tomatoes and he didn't think there'd be any more. Then after the mussels they had the chicken-pie, and when Mr. Rabbit saw the vegetables that Mr. Crow served with it he looked at them and said: "My, what fine pease and beans, and what splendid corn! I am sure your vegetables are as good as anything in my garden, if not better. I certainly _must see_ just the spot where they grew. I would never have believed you could have done it, never, if I hadn't seen them right here on your table with my own eyes." Then Mr. Turtle said they were the finest he ever tasted, and Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon both said they wouldn't have believed it themselves yesterday, and it was wonderful how much everything had grown over night. Then the Old Black Crow choked a little and coughed, and said he didn't seem to relish his food, and pretty soon he said that of course their garden _had_ done _pretty_ well, but that it was about through now, as these were things he had been saving for this dinner, and he had gathered all the biggest and best of them this morning before Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon were up. When Mr. Crow said that, Jack Rabbit looked the other way and made a very queer face, and you might have thought he was trying to keep from laughing if you had seen him, but maybe he was only trying to keep from coughing, for pretty soon he did cough a little and said that the early morning was the proper time to gather vegetables; that one could always pick out the best things then, and do it quietly before folks were up. Then Mr. Crow felt a cold, shaky chill that went all the way up and down, and he was afraid to look up, though of course he didn't believe Mr. Rabbit knew anything about what he had done, only he was afraid that he would look so guilty that everybody would see it. He said that his head was a little dizzy with being over the hot stove so much, and he hoped they wouldn't think of going out until the cool of the evening, as the sun would be too much for him, and of course he wanted to be with them. [Illustration: MR. CROW WAS ALMOST AFRAID TO BRING ON THE SALAD] Poor Mr. Crow was almost afraid to bring on the salad, but he was just as afraid not to. Only he did wish he had picked out Mr. Rabbit's smallest bunches instead of his biggest ones, for he knew there were no such other salads anywhere as those very ones he had borrowed from Mr. Rabbit's garden. But he put it off as long as he could, and by-and-by Jack Rabbit said that there was one thing he was sure the Hollow Tree couldn't beat him on, and that was salad. He said he had never had such fine heads as he had this year, and that there were a few heads especially that he had been saving to show his friends. Then the 'Coon and 'Possum said "No," their salads were not very much, unless they had grown a great deal over night, like the other things--and when Mr. Crow got up to bring them he walked wobbly, and everybody said it was too bad that Mr. Crow _would_ always go to so much trouble for company. Well, when he came in with that bowl of salad and set it down, Mr. Turtle and Jack Rabbit said, "Did you ever in your life!" But Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon just sat and looked at it, for they thought it couldn't be true. Then pretty soon Mr. Rabbit said that he would take back everything he had told them about his salad, and that he was coming over to take some lessons from the Hollow Tree People, and especially from Mr. Crow, on how to raise vegetables. He said that there were a good many ways to raise vegetables--some raised them in a garden; some raised them in a hothouse; some raised them in the market; but that Mr. Crow's way was the best way there was, and he was coming over to learn it. He said they must finish their dinner before dark, for he certainly must _see_ just where _all_ Mr. Crow's wonderful things came from. Then Mr. Crow felt the gray spot on his head getting a good deal grayer, and he dropped his knife and fork, and swallowed two or three times, and tried to smile, though it was a sickly smile. He said that Mr. Rabbit was very kind, but that Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon had done a good deal of the work, too. But Jack Rabbit said "No," that nobody but an industrious person like Mr. Crow could have raised _those_ vegetables--a person who got up early, he said, and was used to taking a little trouble to get the best things. Then Mr. Crow went after the dessert, and was glad enough that there were no more vegetables to come, especially of that kind. And Mr. Rabbit seemed to forget about looking at the garden until they were all through, and then he said that before they went outside he would read a little poem he had composed that morning lying in bed and looking at the sunrise across his own garden. He said he called it: ME AND MY GARDEN Oh, it's nice to have a garden On which to put my labors. It's nice to have a garden Especially for my neighbors. I like to see it growing When skies are blue above me; I like to see it gathered By those who really love me. I like to think in winter Of pleasant summer labors; Oh, it's nice to have a garden Especially for my neighbors. Everybody said that was a nice poem and sounded just like Mr. Rabbit, who was always so free-hearted--all except Mr. Crow, who tried to say it was nice, and couldn't. Then Mr. Rabbit said they'd better go out now to see the Hollow Tree garden, but Mr. Crow said really he couldn't stand it yet, and they could see by his looks that he was feeling pretty sick, and Mr. Turtle said it was too bad to think of taking Mr. Crow out in the sun when he had worked so hard. So then they all sat around and smoked and told stories, and whenever they stopped Mr. Crow thought of something else to do and seemed to get better toward night, and got a great deal better when it got dark, and Mr. Jack Rabbit said all at once that now it was too late to see the Hollow Tree garden, and that he was so sorry, for he knew he could have learned something if he could just have one look at it, for nobody could see those vegetables and that garden without learning a great deal. [Illustration: JACK RABBIT CAPERED AND LAUGHED ALL THE WAY HOME] Then he said he must go, and Mr. Turtle said he guessed _he_ must go too, so they both set out for home, and when Jack Rabbit got out of sight of the Hollow Tree and into a little open moonlight place, he just laid down on the ground and rolled over and laughed and kicked his feet, and sat up and rocked and looked at the moon and laughed; and he capered and laughed all the way home at the good joke he had all to himself on Mr. Crow. For Mr. Rabbit had been lying awake in bed that morning when Mr. Crow was in his garden, and he had seen Mr. Crow _all_ the time. WHEN JACK RABBIT WAS A LITTLE BOY A STORY OF A VERY LONG TIME AGO THE Little Lady skips first on one foot and then on the other foot, around and around, until pretty soon she tumbles backward into _twelve flower-pots_. That, of course, makes a great damage, and though the Little Lady herself isn't hurt to speak of, she is frightened very much and has to be comforted by everybody, including the Story Teller, who comes last, and finishes up by telling about something that happened to Jack Rabbit when _he_ was little. Once upon a time, it begins, when Mr. Jack Rabbit was quite small, his mother left him all alone one afternoon while she went across the Wide Grass Lands to visit an old aunt of hers and take her some of the nice blackberries she had been putting up that morning. Mrs. Rabbit had been very busy all the forenoon, and little Jack had been watching her and making believe he was putting up berries too. And when Mrs. Rabbit got through she had cleaned her stove and polished it as nice as could be; then she gave little Jack Rabbit his dinner, with some of the berries that were left over, and afterward she washed his face and hands and found his blocks for him to play with, besides a new stick of red sealing-wax--the kind she used to seal her cans with; for they did not have patent screw-top cans in those days, but always sealed the covers on with red sealing-wax. Then Mrs. Rabbit told little Jack that he could play with his blocks, and build houses, with the red stick for a chimney, and to be a good boy until she came home. So little Jack Rabbit promised, and Mrs. Rabbit kissed him twice and took her parasol and her reticule and a can of berries, and started. Little Jack would have gone with her, only it was too far. Well, after she had left, little Jack played with his blocks and built houses and set the stick of sealing-wax up for a brick chimney, and by-and-by he played he was canning fruit, and he wished he could have a little stove and little cans and a little stick of sealing-wax, so he could really do it all just as she did. [Illustration: TOOK HER PARASOL AND HER RETICULE AND A CAN OF BERRIES, AND STARTED] Then little Jack Rabbit looked at the nice polished stove and wondered how it would be to use that, and to build a little fire in it--just a _little_ fire--which would make everything seem a good deal more real, he thought, than his make-believe stove of blocks. And pretty soon little Jack opened the stove door and looked in, and when he stirred the ashes there were still a few live coals there, and when he put in some shavings they blazed up, and when he put in some pieces of old shingles and things they blazed up too, and when he put in some of Mrs. Rabbit's nice dry wood the stove got _quite hot_! Then little Jack Rabbit became somewhat frightened, for he had only meant to make a very small fire, and he thought this might turn into a big fire. Also, he remembered some things his mother had told him about playing with fire and about _never going near a hot stove_. He thought he'd better open the stove door a little to see if the fire was getting too big, but he was afraid to touch it with his fingers for fear of burning them. He had seen his mother use a stick or something to open the stove door when it was hot, so he picked up the first thing that came handy, which was the stick of sealing-wax. But when he touched it to the hot door the red stick sputtered a little and left a bright red spot on the stove door. [Illustration: AND HE MADE SOME STRIPES, TOO--MOSTLY ON TOP OF THE STOVE] Then little Jack forgot all about putting up blackberries, admiring that beautiful red spot on the shiny black stove, and thinking how nice it would be to make some more like it, which he thought would improve the looks of the stove a great deal. So then he touched it again in another place and made another spot, and in another place and made another spot, and in a lot of places and made a lot of spots, and he made some stripes, too--mostly on top of the stove, which was nice and smooth to mark on, though he made _some_ on the pipe. You would hardly have known it was the same stove when he got all through, and little Jack thought how beautiful it was and how pleased his mother would be when she got home and _saw_ it. But then right away he happened to think that perhaps she might not be so pleased after all, and the more he thought about it the more sure he was that she wouldn't like her nice red-striped and spotted stove as well as a black one; and, besides, she had told him _never_ to play with fire. [Illustration: LITTLE JACK KNEW PERFECTLY WELL THAT SHE WASN'T AT ALL PLEASED] And just at that moment Mrs. Rabbit herself stepped in the door! And when she looked at her red-spotted and striped stove and then at little Jack Rabbit, little Jack knew perfectly well without her saying a single word that she wasn't _at all pleased_. So he began to cry very loud, and started to run, and tripped over his blocks and fell against a little stand-table that had Mrs. Rabbit's work-basket on it (for Mrs. Rabbit always knit or sewed while she was cooking anything), and all the spools and buttons and knitting-work went tumbling, with little Jack Rabbit right among them, holloing, "Oh, I'm killed! I'm killed!"--just sprawling there on the floor, afraid to get up, and expecting every minute his mother would do something awful. But Mrs. Rabbit just stood and looked at him over her spectacles and then at her red-spotted and striped stove, and pretty soon she said: "Well, this is a lovely mess to come home to!" Which of course made little Jack take on a good deal worse and keep on bawling out that he was killed, until Mrs. Rabbit told him that he was making a good deal of noise for a _dead_ man, and that if he'd get up and pick up all the things he'd upset maybe he'd come to life again. Then little Jack Rabbit got up and ran to his mother and cried against her best dress and got some tears on it, and Mrs. Rabbit sat down in her rocker and looked at her stove and rocked him until he felt better. And by-and-by she changed her dress and went to cleaning her stove while little Jack picked up all the things--all the spools and buttons and needles and knitting-work--every single thing. And after supper, when he said his prayers and went to bed, he promised never to disobey his mother again. [Illustration: PROMISED NEVER TO DISOBEY HIS MOTHER AGAIN] A HOLLOW TREE PICNIC THE LITTLE LADY AND THE STORY TELLER, AND THEIR FRIENDS NOT far from the House of Low Ceilings, which stands on the borders of the Big Deep Woods, there is a still smaller house, where, in summertime, the Story Teller goes to make up things and write them down. And one warm day he is writing away and not noticing what time it is when he thinks he hears somebody step in the door. So then he looks around, and he sees a little straw hat and a little round red face under it, and then he sees a basket, and right away he knows it is the Little Lady. And the Little Lady says: "I've brought the picnic--did you know it?" "Why, no!" the Story Teller says, looking surprised. "Is it time?" "Yes, and I've got huckleberries and cream, and some hot biscuits." "Good gracious! Let's see!" So then the Story Teller looks, and, sure enough, there they are, and more things, too; and pretty soon the Little Lady and he go down to a very quiet place under some hemlock-trees by a big rock where there is a clear brook and a spring close by, and they sit down, and the Little Lady spreads the picnic all out--and there is ham too, and bread-and-butter, and doughnuts--and they are so hungry that they eat everything, and both dip into one bowl when they get to huckleberries and cream. Then the Little Lady says: "Now tell me about the Hollow Tree People; they have picnics, too." "Sure enough, they do. And I think I'll have to tell you about their very last picnic and what happened." Well, once upon a time Mr. 'Possum said that he was getting tired of sitting down to a table every meal in a close room with the smell of cooking coming in, and if Mr. Crow would cook up a few things that would taste good cold he'd pack the basket (that is, Mr. 'Possum would) and Mr. 'Coon could carry it, and they'd go out somewhere and eat their dinner in a nice place under the trees. Mr. 'Coon said he knew a pleasant place to go, and Mr. Crow said he'd cook one of Mr. Man's chickens, which Mr. 'Possum had brought home the night before, though it would take time, he said, because it was pretty old--Mr. 'Possum having picked it out in the dark in a hurry. So then they all flew around and put away things, and Mr. Crow got the chicken on while Mr. 'Coon sliced the bread and Mr. 'Possum cut the cake, which they had been saving for Sunday, and he picked out a pie too, and a nice book to read which Mr. Crow had found lying in Mr. Man's yard while the folks were at dinner. Then he packed the basket all neat and nice, and ate a little piece of the cake when Mr. 'Coon had stepped out to see how the chicken was coming along, and when the chicken was ready he cut it all up nicely, and he tasted of that a little, too, while Mr. Crow was getting on his best picnic things to go. And pretty soon they all started out, and it was so bright and sunny that Mr. 'Possum began to sing a little, and Mr. 'Coon told him not to make a noise like that or they'd have company--Mr. Dog or Mr. Fox or somebody--when there was only just enough chicken for themselves, which made Mr. 'Possum stop right away. And before long they came to a very quiet place under some thick hemlock-trees behind a stone wall and close to a brook of clear water. [Illustration: AND HE TASTED OF THAT A LITTLE, TOO] That was the place Mr. 'Coon had thought of, and they sat down there and spread out all the things on some moss, and everything looked so nice that Mr. 'Possum said they ought to come here every day and eat dinner as long as the hot weather lasted. Then they were all so hungry that they began on the chicken right away, and Mr. 'Possum said that maybe he _might_ have picked out a tenderer one, but that he didn't think he could have found a bigger one, or one that would have lasted longer, and that, after all, size and lasting were what one needed for a picnic. So they ate first one thing and then another, and Mr. 'Coon asked if they remembered the time Mr. Dog had come to one of their picnics before they were friends with him, when he'd really been invited to stay away; and they all laughed when they thought how Mr. Rabbit had excused himself, and the others, too, one after another, until Mr. Dog had the picnic mostly to himself. And by-and-by the Hollow Tree People lit their pipes and smoked, and Mr. 'Possum leaned his back against a tree and read himself to sleep, and dreamed, and had a kind of a nightmare about that other picnic, and talked in his sleep about it, which made Mr. 'Coon think of something to do. So then Mr. 'Coon got some long grass and made a strong band of it and very carefully tied Mr. 'Possum to the tree, and just as Mr. 'Possum began to have his dream again and was saying "Oh! Oh! here comes Mr. Dog!" Mr. 'Coon gave three loud barks right in Mr. 'Possum's ear, and Mr. Crow said "Wake up! Wake up, Mr. 'Possum! Here he comes!" [Illustration: MR. 'POSSUM LEANED HIS BACK AGAINST A TREE AND READ HIMSELF TO SLEEP] And Mr. 'Possum did wake up, and jumped and jerked at that band, and holloed out as loud as he could: "Oh, please let me go, Mr. Dog! Oh, please let me go, Mr. Dog!" for he thought it was Mr. Dog that had him, and he forgot all about them being friends. But just then he happened to see Mr. Crow and Mr. 'Coon rolling on the ground and laughing, and he looked down to see what had him and found he was tied to a tree, and he knew that they had played a joke on him. That made him pretty mad at first, and he said if he ever got loose he'd pay them back for their smartness. Then Mr. 'Coon told him he most likely never would get loose if he didn't promise not to do anything, so Mr. 'Possum promised, and Mr. 'Coon untied him. Mr. 'Possum said he guessed the chicken must have been pretty hard to digest, and he knew it was pretty salt, for he was dying for a good cold drink. Then Mr. 'Coon said he knew where there was a spring over beyond the wall that had colder water than the brook, and he'd show them the way to it. So they climbed over the wall and slipped through the bushes to the spring, and all took a nice cold drink, and just as they raised their heads from drinking they heard somebody say something. And they all kept perfectly still and listened, and they heard it again, just beyond some bushes. [Illustration: SO MR. 'POSSUM PROMISED, AND MR. 'COON UNTIED HIM] So then they crept softly in among the green leaves and branches and looked through, and what do you think they saw? The Story Teller turns to the Little Lady, who seems a good deal excited. "Why, why, what did they see?" she says. "Tell me, quick!" "Why," the Story Teller goes on, "they saw the Little Lady and the Story Teller having a picnic too, with all the nice things spread out by a rock, under the hemlock-trees." "Oh," gasps the Little Lady, "did they really see us? and are they there now?" "They might be," says the Story Teller. "The Hollow Tree People slip around very softly. Anyway, they were there then, and it was the first time they had ever seen the Little Lady and the Story Teller so close. And they watched them until they were all through with their picnic and had gathered up their things. Then the 'Coon and the 'Possum and Old Black Crow slipped away again, and crept over the wall and gathered up their own things and set out for home very happy." The Little Lady grasps the Story Teller's hand. "Let's go and see their picnic place!" she says. "They may be there now." [Illustration: "AND WHAT DO YOU THINK THEY SAW?"] So the Little Lady and the Story Teller go softly down to the spring and get a drink; then they creep across to the mossy stone wall and peer over, and there, sure enough, is a green mossy place in the shade, the very place to spread a picnic; and the Little Lady jumps and says "Oh!" for she sees something brown whisk into the bushes. Anyhow, she knows the Hollow Tree People have been there, for there is a little piece of paper on the moss which they must have used to wrap up something, and she thinks they most likely heard her coming and are just gone. So the Story Teller lifts her over the wall, and they sit down on the green moss of the Hollow Tree picnic place, and she leans up against him and listens to the singing of the brook, and the Story Teller sings softly too, until by-and-by the Little Lady is asleep. And it may be, as they sit there and drowse and dream, that the Hollow Tree People creep up close and watch them. Who knows? [Illustration] * * * * * Transcriber's Notes: Obvious punctuation errors repaired. Repeated chapter titles were deleted to avoid repetition for the reader. Page 73, "t" changed to "it" (enjoyed it as much as) Page 135, "were" changed to "where" (from where he lived) Page 157, "pleasan" changed to "pleasant" (pleasant work) 
37646	----	+-----------------------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber's note: | | | | Names in bold characters are enclosed within plus signs. | +-----------------------------------------------------------+ [Illustration: Frontcover] STATE OF ILLINOIS OTTO KERNER, Governor FOREST TREES OF ILLINOIS HOW TO KNOW THEM A POCKET MANUAL DESCRIBING THEIR MOST IMPORTANT CHARACTERISTICS Revised by Dr. George D. Fuller, Professor Emeritus of Botany, University of Chicago, Curator of Botany, Illinois State Museum, and State Forester E. E. Nuuttila. (_1st. ed., 1927, by Mattoon, W. R., and Miller, R. B._) _Revised 1955_ DEPARTMENT OF CONSERVATION DIVISION OF FORESTRY SPRINGFIELD WILLIAM T. LODGE, Director (Printed by Authority of the State of Illinois) TABLE OF CONTENTS Page Ailanthus 54 Alder, black 19 speckled 19 Apple, crab 45 Arbor vitae 7 Ash, black 65 blue 65 green 64 pumpkin 65 red 64 white 64 Aspen, large-tooth 8 quaking 8 Bald cypress 6 Basswood 60 white 60 Beech 22 blue 19 Birch, black 21 river 21 white 20 yellow 21 Black locust 53 Black walnut 11 Bois d'arc 37 Box elder 58 Buckeye, Ohio 59 Buttonwood 44 Butternut 2 Catalpa 66 Cedar, northern white 7 red 7 Cherry, black 50 choke 50 wild red 50 Chestnut 22 Coffee tree, Kentucky 52 Cottonwood 9 swamp 9 Crab, apple 45 Bechtel's 45 prairie 45 sweet 45 Cucumber, magnolia 39 Cypress, bald 6 Dogwood, alternate-leaved 61 flowering 61 Elm, American 34 cork 34 red 35 rock 34 slippery 35 water 35 winged 34 Gum, cotton 62 sour 62 sweet 43 tupelo 62 Hackberry 36 southern 36 Haw, green 48 red 48 Hawthorn, cock-spur 47 dotted 47 green 48 red 48 Hedge apple 37 Hercules' club 63 Hickories, key of Illinois 13 Hickory, big shell-bark 16 bitternut 14 Buckley's 18 king-nut 16 mockernut 17 pecan 15 pignut 18 shag-bark 16 sweet pignut 17 water 14 white 17 Honey locust 51 Hornbeam, American 19 hop 20 Horse-chestnut 59 Kentucky coffee-tree 52 Larch, American 6 European 6 Linden, American 60 Locust, black 53 honey 51 water 51 Magnolia, cucumber 39 Maple, ash-leaved 58 black 56 Norway 58 red 57 river 57 silver 57 sugar 56 swamp 57 Mulberry, red 38 Russian 38 white 38 Oak, basket 26 black 29 black jack 32 bur 25 chinquapin 26 jack 29 northern pin 29 northern red 28 overcup 24 pin 30 post 27 red 28 rock chestnut 26 scarlet 30 shingle 33 Shumard's 28 southern red 31 Spanish 31 swamp chestnut 26 swamp Spanish 31 swamp white 25 white 24 willow 33 yellow chestnut 26 Oaks, of Illinois, a key 23 Ohio buckeye 59 Orange, osage 37 Papaw 41 Paulownia 66 Pecan 15 Persimmon 63 Pine, Austrian 4 jack 5 Scotch 5 shortleaf 5 white 4 Plane tree 44 Plum, Canada 49 wild 49 wild goose 49 yellow 49 Poplar, balsam 9 Carolina 9 European white 9 Lombardy 9 yellow 40 Redbud 52 Red cedar 7 Sassafras 42 Service-berry 46 smooth 46 Shadblow 46 Sour gum 62 Spruce, Norway 5 Sweet gum 43 Sumac, shining 55 smooth 55 staghorn 55 Sycamore 44 European 44 Tamarack 6 Thorn, cock-spur 47 dotted 47 pear 47 Washington 48 Tree of Heaven 54 Tulip tree 40 Tupelo gum 62 Walnut, black 11 white 12 Willow, black 10 crack 10 peach-leaved 10 weeping 10 white 10 See pages 70 and 71 for Index of Scientific Names +WHITE PINE+ _Pinus strobus_ L. [Illustration: WHITE PINE Two-thirds natural size.] THE white pine is found along the bluffs overlooking Lake Michigan in Lake and Cook counties and is also scattered along river bluffs in Jo Daviess, Carroll, Ogle and LaSalle counties. The only grove of this beautiful tree in Illinois is in the White Pines Forest State Park near Oregon, Ogle County, where there are trees over 100 years old that have attained a height of 90 feet with a diameter of 30 inches. This tree formerly formed the most valuable forests in the northeastern United States, stretching from Maine through New York to Minnesota. The straight stem, regular pyramidal shape and soft gray-green foliage made it universally appreciated as an ornamental tree and it has been freely planted throughout the State. The _leaves_, or needles, are 3 to 5 inches in length, bluish-green on the upper surface and whitish beneath, and occur in bundles of 5, which distinguishes it from all other eastern pines. The pollen-bearing _flowers_ are yellow and clustered in cones, about 1/3 inch long at the base of the growth of the season. The seed-producing flowers occur on other twigs and are bright red in color. The cone, or _fruit_, is 4 to 6 inches long, cylindrical with thin usually very gummy scales, containing small, winged seeds which require two years to mature. The _wood_ is light, soft, durable, not strong, light brown in color, often tinged with red, and easily worked. It was formerly much used in old colonial houses where even the shingles were of white pine. It is excellent for boxes, pattern making, matches, and many other products. Its rapid growth and the high quality of the wood make it one of the best trees for reforestation on light soils in the northern part of the State. The white pine blister rust was introduced into America about 35 years ago, and has since become widespread and highly destructive of both old trees and young growth. The Austrian pine, _Pinus nigra_ Arnold, has been naturalized in Lake County and has been planted as an ornamental tree throughout the State. Its leaves in 2's, from 3 to 5 inches long, stiff and dark green. The cone is heavy, 3 inches long with short prickles. +SHORTLEAF PINE+ _Pinus echinata_ Mill. [Illustration: SHORTLEAF PINE Leaves, one-half natural size. Fruit, natural size.] THE shortleaf pine, sometimes called yellow pine, occurs in very small stands in the "Pine Hills" of Union County, in Jackson County, in Giant City State Park, and near "Piney Creek" in Randolph County. It forms forests on light sandy soils in Tennessee, Arkansas, Oklahoma and Texas. At maturity, the tree has a tall, straight stem and an oval crown, reaching a height of about 100 feet and a diameter of about 4 feet. The _leaves_ are in clusters of two or three, from 3 to 5 inches long, slender, flexible, and dark blue-green. The cones are the smallest of our pines, 1-1/2 to 2-1/2 inches long, oblong, with small sharp prickles, generally clustered, and often holding to the twigs for 3 or 4 years. The _bark_ is light brownish-red, broken into rectangular plates on the trunk but scaly on the branches. The _wood_ of old trees is rather heavy and hard, of yellow-brown or orange color, fine grained and less resinous than that of other important southern pines. It is used largely for interior and exterior finishing, general construction, veneers, paper pulp, excelsior, cooperage, mine props, and other purposes. The tree transplants readily, grows rapidly, succeeds on a variety of soils and has proved valuable for reforestation. A few trees of jack pine, _Pinus banksiana_ Lamb., are found in Lake County. It is a small northern tree with leaves about an inch long, borne in 2's, with cones about 2 inches long. It is planted for reforestation in the State. The Scots pine, _Pinus sylvestris_ L., has been freely planted in Illinois and may be known by its orange-brown bark and its twisted leaves 2 to 3 inches long, arranged in 2's. It has become naturalized on the sand dunes in Lake County. The Norway spruce, _Picea abies_ Karst., has been freely planted throughout the State. It forms a dense conical spire-topped crown and reaches a height of 50 to 70 feet. The leaves are needle-shaped, about an inch long, dark green, and persist for about 5 years. The pendulous cones are from 3 to 6 inches long. It is desirable for ornamental planting. +BALD CYPRESS+ _Taxodium distichum_ Richard [Illustration: CYPRESS Natural size.] THE bald cypress is a tree found exclusively in deep swamps and was found in southern Illinois from the Mississippi bottoms to Shawneetown. Its straight trunk with numerous ascending branches, and narrow conical outline makes the tree one of considerable beauty. In old age, the tree generally has a broad fluted or buttressed base, a smooth slowly tapering trunk and a broad, open, flat top of a few heavy branches and numerous small branchlets. The original-growth timber attained heights of 80 to 130 feet and diameters of 5 to 10 feet. The _bark_ is silvery to cinnamon-red and finely divided by numerous longitudinal fissures. The _leaves_ are about 1/2 to 3/4 of an inch in length, arranged in feather-like fashion along two sides of small branchlets, which fall in the autumn with the leaves still attached. The _fruit_ is a rounded cone, or "ball", about one inch in diameter, consisting of thick irregular scales. The _wood_ is light, soft, easily worked, varies in color from light to dark brown, and is particularly durable in contact with the soil. Hence it is in demand for exterior trim of buildings, greenhouse planking, boat and shipbuilding, shingles, posts, poles and crossties. The tamarack, or American larch, _Larix laricina_ K. Koch, resembles the bald cypress in growing in swamps and in shedding its leaves in autumn. This tree is found in Illinois growing in bogs in Lake and McHenry counties. The leaves are flat, soft, slender, about one inch long and borne in clusters. The cones are only 1/2 to 3/4 inch long. The European larch, _Larix decidua_ Mill., may be distinguished from the native species by having slightly longer leaves and larger cones that are more than an inch long. +RED CEDAR+ _Juniperus virginiana_ L. RED cedar, the most plentiful coniferous tree in the State, is very valuable, growing on a great variety of soils, seeming to thrive on hills where few other trees are found. It is more common in the southern counties. [Illustration: RED CEDAR Natural size.] There are two kinds of _leaves_, often both kinds being found on the same tree. The commoner kind is dark green, minute and scale-like, clasping the stem in four ranks, so that the stems appear square. The other kind, often appearing on young growth or vigorous shoots, is awl-shaped, quite sharp-pointed, spreading and whitened beneath. The two kinds of _flowers_, appearing in February or March, are at the ends of the twigs on separate trees. The staminate trees assume a golden color from the small catkins, which, when shaken, shed clouds of yellow pollen. The _fruit_, ripening the first season, is pale blue with a white bloom, 1/4 inch in diameter, berry-like with sweet flesh. It is a favorite winter food for birds. The _bark_ is very thin, reddish-brown, peeling off in long, shred-like strips. The tree is extremely irregular in its growth, so that the trunk is usually more or less grooved. The _heartwood_ is distinctly red, and the sapwood white, this color combination making very striking effects when finished for cedar chests, closets, and interior woodwork. The wood is aromatic, soft, strong, and of even texture, and these qualities make it most desirable for lead pencils. It is very durable in contact with the soil, and on that account is in great demand for posts, poles and rustic work. The arbor vitae or northern white cedar, _Thuja occidentalis_ L., is found occasionally on the bluffs overlooking Lake Michigan, on the cliffs of Starved Rock, in Elgin City Park, and in bogs in Lake County. The leaves are aromatic, scale-like, 1/8 inch long, arranged to give small flat branches. The fruit is a cone 1/2 inch long. The wood is light, soft, durable, fragrant, and pale brown. +QUAKING ASPEN+ _Populus tremuloides_ Michx. THIS is one of the most widely distributed trees in North America. Its range goes from Labrador to British Columbia and from New England and New York far south in the Rocky Mountains to Arizona. In Illinois it is common in the north, but of infrequent occurrence in the south. [Illustration: ASPEN Three-fourths natural size.] The aspen is a small tree, reaching heights of 40 to 60 feet and diameters of 10 to 20 inches. The young branches are reddish-brown soon turning gray. The _winter buds_ are about 1/4 inch long, pointed and shining. The _bark_ is thin, smooth, light gray tinged with green. The _leaves_ are on slender flat petioles, arranged alternately on the twigs, and broadly oval, short pointed and shallowly toothed. They are green, shiny above and dull below, ranging from 2 to 4 inches long and about the same in breadth. The _flowers_ are in catkins and appear before the leaves begin to expand. The two kinds are borne on separate trees, the staminate catkins are about 2 inches long, but the seed-producing flowers form a long slender cluster 4 inches in length. The _fruit_ is a conical capsule filled with tiny cottony seeds which ripen in late spring before the leaves are fully expanded. The _wood_ is light brown, almost white. It is light, weak and not durable, and is used for pulpwood, fruit-crates and berry boxes. The large-tooth aspen, _Populus grandidentata_ Michx., is found in the northern half of Illinois and frequently grows alongside the quaking aspen. Its leaves are larger than those of the quaking aspen and the edges are coarsely and irregularly toothed. The winter buds have dull chestnut-brown scales and are somewhat downy. The bark is light gray tinged with reddish-brown. +COTTONWOOD+ _Populus deltoides_ Marsh. THE cottonwood, or Carolina poplar, is one of the largest trees in Illinois, growing on flood plains along small streams and in depressions in the prairie. It is one of the best trees for forestry purposes for planting where quick shade is desired. The wood is soft, light, weak, fine-grained but tough. It is good for pulp, boxes and berry baskets. [Illustration: COTTONWOOD Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, one-third natural size.] The _leaves_ are simple, alternate, broadly triangular, pointed and coarse toothed on the edges, 3 to 5 inches across, thick and firm supported by flattened slender petioles, 2 to 3 inches long. The _winter buds_ are large and covered with chestnut-brown shining resinous scales. The _flowers_ are in catkins, of two kinds, on different trees and appear before the leaves. The _fruit_ ripens in late spring, appearing as long drooping strings of ovoid capsules filled with small seeds. These strings of fruit, 5 to 8 inches long, give to the tree the name of "necklace poplar." The seeds are covered with white cottony hairs. The swamp cottonwood, _Populus heterophylla_ L., occurs in swamps in the southern part of Illinois, and may be known by its broadly ovate leaves, 3 to 5 inches wide and 4 to 7 inches long with blunt-apex and cordate base. A few trees of the balsam poplar, _Populus tacamahaca_ Mill., are found in Lake County near the shores of Lake Michigan. The leaves are ovate-lanceolate, pointed, and cordate. The large buds are covered with fragrant resin. The European white poplar, _Populus alba_ L., with light gray bark and leaves, white wooly beneath, is often found near old houses and along roadsides. The Lombardy poplar, a tall narrow form of the European black poplar, _Populus nigra_ var. _italica_ Du Roi, is often planted and is a striking tree for the roadside. +BLACK WILLOW+ _Salix nigra_ Marsh. THE black willow is not only a denizen of the forest but it is at home on the prairies and on the plains and even invades the desert. It grows singly or in clumps along the water courses, a tree 40 to 60 feet in height with a short trunk. [Illustration: BLACK WILLOW Two-thirds natural size.] The _bark_ is deeply divided into broad flat ridges, often becoming shaggy. The twigs, brittle at the base, are glabrous or pubescent, bright red-brown becoming darker with age. The _winter buds_ are 1/8 inch long, covered with a single smooth scale. The _wood_ is soft, light, close-grained, light brown and weak. It is often used in the manufacture of artificial limbs. The alternate simple _leaves_ are 3 to 6 inches long, and one-half inch wide on very short petioles; the tips are much tapered and the margins are finely toothed. They are bright green on both sides, turning pale yellow in the early autumn. The _flowers_ are in catkins, appearing with the leaves, borne on separate trees. The staminate flowers of the black willow have 3 to 5 stamens each, while the white willow has flowers with 2 stamens. The native peach-leaved willow, _Salix amygdaloides_ Anders., is a smaller tree with leaves 2 to 6 inches long, 1/2 to 1-1/2 inches wide, light green and shining above, pale and glaucous beneath, on petioles about 3/4 inch long. The white willow, _Salix alba_ L., and the crack willow, _Salix fragilis_ L., with bright yellow twigs, are European species which are often planted for ornamental purposes. Their flowers have only 2 stamens each and their leaves are silky, bright green above and glaucous beneath. The latter has twigs that are very brittle at the base. Another European species is the weeping willow, _Salix babylonica_ L., which may be known by its slender drooping branches. +BLACK WALNUT+ _Juglans nigra_ L. [Illustration: BLACK WALNUT Leaf, one-fifth natural size. Twig, three-quarters natural size.] THIS valuable forest tree occurs on rich bottom lands and on moist fertile hillsides throughout the State. The black walnut is found from Massachusetts westward to Minnesota and southward to Florida and Texas. In the forest, where it grows singly, it frequently attains a height of 100 feet with a straight stem, clear of branches for half its height. In open-grown trees, the stem is short and the crown broad and spreading. The _bark_ is thick, dark brown in color, and divided by rather deep fissures into rounded ridges. The twigs have cream-colored chambered pith and leaf-scars without downy pads above. The _leaves_ are alternate, compound, 1 to 2 feet long, consisting of from 15 to 23 leaflets of yellowish-green color. The leaflets are about 3 inches long, extremely tapering at the end and toothed along the margin. The _fruit_ is a nut, borne singly or in pairs, and enclosed in a solid green husk which does not split open, even after the nut is ripe. The nut itself is black with a very hard, thick, finely ridged shell, enclosing a rich, oily kernel edible and highly nutritious. The _heartwood_ is of superior quality and value. It is heavy, hard and strong, and its rich chocolate-brown color, freedom from warping and checking, susceptibility to a high polish, and durability make it highly prized for a great variety of uses, including furniture, cabinet work, and gun-stocks. Walnut is easily propagated from the nuts and grows rapidly on good soil, where it should be planted and grown for timber and nuts. It is the most valuable tree found in the forests of Illinois and originally grew extensively throughout the State. +BUTTERNUT+ _Juglans cinerea_ L. THE butternut, sometimes called the white walnut, is a smaller tree than the black walnut, although it may reach a height of 70 feet and a diameter of 3 feet. It is found all over the State, but the best is in the ravines of southern Illinois. The butternut is found from Maine to Michigan and southward to Kansas, Tennessee and northern Georgia. The trunk is often forked or crooked and this makes it less desirable for saw timber. [Illustration: BUTTERNUT Twig, one-half natural size. Leaf, one-third natural size.] The _bark_ differs from that of the black walnut in being light gray on branches and on the trunk of small trees, becoming darker on large trees. This tree may also be distinguished from black walnut by the velvet collars just above the scars left by last year's leaves. The twigs have chocolate-brown chambered pith and bear obliquely blunt winter buds somewhat flattened, brownish and hairy. The compound _leaves_ are 15 to 30 inches long, each with 11 to 17 sharp-pointed, oblong, finely toothed leaflets 2 to 3 inches long. The staminate and pistillate _flowers_ are on the same tree, the former in long yellowish-green drooping catkins and the latter are short with red-fringed stigmas. The _fruit_ is a nut enclosed in an oblong, somewhat pointed, yellowish-green husk, about 2 inches long, which is covered with short, rusty, clammy, sticky hairs. The nut has a rough, grooved shell and an oily, edible kernel. The _wood_ is light, soft, not strong, coarse-grained, light brown, and takes a good polish. It is used for interior finish of houses and for furniture. A yellow or orange dye can be made from the husks of the nuts. A KEY TO THE ILLINOIS HICKORIES A. Bud scales opposite; appearing somewhat grooved lengthwise; leaflets usually lanceolate, generally curved backwards; nut-husks usually winged; nut thin-shelled. B. Leaflets 5-9; leaves 6-10 inches long, winter buds bright yellow; nut gray globose, meat bitter C. cordiformis BB. Leaflets 7-13; leaves 9-13 inches long, winter buds dark brown, nut brown, pear-shaped, meat bitter C. aquatica BBB. Leaflets 9-17; leaves 12-20 inches long, winter buds yellow, nut elongated, meat sweet C. illinoensis AA. Bud scales not in pairs; more than 6; leaflets not recurved; nut husks usually not winged; nut thick-shelled. B. Buds large; twigs stout; nut angled; kernel sweet. C. Leaflets 5; leaves 8-14 inches long, nut whitish, bark shaggy C. ovata CC. Leaflets 7-9; leaves 15-20 inches long, nut reddish-brown C. laciniosa CCC. Leaflets 7-9; leaves 8-12 inches long, hairy C. tomentosa BB. Buds small; twigs slender; nut angled. C. Leaflets usually 5; leaves 8-12 inches long; fruit pear-shaped; kernel astringent C. glabra CC. Leaflets usually 7; leaves 8-10 inches long; fruit ovoid; shell ridged, thin; kernel sweet C. ovalis CCC. Leaflets usually 7; leaves 10-12 inches long; shell thin, conspicuously veined C. buckleyi +BITTERNUT HICKORY+ _Carya cordiformis_ K. Koch THE bitternut hickory is a tall slender tree with broadly pyramidal crown, attaining a height of 100 feet and a diameter of 2 to 3 feet. It is found along stream banks and on moist soil, and it is well known by its roundish bitter nuts. [Illustration: BITTERNUT HICKORY Twig, one-half natural size. Leaf, one-third natural size.] The _bark_ on the trunk is granite-gray, faintly tinged with yellow and smoother than in most of the hickories, yet broken into thin plate-like scales. The _winter buds_ are compressed, scurfy, and of a bright yellow color. The _leaves_ are alternate, compound, from 6 to 10 inches long, and composed of from 7 to 11 leaflets. The individual leaflets are smaller and more slender than those of the other hickories. The _flowers_ are of two kinds on the same tree; the staminate in long pendulous green catkins, the pistillate in 2 to 5 flowered spikes, 1/2 inch long, brown-hairy. The _fruit_ is about 1 inch long and thin-husked, while the nut is usually thin-shelled and brittle, and the kernel very bitter. The _wood_ is hard, strong and heavy, reddish-brown in color. From this last fact it gets its local name of red hickory. It is said to be somewhat inferior to the other hickories, but is used for the same purposes. +PECAN+ _Carya illinoensis_ (Wang.) K. Koch (_Carya pecan_ (Marsh.) E. & G.) THE pecan is a river-bottom tree found in southern Illinois extending its range northward to Adams, Peoria, Fayette and Lawrence counties. The tree is the largest of the hickories, attaining heights of over 100 feet and, when in the open, forming a large rounded top of symmetrical shape. It makes an excellent shade tree and is also planted in orchards for its nuts. The outer _bark_ is rough, hard, tight, but broken into scales; on the limbs, it is smooth at first but later tends to scale or divide as the bark grows old. [Illustration: PECAN One-quarter natural size.] The _leaves_ resemble those of the other hickories and the black walnut. They are made up of 9 to 17 leaflets, each oblong, toothed and long-pointed, and 4 to 8 inches long by about 2 inches wide. The _flowers_ appear in early spring and hang in tassels from 2 to 3 inches long. The _fruit_ is a nut, 4-winged or angled, pointed from 1 to 2 inches long, and one-half to 1 inch in diameter, borne in a husk which divides along its grooved seams when the nut ripens in the fall. The nuts, which vary in size and in the thickness of the shell, have been greatly improved by selection and cultivation and are sold on the market in large quantities. The _wood_ is strong, tough, heavy and hard and is used occasionally in making handles, parts for vehicles, for fuel and for veneers. The water hickory, _Carya aquatica_ Nutt., is a smaller tree, found in swamps in southern Illinois, with leaves made up of 7 to 13 leaflets; the nut is thin-shelled, angular and bitter. +SHAG-BARK HICKORY+ _Carya ovata_ K. Koch THE shag-bark hickory is well known for its sweet and delicious nuts. It is a large commercial tree, averaging 60 to 100 feet high and 1 to 2 feet in diameter. It thrives best on rich, damp soil and is common along streams, on rich uplands, and on moist hillsides throughout the State. [Illustration: SHAG-BARK HICKORY Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, one-half natural size.] The _bark_ of the trunk is rougher than other hickories, light gray and separating into thick plates which are only slightly attached to the tree. The terminal _winter buds_ are egg-shaped, the outer bud-scales having narrow tips. The _leaves_ are alternate, compound, from 8 to 15 inches long, and composed of 5, rarely 7 obovate to ovate leaflets. The twigs are smooth or clothed with short hairs. The _fruit_ is borne singly or in pairs and is globular. The husk is thick and deeply grooved at the seams. The nut is much compressed and pale, the shell thick, and the kernel sweet. The flowers are of two kinds, opening after the leaves have attained nearly their full size. The _wood_ is heavy, hard, tough and strong; it is white largely in the manufacture of agricultural implements and tool handles, and the building of carriages and wagons. For fuel the hickories are the most satisfactory of our native trees. The big shell bark or king-nut hickory, _Carya laciniosa_ (Michx. f.) Loud., becomes a tall tree on the rich bottom lands in the southern half of Illinois. It resembles the shag-bark hickory but the leaves are longer with 7 to 9 leaflets, and the nuts are 2 inches long with a thick bony shell and a sweet kernel. +MOCKERNUT HICKORY+ _Carya tomentosa_ Nutt. THE mockernut, or white hickory, is common on well-drained soils throughout the State. It is a tall, short-limbed tree often 60 feet high and 1 to 2 feet in diameter. [Illustration: MOCKERNUT HICKORY Leaf, one-fifth natural size. Twig, two-thirds natural size.] The _bark_ is dark gray, hard, closely and deeply furrowed often apparently cross-furrowed or netted. The winter buds are large, round or broadly egg-shaped and covered with a downy growth. The _leaves_ are large, strong-scented and hairy, composed of 7 to 9 obovate to oblong, pointed leaflets which turn a beautiful yellow in the fall. The _flowers_, like those of all other hickories, are of two kinds on the same tree; the staminate in three-branched catkins, the pistillate in clusters of 2 to 5. The _fruit_ is oval, nearly round or slightly pear-shaped with a very thick, strong-scented husk which splits nearly to the base when ripe. The nut is of various forms, but sometimes 4 to 6 ridged, light brown, and has a very thick shell and small, sweet kernel. The _wood_ is heavy, hard, tough and strong; it is white excepting the comparatively small, dark-brown heart, hence the name white hickory. It is used for vehicle parts and handles. It furnishes the best of fuel. This and other hickories are very desirable both for forest and shade trees. In the southern part of Illinois, the small fruited or sweet pignut, _Carya ovalis_ Sargent, occurs on rich hillsides. The leaves have 7 leaflets on reddish-brown twigs, with small yellowish winter buds. The nut is an inch long, enclosed in a very thin hairy husk, the shell is thin and the kernel sweet. +PIGNUT HICKORY+ _Carya glabra_ Sweet THE pignut hickory is rare in the northern part of Illinois but occurs plentifully in the rest of the State, growing to a medium sized tree on rich uplands. It has a tapering trunk and a narrow oval head with drooping branches. [Illustration: PIGNUT HICKORY Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, one-half natural size.] The _bark_ is close, ridged and grayish, but occasionally rough and flaky. The twigs are thin, smooth and glossy brown. The _leaves_ are smooth, 8 to 12 inches long and composed of 5 to 7 leaflets. The individual leaflets are rather small and narrow. The _winter buds_ are 1/2 inch long, egg-shaped, polished, and light brown. The _fruit_ is pear-shaped or rounded, usually with a neck at the base, very thin husks splitting only half way to the base or not at all. The nut is smooth, light brown in color, rather thick-shelled, and has a somewhat astringent edible kernel. The _wood_ is heavy, hard, strong, tough and flexible. Its uses are the same as those of the other hickories. Buckley's hickory, _Carya buckleyi_ Durand, occurs on sandy uplands in the southwest. It is a small tree with spreading, contorted branches. The fruit is contained in a hairy husk, the nut is angular, marked with pale veins and has a sweet kernel. +BLUE BEECH+ _Carpinus caroliniana_ Walt. THE blue beech, or American hornbeam, belongs to the birch family rather than to the beeches. It is a small slow-growing bushy tree, 20 to 30 feet tall with a diameter 4 to 8 inches. It is found along streams and in low ground through the State. [Illustration: BLUE BEECH Leaf, one-half natural size. Twig, one-half natural size.] The trunk is smooth fluted with irregular ridges extending up and down the tree. The _bark_ is light brownish-gray to dark bluish-gray in color, sometimes marked with dark bands extending horizontally on the trunk. The _leaves_ are simple, alternate, oval, long-pointed, doubly-toothed along the margin, 2 or 3 inches in length. They resemble those of the American elm, but are smaller and thinner. The _flowers_, appearing after the leaves, are borne in catkins separately on the same tree; the staminate catkins are about 1-1/2 inches long, the pistillate being only 3/4 of an inch long with small leaf-like green scales each bearing 2 pistils with long scarlet styles. The _fruit_ ripens in midsummer, but often remains on the tree long after the leaves have fallen. It is a nutlet about 1/3 of an inch long, attached to a leaf-like halberd-shaped bract which acts as a wing in aiding its distribution by the wind. The _wood_ is tough, close-grained, heavy and strong. It is sometimes selected for use for levers, tool handles, wooden cogs, mallets, wedges, etc. Another small tree of the birch family is the speckled alder, _Alnus incana_ Moench, which is found occasionally in wet places in the northern part of the State. The black alder, _Alnus glutinosa_ Gaertn., a European tree, has been planted near ponds. The flowers of the alders are in catkins and among the earliest in the spring. The fruit is a small cone which persists throughout the winter. +HOP HORNBEAM+ _Ostrya virginiana_ K. Koch THIS tree is also called ironwood and gets its common names from the quality of its wood and the hop-like fruit. It is a small, slender, generally round-topped tree, from 22 to 30 feet high and 7 to 10 inches in diameter. The top consists of long, slender branches, commonly drooped toward the ends. It is found throughout the State. [Illustration: HOP HORNBEAM Twig, one-half natural size. Leaf, one-third natural size.] The _bark_ is mostly light brown or reddish-brown, and finely divided into thin scales by which the tree, after a little acquaintance, can be easily recognized. The _leaves_ are simple, alternate, generally oblong with narrowed tips, sharply toothed along the margin, sometimes doubly toothed, from 2 to 3 inches long. The _flowers_ are of two kinds on the same tree; the staminate in drooping catkins which form the previous summer, the pistillate, in erect catkins on the newly formed twigs. The _fruit_, which resembles that of common hop vine, consists of a branch of leafy bracts 1 to 2 inches long containing a number of flattened ribbed nutlets. The _wood_ is strong, hard, durable, light brown to white, with thick pale sapwood. It is often used for fence posts, handles of tools, mallets and other small articles. The white birch, _Betula papyrifera_ Marsh., of the North Woods is rare in Illinois. It is found in Jo Daviess and Carroll counties and along the shores of Lake Michigan. The white papery bark distinguishes it from all other trees and was used by the northern Indians for covering their canoes and for making baskets, bags and other useful and ornamental things. +RIVER BIRCH+ _Betula nigra_ L. THE river, or back birch, is at home, as the name implies, along water courses, and inhabits the deep, rich soils along the borders of the larger rivers of the State and in swamps which are sometimes inundated for weeks at a time. [Illustration: RIVER BIRCH Two-thirds natural size.] The _bark_ provides a ready means of distinguishing this tree. It varies from reddish-brown to cinnamon-red in color, and peels back in tough papery layers. These layers persist on the trunk, presenting a very ragged and quite distinctive appearance. Unlike the bark of our other birches, the thin papery layers are usually covered with a gray powder. On older trunks, the bark on the main trunk becomes thick, deeply furrowed and of a dark reddish-brown color. The _leaves_ are simple, alternate, 2 to 3 inches long, more or less oval in shape, with double-toothed edges. The upper surface is dark green and the lower a pale yellowish-green. The _flowers_ are in catkins, the two kinds growing on the same tree. The _fruit_ is cone-shaped about 1 inch long, and densely crowded with little winged nutlets that ripen from May to June. The _wood_ is strong and fairly close-grained. It has been used to some extent in the manufacture of woodenware, in turnery and for wagon hubs. The yellow birch, _Betula lutea_ Michx., one of the most valuable hardwood timber trees around the Great Lakes, is represented in Illinois by a few small trees in Lee and Lake counties. It may be known by its bark becoming silvery-gray as the trunk expands and breaking into strips curled at the edges. The wood is strong and hard, close-grained, light brown tinged with red. It is used for interior finish, furniture, woodenware and turnery. It is prized as firewood. +BEECH+ _Fagus grandifolia_ Ehrh. THE beech is found from Maine to Wisconsin south to the Gulf and Texas, growing along with maples, oaks and tulip trees. It occurs in the ravines of the southern Illinois counties up to Vermilion County. It is one of the most beautiful of all trees either in summer or winter. [Illustration: BEECH One-half natural size.] The _bark_ is, perhaps, the most distinctive characteristic, as it maintains an unbroken light gray surface throughout its life. So tempting is this smooth expanse to the owner of a jack-knife that the beech has been well designated the "initial tree." The simple, oval _leaves_ are 3 to 4 inches long, pointed at the tip and coarsely toothed along the margin. When mature, they are almost leathery in texture. The beech produces a dense shade. The _winter buds_ are long, slender and pointed. The little, brown, three-sided beech-nuts are almost as well known as chestnuts. They form usually in pairs in a prickly bur. The kernel is sweet and edible, but so small as to offer insufficient reward for the pains of biting open the thin-shelled husk. The _wood_ of the beech is very hard, strong, and tough, though it will not last long on exposure to weather or in the soil. It is used to some extent for furniture, flooring, carpenter's tools, and novelty wares and extensively in southern Illinois for railroad ties and car stock. The American chestnut, _Castanea dentata_ Borkh., extends its range from Maine to Michigan, and southward to Delaware and Tennessee. There is a stand of chestnuts in Pulaski County and some trees have been planted in the southern part of the State. They are easily recognized by their alternate simple, broadly lanceolate coarsely toothed leaves, and their prickly burs about 2 inches in diameter containing 1-3 nuts. A KEY TO THE OAKS OF ILLINOIS A. Leaves without bristle tips; bark gray; acorns maturing at the end of 1 season; white oaks. B. Leaves lobed. C. Acorn-cup not enclosing the acorn. D. Acorn-cup shallow, warted Q. alba DD. Acorn-cup covering 1/2 of the acorn Q. stellata CC. Acorn-cup enclosing the acorn. D. Acorn-cup not fringed Q. lyrata DD. Acorn-cup fringed Q. macrocarpa BB. Leaves not lobed, coarsely toothed. C. Acorn-stalked. D. Acorn-stalks longer than petioles Q. bicolor DD. Acorn-stalks short E. Acorn-cup flat-bottomed; bark like that of white oak Q. prinus EE. Acorn-cup deep; bark like that of red oak Q. montana CC. Acorns sessile, cup deep Q. muhlenbergii AA. Leaves with bristle tips; bark dark; acorns mature at the end of two seasons; black and red oaks. B. Leaves lobed. C. Deeply lobed. D. Leaves deep green on both sides. E. Acorn-cup broad and shallow a. Acorn large Q. rubra aa. Acorn small b. Acorn ovoid Q. shumardii bb. Acorn globose Q. palustris EE. Acorn-cup deep a. Cup-scales loosely imbricated winter buds large and hairy Q. velutina aa. Cup-scales tightly appressed, winter buds small and smooth b. Acorn small Q. ellipsoidalis bb. Acorn large Q. coccinea DD. Leaves pale green beneath Q. falcata CC. Leaves shallowly lobed, winter buds rusty-hairy Q. marilandica BB. Leaves entire. C. Leaves hairy beneath; acorn sessile Q. imbricaria CC. Leaves not hairy; acorn stalked Q. phellos +WHITE OAK+ _Quercus alba_ L. WITHIN its natural range, which includes practically the entire eastern half of the United States, the white oak is one of the most important timber trees. It commonly reaches a height of 60 to 100 feet and a diameter of 2 to 3 feet; sometimes it becomes much larger. It is found in a wide variety of upland soils. When grown in a dense stand it has a straight continuous trunk, free of side branches for over half its height. In the open, however, the tree develops a broad crown with far-reaching limbs. Well-grown specimens are strikingly beautiful. [Illustration: WHITE OAK Twig, one-third natural size. Leaf, one-quarter natural size.] The _leaves_ are alternate, simple 5 to 9 inches long and about half as broad. They are deeply divided into 5 to 9 rounded, finger-like lobes. The young leaves are a soft silvery-gray or yellow or red while unfolding, becoming later bright green above and much paler below. The _flowers_ appear with the leaves, the staminate are in hairy catkins 2-3 inches long, the pistillate are sessile in axils of the leaves. The _fruit_ is an acorn maturing the first year. The nut is 3/4 to 1 inch long, light brown, about one-quarter enclosed in the warty cup. It is relished by hogs and other livestock. The _bark_ is thin, light ashy-gray and covered with loose scales or broad plates. The _wood_ is useful and valuable. It is heavy, strong, hard, tough, close-grained, durable, and light brown in color. The uses are many, including construction, shipbuilding, tight cooperage, furniture, wagons, implements, interior finish, flooring, and fuel. Notwithstanding its rather slow growth, white oak is valuable for forest, highway and ornamental planting. The overcup oak, _Quercus lyrata_ Walt., is similar to the white oak, but may be distinguished by the nearly spherical cup which nearly covers the somewhat flattened acorn. This oak occurs in the river bottoms in southern Illinois. +BUR OAK+ _Quercus macrocarpa_ Michx. THE bur oak, which occurs throughout the State takes its name from the fringe around the cup of the acorn. It usually has a broad top of heavy spreading branches and a relatively short body. It is one of the largest trees in the State. In maturity, it attains a diameter of 5 feet or more and a height of over 80 feet. The _bark_ is light gray and is usually broken up into small narrow flakes. The bur oak does not often form a part of the forest stand, as do some other oaks, but occurs generally singly in open stands and in fields. It requires a moist but well-drained soil. [Illustration: BUR OAK One-third natural size.] The _leaves_ resemble somewhat those of the common white oak, but have a pair of deep indentations on their border near the base, and wavy notches on the broad middle and upper portions of the leaf. They range from 6 to 12 inches long and 3 to 6 inches wide. The _fruit_, or acorn, is a nut set deeply in a fringed cup. It is sometimes 1 inch or more in diameter but varies widely in respect to size and the degree to which the nut is enclosed in the mossy fringed cup. The _wood_ is heavy, hard, strong, tough and durable. It is used for much the same purposes as the other white oaks, lumber, piling, veneer logs, crossties and fuel. The swamp white oak, _Quercus bicolor_ Willd., occurs scattered in swamps, through the State. The leaves are obovate, coarsely toothed and wedge-shaped below. They are thick, dark green and shining above, pale and downy beneath. The acorns are borne in a deep rough scaly cup, on stems 2-4 inches long. The wood is like that of the white oak. The bark is gray-brown, separating into large, papery scales which curl back. +YELLOW CHESTNUT OAK+ _Quercus muhlenbergii_ Engelm. THIS oak, also called the chinquapin oak, which is an excellent timber tree, occurs throughout the State. It grows on practically all classes of soil and in all moisture conditions except in swamps, and is a very tenacious tree on shallow, dry soil. The _bark_ is light gray, and breaks up into short narrow flakes on the main trunk and old limbs. It reaches a height of 70 to 90 feet. The straight shapely trunk bears a round-topped head composed of small branches, which makes it an attractive shade tree. [Illustration: YELLOW CHESTNUT OAK One-third natural size.] The _leaves_ are oblong, 3 to 6 inches in length, 1-1/2 to 3 inches wide, and equally toothed or notched on the edges, resembling the leaves of the chestnut oak. The _fruit_, which ripens in the fall of the first season, is light to dark brown when ripe, and edible if roasted. This acorn is from one-half to nearly an inch long, usually less than one inch in diameter, and is set in a shallow cup. The _wood_ is like that of the white oak, heavy, very hard, tough, strong, durable, and takes an excellent polish. It is used in manufacturing lumber and timbers, crossties, fence posts and fuel. A portion of the lumber no doubt goes into furniture. The basket oak, or swamp chestnut oak, _Quercus prinus_ L., is found in the woods in southern Illinois. It resembles the white oak in its bark and branches, but has larger acorns. The leaves resemble those of yellow chestnut oak. The rock chestnut oak, _Quercus montana_ Willd., is an eastern oak that is rare on the hills of Union and Alexander counties. +POST OAK+ _Quercus stellata_ Wang. THE post oak is usually a medium-sized tree, with a rounded crown, commonly reaching a height of 50 to 80 feet and a diameter of 1 to 2 feet, but sometimes considerably larger. It occurs from Mason County south to the Ohio River being most common in the "Post Oak Flats." The soil is a light gray silt loam underlaid by "tight clay." [Illustration: POST OAK One-third natural size.] The _bark_ is rougher and darker than the white oak and broken into smaller scales. The stout young twigs and the leaves are coated at first with a thick light-colored fuzz which soon becomes darker and later drops away entirely. The _leaves_ are usually 4 to 5 inches long and nearly as broad, deeply 5-lobed with broad rounded divisions, the lobes broadest at the ends. They are thick and somewhat leathery, dark green and shiny on the upper surface, lighter green and rough hairy beneath. The _flowers_, like those of the other oaks, are of two kinds on the same tree, the male in drooping, clustered catkins, the female inconspicuous. The _fruit_ is an oval acorn, 1/2 to 1 inch long, set in a rather small cup which may or may not be stalked. The _wood_ is very heavy, hard, close-grained, light to dark brown, durable in contact with the soil. It is used for crossties and fence posts, and along with other oaks of the white oak class for furniture and other purposes. +NORTHERN RED OAK+ _Quercus rubra_ L. (_Quercus borealis_ Michx.) THE red oak of the North occurs throughout the State. It usually attains a height of about 70 feet and a diameter ranging from 2 to 3 feet, but is sometimes much larger. The forest-grown tree is tall and straight with a clear trunk and narrow crown. [Illustration: NORTHERN RED OAK Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, one-half natural size.] The _bark_ on young stems is smooth, gray to brown on older trees, thick and broken by shallow fissures into regular, flat smooth-surfaced plates. The _leaves_ are simple, alternate, 5 to 9 inches long, and 4 to 6 inches wide, broader toward the tip, divided into 7 to 9 lobes, each lobe being somewhat coarsely toothed and bristle-tipped, and firm, dull green above, paler below, often turning to a brilliant red after frost. The _winter buds_ are small, light reddish-brown and smooth. The _flowers_, as in all the oaks, are of two kinds on the same tree, the staminate in long drooping, clustered catkins, opening with the leaves, the female solitary or slightly clustered. The _fruit_ is a large acorn maturing the second year. The nut is from 3/4 to 1-3/4 inches long, blunt-topped, flat at base, with only its base enclosed in the very shallow dark brown cup. The _wood_ is hard, strong, coarse-grained, with light, reddish-brown heartwood and thin lighter-colored sapwood. It is used for cooperage, interior finish, construction, furniture, and crossties. Because of its average rapid growth, high-grade wood and general freedom from insect and fungus attack, it should be widely planted in the State for timber production and as a shade tree. This red oak, _Quercus shumardii_ Buckley, is found only in the southern counties along the borders of streams and swamps. Its leaves are dark green and lustrous, paler beneath and have tufts of pale hairs in the angles of the veins. The acorns are long-oval in shape, held in thick saucer-like cups composed of closely appressed hairy scales. +BLACK OAK+ _Quercus velutina_ Lam. THE black oak, sometimes farther north called yellow oak or yellow-barked oak, usually grows to be about 80 feet in height and 1 to 3 feet in diameter. It is found commonly throughout the State. The crown is irregularly shaped and wide, with a clear trunk for 20 feet or more on large trees. The _bark_ on the very young trees is smooth and dark brown but soon becomes thick and black, with deep furrows and rough broken ridges. The bright yellow color and bitter taste of the inner bark, due to tannic acid, are distinguishing characteristics. [Illustration: BLACK OAK Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, one-half natural size.] The _leaves_ are alternate, simple, 5 to 10 inches long and 3 to 8 inches wide, thick leathery shallow or deeply lobed, the shape varying greatly. When mature, the leaves are dark green and shiny on the upper surface, pale on the lower, more or less covered with down, and with conspicuous rusty brown hairs in the forks of the veins. The _winter buds_ are large, strongly angled, gray and hairy. The _fruit_ matures the second season. The light brown nut is from 1/2 to 1 inch long, more or less hemispherical in shape, and from 1/2 to 3/4 enclosed in the thin, dark brown, scaly cup. The scales on the upper part of the cup are loosely imbricated. The kernel is yellow and extremely bitter. The _wood_ is hard, heavy, strong, coarse-grained and checks easily. It is a bright red-brown with a thin outer edge of paler sapwood. It is used for the same purposes as red oak, under which name it is put on the market. Its growth is rather slow. The jack oak, _Quercus ellipsoidalis_ Hill, is a smaller tree found frequently alongside black oak in the northern third of the State. The acorn is ellipsoid, small and enclosed in a deep cup, whose scales are closely appressed. The winter buds are slightly angular, smooth, and red-brown in color. Many small, drooping branches are sent out near the ground, which soon die, and the stubs or "pins" have given this oak the name of northern pin oak. +PIN OAK+ _Quercus palustris_ Muench. PIN oak is rarely found naturally except on the rich moist soil of bottom lands and the borders of swamps. It is usually not abundant in any locality, but found scattered with other kinds of trees. It more commonly attains heights of 50 to 70 feet, with diameters up to 2 feet, but sometimes larger. The tree commonly has a single, upright stem with numerous long, tough branches, the lower ones drooping, the middle horizontal, and the upper ascending. Many of the lower branches soon die and their stubs are the "pins" which give the tree its name. [Illustration: PIN OAK Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, one-half natural size.] The _bark_ on young stems is smooth, shining and light brown; on old trunks light gray-brown and covered by small, close scales. Because of its beauty, its hardiness, and its fairly rapid growth, pin oak makes an exceptionally fine street tree. The _leaves_ generally resemble those of the northern red oak, but they are smaller and much more deeply lobed. They are 3 to 5 inches long and 2 to 4 inches wide. The _flowers_ are of two kinds on the same tree, and appear when the leaves are about one-third grown. The _fruit_, taking two years to mature, is an acorn nearly hemispheric, about one-half inch long, light brown, often striped, enclosed only at the base in a thin, shallow, saucer-shaped cup. The _wood_ is heavy, hard, strong, and usually knotty. It is light brown, with thin, darker-colored sapwood. It is sold and has the same uses as red oak, although it is generally not so good in quality. The scarlet oak, _Quercus coccinea_ Muench., has deeply lobed leaves which turn brilliant scarlet in the autumn. The winter buds are reddish-brown and pubescent. The acorns are ovoid, enclosed for about half their length in a thick, deep cup. It is rarely found in the southern half of the State. +SPANISH OAK+ _Quercus falcata_ Michx. THIS oak, one of the common southern red oaks, ranges from Virginia and Florida to Texas and Missouri, and appears in a dozen of the southern counties in Illinois. It is usually called the Spanish oak, or southern red oak, and has been known as _Quercus rubra_ L. or _Quercus digitata_ Sudw. [Illustration: SPANISH OAK Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, one-half natural size.] It is a variable species and hence has been known under so many names. It grows to a height of 70 to 80 feet, and a diameter of 2 to 3 feet, though larger trees are not infrequently found. Its large spreading branches form a broad, round, open top. The _bark_ is rough, though not deeply furrowed and varies from light gray on younger trees to dark or almost black on older ones. The _leaves_ are of two different types: (1) irregular-shaped lobes, mostly narrow, bristle-tipped, the central lobe often the longest; or (2) pear-shaped with 3 rounded lobes at the outer end. They are dark lustrous green above and gray downy beneath, the contrast being strikingly seen in a wind or rain storm. The _flowers_ appear in April while the leaves are unfolding. The _fruit_ ripens the second year. The small rounded acorn, about half an inch long, is set in a thin saucer-shaped cup which tapers to a short stem. The _wood_ is heavy, hard, strong, coarse-grained and is less subject to defects than most other red oaks. It is used for rough lumber and for furniture, chairs, tables, etc. It is a desirable timber tree, especially on the poorer, drier soils. The bark is rich in tannin. _Q. rubra_ var. _pagodaefolia_, called swamp Spanish oak, has been collected in four southern counties of Illinois. +BLACK JACK+ _Quercus marilandica_ Muench. THE black jack oak is a tree of sandy and clayey barren lands where few other forest trees thrive. It ranges from New York to Florida and westward into Illinois, Arkansas, and Texas. It reaches its largest size in southern Arkansas and eastern Texas. It is found as one of the main species in the "Post Oak Flats" in the southern half of the State and in the sands along the Illinois River, near Havana. The tree sometimes reaches a height of 50 to 60 feet and a diameter of 16 inches, but it is usually much smaller. Its hard, stiff, drooping branches form a dense crown which usually contains many persistent dead twigs. The _bark_ is rough, very dark, often nearly black, and broken into small, hard scales or flakes. [Illustration: BLACK JACK OAK Twig, two-thirds natural size. Leaf, one-third natural size.] The _leaves_ are of a leathery texture, dark green on the upper surface, lighter, hairy, and brown-scurfy below. The leaves are wedge-shaped, 4 to 10 inches long and about the same in width. There is a considerable difference in the leaves of this oak both in size and shape. The _fruit_ is an acorn about three-quarters of an inch long, yellow-brown and often striped, enclosed for half its length or more in a thick light brown cup. The _wood_ is heavy, hard and strong; when used at all, it is used mostly for firewood and mine props. It is also used for the manufacture of charcoal. +SHINGLE OAK+ _Quercus imbricaria_ Michx. THIS oak is found throughout the State with the exception of the extreme north portion. When growing alone, the tree develops a symmetrical rounded top, conspicuous on account of the good-sized, regular-shaped, oblong leaves which differ in shape from most other native oaks. It forms a handsome tree. It is sometimes incorrectly called "laurel" oak. [Illustration: SHINGLE OAK Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, three-fourths natural size.] The _bark_ is rather thin and divided by shallow fissures into broad ridges of a dark brown color. The _leaves_ are alternate in arrangement along the stem, oblong in shape, 4 to 6 inches long by 1 to 2 inches wide, leathery in texture with smooth margins sometimes wavy in outline, dark green and shiny above, and thick downy or velvety below. The _fruit_ is an acorn about one-half inch in length, borne singly or in pairs on stout stems, full or rounded at the end and faintly streaked, enclosed for about one-half its length in a thin-walled cup. Like all members of the black oak group, the fruit requires two seasons to mature. The _wood_ is heavy, hard, rather coarse-grained, and used for common lumber, shingles (whence it gets its common name), posts and firewood. The willow oak, _Quercus phellos_ L., is a river bottom tree rarely found in southern Illinois. It is readily identified by its leaves, which as the name implies, resemble those of the willows. These leaves are from two to four inches long and one-half to one inch wide, light green, shiny above and smooth beneath. +AMERICAN ELM+ _Ulmus americana_ L. THIS is a famous shade tree of New England, whose range, however, extends to the Rocky Mountains and southward to Texas. Within this vast area, it is generally common except in the high mountains. It reaches an average height of 60 to 70 feet and a diameter of 4 to 5 feet. The _bark_ is dark gray, divided into irregular, flat-topped thick ridges, and is generally firm, though on old trees it tends to come off in flakes. An incision into the inner bark will show alternate layers of brown and white. [Illustration: AMERICAN ELM Twig, one-half natural size. Leaf, one-half natural size.] The _leaves_ are alternate, simple, 4 to 6 inches long, rather thick, somewhat one-sided, doubly toothed on the margin, and generally smooth above and downy below. The leaf-veins are very pronounced and run in parallel lines from the mid-rib to leaf edge. The _winter buds_ are pointed, brown, ovoid and smooth. The _flowers_ are small, perfect, greenish, on slender stalks sometimes an inch long, appearing before the leaves in the early spring. The _fruit_ is a light green, oval shaped samara (winged fruit) with the seed portion in the center and surrounded entirely by a wing. This wing has a conspicuous notch at the end and is hairy on the margin, a mark distinctive of the species. The seed ripens in the spring and by its wing is widely disseminated by the wind. The _wood_ is heavy, hard, strong, tough and difficult to split. It is used for hubs of wheels, saddle trees, boats, ships, barrel hoops, and veneer for baskets and crates. Because of its spreading fan-shaped form, graceful pendulous branches, and long life, the white elm justly holds its place as one of the most desirable shade trees. The rock or cork elm, _Ulmus thomasi_ Sarg., is found occasionally in northern Illinois. Its excurrent branches are very different from those of other elms. Its twigs often have corky ridges and the winter buds are somewhat hairy. The winged elm, _Ulmus alata_ Michx., a small tree, is found in the southern part of the State. The twigs have two thin corky wings. +RED OR SLIPPERY ELM+ _Ulmus rubra_ Muhl. (_Ulmus fulva_ Michx.) THE red elm, or slippery elm, is a common tree in all sections of the State. It is found principally on the banks of streams and on low hillsides in rich soil. It is a tree of small to moderate size, but noticeably wide-spreading. It is usually less than 50 feet in height and 16 inches in diameter although trees of larger dimensions are occasionally found. [Illustration: SLIPPERY ELM Twig, one-half natural size. Leaf, one-half natural size.] The _bark_ on the trunk is frequently one inch thick, dark grayish-brown, and broken by shallow fissures into flat ridges. The inner bark is used to some extent for medical purposes, as it is fragrant and when chewed, affords a slippery, mucilaginous substance, whence the tree gets its name. The _winter buds_ are large and conspicuously rusty-hairy. The _leaves_ are simple, alternate on the stem, 4 to 6 inches in length, sharp pointed, their bases unsymmetrical, doubly-toothed on the edges, thick, dark green, and rough on both sides. The _fruit_ consists of a seed surrounded by a thin, broad, greenish wing, about one-half an inch in diameter; the _flowers_ appear in early spring and the fruit ripens when the leaves are about half-grown. The _wood_ is close-grained, tough, strong, heavy, hard, moderately durable in contact with the soil. It is used for fence posts, crossties, agricultural implements, ribs for small boats and for some other purposes. The water elm, _Planera aquatica_ Gmel., is a small tree with slender branches forming a low broad head and is found in swamps in the valley of the Wabash River in this State. It reaches its best development in Arkansas and Louisiana. It has dull green leaves 2 inches long and 1 inch wide. The fruit is an oblong, dark brown drupe. +HACKBERRY+ _Celtis occidentalis_ L. THE rough-leaved hackberry is found sparsely throughout the State. It occurs most abundantly and of greatest size in the rich alluvial lands in the lower part of the State, but thrives, however, on various types of soil, from the poorest to the richest. It is usually a medium-sized tree from 30 to 50 feet high and 10 to 20 inches in diameter, but trees 3 feet in diameter are found in the Wabash bottoms in southern Illinois. Its limbs are often crooked and angular and bear a head made of slender, pendant branches or short, bristly, stubby twigs. In the open the crown is generally very symmetrical. It makes an excellent shade tree. [Illustration: HACKBERRY Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, one-half natural size.] The _bark_ is grayish and generally rough with scale-like or warty projections of dead bark. In some instances the bark is smooth enough on the limbs to resemble that of the beech. The _leaves_ are simple, ovate, alternate, one-sided, 2 to 4 inches long, the edges toothed towards the long point. The _flowers_ are inconspicuous, and the two kinds are borne on the same tree. They appear in April or May, and are of a creamy, greenish color. The _fruit_ is a round, somewhat oblong drupe, or berry, from 1/4 to 1/3 of an inch in diameter. It has a thin, purplish skin, and sweet, yellowish flesh. From this characteristic it is sometimes called sugarberry. The berries frequently hang on the tree most of the winter. The _wood_ is heavy, rather soft, weak, and decays readily when exposed. It is used chiefly for fuel, but occasionally for lumber and railroad ties which are given preservative treatment. The southern hackberry, _Celtis leavigata_ Willd., having narrow leaves, is found occasionally along the streams in southern Illinois. The fruit hangs from the axils of the leaves on slender stems. It is orange-red in color, changing to purple-black as it matures. +OSAGE ORANGE+ _Maclura pomifera_ Schneid. THE osage orange, hedge apple, or mock orange, although not a native of Illinois, is found distributed throughout the State, but does not as a rule occur as a forest tree. It grows chiefly in open fields along fence rows, and as a pure hedge fence. Occasionally it reaches a height of 60 feet and a diameter of 30 inches, but more usually it is found from 20 to 40 feet in height and from 4 to 12 inches in diameter. This tree is sometimes used for shade, but mostly for hedges, and as living fence posts. The _bark_ is thin, gray, sometimes tinged with yellow, and on old trees divided into strips or flakes. The bark of the root is used as a yellow dye; that of the trunk has been used for tanning leather. [Illustration: OSAGE ORANGE Leaf and fruit, one-quarter natural size. Twig, two-thirds natural size.] The _leaves_ are deciduous, with milky sap and producing stout axillary thorns. They are green on the upper surface, 3 to 5 inches long and 2 to 3 inches wide, and turn bright yellow in the autumn. The yellowish _flowers_ appear in May. They are of two kinds on the same tree--the staminate flowers in a linear cluster and the pistillate flowers in a rounded ball. The _fruit_ is globular, from 2 to 5 inches in diameter, somewhat resembling a very rough green orange. The _wood_ is heavy, exceedingly hard, very strong and very durable in contact with the soil. The heartwood is bright orange in color, turning brown upon exposure. The Indians called it "bois d'arc", or bow-wood, and used it for their finest bows. It does not shrink with weather changes. It is largely used for posts; sometimes for wheel-stock, lumber and fuel. +RED MULBERRY+ _Morus rubra_ L. THE red mulberry occurs throughout the State. It prefers the rich, moist soils of the lower and middle districts, but it is nowhere abundant. It is a small tree, rarely 50 feet high and 2 feet in diameter, often growing in the shade of larger trees. [Illustration: RED MULBERRY Twig, two-thirds natural size. Leaf, one-third natural size.] The _bark_ is rather thin, dark reddish-brown, peeling off in long narrow flakes. The _leaves_ are alternate, thin, rounded or somewhat heart-shaped, toothed, pointed, 3 to 5 inches long, rough hairy above and soft hairy beneath. Often some of the leaves, especially on the young trees and thrifty shoots, are mitten-shaped or variously lobed. The _flowers_ are of two kinds, on the same or different trees, in drooping catkins. The catkins of the staminate flowers are about 2 inches long; the spikes of the pistillate flowers are about half as long and stand on short stalks. The _fruit_ is dark red or black, and resembles a blackberry; however, a stalk extends through it centrally, and it is longer and narrower. The fruit is sweet and edible and greatly relished by birds and various animals. The _wood_ is rather light, soft, not strong, light orange-yellow, very durable in contact with the soil. It is chiefly used for fence posts. The tree might be planted for this purpose and to furnish food for birds. The white mulberry, _Morus alba_ L., is a native of China, where its leaves are the chief food of the silkworm. Several varieties are planted for ornamental purposes. Its leaves are broad and smooth; its fruit is long, white, sweet, and insipid. A variety, under the name of the Russian mulberry, _Morus alba_ var. _tatarica_ Loudon, has been introduced into this country and has been cultivated for its fruit. This fruit varies from creamy white to violet and almost black. +CUCUMBER MAGNOLIA+ _Magnolia acuminata_ L. THE cucumber magnolia attains an average height of 40 to 80 feet and a diameter of 1 to 2 feet. It occurs singly among other hardwood trees throughout the richer, cooler north slopes and bottom lands of southern Illinois, in Union, Johnson, Pope, Alexander and Pulaski counties. [Illustration: CUCUMBER MAGNOLIA Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, two-thirds natural size.] The _bark_ is aromatic and bitter; that of the young twigs is a lustrous red-brown, while the bark of the trunk is rather thin, dark brown, furrowed and broken into thin scales. The _leaves_ are alternate, oblong, short-pointed, rounded at the base, silky, hairy when unfolding, later smooth or slightly silky, 6 to 10 inches long, 4 to 6 inches wide, often with wavy edges, dark green above, lighter beneath. The _flowers_ are single, large--though smaller than those of the other magnolias--2-1/2 to 3 inches long. The six upright petals are whitish-green tinged with yellow. The _fruit_ is a smooth, dark red, often crooked "cone", 2-1/2 to 3 inches long, somewhat resembling, when green, a small cucumber. The seeds are 1/2 inch long, and covered with a pulpy, scarlet coat, which attracts the birds, particularly as the seeds hang by thin cords from the opening "cones." The _wood_ is light, soft, close-grained, durable, of a light yellow-brown color and is used for the same purposes as yellow poplar. It is quite desirable for roadside and ornamental planting. +TULIP TREE+ _Liriodendron tulipifera_ L. THE tulip tree, tulip poplar, is one of the tallest trees in the State with its straight trunk rising to a height of 125 feet. It is one of the largest and most valuable hardwood trees of the United States. It reaches its largest size in the deep moist soils along streams and in the cool ravines of southern Illinois. Vermilion County on the east and Randolph on the west side of the State represent its northern limit. As more commonly seen, it has a height of 60 to 100 feet and a diameter of 3 to 4 feet. Growing with a straight central trunk like the pines, and often clear of limbs for 30 to 50 feet, it has a narrow pyramidal head which in older age becomes more spreading. The tree has been extensively cut, but is reproducing rapidly and remains one of the most abundant and valuable trees in our young second-growth forests. It has been planted as an ornamental and shade tree. [Illustration: TULIP TREE Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, two-thirds natural size.] The _leaves_ are simple, 4 to 6 inches in length and breadth, 4-lobed, dark green in summer, turning to a clear yellow in fall. The greenish-yellow tulip-shaped _flowers_ appear in May or June. The _fruit_ is a narrow light brown, upright cone, 2 to 3 inches long, made up of seeds, each enclosed in a hard bony coat and provided with a wing which makes it easily carried by the wind. The _wood_ is light, soft, easily worked, light yellow or brown, with wide cream-colored sapwood. It is extensively cut into lumber for interior and exterior trim, vehicle bodies, veneers, turnery and other high-grade uses. It is marketed under the name yellow poplar, because of the yellow color of the heartwood. The tulip tree transplants easily, grows rapidly and forms a tall stem. It is one of the best trees for forest planting on good moist soil. It can be recommended for roadside planting because it grows tall and has a deep root system. Where conditions of life are not too severe, it may be used for shade tree planting. +PAPAW+ _Asimina triloba_ Dunal THE papaw, which grows as a small tree or large shrub, is very well known throughout the State, except in the northern parts, and is sometimes called the "wild banana" tree. Most commonly it occurs as an undergrowth in the shade of rich forests of the larger hardwood trees. Its range extends from New York westward to Iowa and southward to Florida and eastern Texas. When growing alone, however, it forms dense clumps on deep, moist soils in creek bottoms. The _bark_ is thin, dark grayish-brown, and smooth, or slightly fissured on old trees. [Illustration: PAPAW Leaf, one-quarter natural size. Twig, two-thirds natural size.] The _leaves_ are alternate on the stem, pear-shaped with pointed ends and tapering bases, smooth and light green above, from 8 to 10 inches long, clustered toward the ends of the branches. The dark purple, attractive _flowers_ appear with the leaves singly or in two's along the branch, measure nearly 2 inches across, and produce nectar which attracts the bees. When thoroughly ripe, the _fruit_ is delicious and nutritious. It measures from 3 to 5 inches in length, turns from greenish-yellow to very dark brown in color, and holds rounded or elongated seeds which separate readily from the pulp. The _wood_ is light, soft or spongy, and weak, greenish to yellowish in color, and of no commercial importance. Because of its handsome foliage, attractive flowers and curious fruit, the papaw has been much used in ornamental planting. +SASSAFRAS+ _Sassafras albidum_ Nees. THE sassafras is an aromatic tree, usually not over 40 feet in height or a foot in diameter in Illinois. It is common throughout the State on dry soils as far north as La Salle County, and is one of the first broad-leaf trees to come up on abandoned fields, where the seeds are dropped by birds. Its range extends from Maine, southern Ontario to Iowa and south to Florida and west to Texas. In parts of its range it attains large size. [Illustration: SASSAFRAS Twig, one-half natural size. Leaf, one-third natural size.] The _bark_ of the trunk is thick, red-brown and deeply furrowed and that of the twigs is bright green. The _leaves_ are very characteristic. It is one of the few trees having leaves of widely different shape on the same tree, or even on the same twig. Some are oval and entire, 4 to 6 inches long; others have one lobe, resembling the thumb on a mitten; while still others are divided at the outer end into 3 distinct lobes. The young leaves and twigs are quite mucilaginous. The _flowers_ are clustered, greenish, yellow, and open with the first unfolding of the leaves. The staminate and pistillate flowers are usually on different trees. The _fruit_ is an oblong, dark blue or black, lustrous berry, containing one seed and surrounded at the base by what appears to be a small orange-red or scarlet cup at the end of a scarlet stalk. The _wood_ is light, soft, weak, brittle, and durable in the soil; the heartwood is dull orange-brown. It is used for posts, rails, boat building, cooperage and for ox-yokes. The bark of the roots yields the very aromatic oil of sassafras much used for flavoring candies and various commercial products. The sassafras deserves more consideration than it has received as a shade and ornamental tree. The autumnal coloring of its foliage is scarcely surpassed by any tree, and it is very free from insect pests. +SWEET GUM+ _Liquidambar styraciflua_ L. THE sweet or red gum is a very common tree on low lands in southern Illinois, but it is seldom found north of Jackson County in the west or north of Richland in the east. It is usually abundant in old fields or in cut-over woods. The _bark_ is a light gray, roughened by corky scales, later becoming deeply furrowed. After the second year the twigs often develop 2 to 4 corky projections of the bark, which give them a winged appearance. [Illustration: SWEET GUM Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, two-thirds natural size.] The simple, alternate star-shaped _leaf_, with its 5 to 7 points or lobes, is 5 to 7 inches across and very aromatic. In the fall its coloring is brilliant, ranging from pale yellow through orange and red to a deep bronze. The _flowers_ are of two kinds on the same tree, unfolding with the leaves. The _fruit_ at first glance reminds one of the balls of the sycamore, but on closer inspection proves to be a head. It measures an inch or more in diameter and is made up of many capsules with projecting spines. It frequently hangs on the tree by its long swinging stem late into the winter. The _wood_ is heavy, moderately hard, close-grained, and not durable on exposure. The reddish-brown heartwood, which suggests the name, red gum, is not present to any appreciable extent in logs under 16 inches in diameter. In the South, the wood is extensively used for flooring, interior finish, paper pulp and veneers for baskets of all kinds. Veneers of the heartwood are largely used in furniture, sometimes as imitation mahogany or Circassian walnut. This tree should be more widely planted for ornamental use. +SYCAMORE+ _Platanus occidentalis_ L. THE sycamore, also called buttonwood, is considered the largest hardwood tree in North America. It occurs throughout the State, but is most abundant and reaches its largest size along streams and on rich bottom lands. It is one of the more rapidly-growing trees. In maturity it occasionally attains a height of 140 to 170 feet and a diameter of 10 to 11 feet. It often forks into several large secondary trunks, and the massive spreading limbs form an open head sometimes 100 feet across. [Illustration: SYCAMORE Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, one-half natural size.] The _bark_ of the sycamore is a characteristic feature. On the younger trunk and large limbs it is very smooth, greenish-gray in color. The outer bark yearly flakes off in large patches and exposes the nearly white younger bark. Near the base of the old trees the bark becomes thick, dark brown and divided by deep furrows. The _flowers_ are very small and arranged in dense globular green heads. The _leaves_ are simple, alternate, 4 to 7 inches long and about as broad, light green and smooth above, and paler below. The base of the leafstalk is hollow and in falling off exposes the winter bud. The _fruit_ is a ball about 1 inch in diameter, conspicuous throughout the winter as it hangs on its flexible stem, which is 3 to 5 inches long. During early spring, the fruit ball breaks up, and the small seeds are widely scattered by the wind. The _wood_ is hard and moderately strong, but decays rapidly in the ground. It is used for butchers' blocks, tobacco boxes, furniture and interior finish. The tree grows rapidly, bears transplanting well and is often planted as a shade tree. The European sycamore or London plane tree, _Platanus acerifolia_ Willd., is less subject to disease than our native species and has been widely planted in this country for ornament and shade. The leaves are more deeply lobed than our sycamore and there are two or three fruit balls on each stem. +WILD CRAB APPLE+ _Malus ioensis_ Britton THE wild crab apple, or prairie crab, is found throughout Illinois forming small trees 20 to 30 feet high with trunks from 6 to 12 inches in diameter. In the open it develops a broad open crown with rigid, contorted branches bearing many short, spur-like branchlets, some of which develop into sharp rigid thorns. Under less favorable conditions, these crab apples often form bushy shrubs. [Illustration: WILD CRAB APPLE Flower, fruit and leaves one-half natural size.] The _bark_ on the branches is smooth, thin and red-brown in color, while on the trunk the thicker bark often breaks into scales. The twigs are at first hoary-hairy, but soon become smooth and reddish. The _leaves_ are alternate, simple, 3 to 4 inches long and almost as broad. They are sometimes slightly lobed and sharply and deeply toothed. They are dark green and shiny above, but pale and hairy beneath, borne on stout, hairy petioles. The _flowers_, which are from one to two inches broad, are borne in clusters of 3 to 8, on wooly pedicels about an inch long. The white or rosy petals form a cup which surrounds the numerous stamens and the five styles. The calyx is pubescent. The _fruit_ ripens in October, forming a globose, pale green, very fragrant apple with a waxy surface. It is about an inch in diameter, flattened at each end. Like the other crabs, its handsome flowers have a delicious fragrance which makes the tree popular for planting for ornamental purposes. The fruit is sometimes gathered for jelly. The _wood_ is heavy, close-grained and reddish-brown. The wild sweet crab, _Malus coronaria_ Mill., differs from the above in having more nearly smooth leaves and calyx. It is rarely found in Illinois but is common in Ohio. A cultivated variety, _Malus ioensis plena_ Rheder, is sold under the name of Bechtel's crab, and has large, double, rosy-pink blossoms. +SERVICE BERRY+ _Amelanchier arborea_ (Michx. f.) Fern. (_Amelanchier canadensis_ Medic.) THE downy service berry, or shadblow, as it is more commonly called in the East, has little economic importance except for its frequency throughout the State and the touch of beauty its flowers give to our forests early in the spring before the foliage has come out. It is a small tree 20 to 50 feet high and seldom over 8 inches in diameter, with a rather narrow, rounded top but is often little more than shrub. The name shadblow was given by the early settlers who noticed that it blossomed when the shad were running up the streams. [Illustration: SERVICE BERRY One-half natural size.] The _bark_ is smooth and light gray, and shallowly fissured into scaly ridges. The _winter buds_ are long and slender. The _leaves_ are alternate, slender-stalked, ovate, pointed, finely toothed, 2 to 4 inches long, densely white-hairy when young, then becoming a light green, and covered with scattered silky hairs. The white _flowers_ appear in erect or drooping clusters in early spring, before the leaves, making the tree quite conspicuous in the leafless or budding forest. The petals are slender and rather more than a half inch long. The _fruit_ is sweet, edible, rounded, reddish-purple when ripe, 1/3 to 1/2 an inch in diameter, ripening early in June. Birds and denizens of the forest are very fond of the berries. The _wood_ is heavy, exceedingly hard, strong, close-grained and dark brown. It is occasionally used for handles. This is a desirable ornamental tree and should be planted for this purpose and to encourage the birds. The smooth service berry, _Amelanchier leavis_ Wieg., differs from the above species in having smooth leaves, dark green and slightly glaucous when mature, and they are half grown at flowering time. The fruit is sweet, purple or nearly black, glaucous and edible. +COCK-SPUR THORN+ _Crataegus crus-galli_ L. THE hawthorns, or thorn-apples, are small trees or shrubs of the apple family which are widely distributed throughout the northeastern United States, with fewer species in the South and West. In North America, no less than 150 species have been distinguished, but their proper identification is a task for the expert. There are about a dozen haws that reach tree size in Illinois, attaining a height of 20 to 30 feet and a stem diameter of 8 to 12 inches. Of these, perhaps the best known is the cock-spur thorn with its many strong straight spines and shining leaves. Its _bark_ is pale gray and scaly. Its _winter buds_ are small, globose and lustrous brown. [Illustration: COCK-SPUR THORN Flowers and fruit one-half natural size.] The _leaves_ are conspicuous because of their dark green glossy surface. They are broadest toward the apex tapering to the short petiole. They vary in size in different localities, the smaller-leaved varieties seem to be more frequently met with in the southern part of the State than in the north. These leaves are alternate, wedge-shaped, notched on the edges, and from 2 to 3 inches long. The _flowers_ are rather small, arranged in flat-topped clusters, white in color, with about a dozen pink stamens. The _fruit_ is 1/3 inch thick, greenish-red; the flesh is hard and dry. This haw is one of the best for planting for ornamental purposes; with its spreading branches, it forms a broad, rounded crown. It is hardy and succeeds in a great variety of soils. The dotted hawthorn, _Crataegus punctata_ Jacq., also has wedge-shaped leaves but they are leathery, dull gray-green in color with conspicuous veins. The tree reaches a height of 25 feet with distinctly horizontal branches forming a broad flat crown. It is often almost without thorns. The fruit is oblong, dull red with pale dots, becoming mellow. The pear-thorn, _Crataegus calpodendron_ Med., is a smaller tree, with broader leaves, very few thorns and pear-shaped fruit. The haw is scarlet or orange-red, the flesh is thin and sweet. +RED HAW+ _Crataegus mollis_ Scheele LIKE almost all the hawthorns, the red haw is a tree of the pasture lands, the roadside, the open woods and the stream banks. It is the largest of our haws, occasionally reaching a height of 30 feet, with ascending branches usually forming a low conical crown. The twigs are hairy during the first season, but are soon smooth, slender, nearly unarmed or occasionally armed with stout, curved thorns. [Illustration: RED HAW Flowers one-half natural size.] The _leaves_ are ovate or nearly orbicular, coarsely toothed nearly to the base, usually 3 to 5 pairs of broad, shallow lobes. Both surfaces are hairy. The _flowers_ are often nearly an inch across, in compact clusters. They have about 20 cream-colored, densely hairy stamens. The _fruit_, or the haw, is large, nearly 3/4 inch across, bright crimson or scarlet in color. The edible sweet flesh is firm but mellow, surrounding 5 bony seeds. It is often used for making jelly. The _wood_ is strong, tough, heavy and hard, and is used for mallets, tool handles and such small articles. The Washington thorn, _Crataegus phaenopyrum_ Med., is a smaller tree, with bright red fruit, but its broad leaves are smooth and bright green. The flowers are small, in very large clusters, followed by small bright scarlet edible haws. In the southern half of Illinois, growing on moist river bottoms, the green haw, _Crataegus viridis_ L., becomes a tree 20 feet tall. The broad leaves are dark green and quite smooth. The fruit is small but produced in large clusters becoming bright red or orange-red as it ripens. +WILD PLUM+ _Prunus americana_ Marsh. THE common wild plum, or yellow plum, is a small tree which at a height usually of 3 to 6 feet divides into many spreading branches, often drooping at the ends. Not uncommonly it grows in thickets where it attains only large shrub size. The value of the tree lies in its fruit from which jelly and preserves are made, and its handsome form, and foliage, pure white fragrant flowers, and showy fruit which make it desirable for ornamental planting. [Illustration: WILD PLUM Three-quarters natural size.] The _leaves_ are alternate, oval, pointed, sharply toothed, (often doubly toothed) along the margin, thick and firm, 3 to 4 inches long by 1 to 2 inches wide, narrowed or rounded at the base, and prominently veined on both surfaces. The _flowers_ appear in numerous small clusters before, or simultaneously with, the leaves, and are white with small bright red portions in the center. The _fruit_, or plum, which ripens in late summer, is red or orange colored, about an inch in diameter, contains a stone or pit that is flattened and about as long as the pulpy part, and varies rather widely in its palatability. The _wood_ is heavy, hard, close-grained, reddish-brown in color and has no especial commercial uses. The Canada plum, _Prunus nigra_ Ait., is similar to the common wild plum, but the teeth of the leaves are blunt, the leaves are thin and the fruit is orange in color, almost without bloom. The wild goose plum, _Prunus hortulana_ Bailey, has thin lance-shaped leaves; its flowers have short petals and it has a rather hard, small globular fruit. +BLACK CHERRY+ _Prunus serotina_ Ehrh. A common tree in Illinois and attaining sizes up to about 70 feet in height and 1 to 3 feet in diameter, black cherry as a tree is found all over the State. The forest-grown trees have long clear trunks with little taper; open-grown trees have spreading crowns. The _bark_ on branches and young trees is smooth and bright reddish-brown, marked by conspicuous, narrow white, horizontal lines, and has a bitter-almond taste. On the older trunks the bark becomes rough and broken into thick, irregular plates. [Illustration: BLACK CHERRY Twig, two-thirds natural size. Leaf, one-third natural size.] The _leaves_ are alternate, simple, oval to lance-like in shape, with edges broken by many fine incurved teeth, thick and shiny above, and paler beneath. The _fruit_ is dull purplish-black, about as large as a pea, and is borne in long hanging clusters. It ripens in late summer, and is edible, although it has a slightly bitter taste. The _wood_ is reddish-brown with yellowish sapwood, moderately heavy, hard, strong, fine-grained, and does not warp or split in seasoning. It is valuable for its lustre and color and is used for furniture, interior finish, tools, and implement handles. With the exception of black walnut, black cherry lumber has a greater unit value than any other hardwood of the eastern United States. The wild cherry, _Prunus pennsylvanica_ L., is a small tree, growing on light soils, in the northern part of the State. The bark is a dark reddish-brown; the leaves are lance-shaped bright green and shiny above, while the fruit is round and bright red in color. The choke cherry, _Prunus virginiana_ L., is common along fences and under larger trees in the forest in the northern half of the State. It seldom becomes a tree but it bears a fruit which is sweet but very astringent and is dark purple when ripe. +HONEY LOCUST+ _Gleditsia triacanthos_ L. THE honey locust occurs scattered throughout the State. It grows under a wide variety of soil and moisture conditions. It sometimes occurs in the forest, but more commonly in corners and waste places beside roads and fields. It reaches a diameter of 30 inches and a height of 75 feet. The _bark_ on old trees is dark gray and is divided into thin tight scales. The strong thorns--straight, brown, branched, sharp and shiny which grow on the 1-year-old wood and remain for many years--are sufficient to identify the honey locust. [Illustration: HONEY LOCUST Twig, three-quarters natural size. Leaf, one-quarter natural size.] The _leaf_ is pinnate, or feather-like with 18 to 28 leaflets; or it is twice-pinnate, consisting of 4 to 7 pairs of pinnae or secondary leaflets, each 6 to 8 inches long and somewhat resembling the leaf of the black locust. The _flowers_ which appear when the leaves are nearly full-grown are inconspicuous, greenish-yellow and rich in honey. The petals vary from 3 to 5, the stamens are 3 to 10 and the ovary is wooly and one-celled. The _fruit_ is a pod, 10 to 18 inches long, often twisted, 1 to 1-1/2 inches wide, flat, dark brown or black when ripe and containing yellow sweetish pulp and seeds. The seeds are very hard and each is separated from the others by the pulp. The pods are eaten by many animals, and as the seeds are hard to digest, many are thus widely scattered from the parent tree. The _wood_ is coarse-grained, hard, strong and moderately durable in contact with the ground. It is used for fence posts and crossties. It should not be confused with the very durable wood of the black locust. The water locust, _Gleditsia aquatica_ Marsh., is found in river bottoms in southern Illinois, becoming a medium sized tree. It may be known by its short pods, 1 to 2 inches long, with only 2 or 3 seeds. +REDBUD+ _Cercis canadensis_ L. THE redbud is a small tree occurring under taller trees or on the borders of fields or hillsides and in valleys throughout the State. It ordinarily attains a height of 25 to 50 feet and a diameter of 6 to 12 inches. Its stout branches usually form a wide flat head. [Illustration: REDBUD Leaf, one-fourth natural size. Twig, and flowers, two-thirds natural size.] The _bark_ is bright red-brown, the long narrow plates separating into thin scales. The _leaves_ are alternate, heart-shaped, entire 3 to 5 inches long and wide, glossy green turning in autumn to a bright clear yellow. The conspicuous bright purplish-red, pea-shaped _flowers_ are in clusters along the twigs and small branches and appear before or with the leaves in early spring. The _fruit_ is an oblong, flattened, many seeded pod, 2 to 4 inches long, reddish during the summer, and often hanging on the tree most of the winter. The _wood_ is heavy, hard, not strong, rich, dark brown in color, and of little commercial importance. The redbud is cultivated as an ornamental tree and for that purpose might be planted more generally in this State. The Kentucky coffee-tree, _Gymnocladus dioicus_ K. Koch, though not anywhere a common tree, is found on rich bottom lands throughout the State. The much-divided leaves are 2 to 3 feet long. The pods are 5 to 8 inches long and 1 to 2 inches wide and contain hard seeds 3/4 inch long. It has few qualities to recommend it for ornamental planting. +BLACK LOCUST+ _Robinia pseudoacacia_ L. THE black locust is a native to the Appalachian Mountains but has been introduced into Illinois, and now occurs throughout the entire State growing on all soils and under all conditions of moisture except in swamps. It is found generally in thickets on clay banks and waste places or along fence rows. [Illustration: BLACK LOCUST Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig and flower, two-thirds natural size.] The twigs and branchlets are armed with straight or slightly curved sharp, strong spines, sometimes as much as 1 inch in length which remain attached to the outer bark for many years. The _bark_ is dark brown and divides into strips as the tree grows older. The _leaves_ are pinnate, or featherlike, from 6 to 10 inches in length, consisting of from 7 to 19 oblong thin leaflets. The _flowers_ are fragrant, white or cream-colored, and appear in early spring in graceful pendent racemes. The _fruit_ is a pod from 3 to 5 inches long containing 4 to 8 small hard seeds which ripen late in the fall. The pod splits open during the winter, discharging the seeds. Some seeds usually remain attached to each half of the pod; the pod thus acts as a wing upon which the seeds are borne to considerable distances before the strong spring winds. The _wood_ is yellow in color, coarse-grained, very heavy, very hard, strong, and very durable in contact with the soil. It is used extensively for fence posts, poles, tree nails, insulator pins and occasionally for lumber and fuel. The tree is very rapid in growth in youth but short-lived. It spreads by underground shoots and is useful for holding and reclaiming badly gullied lands. The usefulness of the black locust is, however, very greatly limited by the fact that it is subject to great damage from an insect known as the locust borer. +TREE OF HEAVEN+ _Ailanthus altissima_ Swingle THIS tree is a native of China but planted in Illinois because of its tropical foliage. It has escaped and become naturalized. It is a handsome, rapid-growing, short-lived tree, attaining a height of 40 to 60 feet, and a trunk diameter of 2 to 3 feet. Its crown is spreading, rather loose and open. The twigs are smooth and thick with a large reddish-brown pith. The _winter buds_ are small, globular and hairy, placed just above the large leaf-scars. [Illustration: TREE OF HEAVEN Twig, one-half natural size. Leaf and fruit, one-fourth natural size.] The _leaves_ are alternate, pinnately compound and one to three feet long. The leaflets number from 11 to 41, are smooth, dark green above, paler beneath, turning a clear yellow in autumn. The _flowers_ appear soon after the leaves are full grown, on different trees, borne in large upright panicles. They are small yellow-green in color with 5 petals and 10 stamens. The staminate flowers have a disagreeable odor. The _fruit_, ripening in October but remaining on the tree during the winter, is a one-seeded samara, spirally twisted, borne in crowded clusters. The tree of heaven is useful for landscape planting, succeeding in all kinds of soils and all kinds of growing conditions. It makes a rapid showing and is practically free from all diseases and insect injury. +SMOOTH SUMAC+ _Rhus glabra_ L. THE smooth sumac is usually a tall shrub but occasionally it develops as a tree 20 to 25 feet tall with a trunk diameter of 6 to 10 inches. A few large spreading branches form a broad, flat, open head. The twigs are smooth and glabrous and have a thick, light brown pith with small round winter buds. [Illustration: SMOOTH SUMAC Twig, one-half natural size. Leaf and fruit, one-fourth natural size.] The compound _leaves_ are 6 to 18 inches long, composed of 9 to 27 leaflets with sharply notched margins. They are dark green above, whitish beneath, changing to red, purple and yellow early in the autumn. The _flowers_ are small and green, produced in dense terminal panicles. The _fruit_ is a small globose berry, covered with crimson hairs and has a pleasant acid taste. The conspicuous deep red panicles of fruit remain unchanged on the tree during the winter. The _wood_ is light and of a golden yellow color. Either as a tree, or as a shrub, the smooth sumac is excellent for ornamental planting, being particularly desirable on terraces or hillsides, where mass effects are desired. It transplants very readily and spreads freely. The staghorn sumac, _Rhus typhina_ L., is a slightly taller tree, as it reaches a height of 20 to 35 feet, and a stem diameter of 8 to 12 inches. The twigs and leaves are similar to those of the smooth sumac but are conspicuously hairy. Its occurrence is limited to the northern part of the State. The shining sumac, _Rhus copallina_ L., usually occurs in shrub form but it occasionally reaches a height of 20 feet with a stem diameter of 6 inches. The leaves are smooth above but somewhat hairy beneath with a winged rachis and about 9 to 21 leaflets that are slightly toothed. Late in the summer its foliage turns a brilliant red. The fruit clusters are much smaller than the preceding species. It is found throughout the State. +SUGAR MAPLE+ _Acer saccharum_ Marsh. THE sugar maple is an important member of the climax forests which stretch from Maine to Minnesota and southward to Texas and Florida. It is an associate of the hemlocks and the birches in the North, with the beeches and chestnuts through the middle states, with the oaks in the West and with the tulip and the magnolias in the South. In Illinois it is a common and favorite tree throughout the State. In the open it grows fairly rapidly and has a very symmetrical, dense crown, affording heavy shade. It is, therefore, quite extensively planted as a shade tree. The _bark_ on young trees is light gray and brown and rather smooth, but as the tree grows older, it breaks up into long, irregular plates or scales, which vary from light gray to almost black. The twigs are smooth and reddish-brown, and the _winter buds_ are smooth and sharp-pointed. The tree attains a height of more than 100 feet and a diameter of 3 feet or more. The sap yields maple sugar and maple syrup. [Illustration: SUGAR MAPLE Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, one-half natural size.] The _leaves_ are 3 to 5 inches across, simple, opposite, with 3 to 5 pointed and sparsely-toothed lobes, the divisions between the lobes being rounded. The leaves are dark green on the upper surface, lighter green beneath, turning in autumn to brilliant shades of dark red, scarlet, orange and clear yellow. The _flowers_ are yellowish-green, on long threadlike stalks, appearing with the leaves, the two kinds in separate clusters. The _fruit_, which ripens in the fall, consists of a two-winged "samara", or "key", the two wings nearly parallel, each about 1 inch in length and containing a seed. It is easily carried by the wind. The _wood_ is hard, heavy, strong, close-grained and light brown in color. It is known, commercially as hard maple, and is used in the manufacture of flooring, furniture, shoe-lasts and a great variety of novelties. The black maple, _Acer nigrum_ Michx., occurs with the sugar maple with darker bark. The leaves are usually wider than long, yellow-green and downy beneath, and the base of the petioles enlarged. The two lower lobes are very small; the lobes are undulate or entire. +SILVER MAPLE+ _Acer saccharinum_ L. THE silver or river maple, also called the soft maple, occurs on moist land and along streams. It attains heights of 100 feet or more and diameters of 3 feet or over. It usually has a short trunk which divides into a number of large ascending limbs. These again subdivide, and the branches droop but turn upward at the tips. The _bark_ on the old stems is dark gray and broken into long flakes or scales; on the young shoots it is smooth and varies in color from reddish to a yellowish-gray. The silver maple grows rapidly and has been much planted as a shade tree. Because of the brittleness of its wood, it is often damaged by summer storms and winter sleet. [Illustration: SILVER MAPLE Twig, one-half natural size. Leaf, one-third natural size.] The _leaves_ are opposite on the stem, have from 3 to 5 lobes ending in long points with toothed edges and are separated by deep angular sinuses or openings; they are pale green on the upper surface and silvery-white underneath. The buds are rounded, red or reddish-brown, blunt-pointed; generally like those of red maple. The _flowers_ appear in the spring before the leaves, in dense clusters, and are of a greenish-yellow color. The _fruit_ ripens in late spring. It consists of a pair of winged seeds or "keys" with wings 1 to 2 inches long on slender, flexible, threadlike stems about an inch long. The _wood_ is soft, weak, even-textured, rather brittle, easily worked, and decays readily when exposed. It is considerably used for boxboards, furniture, veneers and fuel. The red maple, or swamp maple, _Acer rubrum_ L., has leaves deeply lobed with the lobes sharply toothed. The autumn color is deep red. The flowers also are red and the fruit is small reddish, maturing late in spring. +BOX ELDER+ _Acer negundo_ L. THE box elder is a fairly rapidly growing tree, found commonly along streams rather generally over the State. It is a tree of medium size, rarely reaching over 24 inches in diameter and 60 to 70 feet in height. It has been considerably planted for shade because in good soil its growth is rapid. Its limbs and branches, however, are fragile, and the tree as a whole is rather subject to disease. It is not long-lived or generally satisfactory for any purpose. It is prolific in reproduction but is largely destroyed by grazing and cultivation. [Illustration: BOX ELDER Twig, two-thirds natural size. Leaf, one-third natural size.] The _bark_ on young branches is smooth and green to purple in color; on old trees it is thin, grayish to light brown and deeply divided. The _leaves_ are compound, with usually 3 leaflets (rarely 5 or 7), opposite, smooth and lustrous, green, and borne on a leaf stem or petiole 2 to 3 inches long. The leaflets are 2 to 4 inches long by 1 to 2 inches wide, making the whole leaf 5 to 8 inches in length. The _fruit_ is a samara, or key, winged similarly to that of a sugar maple, but smaller. It ripens in late summer or early fall, and so is like its close relative, the sugar maple, but unlike its close relatives, the red maple and silver maple. The _wood_ is soft, light, weak, close-grained and decays readily in contact with heat and moisture. It is used occasionally for fuel. The Norway maple, _Acer platanoides_ L., is a European species which has been extensively planted. It forms a round, spreading crown of stout branches with coarse twigs. The leaves resemble those of the sugar maple but somewhat broader and the petioles exude a milky juice when cut. The flowers are larger than those of our native maples and fruit is large with diverging wings. It holds its leaves longer in the fall and the autumn coloring is pale yellow. It succeeds well as a city shade tree. +OHIO BUCKEYE+ _Aesculus glabra_ Willd. THE buckeye is rare in the northern fourth of Illinois, but is known in the rest of the State, forming no considerable part of the forest stand. It reaches a height of 60 to 70 feet and a diameter of 18 to 24 inches. The trunk is usually short, limby, and knotty. The crown or head, is generally open and made up of small spreading branches and twigs orange-brown to reddish-brown in color. The _bark_ is light gray and, on old trees, divided or broken into flat scales, which make the stem of the tree rough; the bark is ill-smelling when bruised. [Illustration: OHIO BUCKEYE Twig, two-thirds natural size. Nut, one-third natural size. Leaf, one-quarter natural size.] The _leaves_ are opposite on the twigs, compound and consisting of 5 long-oval, rarely 7, pointed, toothed, yellow-green leaflets, set like the fingers of a hand at the top of slender petioles 4 to 6 inches long. They usually turn yellow and then fall early in the autumn. The _flowers_ appear after the leaves unfold; are cream-colored; in terminal panicles 5 to 7 inches long and 2 to 3 inches broad, quite downy. The _fruit_ is a thick, leathery, prickly capsule about an inch in diameter, and, breaking into 2 or 3 valves, discloses the bright, shiny, mahogany colored seeds, or nuts. The _wood_ is light, soft and weak, and decays rapidly when exposed. It is used for woodenware, artificial limbs, paper pulp, and for lumber and fuel. The horse-chestnut, _Aesculus hippocastanum_ L., is a handsome European tree with a very symmetrical crown. The flowers are larger than those of our native species and add beauty to the foliage. It forms a desirable shade tree. +BASSWOOD+ _Tilia americana_ L. THE basswood, or American linden, is a rather tall tree with a broad, round-topped crown. It ranges throughout Illinois and may be found wherever rich, wooded slopes, moist stream banks and cool ravines occur. It grows best in river bottoms, where it is common and forms a valuable timber tree, attaining a height of 80 feet and a diameter of 4 feet. The _bark_ is light brown, deeply furrowed and the inner bark furnishes bast for making mats. [Illustration: BASSWOOD Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, one-half natural size.] The _leaves_ are broadly heart-shaped, 3 to 6 inches long, coarsely saw-toothed, smooth on both sides, except for some hairs on the axils of the veins. They are dark above but light green beneath. The _flowers_ are yellowish-white, in drooping clusters opening in early summer, and flower stem is united to the middle of a long narrow leaf-like bract. They are very fragrant and from them the bees make a large amount of choice grade honey. The _fruit_ is a berry-like, dry, 1 or 2 seeded, rounded nutlet 1/4 to 1/2 an inch in diameter, covered with short, thick and brownish wool. It remains attached in clusters to the leafy bract, which later acts as a wing to bear it away on the wind. The _wood_ is light, soft, tough, not durable, light brown in color. It is used in the manufacture of pulp, woodenware, furniture, trunks, excelsior and many other articles. It makes a fine shade tree, grows rapidly and is easily transplanted. The white basswood, _Tilia heterophylla_ Vent., is similar to the preceding species, but with somewhat lighter bark. The leaves are larger, dark yellow-green above, the under surface being generally densely covered with short, silvery or gray hairs with tufts of brown hairs in the axils of the veins. It is more plentiful in the southern part of the State. +FLOWERING DOGWOOD+ _Cornus florida_ L. THE flowering dogwood is rare in the northern third of the State. It is a small tree, growing under the larger forest trees, usually 15 to 30 feet in height and 6 to 12 inches in diameter, with a rather flat and spreading crown and short, often crooked trunk. The _bark_ is reddish-brown to black and broken up into small 4-sided scaly blocks. [Illustration: FLOWERING DOGWOOD Leaf and flowers, one-half natural size. Twig, two-thirds natural size.] The _leaves_ are opposite, ovate, 3 to 5 inches long, 2 to 3 inches wide, pointed, entire or wavy on the margin, bright green above, pale green or grayish beneath. The _flowers_, which unfold from the conspicuous round, grayish, winter flower buds before the leaves come out, are small greenish-yellow, arranged in dense heads surrounded by large white or rarely pinkish petal-like bracts, which give the appearance of large spreading flowers 2 to 4 inches across. The _fruit_ is a bright scarlet "berry", 1/2 inch long and containing a hard nutlet in which are 1 or 2 seeds. Usually several fruits, or "berries", are contained in one head. They are relished by birds, squirrels and other animals. The _wood_ is hard, heavy, strong, very close-grained, brown to red in color. It is in great demand for cotton-mill machinery, turnery handles and forms. One other tree has quite similar wood--the persimmon. The dogwood, with its masses of early spring flowers, its dark red autumn foliage and its bright red berries, is probably our most ornamental native tree. It should be used much more extensively in roadside and ornamental planting. The alternate-leaved dogwood, _Cornus alternifolia_ L., occasionally reaches tree size with long slender branches arranged in irregular whorls giving the tree a storied effect. The flowers are small, followed by blue-black fruit borne in loose red-stemmed clusters. +SOUR GUM+ _Nyssa sylvatica_ Marsh. THE sour gum, often called black gum, is found in many types of soil and in most conditions of soil moisture in southern Illinois, but it becomes rare in the northern half of the State. In lowlands, it is occasionally found in year-round swamps with cypress, and in the hills on dry slopes with oaks and hickories. [Illustration: SOUR GUM One-half natural size.] The _leaves_ are simple, 2 to 3 inches long, entire, often broader near the apex, shiny, dark green in color. In the fall the leaves turn a most brilliant red. The _bark_ on younger trees is furrowed between flat ridges, and gradually develops into quadrangular blocks that are dense, hard and nearly black. Most of the branches are nearly horizontal. The greenish _flowers_ on long slender stems appear in early spring when the leaves are about one-third grown. They are usually of two kinds, the male in many-flowered heads and the female in two to several-flowered clusters on different trees. The _fruit_ is a dark blue, fleshy berry, 2/3 of an inch long, containing a single hard-shelled seed, and is borne on long stems, 2 to 3 in a cluster. The _wood_ is very tough, cross-grained, not durable in contact with the soil, hard to work, and warps easily. It is used for crate and basket veneers, box shooks, rollers, mallets, rough floors, mine trams, pulpwood and fuel. The tupelo gum, or cotton gum, _Nyssa aquatica_ L., is found in deep river swamps which are flooded during a part of the year. It occurs in 4 or 5 of the southern counties of Illinois in cypress swamps. The enlarged base and the larger fruit serve to distinguish it from the sour gum. This fruit or "plum" is about an inch long, dark purple and has a tough skin enclosing a flattened stone. The wood is light, soft, and not strong and is used for woodenware, handles, fruit and vegetable packages. +PERSIMMON+ _Diospyros virginiana_ L. THE persimmon, often called "simmon", is well known throughout its range. It is a small tree, rarely exceeding 50 feet in height and 1 inch in diameter, occurring throughout the State from the southern part north to Peoria County. It seems to prefer dry, open situations, and is most abundant in the old fields, though it also occurs on rich bottom lands. The _bark_ of old trees is almost black and separated into thick nearly square blocks, much like the black gum. [Illustration: PERSIMMON Leaf, one-half natural size. Twig, three-quarters natural size.] The _leaves_ are alternate, oval, entire, 4 to 6 inches long, dark green and shining above, paler beneath. The small _flowers_, which appear in May, are yellowish or creamy white, somewhat bell-shaped, the two kinds occurring on separate trees; the male in clusters of 2 or 3, the female solitary. They are visited by many insects. The _fruit_ is a pulpy, round, orange-colored or brown berry, an inch or more in diameter and containing several flattened, hard, smooth seeds. It is strongly astringent while green, but quite sweet and delicious when thoroughly ripe. The _wood_ is hard, dense, heavy, strong, the heartwood brown or black, the wide sapwood white or yellowish. It is particularly valued for shuttles, golf-stick heads, and similar special uses, but is not of sufficient commercial use to warrant its general encouragement as a timber tree. The Hercules' club, _Aralia spinosa_ L., grows to tree size in southern Illinois, with a spiny stem 25 to 30 feet tall and a flat-topped head. The doubly compound leaves are often more than 3 feet long. Its small greenish-white flowers are followed by large clusters of purple juicy berries. It is desirable for ornamental planting. +WHITE ASH+ _Fraxinus americana_ L. THE white ash is found throughout the State, but grows to best advantage in the rich moist soils of bottom lands. It reaches an average height of 50 to 80 feet and a diameter of 2 to 3 feet, though much larger trees are found in virgin forests. The _bark_ varies in color from a light gray to a gray-brown. The rather narrow ridges are separated with marked regularity by deep, diamond-shaped fissures. [Illustration: WHITE ASH Twig, one-half natural size. Leaf, one-third natural size.] The opposite _leaves_ of the white ash are from 8 to 12 inches long and have from 5 to 9 plainly stalked, sharp-pointed leaflets, dark green and smooth above, pale green beneath. The _flowers_ are of two kinds on different trees, the staminate in dense reddish-purple clusters and the pistillate in more open bunches. The _fruit_ of the ash is winged, 1 to 1-1/2 inches long, resembling the blade of a canoe paddle in outline, with the seed at the handle end. The fruits mature in late summer and are distributed effectively by the winds. The _wood_ of the white ash is extremely valuable on account of its toughness and elasticity. It is preferred to all other native woods for small tool handles, such athletic implements as rackets, bats, and oars, and agricultural implements. It is also used extensively for furniture and interior finish. The green ash, _Fraxinus pennsylvanica lanceolata_ Sarg., is common in stream valleys throughout the State. The hairy form of this tree is known as the red ash. This species differs from the white ash in having the leaves bright green or yellow-green on both sides. The fruit has the wing portion extending well down past the middle of the seed-bearing part, and with the wing sometimes square or slightly notched at the outer end. The wood is similar to that of the white ash, but is not quite so tough. +BLUE ASH+ _Fraxinus quadrangulata_ Michx. THE blue ash is not very common but widely distributed in the upland portions of the State, where it is limited to limestone bluffs, occasionally descending to the adjacent bottom lands. It becomes a large tree 60 feet or more in height with a trunk 2 feet in diameter. The young twigs are usually square, sometimes winged or 4-ridged between the leaf bases. [Illustration: BLUE ASH Leaf, one-third natural size. Fruit and twig, two-thirds natural size.] The _bark_ is light gray tinged with red, 1/2 to 2/3 inch thick, irregularly divided into large plate-like scales. Macerating the inner bark in water yields a blue dye. The _leaves_ are 8 to 12 inches long, having 7 to 11 stalked leaflets, long pointed and coarsely toothed, thick and firm, smooth and yellowish-green above, paler beneath. The _flowers_ are without petals and appear in clusters when the buds begin to expand. The _fruit_ is flattened and oblong, 1 to 2 inches long and less than 1/2 inch wide and usually notched at the outer end. The wing is about twice the length of the seed-bearing portion and extends down the sides past the middle. The _wood_ is heavy, hard, and close-grained, light yellow, streaked with brown, with a very broad zone of lighter sapwood. It is not usually distinguished commercially from the wood of other ashes. The pumpkin ash, _Fraxinus tomentosa_ Michx., grows in deep river swamps in southern Illinois. It is a tall slender tree, usually with a much enlarged base. The twigs are light gray. The leaves, with 7 to 9 leaflets, smooth above and soft downy below, are from 10 to 18 inches long. The black ash, _Fraxinus nigra_ Marsh., appears occasionally on the flood plains in the northern part of the State. It may be known by its ashy light gray bark, its very thick twigs and sessile, long-pointed sharply serrate leaflets. +CATALPA+ _Catalpa speciosa_ Warder THIS is a native to the Wabash Valley of Illinois, but has been widely planted and has spread somewhat farther as a result of cultivation. It is a medium sized tree with a short trunk and broad head with spreading branches. Because of its attractive flowers and conspicuous heart-shaped leaves, it is considerably used for shade and ornament. The _bark_ varies from dark gray to brown, slightly rough, being divided in narrow shallow strips or flakes. The _leaves_ are simple, opposite, oval, long-pointed, 6 to 10 inches long, and heart-shaped at the base. [Illustration: CATALPA Leaf, one-third natural size. Twig, two-thirds natural size.] The _flowers_ appear in clusters or panicles in May or June. They are white with purple and yellow markings, and this makes them decidedly showy and attractive. The _fruit_ consists of a bean-like pod, 8 to 16 inches long. It hangs on the tree over winter and gradually splits into 2 parts, or valves. The seeds are about 1 inch long and terminate in wings that are rounded and short-fringed at the ends. They are freely carried by the wind. The _wood_ is rather soft, light, coarse-grained and durable in contact with the soil. It is used for fence posts, poles and fuel, and occasionally for railroad ties. The paulownia, _Paulownia tomentosa_ (Thumb). Steud., is a large tree native of China with the aspect of the catalpa with broad opposite leaves. Its upright pyramidal clusters of pale violet flowers which appear with the unfolding of the leaves are strikingly handsome. The individual flowers are bell-shaped, two inches long and spotted with darker purple. DEPARTMENT OF CONSERVATION Division of Forestry THE State Division of Forestry was organized in 1926 as a division of the Department of Conservation. It was organized at that time as a result of an increased need for proper forestry practices within the State on the part of the owners of timber land and potential timber lands. The objectives of the Division are as follows: 1. To promote and assist in the reforestation of idle lands unfit for agriculture. 2. To prevent and control woods fires. 3. To control erosion by the planting of trees. 4. To establish State forests to act as demonstration areas in timber land management. 5. To assist Illinois farmers, landowners, and corporations in woodland management practices. 6. To assist in the establishment of county and community forests. 7. To disseminate forestry knowledge through the publication of forestry literature. Reforestation Illinois has within its total land area of approximately 35,800,000 acres, 2,500,000 acres of land that should be reforested. These lands are lying idle at present due to the fact that they are too poor for agricultural purposes. As such they provide an economic burden to their owners and to the State because they are unproductive. These same lands will grow trees profitably, therefore, it is necessary that they be planted to trees for a future timber crop which ultimately will bring a revenue to the landowners and community. To meet this situation, the Department of Conservation, Division of Forestry has developed two large forest tree nurseries capable of producing 15,000,000 trees annually for reforestation and erosion control purposes. These trees are available to farmers and landowners at prices varying from $5.00 to $15.00 per thousand, dependent upon the species of trees desired. Trees secured from the State must be used only for reforestation and erosion control and cannot be used for landscape or ornamental plantings. Definite progress has been made in the State reforestation program of idle lands. The first major distribution of trees took place in 1936 at which time 300,000 trees were planted in the State. Since 1936 the State's reforestation program has steadily been enlarged to the extent that in 1940, 6,250,000 trees were distributed from State nurseries and in 1954, 9,996,000 trees left the Division's nurseries to be planted by farmers and public agencies in the State. Considerable progress has been made, however, it is hoped that the reforestation program in Illinois will continue to expand until all idle lands in Illinois are growing a useful timber crop. Forest Fire Protection Woodland fires in Illinois always present a serious problem to the future growth and quality of our forests. Thousands of dollars worth of damage is done annually to our existing woodlands by fires which not only destroy our merchantable timber but also cause severe mortality to young forest seedlings. Fires seriously affect the soil, destroy wildlife and disrupt the entire biological balance of the forest. Every effort should be made, therefore, to prevent woods fires. In 1938 the State Division of Forestry inaugurated a program in forest fire protection. Since that time ten fire protection districts and a forest fire protection headquarters have been established in southern Illinois. Fire fighting personnel has been hired, radio communication established, and ten State forest fire towers have been erected. Fire protection has been established on all State forests. Necessary tools and equipment for use by both forestry personnel and volunteer groups have been purchased. As a result, 3,674,000 acres of State and private land are now receiving fire protection. This program will be enlarged as funds permit until all woodland acreage in need of protection will receive necessary fire protection. Our forest resources are a valuable asset to Illinois and one of the most valuable renewable resources that we have. They can only be so, however, if adequate forest fire protection is afforded them. Woodland Management Illinois' total forest acreage, when our first settlers came to the State, included 15,273,000 acres of the finest timber to be found in the Middle West. This represented 42 per cent of the total acreage. Although Illinois today is considered strictly an agricultural State, at one time we were rich in forest resources and they were the State's most valuable asset. Today Illinois has but 3,996,000 acres of woodlands of which 92% is in private ownership. The trained foresters of the Division of Forestry are making every effort to assist farmers and landowners in their woodland management problems. It is vitally necessary that proper forestry practices be conducted on our woodlands today in order that the landowners realize an income from their forest lands and thereby make them an asset rather than a liability. Advice on woodland management is available free of charge from the Division. The marketing and proper utilization of our existing forest resources is the concern of the Division of Forestry. Approximately 1,000 small sawmills are operating in the State and, of course, much timber is needed annually to keep such mills in operation. Every effort is being made to advise timber landowners as to proper cutting practices and disposal of merchantable timber. State Forests The State at present has 10,110 acres in State forests. It is hoped that this acreage can be enlarged in future years as State appropriations permit. The above acreage includes three State forests located in Union, Mason and Henderson counties. Illinois State forests will always be smaller than those of other states because of the unavailability of low valued land. The Division's proposed State forest plan provides for a large number of small State forests throughout the State which would serve as ideal examples of proper woodland management and reforestation practices. As funds permit these will be acquired in the future. Our State forests provide ideal recreational areas at present and thousands of visitors use them annually. In addition, as the timber matures on them, they will provide a revenue from timber sales and become self-sustaining. Community Forests Community forests are the oldest type of forest lands in public ownership. Some have been in existence for 200 years in the eastern states and records of older community forests have been found in some of the European countries. The Division of Forestry is cooperating with counties and communities in an effort to get a large scale community forest program in Illinois. To date there are 58 community forests having a total acreage of 52,296 acres. Up to the present time 700,000 trees have been planted on these areas in cooperation with the Division of Forestry. Nine counties in the State have County Forest Preserve Districts at present. The ratio of ten acres for each 1,000 population within the county appears to be a fair goal for county forest preserve systems in accordance with the Illinois State Planning Commission. On this basis 19 counties in Illinois should have forest preserves. Summary As a result of increased appropriations for forestry in recent years a definite well-planned forestry program is in effect in Illinois. For additional information on the Division's activities, write the State Forester, Springfield. INDEX OF SCIENTIFIC NAMES Page Acer negundo, 58 nigrum, 56 platanoides, 58 rubrum, 57 saccharum, 56 saccharinum, 57 Aesculus hippocastanum, 59 glabra, 59 Ailanthus altissima, 54 Alnus glutinosa, 19 incana, 19 Amelanchier arborea, 46 canadensis, 46 laevis, 46 Aralia spinosa, 63 Asimina tribola, 41 Betula lutea, 21 nigra, 21 papyrifera, 20 Carpinus caroliniana, 19 Carya aquatica, 13, 15 buckleyi, 13, 18 cordiformis, 13, 14 glabra, 13, 18 illinoensis, 13, 15 laciniosa, 13, 16 ovalis, 13, 17 ovata, 13, 16 pecan, 15 tomentosa, 13, 17 Castanea dentata, 22 Catalpa speciosa, 66 Celtis leavigata, 36 occidentalis, 36 Cercis canadensis, 52 Cornus alternifolia, 61 florida, 61 Crataegus calpodendron, 47 crus-galli, 47 mollis, 48 phoenopyrum, 48 punctata, 47 viridis, 48 Diospyros virginiana, 63 Fagus grandifolia, 22 Fraxinus americana, 64 nigra, 65 pennsylvanica, 64 quadrangulata, 65 tomentosa, 65 Gleditsia aquatica, 51 triacanthos, 51 Gymnocladus dioicus, 52 Juglans cinerea, 12 nigra, 11 Juniperus virginiana, 7 Larix decidua, 6 laricina, 6 Liquidambar styraciflua, 43 Liriodendron tulipifera, 40 Maclura pomifera, 37 Magnolia acuminata, 39 Malus coronaria, 45 iensis, 45 Morus alba, 38 rubra, 38 Nyssa aquatica, 62 sylvatica, 62 Ostrya virginiana, 20 Paulownia tomentosa, 66 Picea abies, 5 Pinus banksiana, 5 echinata, 5 nigra, 4 strobus, 4 sylvestris, 5 Planera aquatica, 35 Platanus acerifolia, 44 occidentalis, 44 Populus alba, 9 deltoides, 9 grandidenta, 8 nigra, 9 heterophylla, 9 tacamahaca, 9 tremuloides, 8 Prunus americana, 49 hortulana, 49 nigra, 49 pennsylvanica, 50 serotina, 50 virginiana, 50 Quercus alba, 23, 24 borealis, 28 bicolor, 23, 25 coccinea, 23, 30 digitata, 31 ellipsoidalis, 23, 29 falcata, 23, 31 imbricaria, 23, 33 lyrata, 23, 24 macrocarpa, 23, 25 marilandica, 23, 32 montana, 26 muhlenbergii, 23, 26 pagodaefolia, 31 palustris, 23, 30 phellos, 23, 33 prinus, 23, 26 rubra, 28, 31 shumardii, 23, 28 stellata, 23, 27 velutina, 23, 29 Rhus copallina, 55 glabra, 55 typhina, 55 Robinia pseudoacacia, 53 Sassafras albidum, 42 Salix alba, 10 amygdaloides, 10 babylonica, 10 nigra, 10 fragilis, 10 Taxodium distichum, 6 Thuja occidentalis, 7 Tilia americana, 60 heterophylla, 60 Ulmus alata, 34 americana, 34 fulva, 35 rubra, 35 thomasi, 34 [Illustration: Backcover] 
41175	----	WOODLAND GLEANINGS. "Attractive is the Woodland scene, Diversified with trees of every growth-- Alike yet various.... * * * * * No tree in all the grove but has its charms." WOODLAND GLEANINGS: BEING AN ACCOUNT OF BRITISH FOREST-TREES, INDIGENOUS AND INTRODUCED. [Illustration] SECOND EDITION, REVISED AND ENLARGED, WITH SIXTY-FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS. LONDON: ADAM SCOTT, CHARTERHOUSE SQUARE. 1853. GLASGOW: W. G. BLACKIE AND CO., PRINTERS, VILLAFIELD. ADVERTISEMENT TO THE SECOND EDITION. To those who live in the country, or repair to it from our cities and towns for recreation or recruitment of health, we trust this will be an acceptable book, especially if they are unacquainted with Forest-trees. Our aim has been to produce a volume that will convey general and particular information respecting the timber-trees chiefly cultivated in the United Kingdom, to induce further inquiry respecting them, and to impart a new interest to the Woodland. To effect this we have briefly given their history and description, together with their botanical characters, remarks from our best authors on their habits and ornamental properties, on the usual mode of their cultivation, and on the value or utility of their timber. We have also introduced accounts of such remarkable trees as we considered of sufficient note to interest the general reader. It has been objected that a few species, not recognised as Forest-trees, have been included in this work; such as the Hawthorn, Holly, Mountain-Ash, and Wild Cherry. But as these have been likewise admitted into a subsequent work of greater pretensions, the reason there given by its author will be here equally sufficient:--"That though aware of the secondary rank of these trees in point of dimensions, when compared with the greater denizens of the Forest, he felt that the prominent station they occupy in the ornamental and picturesque departments of our native Sylvia, was sufficient to compensate for this defect, and to entitle them to the situation in which they have been placed." That the thirty-two species particularly described may be the more readily identified, and their botanical characters more easily understood, there has been given a well executed wood-cut representation of the usual growth and representation of each tree, and another of the leaves, flowers, and fruit. _July 1, 1853._ LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE 1. Alder 41 2. Leaves and Catkins 43 3. Ash 47 4. Leaves, Flowers, and Fruit 51 5. Beech 55 6. Leaves, Flowers, and Fruit 59 7. Birch 63 8. Leaves and Catkins 65 9. Cedar of Lebanon 69 10. Foliage, Cone, &c. 73 11. Chestnut 77 12. Leaves, Catkins, &c. 79 13. Elm 82 14. Leaves and Flowers 85 15. Hawthorn 92 16. Leaves, Blossom, and Fruit 95 17. Hazel 98 18. Leaves, Catkins, and Nuts 100 19. Holly 103 20. Leaves, Flowers, and Fruit 105 21. Hornbeam 109 22. Leaves, Catkins, and Fruit 111 23. Horse-Chestnut 114 24. Leaves, Flowers, &c. 117 25. Larch 122 26. Foliage, Catkins, &c. 125 27. Lime, or Linden 132 28. Leaves and Flowers 135 29. Maple 139 30. Leaves, Flowers, and Seeds 141 31. Mountain-Ash 145 32. Leaves, Flowers, and Fruit 147 33. Mulberry 152 34. Leaves and Fruits 155 35. Oak 158 36. Leaves, Flowers, and Fruit 161 37. Oriental Plane 189 38. Leaves, and Globes of Flowers 191 39. Occidental Plane 196 40. Leaves and Flowers 199 41. Poplar 201 42. (White) Leaves, Flowers, and Catkins 203 43. Scotch Fir or Pine 207 44. Foliage, Catkins, Cones, &c. 209 45. Silver Fir 217 46. Foliage and Cones 219 47. Spruce Fir 222 48. Foliage and Cones 225 49. Sycamore 227 50. Leaves, Flowers, and Samaræ 229 51. Walnut 233 52. Leaves, Catkins, and Nuts 235 53. Weymouth Pine 239 54. Foliage, Cones, &c. 241 55. Whitebeam 243 56. Leaves, Flowers, and Fruit 245 57. Wild Black Cherry 247 58. Leaves, Flowers, and Fruit 249 59. Wild Service 253 60. Leaves and Flowers 255 61. Willow 257 62. (Crack) Leaves and Catkins of _S. fragilis_ 263 63. Yew 269 64. Foliage, Leaves, and Fruit 271 INTRODUCTION. The forest teems With forms of majesty and beauty; some, As the light poplar, wave with every sigh Of zephyr, and some scarcely bend their heads For very mightiness, when wintry storms Are maddening the sea! Carrington. Delightful Edlington! how we love to saunter up and down the broad and verdant pathway that traverses thy wild domain. There, amid the deep imbosomed thickets, we feel that we are in "the haunts of meditation"--we feel that these are, indeed, The scenes where ancient bards th' inspiring breath Ecstatic felt; And wish that the kind muses that them inspired would cast their united mantles over us, and aid us to sing the beauties of the woodland. But no friendly spirit deigns to tune our lyre; we are condemned to dull prose, and are permitted only here and there to call in some bard of old to aid our feeble efforts. Woodland! yea, the very name seems to revive recollections of delightful solitude--of calm and holy feelings, when the world has been, for the time, completely banished from its throne--the throne of the human heart, which, alas! it too commonly occupies. O, how agreeable and pleasant is the woodland, when the trees are half clad with their green attire! How refreshing is the appearance of the tender leaf-bud, emerging from its sheath, just visible upon the dingy gray branches, those of one tree being generally a little in advance of others! We have never yet met with that insensate being whose heart is not elated at the sight. And to look, at this time, upon the vast assemblage of giant trees, whose skeleton, character, and figure may now be plainly traced. The dense foliage does not obscure them now, but they are beheld in all their majesty. "If the contrast of gray and mossy branches," says Howitt, "and of the delicate richness of young leaves gushing out of them in a thousand places be inexpressibly delightful to behold, that of one tree with another is not the less so. One is nearly full clothed; another is mottled with gray and green, struggling, as it were, which should have the predominance, and another is still perfectly naked. The pines look dim dusky amid the lively hues of spring. The abeles are covered with their clusters of alliescent and powdery leaves and withering catkins; and beneath them the pale spathes of the arum, fully expanded and displaying their crimson clubs, presenting a sylvan and unique air." In Sweden, the budding and leafing of the birch-tree is considered as a directory for sowing barley; and as there is something extremely sublime and harmonious in the idea, we flatter ourselves an account of it here will be acceptable. Mr. Harold Barck, in his ingenious dissertation upon the foliation of trees, informs us, that Linnæus had, in the most earnest manner, exhorted his countrymen to observe, with all care and diligence, at what time each tree expanded its buds and unfolded its leaves; imagining, and not without reason, that his country would, some time or other, reap some new and perhaps unexpected benefit from observations of this kind made in different places. As one of the apparent advantages, he advises the prudent husbandman to watch, with the greatest care, the proper time for sowing; because this, with the Divine assistance, produces plenty of provision, and lays the foundation of the public welfare of the state, and of the private happiness of the people. The ignorant farmer, tenacious of the ways and customs of his ancestors, fixes his sowing season generally to a month, and sometimes to a particular week, without considering whether the earth be in a proper state to receive the seed; from whence it frequently happens, that what the sower sowed with sweat, the reaper reaps with sorrow. The wise economist should therefore endeavour to fix upon certain signs, whereby to judge of the proper time for sowing. We see trees open their buds and expand their leaves, from whence we conclude that spring approaches, and experience supports us in the conclusion; but nobody has as yet been able to show us what trees Providence has intended should be our calendar, so that we might know on what day the countryman ought to sow his grain. No one can deny but that the same power which brings forth the leaves of trees, will also make the grain vegetate; nor can any one assert that a premature sowing will always, and in every place, accelerate a ripe harvest. Perhaps, therefore, we cannot promise ourselves a happy success by any means so likely, as by taking our rule for sowing from the leafing of trees. We must for that end observe in what order every tree puts forth its leaves according to its species, the heat of the atmosphere, and the quality of the soil. Afterwards, by comparing together the observations of the several years, it will not be difficult to determine from the foliation of the trees, if not certainly, at least probably, the time when annual plants ought to be sown. It will be necessary, likewise, to remark what sowings made in different parts of the spring produce the best crops, in order that, by comparing these with the leafing of trees, it may appear which is the most proper time for sowing. The temperature of the season, with respect to heat and cold, drought and wet, differing in every year, experiments made one year cannot, with certainty, determine for the following. They may assist, but cannot be conclusive. The hints of Linnæus, however, constitute a universal rule, as trees and shrubs, bud, leaf, and flower, shed their leaves in every country, according to the difference of the seasons. Mr. Stillingfleet is the only person that has made correct observations upon the foliation of the trees and shrubs of this kingdom. The following is his calendar, which was made in Norfolk, in 1765:-- 1 Honeysuckle January 15 2 Gooseberry March 11 3 Currant " 11 4 Elder " 11 5 Birch April 1 6 Weeping Willow " 1 7 Raspberry " 3 8 Bramble " 3 9 Briar " 4 10 Plum " 6 11 Apricot " 6 12 Peach " 6 13 Filbert " 7 14 Sallow " 7 15 Alder " 7 16 Sycamore " 9 17 Elm " 10 18 Quince " 10 19 Marsh Elder " 11 20 Wych Elm " 12 21 Mountain-Ash " 13 22 Hornbeam " 13 23 Apple-tree " 14 24 Abele " 16 25 Chestnut " 16 26 Willow " 17 27 Oak " 18 28 Lime " 18 29 Maple " 19 30 Walnut " 21 31 Plane " 21 32 Black Poplar " 21 33 Beech " 21 34 Acacia Robinia " 21 35 Ash " 22 36 Carolina Poplar " 22 In different years, and in different soils and expositions, these trees and shrubs vary as to their leafing; but they are invariable as to their succession, being bound down to it by nature herself. A farmer, therefore, who would use this sublime idea of Linnæus, should diligently mark the time of budding, leafing, and flowering of different plants. He should also put down the days on which his respective grains were sown; and, by comparing these two tables for a number of years, he will be enabled to form an exact calendar for his spring corn. An attention to the discolouring and falling of the leaves of plants, will assist him in sowing his winter grain, and teach him how to guess at the approach of winter. Towards the end of September, which is the best season for sowing wheat, he will find the leaves of various trees as follows:-- Plane-tree, tawny. Oak, yellowish green. Hazel, yellow. Sycamore, dirty brown. Maple, pale yellow. Ash, fine lemon. Elm, orange. Hawthorn, tawny yellow. Cherry, red. Hornbeam, bright yellow. There is a certain kind of genial warmth which the earth should enjoy at the time the seed is sown. The budding, leafing, and flowering of plants, seem to indicate this happy temperature of the earth. Appearances of this sublime nature may be compared to the writing upon the wall, which was seen by many, but understood by few. They seem to constitute a kind of harmonious intercourse between God and man, and are the silent language of the Deity. Welcome, ye shades! ye bowery thickets, hail! Ye lofty pines! ye venerable oaks! Ye ashes wild, resounding o'er the steep! Delicious is your shelter to the soul! Yes, indeed, the woodland is an ever-pleasant place. There we may couch ourselves upon the mossy bank, and listen to the murmuring "brook that bubbles by," or to the sweet sounds that issue from Every warbling throat Heard in the tuneful woodlands. Yea, truly, There, plunged amid the shadows brown, Imagination lays him down, Attentive, in his airy mood, To every murmur of the wood; The bee in yonder flowery nook, The chidings of the headlong brook, The green leaf shivering in the gale, The warbling hills, the lowing vale, The distant woodman's echoing stroke, The thunder of the falling oak. Carlos Wilcox sings so sweetly of vernal melody in the forest, that we shall favour our readers with his song: With sonorous notes Of every tone, mixed in confusion sweet, All chanted in the fulness of delight, The forest rings. Where, far around enclosed With bushy sides, and covered high above With foliage thick, supported by bare trunks, Like pillars rising to support a roof, It seems a temple vast, the space within Rings loud and clear with thrilling melody. Apart, but near the choir, with voice distinct, The merry mocking-bird together links In one continued song their different notes, Adding new life and sweetness to them all: Hid under shrubs, the squirrel, that in fields Frequents the stony wall, and briery fence, Here chirps so shrill that human feet approach Unheard till just upon him, when, with cries, Sudden and sharp, he darts to his retreat, Beneath the mossy hillock or aged tree; But oft, a moment after, re-appears, First peeping out, then starting forth at once With a courageous air, yet in his pranks Keeping a watchful eye, nor venturing far Till left unheeded. As the summer advances, forest-trees assume a beautiful variety. The Oak has "spread its amber leaves out in the sunny sheen;" the ash, the maple, the beech, and the sycamore are each clad in delicate vestures of green; and the dark perennial firs are enlivened and enriched by the young shoots and the cones of lighter hue. "In the middle of summer," observes Howitt, "it is the very carnival of Nature, and she is prodigal of her luxuries." It is luxury to walk abroad, indulging every sense with sweetness, loveliness, and harmony. It is luxury to stand beneath the forest side, when all is still and basking, at noon; and to see the landscape suddenly darken, the black and tumultuous clouds assemble as at a signal; to hear the awful thunder crash upon the listening ear; and then, to mark the glorious bow rise on the lurid rear of the tempest, the sun laugh jocundly abroad, and every bathed leaf and blossom fair, Pour out its soul to the delicious air. But of the seasons autumn is the most pleasant for a woodland ramble. The depth of gloom, the silence, the wild cries that are heard flitting to and fro; the falling leaves already rustling to the tread, and strewing the forest walk, render it particularly pleasant. "And then those breaks; those openings; those sudden emergings from shadow and silence to light and liberty; those unexpected comings out to the skirts of the forest, or to some wild and heathy tract in the very depth of the woodlands! How pleasant is the thought of it!" The appearance of woods in autumn is indeed more picturesque, and more replete with incidental beauty than at any season of the year. So evident is this, that painters have universally chosen it as the season of landscape. The leafy surface of the forest is then so varied, and the masses of foliage are yet so full, that they allow the artist great latitude in producing his tints, without injuring the breadth of his lights. --The fading, many-coloured woods, Shade deepening over-shade, the country round Imbrown; a varied umbrage, dusk and dun, Of every hue, from wan declining green To sooty dark. Of all the hues of autumn, those of the oak are commonly the most harmonious. In an oaken wood, you see every variety of green and brown, owing either to the different exposure of the tree, the difference of the soil, or its own nature. In the beechen grove, this variety is not to be found. In early autumn, when the extremities of the trees are slightly tinged with orange, it may be partially produced; but late the eye is usually fatigued with one deep monotonous shade of orange, though perhaps it is the most beautiful among all the hues of autumn. And this uniformity prevails wherever the ash and elm abound, though of a different hue; and, indeed, no fading foliage excepting that of the oak, produces harmony of colouring. Even when the beauty of the landscape has departed, the charms of autumn may remain. When the raging heat of summer is abated, and ere the rigours of winter are set in, there are frequent days of such heavenly temperature, that every mind must feel their effect. Thomson thus describes a day of this kind: The morning shines Serene, in all its dewy beauties bright, Unfolding fair the last autumnal day, O'er all the soul its sacred influence breathes; Inflames imagination, through the breast Infuses every tenderness, and far Beyond dim earth exalts the swelling thought. We now proceed to give a detailed notice of some of the component parts of the woodland scenery, beginning with the single tree. We feel no hesitation in calling a tree the grandest and most beautiful of all the various productions of the earth. In respect to its grandeur, nothing can compete with it; for the everlasting rocks and lofty mountains are parts of the earth itself. And though we find great beauty--beauty at once perceptible and ever-varying, and consequently more universally felt and appreciated--among plants of an inferior order--among shrubs and flowers, yet these latter may be considered beautiful rather as individuals, for as they are not adapted to form the arrangement of composition in landscape, nor to receive the effect of light and shade, they must give place in point of beauty--of picturesque beauty at least--to the form, and foliage, and ramification of the tree. The tree, however, we do not place in competition with animal life. "The shape, the different coloured furs, the varied and spirited attitudes, the character and motion, which strike us in the animal creation, are unquestionably beyond still life in its most pleasing appearance." With regard to trees, nature has been more liberal to them in point of variety, than even to its living forms. "Though every animal is distinguished from its fellow, by some little variation of colour, character, or shape; yet in all the larger parts, in the body and limbs, the resemblance is generally exact. In trees, it is just the reverse: the smaller parts, the spray, the leaves, the blossom, and the seed, are the same in all trees of the same kind; while the larger parts, from which the most beautiful varieties result, are wholly different." For instance, you never see two oaks with the same number of limbs, the same kind of head, and twisted in the same form. When young, trees, like striplings, shoot into taper forms. There is a lightness and an airiness about them, which is pleasing; but they do not spread and receive their just proportions, until they have attained their full growth. There is as much difference, too, in trees--that is, in trees of the same kind--in point of beauty, as there is in human figures. The limbs of some are set on awkwardly, their trunks are disproportioned, and their whole form is unpleasing. The same rules, which establish elegance in other objects, establish it in these. There must be the same harmony of parts, the same sweeping line, the same contrast, the same ease and freedom. A bough, indeed, may issue from the trunk at right angles, and yet elegantly, as it frequently does in the oak; but it must immediately form some contrasting sweep, or the junction will be awkward. Generally speaking, trees when lapped and trimmed into fastidious shapes, become ugly and displeasing. Thus clipped yews, lime hedges, and pollards, being rendered unnatural in form, are disagreeable; though sometimes a pollard produces a good effect, when Nature has been suffered, after some years, to bring it again into shape. Lightness is a characteristic of beauty in a tree; for though there are beautiful trees of a heavy, as well as of a light form, yet their extremities must in some parts be separated, and hang with a degree of looseness from the fulness of the foliage, which occupies the middle of the tree, or the whole will only be a large bush. From position, indeed, and contrast, heaviness, though in itself a deformity, may be of singular use in the composition both of natural and of artificial landscape. A tree must be well balanced to be beautiful, for it may have form and lightness, and yet lose its effect from not being properly poised; though occasionally beauty may be found in an unbalanced tree, yet this must be caused by some peculiarity in its situation. For instance, when hanging over a rock, if altogether unpoised, it may be beautiful; or bending over a road, its effect may be good. We have often admired the massy trunk of an aged forest oak; and Gilpin says he frequently examined the varied tints which enriched its furrowed stem. The genuine bark of an oak is ash-coloured, though it is not easy to distinguish this, from the quantity of moss which overspreads it; for we suppose every oak has more or less of these picturesque appendages. About the roots there is a green velvet moss, which is found in a greater degree to occupy the hole of the beech, though its beauty and brilliancy lose much when in decay. As the trunk rises, you see the brimstone colour taking possession in patches. Of this there are two principal kinds: a smooth sort, which spreads like a scurf over the bark, and a rougher sort, which hangs in little rich knots and fringes. This sometimes inclines to an olive hue, and occasionally to a light-green. Intermixed with these mosses is frequently found a species perfectly white. Here and there, a touch of it gives lustre to the trunk, and has its effect; yet, on the whole, it is a nuisance, for as it generally begins to thrive when the other mosses begin to wither, it is rarely accompanied with any of the more beautiful species of its kind. This is a sure sign that the vigour of the tree is declining. There is another species of a dark brown colour, inclining to black; another of an ashy colour; and another of a dingy yellow. Touches of red are also observable, and occasionally, though rarely, a bright yellow, which is like a gleam of sunshine. These add a great richness to the trees, and when blended harmoniously, as they commonly are, the rough and furrowed trunk of an oak, thus adorned, is an object which will long detain the picturesque eye. These and other incidental appendages to a tree are greatly subservient to the uses of the pencil, and the poet will now and then deign to deck his trees with these ornaments. He sometimes calls into being some mighty agent, as guardian of the woods, who cries out, From Jove I am the Power Of this fair wood, and live in oaken bower. I nurse my saplings tall; and cleanse their rind From vegetating filth of every kind; And all my plants I save from nightly ill Of noisome winds, and blasting vapours chill. The blasted tree adds much to effect, both in artificial and natural landscape. In some scenes it is nearly essential. When the dreary heath is spread before the eye, and ideas of wildness and desolation are required, what more suitable accompaniment can be imagined, than the blasted oak, ragged, scathed, and leafless, shooting its peeled white branches athwart the gathering blackness of some rising storm? As when heaven's fire Hath scathed the forest oak, or mountain pine, With singed top its stately growth, though bare, Stands on the blasted heath. --beneath that oak, Whose shattered majesty hath felt the stroke Of Heaven's own thunder--yet it proudly heaves A giant sceptre wreathed with blasted leaves-- As though it dared the elements. Neale. Ivy also gives great richness to an old trunk, both by its stem, which often winds round it in thick, hairy, irregular volumes; and by its leaf, which either decks the furrowed bark, or creeps among the branches, or carelessly hangs from them. It unites with the mosses, and other furniture of the trees, in adorning and enriching it. The tribes of mosses, lichens, and liver-worts, are all parasitical; it is doubted whether the ivy is or not. The former, however, are absolute retainers. The character of the ivy, too, has been misrepresented, if his feelers have not some other purpose than that of enabling him to show his attachment to his patient supporter. Shakspeare asserts that he makes a property of him: He was The ivy which had hid my princely trunk, And sucked my verdure out. Besides these there are others which are sustained entirely by their own means. Among them we may distinguish the black and white briony. The berries of many of these little plants are variously coloured in the different stages of their growth--yellow, red, and orange. All these produce their effect. The feathered seeds of the traveller's joy are also ornamental. The wild honeysuckle comes within this class; and it fully compensates for any injury it may do by the compression of the young branches, by its winding spiral coils, and by the beauty and fragrance of its flowers: With clasping tendrils it invests the branch, Else unadorned, with many a gay festoon, And fragrant chaplet; recompensing well The strength it borrows with the grace it lends. In warm climates, where vines are the spontaneous offspring of nature, nothing can have a more pleasing effect than the forest-tree adorned with their twisting branches, hanging in rich festoons from bough to bough, and laden with fruit,-- the clusters clear Half through the foliage seen. In England, the hop we consider the most beautiful appendage of the hanging kind. In its rude natural state, indeed, twisting carelessly round the branches of trees, it has as good an effect as the vine. Its leaf is similar; and though its bunches are not so beautiful as the clusters of the vine, it is more accommodating, hangs more loosely, and is less extravagant in its growth. The motion of trees is one source of considerable beauty. The waving heads of some, and the undulation of others, give a continual variety to their forms. In nature this is certainly a circumstance of great beauty: Things in motion sooner catch the eye Than what stirs not; and this also affords the chequered shade, formed under it by the dancing of the sunbeams among its playing leaves. This circumstance is of a very amusing nature, and is capable of being beautifully wrought up in poetry: The chequered earth seems restless as a flood Brushed by the winds. So sportive is the light, Shot through the boughs, it dances as they dance, Shadow and sunshine intermingling quick, And darkening and enlightening (as the leaves Play wanton) every part. The clump of trees next occupies our attention. The term, says Gilpin, has rather a relative meaning, as no rule of art hath yet prescribed what number of trees form a clump. Near the eye we should call three or four trees a clump, and at the same time, in distant or extensive scenery, we should apply the same term to any smaller detached portion of wood, though it may be formed of hundreds of trees. But though the term admits not of exact definition, we will endeavour to make the ideas contained under it as distinct as possible. We distinguish, then, two kinds of clumps, the smaller and the larger; confining the former chiefly to the foreground, and considering the latter as a distant ornament. With respect to the former, we apprehend its chief beauty arises from contrast in the parts. We shall attempt to enumerate some of the sources whence the beauty of contrast is produced. Three trees, or more, standing in a line, are formal, but in the natural wood this formality is rarely found. And yet even three trees in a line will be greatly assisted by the lines of the several trunks taking different directions; and by the various forms, distances, and growth of the trees. If three trees do not stand in a line, they must of course stand in a triangle, which produces a great variety of pleasing forms. And if a fourth tree be added, it stands beautifully near the middle of the triangle, of whatever form the triangle may be. If the clump consist of more trees than four, a still greater variety among the stems will of course take place; double triangles, and other pleasing shapes, all of which may be seen exemplified in every wood of natural growth. The branches are not less the source of contrast than the stem. To be picturesque, they must intermingle with each other without heaviness; they must hang loosely, but yet with varied looseness on every side; and if there be one head or top of the tree above another, there may be two or three subordinate, according to the size of the clump. Different kinds of trees, in the same clump, often occasion a beautiful contrast. There are few trees which will not harmonize with trees of another kind; though it may be that contrasts the most simple and beautiful are produced by the various modes of growth in the same species. Two or three oaks, intermingling their branches together, have often a very pleasing effect. The beech, when fully grown, is commonly (in a luxuriant soil at least), so heavy, that it seldom blends happily, either with its own kind or any other. The silver fir, too, is a very unaccommodating tree, as also all the other firs, and indeed every kind of tree that tapers to a point. The pine race, however, being clump-headed, unite well in composition. With these also the Scotch fir leagues, from little knots of which we often see beautiful contrasts arise. When they are young and luxuriant, especially if any number of them above four or five are planted together, they generally form a heavy murky spot, but as they acquire age this heaviness goes off, the inner branches decay, the outer branches hang loosely and negligently, and the whole has frequently a good effect, unless they have been planted too closely. It may be doubted how far deciduous trees mingle well in a clump with evergreens; and yet, occasionally, from the darkness of the fir contrasting agreeably with the sprightly green of a deciduous tree just coming into leaf, a natural good effect of light and shade is produced. Contrasts arise, again, from the mixture of trees of unequal growth, from a young tree united with an old one, a stunted tree with a luxuriant one, and sometimes from two or three trees, which in themselves are ill-shaped, but when combined are pleasing. Inequalities of all these kinds are what chiefly give nature's planting a superiority over art. The form of the foliage is another source of contrast. In one part, where the branches intermingle, the foliage will be interwoven and close; in another, where the boughs of each tree hang separately, the appearance will be light and easy. But whatever beauty these contrasts exhibit, the effect is altogether lost if the clump be not well balanced. If no side preponderate so as to offend the eye, it is enough, and unless the clump have sustained some external injury, it is seldom deficient in point of balance. Nature generally conducts the stems and branches in such easy forms, wherever there is an opening, and fills up all with such nice contrivance, and with so much picturesque irregularity, that we rarely wish for an amendment in her works. So true is this, that you may not take away a tree from a clump without infallibly destroying the balance which can never again be restored. When the clump grows larger, it becomes qualified only as a remote object, combining with vast woods, and forming a part of some extensive scene, either as a first, a second, or a third distance. The great use of the larger clump is to lighten the heaviness of a continued distant wood, and connect it gently with the plain, that the transition may not be too abrupt. All we wish to find in a clump of this kind is proportion and general form. With respect to proportion, the detached clump must not encroach too much on the dignity of the wood it aids, but must observe a proper subordination. A large tract of country covered with wood, will admit several of these auxiliary clumps, of different dimensions. But if the wood be of a smaller size, the clumps must also be smaller and fewer. As the clump becomes larger and recedes in the landscape, all the pleasing contrasts we expected in the smaller clumps are lost, and we are satisfied with a general form. No regular form is pleasing. A clump on the side of a hill, or in any situation where the eye can more easily investigate its shape, must be circumscribed by an irregular line; in which the undulations, both at the base and summit of the clump, should be strongly marked, as the eye has probably a distinct view of both. But if seen only on the top of a hill, or along the distant horizon, a little variation in the line which forms the summit, so as to break any disagreeable regularity there, will be sufficient. As a large tract of wood requires a few large clumps to connect it gently with the plain, so these large clumps themselves require the same service from a single tree, or a few trees, according to their size. The Copse, the Glen, and the open Grove next demand our notice. The Copse is a species of scenery composed generally of forest-trees, intermixed with brushwood, which latter is periodically cut down in twelve, thirteen, or fourteen years. In its dismantled state, nothing can be more forlorn. The area is covered with bare roots and knobs, from which the brushwood has been cut; while the forest-trees, intermingled among them, present their ragged stems, despoiled of all their lateral branches, which the luxuriance of the surrounding thickets had choked. The copse, however, soon repairs the injury it has thus suffered. One winter only sees its disgrace. The following summer produces luxuriant shoots; and two summers more restore it almost to perfect beauty. It is of little moment what species of wood composes the copse; for we do not expect from it scenes of picturesque beauty, but are satisfied if it yields us a shady sequestered path, which it generally furnishes in great perfection. It is among the luxuries of nature, to retreat into the cool recesses of the full-grown copse from the severity of a meridian sun, and to be serenaded by the humming insects of the shade, whose continuous song has a more refreshing sound than the buzzing vagrant fly, which wantons in the glare of day, and, as Milton expresses it, ----winds her sultry horn. In distant landscape the copse hath seldom any effect. The beauty of a wood in a distant view arises in some degree from its tuftings which break and enrich the lights, but chiefly from its contrast with the plain, and from the grand shapes and forms, occasioned by the retiring and advancing parts of the forest, which produce vast masses of light and shade, and give effect to the whole. These beauties appear rarely in the copse. Instead of that rich and tufted bed of foliage, which the distant forest exhibits, the copse presents a meagre and unaccommodating surface. It is age which gives the tree its tufted form, and the forest its effect. A nursery of saplings produces it not, and the copse is little more, nor does the intermixture of full-grown trees assist the appearance. Their clumpy heads blend ill with the spiry tops of the juniors. Neither have they any connection with each other. The woodman's judgment is shown in leaving the timber-trees at proper intervals, that they may neither hinder each other's growth, nor the growth of the underwood. But the woodman does not pretend to manage his trees with a view to picturesque beauty; and from his management, it is impossible they should produce a mass of light and shade. Besides, the copse forms no contrast with the plain, nor presents those beautiful projections and recesses which the skirts of the forest exhibit. A copse is a plot of ground, proportioned off for the purpose of nurturing wood. Of course it must be fenced from cattle; and these fences, which are in themselves disgusting, generally form the copse into a square, or some other regular figure; so that we have not only a deformity, but a want also of a connecting tie between the wood and the plain. Instead of a softened undulating line, we have a harsh fence. The best effect which the copse produces, is on the lofty banks of the river; this may be seen particularly on the Wye. In navigating such a river, the deficiencies of this mode of scenery, as you view it upwards from a boat, are lost; and in almost every state it has a good effect. While it enriches the bank, its uncouth shape, unless the fence is too much in view, and all its other unpleasant appearances, are concealed. When a winding walk is carried through a copse, which must necessarily in a few years, even in point of picturesque beauty, be given to the axe, shall the whole be cut down together? Or shall a border be left, as is sometimes done, on each side of the walk? This is a difficult question; but Gilpin thinks it should all go together. Unless the border you leave be very broad, it will have no effect, even at present. You will see through it; it will appear meagre, and will never unite happily with the neighbouring parts when they begin to grow; at least, it ought not to stand longer than two years. The rest of the copse will then be growing beautiful, and the border may be dispensed with till it is replaced. But the way, decidedly, is to cut down all together. In a little time it will recover its beauty. We now proceed to the Glen. A wide and open space between hills, is called a vale. If it be of smaller dimensions, we call it a valley. But when this space is contracted to a chasm, it becomes a glen. A glen, therefore, is commonly the offspring of a mountainous country; though sometimes found elsewhere, with its usual accompaniments of woody banks, and a rivulet at the bottom. The glen may be more or less contracted. It may form one single sweep, or its deviations may be irregular. The wood may consist of full-grown trees, or of underwood, or of a mixture of both. The path winding through it may run along the upper or the lower part. Or the rivulet may foam among rocks, or murmur among pebbles;--it may form transparent pools, overhung with wood;--or, which is frequently the case, it may be invisible, and an object only of the ear. All these circumstances are capable of an infinite variety. The beauties of the internal parts of the glen consist chiefly in the glades, or openings, which are found in it. If the whole were a thicket, little beauty would result. Unlike the copse, its furniture is commonly of a fortuitous growth, and escapes those periodical defalcations to which the copse is subject, and generally exhibits more beautiful scenery. It abounds with frequent openings. The eye is carried down, from the higher grounds, to a sweep of the river--or to a little gushing cascade--or to the face of a fractured rock, garnished with hanging wood--or perhaps to a cottage, with its scanty area of lawn falling to the river on one side, and sheltered by a clump of oaks on the other; while the smoke, wreathing behind the trees, disperses and loses itself as it gains the summit of the glen. Or, still more beautifully, the eye breaks out at some opening, perhaps into the country, enriched with all the varieties of distant landscape--plains and woods melting together--a winding river--blue mountains--or perhaps some bay of the sea, with a little harbour and shipping. As an object of distance also, the woody glen has often a good effect--climbing the sides of mountains, breaking their lines, and giving variety to their bleak and barren sides. From the glen we hasten to the open Grove, which is composed of trees arising from a smooth area, and consisting either of pines or of the deciduous race. Beautiful groves of both may be seen. That of the pine will always be dry, as it is the peculiar quality of its leaves to imbibe moisture: but in lightness, variety, and general beauty, that of deciduous trees excels. If, however, you wish your grove to be in the gloomy style, the pine race will serve your purpose best. The open grove rarely makes a picturesque appearance. It may, indeed, have the effect of other woods in distant scenery; for the trees of which it is formed need not be separated from each other, as in the copse, but, being well massed together, may receive beautiful effects of light. When we enter its recesses, it is not so well calculated to please. There it wants variety, and that not only from the smoothness of the surface, but from the uniformity of the furniture--at least if it be an artificial scene, in which the trees, having been planted in a nursery, grow all alike, with upright stems. And yet a walk, upon a velvet turf, winding at pleasure among these natural columns, whose twisting branches at least admit some variety, with a spreading canopy of foliage over the head, is pleasing, and in hot weather refreshing. Sometimes we find the open grove of natural growth; it is then more various and irregular, and becomes, of course, a more pleasing scene. And yet, when woods of this kind continue, as they sometimes do, in unpeopled countries, through half a province, they become tiresome, and prove that it is not wood, but variety of landscape, that delights the eye. The pleasing tranquillity of groves hath ever been in high repute among the innocent and refined part of mankind: Groves were planted to console at noon The pensive wanderer in their shades. At eve The moonbeam sliding softly in between The sleeping leaves, is all the light he wants For meditation. Indeed, no species of landscape is so fitted for meditation. The forest attracts the attention by its grandeur, and the park scene by its beauty; while the paths through copses, dells, and thickets, are too close, devious, interrupted, and often too beautiful to allow the mind to be at perfect ease. But the uniform sameness of the grove leaves the eye disengaged; and the feet wandering at pleasure, where they are confined by no path, want little direction. The mind, therefore, undisturbed, has only to retire within itself. Hence the philosopher, the devotee, the poet, all retreated to these quiet recesses; and, from the world retired, Conversed with angels and immortal forms. In classic times, the grove was the haunt of gods; and in the days of Nature, before art had introduced a kind of combination against her, men had no idea of worshipping God in a temple made with hands. The _templum nemorale_ was the only temple he knew. In the resounding wood, All vocal beings hymned their equal God. And to this idea, indeed, one of the earliest forms of the artificial temple seems to have been indebted. Many learned men have thought the Gothic arch of our cathedral churches was an imitation of the natural grove. It arises from a lofty stem, or from two or three stems, if they be slender; which being bound together, and spreading in every direction, cover the whole roof with their ramifications. In the close recesses of the beechen grove, we find this idea the most complete. The lofty, narrow aisle--the pointed arch--the clustered pillar, whose parts separating without violence, diverge gradually to form the fretted roof--find there perhaps their earliest archetype. Bryant has wrought out this idea in a beautiful fragment, entitled "God's First Temples:" The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them,--ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems,--in the darkling wood, Amidst the cool and silence he knelt down, And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication. For his simple heart Might not resist the sacred influences, That, from the stilly twilight of the place, And from the gray old trunks, that, high in heaven, Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound Of the invisible breath that swayed at once All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed His spirit with the thought of boundless Power And inaccessible Majesty. Ah, why Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore Only among the crowd, and under roofs That our frail hands have raised! Let me, at least, Here in the shadow of this aged wood, Offer one hymn--thrice happy, if it find Acceptance in his ear. Father, thy hand Hath reared these venerable columns; thou Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun, Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze, And shot towards heaven. The century-living crow, Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died Among their branches, till at last they stood, As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark, Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold Communion with his Maker. Here are seen No traces of man's pomp or pride;--no silks Rustle, no jewels shine, nor envious eyes Encounter; no fantastic carvings show The boast of our vain race to change the form Of thy fair works. But thou art here--thou fill'st The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds That run along the summits of these trees In music;--thou art in the cooler breath, That, from the inmost darkness of the place, Comes, scarcely felt;--the barky trunks, the ground, The fresh, moist ground, are all instinct with thee. Here is continual worship;--nature, here, In the tranquillity that thou dost love, Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around, From perch to perch, the solitary bird Passes; and yon clear spring, that, 'midst its herbs, Wells softly forth, and visits the strong roots Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left Thyself without a witness, in these shades, Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace, Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oak-- By whose immovable stem I stand, and seem Almost annihilated--not a prince, In all the proud old world beyond the deep, E'er wore his crown as loftily as he Wears the green coronal of leaves with which Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower, With scented breath, and look so like a smile, Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould, An emanation of the indwelling Life, A visible token of the upholding Love, That are the soul of this wide universe. My heart is awed within me, when I think Of the great miracle that still goes on, In silence, round me--the perpetual work Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed For ever. Written on thy works, I read The lesson of thy own eternity. Lo! all grow old and die: but see, again, How, on the faltering footsteps of decay, Youth presses--ever gay and beautiful youth, In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees Wave not less proudly than their ancestors Moulder beneath them. O, there is not lost One of earth's charms: upon her bosom yet, After the flight of untold centuries, The freshness of her far beginning lies, And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate Of his arch-enemy Death--yea, seats himself Upon the sepulchre, and blooms and smiles, And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth From thine own bosom, and shall have no end. There have been holy men, who hid themselves Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived The generation born with them, nor seemed Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks Around them;--and there have been holy men, Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus. But let me often to these solitudes Retire, and, in thy presence, reassure My feeble virtue. Here its enemies, The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink, And tremble, and are still. O God! when thou Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill, With all the waters of the firmament, The swift, dark whirlwind, that uproots the woods, And drowns the villages; when, at thy call, Uprises the great Deep, and throws himself Upon the continent, and overwhelms Its cities;--who forgets not, at the sight Of these tremendous tokens of thy power, His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by? O, from these sterner aspects of thy face, Spare me and mine; nor let us need the wrath Of the mad, unchained elements to teach Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate, In these calm shades, thy milder majesty, And, to the beautiful order of thy works, Learn to conform the order of our lives. We will conclude this Introduction by recommending the reader, in the words of the poet, to enjoy the sweet calmness of the Woodland retreat: If thou art worn and hard beset With sorrows that thou would'st forget-- If thou would'st read a lesson that will keep Thy heart from fainting, and thy soul from sleep, Go to the woods and hills!--no tears Dim the sweet look that nature wears. * * * * * Stranger, if thou hast learnt a truth, which needs Experience more than reason, that the world Is full of guilt and misery, and hast known Enough of all its sorrows, crimes and cares, To tire thee of it,--enter this wild wood, And view the haunts of Nature. The calm shade Shall bring a kindred calm, and the sweet breeze, That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balm To thy sick heart. Thou wilt find nothing here Of all that pained thee in the haunts of men. And made thee loathe thy life. The primal curse Fell, it is true, upon the unsinning earth, But not in vengeance. Misery is wed To guilt. And hence these shades are still the abodes Of undissembled gladness: the thick roof Of green and stirring branches is alive And musical with birds, that sing and sport In wantonness of spirit; while, below, The squirrel, with raised paws and form erect, Chirps merrily. Throngs of insects in the glade Try their thin wings, and dance in the warm beam That waked them into life. Even the green trees Partake the deep contentment: as they bend To the soft winds, the sun from the blue sky Looks in and sheds a blessing on the scene. Scarce less the cleft-born wild-flower seems to enjoy Existence, than the winged plunderer That sucks its sweets. The massy rocks themselves, The old and ponderous trunks of prostrate trees, That lead from knoll to knoll, a causey rude, Or bridge the sunken brook, and their dark roots, With all their earth upon them; twisting high Breathe fixed tranquillity. The rivulet Sends forth glad sounds, and, tripping o'er its bed Of pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks, Seems with continuous laughter to rejoice In its own being. Softly tread the marge, Lest from her midway perch thou scare the wren That dips her bill in water. The cool wind, That stirs the stream in play shall come to thee, Like one that loves thee, nor will let thee pass Ungreeted, and shall give its light embrace. Bryant. [Illustration: THE ALDER-TREE.] THE ALDER-TREE. [_Alnus._[A] Nat. Ord.--_Amentiferæ_; Linn.--_Monoec. Tetra._] [A] _Generic characters._ Scales of the barren catkins, 3-lobed, 3-flowered. Perianth 4-cleft. Scales of the fertile catkin ovate, 2-flowered, coriaceous, persistent. Styles 2, parallel, setiform, deciduous; stigma simple. Fruit a nut, ovate, 2-celled. Kernel solitary, ovate, acute. Name, Celtic, from _al_, and _lan_, a river bank. The Common Alder (_A. glutinosa_), is the most aquatic of European trees. It grows to the height of fifty or sixty feet, in favourable situations by the sides of streams, and is a somewhat picturesque tree in its ramification as well as its foliage. It is nearly related, in nature rather than in form, to the willow tribe; it is more picturesque than the latter, and perhaps the most so of any of the aquatic species, except the weeping willow. Gilpin says, that if we would see the Alder in perfection, we must follow the banks of the Mole, in Surrey, through the sweet vales of Dorking and Mickleham, into the groves of Esher. The Mole, indeed, is far from being a beautiful river; it is a silent and sluggish stream: but what beauty it has it owes greatly to the Alder, which everywhere fringes its meadows, and in many places forms very pleasing scenes; especially in the vale between Box Hill and the high grounds of Norbury Park. Spenser probably once reposed under the shade of these trees, as he mentions them in his "Colin Clout's come home again." One day, quoth he, I sate, as was my trade, Under the foot of Mole, that mountain hore, Keeping my sheep among the cooly shade Of the green Alders on the Mulla shore. Some of the largest Alders in England grow in the Bishop of Durham's park, at Bishop Auckland. In speaking of these, Gilpin remarks, that "the generality of trees acquire picturesque beauty by age; but it is not often that they are suffered to attain this picturesque period. Some use is commonly found for them long before that time. The oak falls for the greater purposes of man, and the Alder is ready to supply a variety of his smaller wants. An old tree, therefore, of any kind is a curiosity; and even an Alder, such as those at Bishop Auckland, when dignified by age, makes a respectable figure." [Illustration: _Specific character of A. glutinosa. Common Alder._ Leaves roundish, cuneate, waved, serrate, glutinous, downy at the branching of the veins beneath. A moderately-sized tree, with rugged bark, and crooked, spreading, smooth branches: barren catkins long, pendulous; fertile ones short, oval. Flowers in March.] The Alder grows naturally in Europe from Lapland to Gibraltar, in Asia from the White Sea to Mount Caucasus, and in the north of Africa, as well as being indigenous in England. The flowers bloom in March and April; they have no gay tints or beauty to recommend them, and consequently afford pleasure only to the botanist or the curious observer of nature. The leaves begin to open about the 7th of April, and when fully expanded are of a deep dull green. The bark being smooth and of a purplish hue, the tree has an agreeable effect among others in all kinds of plantations of the watery tribe. The Alder must have grown to a great size in days of yore; for Virgil speaks of vessels made of this material: When hollow Alders first the waters tried. And again: And down the rapid Po light Alders glide. Ovid also tells us that Trees rudely hollowed did the waves sustain, Ere ships in triumph ploughed the watery main. Abroad this tree is raised from seed, which is decidedly the best mode, and secures the finest specimens; though in this country they are generally propagated by layers or truncheons. The best time for planting the latter, is in February or March; the truncheons being sharpened at the end, the ground should be loosened by thrusting an iron crow into it, to prevent the bark from being torn off; and they should be planted at the least two feet deep. When cultivated by layers, the planting should take place in October, and they will then be ready to transplant in twelve months' time. The Alder is usually planted as coppice-wood, to be cut down every five or six years, for conversion into charcoal, which is preferred in making gunpowder. The bark on the young wood is powerfully astringent, and is employed by tanners; and the young shoots are used for dyeing red, brown, and yellow; and in combination with copperas, to dye black. It is greatly cultivated in Flanders and Holland for piles, for which purpose it is invaluable, as when constantly under water, or in moist and boggy situations, it becomes hardened, black as ebony, and will last for ages. On this account it is also very serviceable in strengthening the embankments of rivers or canals; and while the roots and trunks are preventing the encroachment of the stream, they throw out branches which may be cut for poles every fifth or sixth year, especially if pruned of superfluous shoots in the spring. As Alders in the spring, their boles extend, And heave so fiercely that the bark they rend. Virgil, _ecl._ x. Vitruvius informs us, that the morasses about Ravenna were piled with this timber to build upon; and Evelyn says that it was used in the foundations of Ponte Rialto, over the Grand Canal at Venice. The wood is also valuable for various domestic purposes. Besides the common Alder there are introduced at least six other species:-- 1. _A. Glutinosa_, already described. 2. _Emarginata_, leaves nearly round, wedge-shaped, and edged with green. 3. _Laciniata_, leaves oblong and pinnatifid, with the lobes acute. 4. _Quercifolia_, leaves sinuated, with the lobes obtuse. 5. _Oxyacanthoefolia_, leaves sinuated and lobed; smaller than those of the preceding variety, and somewhat resembling the common hawthorn. 6. _Macrocarpa_, leaves and fruit larger than those of the species. 7. _Foliis variegatis_, leaves variegated. [Illustration: THE ASH-TREE.] THE ASH-TREE. [_Fraxinus._[B] Nat. Ord.--_Oleaceæ_; Linn.--_Dian. Monog._] [B] _Generic characters._ Calyx none, or deeply 4-cleft. Corolla none, or of 4 petals. Perianth single, or none. Fruit a 2-celled, 2-seeded capsule, flattened and foliaceous at the extremity (a _samara_). Name from [Greek: phraxis], separation, on account of the ease with which the wood may be split. The Common Ash (_F. excelsior_), is one of the noblest of our forest-trees, and generally carries its principal stem higher than the oak, rising in an easy flowing line. Its chief beauty, however, consists in the lightness of its whole appearance. Its branches at first keep close to the trunk, and form acute angles with it; but as they begin to lengthen, they commonly take an easy sweep; and the looseness of the leaves corresponding with the lightness of the spray, the whole forms an elegant depending foliage. Nothing can have a better effect than an old Ash hanging from the corner of a wood, and bringing off the heaviness of the other foliage with its loose pendent branches. And yet in some soils, the Ash loses much of its beauty in the decline of age. The foliage becomes rare and meagre; and its branches, instead of hanging loosely, start away in disagreeable forms; thus the Ash often loses that grandeur and beauty in old age, which the generality of trees, and particularly the oak, preserve till a late period of their existence. The Ash also falls under the displeasure of the picturesque eye on another account, that is, from its leaf being much tenderer than that of the oak, it sooner receives impressions from the winds and frosts. Instead, therefore, of contributing its tint in the wane of the year among the many-coloured offspring of the woods, it shrinks from the blast, drops its leaf, and in each scene where it predominates, leaves wide blanks of desolated boughs, amidst foliage yet fresh and verdant. Before its decay, we sometimes see its leaf tinged with a fine yellow, well contrasted with the neighbouring greens. But this is one of Nature's casual beauties. Much oftener its leaf decays in a dark, muddy, unpleasing tint. And yet, sometimes, notwithstanding this early loss of its foliage, we see the Ash, in a sheltered situation, when the rains have been abundant and the season mild, retain its light pleasant green, when the oak and the elm, in its neighbourhood, have put on their autumnal attire. The leaves of the common Ash were used as fodder for cattle by the Romans, who esteemed them better for that purpose than those of any other tree: and in this country, in various districts, they were used in the same manner. The common Ash is indigenous to northern and central Europe, to the north of Africa, and to Japan. The Romans, it is said, named it _Fraxinus, quia facile frangitur_, to express the fragile nature of the wood, as the boughs of it are easily broken. It is supposed that the name of Ash has been given to this tree, because the bark of the trunk and branches is of the colour of wood ashes. Some, however, affirm that the word is derived from the Saxon _Æsc_, a pike. It is recorded in the fables of the ancients, that Love first made his arrows of this wood. The disciples of Mars used ashen poles for lances: A lance of tough ground Ash the Trojan threw, Rough in the rind and knotted as it grew. Æneid. Virgil says that the spears of the Amazons were formed of this wood, and Homer sings the mighty ashen spear of Achilles: The noble Ash rewards the planter's toil; Noble, since great Achilles from her side Took the dire spear by which brave Hector died. Rapin. It is said, in the Edda, that the Ash was held in high veneration, and that man was formed from its wood. Hesiod, in like manner, deduces his brazen race of men from the Ash. The warlike Ash, that reeks with human blood. There are many remarkable Ash-trees in various parts of the country. One at Woburn Abbey measures at the ground twenty-three feet in circumference; at twelve inches from the ground, it is twenty feet; and fifteen feet three inches at three feet from the ground. It is ninety feet high, and the ground overshadowed by its branches is one hundred and thirteen feet in diameter. The trunk of another, near Kennety Church, in King's County, is twenty-one feet ten inches in circumference, and seventeen feet high, before the branches break out, which are of enormous bulk. There formerly stood in the church-yard of Kilmalie, in Lochaber, an Ash that was considered the largest and most remarkable tree in the Highlands. Lochiel and his numerous kindred and clan held it in great veneration for generations, which is supposed to have hastened its destruction; it being burnt to the ground by the brutal soldiery in 1746. In one direction its diameter was seventeen feet three inches, and the cross diameter twenty-one feet; its circumference at the ground was fifty-eight feet! [Illustration: _Specific characters of F. excelsior. Common Ash._ Leaves pinnate, with lanceolate, serrated leaflets: flowers destitute of calyx and corolla. In old trees, the lower branches, after bending downwards, curve upwards at their extremities. Flowers, in loose panicles: anthers large, purple: capsules with a flat leaf-like termination, generally of two cells, each containing a flat oblong seed. This beautiful tree assumes its foliage later than any of our trees, and loses it early. A _variety_ occurs with simple leaves, and another with pendulous branches. Flowers in April and May; grows in natural woods in many parts of Scotland.] Trees raised from the keys of the Ash are decidedly the best. The "keys," or tongues, should be gathered from a young thriving tree when they begin to fall (which is about the end of October), laid to dry, and then sown any time betwixt that and Christmas. They will remain a full year in the ground before they appear; it is therefore necessary to fence them in, and wait patiently. The Ash will grow exceedingly well upon almost any soil, and indeed is frequently met with in ruined walls and rocks, insinuating its roots into the crevices of decaying buildings, covering the surface with verdure, while it is instrumental in destroying that which yields it support. Its winged capsules are supposed to be deposited in those places by the wind. The Ash asks not a depth of fruitful mould, But, like frugality, on little means It thrives, and high o'er creviced ruins spreads Its ample shade, or in the naked rock, That nods in air, with graceful limbs depends. Bidlake. Southey, in _Don Roderick_, speaks of the Ash: --amid the brook, Gray as the stone to which it clung, half root, Half trunk, the young Ash rises from the rock, And there its parent lifts its lofty head, And spreads its graceful boughs; the passing wind With twinkling motion lifts the silent leaves, And shakes its rattling tufts. The roots of the Ash are remarkably beautiful, and often finely veined, and will take a good polish. There are also certain knotty excrescences in the Ash, called the _brusca_, and _mollusca_, which, when cut and polished, are very beautiful. Dr. Plot, in his _History of Oxfordshire_ mentions a dining-table made of them, which represented the exact figure of a fish. With the exception of that of the oak, the timber of the Ash serves for the greatest variety of uses of any tree in the forest. It is excellent for ploughs. Tough, bending Ash, Gives to the humble swain his useful plough, And for the peer his prouder chariot builds. Dodsley. It is also used for axle-trees, wheel-rings, harrows; and also makes good oars, blocks for pulleys, &c. It is of the utmost value to the husbandman for carts, ladders, &c., and the branches are very serviceable for fuel, either fresh or dry. The most profitable age for felling the Ash, appears to be from eighty to one hundred years. It will continue pushing from stools or from pollards, for above one hundred years. Though a handsome tree, it ought by no means to be planted for ornament in places designed to be kept neat, because the leaves fall off, with their long stalks, very early in the autumn, and by their litter destroy the beauty of such places; yet, however unfit for planting near gravel-walks, or pleasure-grounds, it is very suitable for woods, to form clumps in large parks, or to be set out as standards. It should never be planted on tillage land, as the dripping of the leaves injures the corn, and the roots tend to draw away all nourishment from the ground. Neither should it be planted near pasture ground; for if the kine eat the leaves or shoots, the butter will become rank, and of little value. There are many varieties of the common Ash, but that with pendulous branches is probably the best known: it is called the Weeping Ash, and is of a heavy and somewhat unnatural appearance, yet it is very generally admired. The foliage of the Ash-tree becomes of a brown colour in October. Like leaves on trees the race of man is found-- Now green in youth, now withering on the ground; Another race the following spring supplies, They fall successive, and successive rise: So generations in their course decay, So flourish these, when those are past away. Pope. There are numerous species of the Ash, but these are so rarely to be met with in this country, that it is not necessary to particularize any of them. [Illustration: THE BEECH-TREE] THE BEECH-TREE. [_Fagus._[C] Nat. Ord.--_Amentiferæ_; Linn.--_Monoec. Poly._] [C] _Generic characters. Barren_ flowers in a roundish catkin. Perianth campanulate, divided into 5 or 6 segments. Stamens 8 to 15. _Fertile_ flowers, 2 together, within a 4-lobed prickly involucre. Stigma 3. Ovaries 3-cornered and 3-celled. Nut by abortion 1 or 2-seeded. Named from [Greek: phagô], to eat. The Common Beech (_F. sylvática_), is supposed to be indigenous to England, but not to Scotland or Ireland. According to Evelyn, it is a beautiful as well as valuable tree, growing generally to a greater stature than the Ash: though Gilpin observes, that it does not deserve to be ranked among timber-trees; its wood being of a soft, spongy nature, sappy, and alluring to the worm. Neither will Gilpin allow that, in point of picturesque beauty, it should rank much higher than in point of utility. Its skeleton, compared with that of the oak, the ash, or the elm, he says, is very deficient; yet its trunk is often highly picturesque, being frequently studded with bold knobs and projections, and having sometimes a sort of irregular fluting about it, which is very characteristic. It has another peculiarity, also, which is somewhat pleasing--that of a number of stems arising from the root. The bark, too, wears often a pleasant hue. It is naturally of a dingy olive; but it is always overspread, in patches, with a variety of mosses and lichens, which are commonly of a lighter tint in the upper parts, and of a deep velvet green towards the root. Its smoothness, also, contrasts agreeably with these rougher appendages. No bark tempts the lover so much to make it the depository of his mistress's name. In days of yore, it seems to have commonly served as the lover's tablet. In Dryden's translation of Virgil's _Eclogues_, we find the following:-- Or shall I rather the sad verse repeat, Which on the Beech's bark I lately writ-- I writ, and sang betwixt. There seems to have been connected with this custom the curious idea, that as the tree increased in growth, so would the words, and also the hopes expressed thereon: The rind of every plant her name shall know, And as the rind extends the love shall grow. Our own Thomson, too, narrates that Musidora carved, on the soft bark of a Beech-tree, the confession of her attachment to Damon: At length, a tender calm, Hushed, by degrees, the tumult of her soul; And on the spreading Beech, that o'er the stream Incumbent hung, she, with the sylvan pen Of rural lovers, this confession carved, Which soon her Damon kissed with weeping joy. The branches of the Beech are fantastically wreathed and disproportioned, twining awkwardly among one another, and running often into long unvaried lines, without any of that strength and firmness which we admire in the oak, or of that easy simplicity which pleases in the ash: in short, we rarely see a Beech well ramified. In full leaf, it is unequally pleasing; it has the appearance of an overgrown bush. Virgil, indeed, was right in choosing the Beech for its shade. No tree forms so complete a roof. If you wish either for shade or shelter, you will find it best Beneath the shade which Beechen boughs diffuse. Its bushiness imparts a great heaviness to the tree, which is always a deformity: A gloomy grove of Beech. Sometimes a light branch issues from a heavy mass; and though these are often beautiful in themselves, they are seldom in harmony with the tree. They distinguish, however, its character, which will be best seen by comparing it with the elm. The latter has a rounder, the former a more pointed foliage; but the elm is always in harmony with itself. Gilpin can see few beauties in the Beech; but, in conclusion, he admits that it sometimes has its beauty, and often its use. In distance, it preserves the depth of the forest, and, even on the spot, in contrast, it is frequently a choice accompaniment. In the corner of a landscape, too, when a thick heavy tree is wanted, or a part of one, at least, which is often necessary, nothing answers the purpose like the Beech. If we would really appreciate the beauty of this tree, we should walk in a wood of them. In its juvenility, contrary to the generality of trees, the Beech is decidedly the most pleasing, not having acquired that heaviness which Gilpin so loudly complains of. A light, airy young Beech, with its spiry branches hanging in easy forms, is generally beautiful. And, occasionally, the forest Beech, in a dry hungry soil, preserves the lightness of youth in the maturity of age. We must, however, mention its autumnal hues, which are often beautiful. Sometimes it is dressed in modest brown, but commonly in glowing orange; and in both dresses its harmony with the grove is pleasing. About the end of September, when the leaf begins to change, it makes a happy contrast with the oak, whose foliage is yet verdant. Some of the finest oppositions of tint which, perhaps, the forest can furnish, arise from the union of oak and Beech. We often see a wonderful effect from this combination; and yet, accommodating as its leaf is in landscape, on handling, it feels as if it were fabricated with metallic rigour. [Illustration: _Specific character. F. sylvática. Common Beech._ Leaves ovate, indistinctly serrate, smooth, ciliate. A large tree, varying from 60 to 100 feet in height, with smooth bark and spreading branches. Flowers in April and May; grows in woods, particularly on calcareous soils.] The leaves are of a pleasant green, and many of them remain on the branches during winter. In France and Switzerland, when dried, they are very commonly used for beds, or, instead of straw, for mattresses. Its fruit consists of "two nuts joined at the base, and covered with an almost globular involucre, which has soft spines on the outside, but within is delicately smooth and silky." Beech mast, as it is called, was formerly used for fattening swine and deer. It affords also a sweet oil, which the poor in France are said to eat most willingly. --The Beech, of oily nuts Prolific. The Beech abounds especially along the great ridge of chalk-hills which passes from Dorsetshire through Wiltshire, Hampshire, Surrey, Sussex, and Kent; trenching out into Berkshire, Buckinghamshire, and Hertfordshire; and it is also found on the Stroudwater and Cotswold hills in Gloucestershire, and on the banks of the Wye in Herefordshire and Monmouthshire. It is particularly abundant in Buckinghamshire, where it forms extensive forests of great magnificence and beauty. It is seldom found mixed with other trees, even when they are coeval with it in point of age. It is rarely found in soil that is not more or less calcareous; and it most commonly abounds on chalk. The finest trees in England are said to grow in Hampshire; and there is a curious legend respecting those in the forest of St. Leonard, in that county. This forest, which was the abode of St. Leonard, abounds in noble Beech-trees; and the saint was particularly fond of reposing under their shade; but, when he did so, he was annoyed during the day by vipers, and at night by the singing of the nightingale. Accordingly, he prayed that they might be removed; and such was the efficacy of his prayers, that since his time, in this forest, "The viper has ne'er been known to sting, Or the nightingale e'er heard to sing." The wood of this tree, from its softness, is easy of being worked, and is consequently a favourite with the turner. Beechen bowls, curiously carved, were highly prized by the ancient shepherds. Indeed, we learn that their use was almost universal: Hence, in the world's best years, the humble shed Was happily and fully furnished: Beech made their chests, their beds, and the joined stools; Beech made the board, the platters, and the bowls. And it is still used for dishes, trays, trenchers, &c. And Dodsley informs us that it was used for the sounding-boards of musical instruments. --The soft Beech And close-grained box employ the turner's wheel; And with a thousand implements supply Mechanic skill. We cannot willingly conclude this article without introducing Wordsworth's beautiful description of a solitary Beech-tree, which stood within "a stately fir-grove," where he was not loth To sympathize with vulgar coppice birds, That, for protection from the nipping blast, Thither repaired. A single Beech-tree grew Within this grove of firs, and in the fork Of that one Beech appeared a thrush's nest: A last year's nest, conspicuously built At such small elevation from the ground, As gave sure sign that they who in that house Of nature and of love had made their home, Amid the fir-trees all the summer long, Dwelt in a tranquil spot. The principal varieties of the Beech are:-- 1. _Purpurea_, the purple Beech, which has the buds and young shoots of a rose colour; the leaves, when half developed, of a cherry red, and of so dark a purple, when fully matured, as to appear almost black. 2. _Foliis variegatis_, having the leaves variegated with white and yellow, interspersed with some streaks of red and purple. 3. _Pendulata_, the weeping Beech, having the branches beautifully pendent. [Illustration: THE BIRCH-TREE.] THE BIRCH-TREE. [_Betula._[D] Nat. Ord.--_Amentiferæ_; Linn.--_Monoec. Poly._] [D] _Generic characters._ _Barren_ flowers in a cylindrical catkin with ternate scales. Perianth none. Stamens 10 or 12. _Fertile_ flowers in an oblong catkin, with 3-lobed, 3-flowered scales. Perianth none. Styles 2, filiform. Emit an oblong nut, deciduous, winged, 1-celled. Kernel solitary. --most beautiful Of forest trees, the lady of the woods. Coleridge. The common Birch (_B. alba_) is a native of the colder regions of Europe and Asia, being found from Iceland to Mount Etna; in Siberia, as far as the Altaic mountains; and also in the Himalayas; but not in Africa. It is known, at first sight, by the silvery whiteness of its bark, the comparative smallness of its leaves, and the lightness and airiness of its whole appearance. It is admirably calculated to diversify the scene, forming a pleasing variety among other trees, either in summer or winter. In summer it is covered over with beautiful small leaves, and the stem being generally marked with brown, yellow, and silvery touches of a peculiarly picturesque character, as they are characteristic objects of imitation for the pencil, forms an agreeable contrast with the dark green hue of the foliage, as it is waved to and fro by every breath of air. Only the stem and larger branches, however, have this varied colouring: the spray is of a deep brown, which is the colour, too, of the larger branches, where the external rind is peeled off. As the tree grows old, its bark becomes rough and furrowed; it loses all its varied tints, and assumes a uniform ferruginous hue. The Birch is altogether raised from roots or suckers, which, being planted at intervals of four or five feet, in small twigs, will speedily rise to trees, provided the soil suit them, and this cannot well be too barren or spongy; for it will thrive in dry and wet, sandy or stony places, in marshes or bogs. [Illustration: _Specific characters of B. alba._ Leaves ovate, deltoid, acute, unequally serrate, nearly smooth. A moderately-sized tree, seldom exceeding fifty feet in height, with a trunk of from twelve to eighteen inches in diameter, with a white outer bark, peeling transversely, the twigs very slender, and more or less drooping. Flowers in April and May; grows abundantly in extensive natural woods in various parts of the country, particularly in the Highlands of Scotland.] In ancient times, the Birch, whose timber is almost worthless, according to Evelyn, afforded the Old English warriors arrows, bolts, and shafts; and in modern times, its charcoal forms a principal ingredient in the manufacture of gunpowder. In spring, the Birch abounds in juices, and from these the rustic housewife makes an agreeable and wholesome wine: as Warton sings: And though she boasts no charm divine, Yet she can carve, and make Birch wine. Pomona's bard says, also, that --Even afflictive Birch, Cursed by unlettered idle youth, distils A limpid current from her wounded bark, Profuse of nursing sap. We are informed that a Birch-tree has been known to yield, in the course of the season, a quantity of sap equal to its own weight. It is obtained by inserting, in the early part of spring, a fosset made of an elder stick, with the pith taken out; and setting vessels, or hanging bladders, to receive the liquor. The sooner it is boiled the better; so that, in order to procure a sufficient quantity in a short time, a number of trees should be bored on the same day, and two or three fossets inserted in each of the larger trees. Sugar is now commonly used to sweeten it, in the proportion of from two to four pounds to each gallon of liquor. This is allowed to simmer so long as any scum rises, which must be cleared as fast as it appears. It is then poured into a tub to cool, after which it is turned into a cask, and bunged up when it has done working; and is ready to be drunk when a year old. As before remarked, the timber of the Birch is of little value; though in the Highlands, where pine is not to be had, it is used for all purposes. Its stems form the rafters of cabins; "wattles of the boughs are the walls and the door; and even the chests and boxes are of this rude basket-work." Light and strong canoes were formerly made of this timber in Britain, and also in other parts of Europe; and are even now in the northern parts of America. It also makes good fuel; and in Lancashire great quantities of besoms are made for exportation from the slender twigs. The bark is used in Russia and Poland for the covering of houses, instead of slates or tiles; and anciently the inner white cuticle and silken bark were used for writing-paper. Coleridge describes A curious picture, with a master's haste Sketched on a strip of pinky-silver skin Peeled from the Birchen bark. There is no part of this tree, however, that is not useful for some purpose or other. Even its leaves are used by the Finland women, in forming a soft elastic couch for the cradle of infancy. Gilpin particularly notes a beautiful variety of the White Birch, _B. pendula_, sometimes called the Lady Birch, or the Weeping Birch. Its spray being slenderer and longer than the common sort, forms an elegant pensile foliage, like the weeping willow, and, like it, is put in motion by the smallest breeze. When agitated, it is well adapted to characterize a storm, or to perform any office in landscape which is expected from the weeping willow. This is agreeably described in Wilson's Isle of Palms: --on the green slope Of a romantic glade we sate us down, Amid the fragrance of the yellow broom, While o'er our heads the Weeping Birch-tree streamed Its branches, arching like a fountain shower. "A Weeping Birch, at Balloghie, in the parish of Birse, in Aberdeenshire, in 1792, measured five feet in circumference; but it carried nearly this degree of thickness, with a clear stem, up to the height of about fifty feet, and it was judged to be about one hundred feet high." [Illustration: THE CEDAR OF LEBANON.] THE CEDAR OF LEBANON. [_Cedrus Libani._ Nat. Ord.--_Coniferæ_; Linn.--_Pinus C. Monoec. Monand.]_ On high the Cedar Stoops, like a monarch to his people bending, And casts his sweets around him. Barry Cornwall. The Cedar of Lebanon is a majestic evergreen tree, generally from fifty to eighty feet in height, extending wide its boughs and branches; and its sturdy arms grow in time so weighty, as frequently to bend the very stem and main shaft. Phillips observes, that "this noble tree has a dignity and a general striking character of growth so peculiar to itself, that no other tree can possibly be mistaken for it. It is instantly recognized by its wide-extending branches, that incline their extremities downwards, exhibiting a most beautiful upper surface, like so many verdant banks, which, when agitated by the wind, play in the most graceful manner, forming one of the most elegant, as well as one of the most noble, objects of the vegetable kingdom." The Cedar of Lebanon was formerly supposed to grow nowhere but on that mountain; but it was discovered, in 1832, on several mountains of the same group, and the probability is, that it extends over the whole of the Tauri mountains. It has also been discovered on the Atlas range of northern Africa. It is generally spoken of as a lofty tree. Milton, in speaking of it, says, Insuperable height of loftiest shade. And Rowe, in his Lucan, alludes to the "tall Cedar's head;" and Spenser speaks of the "Cedar tall;" and Churchill sings, The Cedar, whose top mates the highest cloud. Notwithstanding these poetical authorities for the loftiness of the Cedar, we are assured by Evelyn, and others, that it is not lofty, but is rather remarkable for its wide-spreading branches. In Prior's Solomon, we read of The spreading Cedar that an age had stood, Supreme of trees, and mistress of the wood, Cut down and carved, my shining roof adorns, And Lebanon his ruined honour mourns. Mason describes it as far-spreading: --Cedars here, Coeval with the sky-crowned mountain's self, Spread wide their giant arms. The prophet Ezekiel has given us the fullest description of the Cedar: "Behold the Assyrian was a Cedar in Lebanon, with fair branches, and with a shadowing shroud, and of a high stature; and his top was among the thick boughs. His boughs were multiplied, and his branches became long. The fir-trees were not like his boughs, nor the chestnut-trees like his branches, nor any tree in the garden of God like unto him in beauty." In this description, two of the principal characteristics of the Cedar are marked. The first is, the multiplicity and length of his branches. Few trees divide so many fair branches from the main stem, or spread over so large a compass of ground. His boughs are multiplied, as Ezekiel says, and his branches become long, which David calls spreading abroad. The second characteristic is his shadowing shroud. No tree in the forest is more remarkable than the Cedar for its close-woven leafy canopy. Ezekiel's Cedar is marked as a tree of full and perfect growth, from the circumstance of its top being among the thick boughs. Almost every young tree, and particularly every young Cedar, has what is called a leading branch or two, which continue spiring above the rest till the tree has attained its full size; then the tree becomes, in the language of the nurseryman, clump-headed: but, in the language of eastern sublimity its top is among the thick boughs; that is, no distinction of any spiry head, or leading branch, appears; the head and the branches are all mixed together. This is generally, in all trees, the state in which they are most perfect and most beautiful. Such is the grandeur and form of the Cedar of Lebanon. Its mantling foliage, or shadowing shroud, as Ezekiel calls it, is its greatest beauty, which arises from the horizontal growth of its branches forming a kind of sweeping, irregular penthouse. And when to the idea of beauty that of strength is added, by the pyramidal form of the stem, and the robustness of the limbs, the tree is complete in all its beauty and majesty. In these climates, indeed, we cannot expect to see the Cedar in such perfection. The forest of Lebanon is, perhaps, the only part of the world where its growth is perfect; yet we may, in some degree, conceive its beauty and majesty, from the paltry resemblances of it at this distance from its native soil. In its youth, it is often with us a vigorous thriving plant; and if the leading branch is not bound to a pole (as many people deform their Cedars), but left to take its natural course, and guide the stem after it in some irregular waving line, it is often an object of great beauty. But, in its maturer age, the beauty of the English Cedar is generally gone; it becomes shrivelled, deformed, and stunted; its body increases, but its limbs shrink and wither. Thus it never gives us its two leading qualities together. In its youth, we have some idea of its beauty, without its strength; and in its advanced age, we have some idea of its strength, without its beauty. The imagination, therefore, by joining together the two different periods of its age in this climate, may form some conception of the grandeur of the Cedar in its own climate, where its strength and beauty are united. [Illustration: (Leaves, Cone and Seeds of Cedar of Lebanon)] The following particular botanical description of this celebrated tree, is given by Loudon in his _Arboretum_:-- "The _leaves_ are generally of a dark grass green, straight, about one inch long, slender, nearly cylindrical, tapering to a point, and are on foot-stalks. The leaves, which remain two years on the branches, are at first produced in tufts; the buds from which they spring having the appearance of abortive shoots, which, instead of becoming branches, only produce a tuft of leaves pressed closely together in a whorl. These buds continue, for several years in succession, to produce every spring a new tuft of leaves, placed above those of the preceding year; and thus each bud may be said to make a slight growth annually, but so slowly, that it can scarcely be perceived to have advanced a line in length; hence, many of these buds may be found on old trees, which have eight or ten rings, each ring being the growth of one year; and sometimes they ramify a little. At length, sooner or later, they produce the male and female flowers. The _male catkins_ are simple, solitary, of a reddish hue, about two inches long, terminal, and turning upwards. They are composed of a great number of sessile, imbricated stamens, on a common axis. Each stamen is furnished with an anther with two cells, which open lengthwise by their lower part; and each terminates in a sort of crest, pointing upwards. The pollen is yellowish, and is produced in great abundance. The _female catkins_ are short, erect, roundish, and rather oval; they change, after fecundation, into ovate oblong _cones_, which become, at maturity, from two and a half to five inches long. The cones are of a grayish-brown, with a plum-coloured or pinkish bloom when young, which they lose as they approach maturity; they are composed of a series of coriaceous imbricated _scales_, laid flat, and firmly pressed against each other in an oblique spiral direction. The scales are very broad, obtuse, and truncated at the summit; very thin, and slightly denticulated at the edge; and reddish and shining on the flat part. Each scale contains two seeds, each surmounted by a very thin membranous _wing_, of which the upper part is very broad, and the lower narrow, enveloping the greater part of the seed. The cones are very firmly attached to the branches; they neither open nor fall off, as in the other Abietinæ; but, when ripe, the scales become loose, and drop gradually, leaving the axis of the cone still fixed on the branch. The _seeds_ are of an irregular, but somewhat triangular form, nearly one and a half inch long, of a lightish brown colour. Every part of the cone abounds with resin, which sometimes exudes from between the scales. The female catkins are produced in October, but the cones do not appear till the end of the second year; and, if not gathered, they will remain attached to the tree for several years. The Cedar of Lebanon does not begin to produce cones till it is twenty-five or thirty years old; and, even then, the seeds in such cones are generally imperfect; and it is not till after several years of bearing, that seeds from the cones of young trees can be depended upon. Some Cedars produce only male catkins, and these in immense abundance; others, only female catkins; and some both. There are trees of vigorous growth at various places, which, though upwards of one hundred years old, have scarcely ever produced either male or female catkins. The duration of the Cedar is supposed to extend to several centuries." The Cedar is cultivated from seeds and berries. Any climate suits it, provided it meet with a sandy soil; though it grows better in cold than in warm climates, as its cultivation is more successful in Scotland than in England. The peculiar property of its timber is extremely remarkable, being declared proof against all putrefaction of human or other bodies, serving better than all other ingredients or compositions for embalming; thus, by a singular contradiction, giving life as it were to the dead, and destroying the worms which are living, as it does, where any goods are kept in chests and presses of the wood--except woollen cloths and furs, which, it is observed, they destroy. Its preservative power is attributed to the bitterness of its resinous juices. The ancients, in praising any literary work, would say, "It is worthy of being cased in Cedar." It is also very durable, it being on record that in the Temple of Apollo, at Utica, there was found timber of near two thousand years old. The most remarkable existing Cedars in this country are at Chelsea, at Enfield, at Chiswick House, at Sion House, at Strathfieldsaye, at Charley Wood near Rickmansworth, at Wilton, near Salisbury and at Osgood Hanbury's near Coggeshall. The largest of these, at Strathfieldsaye, is one hundred and eight feet in height; diameter of the trunk, three feet, and diameter of the head, seventy-four feet. [Illustration: THE SWEET CHESTNUT-TREE.] THE SWEET CHESTNUT-TREE. [_Castaneæ vulgaris._ Nat. Ord.--_Amentiferæ_; Linn.--_Monoec. Poly._] The Sweet Chestnut, so called with reference to the fruit, in contradistinction to that of the Horse-Chestnut, which is bitter, is also called the Spanish Chestnut, because the best chestnuts for the table are imported from Spain. In favourable situations, it becomes a magnificent tree, though it never attains a height, or diameter of head, equal to that of the oak. The trunk generally rises erect, forming, in all cases, a massy column of wood, in proportion to the expansion of the head, or the height of the tree. The branches form nearly the same angle with the trunk as those of the oak; though in thriving trees the angle is somewhat more acute. If planted in woods, by the road-side, and left untrimmed, as they should be, they will be feathered to the bottom, and will in summer, in addition to their beautiful appearance, hide the naked stems of other trees which are considered disagreeable objects; while in autumn, the golden hue of the leaves will heighten the mellow and pleasing effect produced in the woodlands by the variety of hues in the foliage of different trees, which contrast and blend together in one harmonious and pictorial aspect. The Chestnut has been considered indigenous; but this is the more doubtful, that the tree rarely ripens its fruit, except in a climate that will ripen the grape in the open air. On old trees, the leaves are from four to six inches long; but on young and vigorous shoots, they are often nearly twelve inches in length, and from three to four inches in breadth. They are of a rich shining green above, and paler beneath. The flowers are produced on the wood of the current year, and are ranged along the common stalk, in lateral sessile tufts. The rate of growth of young trees, in the neighbourhood of London, averages from two to three feet for the first ten or twelve years. The tree will attain the height of from sixty to eighty feet in about sixty years; but the tree will live for several centuries afterwards, and produce abundance of fruit. The finest trees in England are said to stand on the banks of the Tamer, in Cornwall; and at Beechworth Castle, in Surrey, there are seventy or eighty Chestnuts, measuring from twelve to eighteen or twenty feet in girth, and some of them very picturesque in form. One, on Earl Durie's estate of Tortworth, in Gloucestershire, is proved to have stood ever since 1150, and to have been then remarkable for its age and size. [Illustration: * _Generic characters of the Castaneæ._ _Barren_ flowers in a long cylindrical spike. Perianth 6-cleft. Stamens 8 to 20. _Fertile_ flowers, 3 within a 4-lobed muricated involucre. Stigmas 3 to 8. Ovary 5 to 8-celled. Nuts 1 or 2, within the enlarged prickly involucre. _Specific characters of C. vulgaris_. Leaves lanceolate, acutely serrate, smooth beneath; prickles compound and entangled; stigmas 6.] The Chestnut is cultivated best by sowing and setting: the nuts must, however, be left to sweat, and then be covered with sand; after having been thus heated for a month, plunge the nuts in water, and reject the swimmers; then dry them for thirty days, and repeat the process. In November, set them as you would beans, taking care to do it in their husks. This tree will thrive in almost all soils and situations, though it succeeds best in rich loamy land. Nothing will thrive beneath its shade. Among mast-bearing trees this is said to be the most valuable; since the nuts, when ripened in southern climates, are considered delicacies for princes. In this country, however, where they rarely come to maturity, they fall to the lot of hogs and squirrels. The trees cultivated for fruit are generally grafted; and, in several parts of South Europe, the peasantry are mainly supported by bread made of the nut-flour. In Italy, in Virgil's time, they ate them with milk and cheese: Chestnuts, and curds and cream shall be our fare. And again, in his second _Pastoral_, thus translated by Dryden: Myself will search our planted grounds at home, For downy peaches and the glossy plum; And thrash the Chestnuts in the neighbouring grove, Such as my Amaryllis used to love. The timber of the Chestnut is strong and very durable; but it is often found decayed at the core, and, in working, is very brittle. The wood is preferred for the manufacture of liquor tubs and vessels, as it does not shrink after being once seasoned. This tree is now, however, chiefly grown for hop-poles, which are the straightest, tallest, and most durable. Though cut at an early age for this purpose, the trees are frequently ornaments of our parks and pleasure-grounds. [Illustration: THE ELM-TREE.] THE ELM-TREE. [_Ulmus_[E] Nat. Ord.--_Ulmaceæ_; Linn.--_Pentand. Digy._] [E] _Generic characters of the Ulmi._ Calyx campanulate, inferior, 4 to 5-cleft, persistent. Corolla none. Fruit a membranous, compressed, winged capsule (a _samara_), 1-seeded. There stood the Elme, whose shade, so mildly dim, Doth nourish all that groweth under him. W. Browne. The Common Elm (_U. campestris_), after having assumed the dignity and hoary roughness of age, is not excelled in grandeur and beauty by any of its brethren. In this latter stage, it partakes so much of the character of the oak, that it is easily mistaken for it; though the oak--such an oak as is strongly marked with its peculiar character--can never be mistaken for the Elm. "This defect, however," says Gilpin, "appears chiefly in the skeleton of the Elm. In full foliage, its character is better marked. No tree is better adapted to receive grand masses of light. In this respect, it is superior both to the oak and the ash. Nor is its foliage, shadowing as it is, of the heavy kind. Its leaves are small, and this gives it a natural lightness; it commonly hangs loosely, and is in general very picturesque." The Elm is not frequently met with in woods or forests, but is more commonly planted in avenues or other artificial situations. Cowper very accurately sketches the variety of form in the Elm, and alludes to the different sites where they are to be found. In the _Task_, he first introduces them rearing their lofty heads by the river's brink: --There, fast rooted in his bank, Stand, never overlooked, our favourite Elms, That screen the herdsman's solitary hut. Then he gives us an enchanting scene, where a lowly cot is surrounded by them: 'Tis perched upon the green hill-top, but close Environed with a ring of branching Elms, That overhang the thatch. He then introduces us to a grove of Elms: --The grove receives us next; Between the upright shafts of whose tall Elms We may discern the thrasher at his task. The Elm is frequently referred to by the poets. Wordsworth thus speaks of a grove of them: Upon that open level stood a grove, The wished-for port to which my course was bound. Thither I came, and there, amid the gloom Spread by a brotherhood of lofty Elms, Appeared a roofless hut. In _The Church Yard among the Mountains_, he introduces one that seems to be the pride of the village: --A wide-spread Elm Stands in our valley, named the JOYFUL TREE; From dateless usage which our peasants hold Of giving welcome to the first of May, By dances round its trunk. And again: --The Joyful Elm, Around whose trunk the maidens dance in May. Dr. Hunter supposes that the Elm is a native of England. Philips, however, does not agree with this; but, admitting that the tree was known in England as early as the Saxon times, observes, that this does not prove the Elm to be indigenous to the soil, confuted as it is by Nature, which rarely allows it to propagate its species in this country according to her common rules; while in other countries, where the seed falls, young plants spring up as commonly as the oaks in Britain. [Illustration: _Specific characters of U. campestris._ Leaves rhomboid-ovate, acuminate, wedge-shaped, and oblique at the base, always scabrous above, doubly and irregularly serrated, downy beneath; serratures incurved. Branches wiry, slightly corky; when young, bright-brown, pubescent. Fruit oblong, deeply cloven, naked.] In favourable situations, the common Elm becomes a large timber-tree, of considerable beauty and utility, naturally growing upright. It is the first tree to put forth its light and cheerful green in spring, a tint which contrasts agreeably with the foliage of the oak, whose leaf has generally, in its early state, more of an olive cast. We see them often in fine harmony together about the end of April and the beginning of May. The Elm is also frequently found planted with the Scotch fir. In spring, its light green is very discordant with the gloomy hue of its companion; but as the year advances, the Elm leaf takes a darker tint, and unites in harmony with the fir. In autumn also, the yellow leaf of the Elm mixes as kindly with the orange of the beech, the ochre of the oak, and many of the other fading hues of the wood. The Elm was considered by the ancients of Eastern nations as a funereal tree, as well as the cypress. It is celebrated in the _Iliad_, for having formed a hasty bridge, by which Achilles escaped the Xanthus, when that river, by its overflowing, placed him in danger of being carried away. It has been suggested that the Romans probably introduced it, and planted it on the graves of their departed heroes. It was well-known among the Latins. Virgil says, that the husbandmen bent the young Elm, whilst growing, into the proper shape, for their _buris_ or plough-tail: Young Elms with early force in copses bow, Fit for the figure of the crooked plough. Dryden. The Romans esteemed the Elm to be the natural support and friend of the vine; and the feeling that a strong sympathy subsisted between plants, led them never to plant one without the other. The gravest of Latin authors speak of the Elm as husband of the vine; and Pliny tells us, that that Elm is a poor spouse that does not support three vines. This mode of marrying the vine to the Elm gave rise to the elegant insinuation of Vertumnus to Pomona, whose story may be found in Ovid: "If that fair Elm," he cried, "alone should stand, No grapes would glow with gold, and tempt the hand: Or, if that vine without her Elm should grow, 'Twould creep a poor neglected shrub below." This union of the vine and the Elm is constantly alluded to by the poets. Tasso, as translated by Fairfax, says, The married Elm fell with his fruitful vine. The lofty Elm with creeping vines o'erspread. Ovid. Milton, narrating the occupations of Adam and Eve before the fall, sings, --They led the vine To wed her Elm; she, spoused, about him twines Her marriageable arms, and with her brings Her dower, the adopted clusters, to adorn His barren leaves. And Beaumont says, --The amorous vine Did with the fair and straight-limbed Elm entwine. And Wordsworth, in that beautiful reflection, the _Pillar of Trajan_, speaks of it: So, pleased with purple clusters to entwine Some lofty Elm-tree, mounts the daring vine. There is a beautiful group of Elms at Mongewell, Oxon, which are in full vigour. The principal one is seventy-nine feet high, fourteen feet in girth at three feet from the ground, sixty-five in extent of boughs, and contains two hundred and fifty-six feet of solid timber. Strutt informs us, that, in 1830, Dr. Barrington, the venerable Bishop of Durham, when in his ninetieth year, erected an urn in the midst of their shade, to the memory of two of his friends; inscribing thereon the following classical fragment: In this once-favoured walk, beneath these Elms, Where thickened foliage, to the solar ray Impervious, sheds a venerable gloom, Oft in instructive converse we beguiled The fervid time, which each returning year To friendship's call devoted. Such things were; But are, alas! no more. The Chipstead Elm, in Kent, which is an English tree, is a fine specimen; and is of an immense size. It is beautiful as to form, and its trunk is richly mantled with ivy. In Henry V.'s time, the high road from Rye to London passed close by it, and a fair was held annually under its branches. At Sprotborough, Yorkshire, stands what is justly regarded as the pride of the grounds--a magnificent English Elm. This noble tree is about fifteen feet in circumference in the bole, and still thicker at the height of four feet from the ground, where it divides into five enormous boughs, each of the size of a large tree, and gracefully descending to the ground; the whole forming a splendid mass of foliage, having a diameter of about forty yards from bough to bough end. The Elm is generally raised by means of suckers, rarely from seeds. It delights in a rich, loamy soil, thriving best in an open situation, and bears transplantation well. It may also be planted in good pasture grounds, as it does not injure the grass beneath; and its leaves are agreeable to cattle, which in some countries are chiefly supported by them. They will eat them before oats, and thrive well upon them. Evelyn says, that in Herefordshire the inhabitants gathered them in sacks for their swine and other cattle. Fruitful in leaves the Elm. So prolific is this tree in leaves, that it affords a constant shade during the summer months, and for this reason it has been planted in most of the public and royal gardens in Europe. It is also of quick growth, as it will yield a load of timber in little more than forty years: it does not, however, cease growing--if planted in a favourable situation--neither too dry nor too moist--till it is one hundred or one hundred and fifty years old; and it will live several centuries. The wood of the Elm is hard and tough, and is greatly esteemed for pipes that are constantly under ground. In London, before iron pipes were used, the consumption of this timber for water-pipes was enormous. It is also valuable for keels, and planking beneath the water-line of ships, and for mill-wheels and water-works. When long bows were in fashion it was used in their manufacture, and the Statutes recommend it for that purpose. Besides _U. campestris_ there are six other varieties which have been long naturalized in this country, the botanical descriptions of which are:-- 2. _U. suberosa_. Ebr. Leaves nearly orbicular, acute, obliquely cordate at the base, sharply, regularly, and doubly serrate; always scabrous above, pubescent below, chiefly hairy in the axillæ. Branches spreading, bright-brown, winged with corky excrescences; when young, very hairy. Fruit nearly round, deeply cloven, naked. Grows in hedges, and flowers in March. 3. _U. major_. Smith. Leaves ovato-acuminate, very oblique at the base, sharply, doubly, and regularly serrate; always scabrous above, pubescent below, with dense tufts of white hairs in the axillæ. Branches spreading, bright-brown, winged with corky excrescences; when young, nearly smooth. Fruit obovate, slightly cloven, naked. _U. hollandica_. Miller. Grows in hedges, and flowers in March. 4. _U. carpinifolia_. Lindl. Leaves ovato-acuminate, coriaceous, strongly veined, simply crenate, serrate, slightly oblique and cordate at the base, shining, but rather scabrous above, smooth beneath. Branches bright-brown, nearly smooth. Grows four miles from Stratford-on-Avon, on the road to Alcester. 5. _U. glabra_. Miller. Leaves ovato-lanceolate, acuminate, doubly and evenly crenate-serrate, cuneate and oblique at the base, becoming quite smooth above, smooth or glandular beneath, with a few hairs in the axillæ. Branches bright-brown, smooth, wiry, weeping. Fruit obovate, naked, deeply cloven. [Greek: Beta]. _glandulosa_. Leaves very glandular beneath, [Greek: gamma]. _latifolia_. Leaves oblong, acute, very broad. Grows in woods and hedges; [Greek: Beta]. near Ludlow; [Greek: gamma]. at West Hatch, in Essex. Flowers in March. N. B. To this species the Downton Elm and Scampston Elm of the nurseries probably belong. 6. _U. stricta_. Lindl. _Cornish Elm_. Leaves obovate, cuspidate, cuneate at the base, evenly and nearly doubly crenate-serrate, strongly veined, coriaceous, very smooth and shining above, smooth beneath, with hairy axillæ. Branches bright-brown, smooth, rigid, erect, very compact. [Greek: Beta] _parvifolia_. Leaves much smaller, less oblique at the base, finely and regularly crenate, acuminate rather than cuspidate. Grows in Cornwall and North Devon; [Greek: Beta] the less common. 7. _U. montana_. Bauh. _Witch Elm_. Leaves obovate, cuspidate, doubly and coarsely serrate, cuneate and nearly equal at the base, always exceedingly scabrous above, evenly downy beneath. Branches not corky, cinereous, smooth. Fruit rhomboid, oblong, scarcely cloven, naked. _U. campestris_. Willd. _U. effusa_. Sibth., not of others. _U. nuda_. Chr. _U. glabra_, Hudson, according to Smith. N. B. Of this, the Giant Elm and the Chichester Elm of the nurseries are varieties. [Illustration: THE HAWTHORN-TREE.] 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. And with these, and a thousand such associations as these, we cannot but feel emotions of no ordinary nature when we behold this beautiful tree." And Gilpin admits, in another part of his _Forest Scenery_, that the Hawthorn, when entangled with an oak, or mixing with other trees, may be beautiful. Loudon describes "the Hawthorn, _C. oxyacantha_, in its wild state, as a shrub, or small tree, with a smooth, blackish bark, and very hard wood. The branches are numerous and slender, furnished with sharp, awl-shaped spines. The leaves are of a deep smooth green, more or less deeply three-lobed, or five-lobed, cut and serrated, wedge-shaped, or rounded. The flowers have white petals, frequently pink, or almost scarlet, and sweet-scented." Its fragrance indeed is great, and its bloom is spread over it in profusion. Marke the faire blooming of the Hawthorne tree, Who, finely cloathed in a robe of white, Fills full the wanton eye with May's delight. Chaucer. While "in autumn," says Gilpin, "the Hawthorn makes its best appearance. Its glowing berries produce a rich tint, which often adds great beauty to the corner of a wood, or the side of some crowded clump." [Illustration: Leaves, Flowers, and Berries of _C. oxyacantha._] There are many remarkable trees of this kind, but the only one we shall here particularly mention is Queen Mary's Thorn, which is thus described in that splendid work, the _Arboretum Britannicum_:--"The parent tree is in a garden near Edinburgh, which once belonged to the Regent Murray, and is now, 1836, in the possession of Mr. Cowan, a paper manufacturer. It is very old, and its branches have somewhat of a drooping character; but whether sufficiently so to constitute a variety worth propagating as a distinct kind, appears to us very doubtful. It may be interesting, however, to some, to continue, by extension, the individual tree under which the unfortunate Queen is supposed to have spent many hours. The fruit of this variety is rather above the middle size, long, fleshy, of a deep red, and good to eat. The height of the parent tree is thirty-three feet, and the diameter of the head thirty-six feet; the trunk divides into two limbs, at fifteen inches from the ground, one of which is one foot four inches in diameter, and the other one foot. The tree is healthy and vigorous, though, if it be true that Queen Mary sat under its shade, it must be nearly three hundred years old." The Hawthorn is found in most parts of Europe, and appears to have been of use in England from a very early period, as in all old works on husbandry ample directions are given for the planting and cultivation of the Thorn. In Tusser's _Five Hundred Points in Good Husbandry_ we find the following directions: Go plough or delve up, advised with skill, The breadth of a ridge, and in length as you will; Where speedy quickset for a fence you will draw, To sow in the seed of the bramble and Haw. If intended for seed, the haws should not be gathered until the end of October, when they become blackish; and even then they rarely vegetate before the second year. The proper mode of preparing them is as follows:--If you do not sow them immediately, as soon as they are gathered, spread them on an airy floor for five or six weeks, till the seeds are dry and firm; then plunge them into water, and divest them wholly of their pulp by rubbing them between your hands with a little sand; spread them again on the loft three or four days, till quite dry; mix them with fine loose sandy mould, in quantity not less than the bulk of the seeds, and lay them in a heap against a south wall, covering them over, three or four inches deep, with soil of the same quality as that with which they are mixed. If you do not sow them in the spring, in this situation let them remain till the second spring, as the seeds, if sown, will not appear the first year. That the berries may be as equally mixed with the soil as possible, turn over the heaps once in two months, blending the covering with the seeds, and, at every turning, give them a fresh covering in the winter months. They should be sown the first dry weather in February, or the beginning of March. Separate them from the loose soil in which they were mixed, with a wire sieve. The ground should be good, dry, fresh land, well prepared, and the seeds beat down with the back of a spade, and then covered about half an inch thick with mould; or they may be dropped in drills about eight inches apart. The utility of the Hawthorn is chiefly for fences. The wood is hard, and the root of an old Thorn is an excellent material for boxes and combs, and is curiously and naturally wrought. It is white, but of a somewhat yellow hue, and is capable of a very high polish. [Illustration: THE HAZEL-TREE.] THE HAZEL-TREE. [_Corylus_.[G] Nat. Ord.--_Amentiferæ_; Linn.--_Monoec. Polyan._] [G] _Corylus_. Barren catkin long, pendulous, cylindrical. Scales 3-lobed, middle lobe covering the 2 lateral lobes. Stamens 8. Anther 1-celled. Perianth none. Fertile flowers, several surrounded by a scaly involucre. Styles 2. Nut 1-seeded, inclosed in the enlarged coriaceous laciniated involucre. The common Hazel, _C. avellana_, is a native of all the temperate climates of Europe and Asia, and grows wild in almost every part of Britain, from Cornwall to Caithness. Although never arriving at the bulk of a timber-tree, it yet claims our notice, among the natives of the forest, on various accounts. Its flowers are among the first to make their appearance, which is generally so early as the end of January, and in a month's time they are in full bloom; these are small, and of a beautiful red colour. Its fruit-bearing buds make a splendid show in March, when they burst and disclose the bright crimson of their shafts. The common Hazel is known at once by its bushy habit; by its roundish-cordate taper-pointed, deeply serrated, light-green, downy leaves; by its rough light-coloured bark; and by its broad leafy husks, much lacerated and spreading at the point. The nuts are a very agreeable fruit, abounding in a mild oil, which is expressed and used by artists for mixing with their colours. We must, however, caution persons against eating too freely of this fruit, as it is difficult of digestion, and often proves hurtful when eaten in large quantities. They are ripe about harvest, and we ourselves have frequently enjoyed the pleasures of a _nutting_ party, and can fully enter into the spirit of the sketch in _Autumn_, by our admired bard, Thomson: Ye swains, now hasten to the Hazel bank, Where, down yon dale, the wildly-winding brook Falls hoarse from steep to steep. In close array, Fit for the thickets and the tangling shrub, Ye virgins come. For you their latest song The woodlands raise; the clustering nuts for you The lover finds amid the secret shade; And, where they burnish on the topmost bough, With active vigour crushes down the tree, Or shakes them ripe from the resigning husk. [Illustration: Leaves, Catkins, and Nuts of _C. avellana_.] We must also give here a description of the pleasures of nutting, from our favourite poet--the poet of nature--Wordsworth: --It seems a day (I speak of one from many singled out) One of those heavenly days which cannot die; When in the eagerness of boyish hope, I left our cottage-threshold, sallying forth With a huge wallet o'er my shoulders slung, A nutting-crook in hand, and turned my steps Toward the distant woods. * * * * * * * Among the woods And o'er the pathless rocks I forced my way, Until at length I came to one dear nook Unvisited, where not a broken bough Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign Of devastation! but the Hazels rose Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters hung, A virgin scene! A little while I stood, Breathing with such suppression of the heart As joy delights in; and with wise restraint, Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed The banquet,--or beneath the trees I sate Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played. * * * * * * * * * * * * Then up I rose, And dragged on earth each branch and bough with crash And merciless ravage, and the shady nook Of Hazels, and the green and massy bower Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up Their quiet being; and unless I now Confound my present feelings with the past, Even then, when from the bower I turned away Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings, I felt a sense of pain when I beheld The silent trees, and the intruding sky. The nut is a favourite food of the squirrels, which hoard them up for winter store, being careful always to select the best. It is commonly remarked, that a plentiful year for nuts is the same for wheat. In order to raise the Hazel, the nuts must be gathered in autumn. These must be carefully preserved until February in a moist place; then, having the ground well ploughed and harrowed, sow them in drills drawn at one yard distance. When the young plants appear they must be kept clear from weeds, and remain under this careful cultivation till the weeds are no longer to be feared. As they grow they should not be permitted to stand too thick, but be kept thinned, until the plants are left a yard asunder each way. Virgil says, Hazels, from set and suckers, take. From these they thrive very well, the shoots being of the scantling of small wands and switches, or somewhat larger, and such as have divers hairy twigs, which are not to be disbranched, any more than their roots, unless by a very discreet hand. Thus, a copse of Hazels being planted about autumn, may be cut the next spring within three or four inches of the ground, when new shoots will soon grow up in clusters, and in tufts of fair poles of twenty, or sometimes thirty feet long. Evelyn, however, recommends that these offsets should be allowed to grow two or three years, until they have taken strong hold, when they may be cut close to the very earth, the feeble ones especially. The rate of growth, under favourable circumstances, is from one to two feet for the first two or three years after planting; after which, if trained to a single stem, the tree grows slower, attaining the height of about twelve feet in ten years, and never growing much higher, unless drawn up by other trees. It is seldom, however, allowed to grow to maturity, being usually cut down before that period. [Illustration: THE HOLLY-TREE.] THE HOLLY-TREE. [_Ilex._[H] Nat. Ord.--_Aquifoliaceæ_; Linn.--_Tetram. Tetrag._] [H] _Ilex._ Calyx inferior, 4 or 5-toothed, persistent. Corolla rotate, 4 or 5-cleft. Stigmas 4, sessile, or nearly so; distinct or united. Fruit a spherical berry, 4-celled, each cell 1-seeded. Flowers sometimes polygamous. Above all the evergreens which enrich our landscapes, there is none to be compared to the common Holly, _I. aquifolium_. This was a favourite plant with Evelyn. It grew spontaneously and luxuriantly near his own residence in Surrey, in a vale anciently called Holmes' Dale, and famous for the flight of the Danes; he expresses his wonder that Britons seek so eagerly after foreign plants, and at a vast expense, while they neglect the culture of this incomparable tree, whether it be cultivated for utility or ornament. He speaks in raptures of it: "Is there under heaven a more glorious and refreshing object of the kind, than an impenetrable hedge, of about four hundred feet in length, nine feet high, and five in diameter, which I can show in my gardens at Say's Court, Deptford, at any time of the year, glittering with its armed and varnished leaves; the taller standards at orderly distances, blushing with their natural coral." The leaves of the common Holly are ovate, acute, spinous, wavy, thorny, and shining; the lower leaves being very spinous, while the upper ones, especially on old trees, are entire. The flowers are white, appearing in May, and the berries, which are red, ripen in September, and remain on the tree all the winter. Gilpin remarks that the Holly can hardly be called a tree, though it is a large shrub, and a plant of singular beauty; but he cannot accord with the learned naturalist (Evelyn) in the whole of his rapturous encomium on his hedge at Say's Court. He recommends it, not as a hedge, but to be planted in a forest, where, mixed with oak, or ash, or other trees of the wood, it contributes to form the most beautiful scenes; blending itself with the trunks and skeletons of the winter, or with the varied greens of summer. And as far as an individual bush can be beautiful, the Holly is extremely so. It has, besides, to recommend it, that it is among the hardiest and stoutest plants of English growth. It thrives in all soils, and in all situations. At Dungeness, in Kent, it flourishes even among the pebbles of the beach. It abounds, more or less, in the remains of all aboriginal forests, and perhaps, at present, it prevails nowhere to a greater extent than in the remains of Needwood Forest, in Staffordshire; there are likewise many fine trees in the New Forest, in Hampshire. It is also abundant on the banks of the river Findhorn, in Aberdeenshire; but it is not very common in Ireland, except about the lakes of Killarney, where it attains a large size. [Illustration: Leaves, Flowers, and Berries of _I. aquifolium._] Why Gilpin should hesitate about considering the Holly a tree, we are at a loss to conceive, as it grows to the height of thirty feet, and, under cultivation, to sixty feet or upwards, and yields timber of considerable value. Being the whitest of all hard woods, it is useful for inlaying, especially under thin plates of ivory, rendering the latter more conspicuous; and also for veneering. It is much used by the turner and mathematical instrument maker, and for handles for the best riding-rods, &c. The Holly is a very valuable plant for fences; it is seldom attacked by insects, and, if shorn, becomes so impenetrable that birds cannot obtain access thereto to build their nests. On these accounts it is particularly valuable to the farmer for hedges; the chief objection to it for this purpose is, the slowness of its growth while young, and the difficulty of transplanting the plants when grown to a moderate size. Mr. Sang says, that Holly hedges are the best for making durable fences, and afford the greatest degree of shelter, especially during the winter months; no plant endures the shears better than the Holly; a hedge of it may be carried to a great height, and consequently it is well fitted for situations where strength and shelter are required; it luxuriates most in a rich sandy loam, although there are few soils in which it will not grow. After planting, the Holly makes but indifferent progress for a few years; but after it becomes established in the ground, or about the third or fourth year after planting, no fence whatever will outgrow the Holly. "I have seen hedges," says Evelyn, "or stout walls, of Holly, twenty feet high, kept upright, and the gilded sort budded low; and in two or three places one above another, shorn and fashioned into columns and pilasters, architecturally shaped, and at due distance; than which nothing can possibly be more pleasant, the berry adorning the intercolumniations with scarlet festoons and encarpa." The employment of the Holly at Christmas for ornamenting churches and dwelling-houses, is believed to have come down to us from the Druids, who made use of it in their religious ceremonies. The name Holly is supposed to be a corruption of the word _holy_, as Dr. Turner, one of the earliest English writers on plants, calls it holy, and holy tree, which appellation was probably given to it on account of its use in holy places; the German name, Christdorn, the Danish name, Christorn, and the Swedish name, Christtorn, seem to justify this conjecture. It is also styled Holy in a carol written in its praise in the time of Henry VI., preserved in the Harleian MSS., No. 5396, and printed in Loudon's _Arboretum_: Nay, Ivy, nay, it shall not be I wys; Let Holy hafe the maystry, as the maner ys, Holy stond _in the halle_, fayre to behold; Ivy stond _without the dore_; she is full sore a cold. Holy and hys mery men they dansyn and they syng, Ivy and hur maydenys they wepyn and they wryng. Ivy hath a lybe; she laghtit with the cold, So mot they all hafe that wyth Ivy hold. Holy hath berys as red as any rose, They foster the hunter, kepe him from the doo. Ivy hath berys as black as any slo; Ther com the oule and ete hym as she goo. Holy hath byrdys, aful fayre flok, The nyghtyngale, the poppyngy, the gayntyl laverok, Good Ivy! what byrdys ast thou! Non but the Howlet that "How! How!" The disciples of Zoroaster believe that the sun never shadows the Holly-tree; and there are still some followers of this king in Persia, who throw water which has been in the bark of the Holly in the face of new-born children. Southey, in a very elegant poem, which is printed in the _Sentiment of Flowers_, in the article entitled Foresight, of which quality the Holly is considered emblematical, has noticed the circumstance of the lower leaves of large plants being spinous, while the upper are entire. [Illustration: THE HORNBEAM.] THE HORNBEAM. [_Carpinus_.[I] Nat. Ord.--_Amentiferæ_; Linn.--_Monoec. Polyan._] [I] _Carpinus_. Barren catkin long, cylindrical. Scales roundish. Stamens 5 to 14. Anther 1-celled. Fertile flower in a lax catkin. Scales large, leaf-like, 3-lobed, 2-flowered. Styles 2. Nut ovate, 1-seeded. The Common Hornbeam, _C. betulus_, is a native of England and Ireland, and of the south of Scotland, and is also indigenous throughout the greater part of Europe and western Asia, but not in Africa. Picturesquely considered, the Hornbeam is very nearly allied to the beech. When suffered to grow it will be like it, and attain to a great height, with a fine straight trunk; it is very common in many parts of England, but is rarely allowed to become a timber-tree, being generally pollarded by the country people. It is, therefore, usually seen only in clipped hedges, where it is very obedient to the knife, and, with a little care, will never presume to appear out of form. It is excellent for forming tall hedges, or screens, in nursery grounds or ornamental gardens. That admirable _espalier_ hedge in the long middle walk of Luxemburg garden at Paris (than which there is nothing more graceful), is planted of this tree; and so is that cradle, or close walk, with that perplexed canopy which covers the seat in her Majesty's garden at Hampton Court; these hedges are tonsile, but where they are maintained to fifteen or twenty feet in height (which is very frequent in the places before mentioned), they are to be cut and kept in order with a scythe of four feet long, and very little falcated; this is fixed on a long sneed, or straight handle, and does wonderfully expedite the trimming of these and the like hedges. The leaves of the Hornbeam somewhat resemble those of the elm, but are smoother; they are cordate, doubly serrate, pointed, plaited when young, and have numerous parallel, transverse, hairy ribs; their colour is a darkish green, changing to a russet brown in autumn, and they remain on the tree, like those of the beech, till spring. The buds are rather long and pointed. The flowers appear at the same time as the leaves. The male catkins are loose, scaly, of a yellowish colour, and about two or three inches long; the female catkins are much smaller, and, when young, are covered with close brownish scales, which gradually increase, and form unequally three-lobed, sharply serrated, veiny, dry, pale-green bracts, each enveloping an angular nut, scarcely bigger than a grain of barley. These nuts ripen in October, and fall with the capsules. The bark of the Hornbeam is light-gray and smooth, and the wood very white, tough, and strong. It is used for yokes, handles for tools, and cogs for mill-wheels; it is also much valued by the turner. It is very inflammable, and will burn like a candle, for which purpose it was formerly employed. The inner bark is much used in the north of Europe for dyeing yellow. [Illustration: Leaves and Flowers of _C. betulus_.] When raised from seed, the common Hornbeam acquires the usual magnitude of the beech, to which, as before stated, it is similar in its appearance. In the neighbourhood of London the rate of growth may be considered from twelve to eighteen inches a-year for the first ten years, and the tree will attain its full size in between fifty and sixty years; its longevity may be considered as equal to that of the beech. Hanbury says that this tree is peculiarly grateful to hares and rabbits; and if so, the planting of it among other trees and shrubs might be the means of saving them from being injured by these creatures. The Hornbeam preserves itself from the butting of the deer, by its mode of throwing out its branches; on this account it should be cultivated in parks, as well as for its beauty and shelter. The regular growth of the Hornbeam is referred to by Fawkes, in his _Bramham Park_: Here spiry firs extend their lengthened ranks, There violets blossom on the sunny banks; Here Hornbeam hedges regularly grow, There hawthorn whitens and wild roses blow. The Hornbeam is recommended to be planted on cold, barren hills, as in such situations it will flourish where few other trees will grow; it also resists the winds much better than the generality of trees, and, at the same time, it is not slow of growth. In such situations, Dr. Hunter observes that he noticed some specimens nearly seventy feet high, having large, noble stems, perfectly straight and sound. There was a fine specimen of this tree at Bargoly, in Galloway, which measured, in 1780, six feet two inches in circumference. It had twenty feet of clear trunk, and was seventy feet high. [Illustration: THE HORSE-CHESTNUT TREE.] THE HORSE-CHESTNUT TREE. [_Æsculus._ Nat. Ord.--_Æsculaceæ_; Linn.--_Heptan. Monog._] The Common Horse-chestnut, _Æ. hippocastanum_, is supposed to be a native of the north of India, and appears to have been introduced into England about the year 1575. It is a tree of the largest size, with an erect trunk and a pyramidal head. It forms its foliage generally in a round mass, with little appearance of those breaks which are so much to be admired, and which contribute to give an airiness and lightness, at least a richness and variety, to the whole mass of foliage. This tree is, however, chiefly admired for its flower, which in itself is beautiful; but the whole tree together in flower is a glaring object, totally unharmonious and unpicturesque. In some situations, indeed, and amidst a profusion of other wood, a single Horse-chestnut or two in bloom may be beautiful. As it forms an admirable shade, it may be of use, too, in thickening distant scenery, or in screening an object at hand; for there is no species of foliage, however heavy, nor any species of bloom, however glaring, which may not be brought, by some proper contrast, to produce a good effect. It is generally, however, considered one of the most ornamental trees in our plantations. Evelyn styles it a tree of singular beauty and use; and Miss Twamley, in her elegant volume, the _Romance of Nature_, breaks into raptures in speaking of it. "Few trees," she says, "are so magnificent in foliage as the Horse-chestnut, with its large fan-like leaves, far more resembling those of some tropical plant than the garb of a forest-tree in climes like ours; but when these are crowned with its pyramids of flowers, so splendid in their distant effect, and so exquisitely modelled and pencilled when we gather and examine their fair forms--is it not then the pride of the landscape? If the Oak--the true British Oak--be the forest king, let us give him at least a partner in his majesty; and let the Chestnut, whose noble head is crowned by the hand of spring with a regal diadem, gemmed with myriads of pearly, and golden, and ruby flowers, let her be queen of the woods in bonny England; and while we listen to the musical hum of bees, as they load themselves with her wealth of honey, we will fancy they are congratulating their noble and generous friend on her new honours." The leaves of the Horse-chestnut are large, of a deep green colour, fine, and palmated, and appear very early in the spring; it is naturally uniform in its growth. In the spring it produces long spikes, with beautiful flowers white and variegated, generally in such number as to cover the whole tree, and to give it the appearance of one gigantic bouquet. No flowering shrub is rendered more gay by its blossoms than this tall tree; thus it combines beauty with grandeur, in a degree superior to any other vegetable of these climates. In Howitt's _Forest Minstrel_, we find the following poetical allusion: For in its honour prodigal nature weaves A princely vestment, and profusely showers, O'er its green masses of broad palmy leaves, Ten thousand waxen pyramidal flowers; And gay and gracefully its head it heaves Into the air, and monarch-like it towers. The buds of this tree, before they shoot out leaves, become turgid and large, so that they have a good effect to the eye long before the leaves appear; and it is peculiar to the Horse-chestnut, that as soon as the leading shoot is come out of the bud, it continues to grow so fast as to be able to form its whole summer's shoot in about three weeks' or a month's time: after this it grows little or nothing more in length, but thickens, and becomes strong and woody, and forms the buds for the next year's shoot; the leaves are blunt, spear-shaped, and serrated, growing by sevens on one stalk, the middle one longest. The flowers are in full blossom about May, and, on fine trees, make a pleasing appearance; they continue in bloom for a month or more. [Illustration: (Leaves, Flowers, and Nuts of _Æ. hippocastanum_)] In June that Chestnut shot its blossomed spires Of silver upward 'mid the foliage dark; As if some sylvan deity had hung Its dim umbrageousness with votive wreaths. Thus, Mr. Moir's Horse-chestnut put forth its bloom in June. The fruit ripens about the end of September or the beginning of October. We quote the following singular fact from the _Magazine of Natural History_:--"The downy interior of the Horse-chestnut buds are: protected from the wet by a covering of a gummy substance. Miss Kent says, 'that we cannot have a better specimen of the early formation of plants in their bud than in that of the Horse-chestnut.' A celebrated German naturalist detached from this tree, in the winter season, a flower bud not larger than a pea, and first took off the external covering, which he found consisted of seventeen scales; having removed these scales, and the down which formed the internal covering of the bud, he discovered four branch leaves surrounding a spike of flowers, the latter of which was so distinctly visible, that, with the aid of a microscope, he not only counted sixty-eight flowers, but could discern the pollen of the stamens, and perceive that some were opaque and some transparent. This experiment may be tried by any one, as the flowers may be perceived with a common magnifying glass; but as detaching the scales requires care, it would be advisable for an unpractised student to gather the bud in early spring, when the sun is just beginning to melt away the gum with which the scales are sealed together." The Horse-chestnut is extremely well adapted to parks, not only because it grows to a large size and forms a beautiful regular head, thereby becoming a pleasing object at a distance, but also on account of the quantity of nuts it yields, which are excellent food for deer, so that where great numbers of deer are kept, the planting of these trees in abundance is to be recommended. It is also very suitable for avenues, or walks, though it has been objected that its leaves fall early in the autumn. This must be admitted; yet we think it fully compensates for the loss by the exhibition of its light-brown nuts, some on the ground, some ready to fall, and others just peeping out of their cells. The finest avenue of these trees in England is that at Bushy Park. There are many fine specimens of this tree in various parts of the country. In Suffolk, at Finborough Hall, one, eighty years planted, is one hundred feet high; the diameter of its trunk, at one foot from the ground, is five feet. In the church-yard at Bolton-on-Dearne, in Yorkshire, there are some fine specimens; one sixty-six feet high, and two feet eight inches in diameter at the ground; and another sixty-eight feet high, and two feet six inches in diameter. But the largest in Britain is said to be at Trocton, in Lincolnshire, fifty-nine feet high. Loudon says this is a most magnificent tree, with immense branches extending over the space of three hundred and five feet, in circumference; and the branches are so large as to require props, so that at a little distance it looks like an Indian banyan tree. The Horse-chestnut is propagated from the nut, of which a sufficient quantity should be gathered as they fall from the trees, and soon afterwards either sown or mixed up with earth, until the spring; because, if exposed to the atmosphere, they will lose their germinating power in a month. After being transplanted into the nursery, and having there attained a sufficient size, the young trees must be taken out with care, the great side shoots and bruised parts of the roots lopped off, and then planted in large holes, level with the surface of the ground at the top of their roots, the fibres being all spread and lapped in the fine mould, and the turf also worked to the bottom: October is the best season for this work. Like most other trees, this delights in good fat land, but it will grow exceedingly well on clayey and marly grounds; large trees have been known to look luxuriant and healthy in very cold barren earth. It will attain a very large size in a few years. The timber of this tree is not very valuable, especially where great strength is required, nor will it bear exposure to the air. It is, however, of some use to the turner, and also serviceable for flooring, linings to carts, &c. Du Hamel recommends it as suitable for water-pipes, which are kept constantly underground. The fruit is of a farinaceous quality, but so bitter as to be useless for food. Goats, sheep, and deer are said to be very fond of them; the bark has considerable astringency, and may be used for tanning leather. A decoction of the rind will dye the hair of a golden hue. [Illustration: THE LARCH-TREE.] THE LARCH-TREE. [_Abies Larix._[J] Nat. Ord.--_Coniferæ_; Linn.--_Monoec. Monand._] [J] Abies Larix. _Lind._ Pinnis L. _Linn._ L. Europæa. Lond. The Larch claims the Alps and Apennines for its native country, where it thrives in higher regions of the air than any known tree of its large bulk, hanging over rocks and precipices which have never been trod by human feet. It is often felled by the Alpine peasant, to fall athwart some yawning chasm, where it affords an awful passage from cliff to cliff, while the roaring cataract below, is only seen in surges of vapour. The Larch is first mentioned as growing in England in 1629, but it did not become plentiful in nurseries until 1759. It is stated, in the _Transactions of the Highland Society_ (vol. xi. p. 169), that it was first planted as a forest-tree at Goodwood, the seat of the Duke of Richmond, near Chichester; but it was not until after 1784, on the Society of Arts offering gold medals and premiums for its cultivation, that it became generally planted. The following are some of the largest numbers of trees planted about that time by the respective parties:--The Bishop of Llandaff, 48,500, on the high grounds near Ambleside, in Westmoreland; W. Mellish, Esq. of Blythe, 47,500; George Wright, Esq. of Gildingwells, 11,573; and the late Earl of Fife, 181,813, in the county of Moray, in Scotland. The same spirit for planting this tree has continued to the present time, wherever the land has not been thought more valuable for other purposes. In 1820 the Society for promoting Arts, &c., presented his Grace the Duke of Devonshire with the gold medal, for planting 1,981,065 forest-trees, 980,128 of which were Larch. Of the introduction of the Larch into Scotland, it is stated by Headrick, in his _Survey of Forfarshire_: "It is generally supposed that Larches were brought into Scotland by one of the Dukes of Athol; but I saw three Larches of extraordinary size and age, in the garden near the mansion-house of Lockhart of Lee, on the northern banks of the Clyde, a few miles below Lanark. The stems and branches were so much covered with lichens, that they hardly exhibited any signs of life or vegetation. The account I heard of them was, that they were brought there by the celebrated Lockhart of Lee (who had been ambassador from Cromwell to France), soon after the restoration of Charles II. (about 1660). After Cromwell's death, thinking himself unsafe on account of having served the usurper, he retired for some time into the territories of Venice; he there observed the great use the Venetians made of Larches in ship-building, in piles for buildings, in the construction of their houses, and for other purposes; and when he returned home, he brought a great number of large plants, in pots, in order to try if they could be gradually made to endure the climate of Scotland. He nursed his plants in hot-houses, and in a greenhouse, sheltered from the cold, until they all died except the three alluded to. These, in desperation, he planted in the warmest and best sheltered part of his garden, where they attained an extraordinary height and growth." [Illustration: Foliage, Catkins; immature and perfect Cones; and Scale opened showing the Seeds of L. Europæa.] The Common Larch, _A. Larix_, may be described as "a tree, rising in favourable situations on the Alps, and also in Britain, from eighty to one hundred feet in height, with a trunk from three to four feet in diameter, and having a conical head. _Branches_ subverticillate, and spreading horizontally from the straight trunk; occasionally, however, rather pendulous, particularly when old. _Branchlets_ more or less pendulous. _Leaves_ linear, soft, blunt, or rounded at the points, of an agreeable light green colour; single or fasciculated; in the latter case many together round a central bud; spreading, and slightly recurved. _Male catkins_ without foot-stalks, globular, or slightly oblong, of a light yellow colour; and, together with the _female catkins_, or young cones, appearing in April and the beginning of May; the latter varying from a whitish to a bright red colour. _Cones_ of an oblong, ovate shape, erect, full one inch in length, and of a brownish colour when ripe. _Scales_ persistent, roundish, striated, and generally slightly waved, but not distinctly notched on the margin. _Bracts_ generally longer than the scales, particularly towards the base of the cones. _Seeds_ of an irregular or ovate form, fully one-eighth of an inch long, and more than half-surrounded by the smooth, shining, persistent pericarp. Cotyledons five to seven."--_Lawson's Manual._ In the _Memoirs of the Royal Society of Agriculture at Paris_, for the year 1787, there is an Essay by M. le President de la Tour d'Aigues, on the culture of the Larch, in which it is celebrated as one of the most useful of all timber trees. He tells us that in his own garden he has rails which were put up in the year 1743, partly of oak and partly of Larch. The former, he says, have yielded to time, but the latter are still sound. And in his Castle of Tour d'Aigues he has Larchen beams of twenty inches square, which are sound, though above two hundred years old. The finest trees he knows of this kind, grew in some parts of Dauphiny, and in the forest of Baye, in Provence, where there are Larches, he tells us, which two men cannot encompass. The timber is valuable for many purposes. It is said, that old dry Larch will take such a polish as to become almost transparent, and that, in this state, it may be wrought into very beautiful wainscot. In our encomium of the Larch we must not omit that the old painters used it, more than any other wood, to paint on, before the use of canvas became general. Many of Raphael's pictures are painted on boards of Larch. It is also used by the Italians for picture-frames, because no other wood gives gilding such force and brilliancy. We are told that this is the reason why their gilding on wood is so much superior to ours. In Switzerland they cover the roofs of their houses with shingles made of Larch. These are usually cut about one foot square and half an inch in thickness, which they nail to the rafters. At first the roof appears white, but in the course of two or three years it becomes as black as coal, and all the joints are stopped by the resin which the sun extracts from the pores of the wood. This shining varnish renders the roof impenetrable to wind or rain: this is the chief covering, and, some say, an incombustible one. From the Larch, too, is extracted what is commonly called Venice turpentine. This substance, or natural balsam, flows at first without incision; when it has done dropping the poor people make incisions, at about two or three feet from the ground, into the trunk of the trees, and into these they fix narrow troughs, about twenty inches long; the end of these troughs is hollow, like a ladle, and in the middle is a small hole bored for the turpentine to run into a receiver which is placed below it. The people who gather it, visit the tree, morning and evening, from the end of May to September, to collect the turpentine out of the receivers. When it flows out of the tree the turpentine is clear like water, and of a yellowish white; but as it becomes older it thickens, and changes to a citron colour. It is procured in great abundance in the neighbourhood of Lyons, and in the valley of St. Martin, near Lucerne, Switzerland. It is only after the tree has attained the thickness of ten or twelve inches in diameter, that it is thought worth while to collect the turpentine; and if the tree remain in vigorous growth, it will continue, for forty or fifty years, to yield annually seven or eight pounds of turpentine. The cones of the Larch, intended for seed, ought to be gathered towards the latter end of November, and then kept in a dry place till the following spring, when, being spread on a cloth and exposed to the sun, or laid before the fire, the scales will open and shed their seed. These should be sown on a border exposed to the east, where they will be affected by the morning sun only, as the plants do not prosper so well where the sun lies much on them. In autumn the young plants may be pricked out into other beds, as soon as they have shed their leaves, at the distance of six inches each way. In two years the young trees will be ready to plant where they are intended to stand; then they need not be more than eight or ten feet apart from each other, but at less distance on exposed situations. It is now well-known, that the Larch will grow in wild and barren situations better than in a luxuriant soil; and this tree is even apt to grow top-heavy in too much shelter and nourishment. No tree has been introduced into Britain with such remarkable success as the Larch. Phillips says, "The face of our country has, within the last thirty years, been completely changed by the numerous plantations of Larch that have sprung up on every barren spot of these kingdoms, from the southern shores to the extremity of the north, and from the Land's End to the mouth of the Thames. So great has been the demand for young trees of this species of pine, that one nurseryman in Edinburgh raised above five million of these trees in the year 1796. We have introduced no exotic tree that has so greatly embellished the country in general. Its pale and delicate green, so cheerfully enlivening the dark hue of the fir and the pine, and its elegant spiral shape, contrasting with the broad-spreading oak, is a no less happy contrast; whilst its stars of fasciculate foliage are displayed to additional advantage, when neighbouring with the broad-leaved æsculus, the glossy holly, the drooping birch, or the tremulous aspen." Sir T. D. Lauder considers that "The Larch is unquestionably by much the most enduring timber we have. It is remarkable, that whilst red wood or heart wood is not formed at all in the other resinous trees till they have lived for many years, the larch, on the other hand, begins to make it soon after it is planted; and whilst you may fell a Scotch fir of thirty years old, and find no red wood in it, you can hardly cut down a young Larch large enough to be a walking-stick, without finding just such a proportion of red wood, compared to its diameter as a tree, as you will find in the largest Larch in the forest, when compared to its diameter. To prove the value of the Larch as a timber-tree, we believe, at the suggestion of the then Duke of Athol, posts of equal thickness and strength, some of Larch and others of oak, were driven down facing the river-wall, where they were alternately covered with water by the effect of the tide, and left dry by its fall. This species of alternation is the most trying of all circumstances for the endurance of timber, and accordingly the oaken posts decayed, and were twice renewed in the course of a very few years, whilst those which were made of Larch remained altogether unchanged." Of the Larch, Mr. Sang remarks that it "bears the ascendency over the Scotch pine in the following important circumstances: that it brings double the price, at least per measurable foot; that it will arrive at a useful timber size in one half, or a third part, of the time in general which the fir requires; and, above all, that the timber of the Larch, at thirty or forty years old, when planted in a soil and climate adapted to the production of perfect timber, is, in every respect, superior in quality to that of the fir at a hundred years old." On experimental observation, the Larch has been found, in Scotland, to increase annually, at six feet from the ground, about one inch and a half in circumference, on the trunks of trees from ten to fifty years of age. In the course of fifty years the tree will attain the height of eighty feet or upwards; and, in its native habitats, according to Willdenow, "it lives from one hundred and fifty to two hundred years." "Though we should least expect to find such a quality in a resinous tree like the Larch, it has been proved to make a beautiful hedge, and to submit with wonderful patience to the shears. We once saw a very pretty fence of this description in a gentleman's pleasure-grounds near Loch Lomond. The trees were planted at equal distances from each other, and being clipped, were half cut through towards the top, and bent down over each other, and, in, many instances, the top shoot of one had insinuated itself into that adjacent to it, so as to have become corporeally united to it; and, strange as it may seem, we actually found one top that had so inserted itself, which, having been rather deeply cut originally by the hedge-bill, had actually detached itself from its parent stock, and was now growing, grafted on the other, with the lower part of it pointing upwards into the air!"--_Sir T. D. Lauder._ There are ten or more varieties of the Larch in cultivation, but as these are probably only different forms of the same species, it is unnecessary to enumerate them. [Illustration: THE LIME, OR LINDEN TREE.] THE LIME, OR LINDEN TREE. [_Tilia._[K] _Europæa._ Nat. Ord.--_Tiliaceæ_; Linn.--_Polyand. Monog._] [K] _Generic characters_. Sepals 5, deciduous. Petals 5, with or without a scale at the base. Stamens indefinite, free, or polyadelphous. Ovary 5-celled, cells 2-seeded. Style 1. Fruit 1-celled, with 1 or 2 seeds. The Common Lime-tree grows naturally straight and taper, with a smooth erect trunk, and a fine spreading head, inclining to a conical form. In a good soil it arrives at a great height and size, and becomes a majestic object. Thus we read that The stately Lime, smooth, gentle, straight, and fair, With which no other dryad may compare, With verdant locks and fragrant blossoms decked, Does a large, even, odorate shade project. This beautiful tree is a native of the middle and north of Europe, and is said to have been highly esteemed among the Romans for its shade. Evelyn praises the Lime as being the most proper and beautiful for walks; as producing an upright body, smooth and even bark, ample leaves, sweet blossom, and a goodly shade, at the distance of eighteen or twenty feet. Those growing in St. James's Park, London, are said to have been planted at his suggestion. There are now many avenues of Limes in various parts of the country. At the termination of one at Colerton, Leicestershire, there is placed an urn with the following tribute to the memory of Sir Joshua Reynolds, written by Wordsworth at the request of the proprietor, Sir George Beaumont, Bart.:-- Ye Lime-trees, ranged before this hallowed urn, Shoot forth with lively power at spring's return; And be not slow a stately growth to rear Of pillars, branching off from year to year, Till they have learned to frame a darksome aisle,-- That may recal to mind that awful pile Where Reynolds, 'mid our country's noblest dead, In the last sanctity of fame is laid. There, though by right the excelling painter sleep, Where death and glory a joint Sabbath keep; Yet not the less his spirit would hold dear Self-hidden praise, and friendship's private tear; Hence, on my patrimonial grounds, have I Raised this frail tribute to his memory; From youth a zealous follower of the art That he professed, attached to him in heart; Admiring, loving, and with grief and pride, Feeling what England lost when Reynolds died. Loudon speaks of two ancient Lime-trees at Zoffingen, on the branches of which is placed a plank, in such a manner as to enable any one to walk from the one to the other; and thus people may not only walk, but even dance, upon the foliage of the tree. In the village of Villars en Morig, near Fribourg, there is a large Lime which existed there long before the battle of Morat (1476), and which is now of extraordinary dimensions; it was, in 1831, seventy feet high, and thirty-six feet in circumference at four feet from the ground, where it divided into large and perfectly sound branches. It must be nearly a thousand years old. And at Fribourg, in the public square, there is a large Lime, the branches of which are supported by pieces of wood. This tree was planted on the day when the victory was proclaimed of the Swiss over the Duke of Burgundy, Charles the Bold, in the year 1476; and it is a monument admirably accordant with the then feebleness of the Swiss republics, and the extreme simplicity of their manners. In 1831 the trunk of this tree measured thirteen feet nine inches in circumference. [Illustration: Leaves and Flowers of T. Europæa.] Botanically considered, the Common Lime is a large and handsome tree with spreading branches, thickly clothed with leaves twice the length of their petioles, cordate at the base, serrate, pointed, smooth--except a woolly tuft at the origin of each nerve beneath--unequal and entire at the base; stipules oval, smooth, in pairs at the base of each foot-stalk; flower-stalks axillar, cymose, each bearing an oblong, pale, smooth bract, united, for half its length, with the stalk; flowers of a greenish colour, growing in clusters of four or five together, and highly fragrant, especially at night. This renders them very attractive to the bees, which is referred to by Virgil, in his beautiful description of the industrious Corycian, thus translated by Martyn:--"He therefore was the first to abound with pregnant bees, and plentiful swarms, and to squeeze the frothing honey from the combs. He had Limes, and plenty of pines; and as many fruits as showed themselves in early blossom, so many did he gather ripe in early autumn."--_Geo._ iv. 127. The seeds of the Linden-tree rarely ripen in Britain; this tree is, therefore, properly propagated by layers, which must be made in the nursery in autumn; in one year they become rooted so as to allow of being removed. It will grow well in any soil or situation, but if planted in a rich loamy earth, the rapidity of its growth will be almost incredible. The timber of the Lime-tree is very serviceable, and much preferable to that of the willow, being stronger yet lighter. Because of its colour, which is of a pale yellow or white, and its easy working, and not being liable to split, architects form with it their models for buildings. The most elegant use to which it is applied is for carving, not only for small figures, but large statues in basso and alto relievo, as that of the Stoning of St. Stephen, with the structures and elevations about it; the trophies, festoons, fruitages, friezes, capitals, pedestals, and other ornaments and decorations about the choir of St. Paul's, executed by Gibbons, and other carvings by the same artist at Chatsworth, the seat of the Duke of Devonshire, and in Trinity College Library at Cambridge. It is even supposed by some that the blocks employed by Holbein, for wood engravings, were of this tree. Dodsley says-- Smooth Linden best obeys The carver's chisel; best his curious work Displays, in all its nicest touches. It is used by piano-forte makers for sounding-boards, and by cabinet-makers for a variety of purposes. The wood is also said to make excellent charcoal for gunpowder, even better than alder, and nearly as good as hazel, while baskets and cradles are made with the twigs of the Lime; and of the smoother side of the bark, tablets for writing; for the ancient Philyra is but our Tilia, of which Munting affirms he saw a book, made of the inner bark, written about 1000 years ago; such another was brought to the Count of St. Amant, governor of Arras, 1662, for which there were given 8000 ducats by the Emperor. It contains a work of Cicero, _De ordinanda Republica et de Inveniendis Orationum Exordiis_, which is still unprinted, and is now in the imperial library of Vienna, after having been the greatest rarity in that of the celebrated Cardinal Mazarin, who died in 1661. The smoothness of the Lime-tree is thus alluded to by Cowper in the _Task_: Here the gray smooth trunks Of ash, or Lime, or beech, distinctly shine Within the twilight of their distant shades, There lost behind a rising ground, the wood Seems sunk and shortened to its topmost boughs. This peculiarity of the bark has also been noticed by Leigh Hunt, in the story of _Rimini_: Places of nestling green for poets made, Where, when the sunshine struck a yellow shade, The slender trunks to inward peeping sight, Thronged, in dark pillars, up the gold-green light. The leaves of the Lime-tree are also useful, and were esteemed so in common with those of the elm and poplar, both in a dried and green state for feeding cattle, by the Romans. The other two indigenous or naturalized species of Lime are-- 2. _The broad-leaved, T. grandifolia._ Ehrh. Flowers without nectaries; leaves roundish, cordate, pointed, serrate, downy, especially beneath, with hairy tufts at the origin of the veins; capsule turbinate, with prominent angles, downy.----_Flowers_ in August: found in woods and hedges. 3. _The small-leaved, T. parvifolia._ Ehrh. Flowers without nectaries; leaves scarcely longer than their petioles, roundish, cordate, serrate, pointed, glaucous beneath, with hairy tufts at the origin of the veins, and scattered hairy blotches; capsule roundish, with slender ribs, thin, brittle, nearly smooth.----_A handsome_ tree, distinguished from the former by its much smaller leaves and flowers: germen densely woolly: flowers in August: grows in woods in Essex, Sussex, &c.: frequent. [Illustration: THE MAPLE-TREE.] THE MAPLE-TREE. [_Acer._[L] Nat. Ord.--_Aceraceæ_; Linn. _Octan. Monog._] [L] _Generic characters._ Calyx inferior, 5-cleft. Petals 5, obovate. Fruit consisting of 2 capsules, united at the base, indehiscent and winged (a _samara_). Trees, with simple leaves and flowers, often polygamous, in axillary corymbs or racemes. The Common Maple (_A. campestre_) is found throughout the middle states of Europe, and in the north of Asia. It is common in hedges and thickets in the middle and south of England, but is rare in the northern counties and in Scotland, and is not indigenous in Ireland. It is a rather small tree, of no great figure, so that it is seldom seen employed in any nobler service than in filling up a part in a hedge, in company with thorns and briers. In a few instances, where it is met with in a state of maturity, its form appears picturesque. It is not much unlike the oak, only it is more bushy, and its branches are closer and more compact. Although it seldom attains a height of more than twenty feet, yet in favourable situations it rises to forty feet, as may be seen in Eastwell Park, Kent, and in Caversham Park, near Reading. The Rev. William Gilpin, from whose _Remarks on Forest Scenery_ we have derived much interesting matter, is buried under the shade of a very large Maple in the church-yard of Boldre, in the New Forest, Hampshire. The botanical characters of _A. campestre_ are:--_Leaves_ about one and a half inch in width, downy while young, as are their foot-stalks, obtusely five-lobed, here and there notched, sometimes quite entire. Flowers green, in clusters that terminate the young shoots, hairy, erect, short, and somewhat corymbose. Anthers hairy between the lobes. Capsules downy, spreading horizontally, with smooth, oblong, reddish wings. Bark corky, and full of fissures; that of the branches smooth. Flowers in May and June. The ancients held this tree in great repute. Ovid compares it to the Lime: The Maple not unlike the lime-tree grows, Like her, her spreading arms abroad she throws, Well clothed with leaves, but that the Maple's bole Is clad by nature with a ruder stole. [Illustration: Leaves, Flowers, and Fruit of _A. campestre_.] Pliny speaks as highly of its knobs and its excrescences, called the _brusca_ and _mollusca_, as Dr. Plot does of those of the ash. The veins of these excrescences in the Maple, Pliny tells us, were so variegated that they exceeded the beauty of any other wood, even of the citron; though the citron was in such repute at Rome, that Cicero, who was neither rich nor expensive, was tempted to give 10,000 sesterces for a citron table. The brusca and mollusca, Pliny adds, were rarely of a size sufficient for the larger species of furniture, but in all smaller cabinet-work they were inestimable. Indeed, the whole tree was esteemed by the ancients on account of its variegated wood, especially the white, which is singularly beautiful. This is called the French Maple, and grows in northern Italy, between the Po and the Alps; the other has a curled grain, so curiously spotted, that it was called, from a near resemblance, the peacock's tail. So mad were people formerly in searching for the representations of birds, beasts, and other objects in the bruscum of this tree, that they spared no expense in procuring it. The timber is used for musical instruments, inlaying, &c., and is reckoned superior to most woods for turnery ware. Our poets generally place a Maple dish in every hermitage they speak of. Methinks that to some vacant hermitage My feet would rather turn,--to some dry nook Scooped out of living rock, and near a brook Hurled down a mountain-cave, from stage to stage, Yet tempering, for my sight, its bustling rage In the soft haven of a translucent pool; Thence creeping under forest arches cool, Fit haunt of shapes whose glorious equipage Would elevate my dreams. A beechen bowl, A Maple dish, my furniture should be; Crisp, yellow leaves my bed; the hooting owl My night-watch; nor should e'er the crested fowl From thorp or vil his matins sound for me, Tired of the world and all its industry. Wordsworth, _Eccl. Sk._, 22. Wilson and Cowper also furnish the hermit's cell with a Maple dish, while Mason notes one that lacked this article, deemed so requisite for such a habitation: --Many a visitant Had sat within his hospitable cave; From his Maple bowl, the unpolluted spring Drunk fearless, and with him partook the bread That his pale lips most reverently had blessed, With words becoming such a holy man. His dwelling a recess in some rude rock, Books, beads, and Maple dish his meagre stock. --It seemed a hermit's cell, Yet void of hour-glass, skull, and Maple dish. There is an American species of the Maple, _A. saccharinum_, which yields a considerable quantity of sap, from which the Canadians make sugar of an average quality. The season for tapping the trees is in February, March, and April. From a pint to five gallons of syrup may be obtained from one tree in a day; though, when a frosty night is succeeded by a dry and brilliant day, the rush of sap is much greater. The yearly product of sugar from each tree is about three pounds. Trees which grow in lone and moist places, afford a greater quantity of sap than those which occupy rising ground; but it is less rich in the saccharine principle. That of insulated trees, left standing in the middle of fields, or by the side of fences, is the best. It is also remarked, that in districts which have been cleared of other trees, and even of the less vigorous sugar maples, the product of the remainder is proportionally greater. The sap is converted into sugar by boiling, till reduced to the proper consistency for being poured into moulds. There are now cultivated in England more than twenty species of Maple, brought from every quarter of the globe, several of which are likely to prove hardy. They are among the most ornamental trees of artificial plantations, on account of the great beauty and variety of their foliage, which changes to a fine scarlet, or rich yellow, in autumn. The larger growing species are often many years before they come to flower, and, after they do so, they sometimes flower several years before they mature seeds. [Illustration: THE MOUNTAIN-ASH, OR ROWAN-TREE.] THE MOUNTAIN-ASH, OR ROWAN-TREE. [_Pyrus._[M] Nat. Ord.--_Rosaceæ_; Linn.--_Icosand. Pentag._] [M] _Generic characters._ Calyx superior, monosepalous, 5-cleft. Petals 5. Styles 2 to 5. Fruit a _pome_, 5-celled, each cell 2-seeded, cartilaginous. The Mountain-Ash (_P. aucuparia_) is a native of most parts of Europe, and western Asia. It is also found in Japan, and in the most northern parts of North America. In Britain it is common in woods and hedges in mountainous, but rather moist situations, in every part of the island, and also in Ireland. It forms an erect-stemmed tree, with an orbicular head. When fully grown, like every other description of _Pyrus_, it assumes a somewhat formal character, but in a young state its branches are disposed in a more loose and graceful manner. In the Scottish Highlands, according to Lauder, "it becomes a considerable tree. There, on some rocky mountain covered with dark pines and waving birch, which cast a solemn gloom over the lake below, a few Mountain-Ashes, joining in a clump, and mixing with them, have a fine effect. In summer the light green tint of their foliage, and in autumn the glowing berries which hang clustering upon them, contrast beautifully with the deeper green of the pines; and if they are happily blended, and not in too large a proportion, they add some of the most picturesque furniture with which the sides of those rugged mountains are invested." The stems of the Mountain-Ash are covered with a smooth gray bark, and the branches, while young, have a smooth purplish bark. The leaves are pinnate, downy beneath, serrated; panicle corymbose, with downy stalks; flowers numerous, white; fruit globose, scarlet, acid, and austere. Flowers in May and June. [Illustration: Leaves, Flowers, and Fruit of _P. aucuparia_.] The Mountain-Ash is almost always raised from seed, which may be sown any time from November to February. The tree grows rapidly for the first three or four years, attaining, in five years, the height of from eight to nine feet; after which it begins to form a head, and, in ten years, will attain the height of twenty feet. As it grows rapidly, even in the most exposed situations, it forms an admirable nurse-tree to the oak, and other slow-growing species; the more so as it is incapable of being drawn up by culture above a certain height, thereafter quietly submitting to be over-topped and destroyed, by the shade and drip of those which it was planted to shelter and protect. It is frequently planted for coppice-wood, the shoots being well adapted for poles, and for hoops, and the bark being in demand by tanners. The wood is fine-grained, hard, capable of being stained any colour, and of taking a high polish. It is much used for the husbandman's tools, goads, &c., and the wheelwright values it on account of its being homogeneous, or all heart. If the tree be large and fully grown, it will yield planks, boards, and timber. Next to the yew it was useful for bows--a circumstance we ought not to omit recording, if it were only to perpetuate the celebrity of our once English ancestors. It is named in a statute of Henry VIII. as being serviceable for this purpose. It makes excellent fuel; though Evelyn says he never observed any use, except that the blossoms are of an agreeable scent, and the berries offer such temptation to the thrushes, that, as long as they last, you may be sure of their company. Ale and beer brewed with these berries, being ripe, is esteemed an incomparable drink. In Wales, this tree is reputed so sacred, that there is scarcely a church-yard without one of them growing therein. And formerly--and, we believe, in some parts even now--on a certain day in the year many persons religiously wore a cross made of the wood. Keats, in his early poems, notices the loftiness of this tree, and its waving head: --He was withal A man of elegance and stature tall; So that the waving of his plumes would be High as the berries of a wild Ash-tree, Or the winged cap of Mercury. In former days, when superstition prevailed, the Mountain-Ash was considered an object of great veneration. Often at this day a stump of it is found in some old burying-place, or near the circle of a Druid temple, whose rites it formerly invested with its sacred shade. It was supposed to be, and in some places still is esteemed to be, possessed of the property of driving away witches and evil spirits, and this property is recorded in one of the stanzas of a very ancient song, called the _Laidley Worm of Spindleston Heughs:_ Their spells were vain, the hags return'd To the queen, in sorrowful mood, Crying that witches have no pow'r Where there is roan-tree wood. That the superstition respecting the virtues of this tree does exist in Yorkshire at the present day, we know, and of the truth of the following anecdote, related by Waterton, the author of the celebrated _Wanderings_, we have not the slightest doubt; it is printed in one of his communications to the _Magazine of Natural History_:--"In the village of Walton," says Mr. Waterton, "I have two small tenants; the name of one is James Simpson, and that of the other Sally Holloway; and Sally's stands a little before the house of Simpson. Some three months ago I overtook Simpson on the turnpike road, and I asked him if his cow was getting better, for his son had told me that she had fallen sick. 'She's coming on surprisingly, Sir,' quoth he; 'the last time the cow-doctor came to see her, "Jem," said he to me, looking earnestly at Old Sally's house; "Jem," said he, "mind and keep your cowhouse door shut before the sun goes down, otherwise I won't answer for what may happen to the cow." "Ay, ay, my lad," said I, "I understand your meaning; but I am up to the old slut, and I defy her to do me any harm now!"' 'And what has Old Sally been doing to you, James?' said I. 'Why, Sir,' replied he, 'we all know too well what she can do. She has long owed me a grudge; and my cow, which was in very good health, fell sick immediately after Sally had been seen to look in at the door of the cowhouse, just as night was coming on. The cow grew worse, and so I went and cut a bit of wiggin (Mountain-Ash), and I nailed the branches all up and down the cowhouse; and, Sir, you may see them there if you will take the trouble to step in. I am a match for Old Sally now, and she can't do me any more harm, so long as the wiggin branches hang in the place where I have nailed them. My poor cow will get better in spite of her.' Alas! thought I to myself, as the deluded man was finishing his story, how much there is yet to be done in our own country by the schoolmaster of the nineteenth century!" The Mountain-Ash, so esteemed among our northern neighbours as a protection against the evil designs of wizards and witches, is propagated by the Parisians for a very different purpose. It is used as one of the principal charms for enticing the French belles into the public gardens, where they are permitted to use all the spells and witcheries of which they are mistresses; and certainly this tree, ornamented by its brilliant scarlet fruit, has a most enchanting appearance when lighted up with lamps, in the months of August and September. The varieties of the Mountain-Ash are:-- 2. _P. fructu luteo_, with yellow berries. 3. _P. foliis variegatis_, with variegated leaves. 4. _P. fastigiata_, with the branches upright and rigid. 5. _P. pinnatifida_, with deeply pinnatified leaves. [Illustration: THE BLACK-FRUITED MULBERRY.] THE BLACK-FRUITED MULBERRY. [_Morus nigra._[N] Nat. Ord.--_Urticaceæ_; Linn.--_Monoec. Tetra._] [N] _Morus. Flowers_ unisexual; _barren_ flowers disposed in a drooping, peduncled, axillary spike; _fertile_ flowers in ovate, erect spikes. _Calyx_ of 4 equal sepals, imbricate in estivation, expanded in flowering. _Stamens_ 4. _Ovary_ 2-celled, one including one pendulous ovate, the other devoid of any. _Stigmas_ 2, long. Seed pendulous. The Black-fruited, or Common Mulberry, is generally supposed to be a native of Persia, where there are still masses of it found in a wild state. It was first brought to England in 1548, when some trees were planted at Sion, near London, one of which still survives. About 1608 James I. recommended by royal edict, and by letter in his own writing to the lord-lieutenant of every county, the planting of Mulberry-trees and the rearing of silk-worms, which are fed upon the leaves; also offering plants at three farthings each, and packets of Mulberry seeds to all who would sow them. Although the king failed to naturalize the production of silk in this country, he rendered the tree so fashionable, that there is scarcely an old garden or gentleman's seat throughout the country, which can be traced back to the seventeenth century, in which a Mulberry-tree is not to be found. It was at this time that Shakspeare planted the one in his garden at Stratford-on-Avon, which was known as "Shakspeare's Mulberry-Tree," until it was felled in 1756; and that it was a black Mulberry we learn from Mr. Drake, a native of Stratford, who frequently in his youth ate of its fruit, some branches of which hung over the wall which bounded his father's garden.--Drake's _Shakspeare_, vol. ii., p. 584. In this country the Black-fruited Mulberry always assumes something of a dwarf or stunted character, spreading into thick arms or branches near the ground, and forming a very large head. The bark is rough and thick, and the leaves cordate, unequally serrated, and very rough. The fruit is large, of a dark purple, very wholesome, and agreeable to the palate. This tree is remarkable for the slowness of its growth, and for being one of the last trees to develope its leaves, though it is one of the first to ripen its fruit. It is also wonderfully tenacious of life: "the roots of one which had lain dormant in the ground for twenty-four years, being said, after the expiration of that time, to have sent up shoots." The Black-fruited Mulberry will grow in almost any soil or situation that is moderately dry, and in any climate not much colder than that of London. North of York it requires a wall, except in very favourable situations. It is very easily propagated by truncheons, or pieces of branches, eight or nine feet in length, planted half their depth in tolerably good soil, when they will bear fruit the following year. It is now rarely propagated by seeds, which seldom ripen in this country. No tree, perhaps, receives more benefit from the spade and the dunghill than the Mulberry; it ought, therefore, to be frequently dug about the roots, and occasionally assisted with manure. The fruit is very much improved by the tree being trained as an espalier, within the reflection of a south wall. As a standard tree, whether for ornament or the production of well-sized fruit, the Mulberry requires very little pruning, or attention of any kind. [Illustration: Leaves and Fruits of _M. nigra_.] The Black-fruited Mulberry has been known from the earliest records of antiquity; it is mentioned four times in the Bible, 2 Sam. v. 23, 24; 1 Chron. xiv. 14, 15. It was dedicated by the Greeks to Minerva, probably because it was considered as the wisest of trees; and Jupiter the Protector was called Mored. Ovid has celebrated the Black Mulberry in the story of Pyramus and Thisbe; in which he relates that its fruit was snow-white until the commingled blood of the unfortunate lovers, who killed themselves under its shade, was absorbed by its roots, when Dark in the rising tide the berries grew, And white no longer, took a sable hue; But brighter crimson springing from the root, Shot through the black, and purpled all the fruit. Cowley, in the fifth book of his poem on plants, has given a very plain and accurate description of the apparently cautious habits of this tree. He also thus alludes to the above fable: But cautiously the Mulberry did move, And first the temper of the skies would prove; What sign the sun was in, and if she might Give credit yet to winter's seeming flight: She dares not venture on his first retreat, Nor trust her fruit or leaves to doubtful heat; Her ready sap within her bark confines, Till she of settled warmth has certain signs! Then, making rich amends for the delay, With sudden haste she dons her green array; In two short months her purple fruit appears, And of two lovers slain the tincture wears. Her fruit is rich, but she doth leaves produce Of far surpassing worth, and noble use. * * * * * * * * They supply The ornaments of royal luxury: The beautiful they make more beauteous seem, The charming sex owe half their charms to them; To them effeminate men their vestments owe; How vain the pride which insect worms bestow! Besides the Black-fruited Mulberry, there are four other species sufficiently hardy to bear our climate without protection; but it will be here sufficient to give a short account of the White-fruited (_M. alba_) as the next best known, and as the species whose leaves are used in feeding silk-worms. _M. alba_, is only found truly wild in the Chinese province of Seres, or Serica. It was brought to Constantinople about the beginning of the sixth century, and was introduced into England in 1596, where it is still not very common. In the south of Europe it is grown in plantations by itself, like willows and fruit trees; also in hedge-rows, and as hedges, as far north as Frankfort-on-the-Oder. When allowed to arrive at maturity, this tree is not less beautiful than the fairest elm, often reaching thirty or forty feet in height. When cultivated to furnish food for the silk-worms, the trees are never allowed to grow higher than three or four feet being cut down to the ground every year in the same manner as a raspberry plantation. In France and Italy the leaves are gathered only once a-year; and when the trees are then wholly stripped, no injury arises from the operation; but if any leaves are left on the trees, they generally receive a severe shock. The specific characters of the White-fruited Mulberry are--_Leaves_ with a deep scallop at the base, and either cordate or ovate, undivided or lobed, serrated with unequal teeth, glossy or smoothish, the projecting portions on the two sides of the basal sinus unequal. The _fruit_ is seldom good for human food, but is excellent for poultry. It is a tree of rapid growth, attaining the height of twenty feet in five or six years, and plants cut down producing shoots four or five feet long in one season. [Illustration: THE BRITISH OAK.] THE BRITISH OAK. [_Quercus_.[O] Nat. Ord.--_Amentiferæ_; Linn.--_Monoec. Polya._] [O] _Generic characters. Barren_ flowers arranged in a loose, pendulous catkin, the perianth single, the stamens 5-10. _Fertile_ flower in a cupulate, scaly involucrum, with 3 stigmas. _Fruit_ an acorn, 1-celled, 1-seeded, seated in the cupulate, scaly involucrum. The Oak, when living, monarch of the wood; The English Oak, when dead, commands the flood. Churchill. On our entrance into the Woodland, the eye first greets the majestic Oak, which is represented as holding the same rank among the plants of the temperate regions throughout the world, that the lion does among quadrupeds, and the eagle among birds; that is to say, it is the emblem of grandeur, strength, and duration; of force that resists, as the lion is of force that acts. In short, its bulk, its longevity, and the extraordinary strength and durability of its timber, constitute it the King of Forest trees. These and other characteristics of the Oak are graphically expressed by the Roman poet:-- Jove's own tree, That holds the woods in awful sovereignty, Requires a depth of loading in the ground, And next the lower skies a bed profound; High as his topmast boughs to heaven ascend, So low his roots to hell's dominions tend. Therefore, nor winds, nor winter's rage o'erthrows His bulky body, but unmoved he grows. For length of ages lasts his happy reign, And lives of mortal men contend in vain. Full in the midst of his own strength he stands, Stretching his brawny arms and leafy hands; His shade protects the plains, his head the hills commands. _Virgil's Georgics_, II. "The Oak grows naturally in the middle and south of Europe; in the north of Africa; and, in Asia, in Natolia, the Himalayas, Cochin-China, and Japan, In America it abounds throughout the greater part of the northern continent, more especially in the United States. In Europe, the Oak has been, and is, more particularly abundant in Britain, France, Spain, and Italy. In Britain two species only are indigenous; in France there are four or five sorts; and in Spain, Italy, and Greece, six or seven sorts. The number of sorts described by botanists as species, and as natives of Europe, exceed 30; and as natives of North America, 40. The latter are all comprised between 20° and 48° N. lat. In Europe, Asia, and Africa, Oaks are found from 60° to 18° N. lat., and even in the Torrid Zone, in situations rendered temperate by their elevation." In Britain, the Oak is everywhere indigenous, the two species being generally found growing together in a wild state. It, however, requires a soil more or less alluvial or loamy to attain its full size, and to bring its timber to perfection; these being seldom attained in the Highlands of Scotland, where it is still abundant in an indigenous state. The two species, _Q. robur_, or _pedunculata_, and _Q. sessiliflora_, are readily distinguished from each other by the first having the leaves on short stalks, and the acorns on long stalks, the other by the leaves being long-stalked, and the acorns short-stalked. In full-grown trees of the two species there is little or no difference either in magnitude and general appearance, or in quality of timber. _Q. robur_ being the most abundant, is called the Common Oak. Its twigs are smooth and grayish-brown: leaves deciduous, sessile, of a thin texture, obovate-oblong, serrated, with the lobes entire, and nearly blunt, diminishing towards the base; a little blistered, and scarcely glossy, with some down occasionally on the under side: acorns oblong, obtuse, much longer than the hemispherical scaly cup, placed on long peduncles. The distinguishing characters or the less common species, _Q. sessiliflora_, the sessile-fruited oak, are, leaves on longish foot-stalks, deciduous, smooth, and oblong, the sinuses opposite, and rather acute, the fruit sessile, oblong. In other respects it so closely resembles the other species, that of the numerous trees recorded for their enormous dimensions, age, and other peculiarities, the species is seldom particularized. Loudon believed that no important or constant difference exists between the mode of growth of the two kinds, individuals of both being found equally pyramidal, fastigiate, or orbicular. He considered, however, that _Q. sessiliflora_ could "readily be distinguished even at a distance, by the less tufted appearance, and generally palish green of its foliage in summer, and in winter by its less tortuous spray and branches, by its light coloured bark, by its large buds, and by its frequently retaining its leaves after they had withered, till the following spring." [Illustration: Leaves, Flowers, and Fruit of _Q. robur_.] The Oak, says Mr. Gilpin, is confessedly the most picturesque tree in itself, and the most accommodating in composition. It refuses no subject, either in natural or artificial landscape; it is suited to the grandest, and may with propriety be introduced into the most pastoral. It adds new dignity to the ruined tower and Gothic arch; it throws its arms with propriety over the mantling pool, and may be happily introduced into the humblest scene. Imperial Oak, a cottage in thy shade Finds safety, or a monarch in thy arms: Respectful generations see thee spread, Careless of centuries, even in decay Majestic: thy far-shadowing boughs contend With time: the obsequious winds shall visit thee, To scatter round the children of thy age, And eternize thy latest benefits. W. Tighe. The longevity of the Oak is supposed to extend beyond that of any other tree. It is through age that the Oak acquires its greatest beauty, which often continues increasing, even into decay, if any proportion exists between the stem and the branches. When the branches rot away, and the trunk is left alone, the tree is in its decrepitude, the last stage of life, and all the beauty is gone. Spenser has given us a good picture of an Oak just verging towards its last stage of decay: --A huge Oak, dry and dead, Still clad with reliques of its trophies old, Lifting to heaven its aged, hoary head, Whose foot on earth hath got but feeble hold, And, half disbowelled, stands above the ground With wreathed roots, and naked arms, And trunk all rotten and unsound. He also compares a gray-headed old man to an aged Oak-tree, covered with frost: There they do find that goodly aged sire, With snowy locks adown his shoulders shed; As hoary frost with spangles doth attire The mossy branches of an Oak half dead. Montgomery, too, does not forget to observe the longevity of the sturdy Oak: As some triumphal Oak, whose boughs have spread Their changing foliage through a thousand years, Bows to the rushing wind its glorious head. As we before noted, the beauty of almost every species of tree increases after its prime; but unless it hath the good fortune to stand in some place of difficult access, or under the protection of some patron whose mansion it adorns, we rarely see it in that grandeur and dignity which it would acquire by age. Some of the noblest Oaks in England were, at least formerly, found in Sussex. They required sometimes a score of oxen to draw them, and were carried on a sort of wain, which in that deep country is expressly called a _tugg_. It was not uncommon for it to spend two or three years in performing its journey to the Royal dock-yard at Chatham. One tugg carried the load only a little way, and left it for another tugg to take up. If the rains set in, it stirred no more that year; and frequently no part of the next summer was dry enough for the tugg to proceed: so that the timber was generally pretty well seasoned before it arrived at its destination. In this fallen state alone, it is true, the tree becomes the basis of England's glory, though we regret its fall. Therefore, we must not repine, but address the children of the wood as the gallant Oak, on his removal from the forest, is said to have addressed the scion by his side: Where thy great grandsire spread his awful shade, A holy Druid mystic circles made; Myself a sapling when thy grandsire bore Intrepid Edward to the Gallic shore. Me, now my country calls: adieu, my son! And, as the circling years in order run, May'st thou renew the forest's boast and pride, Victorious in some future contest ride. We are sure that all who can appreciate beautiful poetry will be gratified by the following pathetic lamentation of the elegant Vanier:-- --No greater beauty can adorn The hamlet, than a grove of ancient Oak. Ah! how unlike their sires of elder times The sons of Gallia now! They, in each tree Dreading some unknown power, dared not to lift An axe. Though scant of soil, they rather sought For distant herbage, than molest their groves. Now all is spoil and violence. Where now Exists an Oak, whose venerable stem Has seen three centuries? unless some steep, To human footstep inaccessible, Defend a favour'd plant. Now, if some sire Leave to his heir a forest scene, that heir, With graceless hands, hews down each awful trunk, Worthy of Druid reverence. There he rears A paltry copse, destined, each twentieth year, To blaze inglorious on the hearth. Hence woods, Which shelter'd once the stag and grisly boar, Scarce to the timorous hare sure refuge lend. Farewell each rural virtue, with the love Of rural scenes! Sage Contemplation wings Her flight; no more from burning suns she seeks A cool retreat. No more the poet sings, Amid re-echoing groves, his moral lay. As it is thus a general complaint that noble trees are rarely to be found, we must seek them where we can, and consider them, when found, as matters of curiosity, and pay them a due respect. And yet, we should suppose, they are not so frequently found here in a state of nature as in more uncultivated countries. In the forests of America, and other scenes, they have filled the plains from the beginning of time; and where they grow so close, and cover the ground with so impervious a shade that even a weed can scarce rise beneath them, the single tree is lost. Unless it stand on the outskirt of the wood, it is circumscribed, and has not room to expand its vast limbs as nature directs. When we wish, therefore, to find the most sublime sylvan character, the Oak, the elm, or the ash, in perfection, we must not look for it in close, thick woods, but standing single, independent of all connections, as we sometimes find it in our own forests, though oftener in better protected places, shooting its head wildly into the clouds, spreading its arms towards every wind of heaven: --The Oak Thrives by the rude concussion of the storm. He seems indignant, and to feel The impression of the blast with proud disdain; But, deeply earth'd, the unconscious monarch owes His firm stability to what he scorns: More fix'd below, the more disturb'd above. Again, we are told that the foliage of the Oak is Tenacious of the stem, and firm against the wind. The shade of the Oak-tree has been a favourite theme with British poets. Thomson, speaking of Hagley Park, the seat of his friend Littleton, calls it the British Tempe, and describes him as courting the muse beneath the shade of solemn Oaks: --There, along the dale With woods o'erhung, and shagged with mossy rocks, Whence on each hand the gushing waters play, And down the rough cascade white dashing fall, Or gleam in lengthened vista through the trees, You silent steal; or sit beneath the shade Of solemn Oaks, that tuft the swelling mounts, Thrown graceful round by Nature's careless hand, And pensive listens to the various voice Of rural peace: the herds, the flocks, the birds, The hollow whispering breeze, the plaint of rills, That, purling down amid the twisted roots Which creep around, their dewy murmurs shake On the soothed ear. Wordsworth also mentions the fine broad shade of the spreading Oak: Beneath that large old Oak, which near their door Stood, and, from its enormous breadth of shade, Chosen for the shearer's covert from the sun, Thence, in our rustic dialect, was called The clipping tree: a name which yet it bears. The Oaks of Chaucer are particularly celebrated, as the trees under which --The laughing sage Caroll'd his moral song. They grew in the park at Donnington Castle, near Newbury, where Chaucer spent his latter life in studious retirement. The largest of these trees was the King's Oak, and carried an erect stem of fifty feet before it broke into branches, and was cut into a beam five feet square. The next in size was called the Queen's Oak, and survived the calamities of the civil wars in King Charles's time, though Donnington Castle and the country around it were so often the scenes of action and desolation. Its branches were very curious: they pushed out from the stem in several uncommon directions, imitating the horns of a ram, rather than the branches of an Oak. When it was felled, it yielded a beam forty feet long, without knot or blemish, perfectly straight, four feet square at the butt end, and near a yard at the top. The third of these Oaks was called Chaucer's, of which we have no particulars; in general only we are told, that it was a noble tree, though inferior to either of the others. Not one of them, we should suppose, from this account, to be a tree of picturesque beauty. A straight stem, of forty or fifty feet, let its head be what it will, can hardly produce a picturesque form. Close by the gate of the water-walk at Magdalen College, Oxford, grew an Oak, which, perhaps, stood there a sapling when Alfred the Great founded the University. This period only includes a space of nine hundred years, which is no great age for an Oak. It is a difficult matter indeed, to ascertain the age of a tree. The age of a castle, or abbey, is an object of history: even a common house is recorded by the family that built it. All these objects arrive at maturity in their youth, if we may so speak; but the tree, gradually completing its growth, is not worth recording in the early part of its existence. It is then only a common tree; and afterwards, when it becomes remarkable for its age, all memory of its youth is lost. This tree, however, can almost produce historical evidence for the age assigned to it. About five hundred years after the time of Alfred, William of Wainfleet, Dr. Stukely tells us, expressly ordered his college to be founded near the Great Oak; and an Oak could not, we think, be less than five hundred years of age to merit that title, together with the honour of fixing the site of a college. When the magnificence of Cardinal Wolsey erected that handsome tower which is so ornamental to the whole building, this tree might probably be in the meridian of its glory, or rather, perhaps, it had attained a green old age. But it must have been manifestly in its decline at that memorable period when the tyranny of James gave the Fellows of Magdalen so noble an opportunity of withstanding bigotry and superstition. It was afterwards much injured in Charles II.'s time, when the present walks were laid out. The roots were disturbed, and from that period it rapidly declined, and became reduced by degrees to little more than a mere trunk. The faithful records of history have handed down its ancient dimensions. Through a space of sixteen yards on every side from its trunk, it once flung its boughs; and then its magnificent pavilion could have sheltered with ease three thousand men; though, in its decayed state, it could for many years do little more than shelter some luckless individual, whom the drenching shower had overtaken in his evening walk. In the summer of the year 1788, this magnificent ruin fell to the ground, alarming the College with its rushing sound. It then appeared how precariously it had stood for many years. Its grand tap-root was decayed, and it had hold of the earth only by two or three roots, of which none was more than a couple of inches in diameter. From a part of its ruin a chair has been made for the President of the College, which will long continue its memory. Near Worksop grew an Oak, which, in respect both to its own dignity and the dignity of its situation, deserves honourable mention. In point of grandeur, few trees equalled it. It overspread a space of ninety feet from the extremities of its opposite boughs. These dimensions will produce an area capable, on mathematical calculation, of covering a squadron of two hundred and thirty-five horse. The dignity of its station was equal to the dignity of the tree itself. It stood on a point where Yorkshire, Nottinghamshire, and Derbyshire unite, and spread its shade over a portion of each. From the honourable station of thus fixing the boundaries of three large counties, it was equally respected through the domains of them all, and was known far and wide by the honourable distinction of the Shire-Oak, by which appellation it was marked among cities, towns, and rivers, in all the larger maps of England. Gilpin gives us a singular account of an Oak-tree that formerly stood in the New Forest, Hampshire, against which, according to tradition, the arrow of Sir Walter Tyrrell glanced which killed William Rufus. According to Leland, and Camden from him, this tree stood at a place called Througham, where a chapel was erected to the king's memory. But there is now not any place of that name in the New Forest, nor the remains or remembrance of any chapel. It is, however, conjectured that Througham might be what is at present called Fritham, where the tradition of the country seems to have fixed the spot with more credibility than the tree. It is probable that the chapel was only some little temporary oratory, which, having never been endowed, might very soon fall into decay: but the tree, we may suppose, would be noticed at the time by everybody who lived near it, and by strangers who came to see it; and it is as likely that it never could be forgotten afterwards. Those who regard a tree as an insufficient record of an event so many centuries back, may be reminded that seven hundred years (and it is little more than that since the death of Rufus) is no extraordinary period in the existence of an Oak. About one hundred years ago, however, this tree had become so decayed and mutilated, that it is probable the spot would have been completely forgotten if some other memorial had not been raised. Before the stump, therefore, was eradicated, Lord Delaware, who occupied one of the neighbouring lodges, caused a triangular stone to be erected, on the three sides of which the following inscriptions are engraved:-- I. Here stood the Oak-tree, on which an arrow, shot by Sir Walter Tyrrel at a stag, glanced, and struck King William II., surnamed Rufus, in the breast, of which stroke he instantly died, on the 2d of August, 1100. II. King William II., being thus slain, was laid on a cart belonging to one Purkess, and drawn from hence to Winchester, and buried in the Cathedral Church of that city. III. That the spot where an event so memorable happened, might not hereafter be unknown, this stone was set up by John Lord Delaware, who has seen the tree growing in this place. Lord Delaware here asserts plainly that he had seen the Oak-tree; and as he resided much near the place, there is reason to believe that he had other grounds for the assertion besides the mere tradition of the country. That matter, however, rests on his authority. Gilpin likewise gives us the following account of the Cadenham Oak, in the New Forest, which was remarkable for putting forth its buds in the depth of winter. Cadenham is a village about three miles from Lyndhurst, on the road to Salisbury:-- "Having often heard of this Oak, I took a ride to see it on December 29, 1781. It was pointed out to me among several other Oaks, surrounded by a little forest stream, winding round a knoll on which they stood. It is a tall straight plant, of no great age, and apparently vigorous, except that its top has been injured, from which several branches issue in the form of pollard shoots. It was entirely bare of leaves, as far as I could discern, when I saw it, and undistinguishable from the other Oaks in its neighbourhood, except that its bark seemed rather smoother, occasioned, I apprehended, only by frequent climbing. "Having had the account of its early budding confirmed on the spot, I engaged one Michael Lawrence, who kept the White Hart, a small alehouse in the neighbourhood, to send me some of the leaves to Vicar's Hill, as soon as they should appear. The man, who had not the least doubt about the matter, kept his word, and sent me several twigs on the morning of January 5, 1782, a few hours after they had been gathered. The leaves were fairly expanded, and about an inch in length. From some of the buds two leaves had unsheathed themselves, but in general only one. "Through what power in nature this strange premature vegetation is occasioned, I believe no naturalist can explain. I sent some of the leaves to one of the ablest botanists we have, Mr. Lightfoot, author of the _Flora Scotica_, and was in hopes of hearing something satisfactory on the subject. But he is one of those philosophers who are not ashamed of ignorance where attempts at knowledge are mere conjecture. He assured me he neither could account for it in any way, nor did he know of any other instance of premature vegetation, except the Glastonbury thorn. The philosophers of the forest, in the meantime, account for the thing at once, through the influence of old Christmas day, universally believing that the Oak buds on that day, and that only. The same opinion is held with regard to the Glastonbury thorn, by the common people of the west of England. But, without doubt, the vegetation there is gradual, and forwarded or retarded by the mildness or severity of the weather. One of its progeny, which grew in the gardens of the Duchess Dowager of Portland, at Bulstrode, had its flower-buds perfectly formed so early as December 21, 1781, which is fifteen days earlier than it ought to flower, according to the vulgar prejudice. "This early spring, however, of the Cadenham Oak, is of very short duration. The buds, after unfolding themselves, make no farther progress, but immediately shrink from the season and die. The tree continues torpid, like other deciduous trees, during the remainder of the winter, and vegetates again in the spring, at the usual season. I have seen it in full leaf in the middle of summer, when it appeared, both in its form and foliage, exactly like other Oaks. "I have been informed that another tree, with the same property of early vegetation, has lately been found near the spot where Rufus's monument stands. If this be the case, it seems in some degree to authenticate the account which Camden gives us of the scene of that prince's death; for he speaks of the premature vegetation of that very tree on which the arrow of Tyrrel glanced, and the tree I now speak of, if it really exist, though I have no sufficient authority for it, might have been a descendant of the old Oak, and hence inherited its virtues. "It is very probable, however, there may be other Oaks in the forest which may likewise have the property of early vegetation. I have heard it often suspected, that people gather buds from other trees and carry them, on old Christmas day, to the Oak at Cadenham, from whence they pretend to pluck them; for that tree is in such repute, and resorted to annually by so many visitants, that I think it could not easily supply all its votaries without some foreign contributions. Some have accounted for this phenomenon by supposing that leaves have been preserved over the year by being steeped in vinegar. But I am well satisfied this is not the case. Mr. Lightfoot, to whom I sent the leaves, had no such suspicion." * * * * * In the _Salisbury Journal_, January 10, 1781, the following paragraph appeared:-- "In consequence of a report that has prevailed in this country for upwards of two centuries, and which by many has been almost considered as a matter of faith, that the Oak at Cadenham, in the New Forest, shoots forth leaves on every old Christmas day, and that no leaf is ever to be seen on it, either before or after that day, during the winter; a lady, who is now on a visit in this city, and who is attentively curious in every thing relative to art or nature, made a journey to Cadenham on Monday, the 3d instant, purposely to inquire, on the spot, about the production of this famous tree. On her arrival near it, the usual guide was ready to attend her; but on his being desired to climb the Oak, and to search whether there were any leaves then on it, he said it would be to no purpose, but that if she would come on the Wednesday following (Christmas day), she might certainly see thousands. However, he was prevailed on to ascend, and on the first branch which he gathered appeared several fair new leaves, fresh sprouted from the buds, and nearly an inch and a half in length. It may be imagined that the guide was more amazed at this premature production than the lady; for so strong was his belief in the truth of the whole tradition, that he would have pledged his life that not a leaf was to have been discovered on any part of the tree before the usual hour. "But though the superstitious part of this ancient legend is hence confuted, yet it must be allowed there is something very uncommon and curious in an Oak constantly shooting forth leaves at this unseasonable time of the year, and that the cause of it well deserves the philosophical attention of the botanist. In some years there is no doubt that this Oak may show its first leaves on the Christmas morning, as probably as on a few days before; and this perhaps was the case in the last year, when a gentleman of this neighbourhood, a nice and critical observer, strictly examined the branches, not only on the Christmas morn, but also on the day prior to it. On the first day not a leaf was to be found, but on the following every branch had its complement, though they were then but just shooting from the buds, none of them being more than a quarter of an inch long. The latter part of the story may easily be credited--that no leaves are to be seen on it after Christmas day--as large parties yearly assemble about the Oak on that morning, and regularly strip every appearance of a leaf from it." At Elderslie, near Paisley, upon a little knoll, there stood, near the end of the last century, the ruins of an Oak, which was supposed to be the largest tree that ever grew in Scotland. The trunk was then wholly decayed and hollow, but it was evident, from what remained, that its diameter could not have been less than eleven or twelve feet. As to its age, we can only conjecture, from some circumstances, that it is most likely a tree of great antiquity. The little knoll whereon it stands is surrounded by a swamp, over which a causeway leads to the tree, or rather to a circle which seems to have run round it. The vestiges of this circle, as well as the causeway, bear a plain resemblance to those works which are commonly attributed to the Druids, so that this tree was probably a scene of worship consecrated by these heathen priests. But the credit of it does not depend on the dubious vestiges of Druid antiquity. In a latter scene of greater importance (if tradition ever be the vehicle of truth) it bore a large share. When the illustrious and renowned hero, William Wallace, roused the spirit of the Scotch nation to oppose the tyranny of Edward, he frequently chose the solitude of Torwood as a place of rendezvous for his army. There he concealed his numbers and his designs, sallying out suddenly on the enemy's garrisons, and retreating as suddenly when he feared to be overpowered. While his army lay in those woods, the Oak which we are now commemorating was commonly his head-quarters. There the hero generally slept, its hollow trunk being sufficiently capacious, not only to afford shelter to himself, but also to many of his followers. This tree has ever since been known by the name of Wallace tree. In the enclosure known as the Little Park, in Windsor Forest, there is still standing the supposed Oak immortalized by Shakspeare as the scene of Hern the hunter's exploits:-- --An old tale goes, that Hern the hunter, Sometime a keeper here in Windsor Forest, Doth all the winter time, at still of midnight, Walk round about this Oak, with ragged horns; And then he blasts the trees, destroys the cattle, Makes the milch cow yield blood, and shakes a chain In hideous, dreadful manner. _Merry Wives_, iv. 3. This tree measures about twenty-four feet in circumference, and is yet vigorous, which somewhat injures its historical credit. For though it is evidently a tree advanced in years, and might well have existed in the time of Elizabeth, it seems too strong and vigorous to have been a proper tree, in that age, for Hern the hunter to have danced round. Fairies, elves, and that generation of people, are universally supposed to select the most ancient and venerable trees to gambol under; and the poet who should describe them dancing under a sapling, would show very little acquaintance with his subject. That this tree could not be called a venerable tree two centuries ago is evident, because it can scarcely assume that character even now. And yet an Oak, in a soil it likes, will continue so many years in a vigorous state, that we must not lay more stress on this argument than it will fairly bear. It may be added, however, in its favour, that a pit, or ditch, is still shown near the tree, as Shakspeare describes it, which may have been preserved with the same veneration as the tree itself. There is an Oak in the grounds of Sir Gerrard Van Neck, at Heveningham, in Suffolk, which carries us likewise into the times of Elizabeth. But this tree brings its evidence with it--evidence which, if necessary, might carry it into the Saxon times. It is now falling fast into the decline of years, and every year robs it more of its honours. But its trunk, which is thirty-five feet in circumference, still retains its grandeur, though the ornaments of its boughs and foliage are much reduced. But the grandeur of the trunk consists only in appearance; it is a mere shell. In Queen Elizabeth's time it was hollow, and from this circumstance the tree derives the honour of being handed down to posterity. That princess, who from her earliest years loved masculine amusements, used often, it is said, in her youth, to take her stand in this tree and shoot the deer as they passed. From that time it has been known by the name of Queen Elizabeth's Oak. The Swilcar Oak, in the Forest of Needwood, in Staffordshire, was measured about 1771, and found to be nineteen feet in girth at six feet from the ground; and when measured in 1825 it was twenty-one feet four inches and a half in circumference at the same height from the ground. This proves that the tree is slowly increasing, having gained two feet four inches in fifty-four years, and yet it is known, by historical documents, to be six hundred years old. Though in decay it is still a fine, shapely, characteristic tree. It stands in an open lawn, surrounded by extensive woods. In a poem entitled _Needwood Forest_ the author thus addresses it:-- Hail! stately Oak, whose wrinkled trunk hath stood, Age after age, the sovereign of the wood: You, who have seen a thousand springs unfold Their ravelled buds, and dip their flowers in gold-- Ten thousand times yon moon relight her horn, And that bright eye of evening gild the morn,-- * * * * * Yes, stately Oak, thy leaf-wrapped head sublime Ere long must perish in the wrecks of time; Should, o'er thy brow, the thunders harmless break, And thy firm roots in vain the whirlwinds shake, Yet must thou fall. Thy withering glories sunk, Arm after arm shall leave thy mouldering trunk. The Cowthorpe, or Coltsthorpe Oak, near Wetherby, in Yorkshire, had its principal branch rent off by a storm in the year 1718, when it was accurately measured, and found to contain more than five tons of timber. Previous to this mutilation, its branches are said to have extended over half an acre of ground. At three feet from the ground, this most gigantic of all trees is sixteen yards, or forty-eight feet, and close to the root it is twenty-six yards, or seventy-eight feet, in girth! Its principal limb projects forty-eight feet from the trunk. It is still in wonderful preservation, though its foliage is thin. It has been called the King of the British Sylva, and, indeed, it deserves the title, and proud we may be of such a king. There were two trees in Yardley Forest, called Gog and Magog, which demand our notice on account of one of them having been celebrated by the muse of Cowper. The scenery in which they stood is hallowed by his shade. He was fond of indulging his melancholy minstrel musings among the woodland scenery there. Gog, the larger of these two Oaks, measured thirty-eight feet round at the roots, and was twenty-eight feet in circumference at three feet from the ground. It was fifty-eight feet high, and contained one thousand six hundred and sixty-eight feet seven inches of solid timber. Magog was only forty-nine feet in height; but its circumference was fifty-four feet four inches at the ground, and thirty-one feet three at three feet high. These two trees were near each other, and although a good deal bared at the top by age, they were very picturesque. We shall quote here the whole of Cowper's Address to the "Yardley Oak"; from which it would appear that only one of them then remained:-- Survivor sole, and hardly such, of all That once lived here, thy brethren, at my birth (Since which I number threescore winters pass'd) A shatter'd veteran, hollow-trunk'd perhaps, As now, and with excoriate forks deform, Relics of ages! Could a mind, imbued With truth from Heaven, created thing adore, I might with reverence kneel, and worship thee. It seems idolatry with some excuse, When our forefather Druids in their Oaks Imagined sanctity. The conscience, yet Unpurified by an authentic act Of amnesty, the meed of blood Divine, Loved not the light; but, gloomy, into gloom Of thickest shades, like Adam after taste Of fruit proscribed, as to a refuge, fled. Thou wast a bauble once; a cup and ball, Which babes might play with; and the thievish jay, Seeking her food, with ease might have purloin'd The auburn nut that held thee, swallowing down Thy yet close-folded latitude of boughs, And all thine embryo vastness at a gulp. But Fate thy growth decreed; autumnal rains Beneath thy parent tree mellow'd the soil Design'd thy cradle; and a skipping deer, With pointed hoof dibbling the glebe, prepared The soft receptacle, in which, secure, Thy rudiments should sleep the winter through. So Fancy dreams. Disprove it, if ye can, Ye reasoners broad awake, whose busy search Of argument, employ'd too oft amiss, Sifts half the pleasure of sweet life away I Thou fell'st mature; and in the loamy clod, Swelling with vegetative force instinct, Didst burst thine egg, as theirs the fabled Twins, Now stars; two lobes, protruding, pair'd exact; A leaf succeeded, and another leaf; And, all the elements thy puny growth Fostering propitious, thou becamest a twig. Who lived, when thou wast such? O, couldst thou speak, As in Dodona once thy kindred trees Oracular, I would not curious ask The future, best unknown, but at thy mouth Inquisitive, the less ambiguous past. By thee I might correct, erroneous oft, The clock of history, facts and events Timing more punctual, unrecorded facts Recovering, and misstated setting right-- Desperate attempt, till trees shall speak again! Time made thee what thou wast, king of the woods; And Time hath made thee what thou art--a cave For owls to roost in. Once thy spreading boughs O'erhung the champaign; and the numerous flocks That grazed it, stood beneath that ample cope Uncrowded, yet safe-sheltered from the storm. No flock frequents thee now. Thou hast outlived Thy popularity, and art become (Unless verse rescue thee awhile) a thing Forgotten, as the foliage of thy youth. While thus through all the stages thou hast push'd Of treeship--first a seedling hid in grass; Then twig; then sapling; and, as century roll'd Slow after century, a giant bulk Of girth enormous, with moss-cushioned root Upheaved above the soil, and sides emboss'd With prominent wens globose--till at the last The rottenness, which time is charged to inflict On other mighty ones, found also thee. What exhibitions various hath the world Witness'd of mutability in all That we account most durable below! Change is the diet on which all subsist, Created changeable, and change at last Destroys them. Skies uncertain now the heat Transmitting cloudless, and the solar beam Now quenching in a boundless sea of clouds-- Calm and alternate storm, moisture and drought, Invigorate by turns the springs of life In all that live--plant, animal, and man-- And in conclusion mar them. Nature's threads, Fine passing thought, ev'n in her coarsest works, Delight in agitation, yet sustain The force that agitates, not unimpaired; But, worn by frequent impulse, to the cause Of their best tone their dissolution owe. Thought cannot spend itself, comparing still The great and little of thy lot, thy growth From almost nullity into a state Of matchless grandeur, and declension thence, Slow, into such magnificent decay. Time was, when, settling on thy leaf, a fly Could shake thee to the root--and time has been When tempests could not. At thy firmest age Thou hadst within thy bole solid contents, That might have ribb'd the sides and plank'd the deck Of some flagg'd admiral; and tortuous arms, The shipwright's darling treasure, didst present To the four-quarter'd winds, robust and bold, Warp'd into tough knee-timber,[1] many a load! But the axe spared thee. In those thriftier days Oaks fell not, hewn by thousands, to supply The bottomless demands of contest, waged For senatorial honours. Thus to Time The task was left to whittle thee away With his sly scythe, whose ever-nibbling edge, Noiseless, an atom, and an atom more, Disjoining from the rest, has, unobserved, Achieved a labour, which had far and wide, By man perform'd, made all the forest ring. Embowell'd now, and of thy ancient self Possessing naught but the scoop'd rind, that seems A huge throat, calling to the clouds for drink, Which it would give in rivulets to thy root-- Thou temptest none, but rather much forbidst The feller's toil, which thou couldst ill requite. Yet is thy root sincere, sound as the rock, A quarry of stout spurs and knotted fangs, Which, crook'd into a thousand whimsies, clasp The stubborn soil, and hold thee still erect. So stands a kingdom, whose foundation yet Fails not, in virtue and in wisdom laid; Though all the superstructure, by the tooth Pulverised of venality, a shell Stands now, and semblance only of itself! Thine arms have left thee. Winds have rent them off Long since, and rovers of the forest wild With bow and shaft have burn'd them. Some have left A splinter'd stump, bleach'd to a snowy white; And some, memorial none where once they grew. Tet life still lingers in thee, and puts forth Proof not contemptible of what she can, Even where death predominates. The spring Finds thee not less alive to her sweet force, Than yonder upstarts of the neighbouring wood, So much thy juniors, who their birth received Half a millennium since the date of thine. But since, although well qualified by age To teach, no spirit dwells in thee, nor voice May be expected from thee, seated here On thy distorted root, with hearers none, Or prompter, save the scene--I will perform, Myself the oracle, and will discourse In my own ear such matter as I may. One man alone, the father of us all, Drew not his life from woman; never gazed, With mute unconsciousness of what he saw, On all around him; learn'd not by degrees, Nor owed articulation to his ear; But, moulded by his Maker into man At once, upstood intelligent, survey'd All creatures, with precision understood Their purport, uses, properties, assign'd To each his name significant, and, fill'd With love and wisdom, render'd back to Heaven, In praise harmonious, the first air he drew. He was excused the penalties of dull Minority. No tutor charged his hand With the thought-tracing quill, or task'd his mind With problems. History, not wanted yet, Lean'd on her elbow, watching Time, whose course Eventful should supply her with a theme. [1] Knee-timber is found in the crooked arms of Oak, which, by reason of their distortion, are easily adjusted to the angle formed where the deck and the ship's sides meet. Montgomery inscribed the following lines under a drawing of the Yardley Oak, celebrated in the preceding quotation from Cowper:-- The sole survivor of a race Of giant Oaks, where once the wood Bang with the battle or the chase, In stern and lonely grandeur stood. From age to age it slowly spread Its gradual boughs to sun and wind; From age to age its noble head As slowly wither'd and declined. A thousand years are like a day, When fled;--no longer known than seen; This tree was doom'd to pass away, And be as if it _ne'er_ had been;-- But mournful Cowper, wandering nigh, For rest beneath its shadow came, When, lo! the voice of days gone by Ascended from its hollow frame. O that the Poet had reveal'd The words of those prophetic strains, Ere death the eternal mystery seal'd ----Yet in his song the Oak remains. And fresh in undecaying prime, _There_ may it live, beyond the power Of storm and earthquake, Man and Time, Till Nature's conflagration-hour. There are various opinions as to the best mode of rearing Oak-trees; we shall here state that which Evelyn considered the best. In raising Oak-trees from acorns sown in the seminary, a proper situation should be prepared by the time the seeds are ripe. The soil should be loamy, fresh, and in good heart. This should be well prepared by digging, breaking the clods, clearing it of weeds, stones, &c. The acorns should be collected from the best trees; and if allowed to remain until they fall off, they will germinate the better. Sow the acorns in beds about three inches asunder, press them down gently with the spade, and rake the earth over the acorns until it is raised about two inches above them. The plants will not appear in less than two months; and here they may be allowed to remain for two years at least, without any further care than keeping them free from weeds, and occasionally refreshing them with water in dry weather. When the plants are two years old they will be of a proper size for planting out, and the best way to do this is by trenching or ploughing as deeply as the soil will allow. The sets should be planted about the end of October. This operation should be commenced by striking the plants carefully out of the seed-bed, shortening the tap-root, and topping off part of the side shoots, that there may be an equal degree of strength in the stem and the root. After planting they should be well protected from cattle, and, if possible, from hares and rabbits. They must also be kept clear from weeds. Mr. Evelyn was of opinion, that Oaks thus raised will yield the best timber. And Dr. Hunter remarks, that the extensive plantations which were made towards the end of the last century, were made more with a view to shade and ornament than to the propagation of good timber; and with this object the owners planted their trees generally too old, so that many of the woods, when they come to be felled, will greatly disappoint the expectations of the purchaser. Oaks are about eighteen years old before they yield any fruit, a peculiarity which seems to indicate the great longevity of the tree; for "soon ripe and soon rotten," is an adage that holds generally throughout the organic world. The Oak requires sixty or seventy years to attain a considerable size; but it will go on increasing and knowing no decay for centuries, and live for more than 1000 years. In reference to the durability of Oak timber when used in ship-building, the following statement has been elicited by a Select Committee appointed to inquire into the cause of the increased number of shipwrecks. The Sub-Committee addressed a letter to the Lords of the Admiralty, who consulted the officers of the principal dock-yards, and returned the following abstract account of the officers of the yards' opinion on the durability of Oak timber:-- ---------------+-----------------------+------------+----------+ | When used for Floors | When used | | | and Lower Futtocks |for planking|When used | OAK | only. | above | for the | TIMBER. +------------+----------+ light | Upper | | In |Afore and | watermark. | Timbers. | | Midships. | Abaft. | | | ---------------+------------+----------+------------+----------| |From 100 to |From 20 to| From 20 to |From 30 to| English. | 24 years. | 12 years.| 12 years. | 15 years.| | Average of | | | | | yards 42 | - 15 - | - 16 - | - 20 - | ---------------+------------+----------+------------+----------| | From 30 to |From 15 to| From 12 to |From 15 to| Of the growth | 9 years. | 8 years. | 4 years. | 4 years. | of the North | Average of | | | | of Europe. | yards 18 | - 10 - | - 9 - | - 10 - | ---------------+------------+----------+------------+----------| Of the growth | | | | | of the British | | | | | North American | From 30 to |From 15 to| From 12 to |From 16 to| Colonies, | 5 years. | 3 years. | 2 years. | 2 years. | generally | Average of | | | | known as Quebec| yards 17 | - 9 - | - 9 - | - 11 - | white Oak. | | | | | ---------------+------------+----------+------------+----------+ [Illustration: THE ORIENTAL PLANE.] THE ORIENTAL PLANE. [_Platanus[P] orientalis._ Nat. Ord.--_Platanaceæ_; Linn.--_Monoec. Polya._] [P] _Platanus. Flowers_ unisexual, the barren and fertile upon one plant, disposed many together, and densely, in globular catkins. _Pistils_ numerous, approximately pairs. _Ovary_ 1-celled, including 1-2 pendulous ovules. _Stigmas_ 2, long, filiform, glandular in the upper part. _Fruit_ autricle, densely covered with articulated hairs, including one pendulous, oblong, exalbuminous seed. The Oriental Plane is a native of Greece, and of other parts of the Levant; it is found in Asia Minor, Persia, and eastward to Cashmere; and likewise in Barbary, in the south of Italy, and in Sicily, although probably not indigenous in these countries. It appears to have been introduced into England about the middle of the sixteenth century; but seems not to have been propagated to the extent it deserves, even as an ornamental tree; and the specimens now in existence are neither very numerous, nor are they distinguished for their dimensions. In the East, the Oriental Plane grows to the height of seventy feet and upwards, with widely spreading branches and a massive trunk; forming altogether a majestic tree. The trunk is covered with a smooth bark, which scales off every year in large irregular patches, often producing a pleasing variety of tint. The bark of the younger branches is of a dark brown, inclined to a purple colour. The leaves are alternate, about seven inches long and eight broad, deeply cut into five segments, and the two outer ones slightly cut into two more. These segments are acutely indented on their borders, each having a strong midrib, with numerous lateral veins. The upper side of the leaves is a deep green, the under side pale. The petioles are rather long, with an enlargement at the base which covers the nascent buds. The catkins which contain the seed are of a globular form, and from two to five in number, on axillary peduncles; they vary greatly in size, and are found from four inches to scarcely one in circumference. The flowers are very minute. The balls, which are about the size of walnuts, and fastened together often in pairs like chain-shot, appear before the leaves in spring, and the seed ripens late in autumn; these are small, not unlike the seed of the lettuce, and are surrounded or enveloped in a bristly down. [Illustration: Leaves and Globes of Flowers of _P. orientalis_.] Of the Oriental Plane Loudon remarks, "As an ornamental tree, no one which attains so large a size has a finer appearance, standing singly, or in small groups, upon a lawn, where there is room to allow its lower branches, which stretch themselves horizontally to a considerable distance, gracefully to bend toward the ground, and turn up at their extremities. The peculiar characteristics of the tree, indeed, is the combination which it presents of majesty and gracefulness; an expression which is produced by the massive, and yet open and varied character, of its head, the bending of its branches, and their feathering to the ground. In this respect it is greatly superior to the lime-tree, which comes nearest to it in the general character of the head; but which forms a much more compact and lumpish mass of foliage in summer, and, in winter, is so crowded with branches and spray, as to prevent, in a great measure, the sun from penetrating through them. The head of the Oriental Plane, during sunshine, often abounds in what painters call flickering lights; the consequence of the branches of the head separating themselves into what may be called horizontal undulating strata--or, as it is called in artistic phraseology, tufting--easily put in motion by the wind, and through openings in which the rays of the sun penetrate, and strike on the foliage below. The tree is by no means so suitable, as most others, for an extensive park, or for imitations of forest scenery; but, from its mild and gentle expression, its usefulness for shade in summer, and for admitting the sun in winter, it is peculiarly adapted for pleasure-grounds, and, where there is room, for planting near houses and buildings. For the latter purpose, it is particularly well adapted even in winter, for the colour of the bark of the trunk, which has a grayish white tint, is not unlike the colour of some kinds of freestone. The colour of the foliage, in dry soil, is also of a dull grayish green; which, receiving the light in numerous horizontal tuftings, readily harmonizes with the colour of stone walls. It appears, also, not to be much injured by smoke, since there are trees of it of considerable size in the very heart of London." The Oriental Plane thrives best on a light free soil, moist, but not wet at bottom; and the situation should be sheltered, but not shaded or crowded by other trees. It will scarcely grow in strong clays and on elevated exposed places; nor will it thrive in places where the lime-tree does not prosper. It may be propagated by seeds, layers, or cuttings. The general practice is to sow the seeds in autumn, covering them over as lightly as those of the birch and alder, or beating them in with the back of the spade, and not covering them at all, and protecting the beds with litter to exclude the frost. The plants will come up the following year, and will be fit, after two years' growth, to run into nursery lines; from whence they may be planted into their permanent stations in two or three years, according to the size considered necessary. The growth of this tree is very rapid, attaining in the climate of London, under favourable circumstances, the height of thirty feet in ten years, and arriving at the height of sixty or seventy feet in thirty years. The longevity of this tree was supposed, by the ancients, to be considerable; and there are few old trees in this country. One, still existing at Lee Court, in Kent, was celebrated in 1683 for its age and magnitude. Some of the largest trees in the neighbourhood of London are at Mount Grove, Hampstead, where they are between seventy and eighty feet in height; and in the grounds of Lambeth Palace, there is one ninety feet high, with a trunk of four and a half feet in diameter. The Oriental Plane was held by the Greeks sacred to Helen; and the virgins of Sparta are represented by Theocritus as claiming homage for it, saying, "Reverence me! I am the tree of Helen." It was so admired by Xerxes, that Ælian and other authors inform us, he halted his prodigious army near one of them an entire day, during its march for the invasion of Greece; and, on leaving, covered it with gold, gems, necklaces, scarfs, and bracelets, and an infinity of riches. He likewise caused its figure to be stamped on a medal of gold, which he afterwards wore continually about him. Among many remarkable Plane-trees recorded by Pliny, he mentions one in Lycia, which had a cave or hollow in the trunk that measured eighty-one feet in circumference. In this hollow were stone seats, covered with moss; and there, during the time of his consulship, Licinius Mutianus, with eighteen of his friends, was accustomed to dine and sup! Its branches spread to such an amazing extent, that this single tree appeared like a grove; and this consul, says Pliny, chose rather to sleep in the hollow cavity of this tree, than to repose in his marble chamber, where his bed was richly wrought with curious needlework, and o'ercanopied with beaten gold. Pausanias, also, who lived about the middle of the second century, records a Plane-tree of remarkable size and beauty in Arcadia, which was then supposed to have been planted by the hands of Menelaus, the husband of Helen, which would make the age of the tree about thirteen hundred years. At a later period magnificent examples of this umbrageous tree continued to flourish in Greece, and many of these are still existing. One of the most celebrated is at Buyukdère (or the Great Valley), about thirty miles from Constantinople, which M. de Candolle conjectured to be more than two thousand years old; when measured, in 1831, by Dr. Walsh, it was found to be one hundred and fifty-one feet in circumference at the base, and the diameter of its head covered a space of one hundred and thirty feet. Some doubt, however, seems to exist as to whether it should be considered as a single tree, or as a number of individuals which have sprung from a decayed stock, and become united at the base. The hollow contained within the stem of this enormous tree, we are told, affords a magnificent tent to the Seraskier and his officers, when the Turks encamp in this valley. Among the Turks, the Planes are preserved with a devoted and religious tenderness. [Illustration: THE OCCIDENTAL OR AMERICAN PLANE.] THE OCCIDENTAL OR AMERICAN PLANE. [_Platanus occidentalis._ Nat. Ord.--_Platanaceæ_; Linn.--_Monoec. Polya._] The American or Western Plane is found over an immense area in North America, comprising the Atlantic and western states, and extending beyond the Mississippi. In the Atlantic states, this tree is commonly known by the name of button-wood; and sometimes, in Virginia, by that of water-beech, from its preferring moist localities, "where the soil is loose, deep, and fertile." On the banks of the Ohio, and in the states of Kentucky and Tennessee, it is commonly called sycamore, and sometimes plane-tree. The button-tree is, however, the name by which this tree is most generally known in America. The Western Plane was first introduced into England about 1630, and was afterwards so generally planted, in consequence of its easy propagation by cuttings and rapid growth, that it soon became more common than _P. orientalis_. This tree is now, however, rare in this country, from the greater number having been killed by a severe frost in May 1809, and by the severe winter of 1813-4. The American Plane, in magnitude and general appearance, closely resembles the oriental plane. The one species, however, can always be distinguished from the other by the following characters:--In the Oriental Plane, the leaves are smaller and much more deeply lobed than in the Western tree, and the petioles of the leaves, which in the Oriental species are green, in the American tree are purplish-red; the fruit, or ball-shaped catkins, also, of the Western Plane, are considerably larger, and not so rough externally as those of the other. The bark is said to scale off in larger pieces, and the wood to be more curiously veined. In all other respects, the descriptive particulars of both trees are the same. According to Michang, the Western Plane is "the loftiest and largest tree of the United States." In 1802, he saw one growing on the banks of the Ohio, whose girth at four feet from the ground, was 47 feet, or nearly 16 feet in diameter. This tree, which showed no symptoms of decay, but on the contrary exhibited a rich foliage and vigorous vegetation, began to ramify at about 20 feet from the ground, a stem of no mean length, but short in comparison to many large trees of this species that he met with, whose boles towered to a height of 60 or 70 feet without a single branch. Even in England, specimens of the Western Plane, of no great age, are to be met with 100 feet in height. The rate of growth of _P. occidentalis_, when placed near water, is so rapid, that in ten years it will attain the height of forty feet; and a tree in the Palace Garden at Lambeth, near a pond, in twenty years had attained the height of eighty feet, with a trunk eight feet in circumference at three feet from the ground, and the diameter of the head forty-eight feet. This was in 1817.--(See Neill's _Hort. Tour_, p. 9.) As a picturesque tree, Gilpin places the Occidental Plane after the oak, the ash, the elm, the beech, and the hornbeam, which he considers as deciduous trees of the first rank; saying of both species of Platanus, that, though neither so beautiful nor so characteristic as the first-named trees, they are yet worth the notice of the eye of the admirer of the picturesque. [Illustration: Leaves and Flowers of _P. occidentalis_.] "The Occidental Plane has a very picturesque stem. It is smooth, and of a light ash colour, and has the property of throwing off its bark in scales; thus naturally cleansing itself, at least its larger boughs, from moss, and other parasitical encumbrances." This would be no recommendation of it in a picturesque light, if the removal of these encumbrances did not substitute as great a beauty in their room. These scales are very irregular, falling off sometimes in one part, and sometimes in another; and, as the under bark is, immediately after its excoriation, of a lighter hue than the upper, it offers to the pencil those smart touches which have so much effect in painting. These flakes, however, would be more beautiful if they fell off in a circular form, instead of a perpendicular one: they would correspond and unite better with the round form of the bole. "No tree forms a more pleasing shade than the Occidental Plane. It is full-leafed, and its leaf is large, smooth, of a fine texture, and seldom injured by insects. Its lower branches shooting horizontally, soon take a direction to the ground, and the spray seems more sedulous than that of any tree we have, by twisting about in various forms, to fill up every little vacuity with shade. At the same time, it must be owned that the twisting of its branches is a disadvantage to this tree, as it is to the beech. When it is stripped of its leaves, and reduced to a skeleton, it has not the natural appearance which the spray of the oak, and that of many other trees, discovers in winter; nor, indeed, does its foliage, from the largeness of the leaf and the mode of its growth, make the most picturesque appearance in summer. One of the finest Occidental Planes I am acquainted with stands in my own garden at Vicar's Hill; where its boughs, feathering to the ground, form a canopy of above fifty feet in diameter." The Occidental Plane is propagated by cuttings, which will hardly fail to succeed if they are taken from strong young wood, and are planted early in the autumn in a moist good mould. [Illustration: THE POPLAR TREE.] THE POPLAR TREE. [_Populus._[Q] Nat. Ord.--_Amentiferæ_; Linn.--_Dioec. Octa._] [Q] _Generic characters._ Flowers of both kinds in cylindrical catkins. _Barren_ flowers consisting of numerous stamens, arising out of a small, oblique, cup-like perianth. _Fertile_ flowers consisting of 4 or 8 stigmas, arising out of a cup-like perianth; _fruit_ a follicle, 2-valved, almost 2-celled by the rolling in of the margins of the valves. The Poplars are deciduous trees, mostly growing to a large size; natives of Europe, North America, some parts of Asia, and the north of Africa. They are all of rapid growth, some of them extremely so; and they are all remarkable for a tremulous motion in their leaves, when agitated by the least breath of wind. The species delight in a rich, moist soil, in the neighbourhood of running water, but they do not thrive in marshes or soils saturated with stagnant moisture. Their wood is light, of a white or pale yellowish colour, very durable when kept dry, not liable to warp or twist when sawn up, and yields, from its elasticity, without splitting or cracking when struck with violence; that of some species is also very slow in taking fire, and burns, when ignited, in a smouldering manner, without flame, on which account it is valuable, and extensively used for the flooring of manufactories and other buildings. Of the fifteen species of Poplar described in Loudon's _Arboretum_, three are believed to be natives of this country--_P. canescens_, _P. tremula_, and _P. nigra_. _P. canescens_, the Gray or Common White Poplar, and its different varieties, form trees of from eighty to one hundred feet high and upwards, with silvery smooth bark, upright and compact branches, and a clear trunk, to a considerable height, and a spreading head, usually in full-grown trees, but thinly clothed with foliage. The leaves are roundish, deeply waved, lobed, and toothed; downy beneath, chiefly grayish; leaves of young shoots cordate-ovate, undivided fertile catkins cylindrical. Stigmas 8. [Illustration: Leaves, Flowers, and Catkins of _P. canescens_.] The White Poplar is commonly propagated by layers, which ought to be transplanted into nursery lines for at least one year before removal to their final situation. The tree is admirably adapted for thickening or filling up blanks in woods and plantations; and, for this purpose, truncheons may be planted from three to four inches in diameter, and from ten to twelve feet high. These truncheons have the great advantage of not being overshadowed by the adjoining trees, which is almost always the case when young plants are used for filling up vacancies among old trees. In a moderately good and moist soil, the White Poplar will attain in ten years, the height of thirty feet or upwards, with a trunk from six to nine inches in diameter. As an ornamental tree, the White Poplar is not unworthy of a place in extensive parks and grounds, particularly when planted in lone situations, or near to water; it ought, however, to be grouped and massed with trees of equally rapid growth, else it soon becomes disproportionate, and out of keeping with those whose progress is comparatively slow. It is well adapted in our climate for a wayside tree, as it has no side branches to prevent the admission of light and free circulation of air; and also to form avenues, when an effect is wished to be produced in the shortest possible time. The Aspen or Trembling Poplar, _P. tremula_, is inferior to few of its tribe, presenting the appearance of a tall, and, in proportion to its height, rather a slender tree, with a clean straight trunk; the head ample, and formed of horizontal growing branches, not crowded together, which assume, towards the extremities, a drooping or pendulous direction. The leaves are nearly orbicular, sinuate, or toothed, smooth on both sides; foot-stalks compressed; young branches hairy; stigmas 4, crested and eared at the base. The foliage is of a fine rich green; and the upper surface of the leaves being somewhat darker than the under, a sparkling and peculiar effect is produced by the almost constant tremulous motion with which they are affected by the slightest breath of air, and which is produced by the peculiar form of the foot-stalks, which in this species is flattened, or vertically compressed in relation to the plane of the leaf, causing a quivering or double lateral motion, instead of the usual waving motion, where the foot-stalk is round, or else compressed horizontally. The Black Poplar, _P. nigra_, is a tree of the largest size, with an ample head, composed of numerous branches and terminal shoots. The bark is ash-coloured, and becomes rough and deeply furrowed with age. The catkins are bipartite, cylindrical; the barren appear in March or April, long before the expansion, of the leaves, and, being large and of a deep red colour, produce a rich effect at that early period of the year. The capsules or seed-vessels of the fertile catkin are round, and contain a pure white cottony down, in which the seeds are enveloped. The leaves appear about the middle of May, and, when they first expand, their colour is a mixture of red and yellow; afterwards they are of a pale light green, with yellowish foot-stalks; remarkably triangular, acuminate, serrate, smooth on both sides; stigmas 4. There is a Black Poplar at Alloa House, in Clackmannanshire, which, in 1782, at the height of between three and four feet from the ground, measured thirteen feet and a half in circumference. There is also a very graceful and beautiful tree of the same species at Bury St. Edmunds, ninety feet in height, and which measures, at the distance of three feet from the ground, fifteen feet in girth. The trunk rises forty-five feet before it divides, when it throws out a vast profusion of branches. The Poplar was dedicated by the Romans to Hercules, in honour of his having destroyed the monster Cacus in a cavern near to the Aventine Mount, where the Poplar formerly flourished in abundance. In Pitt's translation of Virgil, the following reference is made to the rite of crowning with the Poplar:-- From that blest hour th' Arcadian tribe bestowed Those solemn honours on their guardian god. Potitius first, his gratitude to prove, Adored Alcides[2] in the shady grove; And with the old Pinarian sacred line These altars raised, and paid the rites divine,-- Rites, which our sons for ever shall maintain; And ever sacred shall the grove remain. Come, then, with us to great Alcides pray, And crown your heads, and solemnize the day. Invoke our common god with hymns divine, And from the goblet pour the generous wine. He said, and with the Poplar's sacred boughs, Like great Alcides, binds his hoary brows. [2] The Greek name of Hercules. [Illustration: THE SCOTCH FIR, OR PINE.] THE SCOTCH FIR, OR PINE. [_Pinus[R] sylvestris._ Nat. Ord.--_Coniferæ_; Linn.--_Monoec. Mon._] [R] _Generic characters._ Flowers monoecious. Cones woody, with numerous 2-seeded scales, thickened and angular at the end. Seeds with a crustaceous coat, winged. Leaves acerose, in clusters of from 2 to 5, surrounded by scarious scales at the base. The Scotch Fir or Pine, and its varieties, are indigenous throughout the greater part of Europe. It also extends into the north, east, and west of Asia; and is found at Nootka Sound in Vancouver's Island, on the north-west coast of North America. In the south of Europe it grows at an elevation of from 1000 to 1500 feet; in the Highlands of Scotland, at 2700 feet; and in Norway and Lapland, at 700 feet. Widely dispersed, however, as the species is throughout the mountainous regions of Europe, it is only found in profusion between 52° and 65° N. lat. It occurs in immense forests in Poland and Russia, as well as in northern Germany, Sweden, Norway, and Lapland, up to the 70° of N. lat. The indigenous forests of Scotland, which formerly occupied so large a portion of its surface, have been greatly reduced within the last sixty years, chiefly on account of the pecuniary embarrassments of their proprietors. [Illustration: Foliage, Flowers, Cones; Cone opened, showing the Seeds.] The Scotch Fir, in favourable situations, attains the height of from eighty to one hundred feet, with a trunk from two to four feet in diameter, and a head somewhat conical or rounded, but generally narrow in proportion to its height, as compared with the heads of other broad-leafed trees. The bark is of a reddish tinge, comparatively smooth, scaling off in some varieties, and rough and furrowed in others. The branches are disposed in whorls from two to four together, and sometimes five or six; they are at first slightly turned upwards, but finally become somewhat pendant, with the exception of those branches which form the summit of the tree. The leaves are in sheaths, spirally disposed on the branches; they are distinguished at first sight from all other pines in which the leaves are in pairs, by being much more glaucous, more especially when in a young state, and straighter. The general length of the leaves, in vigorous young trees, is from two to three inches; but in old trees they are much shorter; they are smooth on both surfaces, stiff, obtuse at the extremities, with a small point, and minutely serrated; dark green on the upper side, and glaucous and striated on the under side. The leaves remain green on the tree during four years, and generally drop off at the commencement of the fifth year, Long before this time, generally at the beginning of the second year, they have entirely lost their light glaucous hue, and have become of the dark sombre appearance which is characteristic of this tree at every season except that of summer, when the young glaucous shoots of the year give it a lighter hue. The flowers appear commonly in May and June. The barren flowers are from half an inch to upwards of an inch long, are placed in whorls at the base of the young shoots of the current year, and contain two or more stamens with large yellow anthers, which discharge a sulphur-coloured pollen in great abundance. The fertile flowers, or embryo cones, appear on the summits of the shoots of the current year, generally two on the point of a shoot, but sometimes from four to six. The colour of these embryo cones is generally purple and green; but they are sometimes yellowish or red. It requires eighteen months to mature the cones; and in a state of nature it is two years before the seeds are in a condition to germinate. The cone, which is stalked, and, when mature, begins to open at the narrow extremity, is perfectly conical while closed, rounded at the base, from one to two inches in length, and about an inch across in the broadest part; as it ripens, the colour changes from green to reddish brown. The scales of the cone are oblong, and terminate externally in a kind of depressed pyramid, which varies in shape and height. At the base of each scale, and close to the axis of the cone, two oval-winged seeds or nuts are lodged. From these nuts the young plant appears in the shape of a slender stem, with from five to six linear leaves or cotyledons. In ten years, in the climate of London, plants will attain the height of from twenty-five to thirty feet; and in twenty years, from forty to fifty feet. The great contempt in which the Scotch Fir is commonly held, says Gilpin, "arises, I believe, from two causes--its dark murky hue is unpleasing, and we rarely see it in a picturesque state. In perfection it is a very picturesque tree, though we have little idea of its beauty. It is a hardy plant, and is therefore put to every servile office. If you wish to screen your house from the south-west wind, plant Scotch Firs; and plant them close and thick. If you want to shelter a nursery of young trees, plant Scotch Firs; and the phrase is, you may afterwards weed them out as you please. I admire its foliage, both for the colour of the leaf, and its mode of growth. Its ramification, too, is irregular and beautiful, and not unlike that of the stone pine; which it resembles also in the easy sweep of its stem, and likewise in the colour of the bark, which is commonly, as it attains age, of a rich reddish brown. The Scotch Fir, indeed, in its stripling state, is less an object of beauty. Its pointed and spiry shoots, during the first years of its growth, are formal; and yet I have sometimes seen a good contrast produced between its spiry points and the round-headed oaks and elms in its neighbourhood. When I speak, however, of the Scotch Fir as a beautiful individual, I conceive it when it has outgrown all the improprieties of its youth; when it has completed its full age, and when, like Ezekiel's cedar, it has formed its head high among the thick branches. I may be singular in my attachment to the Scotch Fir. I know it has many enemies; but my opinion will weigh only with the reasons I have given." Sir Thomas Dick Lauder, in his commentary on this passage, says, "We agree with Gilpin to the fullest extent in his approbation of the Scotch Fir as a picturesque tree. We, for our part, confess, that we have seen it towering in full majesty, in the midst of some appropriate Highland scene, and sending its limbs abroad with all the unconstrained freedom of a hardy mountaineer, as if it claimed dominion over the savage regions around it; we have then looked upon it as a very sublime object. People who have not seen it in its native climate and soil, and who judge of it from the wretched abortions which are swaddled and suffocated in English plantations, in deep, heavy, and eternally wet clays, may well call it a wretched tree; but, when its foot is among its own Highland heather, and when it stands freely on its native knoll of dry gravel, or thinly covered rock, over which its roots wander afar in the wildest reticulation, whilst its tall, furrowed, and often gracefully sweeping red and gray trunk, of enormous circumference, rears aloft its high umbrageous canopy, then would the greatest sceptic on this point be compelled to prostrate his mind before it with a veneration which, perhaps, was never before excited in him by any other tree." Some of the most picturesque trees of this kind, perhaps, in England, adorn Mr. Lenthall's mansion, of Basilsleigh, in Berkshire. The soil is a deep rich sand, which seems to be well adapted to them. As they are here at perfect liberty, they not only become large and noble trees, but they expand themselves likewise in all the careless forms of nature. There is a remarkably fine specimen of the Scotch Fir at Castle Huntly, in Perthshire. In 1796, it measured thirteen feet six inches in girth, at three feet from the ground; and close to the ground, it measured nineteen feet, and is thought not unlikely to be the largest planted Fir in the country. The word _planted_ is very properly used here, as many examples of larger _natural_ Firs have been produced. Professor Walker observes, that few Fir-trees were planted before the beginning of the present century; and that as the Fir is a tree which, from the number of rings found in it, will probably grow four hundred years, it is impossible that the planted Firs can have arrived at perfection. "This," says Sir T. Lauder, "may be all true; but as the reasoning proceeds upon the fact of a natural Swedish tree, perfectly sound, having three hundred and sixty circles in it, it by no means follows that a planted Fir will not rot in a premature state of disease, and die before it has sixty circles." The acerose or needle leaf of the Pine seems necessary to protect the tree from injury; for if their leaves were of a broader form, the branches would be borne down, in winter, by the weight of snow in the northern latitudes, and they would be more liable to be uprooted by the mighty hurricane. It is, however, enabled thus to evade both; as the snow falls through, and the winds penetrate between, the interstices of its filiform leaf. Struggling through the branches, the wind comes in contact with such an innumerable quantity of points and edges, as, even when gentle, to produce a deep murmur, or sighing; but when the breeze is strong, or the storm is raging abroad, it produces sounds like the murmuring of the ocean, or the beating of the surge and billows among the rocks:-- The loud wind through the forest wakes With sounds like ocean roaring, wild and deep, And in yon gloomy Pines strange music makes, like symphonies unearthly heard in sleep; The sobbing waters wash their waves and weep: Where moans the blast its dreary path along, The bending Firs a mournful cadence keep, And mountain rocks re-echo to the song, As fitful raves the wind the hills and woods among. Drummond. Wordsworth, also, thus speaks of Pine-trees moved by a gentle breeze:-- An idle voice the Sabbath region fills Of deep that calls to deep across the hills, Broke only by the melancholy sound Of drowsy bells for ever tinkling round; Faint wail of eagle melting into blue Beneath the cliffs, and Pine-wood's steady sugh. The quality of the timber of the Scotch Fir, according to some, is altogether dependent on soil, climate, and slowness of growth; but, according to others, it depends jointly on these circumstances, and on the kind of variety cultivated. It is acknowledged that the timber of the Scotch Fir, grown on rocky surfaces, or where the soil is dry and sandy, is generally more resinous and redder in colour, than that of such as grow on soils of a clayey nature, boggy, or on chalk. At what time the sap wood is transformed into durable or red wood, has not yet been determined by vegetable physiologists. The durability of the red timber of this tree was supposed by Brindley, the celebrated engineer, to be as great as that of the oak; and some of it, grown in the north Highlands, is reported to have been as fresh and full of resin after having been three hundred years in the roof of an old castle, as newly-imported timber from Memel. The red wood timber of the Scottish forests, similar, in every respect, to the best Baltic Pine, is the produce of trees that have numbered from one to two or more centuries. In Norway, it is not considered full-grown timber till it has reached from one hundred and thirty to two hundred years. It seems, then, rather preposterous, that any one should expect that plantation Fir timber, cut down when, perhaps, not more than thirty years old, and consisting entirely of sap wood, should be adapted to all those purposes which require the best full-grown and matured timber; and yet such seems very generally to have been the case, and to the disappointment at not finding those expectations realized, may be attributed a large portion of that prejudice and dislike so generally entertained towards this tree. On Hampstead Heath, near London, there are a number of Pines which are said to have been raised from seed brought from Ravenna. If so, the cones are very different from those of the Ravenna Pine described by Leigh Hunt:-- Various the trees and passing foliage there,-- Wild pear, and oak, and dusky juniper, With bryony between in trails of white, And ivy, and the suckle's streaky light, And moss warm gleaming with a sudden mark, Like flings of sunshine left upon the bark; And still the Pine long-haired, and dark, and tall, In lordly right, predominant o'er all. Much they admire that old religious tree, With shaft above the rest up-shooting free, And shaking, when its dark locks feel the wind, Its wealthy fruit with rough Mosaic rind. [Illustration: THE SILVER FIR.] THE SILVER FIR. [_Abies[S] picea._ Nat. Ord--_Coniferæ_; Linn.--_Monoec. Mon._] [S] For the generic characters, see p. 221. The Silver Fir is indigenous to the mountains of Central Europe, and to the west and north of Asia, rising to the commencement of the zone of the Scotch fir. It is found in France, on the Pyrenees, the Alps, and the Vosges; in Italy, Spain, Greece, and the south of Germany; also in Russia and Siberia; but it is not found indigenous in Britain or Ireland. On the Carpathian mountains it is found to the height of 3200 feet; and on the Alps, to the height of from 3000 to 4000 feet. Wherever it is found of a large size, as in the neighbourhood of Strasburg, and in the Vosges, where it has attained the height of one hundred and fifty feet, it invariably grows in good soil, and in a situation sheltered rather than exposed. It appears to have been introduced into England about the commencement of the seventeenth century; as we learn from Evelyn, that in 1663 there were two Silver Firs growing at Harefield, Middlesex, which were there planted sixty years before, at two years' growth from the seed, the larger of which had risen to the height of 81 feet, and was 13 feet in girth below; and it was calculated that it contained 146 feet of good timber. [Illustration: Foliage and Cones of _A. picea_, or _Picea_.] In full-grown trees, the trunk of the Silver Fir is from six to eight feet in diameter, covered, till its fortieth or fiftieth year, with a whitish-gray bark, tolerably smooth; but, as it increases in age, it becomes cracked and chapped. At a still greater age, the bark begins to scale off in large pieces, leaving the trunk of a dark brown colour beneath. The branches stand out horizontally, as do the branchlets and spray, with reference to the main stem of the branch. The leaves on young trees are distinctly two-rowed, and the general surface of the rows is flat; but, as the tree advances in age, and especially on cone-bearing shoots, the disposition of the leaves is less perfect. In every stage of growth they are turned up at the points; but more especially so on old trees, and on cone-bearing branches. The leaves are shorter and broader, and are set much thicker on the spray, than those of other firs and pines. The upper surface of the leaves is also of a darker and brighter green, while underneath they have two white silvery lines running lengthwise on each side of the midrib, which make a conspicuous appearance on the partially turned up leaves; whence its name. The cones of the Silver Fir are large and cylindrical, being from six to eight inches long, erect, and bluntly pointed at both ends. When young they are green, but, as they advance to maturity, the scales acquire a rich purplish colour, and when quite ripe are deep brown; they remain upwards of a year upon the tree, as they first appear in May, when they blossom, and do not ripen the seed till October of the following year. The scales are large, with a long dorsal bract, and fall from the axillar spindle of the cone in the spring of the second year. The seeds are irregular and angular, with a large membranaceous wing. Cones with fertile seeds are seldom produced before the tree has attained its fortieth year; though without, seeds often appear before half that period has elapsed. Gilpin remarks that "the Silver Fir has very little to boast in point of picturesque beauty. It has all the regularity of the spruce, but without its floating foliage. There is a sort of harsh, stiff, unbending formality in the stem, the branches, and the whole economy of the tree, which makes it disagreeable. We rarely see it, even in its happiest state, assume a picturesque shape." In this opinion Sir T. D. Lauder does not entirely coincide, for, in his remarks upon Gilpin's text, he says, "As to the picturesque effect of this tree, we have seen many of them throw out branches from near the very root, that twined and swept away from them in so bold a manner, as to give them, in a very great degree, that character which is most capable of engaging the interest of the artist." The rate of growth of the Silver Fir is slow when young, but rapid after it has attained the age of ten or twelve years. In England, under advantageous circumstances, it attains a magnificent size, some recorded trees being from 100 to 130 feet in height, with trunks varying in diameter from three to six feet, and containing from two hundred to upwards of three hundred feet of timber. In Scotland, also, it has reached dimensions equally great. At Roseneath Castle, Argyleshire, there are two Silver Firs which Sir T. D. Lauder considered the finest specimens he had ever seen. When measured in 1817, he says, "the circumference of one of them, at five feet from the ground, was fifteen feet nine inches; at three feet from the ground, it was seventeen feet six inches; and just above the roots, it was nineteen feet eight inches. The second tree was sixteen feet two inches in girth at five feet from the ground; seventeen feet eleven inches at three feet from the ground; and nineteen feet ten inches when measured immediately above the roots." The Silver Fir likewise grows to a large size in Ireland, much more rapidly than any other tree. Some planted in a wet clay, on a rock, have measured twelve feet in girth at the base, and seven feet six inches at five feet high, after a growth of forty years. [Illustration: THE NORWAY SPRUCE.] THE NORWAY SPRUCE. [_Abies[T] excelsa._ Nat. Ord.--_Coniferæ_; Linn.--_Monoec. Mon._] [T] _Generic characters._ Flowers monoecious. _Barren_ catkins crowded, racemose. Scales of the cone thinned away to the edge, and usually membranous or coriaceous. _Leaves_ never fascicled. Though a native of the mountains of Europe and Asia in similar parallels of latitude, the Spruce Fir is not considered indigenous to Britain. It must, however, have been introduced at an early period, as it is mentioned by our oldest writers on arboriculture. It is most common in Lapland, Norway, Sweden, Denmark, and throughout the north of Germany. It grows in the south of Norway at an elevation of 3000 feet above the level of the sea, and in the north on mountains in 70° N. lat. at 750 feet. In the valleys of the Swiss Alps, the Spruce is frequently found above one hundred and fifty feet in height, with trunks from four to five feet in diameter. This tree requires a soft moist soil. Among dry rocks and stones, where the Scotch fir would flourish, the Spruce Fir will scarcely grow. The Norway Spruce Fir is the loftiest of European trees, attaining, in favourable situations, the enormous height of one hundred and eighty feet; with a very straight upright trunk, from two to six feet in diameter, and widely extending branches, which spread out regularly on every side, so as to form a cone-like or pyramidal shape, terminating in a straight arrow-like leading shoot. In young trees, the branches are disposed in regular whorls from the base to the summit; but in old trees the lower branches drop off. The trunk is covered with a thin bark, of a reddish colour and scaly surface, with occasional warts or small excrescences distributed over its surface. The leaves are solitary, of a dark grassy green, generally under one inch in length, straight, stiff, and sharp-pointed, disposed around the shoots, and more crowded together laterally than on the upper and under sides of the branchlets. The barren flowers, about one inch long, are cylindrical, on long catkins, curved, of a yellowish colour, with red tips, and discharging, when expanded, a profusion of yellow pollen. The fertile flowers are produced at the ends of the branches, first appearing as small pointed purplish-red catkins; they afterwards gradually assume the cone-like form, and become pendant, changing first into a green and latterly into a reddish brown, acquiring a length of from five to seven inches, and a breadth of above two inches. The scales are rhomboidal, slightly incurved, and rugged or toothed at the tip, with two seeds in each scale. The seeds, which are very small, and furnished with large membranous wings, are not shed till the spring of the second year. [Illustration: Foliage and Cones of _A. excelsa_.] As an ornamental tree, all admirers of regularity and symmetry are generally partial to the Spruce. Gilpin was, however, no great admirer of the tree; but still he allows it to have had its peculiar beauties. "The Spruce Fir," he says, "is generally esteemed a more elegant tree than the Scotch pine; and the reason, I suppose, is because it often feathers to the ground, and grows in a more exact and regular shape: but this is a principal objection to it. It often wants both form and beauty. We admire its floating foliage, in which it sometimes exceeds all other trees; but it is rather disagreeable to see a repetition of these feathery strata, beautiful as they are, reared tier above tier, in regular order, from the bottom of a tree to the top. Its perpendicular stem, also, which has seldom any lineal variety, makes the appearance of the tree still more formal. It is not always, however, that the Spruce Fir grows with so much regularity. Sometimes a lateral branch, here and there taking the lead beyond the rest, breaks somewhat through the order commonly observed, and forms a few chasms, which have a good effect. When this is the case, the Spruce Fir ranks among picturesque trees. Sometimes it has as good an effect, and in many circumstances a better, when the contrast appears still stronger; when the tree is shattered by some accident, has lost many of its branches, and is scathed and ragged. A feathery branch, here and there, among broken stems, has often an admirable effect; but it must arise from some particular situation. In all circumstances, however, the Spruce Fir appears best either as a single tree, or unmixed with any of its fellows; for neither it, nor any of the spear-headed race, will ever form a beautiful clump without the assistance of other trees." The Spruce Fir is raised from seed, which should be chosen from healthy vigorous trees. The young plant appears with from seven to nine cotyledons, but makes little progress till after the third year, when it begins to put out lateral branches. Its progress from this time, till its fifth or sixth year, is at the annual rate of about six inches, after which age its annual growth, in favourable soils, is very rapid, the leading shoot being frequently from two to three feet in length, and this increase it continues to support with undiminished vigour for forty or fifty years, many trees within that period attaining a height of from sixty to eighty feet. Its growth after this period is slower, and the duration of the tree, in its native habitats, is considered to range between one hundred and one hundred and fifty years. [Illustration: THE SYCAMORE, OR GREATER MAPLE.] THE SYCAMORE, OR GREATER MAPLE. [_Acer[U] pseudo-platanus._ Nat. Ord.--_Aceraceæ_; Linn.--_Polyg. Monoec._] [U] For the generic characters, see p. 139. Turner, who wrote in 1551, considered the Sycamore as a stranger, or tree that had been introduced. On the Continent it is spread over the mountains of middle Europe; and is found in Switzerland, where it particularly abounds, growing at an elevation of from 2000 to 3000 feet above the level of the sea, where the soil is dry and of a good quality. [Illustration: Leaves, Bunch of Flowers, and Samaræ of _A. pseudo-platanus_.] The Sycamore is "certainly a noble tree," vieing, in point of magnitude, with the oak, the ash, and other trees of the first rank. It presents a grand unbroken mass of foliage, contrasting well, in appropriate situations, with trees of a lighter and more airy character. It has round spreading branches, and a smooth ash-coloured bark, frequently broken into patches of different hues, by peeling off in large flakes, like the planes. The leaves have long foot-stalks, are four or five inches broad, palmate, with five acute, unequally serrated lobes; the middle one largest, pale or shining beneath. The flowers are green, the size of a currant blossom, disposed into axillary, pendulous, compound clusters; stamens of the barren flower twice as long as the corolla. Ovary downy, with broad-spreading wings. Selby observes that "from the strength of its spray, and the nature of its growth, which is stiff and angular, the Sycamore is especially calculated to act as a shelter or break-wind in exposed situations, whether it be upon the coast where it braves the cutting eastern blasts, or upon bleak and elevated tracts, subject to long continued and powerful winds; for even in such localities, provided the soil be dry, and of tolerable quality, it attains a respectable size, and shows an upright form, unconquered by the blast. It is, probably, for these peculiar and enduring qualities that we see it so frequently in the north of England and in Scotland planted by itself, or sometimes in company with the ash, around farm houses and cottages, in high and exposed situations." This custom is evidently alluded to by the Westmoreland poet, in his description of the landscape on the banks of the Wye:-- Once again Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, That on a wild secluded scene impress Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect The landscape with the quiet of the sky. The day is come when I again repose Here, under the dark Sycamore, and view These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard tufts, Which at this season, with their unripe fruits, Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves Among the woods and copses, nor disturb The wild green landscape. Once again I see These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke, Sent up, in silence, from among the trees! With some uncertain notice, as might seem Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods, Or of some hermit's cave, where by his fire The hermit sits alone. These beauteous forms, Through a long absence, have not been to me As is a landscape to a blind man's eye: But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din Of towns and cities, I have owed to them, In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; And passing even into my purer mind, With tranquil restoration:--feelings, too, Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps, As have no slight or trivial influence On that best portion of a good man's life, His little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust, To them I may have owed another gift, Of aspect more sublime: that blessed mood, In which the burthen of the mystery-- In which the heavy and the weary weight Of all this unintelligible world Is lightened:--that serene and blessed mood, In which the affections gently lead us on, Until the breath of this corporeal frame, And even the motion of our human blood, Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things. If this Be but a vain belief, yet, O! how oft, In darkness, and amid the many shapes Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, Have hung upon the beatings of my heart, How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee, O sylvan Wye! Thou wanderer thro' the woods, How often has my spirit turned to thee! Wordsworth. The Sycamore is not unfrequently planted in streets and before houses, on account of its spreading branches and thick shade, for which it bears a high reputation. Of this tree Sir T. D. Lauder says, "the spring tints are rich, tender, glowing, and harmonious. In summer, its deep green hue accords well with its grand and massy form; and the browns and dingy reds of its autumnal tints harmonize well with the other colours of the mixed grove, to which they give a depth of tone. It is a favourite Scotch tree, having been much planted about old aristocratic residences in Scotland." The Sycamore, in the language of flowers, signifies curiosity, because it was supposed to be the "tree on which Zaccheus climbed to see Christ pass on his way to Jerusalem, when the people strewed leaves and branches of palm and other trees in his way, exclaiming, 'Hosanna to the Son of David!' The tree which is frequently called the Sycamore in the Bible, was not the species under description, _A. pseudo-platanus_, but a species of fig, _Ficus sycomorus_, a native of Egypt, where it is a timber-tree exceeding the middle size, and bearing edible fruit." The common Sycamore is generally propagated by seed; and its varieties by layers, or by budding or grafting. It will also propagate freely by cuttings of the roots. It is a tree of rapid growth, frequently attaining a diameter of from four to five inches in twenty years. It arrives at its full growth in fifty or sixty years; but it requires to be eighty or one hundred years old before its wood arrives at perfection. It produces fertile seeds at the age of twenty years, but flowers several years sooner. The longevity of the tree is from one hundred and forty to two hundred years, though it has been known of a much greater age. There are many fine Sycamores in different parts of the kingdom; the largest of which, one at Bishopton in Renfrewshire, is sixty feet in height and twenty feet in girth. This tree is known to have been planted before the Reformation, and is therefore more than three hundred years old, yet it has the appearance of being perfectly sound. [Illustration: THE COMMON WALNUT TREE.] THE COMMON WALNUT TREE. [_Juglans[V] regia._ Nat. Ord.--_Juglandaceæ_; Linn.--_Monoec. Polya._] [V] _Generic characters. Flowers_ monoecious. _Stamens_ 18 to 24. _Drupe_ with a 2-valved deciduous sarcocarp, or rind; and a deeply-wrinkled putamen or shell. The Walnut tree is a native of Persia, and is found growing wild in the North of China. It was known to the Greeks and Romans, and was probably introduced into this country by the latter. It is now to be met with in every part of Europe, as far north as Warsaw; but it is nowhere so far naturalized as to produce itself spontaneously from seed. It ripens its fruit, in fine seasons, in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh, as a standard; and it lives against a wall as far north as Dunrobin Castle, in Sutherlandshire. The Walnut forms a large and lofty tree, with strong spreading branches, attaining even in this country to the height of ninety feet. The leaves have three or four pairs of oval leaflets, terminated by an odd one, which is longer than the rest. The barren catkins are pendulous, and are produced near the points of the shoots. The bark is thick and deeply furrowed on the trunk; but on the upper branches it is gray and smooth. The fruit is green and oval; and, in the wild species, contains a small hard nut. In the most esteemed cultivated varieties, the fruit is of a roundish oval, and is strongly odoriferous; nearly two inches long, and one and a half broad. The nut occupies two-thirds of the volume of the fruit. Towards autumn the husk softens, and, decaying from about the nut, allows it to fall out. The nuts are used in different ways, and at various stages of their growth; when young and green, and before the shells become indurated, they make an excellent and well-known pickle, as well as a savoury kind of ketchup, and a liqueur is also made from them in this state. Previous to their becoming fully ripe, and while the kernel is yet soft, they are eaten in France with a seasoning of salt, pepper, vinegar, and shallots. When fully ripe, they are both wholesome and easy of digestion, so long as they remain fresh, and part freely from the pellicle, or skin, which envelopes the kernel. An oil is expressed from the nuts, which is of great service to the artist in whites, and other colours, and also for gold size and varnish. [Illustration: Leaves, Catkins, and Nuts of _J. regia_.] When Walnuts are plentiful, it has been observed that there is also a plentiful harvest. Virgil mentions this observation in the first of his _Georgics_, which is thus translated by Martyn:--"Observe also when the Walnut tree shall put on its bloom plentifully in the woods, and bend down its strong, swelling branches: if it abounds in fruit, you will have a like quantity of corn, and a great threshing with much heat. But if it abounds with a luxuriant shade of leaves, in vain shall your floor thresh the corn, which abounds with nothing but chaff." The Walnut is far from being an unpicturesque tree, and planted at some distance from each other they form shady and graceful avenues, and prosper well in hedge-rows. The Bergstras (which extends from Heidelberg to Darmstadt) is planted entirely with this tree; for by an ancient law, the Borderers were compelled to plant and train them up, chiefly on account of their ornament and shade, so that a man might ride for miles about that country, under a continued arbour or close walk--the traveller as well refreshed by its fruit as by its shade. Amid other trees whose foliage may be of a vivid green, its warm, russet-hued leaves present a pleasing variety about the end of May; and in summer that variety is still preserved by the contrast of its yellowish hues with the darker tints of other trees. It puts forth its leaves at such an advanced period of the year, and sheds them so early, that it is never long in harmony with the grove. It, therefore, stands best alone, as the premature loss of its foliage is then of less consequence. The Walnut tree is found abundantly in Burgundy, where it stands in the midst of their corn fields, at distances of sixty and a hundred feet, and is said to be a preserver of the crops by keeping the ground warm. Whenever a tree is felled, which is only when old and decayed, a young one is planted near it; and in Evelyn's time, between Hanau and Frankfort, in Germany, no young farmer was permitted to marry a wife, until he had brought proof that he had planted a stated number of these trees. M. Sorbiere mentions the Dutch plantations of Walnut trees in terms of praise, remarking, that even in the very roads and common highways, they are better preserved and maintained than those about the houses and gardens belonging to the nobility and gentry of most other countries. The Walnut was formerly in great request as a timber-tree; its place is generally now supplied by foreign woods, which excel that of our own growth. It was much used by cabinet-makers for bedsteads, and bureaus, for which purposes it is one of the most durable woods of English growth. It is also used for gun-stocks. Near the root of the tree the wood is finely veined--suitable for inlaying and other ornamental works. The sweet-leafed Walnut's undulated grain, Polished with care, adds to the workman's art Its varying beauties. Dodsley. The Walnut is propagated by the nut; which is best sown where it is finally to remain, on account of the tap-root, which will thus have its full influence on the vigour of the tree. The plant is somewhat tender when young, and apt to be injured by spring frosts: it, however, grows vigorously, and attains in the climate of London the height of twenty feet in ten years, beginning about that time to bear fruit. The Walnut sometimes attains a prodigious size and a great age. Scamozzi, a celebrated Italian architect, who died in 1616, mentions his having seen at St. Nicholas, in Lorraine, a single plank of the wood of this tree twenty-five feet wide, upon which the Emperor Frederick III. had given a sumptuous feast. There is a remarkable specimen of this tree at Kinross House, in Kinross-shire, which measured nine feet six inches in girth, in September, 1796, and is supposed to have been planted about 1684. Sir T. Dick Lauder says it is probably the oldest Walnut tree in Scotland, and is evidently decaying, though whether from accident or age is uncertain. Collinson tells us of another, in his _History of Somersetshire_, which he says grew in the Abbey Church-yard, on the north side of St. Joseph's Chapel. This was a miraculous Walnut tree, which never budded forth before the feast of St. Barnabas (that is, the 11th June), and on that very day shot forth leaves and flourished like its usual species. It is strange to say how much this tree was sought after by the credulous, and though not an uncommon Walnut, Queen Anne, King James, and many of the nobility, even when the times of monkish superstition had ceased, gave large sums of money for small cuttings from the original. [Illustration: THE WEYMOUTH PINE.] THE WEYMOUTH PINE. [_Pinus_[W] _strobus_. Nat. Ord.--_Coniferæ_; Linn.--_Monoec. Monan._] [W] For the generic characters, see p. 207. This Pine is a native of North America, growing in fertile soils, on the sides of hills, from Canada to Virginia. It was introduced about 1705, and was soon after planted in great quantities at Longleat, in Wiltshire, the seat of Lord Weymouth, where the trees prospered amazingly, and whence the species received the name of the Weymouth Pine. In America, in the state of Vermont, and near the commencement of the river St. Lawrence, this tree is found one hundred and eighty feet in height, with a straight trunk, from about four to seven feet in diameter. The trunk is generally free from branches for two-thirds or three-fourths of its height; the branches are short, and in whorls, or disposed in tiers one above another, nearly to the top, which consists of three or four upright branches, forming a small conical head. The bark, on young trees, is smooth, and even polished; but as the tree advances in age, it splits, and becomes rugged and gray, but does not fall off in scales like that of other Pines. The leaves are from three to four inches long, straight, upright, slender, soft, triquetrous, of a fine light bluish green, marked with silvery longitudinal channels; scabrous and inconspicuously serrated on the margin; spreading in summer, but in winter contracted, and lying close to the branches. The barren catkins are short, elliptic, racemose, pale purple, mixed with yellow, and turning red before they fall. The fertile catkins are ovate-cylindrical; erect, on short peduncles when young, but when full-grown pendulous, and from four to six inches long, slightly curved, and composed of thin smooth scales, rounded at the base, and partly covered with white resin, particularly on the tips of the scales; apex of the scales thick, and seeds oval, of a dull gray. The cones open to shed the seeds in October of the second year. [Illustration: Foliage, Cones: Scale opened, with two winged Seeds of _P. strobus_.] Gilpin is very severe upon this tree, and says that it has very little picturesque beauty to recommend it. On the contrary, this tree seems to be a great addition to a landscape: the meagreness of foliage, which Gilpin considers one of its principal defects, giving to it, in our opinion, an elegant appearance. He says that it is admired for its polished bark; but he adds, the painter's eye pays little attention to so trivial a circumstance, even when the tree is considered as a single object. Its stem rises with perpendicular exactness; it rarely varies, and its branches issue with equal formality from its sides. Opposed to the wildness of other trees, the regularity of the Weymouth Pine has sometimes its beauty. A few of its branches hanging from a mass of heavier foliage, may appear light and feathery, while its spiry head may often form an agreeable apex to a clump. The Weymouth Pine is propagated from seed, which come up the first year, and may be treated like those of the Scotch fir. The rate of growth, except in good soil and in very favourable situations, is slower than that of most European Pines. Nevertheless, in the climate of London, it will attain the height of twelve feet in ten years from the seed. The wood is white or very palish yellow, of a fine grain, soft, light, free from knots, and easily wrought; it is also durable, and not very liable to split when exposed to the sun: but it has little strength, gives a feeble hold to nails, and sometimes swells from the humidity of the atmosphere; while, from the very great diminution of the trunk from the base to the summit, it is difficult to procure planks of any great length and uniform diameter. The largest Weymouth Pine in this country is at Kingston, in Somersetshire. In 1837 this tree was ninety-five feet in height, with a trunk of three feet in diameter. [Illustration: THE WHITEBEAM TREE.] THE WHITEBEAM TREE. [_Pyrus aria_.[X] Nat. Ord.--_Rosaceæ_; Linn.--_Icosand. Pentag._] [X] _Generic characters._ _Calyx_ superior, monosepalous, 5-cleft. _Petals_ 5. _Styles_ 2 to 5. Fruit a _pome_, 5-celled, each cell 2-seeded, cartilaginous. The Whitebeam tree is a native of most parts of Europe, from Norway to the Mediterranean Sea; and also of Siberia and Western Asia. It is to be met with in every part of Britain, varying greatly in magnitude, according to soil and situation. It seems to prefer chalky soils, or limestone rocks; and also, according to Withering, loves dry hills and open exposures, and nourishes either on gravel or clay. The Whitebeam rises to the height of forty or fifty feet, with a straight, erect, smooth trunk, and numerous branches, which for the most part tend upwards, and form a round or oval head. The young shoots have a brown bark, covered with a mealy down. The leaves are between two and three inches long, and one and a half broad in the middle, oval, light green above, and very white and downy beneath. The flowers, which appear in May, are terminal, in large corymbs, two inches or more in diameter, and they are succeeded by scarlet fruit. Mr. Loudon says that, "as an ornamental tree, the Whitebeam has some valuable properties. It is of a moderate size, and of a definite shape; and thus, bearing a character of art, it is adapted for particular situations, near works of art, where the violent contrast exhibited by trees of picturesque forms would be inharmonious. In summer, when clothed with leaves, it forms a compact green mass, till it is ruffled by the wind, when it suddenly assumes a mealy whiteness. In the winter season, the tree is attractive from its smooth branches and its large green buds; which, from their size and colour, seem already prepared for spring, and remind us of the approach of that delightful season. When the tree is covered with its fruit, it is exceedingly ornamental." [Illustration: Leaves, Flowers, and Fruit of _P. avium_.] The Whitebeam may be raised from seed, which should be sown as soon as the fruit is ripe; otherwise, if kept till spring, and then sown, they will not come up till the spring following. The varieties may be propagated by cuttings, or by layering; but they root, by both modes, with great difficulty. Layers require to be made of the young wood, and to remain attached to the stool for two years. The rate of growth, when the tree is young, and in a good soil, is from eighteen to twenty-four inches a year: after it has attained the height of fifteen or twenty feet it grows much slower; but it is a tree of great duration. The roots descend very deep, and spread very wide; and the head of the tree is less affected by prevailing winds than almost any other. In the most exposed situations, on the Highland mountains, this tree is seldom seen above ten or fifteen feet high; but it is always stiff and erect. It bears lopping, and permits the grass to grow under it. The wood is hard and tough, and of a very close grain, and will take a very high polish. It is much used for knife handles, wooden spoons, axle-trees, walking-sticks, and tool-handles. Its principal use, however, is for cogs for wheels in machinery. [Illustration: THE WILD BLACK CHERRY OR GEAN.] THE WILD BLACK CHERRY OR GEAN. [_Prunus Avium._[Y] Nat. Ord.--_Rosaceæ_; Linn.--_Icosand. Monogy._] [Y] _Generic character. Calyx_ inferior, 5-cleft. _Petals_ 5. _Drupe_ roundish, covered with bloom; the _stone_ furrowed at its inner edge. The Cherry, in a wild state, is indigenous in Central Europe, and is also found in Russia up to 56° N. lat. In England, it is met with in woods and hedges; and is found apparently wild in Scotland and Ireland. The Wild Cherry has grown in this country from fifty to eighty-five feet in height. In cultivation, whether in woods or gardens, it may, in point of general appearance, be included in these forms:--Large trees with stout branches, and shoots proceeding from the main stem, nearly horizontally; fastigiate trees, or with the branches appressed to the stem, of a smaller size; and small trees with weak wood, and branches divergent and drooping. The leaves vary so much in the cultivated varieties, that it is impossible to characterise the sorts by them; but, in general, those of the large trees are largest, and the lightest in colour, and those of the slender-branched trees the smallest, and the darkest in colour; the flowers are also largest on the large trees. The specific characters of the Wild Black Cherry may be thus stated:--Leaves drooping, oblong, obovate, pointed, serrated, somewhat pendant, slightly pubescent on the under side, furnished with two glands at the base, and downy beneath. Flowers white, in nearly sessile umbels, not numerous. The colour of the fruit is a very deep, dark red, or black; the flesh is of the same colour, small in quantity, austere and bitter before it comes to maturity, and insipid when the fruit is perfectly ripe. The nut is oval or ovate, like the fruit, firmly adhering to the flesh, and very large in proportion to the fruit. The juice is mostly coloured: and the skin does not separate from the flesh. [Illustration: Leaves, Flowers, and Fruit of _P. Avium_.] As a tree, the Wild Cherry is not only valuable for its timber, but for the food which it supplies to birds, by increasing the number of which, the insects which attack trees of every kind are materially kept down. This is one reason why Cherry trees are generally encouraged in the forests of France and Belgium: an additional reason, in Britain, is the nourishment which they afford to singing birds, particularly to the blackbird and thrush, and while any are to be found on the trees, they may be said to convert them into musical bowers. As an ornamental tree it is also worth cultivating, as it produces a profusion of flowers from an early age, and at an early period of the year; these from their snowy whiteness, contrast well with the blossom of the almond and the scarlet thorn. Its foliage is also handsome, though rather too uniform and unbroken to produce picturesque effect; in the autumn, when it assumes a deep purplish-red colour, it gives a great richness to the landscape, and contrasts well with the yellows and browns which predominate at that season. The Wild Cherry is also recommended for the copse, because it produces a strong shoot, and will shoot forth from the roots as the elm, especially if you fell lusty trees. In light ground it will increase to a goodly tall tree, of which some have been known to attain the height of more than eighty-five feet. Sir T. D. Lauder says, "It may very well be called a forest-tree, seeing that in many parts of Scotland it is almost as numerous, and propagates itself as fast as the birch; it grows, moreover, to be a very handsome timber-tree, and the wood of it makes very pretty furniture. In form, it is oftener graceful than grand; and its foliage is rather too sparse to produce that tufty effect which gives breadth of light and depth of shadow enough to please the painter's eye. But on the cliffs of romantic rivers, such as the Findhorn, and other Scottish streams of the same character, where it is stinted of soil, it often shoots from the crevices of the rocks in very picturesque forms; and the scarlet of its autumnal tint, when not in excess, sometimes produces very brilliant touches in the landscape, when the neighbouring trees happen to be in harmony with it;" and if "merely considered as a natural object, nothing can be more splendid than its appearance when covered with a full blow of flowers in spring, or more gorgeous than the hue of its autumnal livery." "The Cherry has always been a favourite tree with poets; the brilliant red of the fruit, the whiteness and profusion of the blossoms, and the vigorous growth of the tree, affording abundant similies. At Ely, in Cambridgeshire, when the cherries are ripe, numbers of people repair, on what they call Cherry Sunday, to the cherry orchards in the neighbourhood; where, on the payment of 6_d._ each, they are allowed to eat as many cherries as they choose. A similar fète is held at Montmorency, in France. A festival is also celebrated annually at Hamburg, called the Feast of the Cherries, during which troops of children parade the streets with green boughs, ornamented with cherries. The original of this fète is said to be as follows:--In 1432, when the city of Hamburg was besieged by the Hussites, one of the citizens, named Wolf, proposed that all the children in the city, between seven and fourteen years of age, should be clad in mourning, and sent as suppliants to the enemy. Procopius Nasus, chief of the Hussites, was so much moved by this spectacle, that he not only promised to spare the city, but regaled the young suppliants with cherries and other fruits; and the children returned crowned with leaves, shouting 'Victory!' and holding boughs laden with cherries in their hands."--_Loudon._ The Common Wild Cherry is almost always raised from seed; but, as the roots throw up suckers in great abundance, these suckers might be employed for the same purpose. When plants are to be raised from seed, the cherries should be gathered when fully ripe and sown immediately with the flesh on, and covered with about an inch of light mould. The strongest plants, at the end of the next season, will be about eighteen inches in height; these may be drawn out from among the smaller plants, and transplanted into nursery rows, from whence they will, in another season, be fit to be transferred to the plantations, or to be grafted or budded. It will grow in any soil or situation, neither too wet nor entirely a strong clay. It stands less in need of shelter than any other fruit-bearing tree whatever, and for surrounding kitchen gardens, to form a screen against high winds. Dr. Withering observes that it thrives best when unmixed with other trees; that it bears pruning, and suffers the grass to grow under it. [Illustration: THE WILD SERVICE-TREE.] THE WILD SERVICE-TREE. [_Pyrus[Z] torminalis._ Nat. Ord.--_Rosaceæ_; Linn.--_Icosand. Pentag._] [Z] For the generic characters, see p. 243. The Common Wild Service-tree is a native of various parts of Europe, from Germany to the Mediterranean, and of the south of Russia, and Western Asia. It is found in woods and hedges in the middle and south of England, but not in Scotland or Ireland. It generally grows in strong clayey soils. This tree grows to the height of forty or fifty feet, spreading at the top into many branches, and forming a large head. The branches are well clad with leaves, and are covered when young with a purplish bark, with white spots. The leaves are on pretty long foot-stalks, and are nearly four inches in length and three in breadth in the middle, simple, somewhat cordate, serrate, seven-lobed, bright green on the upper side, and woolly underneath. The flowers are white, in large, terminal, downy panicles; they appear in May, and are succeeded by roundish compressed fruit, similar in appearance to large haws, and ripen late in autumn, when they are brown. If kept till they are soft, in the same way as medlars, they have an agreeable acid flavour. The Service-tree gives the husbandman an early presage of the approaching spring, by putting forth its adorned buds; and it ventures to peep out even in the severest seasons. As an ornamental tree, its large green buds strongly recommend it in the winter and spring; as its fine large-lobed leaves do in summer, and its large and numerous clusters of rich brown fruit do in autumn. [Illustration: Leaves, Flowers, and Fruit of _P. torminalis_.] The best mode of propagating the Service-tree is by suckers. Of these it puts forth a goodly number: and it may also be budded with great improvement. It prospers best in good stiff ground, of a nature rather cold than hot; for where the soil is too dry, it will not yield well. This tree may either be grafted on itself, or on the white thorn and quince. To this may be added the Mespilus, or medlar, being a very hard wood, and of which very beautiful walking-sticks are sometimes made. The timber of the Service-tree is useful for the joiner, and it has occasionally been used for wainscoting rooms. It is also used for bows, pulleys, screws, mill and other spindles; for goads to drive oxen with; for pistol and gun-stocks; and for most of the purposes for which the wild pear-tree is serviceable. It is valued by the turner in the manufacture of various curiosities, having a very delicate grain, which makes a showy appearance; and it is very durable. When rubbed over with well-boiled linseed oil, it is an admirable imitation of ebony, or almost any Indian wood. One of the finest specimens of the Service-tree in England is said to be at Arley Hall, near Bewdley. This tree is fifty-four feet six inches high; the diameter of the trunk, at a foot from the ground, is three feet six inches; and that of the head is fifty-eight feet eight inches. [Illustration: THE WILLOW-TREE.] THE WILLOW-TREE. [_Salix_[AA] Nat. Ord.--_Amentiferæ_; Linn.--_Dioec. Diand._] [AA] _Generic characters._ _Catkins_ oblong, imbricated all round, with oblong scales. _Perianth_ none. _Stamens_ 1-5. Fruit a 1-celled follicle with 1-2 glands at its base. The willow tribes that ever weep, Hang drooping o'er the glassy-bosom'd wave. Bidlake. The Willows are chiefly natives of the colder parts of the temperate regions of the northern hemisphere. More than two hundred species of this genus have been described by botanists, of which sixty-six are considered indigenous in this country. These are subdivided into scientific and economic groups. The economic groups are:--for growing as timber-trees, for coppice-wood, for hoops, for basket-rods, for hedges, and for ornamental trees or shrubs. The Babylonian or Weeping Willow, _S. Babylonica_, the portrait of which heads this article, is the most picturesque and beautiful tree of this genus. It is a native of Asia, on the banks of the Euphrates, near Babylon, whence its name; and also of China, and other parts of Asia; and of Egypt, and other parts of the north of Africa. It is said to have been introduced into England by the poet Pope, who planted it in his garden at Twickenham, where it was known until about 1800 as "Pope's Willow;" but it was more probably brought to Europe by the botanist Tournefort, before 1700. Of the Weeping Willow, Miller says, "It grows to a considerable size. I have one in my view whilst I am writing, which is four and a half feet in circumference at three feet above the ground, and is at least thirty feet in height; the age is thirty-four years. This tree is remarkable, and generally esteemed for its long slender pendulous branches, which give it a peculiar character, and render it a beautiful object on the margin of streams or pools. The leaves are minutely and sharply serrate, smooth on both sides, glaucous underneath, with the midrib whitish; on short petioles. Stipules, when present, roundish or semilunar, and very small; but more frequently wanting, and then in their stead a glandular dot on each side. Catkins axillary, small, oblong; in the barren the filaments longer than the scale, with two ovate erect glands fastened to the base; the fertile on two-leafed peduncles, scarcely longer than half an inch." The light airy spray of the Weeping Willow is pendent. The shape of its leaf is conformable to the pensile character of the tree; and its spray, which is lighter than that of the poplar, is more easily put into motion by a breath of air. The Weeping Willow, however, is not adapted to sublime subjects; but the associations which are awakened in conjunction with it, by that very beautiful psalm, "By the waters of Babylon we sat down and wept, when we remembered thee, O Sion! as for our harps, we hanged them up upon the Willows,"--are of themselves sufficient to impart to it an interest in every human breast touched by the sublime strains of the Psalmist. On the Willow thy harp is suspended, O Salem! its sound shall be free; And the hour when thy glories were ended, But left me that token of thee. And ne'er shall its soft notes be blended, With the voice of the spoiler by me. Byron. Gilpin says we do not employ the Willow to screen the broken buttresses and Gothic windows of an abbey, nor to overshadow the battlements of a ruined castle. These offices it resigns to the oak, whose dignity can support them. The Weeping Willow seeks a humbler scene--some romantic foot-path bridge, which it half conceals, or some glassy pool, over which it hangs its streaming foliage, --and dips Its pendent boughs, stooping, as if to drink. In these situations it appears in character, and to advantage. No poet ever mentions the Weeping Willow but in connection with sad and melancholy thoughts. Burns, in his "Braes of Yarrow," thus sings: Take off, take off these bridal weeds, And crown my careful head with Willow. Prior alludes to the afflicted daughters of Israel: Afflicted Israel shall sit weeping down, Their harps upon the neighbouring Willows hung. And Dr. Booker refers to the same pathetic scene: Silent their harps (each cord unstrung) On pendent Willow branches hung. The Willow is generally found growing on the borders of small streams or rivers. The Sacred writers almost constantly refer to this natural habit. Thus in Job we read: The shady trees cover him with their shadows; the Willows of the brook compass him about (xl. 22). And again, Isaiah, in two places, speaks of its connection with the brook: That which they have laid up, shall they carry away to the brook of the Willows (xv. 7). They shall spring up as among the grass, as Willows by the water-courses (xliv. 4). And Ezekiel refers to this habit of the Willow: He took also of the seed of the land, and placed it by great waters, and set it as a Willow-tree (xvii. 5). And in referring to profane authors, we find Milton speaking of --the rushy-fringed bank Where grows the Willow. An anonymous writer, too, mentions The thirsty Salix bending o'er the stream, Its boughs as banners waving to the breeze. The pastoral poet Rowe places his despairing Shepherd under Silken Willows. Thus he sings--(we will give the chorus in the first verse, and not repeat it, as it would occupy too much space): To the brook and the Willow that heard him complain, Ah, Willow, Willow; Poor Colin sat weeping, and told them his pain; Ah, Willow, Willow; ah, Willow, Willow. Sweet stream, he cry'd sadly, I'll teach thee to flow, And the waters shall rise to the brink with my woe. All restless and painful poor Amoret lies, And counts the sad moments of time as it flies. To the nymph my heart loves, ye soft slumbers repair, Spread your downy wings o'er her, and make her your care. Dear brook, were thy chance near her pillow to creep, Perhaps thy soft murmurs might lull her to sleep. Let me be kept waking, my eyes never close, So the sleep that I lose brings my fair-one repose. But if I am doom'd to be wretched indeed; If the loss of my dear-one, my love is decreed; If no more my sad heart by those eyes shall be cheered; If the voice of my warbler no more shall be heard; Believe me, thou fair-one; thou dear-one believe, Few sighs to thy loss, and few tears will I give. One fate to thy Colin and thee shall be ty'd, And soon lay thy shepherd close by thy cold side. Then run, gentle brook; and to lose thyself, haste; Fade thou, too, my Willow; this verse is my last. Chatterton, in one of his songs, has the following lines: Mie love ys dedde, Gon to ys deathe-bedde, Al under the Wyllowe-tree. In Ovid we read of A hollow vale, where watery torrents gush, Sinks in the plain; the osier, and the rush, The marshy sedge and bending Willow nod Their trailing foliage o'er its oozy sod. And Churchill speaks of The Willow weeping o'er the fatal wave, Where many a lover finds a watery grave. Shakspeare introduces it in Hamlet, where he describes the place of Ophelia's death: There is a Willow grows ascant the brook, That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream; There with fantastic garlands did she make, Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples, That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them: There on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds Clambering to hang, an envious silver broke; When down her weedy trophies and herself Fell in the weeping brook. The Willows that attain the size of trees of the first and second rank, and that produce valuable timber, are the four following:--The Crack Willow, the Russell Willow, the Huntingdon Willow, and the Goat Willow. [Illustration: Leaves and Catkins of _S. fragilis_.] The Crack or Red-wood Willow, _S. fragilis_, is a tall bushy tree, sometimes growing from eighty to ninety feet in height, with the branches set on obliquely, somewhat crossing each other, not continued in a straight line outwards from the trunk; by which character it may be readily distinguished even in winter. The branches are round, very smooth, "and so brittle at the base, in spring, that with the slightest blow they start from the trunk," whence the name of Crack Willow. Its leaves are ovate-lanceolate, pointed, serrated throughout, very glabrous. Foot-stalks glandular, ovary ovate, abrupt, nearly sessile, glabrous. Bracts oblong, about equal to the stamens and pistils. Stigmas cloven, longer than the style. The Russell or Bedford Willow, _S. Russelliana_, is frequently found from eighty to ninety feet in height. It is more handsome than _S. fragilis_ in its mode of growth, as well as altogether of a lighter or brighter hue. The branches are long, straight, and slender, not angular in their insertion, like those of _S. fragilis_. The leaves are lanceolate, tapering at each end, serrated throughout, and very glabrous. Foot-stalks, glandular or leafy. Ovary tapering; stalked, longer than the bracts. Style as long as the stigma. Dr. Johnson's favourite Willow, at Lichfield, was of this species. In 1781, the trunk of this tree rose to the height of nearly nine feet, and then divided into fifteen large ascending branches, which, in any numerous and crowded subdivisions, spread at the top in a circular form, not unlike the appearance of a shady oak, inclining a little towards the east. The circumference of the trunk at the bottom was nearly sixteen feet; in the middle about twelve feet; and thirteen feet at the top, immediately below the branches. The entire height of the tree was forty-nine feet; and the circumference of the branches, at their extremities, upwards of two hundred feet, overshadowing a plane not far short of four thousand feet. This species was first brought into notice for its valuable properties as a timber-tree, by the late Duke of Bedford; whence its name. The Huntingdon, or Common White Willow, _S. alba_, grows rapidly, attaining the height of thirty feet in twelve years, and rising to sixty feet in height, or upwards, even in inferior soils; while, in favourable situations, it will reach the height of eighty feet, or upwards. "The bark is thick and full of cracks. The branches are numerous, spreading widely, silky when young. The leaves are all alternate, on shortish foot-stalks, lanceolate, broadest a little above the middle, pointed, tapering towards each end, regularly and acutely serrated, the lowest serrature most glandular; both sides of a grayish, somewhat glaucous, green, beautifully silky, with close-pressed silvery hairs, very dense and brilliant on the uppermost, or youngest leaves; the lowermost on each branch, like the bracts, are smaller, more obtuse, and greener. Stipules variable, either roundish or oblong, small, often wanting. Catkins on short stalks, with three or four spreading bracts, for the most part coming from the leaves, but a few more often appear after midsummer; they are all cylindrical, rather slender, obtuse, near one and a half inch long. Scales fringed, rounded at the end; those of the barren catkins narrower towards the base; of the fertile, dilated and convolute in that part. Two obtuse glands, one before, the other behind the stamens. Filaments hairy in their lower part. Anthers roundish, yellow. Ovary very nearly sessile, green, smooth, ovate, lanceolate, bluntish, longer than the scale. Style short. Stigmas short, thickish, cloven. Capsule ovate, brown, smooth, rather small." The Goat Willow, Large-leafed Sallow, or Saugh, _S. caprea_, is distinguished from all the other Willows by its large ovate, or sometimes orbicular ovate leaves, which are pointed, serrated, and waved on the margin; beneath they are of a pale glaucous colour, and clothed with down, but dark green above; varying in length from two to three inches. Foot-stalks stout, downy. Stipules crescent-shaped. Capsules lanceolate, swelling. Style very short. Buds glabrous. Catkins very thick, oval, numerous, nearly sessile, expanding much earlier than the foliage. The ovary is stalked, silky, and ovate in form; the stigmas are undivided, and nearly sessile. In favourable situations this tree attains a height of from thirty to forty feet, with a trunk from one to two feet in diameter. It seldom, however, possesses any considerable length of clean stem, as the branches which form the head generally begin to divide at a moderate height, and diverging in different directions, give it the bearing and appearance of a compact, round-headed tree. It grows in almost all soils and situations, but prefers dry loams, and in such attains its greatest size. There are very few existing Willow-trees remarkable for age or size. The one most worthy of note is the Abbot's Willow, at Bury St. Edmunds. It grows on the banks of the Lark, a small river running through the park of John Benjafield, Esq. It is seventy-five feet in height, and the stem is eighteen feet and a half in girth; it then divides in a very picturesque manner into two large limbs, one fifteen and the other twelve feet in girth. It shadows an area of ground two hundred and four feet in diameter, and the tree contains four hundred and forty feet of solid timber. The uses of the Willow are perhaps equal to those of any other species of our native trees; it is remarked that it supports the banks of rivers, dries marshy soil, supplies bands or withies, feeds a great variety of insects, rejoices bees, yields abundance of fine wood, affords nourishment to cattle with its leaves, and yields a substitute for Jesuit's bark; to which Evelyn adds, all kinds of basket-work, pillboxes, cart saddle-trees, gun-stocks, and half-pikes, harrows, shoemakers' lasts, forks, rakes, ladders, poles for hop vines, small casks and vessels, especially to preserve verjuice in. To which may be added cricket-bats, and numerous other articles where lightness and toughness of wood are desirable. The wood of the Willow has also the property of whetting knives like a whetstone; therefore all knife-boards should be made of this tree in preference to any other. From the earliest times, the various species of Willow have been made use of by man for forming articles of utility; but as an account of our principal forest-trees is the object of this work, it would be out of place to describe those species which are cultivated for coppice-wood, hoops, basket-rods, or hedges. We may, however, remark that the shields of the ancients were made of wicker work, covered with ox-hides; that the ancient Britons served up their meats in osier baskets or dishes, and that these articles were greatly admired by the Romans. A basket I by painted Britons wrought, And now to Rome's imperial city brought. And for want of proper tools for sawing trees into planks, the Britons and other savages made boats of osiers covered with skins, in which they braved the ocean in quest of plunder:-- The bending Willow into barks they twined, Then lined the work with spoils of slaughtered kind; Such are the floats Venetian fishers know, Where in dull marshes stands the settling Po, On such to neighbouring Gaul, allured by gain, The bolder Briton crossed the swelling main. Rowe's _Lucan_. [Illustration: THE YEW-TREE.] THE YEW-TREE. [_Taxus[AB] baccata._ Nat. Ord.--_Taxaceæ_; Linn.--_Dioec. Monad._] [AB] _Generic characters. Barren_ flowers in oval catkins, with crowded, peltate scales, bearing 3 to 8 anther-cells. _Stamens_ numerous. _Style_ 1. _Anthers_ peltate, with several lobes. _Fertile_ flowers scaly below. _Ovule_ surrounded at the base by a ring, which becomes a fleshy cup-shaped disk surrounding the seed. The Berried or Common Yew is indigenous to most parts of Europe, from 58° N. lat. to the Mediterranean Sea; also to the east and west of Asia; and of North America. It is found in every part of Britain, and also in Ireland: on limestone cliffs, and in mountainous woods, in the south of England; on schistose, basaltic, and other rocks, in the north of England: and in Scotland, it is particularly abundant on the north side of the mountains near Loch Lomond. In Ireland, it grows in the crevices of rocks, at an elevation of 1200 feet above the level of the sea; but at that height it assumes the appearance of a low shrub. The Yew is rather a solitary than a social tree; being generally found either alone or with trees of a different species. The Yew-tree rises from the ground with a short but straight trunk, which sends out, at the height of three or four feet, numerous branches, spreading out nearly horizontally, and forms a head of dense foliage. When full-grown it attains the height of from thirty to fifty feet. The trunk and bark are channelled longitudinally, and are generally rough, from the protruding remains of shoots which have decayed and dropped off. The bark is smooth, thin, of a brown colour, and scales off like the pine. The branches are thickly clad with leaves, which are two-rowed, crowded, naked, linear, entire, very slightly revolute, and about one inch long; very dark green, smooth, and shining above; paler, with a prominent midrib, beneath; terminating in a point. The flowers, which appear in May, are solitary, proceeding from a scaly axillary bud; those of the barren plant are pale brown, and discharge a very abundant yellowish white pollen. The fertile flowers are green, and in form not unlike a young acorn. Fruit drooping, consisting of a sweet, internally glutinous, scarlet berry, open at the top, inclosing a brown oval nut, unconnected with the fleshy part. The kernels of these nuts are not deleterious, as supposed by many, but may be eaten, and they possess a sweet and agreeable nutty flavour. [Illustration: Foliage, Leaves, and Fruit of _T. baccata_.] Of all trees the Yew is the most tonsile. Hence all the indignities it formerly suffered. Everywhere it was cut and metamorphosed into such a variety of deformities, that we could hardly conceive that it had any natural shape, or the power which other trees possess, of hanging carelessly and negligently. Yet it has this power in a very eminent degree; and in a state of nature, except in exposed situations, is perhaps one of the most beautiful evergreens we have. It is now, however, seldom found in a state of perfection. Not ranking among timber-trees, it is thus in a degree unprivileged, and unprotected by forest laws, and has often been made booty of by those who durst not lay violent hands on the oak or the ash. But still, in many parts of the New Forest, some noble specimens of it are left. There is one which was esteemed by Gilpin to be a tree of peculiar beauty. It immediately divides into several massy limbs, each of which, hanging in grand loose foliage, spreads over a large compass of ground, and yet the whole tree forms a close compact body; that is, its boughs are not so separated as to break into distinct parts. It is not equal in size to the Yew at Fotheringal, near Taymouth, in Scotland, which measures fifty-six and a half feet in circumference, nor to many others on record; but is of sufficient size for all the purposes of landscape, and is in point of picturesque beauty probably equal to any of them. It stands near the left bank of Lymington river, as you look towards the sea, between Roydon Farm and Boldre Church. So long as the taste prevailed for metamorphosing the Yew into obelisks, pyramids, birds, and beasts, it was very commonly planted near houses. Now it is nearly banished from the precincts of our residences and pleasure-grounds; not, it would appear, from any real objection that can be urged either against its form or the effect it produces, but from now considering it as a funereal tree, and associating it with scenes of melancholy and the grave, a feeling doubtless arising from many of our most venerable and celebrated specimens growing in ancient church-yards. The origin of these locations is now considered to have arisen from churches having been erected on the sites of Druidical places of worship in Yew groves, or near old Yew-trees. Hence the planting of Yews in church-yards is a custom of heathen origin, which was ingrafted on Christianity on its introduction into Britain. The sepulchral character of the Yew is thus referred to by Sir Walter Scott, in _Rokeby_:-- But here 'twixt rock and river grew A dismal grove of sable Yew. With whose sad tints were mingled seen The blighted fir's sepulchral green. Seemed that the trees their shadows cast, The earth that nourished them to blast; For never knew that swathy grove The verdant hue that fairies love, Nor wilding green, nor woodland flower, Arose within its baleful bower. The dank and sable earth receives Its only carpet from the leaves, That, from the withering branches cast, Bestrewed the ground with every blast. And Kirke White, in a fragment written in Wilford church-yard, near Nottingham, on occasion of his recovering from sickness, thus introduces it:-- Here would I wish to sleep.--This is the spot Which I have long marked out to lay my bones in; Tired out and wearied with the riotous world, Beneath this Yew I would be sepulchred. While in that beautiful and pathetic Elegy of Gray's, which is familiar to every mind in Britain, we read:-- Beneath----------that Yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. Poor Carrington has the following lines on the Yew-tree, in a poem entitled _My Native Village_. The author is buried in the little quiet church-yard of Combehay, a sequestered village at a short distance from Bath. It is situated in a deep and unfrequented valley, where some of the finest and most luxuriant scenery in the west of England may be found. It was chosen, his son tells us, because it is a spot which, when living, he would have loved full well:-- Tree of the days of old--time-honour'd Yew! Pride of my boyhood--manhood--age, Adieu! Broad was thy shadow, mighty one, but now Sits desolation on thy leafless bough! That huge and far-fam'd trunk, scoop'd out by age, Will break, full soon, beneath the tempest's rage: Few are the leaves lone sprinkled o'er thy breast, There's bleakness, blackness on thy shiver'd crest! When Spring shall vivify again the earth, And yon blest vale shall ring with woodland mirth, Morning, noon, eve,--no bird with wanton glee Shall pour anew his poetry from thee; For thou hast lost thy greenness, and he loves The verdure and companionship of groves-- Sings where the song is loudest, and the spray, Fresh, fair, and youthful, dances in the ray! Nor shall returning Spring, o'er storms and strife Victorious, e'er recal thee into life! Yet stand thou there--majestic to the last, And stoop with grandeur to the conquering blast. Aye, stand thou there--for great in thy decay, Thou wondrous remnant of a far-gone day, Thy name, thy might, shall wake in rural song, Bless'd by the old--respected by the young; While all unknown, uncar'd for,--oak on oak Of yon tall grove shall feel the woodman's stroke; One common, early fate awaits them all, No sympathizing eye shall mark their fall; And beautiful in ruin as they lie, For them shall not be heard one rustic sigh! Since the use of the bow has been superseded by more deadly instruments of warfare, the cultivation of the Yew is now less common. This, says Evelyn, is to be deplored; for the barrenest ground and coldest of our mountains might be profitably replenished with them. However, in winter, we may still see some of the higher hills in Surrey clad with entire woods of Yew and cypress, for miles around, as we stand on Box Hill; and might, without any violence to the ordinary powers of imagination, fancy ourselves transported into a new or enchanted country. Indeed, Evelyn remarked, in his day, that if in any spot in England, --'tis here Eternal spring and summer all the year. Our venerable author records a Yew-tree, ten yards in girth, which grew in the church-yard of Crowhurst, in the county of Surrey. And another standing in Braburne church-yard, near Scot's Hall, Kent; which being fifty-eight feet eleven inches in circumference, would be near 20 feet in diameter. There are several remarkable existing church-yard Yews in this country. The tallest, which is at Harlington, near Hounslow, is fifty-six feet in height; another at Martley, Worcestershire, is about twelve yards in circumference; and at Ashill, Somersetshire, there are two very large trees--one fifteen feet round, extending its branches north and south fifty-six feet; the other dividing into three large trunks a little above the ground, but having many of its branches decayed. There are also eleven Yew-trees in the church-yard of Aberystwith, the largest being twenty-four feet, and the smallest eleven feet six inches, in circumference. There is also a group of Yews at Fountain's Abbey worthy of remark on their own account, and they are also interesting in a historical view. Burton gives the following notice of them:--"At Christmas the Archbishop, being at Ripon (anno 1132), assigned to the monks some lands in the patrimony of St. Peter, about three miles west of that place, for the erecting of a monastery. The spot of ground had never been inhabited, unless by wild beasts, being overgrown with wood and brambles, lying between two steep hills and rocks, covered with wood on all sides, more proper for a retreat for wild beasts than the human species. This was called Skeldale, or the vale of the Skell, a rivulet running through it from the west to the eastward part of it. The Archbishop also gave to them a neighbouring village, called Sutton Richard. The prior of St. Mary's, at York, was chosen abbot by the monks, being the first of this monastery of Fountain's, with whom they withdrew into this uncouth desert, without any house to shelter them in the winter season, or provisions to subsist on; but entirely depending on Divine Providence. There stood a large elm in the midst of the vale, on which they put some thatch or straw, and under that they lay, eat, and prayed, the bishop for a time supplying them with bread, and the rivulet with drink. Part of the day some spent in making wattles, to erect a little oratory, whilst others cleared some ground, to make a little garden. But it is supposed that they soon changed the shelter of the elm for that of seven Yew-trees, growing on the declivity of the hill, on the south side of the Abbey, all standing at this present time, except the largest, which was blown down about the middle of the last century. They are of extraordinary size; the trunk of one of them is twenty-six feet six inches in circumference, at the height of three feet from the ground; and they stand so near each other, as to form a cover almost equal to a thatched roof. Under these trees, we are told by tradition, the monks resided till they built the monastery, which seems to be very probable, when we consider how little a Yew-tree increases in a year, and to what a bulk these are grown. And as the hill-side was covered with wood, which is now cut down, except these trees, it seems as if they were left standing to perpetuate the memory of the monks' habitation there, during the first winter of their residence." Wordsworth gives us the following animated description of a noted Yew in Lorton Vale; and also of four others--the "fraternal four,"--growing in Borrowdale:-- There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale, Which to this day stands single, in the midst Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore, Nor loth to furnish weapons for the bands Of Omfraville or Percy, ere they marched To Scotland's heath; or those that crossed the sea, And drew their sounding bows at Agincourt, Perhaps at earlier Crecy, or Poictiers. Of vast circumference and gloom profound This solitary tree! a living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay; Of form and aspect too magnificent To be destroyed. But worthier still of note Are these fraternal four of Borrowdale, Joined in one solemn and capacious grove; Huge trunks! and each particular trunk a growth Of intertwisted fibres serpentine Up-coiling, and inveterately convolved,-- Nor uninformed with phantasy, and looks That threaten the profane;--a pillared shade Upon whose grassless floor of red-brown hue, By sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged Perennially--beneath whose sable roof Of boughs, as if for festal purpose, decked With unrejoicing berries, ghostly shapes May meet at moontide--Fear and trembling Hope, Silence and Foresight--Death the Skeleton, And Time the Shadow,--there to celebrate, As in a natural temple scattered o'er With altars undisturbed of mossy stone; United worship; or in mute repose To lie, and listen to the mountain flood Murmuring from Glaramara's inmost caves. The Yew is easily propagated by sowing the berries as soon as they are ripe (without clearing them from the surrounding pulp), upon a shady bed of fresh soil, covering them over about half an inch with the same earth. Many plants will appear in spring, while others will remain in the ground until autumn, or the spring following. When the plants come up, they should be kept free from weeds, or they will be choked and frequently destroyed. The plants may remain in the original bed two years, and then be removed early in October into beds four or five feet wide, each plant a foot apart from the next, and the same distance in the rows; taking care to lay a little muck over the ground about their roots, and to water them in dry weather. There the plants may remain two or three years, according to their growth, when they should be transplanted into nursery rows at three feet distance, and eighteen inches asunder. This operation must be performed in autumn. After remaining three or four years in the nursery, they may be planted where they are to remain, observing to remove them in autumn where the ground is very dry, and in spring where it is cold and moist. Whether as an evergreen undergrowth or as a timber-tree, the Yew deserves to be more extensively, cultivated than heretofore. As an underwood, it is scarcely inferior to the holly, and only so in failing to produce those sparkling effects of light which distinguish the larger and more highly glazed dark green foliage of that tree: in hardihood it is its equal, and it bears, with the same comparative impunity, the drip and shade of many of our loftier deciduous trees, a quality of great importance where an evergreen wood is desired. The great value and durable properties of its wood ought also to favour its introduction into our mixed plantations, even where profit is the chief object in view, the value of the wood well compensating for the slowness of its growth. Besides, when fostered by the shelter of surrounding trees, it would be drawn up and grow much more rapidly, and with a cleaner stem. The Yew is not only celebrated for its toughness and elasticity--it is a common saying among the inhabitants of the New Forest, that a post of Yew will outlast a post of iron. The veins of its timber exceed in beauty those of most other trees, and its roots are not surpassed by the ancient citron. The artists in box most gladly employ it; and for the cogs of mill-wheels and axle-trees, there is no wood to be compared to it. We extract the following table from the ancient laws of Wales, showing the comparative worth of a Yew with other trees:-- A consecrated Yew, its value is a pound. An oak, its value is six score pence. A mistletoe branch, its value is three score pence. Thirty pence is the value of every principal branch in the oak. Three score pence is the value of every sweet apple-tree. Thirty pence is the value of a sour apple-tree. Fifteen pence is the value of a good Yew-tree. Seven pence halfpenny is the value of a thorn-tree. FORESTS AND WOODLANDS OF GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND. The British isles, like other countries of Europe, were in former times abundantly covered with forests. The first general attack made upon these in England was in 1536, when Henry VIII. confiscated the church lands, and distributed them, together with their woods, among numerous grantees. But it was not until between the civil war which broke out in 1642 and the restoration in 1660, that the royal forests, as well as the woods of the nobility and gentry, were materially diminished. During these few years, however, many extensive forests so completely disappeared, that hardly any memorial was left of them but their name. These two great territorial changes were followed by increased social and national prosperity. Though we have now hardly any forests or woodlands of considerable extent, there are perhaps few countries over which timber is more equably distributed, that is, in those counties where the soil and aspect are favourable to its growth. Woods of small extent, coppices, clumps, and clusters of trees are very generally distributed over the face of the country, which, together with the timber scattered in the hedge-rows, constitute a mass of wood of no inconsiderable importance. In Herefordshire, Warwickshire, Northamptonshire, and Staffordshire is abundance of fine oak and elm woods. In Buckinghamshire there is much birch and oak, and also fine beech. Sussex, once celebrated for the extent and quality of its oak forests, has yet some good timber; at present its woodlands, including coppice-wood, occupy 175,000 acres. Essex, with 50,000 acres of woodland, has some elms and oaks. Surrey, Hertfordshire, and Derbyshire abound in coppice-woods. In Worcestershire is abundance of oak and elm. In Oxfordshire there are the forests of Wychwood and Stokenchurch, chiefly of beech, with some oak, ash, birch, and aspen. Berkshire contains a part of Windsor forest; and Gloucestershire, the Forest of Dean; so that these three last counties are extensively wooded and with noble trees. Cheshire has few woods of any extent, but the hedge-row timber and coppices are in such abundance as to give the whole country, especially when seen from an elevation, the appearance of a vast forest. Of the remaining counties some have very little wood, and a few are altogether without it; but the want and value of timber have given rise to a great many flourishing plantations. In Wales particularly, there is a rage for planting. In South Wales alone six millions of trees, it is said, are annually planted; if that is the case, nine-tenths of the number must come to nothing, or the whole country would be one entire forest. _Scotland_ has few forests of large timber, if we except the woods of Inverness-shire and Aberdeenshire. In the former of these counties the natural pine-woods exceed the quantity of this wood growing naturally in all the rest of Britain. In Strathspey alone, there are 15,000 acres of natural firs; and in other parts, the woods are reckoned by miles, not by acres; there are also oak woods and extensive tracts of birch. In Aberdeenshire, in the higher divisions of Mar, there are 100 square miles of wood and plantations. The pines of Braemar are magnificent in size, and are of the finest quality. Argyleshire, Dumbartonshire, and Stirlingshire have many thousands of acres of coppice-wood, and, with a very few exceptions, the remaining counties have many, and some very extensive plantations. _Ireland_ has every appearance of having been once covered with wood, but at the present day, timber is exceedingly scarce in that country, there being no woods, if we except a portion along the sea-coast of Wicklow, the borders of the Lake Gilly, in Sligo, some remains of an ancient forest in Galway, and some small woods round Lough Lene, in the county of Kerry. The lakes of Westmeath have also some wooded islands. There are extensive plantations in Waterford, and a few natural woods, of small extent, in Cavan and Down; but Fermanagh is the best-wooded part of Ireland. The want of wood, however, in this country, as far as it is employed for fuel, is little felt, in consequence of its extensive bogs, which furnish an almost inexhaustible quantity of peat. Upon the whole then, though Great Britain and Ireland do not now possess any extensive forests, still there is a considerable quantity of timber, and the extent of new plantations seems to promise that we shall never be wholly destitute of so essential an article as wood. According to M'Culloch, there is annually cut down in Great Britain and Ireland, timber to the amount of £2,000,000. * * * * * In this country, even in the time of the Saxons, the forests or tracts, more or less covered with wood, were generally public or crown lands, in which the king was accustomed to take the diversion of hunting, and that hunting from which all other persons were prohibited. This distinctly appears from the laws of king Canute, enacted in 1016. But the prohibition against hunting in these, was merely a protection thrown around the property of the crown of the same kind with that afforded to all other lauded estates, in regard to which, universally, the law was, that every proprietor might hunt in his own woods or fields, but that no other person might do so without his leave. On the establishment, however, of the Norman government, it has generally been supposed that the property of all the animals of chase throughout the kingdom was held to be vested in the crown, and no person, without the express licence of the crown, was allowed to hunt even upon his own estate. But this, after all, is rather a conjecture; and, perhaps, all that we are absolutely entitled to affirm, from the evidence we possess on the subject, is, that after the Norman conquest the royal forests were guarded with much greater strictness than before; that possibly in some cases their bounds were enlarged; that trespasses upon them were punished with much greater severity; and, finally, that there was established a new system of laws and of courts for their administration. In the language of the law, forests and chases differ from parks in not being enclosed by walls or palings, but only encompassed by metes and bounds; and a chase differs from a forest, both in being of much smaller extent (so that there are some chases within forests) and in its capability of being held by a subject, whereas a forest can only be in the hands of the Crown. But the material distinction is, or rather was, that forests alone were subject to the forest laws so long as they subsisted. Every forest, however, was also a chase. A forest is defined by Manwood, the great authority on the forest laws, as being "a certain territory or circuit of woody grounds and pastures, known in its bounds, and privileged, for the peaceable being and abiding of wild beasts, and fowls of forest, chase, and warren, to be under the king's protection for his princely delight; replenished with beasts of venery or chase, and great coverts of vert for succour of the said beasts; for preservation whereof there are particular laws, privileges, and officers belonging thereunto." The beasts of park or chase, according to Coke, are properly the buck, the doe, the fox, the marten, and the roe; but the term, in a wider sense, comprehends all the beasts of the forest. Beasts of warren are such as hares, conies, and roes; fowls of warren, such as the partridge, quail, rail, pheasant, woodcock, mallard, heron, &c. The national woodlands of England, for many centuries, consisted of 49 forests, 13 chases, and 781 parks; some of them being of great extent, as the New Forest in Hampshire, which still contains about 66,291 acres, and extends over a district of 20 miles from north-east to south-west, and about 15 miles from east to west. Recent parliamentary inquiry has so fully established long-continued mismanagement, embezzlement of timber, and encroachments upon the national forests and parks, that a considerable portion of what remains will probably be shortly sold or leased for general cultivation. The principal remaining national forests and parks are:-- 1. New Forest, Hampshire. 2. Dean Forest, Gloucestershire. 3. High Meadow Woods, do. 4. Alice Holt, Hampshire. 5. Woolmer Forest, do. 6. Parkhurst Forest, do. 7. Bere Forest, do. 8. Whittlebury Forest, Notts. 9. Salcey Forest, do. 10. Delamere Forest, Cheshire. 11. Wychwood Forest, Oxfordshire. 12. Waltham Forest, Essex. 13. Chopwell Woods, Durham. 14. The London Parks. 15. Greenwich Park. 16. Richmond Park. 17. Hampton and Bushy Parks. 18. Windsor Forest and Parks. MISCELLANEOUS INDEX. *_* The Names of the Trees described are given at page vii and viii. PAGE Alder timber valuable for piles; 45 Amazons, spears of the; 49 Aspen described; 204 Autumn, the Season of Landscape; 16 Bees, their fondness for the Linden flower; 136 Birch wine; 66 Blasted tree, its effect; 22 Bryony berries, ornamental, in their various stages; 23 Cadenham Oak; 172 Clump of trees; 25 Consecrated Yew-trees, ancient value of; 280 Copse, its use; 29 Cowper's Address to the Yardley Oak; 181 Cowthorpe Oak, near Wetherby; 180 Edlington; 9 Elm-tree, anciently considered as a funeral tree; 86 Ezekiel's (the Prophet) description of the Cedar-tree; 71 Forests and woodlands in the United Kingdom; 281 Gilpin, grave of the Rev. W. ----; 140 Glen, its character; 32 God's First Temples, Bryant's; 36 Gog and Magog; 181 Grove, its character; 33 Harefield Park in 1663, Silver Firs at; 218 Hawthorn, Queen Mary's; 94 Hern's Oak, Windsor Forest; 177 Holly-tree, supposed origin of the name; 107 ---- Persian tradition and custom connected with the; 108 Honeysuckle, wild, its ornamental effect; 23 Hop, its effect when supported by a tree; 24 Hornbeam Maze, at Hampton Court; 110 Horse-chestnuts, finest at Bushy Park; 119 Inscription for the entrance into a wood, Bryant's; 40 Ivy on Trees; 22 Larch-tree, durability of its timber; 130 Leafing of Trees; 13 Leonard, Legend of St.; 60 Lightness a characteristic of beauty in Trees; 19 Lime-tree avenues; 133 Lover's Tablet, the; 56 Magdalen College, Oxford, founded near "the great Oak"; 168 Maple-tree crusca and mollusca; 142 ---- the Sugar; 143 Mole, the; 42 Moss, its picturesque effect on the trunk of an aged Oak; 21 Motion, a source of picturesque beauty; 24 Mountain-Ash, Supersititions connected with the; 149 Mulberry-tree, Shakspeare's; 153 Norway Spruce Fir, the loftiest of European trees; 223 Nutting, pleasures of; 99 Oak-tree, the emblem of grandeur, strength, and duration; 158 Ornamental appendages to Trees; 22 Pine timber, character and value of; 215 Poplar dedicated to Hercules; 206 Pyramus and Thisbe, Fable of; 155 Queen Mary's Thorn; 94 Ravenna Pines at Hampstead, near London; 216 Reynolds, Tribute to Sir J; 133 Rufus, tradition respecting the place of his death; 170 Scotch Fir or Pine, durability of its timber; 215 Shire-Oak, near Worksop; 170 Swilcar Oak, in Needwood Forest; 179 Sycamore, Wordsworth's allusion to the; 229 Tamer, the finest Chestnut trees on the; 80 Traveller's joy ornamental; 23 Tree as a single object; 18 Venice Turpentine, how obtained; 127 Vernal Melody in the Forest; 15 Vine-clad branches of Trees; 23 Wallace's Oak; 176 Walnut tree, a miraculous; 238 Water-pipes, Elm; 89 Willow bark, a substitute for Jesuit's bark; 267 Woodlands and forests in the United Kingdom; 281 Yardley Oak; 180 Yew-tree, Wordsworth's description of a noted; 278 Zoroaster, the Holly and the disciples of; 108 GLASGOW: W. G. BLACKIE AND CO., PRINTERS, VILLAFIELD. * * * * * Transcriber's Note Although hyphenation was standardized, some words have both hyphaned and seperate words (for example, "light-green" and "light green") which were retained due to usage or being in qouatations. Non-standard formatting of scientific names was not changed (example, both _Abies Larix_ and Abies Larix appear). The Linnean system terminology was NOT standardized with the exception of Monoec. as an abbreviation for the term monoecious. 
37717	----	TREES WORTH KNOWING [Illustration: A BEND IN THE TRAIL] _LITTLE NATURE LIBRARY_ TREES WORTH KNOWING BY JULIA ELLEN ROGERS (_Author of_ _The Tree Book_, _The Tree Guide_, _Trees Every Child Should Know_, _The Book of Useful Plants_, _The Shell Book_, _etc., etc._) [Illustration: "Fructus Quam Folia"] _With forty-eight illustrations, sixteen being in color_ PUBLISHED BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY FOR NELSON DOUBLEDAY, INC. 1923 _Copyright, 1917, by_ DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY _All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian_ PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES AT THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS. GARDEN CITY, N. Y. CONTENTS PAGE INTRODUCTION xi PART I THE LIFE OF THE TREES 3 PART II THE NUT TREES 28 The Walnuts; The Hickories; The Beech; The Chestnuts; The Oaks; The Horse-chestnuts; The Lindens PART III WATER-LOVING TREES 75 The Poplars; The Willows; The Hornbeams; The Birches; The Alders; The Sycamores; The Gum Trees; The Osage Orange PART IV TREES WITH SHOWY FLOWERS AND FRUITS 101 The Magnolias; The Dogwoods; The Viburnums; The Mountain Ashes; The Rhododendron; The Mountain Laurel; The Madroña; The Sorrel Tree; The Silver Bell Trees; The Sweet Leaf; The Fringe Tree; The Laurel Family; The Witch Hazel; The Burning Bush; The Sumachs; The Smoke Tree; The Hollies PART V WILD RELATIVES OF OUR ORCHARD TREES 147 The Apples; The Plums; The Cherries; The Hawthorns; The Service-berries; The Hackberries; The Mulberries; The Figs; The Papaws; The Pond Apples; The Persimmons PART VI THE POD-BEARING TREES 176 The Locusts; The Acacias; Miscellaneous Species PART VII DECIDUOUS TREES WITH WINGED SEEDS 193 The Maples; The Ashes; The Elms PART VIII THE CONE-BEARING EVERGREENS 217 The Pines; The Spruces; The Firs; The Douglas Spruce; The Hemlocks; The Sequoias; The Arbor-vitaes; The Incense Cedar; The Cypresses; The Junipers; The Larches PART IX THE PALMS 280 GENERAL INDEX 283 LIST OF COLORED ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE Canoe or Paper Birch _On Cover_ A Bend in the Trail _Frontispiece_ Shagbark Hickory 6 Mockernut Fruit and Leaves 7 A Grove of Beeches 22 Chestnut Tree 23 Weeping Beech 30 Black Walnut 31 White Oak 38 Bur or Mossy-cup Oak Leaves and Fruit 39 Horse-chestnut in Blossom 54 Weeping Willow 55 Tulip Tree, Flower and Leaves 103 Flowering Dogwood 118 American Elm 215 Eastern Red Cedars and Hickory 230 LIST OF OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE Black Walnut Shoots 70 Shagbark Hickory 71 American Linden Leaves and Fruit 86 Trembling Aspen Catkins and Leaves 86-87 Pussy Willow Flowers 86-87 American Hornbeam--A Fruiting Branch 87 The Tattered, Silky Bark of the Birches 102 Sycamore Bark and Seed-balls 102-103 Bark, Seeds, and Seed-balls of the Sweet Gum 102-103 Osage Orange Leaves, and Flowers 119 Dogwood Bark, Blossom, Fruit, and Buds 134 Mountain Ash Flowers and Leaves 135 Sassafras Flowers, Fruit, and Leaves 150 Foliage and Flowers of the Smooth Sumach 150-151 Buds, Leaves, and Fruit of the Wild Crabapple 150-151 Canada Plum--Flowers and Trunk 151 Wild Black Cherry--Flowers and Fruit 166 Fruiting Branch of Cockspur Thorn 167 Service-berry Tree in Blossom 182 Hackberry--Flowers, Fruit, and Leaves 183 Honey Locust's Trunk, and Black Locust's Flowers and Leaves 198 Sugar Maple 198-199 Red Maple Flowers 198-199 Seed Keys and New Leaves of Soft or Silver Maple 199 White Ash Buds and Flowers 214 A Group of White Pines 214-215 Shortleaf Pine Cones and Needles 214-215 The Sugar Pine 231 Leaves and Cones of Hemlock and of Norway Spruce 246 Black Spruce Cones and Needles 247 Spray of Arbor-vitae 262 American Larch Cones and Needles 263 INTRODUCTION Occasionally I meet a person who says: "I know nothing at all about trees." This modest disclaimer is generally sincere, but it has always turned out to be untrue. "Oh, well, that old sugar maple, I've always known that tree. We used to tap all the sugar maples on the place every spring." Or again: "Everybody knows a white birch by its bark." "Of course, anybody who has ever been chestnutting knows a chestnut tree." Most people know Lombardy poplars, those green exclamation points so commonly planted in long soldierly rows on roadsides and boundary lines in many parts of the country. Willows, too, everybody knows are willows. The best nut trees, the shagbark, chestnut, and butternut, need no formal introduction. The honey locust has its striking three-pronged thorns, and its purple pods dangling in winter and skating off over the snow. The beech has its smooth, close bark of Quaker gray, and nobody needs to look for further evidence to determine this tree's name. So it is easily proved that each person has a good nucleus of tree knowledge around which to accumulate more. If people have the love of nature in their hearts--if things out of doors call irresistibly, at any season--it will not really matter if their lives are pinched and circumscribed. Ways and means of studying trees are easily found, even if the scant ends of busy days spent indoors are all the time at command. If there is energy to begin the undertaking it will soon furnish its own motive power. Tree students, like bird students, become enthusiasts. To understand their enthusiasm one must follow their examples. The beginner doesn't know exactly how and where to begin. There are great collections of trees here and there. The Arnold Arboretum in Boston is the great dendrological Noah's Ark in this country. It contains almost all the trees, American and foreign, which will grow in that region. The Shaw Botanical Garden at St. Louis is the largest midland assemblage of trees. Parks in various cities bring together as large a variety of trees as possible, and these are often labelled with their English and botanical names for the benefit of the public. Yet the places for the beginner are his own dooryard, the streets he travels four times a day to his work, and woods for his holiday, though they need not be forests. Arboreta are for his delight when he has gained some acquaintance with the tree families. But not at first. The trees may all be set out in tribes and families and labelled with their scientific names. They will but confuse and discourage him. There is not time to make their acquaintance. They overwhelm with the mere number of kinds. Great arboreta and parks are very scarce. Trees are everywhere. The acquaintance of trees is within the reach of all. First make a plan of the yard, locating and naming the trees you actually know. Extend it to include the street, and the neighbors' yards, as you get ready for them. Be very careful about giving names to trees. If you think you know a tree, ask yourself _how_ you know it. Sift out all the guesses, and the hearsays, and begin on a solid foundation, even if you are sure about only the sugar maple and the white birch. The characters to note in studying trees are: leaves, flowers, fruits, bark, buds, bud arrangement, leaf scars, and tree form. The season of the year determines which features are most prominent. Buds and leaf scars are the most unvarying of tree characters. In winter these traits and the tree frame are most plainly revealed. Winter often exhibits tree fruits on or under the tree, and dead-leaf studies are very satisfactory. Leaf arrangement may be made out at any season, for leaf scars tell this story after the leaves fall. Only three families of our large trees have opposite leaves. This fact helps the beginner. Look first at the twigs. If the leaves, or (in winter) the buds and leaf scars, stand opposite, the tree (if it is of large size) belongs to the maple, ash, or horse-chestnut family. Our native horse-chestnuts are buckeyes. If the leaves are simple the tree is a maple; if pinnately compound, of several leaflets, it is an ash; if palmately compound, of five to seven leaflets, it is a horse-chestnut. In winter dead leaves under the trees furnish this evidence. The winter buds of the horse-chestnut are large and waxy, and the leaf scars look like prints of a horse's hoof. Maple buds are small, and the leaf scar is a small, narrow crescent. Ash buds are dull and blunt, with rough, leathery scales. Maple twigs are slender. Ash and buckeye twigs are stout and clumsy. Bark is a distinguishing character of many trees--of others it is confusing. The sycamore, shedding bark in sheets from its limbs, exposes pale, smooth under bark. The tree is recognizable by its mottled appearance winter or summer. The corky ridges on limbs of sweet gum and bur oak are easily remembered traits. The peculiar horizontal peeling of bark on birches designates most of the genus. The prussic-acid taste of a twig sets the cherry tribe apart. The familiar aromatic taste of the green twigs of sassafras is its best winter character; the mitten-shaped leaves distinguish it in summer. It is necessary to get some book on the subject to discover the names of trees one studies, and to act as teacher at times. A book makes a good staff, but a poor crutch. The eyes and the judgment are the dependable things. In spring the way in which the leaves open is significant; so are the flowers. Every tree when it reaches proper age bears flowers. Not all bear fruit, but blossoms come on every tree. In summer the leaves and fruits are there to be examined. In autumn the ripening fruits are the special features. To know a tree's name is the beginning of acquaintance--not an end in itself. There is all the rest of one's life in which to follow it up. Tree friendships are very precious things. John Muir, writing among his beloved trees of the Yosemite Valley, adjures his world-weary fellow men to seek the companionship of trees. * * * * * "To learn how they live and behave in pure wildness, to see them in their varying aspects through the seasons and weather, rejoicing in the great storms, putting forth their new leaves and flowers, when all the streams are in flood, and the birds singing, and sending away their seeds in the thoughtful Indian summer, when all the landscape is glowing in deep, calm enthusiasm--for this you must love them and live with them, as free from schemes and care and time as the trees themselves." _Tree Names_ Two Latin words, written in italics, with a cabalistic abbreviation set after them, are a stumbling block on the page to the reader unaccustomed to scientific lore. He resents botanical names, and demands to know the tree's name in "plain English." Trees have both common and scientific names, and each has its use. Common names were applied to important trees by people, the world over, before science was born. Many trees were never noticed by anybody until botanists discovered and named them. They may never get common names at all. A name is a description reduced to its lowest terms. It consists usually of a surname and a descriptive adjective: Mary Jones, white oak, _Quercus alba_. Take the oaks, for example, and let us consider how they got their names, common and scientific. All acorn-bearing trees are oaks. They are found in Europe, Asia, and America. Their usefulness and beauty have impressed people. The Britons called them by a word which in our modern speech is _oak_, and as they came to know the different kinds, they added a descriptive word to the name of each. But "plain English" is not useful to the Frenchman. _Chêne_ is his name for the acorn trees. The German has his _Eichenbaum_, the Roman had his _Quercus_, and who knows what the Chinaman and the Hindoo in far Cathay or the American Indian called these trees? Common names made the trouble when the Tower of Babel was building. Latin has always been the universal language of scholars. It is dead, so that it can be depended upon to remain unchanged in its vocabulary and in its forms and usages. Scientific names are exact, and remain unchanged, though an article or a book using them may be translated into all the modern languages. The word _Quercus_ clears away difficulties. French, English, German hearers know what trees are meant--or they know just where in books of their own language to find them described. The abbreviation that follows a scientific name tells who first gave the name. "Linn." is frequently noticed, for Linnaeus is authority for thousands of plant names. Two sources of confusion make common names of trees unreliable: the application of one name to several species, and the application of several names to one species. To illustrate the first: There are a dozen ironwoods in American forests. They belong, with two exceptions, to different genera and to at least five different botanical families. To illustrate the second: The familiar American elm is known by at least seven local popular names. The bur oak has seven. Many of these are applied to other species. Three of the five native elms are called water elm; three are called red elm; three are called rock elm. There are seven scrub oaks. Only by mentioning the scientific name can a writer indicate with exactness which species he is talking about. The unscientific reader can go to the botanical manual or cyclopedia and under this name find the species described. In California grows a tree called by three popular names: leatherwood, slippery elm, and silver oak. Its name is _Fremontia_. It is as far removed from elms and oaks as sheep are from cattle and horses. But the names stick. It would be as easy to eradicate the trees, root and branch, from a region as to persuade people to abandon names they are accustomed to, though they may concede that you have proved these names incorrect, or meaningless, or vulgar. Nicknames like nigger pine, he huckleberry, she balsam, and bull bay ought to be dropped by all people who lay claim to intelligence and taste. With all their inaccuracies, common names have interesting histories, and the good ones are full of helpful suggestion to the learner. Many are literal translations of the Latin names. The first writers on botany wrote in Latin. Plants were described under the common name, if there was one; if not, the plant was named. The different species of each group were distinguished by the descriptions and the drawings that accompanied them. Linnaeus attempted to bring the work of botanical scholars together, and to publish descriptions and names of all known plants in a single volume. This he did, crediting each botanist with his work. The "Species Plantarum," Linnaeus's monumental work, became the foundation of the modern science of botany, for it included all the plants known and named up to the time of its publication. This was about the middle of the eighteenth century. The vast body of information which the "Species Plantarum" contained was systematically arranged. All the different species in one genus were brought together. They were described, each under a number; and an adjective word, usually descriptive of some marked characteristic, was written in as a marginal index. After Linnaeus's time botanists found that the genus name in combination with this marginal word made a convenient and exact means of designating the plant. Thus Linnaeus became the acknowledged originator of the binomial (two-name) system of nomenclature now in use in all sciences. It is a delightful coincidence that while Linnaeus was engaged on his great work, North America, that vast new field of botanical exploration, was being traversed by another Swedish scientist. Peter Kalm sent his specimens and his descriptive notes to Linnaeus, who described and named the new plants in his book. The specimens swelled the great herbarium at the University of Upsala. Among trees unknown to science before are the Magnolia, named in honor of the great French botanist, Magnol. Robinia, the locust, honors another French botanist, Robin, and his son. Kalmia, the beautiful mountain laurel, immortalizes the name of the devoted explorer who discovered it. Inevitably, duplication of names attended the work of the early scientists, isolated from each other, and far from libraries and herbaria. Any one discovering a plant he believed to be unknown to science published a description of it in some scientific journal. If some one else had described it at an earlier date, the fact became known in the course of time. The name earliest published is retained, and the later one is dropped to the rank of a _synonym_. If the _name_ has been used before to describe some other species in the same genus, a new name must be supplied. In the "Cyclopedia of Horticulture" the sugar maple is written: "_Acer saccharum_, Marsh. (_Acer saccharinum_, Wang. _Acer barbatum_, Michx.)" This means that the earliest name given this tree by a botanist was that of Marshall. Wangheimer and Michaux are therefore thrown out; the names given by them are among the synonyms. Our cork elm was until recently called "_Ulmus racemosa_, Thomas." The discovery that the name _racemosa_ was given long ago to the cork elm of Europe discredited it for the American tree. Mr. Sargent substituted the name of the author, and it now stands "_Ulmus Thomasi_, Sarg." Occasionally a generic name is changed. The old generic name becomes the specific name. Box elder was formerly known as "_Negundo aceroides_, Moench." It is changed back to "_Acer Negundo_, Linn." On the other hand, the tan-bark oak, which is intermediate in character between oaks and chestnuts, has been taken by Professor Sargent in his Manual, 1905, out of the genus _Quercus_ and set in a genus by itself. From "_Quercus densiflora_, Hook. and Arn." it is called "_Pasania densiflora_, Sarg.," the specific name being carried over to the new genus. About one hundred thousand species of plants have been named by botanists. They believe that one half of the world's flora is covered. Trees are better known than less conspicuous plants. Fungi and bacteria are just coming into notice. Yet even among trees new species are constantly being described. Professor Sargent described 567 native species in his "Silva of North America," published 1892-1900. His Manual, 1905, contains 630. Both books exclude Mexico. The silva of the tropics contains many unknown trees, for there are still impenetrable tracts of forest. The origin of local names of trees is interesting. History and romance, music and hard common sense are in these names--likewise much pure foolishness. The nearness to Mexico brought in the musical _piñon_ and _madroña_ in the southwest. _Pecanier_ and _bois d'arc_ came with many other French names with the Acadians to Louisiana. The Indians had many trees named, and we wisely kept hickory, wahoo, catalpa, persimmon, and a few others of them. Woodsmen have generally chosen descriptive names which are based on fact and are helpful to learners. Botanists have done this, too. Bark gives the names to shagbark hickory, striped maple, and naked wood. The color names white birch, black locust, blue beech. Wood names red oak, yellow-wood, and white-heart hickory. The texture names rock elm, punk oak, and soft pine. The uses name post oak, canoe birch, and lodge-pole pine. The tree habit is described by dwarf juniper and weeping spruce. The habitat by swamp maple, desert willow, and seaside alder. The range by California white oak and Georgia pine. Sap is characterized in sugar maple, sweet gum, balsam fir, and sweet birch. Twigs are indicated in clammy locust, cotton gum, winged elm. Leaf linings are referred to in silver maple, white poplar, and white basswood. Color of foliage, in gray pine, blue oak, and golden fir. Shape of leaves, in heart-leaved cucumber tree and ear-leaved umbrella. Resemblance of leaves to other species, in willow oak and parsley haw. The flowers of trees give names to tulip tree, silver-bell tree, and fringe tree. The fruit is described in big-cone pine, butternut, mossy-cup oak, and mock orange. Many trees retain their classical names, which have become the generic botanical ones, as acacia, ailanthus, and viburnum. Others modify these slightly, as pine from _Pinus_, and poplar from _Populus_. The number of local names a species has depends upon the notice it attracts and the range it has. The loblolly pine, important as a lumber tree, extends along the coast from New Jersey to Texas. It has twenty-two nicknames. The scientific name is for use when accurate designation of a species is required; the common name for ordinary speech. "What a beautiful _Quercus alba_!" sounds very silly and pedantic, even if it falls on scientific ears. Only persons of very shallow scientific learning use it on such informal occasions. Let us keep the most beautiful and fitting among common names, and work for their general adoption. There are no hard names once they become familiar ones. Nobody hesitates or stumbles over chrysanthemum and rhododendron, though these sonorous Greek derivatives have four syllables. Nobody asks what these names are "in plain English." TREES WORTH KNOWING TREES PART I THE LIFE OF THE TREES The swift unfolding of the leaves in spring is always a miracle. One day the budded twigs are still wrapped in the deep sleep of winter. A trace of green appears about the edges of the bud scales--they loosen and fall, and the tender green shoot looks timidly out and begins to unfold its crumpled leaves. Soon the delicate blade broadens and takes on the texture and familiar appearance of the grown-up leaf. Behold! while we watched the single shoot the bare tree has clothed itself in the green canopy of summer. How can this miracle take place? How does the tree come into full leaf, sometimes within a fraction of a week? It could never happen except for the store of concentrated food that the sap dissolves in spring and carries to the buds, and for the remarkable activity of the cambium cells within the buds. What is a bud? It is a shoot in miniature--its leaves or flowers, or both, formed with wondrous completeness in the previous summer. About its base are crowded leaves so hardened and overlapped as to cover and protect the tender shoot. All the tree can ever express of beauty or of energy comes out of these precious little "growing points," wrapped up all winter, but impatient, as spring approaches, to accept the invitation of the south wind and sun. The protective scale leaves fall when they are no longer needed. This vernal leaf fall makes little show on the forest floor, but it greatly exceeds in number of leaves the autumnal defoliation. Sometimes these bud scales lengthen before the shoot spares them. The silky, brown scales of the beech buds sometimes add twice their length, thus protecting the lengthening shoot which seems more delicate than most kinds, less ready to encounter unguarded the wind and the sun. The hickories, shagbark, and mockernut, show scales more than three inches long. Many leaves are rosy, or lilac tinted, when they open--the waxy granules of their precious "leaf green" screened by these colored pigments from the full glare of the sun. Some leaves have wool or silk growing like the pile of velvet on their surfaces. These hairs are protective also. They shrivel or blow away when the leaf comes to its full development. Occasionally a species retains the down on the lower surface of its leaves, or, oftener, merely in the angles of its veins. The folding and plaiting of the leaves bring the ribs and veins into prominence. The delicate green web sinks into folds between and is therefore protected from the weather. Young leaves hang limp, never presenting their perpendicular surfaces to the sun. Another protection to the infant leaf is the pair of stipules at its base. Such stipules enclose the leaves of tulip and magnolia trees. The beech leaf has two long strap-like stipules. Linden stipules are green and red--two concave, oblong leaves, like the two valves of a pea pod. Elm stipules are conspicuous. The black willow has large, leaf-like, heart-shaped stipules, green as the leaf and saw-toothed. Most stipules shield the tender leaf during the hours of its helplessness, and fall away as the leaf matures. Others persist, as is often seen in the black willows. With this second vernal leaf fall (for stipules are leaves) the leaves assume independence, and take up their serious work. They are ready to make the living for the whole tree. Nothing contributed by soil or atmosphere--no matter how rich it is--can become available for the tree's use until the leaves receive and prepare it. Every leaf that spreads its green blade to the sun is a laboratory, devoted to the manufacture of starch. It is, in fact, an outward extension of the living cambium, thrust out beyond the thick, hampering bark, and specialized to do its specific work rapidly and effectively. The structure of the leaves must be studied with a microscope. This laboratory has a delicate, transparent, enclosing wall, with doors, called stomates, scattered over the lower surface. The "leaf pulp" is inside, so is the framework of ribs and veins, that not only supports the soft tissues but furnishes the vascular system by which an incoming and outgoing current of sap is kept in constant circulation. In the upper half of the leaf, facing the sun, the pulp is in "palisade cells," regular, oblong, crowded together, and perpendicular to the flat surface. There are sometimes more than one layer of these cells. In the lower half of the leaf's thickness, between the palisade cells and the under surface, the tissue is spongy. There is no crowding of cells here. They are irregularly spherical, and cohere loosely, being separated by ample air spaces, which communicate with the outside world by the doorways mentioned above. An ordinary apple leaf has about one hundred thousand of these stomates to each square inch of its under surface. So the ventilation of the leaf is provided for. The food of trees comes from two sources--the air and the soil. Dry a stick of wood, and the water leaves it. Burn it now, and ashes remain. The water and the ashes came from the soil. That which came from the air passed off in gaseous form with the burning. Some elements from the soil also were converted by the heat into gases, and escaped by the chimneys. Take that same stick of wood, and, instead of burning it in an open fireplace or stove, smother it in a pit and burn it slowly, and it comes out a stick of charcoal, having its shape and size and grain preserved. It is carbon, its only impurity being a trace of ashes. What would have escaped up a chimney as carbonic-acid gas is confined here as a solid, and fire can yet liberate it. The vast amount of carbon which the body of a tree contains came into its leaves as a gas, carbon dioxide. The soil furnished various minerals, which were brought up in the "crude sap." Most of these remain as ashes when the wood is burned. Water comes from the soil. So the list of raw materials of tree food is complete, and the next question is: How are they prepared for the tree's use? The ascent of the sap from roots to leaves brings water with mineral salts dissolved in it. Thus potassium, calcium, magnesium, iron, sulphur, nitrogen, and phosphorus are brought to the leaf laboratories--some are useful, some useless. The stream of water contributes of itself to the laboratory whatever the leaf cells demand to keep their own substance sufficiently moist, and those molecules that are necessary to furnish hydrogen and oxygen for the making of starch. Water is needed also to keep full the channels of the returning streams, but the great bulk of water that the roots send up escapes by evaporation through the curtained doorways of the leaves. [Illustration: _See page 37_ SHAGBARK HICKORY] [Illustration: _See page 40_ MOCKERNUT FRUIT AND LEAVES] Starch contains carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen, the last two in the exact proportion that they bear to each other in water, H^{2}O. The carbon comes in as carbon dioxide, CO^{2}. There is no lack of this familiar gas in the air. It is exhaled constantly from the lungs of every animal, from chimneys, and from all decaying substances. It is diffused through the air, and, entering the leaves by the stomates, comes in contact with other food elements in the palisade cells. The power that runs this starch factory is the sun. The chlorophyll, or leaf green, which colors the clear protoplasm of the cells, is able to absorb in daylight (and especially on warm, sunny days) some of the energy of sunlight, and to enable the protoplasm to use the energy thus captured to the chemical breaking down of water and carbon dioxide, and the reuniting of their free atoms into new and more complex molecules. These are molecules of starch, C^{6}H^{10}O^{5}. The new product in soluble form makes its way into the current of nutritious sap that sets back into the tree. This is the one product of the factory--the source of all the tree's growth--for it is the elaborated sap, the food which nourishes every living cell from leaf to root tip. It builds new wood layers, extends both twigs and roots, and perfects the buds for the coming year. Sunset puts a stop to starch making. The power is turned off till another day. The distribution of starch goes on. The surplus is unloaded, and the way is cleared for work next day. On a sunless day less starch is made than on a bright one. Excess of water and of free oxygen is noticeable in this making of starch. Both escape in invisible gaseous form through the stomates. No carbon escapes, for it is all used up, and a continual supply of CO^2 sets in from outside. We find it at last in the form of solid wood fibres. So it is the leaf's high calling to take the crude elements brought to it, and convert them into food ready for assimilation. There are little elastic curtains on the doors of leaves, and in dry weather they are closely drawn. This is to prevent the free escape of water, which might debilitate the starch-making cells. In a moist atmosphere the doors stand wide open. Evaporation does not draw water so hard in such weather, and there is no danger of excessive loss. "The average oak tree in its five active months evaporates about 28,000 gallons of water"--an average of about 187 gallons a day. In the making of starch there is oxygen left over--just the amount there is left of the carbon dioxide when the carbon is seized for starch making. This accumulating gas passes into the air as free oxygen, "purifying" it for the use of all animal life, even as the absorption of carbon dioxide does. When daylight is gone, the exchange of these two gases ceases. There is no excess of oxygen nor demand for carbon dioxide until business begins in the morning. But now a process is detected that the day's activities had obscured. The living tree breathes--inhales oxygen and exhales carbonic-acid gas. Because the leaves exercise the function of respiration, they may properly be called the lungs of trees, for the respiration of animals differs in no essential from that of plants. The bulk of the work of the leaves is accomplished before midsummer. They are damaged by whipping in the wind, by the ravages of fungi and insects of many kinds. Soot and dust clog the stomates. Mineral deposits cumber the working cells. Finally they become sere and russet or "die like the dolphin," passing in all the splendor of sunset skies to oblivion on the leaf mould under the trees. _The Growth of a Tree_ The great chestnut tree on the hillside has cast its burden of ripe nuts, flung down the empty burs, and given its yellow leaves to the autumn winds. Now the owner has cut down its twin, which was too near a neighbor for the well-being of either, and is converting it into lumber. The lopped limbs have gone to the woodpile, and the boards will be dressed and polished and used for the woodwork of the new house. Here is our opportunity to see what the bark of the living tree conceals--to study the anatomy of the tree--to learn something of grain and wood rings and knots. The most amazing fact is that this "too, too solid flesh" of the tree body was all made of dirty water and carbonic-acid gas. Well may we feel a kind of awe and reverence for the leaves and the cambium--the builders of this wooden structure we call a tree. The bark, or outer garment, covers the tree completely, from tip of farthest root to tip of highest twig. Under the bark is the slimy, colorless living layer, the _cambium_, which we may define as the separation between wood and bark. It seems to have no perceptible diameter, though it impregnates with its substance the wood and bark next to it. This cambium is a continuous undergarment, lining the bark everywhere, covering the wood of every root and every twig as well as of the trunk and all its larger divisions. Under the cambium is the wood, which forms the real body of the tree. It is a hard and fibrous substance, which in cross section of root or trunk or limb or twig is seen to be in fine, but distinctly marked, concentric rings about a central pith. This pith is most conspicuous in the twigs. Now, what does the chestnut tree accomplish in a single growing season? We have seen its buds open in early spring and watched the leafy shoots unfold. Many of these bore clusters of blossoms in midsummer, long yellow spikes, shaking out a mist of pollen, and falling away at length, while the inconspicuous green flowers developed into spiny, velvet-lined burs that gave up in their own good time the nuts which are the seeds of the tree. The new shoots, having formed buds in the angles of their leaves, rest from their labors. The tree had added to the height and breadth of its crown the exact measure of its new shoots. There has been no lengthening of limb or trunk. But underground the roots have made a season's growth by extending their tips. These fresh rootlets clothed with the velvety root hairs are new, just as the shoots are new that bear the leaves on the ends of the branches. There is a general popular impression that trees grow in height by the gradual lengthening of trunk and limbs. If this were true, nails driven into the trunk in a vertical line would gradually become farther apart. They do not, as observation proves. Fence wires stapled to growing trees are not spread apart nor carried upward, though the trees may serve as posts for years, and the growth in diameter may swallow up staple and wire in a short time. Normal wood fibres are inert and do not lengthen. Only the season's rootlets and leafy shoots are soft and alive and capable of lengthening by cell division. The work of the leaves has already been described. The return current, bearing starch in soluble form, flows freely among the cells of the cambium. Oxygen is there also. The cambium cell in the growing season fulfills its life mission by absorbing food and dividing. This is growth--and the power to grow comes only to the cell attacked by oxygen. The rebuilding of its tissues multiplies the substance of the cambium at a rapid rate. A cell divides, producing two "daughter cells." Each is soon as large as its parent, and ready to divide in the same way. A cambium cell is a microscopic object, but in a tree there are millions upon millions of them. Consider how large an area of cambium a large tree has. It is exactly equivalent to the total area of its bark. Two cells by dividing make four. The next division produces eight, then sixteen, thirty-two, sixty-four, in geometric proportion. The cell's power and disposition to divide seems limited only by the food and oxygen supply. The cambium layer itself remains a very narrow zone of the newest, most active cells. The margins of the cambium are crowded with cells whose walls are thickened and whose protoplasm is no longer active. The accumulation of these worn-out cells forms the total of the season's growth, the annual ring of wood on one side of the cambium and the annual layer of bark on the other. What was once a delicate cell now becomes a hollow wood fibre, thin walled, but becoming thickened as it gets older. For a few years the superannuated cell is a part of the sap wood and is used as a tube in the system through which the crude sap mounts to the leaves. Later it may be stored full of starch, and the sap will flow up through newer tubes. At last the walls of the old cell harden and darken with mineral deposits. Many annual rings lie between it and the cambium. It has become a part of the heart wood of the tree. The cells of its own generation that were crowded in the other direction made part of an annual layer of bark. As new layers formed beneath them, and the bark stretched and cracked, they lost their moisture by contact with the outer air. Finally they became thin, loose fibres, and scaled off. The years of a tree's life are recorded with fair accuracy in the rings of its wood. The bark tells the same story, but the record is lost by its habit of sloughing off the outer layers. Occasionally a tree makes two layers of wood in a single season, but this is exceptional. Sometimes, as in a year of drought, the wood ring is so small as to be hardly distinguishable. Each annual ring in the chestnut stump is distinct from its neighboring ring. The wood gradually merges from a dark band full of large pores to one paler in color and of denser texture. It is very distinct in oak and ash. The coarser belt was formed first. The spring wood, being so open, discolors by the accumulation of dust when exposed to the air. The closer summer wood is paler in color and harder, the pores almost invisible to the unaided eye. The best timber has the highest percentage of summer wood. If a tree had no limbs, and merely laid on each year a layer of wood made of parallel fibres fitted on each other like pencils in a box, wood splitting would be child's play and carpenters would have less care to look after their tools. But woods differ in structure, and all fall short of the woodworker's ideal. The fibres of oak vary in shape and size. They taper and overlap their ends, making the wood less easily split than soft pine, for instance, whose fibres are regular cylinders, which lie parallel, and meet end to end without "breaking joints." Fibres of oak are also bound together by flattened bundles of horizontal fibres that extend from pith to cambium, insinuated between the vertical fibres. These are seen on a cross-section of a log as narrow, radiating lines starting from the pith and cutting straight through heart wood and sap wood to the bark. A tangential section of a log (the surface exposed by the removal of a slab on any side) shows these "pith rays," or "medullary rays" as long, tapering streaks. A longitudinal section made from bark to centre, as when a log is "quarter-sawed," shows a full side view of the "medullary rays." They are often an inch wide or more in oak; these wavy, irregular, gleaming fibre bands are known in the furniture trade as the "mirrors" of oak. They take a beautiful polish, and are highly esteemed in cabinet work. The best white oak has 20 per cent. to 25 per cent. of its substance made up of these pith rays. The horny texture of its wood, together with its strength and durability, give white oak an enviable place among timber trees, while the beauty of its pith rays ranks it high among ornamental woods. The grain of wood is its texture. Wide annual rings with large pores mark coarse-grained woods. They need "filling" with varnish or other substance before they can be satisfactorily polished. Fine-grained woods, if hard, polish best. Trees of slow growth usually have fine-grained wood, though the rule is not universal. Ordinarily wood fibres are parallel with their pith. They are straight grained. Exceptions to this rule are constantly encountered. The chief cause of variation is the fact that tree trunks branch. Limbs have their origin in the pith of the stems that bear them. Any stem is normally one year older than the branch it bears. So the base of any branch is a cone quite buried in the parent stem. A cross-section of this cone in a board sawed from the trunk is a _knot_. Its size and number of rings indicate its age. If the knot is diseased and loose, it will fall out, leaving a _knot hole_. The fibres of the wood of a branch are extensions of those just below it on the main stem. They spread out so as to meet around the twig and continue in parallel lines to its extremity. The fibres contiguous to those which were diverted from the main stem to clothe the branch must spread so as to meet above the branch, else the parent stem would be bare in this quarter. The union of stem and branch is weak above, as is shown by the clean break made above a twig when it is torn off, and the stubborn tearing of the fibres below down into the older stem. A half hour spent at the woodpile or among the trees with a jack-knife will demonstrate the laws by which the straight grain of wood is diverted by the insertion of limbs. The careful picking up and tearing back of the fibres of bark and wood will answer all our questions. Basswood whose fibres are tough is excellent for illustration. When a twig breaks off, the bark heals the wound and the grain becomes straight over the place. Trees crowded in a forest early divest themselves of their lower branches. These die for lack of sun and air, and the trunk covers their stubs with layers of straight-grained wood. Such timbers are the masts of ships, telegraph poles, and the best bridge timbers. Yet buried in their heart wood are the roots of every twig, great or small, that started out to grow when the tree was young. These knots are mostly small and sound, so they do not detract from the value of the lumber. It is a pleasure to work upon such a "stick of timber." A tree that grows in the open is clothed to the ground with branches, and its grain is found to be warped by hundreds of knots when it reaches the sawmill. Such a tree is an ornament to the landscape, but it makes inferior, unreliable lumber. The carpenter and the wood chopper despise it, for it ruins tools and tempers. Besides the natural diversion of straight grain by knots, there are some abnormal forms to notice. Wood sometimes shows wavy grain under its bark. Certain trees twist in growing, so as to throw the grain into spiral lines. Cypresses and gum trees often exhibit in old stumps a veering of the grain to the left for a few years, then suddenly to the right, producing a "cross grain" that defies attempts to split it. "Bird's-eye" and "curly maple" are prizes for the furniture maker. Occasionally a tree of swamp or sugar maple keeps alive the crowded twigs of its sapling for years, and forms adventitious buds as well. These dwarfed shoots persist, never getting ahead further than a few inches outside the bark. Each is the centre of a wood swelling on the tree body. The annual layers preserve all the inequalities. Dots surrounded by wavy rings are scattered over the boards when the tree is sawed. This is bird's-eye grain, beautiful in pattern and in sheen and coloring when polished. It is cut thin for veneer work. Extreme irregularity of grain adds to the value of woods, if they are capable of a high polish. The fine texture and coloring, combined with the beautiful patterns they display, give woods a place in the decorative arts that can be taken by no other material. _The Fall of the Leaves_ It is November, and the glory of the woods is departed. Dull browns and purples show where oaks still hold their leaves. Beech trees in sheltered places are still dressed in pale yellow. The elfin flowers of the witch hazel shine like threads of gold against the dull leaves that still cling. The trees lapse into their winter sleep. Last week a strange thing happened. The wind tore the red robes from our swamp maples and sassafras and scattered them in tatters over the lawn. But the horse-chestnut, decked out in yellow and green, lost scarcely a leaf. Three days later, in the hush of early morning, when there was not a whiff of a breeze perceptible, the signal, "Let go!" came, and with one accord the leaves of the horse-chestnut fell. In an hour the tree stood knee deep in a stack of yellow leaves; the few that still clung had considerable traces of green in them. Gradually these are dropping, and the shining buds remain as a pledge that the summer story just ended will be told again next year. Perhaps such a sight is more impressive if one realizes the vast importance of the work the leaves of a summer accomplish for the tree before their surrender. The shedding of leaves is a habit broad-leaved trees have learned by experience in contact with cold winters. The swamp magnolia is a beautiful evergreen tree in Florida. In Virginia the leaves shrivel, but they cling throughout the season. In New Jersey and north as far as Gloucester, where the tree occurs sparingly, it is frankly deciduous. Certain oaks in the Northern states have a stubborn way of clinging to their dead leaves all winter. Farther south some of these species grow and their leaves do not die in fall, but are practically evergreen, lasting till next year's shoots push them off. The same gradual change in habit is seen as a species is followed up a mountain side. The horse-chestnut will serve as a type of deciduous trees. Its leaves are large, and they write out, as if in capital letters, the story of the fall of the leaf. It is a serial, whose chapters run from July until November. The tree anticipates the coming of winter. Its buds are well formed by midsummer. Even then signs of preparation for the leaf fall appear. A line around the base of the leaf stem indicates where the break will be. Corky cells form on each side of this joint, replacing tissues which in the growing season can be parted only by breaking or tearing them forcibly. A clean-cut zone of separation weakens the hold of the leaf upon its twig, and when the moment arrives the lightest breath of wind--even the weight of the withered leaf itself--causes the natural separation. And the leaflets simultaneously fall away from their common petiole. There are more important things happening in leaves in late summer than the formation of corky cells. The plump green blades are full of valuable substance that the tree can ill afford to spare. In fact, a leaf is a layer of the precious cambium spread out on a framework of veins and covered with a delicate, transparent skin--a sort of etherealized bark. What a vast quantity of leaf pulp is in the foliage of a large tree! As summer wanes, and the upward tide of sap begins to fail, starch making in the leaf laboratories declines proportionately. Usually before midsummer the fresh green is dimmed. Dust and heat and insect injuries impair the leaf's capacity for work. The thrifty tree undertakes to withdraw the leaf pulp before winter comes. But how? It is not a simple process nor is it fully understood. The tubes that carried the products of the laboratory away are bound up with the fibres of the leaf's skeleton. Through the transparent leaf wall the migration of the pulp may be watched. It leaves the margins and the net veins, and settles around the ribs and mid vein, exactly as we should expect. Dried and shriveled horse-chestnut leaves are still able to show various stages in this marvellous retreat of the cambium. If moisture fails, the leaf bears some of its green substance with it to the earth. The "breaking down of the chlorophyll" is a chemical change that attends the ripening of a leaf. (Leaf ripening is as natural as the ripening of fruit.) The waxy granules disintegrate, and a yellow liquid shows its colors through the delicate leaf walls. Now other pigments, some curtained from view by the chlorophyll, others the products of decomposition, show themselves. Iron and other minerals the sap brought from the soil contribute reds and yellows and purples to the color scheme. As drainage proceeds, with the chemical changes that accompany it, the pageant of autumn colors passes over the woodlands. No weed or grass stem but joins in the carnival of the year. Crisp and dry the leaves fall. Among the crystals and granules that remain in their empty chambers there is little but waste that the tree can well afford to be rid of--substances that have clogged the leaf and impeded its work. We have been mistaken in attributing the gay colors of autumnal foliage to the action of frost. The ripening of the leaves occurs in the season of warm days and frosty nights, but it does not follow that the two phenomena belong together as cause and effect. Frost no doubt hastens the process. But the chemical changes that attend the migration of the carbohydrates and albuminous materials from the leaf back into twig and trunk and root for safe keeping go on no matter what the weather. In countries having a moist atmosphere autumn colors are less vivid. England and our own Pacific Coast have nothing to compare with the glory of the foliage in the forests of Canada and the Northeastern states, and with those on the wooded slopes of the Swiss Alps, and along the Rhine and the Danube. Long, dry autumns produce the finest succession of colors. The most brilliant reds and yellows often appear long before the first frost. Cold rains of long duration wash the colors out of the landscape, sometimes spoiling everything before October. A sharp freeze before the leaves expect it often cuts them off before they are ripe. They stiffen and fall, and are wet and limp next day, as if they had been scalded; all their rich cell substance lost to the tree, except as they form a mulch about its roots. But no tree can afford so expensive a fertilizer, and happily they are not often caught unawares. Under the trees the dead leaves lie, forming with the snow a protective blanket for the roots. In spring the rains will leach out their mineral substance and add it to the soil. The abundant lime in dead leaves is active in the formation of _humus_, which is decayed vegetable matter. We call it "leaf mould." So even the waste portions have their effectual work to do for the tree's good. The leaves of certain trees in regions of mild winters persist until they are pushed off by the swelling buds in spring. Others cling a year longer, in sorry contrast with the new foliage. We may believe that this is an indolent habit induced by climatic conditions. Leaves of evergreens cling from three to five years. Families and individuals differ; altitude and latitude produce variations. An evergreen in winter is a dull-looking object, if we could compare it with its summer foliage. Its chlorophyll granules withdraw from the surface of the leaf. They seek the lower ends of the palisade cells, as far as they can get from the leaf surface, assume a dull reddish brown or brownish yellow color, huddle in clumps, their water content greatly reduced, and thus hibernate, much as the cells of the cambium are doing under the bark. In this condition, alternate freezing and thawing seem to do no harm, and the leaves are ready in spring to resume the starch-making function if they are still young. Naturally, the oldest leaves are least capable of this work, and least is expected of them. Gradually they die and drop as new ones come on. As among broad-leaved trees, the zone of foliage in evergreens is an outer dome of newest shoots; the framework of large limbs is practically destitute of leaves. _How Trees Spend the Winter_ Nine out of every ten intelligent people will see nothing of interest in a row of bare trees. They casually state that buds are made in the early spring. They miss seeing the strength and beauty of tree architecture which the foliage conceals in summertime. The close-knit, alive-looking bark of a living tree they do not distinguish from the dull, loose-hung garment worn by the dead tree in the row. All trees look alike to them in winter. Yet there is so much to see if only one will take time to look. Even the most heedless are struck at times with the mystery of the winter trance of the trees. They know that each spring reënacts the vernal miracle. Thoughtful people have put questions to these sphinx-like trees. Secrets the bark and bud scales hide have been revealed to those who have patiently and importunately inquired. A keen pair of eyes used upon a single elm in the dooryard for a whole year will surprise and inform the observer. It will be indeed the year of miracle. A tree has no centre of life, no vital organs corresponding to those of animals. It is made up, from twig to root, of annual, concentric layers of wood around a central pith. It is completely covered with a close garment of bark, also made of annual layers. Between bark and wood is the delicate undergarment of living tissue called _cambium_. This is disappointing when one comes to look for it, for all there is of it is a colorless, slimy substance that moistens the youngest layers of wood and bark, and forms the layer of separation between them. This cambium is the life of the tree. A hollow trunk seems scarcely a disability. The loss of limbs a tree can survive and start afresh. But girdle its trunk, exposing a ring of the cambium to the air, and the tree dies. The vital connection of leaves and roots is destroyed by the girdling; nothing can save the tree's life. Girdle a limb or a twig and all above the injury suffers practical amputation. The bark protects the cambium, and the cambium is the tissue which by cell multiplication in the growing season produces the yearly additions of wood and bark. Buds are growing points set along the twigs. They produce leafy shoots, as a rule. Some are specialized to produce flowers and subsequently fruits. Leaves are extensions of cambium spread in the sun and air in the season when there is no danger from frosts. The leaves have been called the stomachs of a tree. They receive crude materials from the soil and the air and transmute them into starch under the action of sunlight. This elaborated sap supplies the hungry cambium cells during the growing season, and the excess of starch made in the leaf laboratories is stored away in empty wood cells and in every available space from bud to root tip, from bark to pith. The tree's period of greatest activity is the early summer. It is the time of growth and of preparation for the coming winter and for the spring that follows it. Winter is the time of rest--of sleep, or hibernation. A bear digs a hollow under the tree's roots and sleeps in it all winter, waking in the spring. In many ways the tree imitates the bear. Dangerous as are analogies between plants and animals, it is literally true that the sleeping bear and the dormant tree have each ceased to feed. The sole activity of each seems to be the quiet breathing. Do trees really breathe? As truly and as incessantly as you do, but not as actively. Other processes are intermittent, but breathing must go on, day and night, winter and summer, as long as life lasts. Breathing is low in winter. The tree is not growing. There is only the necessity of keeping it alive. [Illustration: _See page 42_ A GROVE OF BEECHES] [Illustration: _See page 44_ THE CHESTNUT] Leaves are the lungs of plants. In the growing season respiration goes on at a vigorous rate. The leaves also throw off in insensible vapor a vast quantity of water. This is called _transpiration_ in plants; in animals the term used is _perspiration_. They are one and the same process. An average white oak tree throws off 150 gallons of water in a single summer day. With the cutting off of the water supply at the roots in late fall, transpiration is also cut off. The skin is the efficient "third lung" of animals. The closing of its pores causes immediate suffocation. The bark of trees carries on the work of respiration in the absence of the leaves. Bark is porous, even where it is thickest. Look at the twigs of half a dozen kinds of trees, and find the little raised dots on the smooth surface. They usually vary in color from the bark. These are _lenticels_, or breathing pores--not holes, likely to become clogged with dust, but porous, corky tissue that filters the air as it comes in. In most trees the smooth epidermis of twigs is shed as the bark thickens and breaks into furrows. This obscures, though it does not obliterate, the air passages. Cherry and birch trees retain the silky epidermal bark on limbs, and in patches, at least, on the trunks of old trees. Here the lenticels are seen as parallel, horizontal slits, open sometimes, but usually filled with the characteristic corky substance. They admit air to the cambium. There is a popular fallacy that trees have no buds until spring. Some trees have very small buds. But there is no tree in our winter woods that will not freely show its buds to any one who wishes to see them. A very important part of the summer work of a tree is the forming of buds for next spring. Even when the leaves are just unfolding on the tender shoots a bud will be found in each angle between leaf and stem. All summer long its bud is the especial charge of each particular leaf. If accident destroy the leaf, the bud dies of neglect. When midsummer comes the bud is full grown, or nearly so, and the fall of the leaf is anticipated. The thrifty tree withdraws as much as possible of the rich green leaf pulp, and stores it in the twig to feed the opening buds in spring. What is there inside the wrappings of a winter bud? "A leaf," is the usual reply--and it is not a true one. A bud is an embryo shoot--one would better say, a shoot in miniature. It has very little length or diameter when the scales are stripped off. But with care the leaves can be spread open, and their shape and venation seen. The exact number the shoot was to bear are there to be counted. Take a horse-chestnut bud--one of the biggest ones--and you will unpack a cluster of flowers distinct in number and in parts. The bud of the tulip tree is smaller, but it holds a single blossom, and petals, stamens, and pistil are easily recognizable. Some buds contain flowers and no leaves. Some have shoots with both upon them. If we know the tree, we may guess accurately about its buds. There is another popular notion, very pretty and sentimental, but untrue, that study of buds is bound to overthrow. It is the belief that the woolly and silky linings of bud scales, and the scales themselves, and the wax that seals up many buds are all for the purpose of keeping the bud warm through the cold winter. The bark, according to the same notion, is to keep the tree warm. This idea is equally untenable. There is but feeble analogy between a warm-blooded animal wrapped in fur, its bodily heat kept up by fires within (the rapid oxidation of fats and carbohydrates in the tissues), and the winter condition of a tree. Hardy plants are of all things the most cold blooded. They are defended against injuries from cold in an effective but entirely different way. Exposure to the air and consequent loss of its moisture by evaporation is the death of the cambium--that which lies under the thick bark and in the tender tissues of the bud, sealed up in its layers of protecting scales. The cells of the cambium are plump little masses of protoplasm, semi-fluid in consistency in the growing season. They have plenty of room for expansion and division. Freezing would rupture their walls, and this would mean disintegration and death. Nature prepares the cells to be frozen without any harm. The water of the protoplasm is withdrawn by osmosis into the spaces between the cells. The mucilaginous substance left behind is loosely enclosed by the crumpled cell wall. Thus we see that a tree has about as much water in it in winter as in summer. Green wood cut in winter burns slowly and oozes water at the ends in the same discouraging way as it does in summertime. A tree takes on in winter the temperature of the surrounding air. In cold weather the water in buds and trunk and cambium freezes solid. Ice crystals form in the intercellular spaces where they have ample room, and so they do no damage in their alternate freezing and thawing. The protoplasm stiffens in excessive cold, but when the thermometer rises, life stirs again. Motion, breathing, and feeding are essential to cell life. It is hard to believe that buds freeze solid. But cut one open in a freezing cold room, and before you breathe upon it take a good look with a magnifier, and you should make out the ice crystals. The bark is actually frozen upon a stick of green stovewood. The sap that oozes out of the pith and heart wood was frozen, and dripped not at all until it was brought indoors. What is meant by the freezing of fruit buds in winter, by which the peach crop is so often lost in Northern states? When spring opens, the warmth of the air wakes the sleeping buds. It thaws the ice in the intercellular spaces, and the cells are quick to absorb the water they gave up when winter approached. The thawing of the ground surrounds the roots with moisture. Sap rises and flows into the utmost twig. Warm days in January or February are able to deceive the tree to this extent. The sudden change back to winter again catches them. The plump cells are ruptured and killed by the "frost bite." It is a bad plan to plant a tender kind of tree on the south side of a house or a wall. The direct and the reflected warmth of the sun forces its buds out too soon, and the late frosts cut them off. There is rarely a good yield on a tree so situated. There is no miracle like "the burst of spring." Who has watched a tree by the window as its twigs began to shine in early March, and the buds to swell and show edges of green as their scales lengthened? Then the little shoot struggled out, casting off the hindering scales with the scandalous ingratitude characteristic of infancy. Feeble and very appealing are the limp baby leaves on the shoot, as tender and pale green as asparagus tips. But all that store of rich nutritive material is backing the enterprise. The palms are lifted into the air; they broaden and take on the texture of the perfect, mature leaf. Scarcely a day is required to outgrow the hesitation and inexperience of youth. The tree stands decked in its canopy of leaves, every one of which is ready and eager to assume the responsibilities it faces. The season of starch making has opened. Cut some twigs of convenient trees in winter. Let them be good ones, with vigorous buds, and have them at least two feet long. You may test this statement I have made about the storing of food in the twigs, and the one about the unfolding of the leafy shoots. Get a number of them from the orchard--samples from cherry, plum, and apple trees; from maple and elm and any other familiar tree. Put them in jars of water and set them where they get the sun on a convenient window shelf. Give them plenty of water, and do not crowd them. It is not necessary to change the water, but cutting the ends slanting and under water every few days insures the unimpeded flow of the water up the stems and the more rapid development of the buds you are watching. When spring comes there are too many things that demand attention. The forcing of winter buds while yet it is winter is the ideal way to discover the trees' most precious secrets. PART II THE NUT TREES The Walnuts--The Hickories--The Beech--The Chestnuts--The Oaks--The White Oak Group--The Black Oak Group--The Horse-Chestnuts, or Buckeyes--The Lindens, or Basswoods THE WALNUTS Hickories are included with their near relatives, the walnuts, in one of the most important of all our native tree groups. They are distinct, yet they have many traits in common--the flowers and the nut fruits, the hard resinous wood, with aromatic sap and leaves of many leaflets, instead of a single blade. The walnuts are decidedly "worth knowing." All produce valuable timber and edible nuts, and all are good shade trees. Four native walnuts are well known in this country, for in October, every tree in every bit of woods is likely to be visited by school boys with bags, eager to gather the nuts before some other boy finds the tree, and thus establishes a prior claim upon it. The curiously gnawed shells outside the winter storehouse of some furry woods-dweller reveal the most successful competitor boys have, the constant watcher of the nut trees, a harvester who works at nothing else while the season is on. =The Southwestern Walnut= _Juglans rupestris_, Engelm. The walnut of the Southwest grows into a spreading, luxuriant tree, where its roots find water. But on the canyon sides, and higher on mountain slopes, it becomes a stunted shrub, because of lack of moisture. The nut is smaller than that of the eastern walnuts and has a thick shell, but the kernel is sweet and keeps its rich flavor for a long time. The Mexicans and Indians are glad to have this nut added to the stores they gather for their winter food. One striking feature of this tree is the pale, cottony down on its twigs, which sometimes persists three or four years. The long limbs droop at the extremities, almost deserving to be called "weeping." But nothing could be more cheerful in color than the yellow-green foliage, shining in the sun, against the white bark of the tree. In autumn the foliage turns bright yellow. A specimen, much admired, grows in the Arnold Arboretum in Boston. =The California Walnut= _J. californica_, Wats. The California walnut is a stocky, round-headed tree, with heavy, drooping branches, and bark that is white and smooth on limbs and on trunks of young trees. Ultimately the trunk turns nearly black, and is checked into broad, irregular ridges. In bottom lands, along the courses of rivers, back thirty miles from the coast, these trees are found, from the Sacramento Valley to the southern slopes of the San Bernardino Mountains. The foliage is bright pale green, feathery, the leaflets often curved to sickle form, showing paler silky linings. Californians admire and plant this tree for shade and ornament. Its greatest value is as a hardy stock upon which the "English" walnut is grafted by nurserymen, for planting orchards of this commercial nut. The fruit of the native nut is excellent, but it cannot compete with the thin-shelled nut that came from Persia, _via_ England. =The Butternut, White Walnut, or Oilnut= _J. cinerea_, Linn. In eastern woods the butternut is known by its long, pointed nuts, with deeply and raggedly sculptured shells, in fuzzy, clammy, sticky husks that stain the hands of him who attempts to get at the oily meat before the husks are dry. This dark stain was an important dye in the time when homespun cotton cloth was worn by men and boys. The modern khaki resembles in color the "butternut jeans," in which backwoods regiments of the Civil War were clad. Butternut husks and bark yield also a drug of cathartic properties. Pickling green oilnuts in their husks is a housewifely industry, on the summer programme of many housewives still, if the woods near by furnish the raw material for employing her great-grandmother's recipe, brought from England, or perhaps from France. The green nuts are tested with a knitting needle. If it goes through them with no difficulty, and yet the nuts are of good size, they are ready. Vigorous rubbing removes the fuzz after the nuts are scalded. Then they are pickled whole, in spiced vinegar, and are a rare, delectable relish with meats for the winter table. [Illustration: WEEPING BEECH _See page 42_] [Illustration: BLACK WALNUT _See page 31_] A butternut tree, beside the road, or elsewhere, with room to grow, has a short trunk, and a low, broad head, with a downward droop to the horizontal limbs. The bark is light brown, the limbs grayish green, the twigs and leaves all ooze a clammy, waxy, aromatic sap, and are covered with fine hairs of velvety abundance. Because it is low and rather wayward in growth, late to leaf out in spring, and early to shed its leaves in summer, the butternut is not a good street tree. It breaks easily in the wind, and crippled trees are more common than well-grown specimens. Insect and fungous enemies beset the species, and take advantage of breaks to invade the twigs through the chambered pith. Short-lived trees they are, whose brown, satiny wood is used in cabinet work, but is not plentiful. =The Black Walnut= _J. nigra_, Linn. The black walnut (_see illustrations, pages 31, 70_) is the second species east of the Rocky Mountains, and the tree chiefly depended upon, during the century just closed, by the makers of furniture of the more expensive grades. Black walnut wood is brown, with purplish tones in it, and a silvery lustre, when polished. Its hardness and strength commend it to the boat and ship builder. Gunstock factories use quantities of this wood. In furniture and interior woodwork, the curly walnut, found in the old stumps of trees cut long before, is especially sought for veneering panels. Old furniture, of designs that have passed out, are often sold to the factories, and their seasoned wood cut thin for veneering. Walnut trees one hundred and fifty feet high were not uncommon in the forests primeval, in the basin of the Ohio and Wabash rivers. These giants held up their majestic heads far over the tops of oaks and maples in the woods. They were slaughtered, rolled together, and burned by the pioneers, clearing the land for agriculture. These men had a special grudge against walnut trees, they were so stubborn--so hard to make away with. How unfortunate it is that our ancestors had the patience to go forward and conquer the unconquerable ones. Had they weakly surrendered, and let these trees stand, we should have had them for the various uses to which we put the finest lumber trees to-day. Unhappily, the growing of young trees has not been extensively undertaken to replace those destroyed. The newer forestry is awake to the need, and the loss may be made good, from this time forward. The black walnut is nearly globular, deeply sculptured, with a sweet nut rich in oil, very good if one eats but a few at a time. Locally, they find their way to market, but they soon become rancid in the grocer's barrel. At home, boys spread them, in their smooth, yellow-pitted husks, on the roof of the woodshed, for instance, so the husks can dry while the nuts are seasoning. No walnut opens its husk in regular segments, as the hickories all do. But the husking is not hard. The thick shells require careful management of the hammer or nut-cracker, to avoid breaking the meats. Dark as is its wood and bark, no walnut tree in full leaf is sombre. The foliage is bright, lustrous, yellow-green, graceful, dancing. A majestic tree, with a luxuriant crown from May till September, this walnut needs room to display its notable contour and size. It deserves more popularity than it enjoys as a tree for parks. No tree is more interesting to watch as it grows. The bitter spongy husk deters the squirrels from gnawing into the nut until the husk is dry and brittle. Hidden in the ground, the shell absorbs moisture, and winter frost cracks it, by the gentle but irresistible force of expanding particles of water as they turn to ice. So the plantlet has no hindrance to its growth when spring opens. Imitating nature, the nurseryman lays his walnuts and butternuts in a bed of sand or gravel, one layer above another, and lets the rain and the cold do the rest. In spring the "stratified" nuts are ready for planting. Sometimes careful cracking of the shell prepares the nut to sprout when planted. The Japanese walnuts (_J. Sieboldiana_ and _J. cordiformis_) are grown to a limited extent in states where the English walnut is not hardy. They are butternuts, and very much superior to our native species. A Manchurian walnut has been successfully introduced, but few people but the pioneers in nut culture know anything about these exotic species. South America and the West Indies have native species. So we shall not be surprised, in our travels, to find walnuts in the woods of many continents. =The English Walnut= _J. regia_, Linn. Originally at home in the forests of Persia and northwestern India, the English walnut was grown for its excellent nuts in the warm countries of Europe and Asia. It was a tree of great reputation when Linnaeus gave it the specific name that means _royal_. Indeed, this is the tree which gave to all the family the name "_Juglans_," which means, "Jove's acorn," in the writings of Roman authors. Kings made each other presents of these nuts, and so the range of the species was extended, even to England, by the planting of nuts from the south. It became the fad of gardeners, before the fifteenth century, to improve the varieties, and to compete with others in getting the thinnest shell, the largest nut, the sweetest kernel, just as horticulturists do now. In 1640 the herbalist Parkinson wrote about a variety of "French wallnuts, which are the greatest of any, within whose shell are often put a paire of fine gloves, neatly foulded up together." Another variety he mentions "whose shell is so tender that it may easily be broken between one's fingers, and the nut itsself is very sweete." In England, the climate prevents the ripening of the fruit of walnut trees. But the nuts reach good size, and are pickled green, for use as a relish; or made into catsups--husks and all being used, when a needle will still puncture the fruit with ease. In America, the first importations of the walnuts came from the Mediterranean countries, by way of England, "the mother country." In contradistinction to our black walnuts and butternuts, these nuts from overseas were called by the loyal colonists "English walnuts," and so they remain to this day in the markets of this country. It was natural and easy to grow these trees in the Southern states. But little had been done to improve them, or to grow them extensively for market, until California undertook to compete with Europe for the growing American trade. Now the crop reaches thousands of tons of nuts, and millions of dollars come back each year to the owners of walnut ranches. Hardy varieties have extended the range of nut-orcharding; and so has the grafting of tender varieties on stock of the native black walnut of California. The beauty of this Eurasian walnut tree would justify planting it merely for the adornment of parks and private grounds. Its broad dome of bright green foliage in summer, and its clean gray trunk and bare branches in winter, are attractive features in a landscape that has few deciduous trees. A fine dooryard tree that bears delicious nuts, after furnishing a grateful shade all summer, is deserving the popularity it enjoys with small farmers and owners of the simplest California homes. As a lumber tree, the walnut of Europe has long been commercially important. It is the staple wood for gun-stocks, and during wars the price has reached absurd heights, one country bidding against its rival to get control of the visible supply. Furniture makers use quantities of the curly walnut often found in stumps of old trees. The heart wood, always a rich brown, is often watered and crimped in curious and intricate patterns, that when polished blend the loveliest dark and light shades with the characteristic walnut lustre, to reward the skilled craftsman. In the United States this wood is rarely seen, because the trees are grown for their nuts. They require several years to come into bearing, are long-lived, have few enemies, and need little pruning as bearing age approaches. THE HICKORIES Americans have a right to be proud that the twelve hickory species are all natives of this country. Eleven of the twelve are found in the eastern half of the United States; one, only, strays into the forests of Mexico. No other country has a native hickory. Indians of the Algonkin tribe named this tree family, and taught the early colonists in Virginia to use for food the ripe nuts of the shagbark and mockernut. After cracking the shells, the procedure was to boil and strain the mixture, which gave them a rich, soupy liquid. Into this they stirred a coarse meal, made by grinding between stones the Indian corn. The mush was cooked slowly, then made into cakes, which were baked on hot stones. No more delicious nor wholesome food can be imagined than this. Frequently the soup was eaten alone; its name, "Powcohicora," gave the trees their English name, part of which the botanist, Rafinesque, took, Latinized, and set up as the name of the genus. Cut a twig of any hickory tree, and you realize that the wood is close-grained and very springy. The pith is solid, with a star form in cross-section, corresponding to the ranking of the leaves on the twigs. The wind strews no branches under a hickory tree, for the fibres of the wood are strong and flexible enough to resist a hurricane. (_See illustrations, pages 6, 71._) Hickory wood is unequalled for implements which must resist great strain and constant jarring. The running-gear of wagons and carriages, handles of pitchforks, axes, and like implements require it. Thin strips, woven into baskets for heavy market use, are almost indestructible. No fuel is better than seasoned hickory wood. =Shagbark or Shellbark= _Hicoria ovata_, Britt. The shagbark has gray bark that is shed in thin, tough, vertical strips. Attached by the middle, these strips often spring outward, at top and bottom, giving the bole a most untidy look (_see illustrations, pages 6, 71_), and threatening the trousers of any boy bold enough to try climbing into the smooth-barked top to beat off the nuts. In spite of the ragged-looking trunk, a shagbark grown in the open is a noble tree. The limbs are angular, but they express strength to the utmost twig, as the bare oblong of the tree's lofty head is etched against a wintry sky. The nuts are the chief blessing this tree confers upon the youngsters of any neighborhood. Individual trees differ in the size and quality of their fruit. The children know the best trees, and so do the squirrels, their chief competitors at harvest time. Frost causes the eager lads to seek their favorite trees, and underneath they find the four-parted husks dropping away from the angled nuts. There is no waiting, as with walnuts, for husking time to come. The tree is prompt about dropping its fruit. Spread for a few weeks, where they can dry, and thieving squirrels will let them alone, hickory nuts reach perfect condition for eating. Fat, proteid, and carbohydrates are found in concentrated form in those delicious meats. We may not know their dietetic value, but we all remember how good and how satisfying they are. No tree brings to the human family more valuable offerings than this one, rugged and ragged though it be. =The Big Shellbark= _H. lacinata_, Sarg. The big shellbark, like the little shellbark, is a common forest tree in the Middle West and Middle Atlantic states. It has a shaggy trunk, stout limbs, picturesquely angular, and it bears nuts that are sweet and of delicious flavor. In winter the orange-colored twigs, large terminal buds, and persistent stems of the dead leaves are distinguishing traits. These petioles shed the five to nine long leaflets and then stay on, their enlarged bases firmly tied by fibre bundles to the scar, though the stems writhe and curve as if eager to be free to die among the fallen blades. "King nuts," as the fruit of this tree is labelled in the markets, do not equal the little hickory nuts in quality, and their thick shells cover meats very little larger. But the nut in its husk on the tree is often three inches long--a very impressive sight to hungry nut-gatherers. In summer the downy leaf-linings and the uncommon size of the leaves best distinguish this tree from its near relative, whose five leaflets are smooth throughout, small, very rarely counting seven. [Illustration: _See page 42_ WHITE OAK] [Illustration: _See page 51_ BUR, OR MOSSY-CUP, OAK--LEAVES AND FRUIT] =The Pecan= _H. Pecan_, Britt. The pecan tree bears the best nuts in the hickory family. This species is coming to be a profitable orchard tree in many sections of the South. Most of the pecan nuts in the market come from wild trees in the Mississippi Basin. But late years have seen great strides taken to establish pecan growing as a paying horticultural enterprise in states outside, as well as within, the tree's natural range. And these efforts are succeeding. Experiment stations have tested seedling trees and selected varieties of known merit, until they know by actual experiment that pecans can be raised successfully in the Carolinas and in other states where the native species does not grow wild. Thin-shelled varieties, with the astringent red shell-lining almost eliminated, have been bred by selection, and propagated by building on native stock. The trees have proved to be fast-growing, early-fruiting, and easy to grow and protect from enemies. The market pays the highest price for pecans. The popularity of this nut is deserved, because by analysis it has the highest food value combined with the most delicate and delicious flavor. No nut is so rich in nutriment. None has so low a percentage of waste. The demand for nuts is constantly increasing as the public learns that the proteid the body needs can be obtained from nuts as well as from meat. Pecans have suffered in competition with other nuts because they are difficult to get out of the shells without breaking the meats. The old-fashioned hammer and block is not the method for them. A cracker I saw in use on the street corner in Chicago delighted me. Clamped to the nut-vendor's stall, it received the nut between two steel cups and, by the turn of a wheel, crowded it so that the shell buckled and broke where it is thinnest, around the middle, and the meat came out whole. =The Mockernut= _H. alba_, Britt. The mockernut is a mockery to him who hopes for nuts like those of either shagbark. The husk is often three inches long. Inside is a good-sized nut, angled above the middle, suggesting the shagbark. But what a thick, obstinate shell, when one attempts to "break and enter!" And what a trifling, insipid meat one finds, to repay the effort! Quite often there is nothing but a spongy remnant or the shell is empty. (_See illustration, page 7._) As a shade tree, the mockernut has real value, showing in winter a tall, slender pyramidal form, with large terminal buds tipping the velvety, resinous twigs. The bark is smooth as that of an ash, with shallow, wavy furrows, as if surfaced with a silky layer of new healing tissue, thrown up to fill up all depressions. Mockernut leaves are large, downy, yellow-green, turning to gold in autumn. Crushed they give out an aroma suggesting a delicate perfume. The flowers are abundant, and yet the most surprising show of colors on this tree comes in late April, when the great buds swell. The outer scales fall, and the inner ones expand into ruddy silken sheathes that stand erect around the central cluster of leaves, not yet awake, and every branch seems to hold up a great red tulip! The sight is wonderful. Nothing looks more flower-like than these opening hickory buds, and to the unobserving passerby the transformation is nothing short of a miracle. In a day, the leaves rise and spread their delicate leaflets, lengthening and becoming smooth, as the now useless red scales fall in a shower to the ground. =The Pignut= _H. glabra_, Britt. The pignut deserves the better name, "smooth hickory," a more ingratiating introduction to strangers. A graceful, symmetrical tree, with spreading limbs that end in delicate, pendulous branches, and gray bark checked into a maze of intersecting furrows, it is an ornament to any park, even in the dead of winter. In summer the tree laughs in the face of the sun, its smooth, glossy, yellow-green leaflets, five to seven on a stem, lined with pale green or yellow. In spring the clustered fringes among the opening leaves are the green and gold stamen flowers. The curiously angled fertile flowers, at the tips of twigs, are green, with yellow stigmas. Autumn turns the foliage to orange and brown, and lets fall the pear-shaped or rounded fruit, each nut obscurely four-angled and held fast at the base by the thin, 4-ridged husk, that splits scarcely to the middle. The kernel is insipid, sometimes bitter, occasionally rather sweet. Country boys scorn the pignut trees, leaving their fruit for eager but unsophisticated nut-gatherers from the towns. Pigs used to be turned into the woods to fatten on beech- and oak-"mast." They eagerly devoured the thin-shelled nuts of _H. glabra_, and thus the tree earned the friendly regard of farmers, and a name that preserves an interesting bit of pioneer history. The range of the pignut is from Maine to Florida on the Atlantic seaboard, west to the middle of Nebraska and Texas, and from Ontario and Michigan south to the Gulf. THE BEECH =The American Beech= _Fagus Americanus_, Sweet. One of the most widely distributed trees in our country, this is also one of the most useful and most beautiful in any forest. It is the sole representative of its genus in the Western Hemisphere. One species is a valuable timber tree in Europe. Three are natives of Asia. A genus near of kin includes the beech trees of the Southern Hemisphere, twelve species in all. There is closer resemblance, however, between our beeches and their next of kin, the chestnuts and oaks. From the Great Lakes to the Gulf of Mexico, from Florida to Texas, from New England to Wisconsin, beech trees grow; and where they grow they are very likely to form "pure forests," on the slopes of mountains and rich river bottoms. The largest specimens grow in the basin of the lower Ohio River, and on the warm slopes of the Alleghany Mountains. Standing alone, with room for full development, the beech is a fine, symmetrical tree, with horizontal or slightly drooping branches, numerous, thickly set with slender, flexible twigs. The stout trunk supports a round or conical head of very dense foliage. One hundred and twenty feet is the maximum height, with a trunk diameter of three to four feet. (_See illustrations, pages 22, 30._) The older the trees, the greater the amount of red heart wood in proportion to the white sap-wood, next to the bark. Red and white beech wood are distinguished by lumbermen. Red beech makes superior floors, toolhandles, chairs, and the like, and there is no more perfect fuel than seasoned beech wood. It is unreasonable to think that any but the blind could live where beech trees grow and not know these trees at a glance. The bark is close, unfurrowed, gray, often almost white, and marked with blotches, often nearly round of paler hue. The branches are dark and smooth and the twigs polished to the long, pointed winter buds. Throughout, the tree is a model of elegant attire, both in color and texture of the investing bark. In the growing season the leaves are the tree's chief attraction. They are closely plaited, and covered with silvery down, when the bud scales are pushed off in the spring. In a day, the protective fuzz disappears, and the full-grown leaf is seen, thin, strongly feather-veined, uniformly green, saw-toothed. Summer shows the foliage mass almost as fresh, and autumn turns its green to pale gold. Still unblemished, it clings, often until the end of winter, lighting the woods with a ghostly glow, as the rain fades the color out. The silky texture is never quite lost. The delicate flowers of the beech tree are rarely seen, they fade so soon; the stamen tassels drop off and the forming nuts, with their prickly burs, are more and more in evidence in the leaf angles near the ends of new shoots. With the first frost the burs open, the four walls part, releasing the two nuts, three-angled, like a grain of buckwheat. The name of this grain was suggested by its resemblance in form to the beechnut, or "buck mast," sweet, nutritious food of so many dwellers in the forest. Buck mast was the food of man when he lived in caves and under the forest cover. We know that beechnuts have a rich, delicate flavor that offsets the disadvantages of their small size and the difficulty of opening their thin but leathery shells. All along the centuries European peoples have counted on this nut, and oil expressed from it, for their own food and the dried leaves for forage for their cattle in winter. The American pioneer turned his hogs into the beech woods to fatten on the beech-mast, and Thanksgiving turkeys were always finer if they competed with the wild turkey on the same fare. Birds and lesser mammals do much to plant trees when they carry away, for immediate or future use, seeds that are not winged for flight. Beechnuts are light enough to profit, to some extent, by a high wind. And beech trees in their infancy do well under the shade of other trees. So each fruiting tree is the mother of many young ones. But the seedling trees are not so numerous and important as the sapling growth that rises from the roots of parent trees. By these alone, a few isolated beeches will manage to take possession of the ground around them and to clothe it with so dense a foliage screen that all young growth, except certain ferns and grasses, dies for lack of sun. Before we can realize what is going on, the tract is a pure forest of beech, rapidly enlarging on all sides by the same campaign of extension. THE CHESTNUTS =Chestnut and Chinquapin= _Castanea dentata_, Borh., and _C. pumila_, Mill. Our native chestnut and its little brother, the chinquapin, are the American cousins of the sweet chestnut of southern Europe. Japan has contributed to American horticulture a native species which bears large but not very sweet nuts, that are good when cooked. Our two trees bear sweet nuts, of a flavor that no mode of cooking improves. In truth, there is no finer nut; and the time to enjoy it to the highest degree is a few weeks after the frost opens the burs and lets the nuts fall. "Along about Thanksgiving," they have lost some of their moisture and are prime. In foreign countries the chestnut is a rich, nourishing food, comparable to the potato. Who could go into ecstasies over a vegetable that is a staple food for the peasants of Europe, Asia, and North Africa? Our chestnut is no staple. It is a delicacy. It is treasure trove from the autumn woods, and the gathering of the crop is a game in which boys and squirrels are rivals. Ernest Thompson Seton, always a boy, knows the impatience with which the opening of the burs is watched for, as the belated frosts keep off, and the burs hang tantalizingly closed. The cruel wounds made by the spines and the raw taste of the immature nuts are poor recompense for the labor of nutting before Nature gives the sign that all's ready. Here is Mr. Seton's estimate of the chestnut of "brown October's woods." "Whenever you see something kept under lock and key, bars and bolts, guarded and double-guarded, you may be sure it is very precious, greatly coveted. The nut of this tree is hung high aloft, wrapped in a silk wrapper, which is enclosed in a case of sole leather, which again is packed in a mass of shock-absorbing, vermin-proof pulp, sealed up in a waterproof, ironwood case, and finally cased in a vegetable porcupine of spines, almost impregnable. There is no nut so protected; there is no nut in our woods to compare with it as food." What a disaster then is the newly arisen bark disease that has already killed every chestnut tree throughout large areas in the Eastern states. Scientists have thus far struggled with it in vain and it is probable that all chestnuts east of the Rockies are doomed. Chinquapins grow to be medium-sized trees in Texas and Arkansas, but east of the Mississippi they are smaller, and east of the Alleghanies, mere shrubby undergrowth, covering rocky banks or crouching along swamp borders. They are smaller throughout, but resemble the chestnut in leaf, flowers, and fruit. The bur contains a single nut. The chestnut tree grows large and attains great age, its sturdy, rough gray trunk crowned with an oblong head of irregular branches, hidden in summer by the abundant foliage mass. (_See illustration, page 23._) The ugly cripple that lightning has maimed covers its wounds when May wakes the late-opening buds and the leaves attain full size. Each leaf tapers at both ends, its length three or four times its width. Strong-ribbed and sharp-toothed, and wavy on the midrib, dark, polished, like leather, these units form a wonderful dome, lightened in midsummer by the pencil-like plumes of the staminate flowers, with the fertile ones at their bases. As autumn comes on the leaf crown turns to gold, and the mature fruits are still green spiny balls. The first frost and the time to drop the nuts are dates that every schoolboy knows come close together. When a chestnut tree falls by the axe, the roots restore the loss by sending up sprouts around the stump. The mouldering pile nourishes a circle of young trees, full of vigor, because they have the large tree's roots gathering food for them. No wonder their growth is rapid. Besides this mode of reproduction, chestnut trees, growing here and there throughout a mixed forest, are the offspring of trees whose nuts were put away, or dropped and lost by squirrels. When spring relieves the danger of famine, many of the rodent class abandon their winter stores before they are all devoured. Such caches add many nut trees to our native woods. THE OAKS This is the great family of the cup-bearers, whose fruit, the acorn, is borne in a scaly cup that never breaks into quarters, as does the husk that holds a chestnut, beechnut, or hickory nut. All oak trees bear acorns as soon as they come to fruiting age. This is the sign by which they are known the world over. Seldom is a full-grown oak without its little insignia, for the cups cling after the nut falls, and one grand division of the family requires two seasons to mature its fruit. For this reason, half-grown acorns are seen on the twigs after the ripe ones fall. We cannot say of oak trees that they all have sturdy trunks, rough bark, and gnarled limbs, for not all of them have these characteristics. But there is a certain likeness in oak leaves. They are simple, five-ranked, generally oval, and the margins are generally cut into lobes by deep or shallow bays. Most oak leaves have leathery texture, strong veins, and short petioles. They are leaves that outlast the summer, and sometimes persist until spring growth unseats the stalks; sometimes, as in the "live oaks," they hang on three to five years. The twigs of oak trees are more or less distinctly five-angled, and the winter buds cluster at the ends. This insures a group of young shoots, crowded with leaves, on the ends of branches, and a dense outer dome of foliage on the tree. Nearly three hundred distinct species of oaks are recognized by botanists, and the list is growing. New species are in the making. For instance, a white oak and a bur oak grow near enough for the wind to "cross-fertilize" their pistillate flowers. The acorns of such mixed parentage produce trees that differ from both parents, yet reveal characteristics of both. They are "hybrids," and may be called new varieties of either parent. Other species of oak are intercrossing by the same process--the interchange of pollen at the time of blossoming. This proves that the oak family is young, compared with many other families, whose members are too distantly related to intercross. Though geologically young, the oak family is one of the most important, furnishing timber of superior strength and durability for bridge-building, ship-building, and other construction work. Tanning has depended largely upon oak bark. As fuel, all oak trees are valuable. Fifty species of oak are native to North American forests. Twice as many grow east of the Rocky Mountains as west of the Great Divide. No species naturally passes this barrier. The temperate zone species extend southward into tropical regions, by keeping to high altitudes. Thus we find American oaks in the Andes and Colombia; Asiatic species occur in the Indian Archipelago. No Old World species is native to America. Each continent has its own. East of the Rocky Mountains the oaks hold a place of preëminence among broad-leaved trees. They are trees of large size, and they often attain great age. They are beautiful trees, and therefore highly valued for ornamental planting. This has led to the introduction of oaks from other countries. We have set European, Japanese, and Siberian oaks in our finest parks. Europe has borrowed from our woods the red oak and many others. All countries are richer by this horticultural exchange of trees. Our native oaks fall into two groups: the annual-fruiting and the biennial-fruiting species. The first group matures its acorns in a single season; the second requires two seasons. It happens that annuals have leaves with rounded lobes, while biennials have leaves with lobes that end in angles and bristly tips. The bark of the annual trees is generally pale; that of the biennials, dark. Hence the white oak group and the black oak group may be easily distinguished at a glance, by the bark, the leaf, and the acorn crop. THE WHITE OAK GROUP =The White Oak= _Quercus alba_, Linn. The white oak has no rival for first place in the esteem of tree-lover and lumberman. Its broad, rounded dome, sturdy trunk, and strong arms (_see illustration, page 38_), and its wide-ranging roots enable a solitary tree to resist storms that destroy or maim other kinds. Strength and tenacity in the fibre of root and branch make it possible for individuals to live to a great age, far beyond the two centuries required to bring it to maturity. Such trees stir within us a feeling of reverence and patriotism. They are patriarchs whose struggles typify the pioneer's indomitable resistance to forces that destroyed all but the strong. White oak trees in the forest grow tall, lose their lower branches early, and lift but a small head to the sun. The logs, quarter-sawed, reveal the broad, gleaming "mirrors" that make a white oak table beautiful. The botanist calls these the _medullary rays_--thin, irregular plates of tissue-building cells, that extend out from the central pith, sometimes quite to the sap-wood, crowding between the wood fibres, which in the heart-wood are no longer alive. A slab will show only an edge of these mirrors. But any section from bark to pith will reveal them. The pale brown wood of the white oak distinctly shows the narrow rings of annual growth. Each season begins with a coarse, porous band of "_spring wood_," followed by a narrower band of fine, close-grained "_summer wood_." White oak is streaked with irregular, dark lines. These are the porous lines of spring wood, discolored by foreign matter. Count them, allow a year for each, and you know how long one white oak tree required to make an inch of wood. The supreme moment in the white oak's year comes in spring, when the gray old tree wakes, the buds swell and cast off their brown scales, and the young leaves appear. The tree is veiled, not with a garment of green, but with a mist of rose and silver, each twig hung with soft limp velvety leaves, red-lined, and covered with a close mat of silky hairs. It is a spectacle that seems unreal, because it is so lovely and gone so soon. The protecting hairs and pigments disappear, and the green leafage takes its place, brightened by the yellow tassels of the stamen flowers, and the growing season is on. In autumn the pale-lined leaves of the white oak turn slowly to sombre violet and dull purplish tones. Clinging there, after the acorns have all fallen and been gathered by squirrels, the foliage fades into the gray of the bark and may persist until spring growth sets in. =The Bur Oak= _Q. macrocarpa_, Michx. The bur oak (_see illustration, page 39_) is called the mossy-cup on account of the loose, fringed scales about the rim of the cup that holds the large acorn--largest in the whole oak family. Often the nut is completely enclosed by the cup; often it is small. This variable fruit is sweet, and it is the winter store of many furry wood-folk. The leaf has the rounded lobing of the family, with the special peculiarity of being almost cut in two by a pair of deep and wide opposite sinuses, between the broad middle, and the narrow, tapering base. Not all leaves show this odd form, but it is the prevailing pattern. The dark green blade has a pale, fuzzy lining, that lasts until the leaves turn brown and yellow. The bur oak is a rugged, ragged tree, compared with the white oak. Its irregular form is picturesque, its wayward limbs are clothed in a loose garment of untidy, half-shed bark. The twigs are roughened with broad, corky wings. The trunk is brownish, with loosened flakes of gray, separated by shallow fissures. The wood is classed with white oak, though darker in color. It has the same ornamental mirrors, dear to the heart of the cabinet-maker. It serves all the purposes for which a tough, strong, durable wood is needed. The range of the species is from Nova Scotia to Montana, and it grows in large tracts from Winnipeg to Texas, doing well in the arid soil of western Nebraska and Dakota. Suckers from the roots spread these trees till they form the "oak openings" of the bluffs of the Missouri and other streams of Iowa and Minnesota. In Kansas it is the commonest oak tree. The largest trees of this species grow in rich bottom lands in the Ohio Valley. =The Post Oak= _Q. minor_, Sarg. The post oak has wood that is noted for its durability when placed in contact with the soil. It is in demand for fence posts, railroad ties, and for casks and boat timbers. "Iron oak" is a name that refers to the qualities of the wood. "Knees" of post oak used to be especially in demand. In the Mississippi Basin this tree attains its largest size and greatest abundance on gravelly uplands. It is the commonest oak of central Texas, on the sandy plains and limestone hills. Farther north, it is more rare and smaller, becoming an undersized oak in New York and westward to Kansas. In winter the post oak keeps its cloak of harsh-feeling, thick, coarse-veined leaves. Tough fibres fasten them to the twigs. In summer the foliage mass is almost black, with gray leaf-linings. The lobes and sinuses are large and squarish, the blades four or five inches long. The limbs, tortuous, horizontal, form a dense head. =The Chestnut Oak= _Q. Prinus_, Linn. The chestnut oak has many nicknames and all are descriptive. Its leaves are similar in outline and size to those of the chestnut. The margin is coarsely toothed, not lobed, like the typical oak leaf. "Tanbark oak" refers to the rich store of tannin in the bark, which makes this species the victim of the bark-peeler for the tanneries wherever it grows. "Rock chestnut oak" is a title that lumbermen have given to the oak with exceptionally hard wood, heavy and durable in soil, adapted for railroad ties, posts, and the like. Unlike other white oaks, the bark of this tree is dark in color and deeply fissured. Without a look at the leaves, one might call it a black oak. The centre of distribution for this species seems to be the foothill country of the Appalachian Mountains, in Tennessee and North Carolina. Here it predominates, and grows to its largest size. From Maine to Georgia it chooses rocky, dry uplands, grows vigorously and rapidly, and its acorns often sprout before falling from the cup! The chestnut oak is one of the most desirable kinds of trees to plant in parks. It is symmetrical, with handsome bark and foliage. The leaves turn yellow and keep their fine texture through the season. The acorn is one of the handsomest and largest, and squirrels are delighted with its sweet kernel. =The Mississippi Valley Chestnut Oak= _Q. acuminata_, Sarg. In the Mississippi Valley the chestnut oak is _Q. acuminata_, Sarg., with a more slender and more finely-toothed leaf that bears a very close resemblance to that of the chestnut. The foliage mass is brilliant, yellow-green, each leaf with a pale lining, and hung on a flexible stem. "Yellow oak" is another name, earned again when in autumn the leaves turn to orange shades mingled with red. On the Wabash River banks these trees surpass one hundred feet in height and three feet in diameter. The base of the trunk is often buttressed. Back from the rich bottom lands, on limestone and flinty ridges, where water is scarce, these trees are stunted. In parks they are handsome, and very desirable. The bark is silvery white, tinged with brown, and rarely exceeds one half an inch in thickness. =The Swamp White Oak= _Q. platanoides_, Sudw. The swamp white oak loves to stand in wet ground, sometimes even in actual swamps. Its small branches shed their bark like the buttonwood, the flakes curling back and showing the bright green under layer. On the trunk the bark is thick, and broken irregularly into broad, flat ridges coated with close, gray-brown scales often tinged with red. [Illustration: _See page 65_ HORSE-CHESTNUT IN BLOSSOM] [Illustration: _See page 83_ WEEPING WILLOW] In its youth the swamp white oak is comely and symmetrical, its untidy moulting habit concealed by the abundant foliage. One botanist calls this species _bicolor_, because the polished yellow-green upper surfaces contrast so pleasantly with the white scurf that lines each leaf throughout the summer. Yellow is the autumn color. Never a hint of red warms this oak of the swamps, even when planted as a street or park tree in well-drained ground. =The Basket Oak= _Q. Michauxii_, Nutt. The basket oak is so like the preceding species as to be listed by some botanists as the southern form of _Q. platanoides_. They meet on a vague line that crosses Maryland, Kentucky, and Tennessee. Both have large leaves silver-lined, with undulating border, of the chestnut oak pattern. Both are trees of the waterside, tall, with round heads of gnarled limbs. The red-tinged white bark sets the basket oak apart from all others. Its head is broader and its trunk stouter than in the other species. The paired acorns are almost without stalks, the nuts large, the kernels sweet. In autumn, farmers turn their hogs into the woods to fatten on this oak-mast. The edibility of these nuts may account for the common name, "cow oak." The wood splits readily into thin, tough plates of the summer wood. This is because the layer formed in spring is very porous. Bushel baskets, china crates, and similar woven wares are made of these oak splints. The wood is also used in cooperage and implement construction, and it makes excellent firewood. =The Live Oak= _Q. Virginiana_, Mill. The live oak with its small oval leaves, without a cleft in the plain margins, looks like anything but an oak to the Northerner who walks along a street planted with this evergreen in Richmond or New Orleans. It is not especially good for street use, though often chosen. It develops a broad, rounded dome, by the lengthening of the irregular limbs in a horizontal direction. The trunk becomes massive and buttressed to support the burden. The "knees" of this oak were in keenest demand for ship-building before steel took the place of wood. In all lines of construction, this lumber ranks with the best white oak. The short trunk is the disadvantage, from the lumberman's viewpoint. Its beauty, when polished, would make it the wood _par excellence_ for elegant furniture, except that it is difficult to work, and it splits easily. The Spanish moss that drapes the limbs of live oaks in the South gives them a greenish pallor and an unkempt appearance that seems more interesting than beautiful to many observers. It is only when the sight is familiar, I think, that it is pleasing. Northern trees are so clean-limbed and so regular about shedding their leaves when they fade, that these patient hosts, loaded down with the pendent skeins of the tillandsia, seem to be imposed upon. In fact, the "moss" is not a parasite, sapping the life of the tree, but a lodger, that finds its own food supply without help. =California White Oak= _Q. lobata_, Née. The California white oak far exceeds the Eastern white oak in the spread of its mighty arms. The dome is often two hundred feet in breadth and the trunk reaches ten feet in diameter. Such specimens are often low in proportion, the trunk breaking into its grand divisions within twenty feet of the ground. The ultimate spray is made of slender, supple twigs, on which the many-lobed leaves taper to the short stalks. Dark green above, the blades are lined with pale pubescence. The acorns are slender, pointed, and often exceed two inches in length. Their cups are comparatively shallow, and they fall out when ripe. The bare framework of one of these giant oaks shows a wonderful maze of gnarled branches, whose grotesque angularities are multiplied with added years and complicated by damage and repair. It is hard to say whether the grace and nobility of the verdure-clad tree, or the tortuous branching system revealed in winter, appeals more strongly to the admiration of the stranger and the pride of the native Californian, who delights in this noble oak at all seasons. Its comparatively worthless wood has spared the trees to adorn the park-like landscapes of the wide middle valleys of the state. =Pacific Post Oak= _Q. Garryana_, Hook. The Pacific post oak is the only oak in British Columbia, whence it follows down the valleys of the Coast Range to the Santa Cruz Mountains. It is a tree nearly one hundred feet high, with a broad, compact head, in western Washington and Oregon. Dark green, lustrous leaves, with paler linings, attain almost a leathery texture when full grown. They are four to six inches long and coarsely lobed. In autumn they sometimes turn bright scarlet. The wood is hard, strong, tough, and close-grained. It is employed in the manufacture of wagons and furniture, and in ship-building and cooperage. It is a superior fuel. THE BLACK OAK GROUP A large group of our native oaks require two seasons to mature their acorns; have dark-colored bark and foliage, have leaves whose lobes are sharp-angled and taper to bristly points and tough acorn shells lined with a silky-hairy coat. =The Black Oak= _Q. velutina_, Lam. The black oak of the vast region east of the Rocky Mountains is the type or pattern species. Its leathery, dark green leaves are divided by curving sinuses into squarish lobes, each ending in one or more bristly tips. The lobes are paired, and each has a strong vein from the midrib. Underneath, the leaf is always scurfy, even when the ripening turns its color from bronze to brown, yellow or dull red. Under the deep-furrowed, brown surface bark is a yellow layer, rich in tannin, and a dyestuff called _quercitron_. This makes the tree valuable for its bark. The wood is coarse-grained, hard, difficult to work, and chiefly employed as fuel. A distinguishing trait of the bare tree is the large fuzzy winter bud. The unfolding leaves in spring are bright red above, with a silvery lining. The autumn acorn crop may be heavy or light. Trees have their "off years," for various reasons. But always, as leaves and fruit fall and bare the twigs, one sees, among the winter buds, the half-grown acorns waiting for their second season of growth. The pointed nut soon loosens, for the cup though deep has straight sides. The kernel is yellow and bitter. =The Scarlet Oak= _Q. coccinea_, Moench. The scarlet oak is like a flaming torch set among the dull browns and yellows in our autumnal woods. In spring the opening leaves are red; so are the tasselled catkins and the forked pistils, that turn into the acorns later on. This is a favorite ornamental tree in Europe and our own country. Its points of beauty are not all in its colors. The tree is slender, delicate in branch, twig, and leaf--quite out of the sturdy, picturesque class in which most oaks belong. The leaf is thin, silky smooth, its lobes separated by sinuses so deep that it is a mere skeleton compared with the black oak's. The trimness of the leaf is matched by the neat acorn, whose scaly cup has none of the looseness seen in the burly black oak. The scales are smooth, tight-fitting, and they curl in at the rim. There is lightness and grace in a scarlet oak, for its twigs are slim and supple as a willow's, and the leaves flutter on long, flexible stems. Above the drifts of the first snowfall, the brilliance of the scarlet foliage makes a picture long to be remembered against the blue of a clear autumnal sky. The largest trees of this species grow in the fertile uplands in the Ohio Valley. But the most brilliant hues are seen in trees of smaller size, that grow in New England woods. In the comparatively dull-hued autumn woods of Iowa and Nebraska the scarlet oak is the most vivid and most admired tree. =The Pin Oak= _Q. palustris_, Linn. The pin oak earns its name by the sharp, short, spur-like twigs that cluster on the branches, crowding each other to death and then persisting to give the tree a bristly appearance. The tree in winter bears small resemblance to other oaks. The trunk is slender, the shaft carried up to the top, as straight as a pine's. The branches are very numerous and regular, striking out at right angles from the stem, the lower tier shorter than those directly above them, and drooping often to the ground. On the winter twigs, among the characteristic "pins," are the half-grown acorns that proclaim the tree an oak beyond a doubt, and a _black_ oak, requiring a second summer for the maturing of its fruit. It is likely that there will be found on older twigs a few of the full-grown acorns, or perhaps only the trim, shallow saucers from which the shiny, striped, brown acorns have fallen. Hunt among the dead leaves and these little acorns will be discovered for, though pretty to look at, they are bitter and squirrels leave them where they fall. The leaves match the slender twigs in delicacy of pattern. Thin, deeply cut, shining, with pale linings, they flutter on slender stems, smaller but often matching the leaves of the scarlet oak in pattern. Sometimes they are more like the red oak in outline. In autumn they turn red and are a glory in the woods. One trait has made this tree a favorite for shade and ornament. It has a shock of fibrous roots, and for this reason is easily transplanted. It grows rapidly in any moist, rich soil. It keeps its leaves clean and beautiful throughout the season. Washington, D. C., has its streets planted to native trees, one species lining the sides of a single street or avenue for miles. The pin oaks are superb on the thoroughfare that reaches from the Capitol to the Navy Yard. They retain the beauty of their youth because each tree has been given a chance to grow to its best estate. In spring the opening leaves and pistillate flowers are red, giving the silvery green tree-top a warm flush that cheers the passerby. In European countries this oak is a prime favorite for public and private parks. =The Red Oak= _Q. rubra_, Linn. The red oak grows rapidly, like the pin oak, and is a great favorite in parks overseas, where it takes on the rich autumnal red shades that give it its name at home. Such color is unknown in native woods in England. The head of this oak is usually narrow and rounded; the branches, short and stout, are inclined to go their own way, giving the tree more of picturesqueness than of symmetry, as age advances. Sometimes the dome is broad and rounded like that of a white oak, and in the woods, where competition is keen, the trunk may reach one hundred and fifty feet in height. The red oak leaf is large, smooth, rather thin, its oval broken by triangular sinuses and forward-aiming lobes, that end in bristly points. The blade is broadest between the apex and the middle, where the two largest lobes are. No oak has leaves more variable than this. Under the dark brown, close-knit bark of a full-grown red oak tree is a reddish layer that shows in the furrows. The twigs and leaf-stems are red. A flush of pink covers the opening leaves, and they are lined with white down which is soon shed. The bloom is very abundant and conspicuous, the fringe-like pollen-bearing aments four or five inches long, drooping from the twigs in clusters, when the leaves are half-grown in May. The acorns of the red oak are large, and set in shallow saucers, with incurving rims. Few creatures taste their bitter white kernels. =The Willow Oak= _Q. Phellos_, Linn. The willow oak has long, narrow, pointed leaves that suggest a willow, and not at all an oak. The supple twigs, too, are willow-like, and the tree is a lover of the waterside. But there is the acorn, seated in a shallow, scaly cup, like a pin oak's. There is no denying the tree's family connections. A southern tree, deservedly popular in cities for shade and ornamental planting, it is nevertheless hardy in Philadelphia and New York; and a good little specimen seems to thrive in Boston, in the Arnold Arboretum. As a lumber tree, the species is unimportant. =The Shingle, or Laurel, Oak= _Q. imbricaria_, Michx. The shingle or laurel oak may be met in any woodland from Pennsylvania to Nebraska, and south to Georgia and Arkansas. It may be large or small; a well-grown specimen reaches sixty feet, with a broad, pyramidal, open head. The chief beauty of the tree, at any season, is the foliage mass--dark, lustrous, pale lined, the margin usually unbroken by any indentations. In autumn the yellow, channelled midribs turn red, and all the blades to purplish crimson, and this color stays a long time. It is a wonderful sight to see the evening sunlight streaming through the loose, open head of a laurel oak. No wonder people plant it for shade and for the beauty it adds to home grounds and public parks. =The Mountain Live Oak= _Q. chrysolepis_, Liebm. The mountain live oak cannot be seen without climbing the western slopes of the mountains from Oregon to Lower California, and eastward into New Mexico and Arizona. On levels where avalanches deposit detritus from the higher slopes, sufficient fertility and moisture are found to maintain groves of these oaks, wide-domed, with massive, horizontal branches from short, buttressed trunks--the Western counterpart of the live oak of the South, but lacking the familiar drapery of pale green moss. The leaves are leathery, polished, oval blades, one or two inches in length, with unbroken margins, abundant on intricately divided, supple twigs, that droop with their burden and respond to the lightest breeze. The leaves persist until the bronze-green new foliage expands to replace the old, and keep the tree-tops evergreen. The acorns are large, and their thick, shallow saucers are covered with yellow fuzz. For this character, the tree is called the gold-cup oak. In June, the copious bloom is yellow. Even at an altitude of eight thousand feet the familiar gold-cup acorns are borne on shrubby oaks not more than a foot high! The maximum height of the species is sixty feet. The wood is the most valuable oak of the West Coast. It is used for wagons and agricultural implements. =The Live Oak= _Q. agrifolia_, Née. The live oak (_Q. agrifolia_, Née.) called also "Encina," is the huge-limbed, holly-leaved live oak of the lowlands, that reaches its greatest abundance and maximum stature in the valleys south of San Francisco Bay. The giant oaks of the University campus at Berkeley stretch out ponderous arms, in wayward fashion, that reach far from the stocky trunk and often rest their mighty elbows on the ground. The pointed acorns, usually exceeding an inch in length, are collected by woodpeckers, and tucked away for further reference in holes they make in the bark of the same oaks. From the mountain slopes to the sea, and from Mendocino County to Lower California, groves of this semi-prostrate giant are found, furnishing abundant supply of fuel, but no lumber of any consequence, because the trunks are so short and the limbs so crooked. THE HORSE-CHESTNUTS, OR BUCKEYES =The Horse-chestnut= _Aesculus Hippocastanum_, Linn. At the head of this family stands a stately tree, native of the mountains of northern Greece and Asia Minor, which was introduced into European parks and planted there as an avenue tree when landscape gardening came into vogue. By way of England it came to America, and in Eastern villages one often sees a giant horse-chestnut, perhaps the sole remnant of the street planting of an earlier day. Longfellow's "spreading chestnut tree" was a horse-chestnut. And the boys who watched the smith at his work doubtless filled their pockets with the shiny brown nuts and played the game of "conquerors" every autumn as regularly as they flew their kites in spring. What boy has not tied a chestnut to each end of a string, whirled them round and round at a bewildering rate of speed and finally let them fly to catch on telegraph wires, where they dangle for months and bother tidy folks? The glory of the horse-chestnut comes at blooming time, when the upturning branches, like arms of candelabra, are each tipped with a white blossom-cluster, pointed like a candle flame. (_See illustration, page 54._) Each flower of the pyramid has its throat-dashes of yellow and red, and the curving yellow stamens are thrust far out of the dainty ruffled border of the corolla. Bees and wasps make music in the tree-top, sucking the nectar out of the flowers. Unhappily for us humans, caterpillars of the leopard and tussock moths feed upon the tender tissues of this tree, defacing the foliage and making the whole tree unsightly by their presence. Sidewalks under horse-chestnut trees are always littered with something the tree is dropping. In early spring the shiny, wax-covered leaf buds cast off and they stick to slate and cement most tenaciously. Scarcely have the folded leaflets spread, tent-like, before some of them, damaged by wind or late frosts or insects' injury, begin to curl and drop, and as the leaves attain full size, they crowd, and this causes continual shedding. In early autumn the leaflets begin to be cast, the seven fingers gradually loosening from the end of the leaf-stalk; then comes a day when all of the foliage mass lets go, and one may wade knee deep under the tree in the dead leaves. The tree is still ugly from clinging leaf-stems and the slow breaking of the prickly husks that enclose the nuts. With all these faults, the horse-chestnut holds its popularity in the suburbs of great cities, for it lives despite smoke and soot. Bushey Park in London has five rows of these trees on either side of a wide avenue. When they are in bloom the fact is announced in the newspapers and all London turns out to see the sight. Paris uses the tree extensively; nearly twenty thousand of them line her streets, and thrive despite the poverty of the soil. The American buckeyes are less sturdy in form and less showy in flower than the European species, but they have the horse-shoe print with the nails in it where the leaf-stalk meets the twig. The brown nuts, with the dull white patch which fastens them in the husk, justifies the name "buckeye." One nibble at the nut will prove to any one that, as a fruit, it is too bitter for even horses. Bitter, astringent bark is characteristic of the family. =The Ohio Buckeye= _Ae. glabra_, Willd. The Ohio buckeye has five yellow-green leaflets, smooth when full grown, pale, greenish yellow flowers, not at all conspicuous, and bitter nuts in spiny husks. The whole tree exhales a strong, disagreeable odor. The wood is peculiarly adapted to the making of artificial limbs. The great abundance of this little tree in the Ohio Valley accounts for Ohio being called the "Buckeye State." =The Sweet Buckeye= _Ae. octandra_, Marsh. The sweet buckeye is a handsome, large tree with greenish yellow, tubular flowers and leaves of five slender, elliptical leaflets. Cattle will eat the nuts and paste made from them is preferred by bookbinders; it holds well, and book-loving insects will not attack it. These trees grow on mountain slopes of the Alleghanies from western Pennsylvania southward, and west to Iowa and Texas. =The California Buckeye= _Ae. californica_, Nutt. The California buckeye spreads wide branches from a squat trunk, and clothes its sturdy twigs with unmistakable horse-chestnut leaves and pyramids of white flowers. Sometimes these are tinted with rose, and the tree is very beautiful. The brown nuts are irregular in shape and enclosed in somewhat pear-shaped, two-valved husks. This western buckeye follows the borders of streams from the Sacramento Valley southward; they are largest north of San Francisco Bay, in the canyons of the Coast Range. Shrubby, red-flowered buckeyes, often seen in gardens and in the shrubbery borders of parks, are horticultural crosses between the European horse-chestnut and a shrubby, red-flowered native buckeye that occurs in the lower Mississippi Valley. THE LINDENS, OR BASSWOODS This tropical family, with about thirty-five genera, has a single tree genus, _tilia_, in North America. This genus has eighteen or twenty species, all told, with representatives in all temperate regions of the Northern Hemisphere, with the exception of Central America, Central Asia, and the Himalayas. Tilia wood is soft, pale-colored, light, of even grain, adaptable for wood-carving, sounding-boards of pianos, woodenwares of all kinds, and for the manufacture of paper. The inner bark is tough and fibrous. It has been used since the human race was young, in the making of ropes, fish nets, and like necessities. It was a favorite tying material in nurseries and greenhouses until the more adaptable raffia came in to take its place. The bark of young trees is stripped in spring to make the shoes of the Russian peasantry. An infusion of basswood flowers has long been a home remedy for indigestion, nervousness, coughs, and hoarseness. Experiments in Germany have successfully extracted a table oil from the seed-balls. A nutritious paste resembling chocolate has been made from its nuts, which are delicious when fresh. In winter the buds, as well as the tiny nuts, stand between the lost trapper and starvation. The flowers yield large quantities of nectar, and honey made near linden forests is unsurpassed in delicacy of flavor. About the time of Louis XIV, the French fashion arose of planting avenues to lindens, where horse-chestnuts had formerly been the favorite tree. The fashion spread to England of bordering with "lime trees" approaches to the homes of the gentry. "Pleached alleys" were made with these fast-growing trees that submitted so successfully to severe pruning and training. All sorts of grotesque figures were carved out of the growing lime trees in the days before topiary work in gardens submitted to the rules of landscape art, and slower growing trees were chosen for such purposes. In cultivation, lindens have the virtues of swift growth, superb framework, clean, smooth bark, and late, profuse, beautiful and fragrant bloom, which is followed by interesting seed clusters, winged with a pale blade that lightens the foliage mass. One fault is the early dropping of the leaves, which are usually marred by the wind soon after they reach mature size. Propagation is easy from cuttings and from seed. =The American Linden, or Basswood= _Tilia Americana_, Linn. The American linden or basswood is a stately spreading tree reaching one hundred and twenty feet in height and a trunk diameter of four feet. The bark is brown, furrowed, and scaly, the branches gray and smooth, the twigs ruddy. The alternate leaves are obliquely heart-shaped, saw-toothed, with prominent veins that branch at the base, only on the side next to the petiole. (_See illustration, page 86._) Occasionally the leaf blades are eight inches long. A dense shade is cast by a linden tree in midsummer. The blossoms, cream-white and clustered on pale green, leaf-like blades, open by hundreds in June and July, actually dripping with nectar, and illuminating the platforms of green leaves. A bird flying overhead looks down upon a tree covered with broad leaf blades overlapping like shingles on a roof. It must look underneath to see the flowers that delight us as we look up into the tree-top from our station on the ground. In midsummer the linden foliage becomes coarse and wind-whipped; the soft leaf-substance is attacked by insects that feed upon it; plant lice deface them with patches of honey-dew, and the sticky surfaces catch dust and soot. Riddled and torn, they drop in desultory fashion, their faded yellow not at all like the satisfying gold of beech and hickory leaves. [Illustration: _See page 31_ THE BLACK WALNUT The young shoots are velvety and aromatic. The pistillate flowers, in groups of 3 to 5, are on terminal spikes] [Illustration: _See page 37_ SHAGBARK HICKORY IS KNOWN AND NAMED BY ITS LOOSE, STRIPPING BARK] The flight of basswood seeds on their wing-like blades goes on throughout the winter. This alone would account for the fact that basswoods greatly outnumbered all other trees in the virgin forests of the Ohio Valley. The seeds are not the tree's sole dependence. Suckers grow up about the stump of a tree the lumberman has taken, or the lightning has stricken. Any twig is likely to strike root, and any cutting made from a root as well. The finest specimen I know grew from a walking-stick cut in the woods and thrust into the ground, by a mere chance, when the rambler reached home. It is the roof tree of a mansion, tall enough to waft its fragrance into the third-story windows, and to reach high above the chimney pots. The range of this tree extends from New Brunswick to Dakota and south to Virginia and Texas. Its wood is used for carriage bodies, furniture, cooperage, paper pulp, charcoal, and fuel. =The Bee Tree, or White Basswood= _T. heterophylla_, Vent. The bee tree or white basswood of the South has narrower leaves than the species just described, and they vary in form and size; but always have linings of fine, silvery down, and the fruits are fuzzy. A wonderful, dazzling play of white, pale green, and deeper shades is seen when one of these trees flutters its leaf mass against a background, sombre with hemlocks and an undergrowth of rhododendron. The favorite haunts of this species are the sides of mountain streams. Wild bees store their hoard of honey in the hollow trunks of old trees; and it is the favorite holiday of many country folk to locate these natural hives and despoil them. In order to do this the tree must come down, and the revenge of the outraged swarm is sometimes a high price to pay for the stolen sweets. This linden is found from Ithaca, New York, southward along the Appalachian Mountains to northern Alabama, and westward into Illinois and Tennessee. It is best and most abundant in the mountains of eastern Tennessee and North Carolina, at a considerable altitude. =The Downy Basswood= _T. pubescens_, Ait. The downy basswood has leaves that are green on both sides, but its young shoots and leaf-linings are coated with rusty hairs. It is a miniature throughout of the American basswood, except that the blade that bears the flower-cluster is rounded at its base, while the others taper narrowly to the short stem. This species occurs on Long Island, and is sparingly seen along the coast from the Carolinas to Texas. =The Common Lime= _T. vulgaris_ "Unter den Linden," the famous avenue in Berlin, is planted with the small-leaved common lime of Europe, beside which the American basswood is a coarse-looking tree. Very disappointing docked trees they are, along this thoroughfare; for city streets are never places where a tree can reach its best estate. In the rural sections of France and Germany this tree reaches noble stature and great age. Linnaeus, the Swedish botanist, had his name from a fine linden tree, when his peasant father rose to the dignity of a surname. "Linn" is the Swedish word for linden. "Carl Linne," meaning "Charles of the linden tree," it was at first when he played as a boy in the shadow of its great branches. "Carolus Linnaeus" he became when he was appointed professor of the university at Upsala, and through all time since. Gerarde discourses quaintly upon the linden tree in his "Grete Herball" published in England in 1597. "The male tree," he says, "is to me unknown." We smile at his notion that there are male and female trees in this family, but we wonder at the accuracy of observation evinced by one who lived and wrote before the science of botany had any existence. Evidently Master Gerarde had a good pair of eyes, and he has well expressed the things he saw. I quote a paragraph: "The female line, or linden tree waxeth very great and thicke, spreading forth its branches wide and fare abroad, being a tree which yieldeth a most pleasant shadow, under and within whose boughs may be made brave summer houses and banqueting arbors, because the more that it is surcharged with weight of timber and such like, the better it doth flourish. The bark is brownish, very smooth and plaine on the outside, but that which is next to the timber is white, moist and tough, serving very well for ropes, trases and halters. The timber is whitish, plaine, and without knots; yea, very soft and gentle in the cutting and handling. The leaves are smooth, greene, shining and large, somewhat snipt or toothed about the edges: the floures are little, whitish, of a good savour, and very many in number; growing clustered together from out of the middle of the leaf: out of which proceedeth a small whitish long narrow leafe: after the floures succeed cornered sharp pointed nuts, of the bignesse of hasell nuts. This tree seemeth to be a kinde of elme, and the people of Essex (whereas great plenty groweth by the waysides) do call it broad-leafed elme." PART III THE WATER-LOVING TREES The Poplars--The Willows--The Hornbeams--The Birches--The Alders--The Sycamores, or Buttonwoods--The Gum Trees--The Osage Orange THE POPLARS The poplars are plebeian trees, but they have a place to fill and they fill it with credit. They are the hardy, rude pioneers that go before and prepare the way for nobler trees. Let a fire sweep a path through the forest, and the poplar is likely to be the first tree to fill the breach. The trees produce abundant seed, very much like that of willows, and the wind sows it far and wide. The young trees love the sun, and serve as nurse trees to more valuable hardwoods and conifers, that must have shade until they become established. By the time the more valuable species are able to take care of themselves, the poplars have come to maturity and disappeared, for they are quick-growing, short-lived trees. The wind plays havoc with their brittle branches. Seldom has a good-sized poplar tree any claim to beauty. Tenacity of life, if not of fibre, belongs to the poplar tribe. Twigs strike root and the roots send up suckers from underground: cutting off these suckers only encourages them to fresh activity. The only way to get rid of the young growth that springs up about an old tree is to use the grubbing-hoe thoroughly and patiently. Poplar blossoms, borne in catkins, show the close relationship between this genus and the willows. The leaves, however, are always broad and leathery, and set on long stems. Twenty-five species are known, twelve of which are American. =The White Poplar= _Populus alba_, Linn. The white poplar is sometimes called the silver-leaved poplar because its dark, glossy leaves are lined with cottony nap. This sprightly contrast of light and shade in the foliage is most unusual, and very attractive in early spring; but the leaf-linings collect soot and dust, and this they carry to the end of the season--a fact which should not be forgotten by those considering the advisability of planting this tree in a city where much soft coal is burned. The white bark of this European poplar reminds us of the birch family, though it has no silky fringe shedding from the surface. The leaves often imitate the maple in the divisions of their margins, justifying the name "maple-leaved poplar." As a dooryard tree this species has a wider popularity than it deserves. The wind breaks the brittle branches, and when these accidents threaten its life, the tree sends up suckers which form a grove about the parent trunk, and defy all efforts to eradicate them, until the grubbing-hoe and axe have been resorted to. =The Black Poplar= _P. nigra_, Linn. The Lombardy poplar, a variety of the black poplar of Europe, is a familiar tree figure along roadsides, and often marks boundary lines between farms. Each tree is an exclamation point, its branches short and numerous, rising toward the zenith. The roundish leaves that twinkle on these aspiring branches make the tree pretty and interesting when young--just the thing to accent a group of round-headed trees in a park. But not many years are attained before the top becomes choked with the multitude of its branches. The tree cannot shed this dead wood and the beauty of its youth is departed. The trunk grows coarse, warty, and buttressed at the base. Suckers are thrown up from the roots. There is little left to challenge admiration. Since the tree gives practically no shade, we must believe that the first planters were attracted by its odd shape and its readiness to grow, rather than by any belief in its fitness for avenue and highway planting. =The Cottonwood= _P. deltoidea_, Marsh. The cottonwood justifies its existence, if ever a tree did. On our Western plains, where the watercourses are sluggish and few and often run dry in midsummer, few trees grow; and the settler and traveler is grateful for the cottonwoods. The pioneer on the Western prairie planted it for shade and for wind-breaks about his first home. Many of these trees attain great age and in protected situations are magnificent though unsymmetrical trees, shaking out each spring a new head of bright green, glossy foliage, each leaf responsive to the lightest breeze. "Necklace-bearing poplar," it has been called, from the fact that children find pleasure in stringing for beads the green, half-grown pods containing the minute seeds. They also delight in gathering the long, red caterpillar-like catkins of the staminate flowers, the pollen bearers, from the sterile trees. A fertile tree is sometimes counted a nuisance in a dooryard because its pods set free a great mass of cotton that collects in window screens, to the annoyance of housewives. But this seed time is soon over. Just these merits of quick growth, prettiness, and tenacity of life, belong to the Carolina Poplar, a variety of native cottonwood that lines the streets of the typical suburban tract opened near any American city. The leaves are large and shine with a varnish which protects them from dust and smoke. But the wind breaks the branches, destroys the symmetry of the tree's head, and in a few years the suburban community takes on a cheap and ugly look. The wise promoter will alternate slow-growing maples and elms with the poplars so that these permanent trees will be ready to take their places in a few years. =The Aspen= _P. tremuloides_, Michx. The trembling aspen, or quaking asp, is the prettiest tree of all the poplar tribe. Its bark is gray and smooth, often greenish and nearly white. An aspen copse is one of the loveliest things in the spring landscape. In March the bare, angular limbs show green under their bark, one of the first prophecies of spring; then the buds cast their brown scales and fuzzy gray catkins are revealed. There are few shades of olive and rose, few textures of silk and velvet that are not duplicated as the catkins lengthen and dance like chenille fringe from every twig. With the flowers, the new leaves open; each blade limp, silky, as it unrolls, more like the finest white flannel than anything else. (_See illustrations, pages 86-87._) Soon the leaves shed all of this hairy, protective coat, passing through various tones of pink and silver on their way to their lustrous, bright green maturity. Their stems are flattened in a plane at right angles with the blade. Being long and pliant besides, they catch the breeze on blade or stem, and so the foliage is never still on the quietest of summer days. "Popple" leaves twinkle and dance and catch the sunlight like ripples on the surface of a stream, while the foliage of oaks and other trees near by may be practically motionless. =The Balsam Poplar= _P. balsamifera_, Linn. The balsam poplar is the balm of Gilead of the early settlers, the Tacamahac of the Northern Indians. They squeezed the fragrant wax from the winter buds and used it to seal up the seams in their birch-bark canoes. The bees taught the Indian the uses of this glutinous secretion, which the tree used to seal the bud-scales and thus keep out water. When growth starts with the stirring of the sap, this wax softens; then the bees collect and store it against a day of need. Whether their homes be hollow trees or patent hives, weather-cracks are carefully sealed up with this waterproof gum, which the bee-keeper knows as "_propolis_." Forests of balm of Gilead cover much of the vast British possessions north of the United States, and reach to the ultimate islands of the Aleutian group. They dip down into the states as far as Nebraska and Nevada. In cultivation, the species has proved itself a tree of excellent habit, easily propagated and transplanted, and of rapid growth. It has all the good points of the Carolina poplar and lacks its besetting sin of becoming so soon an unsightly cripple. =Narrow-leaved Cottonwood= _P. angustifolia_, James. =Lance-leaved Cottonwood= _P. acuminata_, Rydb. =Mexican Cottonwood= _P. Mexicana_, Wesm. These three cottonwoods line the banks of mountain streams at high elevations in the great system of mountain chains that stretch from British Columbia southward. The dancing foliage, bright green in summer, golden in autumn, lends a charming color note to the dun stretches of arid plain and the sombre green of pine forests. These trees furnish the settler fuel, shade, and wind-breaks while he is converting his "homestead" into a home. =Black Cottonwood= _P. trichocarpa_, Hook. Farther west, covering the mountain slopes from Alaska to Mexico, and liking even better the moist, rich lowlands, is the black cottonwood, the giant of the genus, reaching two hundred feet in height, and seven to eight feet in trunk diameter. Tall and stately, it lifts its broad rounded crown upon heavy upright limbs. In the Yosemite the dark, rich green of these poplar groves along the Merced River makes a rich, velvet margin, glorious when it turns to gold in autumn. =Swamp Cottonwood= _P. heterophylla_, Linn. The swamp cottonwood of the South has leaves of variable but distinctly poplar form, always large, broadly ovate, with slim round petioles. The white down of the unfolding leaves often persists into midsummer. On account of the fluttering leaves the trees were called, by the early Acadians, "_Langues de femmes_" a mild calumny traceable to the herbalist, Gerarde, who compares them to "women's tongues, which seldom cease wagging." The wood of poplars, soft, weak, and of slight value for fuel or lumber, has within two decades come into a position of great economic importance. Wood pulp is made of it, and out of wood pulp a thousand articles, from toys to wheels of locomotives, are made. A state forester declared: "If I could replace the maples in the state forest by poplars to-day, I would do it gladly. It would be worth thousands of dollars to the state." THE WILLOWS Along the watercourses the willow family finds its most congenial habitat. It is a very large family, numbering more than one hundred and seventy species, which are, however, mostly shrubs rather than trees. America has seventy species of willows, and new forms are constantly being discovered, which are the results of the crossing of closely related species. These "natural hybrids" have greatly confused the botany of the willow family. Not more than half a dozen American willows ever attain the height of good-sized trees, and many of these are more commonly found in the tangled shrubbery of river banks, or covering long semi-arid strips of ground far to the north, or on mountain sides where their growth is stunted. Little trees, six inches high, bearing the characteristic catkins and narrow leaves of the willow, are found on the arctic tundras. The wood of willows is pale in color, soft in texture, and of very little use as lumber or fuel, except in localities where trees are scarce. The Indian depended upon the inner bark of the withy willow for material for his fish nets and lines, and farmers in the pioneer days took the tough, supple stems, when spring made the sap run freely, for the binding together of the rails of their fences. Knotted tight and seasoned, these twigs hardened and lasted for years. In Europe the white willow has long been used for the making of wooden shoes, artificial limbs, and carriage bodies. Its wood makes the finest charcoal for gunpowder. Willow wares, such as baskets and wicker furniture, are as old as civilization, and that in its primitive stages. It is a common sight in Europe to see groves of trees from which the long twigs have been taken yearly for these uses. The stumps are called "pollards" and the trees "pollarded willows" whose discouraging task has been to grow a yearly crop of withes for the basket-makers; yet each spring finds them bristling with the new growth. The hosts of Cæsar invading England in the First Century found the Britons defending themselves behind willow-woven shields, and living in huts of wattled willows, smeared with mud. From that time to the present the uses of these long shoots have multiplied. The roots of willows are fibrous and tough as the shoots. For this reason they serve a useful purpose in binding the banks of streams, especially where these are liable to flood. Nature seems to have designed these trees for just this purpose, for a twig lying upon the ground strikes root at every joint if the soil it falls on is sufficiently moist. The wind breaks off twigs and the water carries them down stream where they lodge on banks and sand bars, and these are soon covered with billows of green. Willows start growth early in spring, putting out their catkins, the two sexes on different trees, before the opening of the leaves. Before the foliage is full grown, the light seeds, each a minute speck, floats away in a wisp of silky down. Its vitality lasts but a day, so it must fall on wet ground at once in order to grow. But the willow family is quite independent of its seeds in the matter of propagation. Chop the roots and twigs into bits and each will grow. Chop a young willow tree into sticks and fence posts and each one, if it is stuck green into the ground, covers itself with a head of leafy twigs before the season is over. =Weeping Willow= _Salix Babylonica_ The weeping willow, much planted in cemeteries and parks, came originally from Asia and is remarkable for its narrow leaves that seem fairly to drip from the pendulous twigs. (_See illustration, page 55._) The foliage has a wonderful lightness and cheerfulness of expression, despite its weeping habit. =The Pussy Willow= _S. discolor_, Muehl. The pussy willow is the familiar bog willow, whose gray, silky catkins appear in earliest spring. A walk in the woods in late February often brings us the charming surprise of a meeting with this little tree, just when its gray pussies are pushing out from their brown scales. We cut the twigs and bring them home and watch the wonderful color changes that mark the full development of the flowers. Turning them in the light, one sees under the sheen of silky hairs the varied and evanescent hues that glow in a Hungarian opal. In midsummer a pussy willow tree is lost among the shrubby growth in any woods. It is only because it leads the procession of the spring flowers that every one knows and loves it. (_See illustrations, pages 86-87._) THE HORNBEAMS Two genera of little trees in the same family with the birches are frequently met in the woods, often modestly hiding under the larger trees. One is the solitary representative of its genus: the other has a sister species. The hornbeams grow very slowly and their wood is close-grained, heavy, and hard. In flexibility, strength, and ability to stand strain, it rivals steel. Before metals so generally became competitors of woods in construction work, hornbeam was the only wood for rake teeth, levers, mallets, and especially for the beams of ox yokes. It outwore the stoutest oak, the toughest elm. Springiness adapted it for fork handles and the like. Bowls and dishes of hornbeam lasted forever, and would never leak nor crack. "Ironwood" is the name used wherever the wood was worked. =American Hornbeam= _Carpinus Carolinianum_, Walt. The American hornbeam has bluish gray bark, very fine in texture, from which the name "blue beech," is common in some localities. "Water beech" points out the tree's preference for rich swamp land. The trunk and limbs are strangely swollen, sometimes like a fluted column, oftener irregularly, the swelling under the bark suggesting the muscular development of a gymnast's arm. In favorable places the hornbeams grow into regular oval heads, their branches dividing into a multitude of wiry, supple twigs. Crowded under oaks and other forest growth, they crouch and writhe; and their heads flatten into tangled masses of foliage. The delicate leaves, strong-ribbed, oval, pointed, turn to red and orange in autumn. (_See illustration, page 87._) The paired nutlets are provided with a parachute each, so that the wind can sow them broadcast. This wing is leafy in texture, shaped like a maple leaf, and curved into the shape of a boat. After they have broken apart, the nutlets hang by threads, tough as hornbeam fibres always are. At last, away they sail, to start new trees if they fall in moist soil. The European hornbeam was a favorite tree for making the "pleached alleys," of which old-world garden-lovers were proud. A row of trees on each side of a promenade were pruned and trained to cover an arching framework, and to interlace their supple branches so that at length no other framework was needed, and one walked through a tunnel of green so closely interlaced as to make walls and roof that shut out light and wind and rain! Hedges, fences, and many fancies of the gardener were worked out with this hornbeam, so willingly did it lend itself to cutting and moulding into curious forms. =Hop Hornbeam= _Ostrya Virginiana_, Willd. The hop hornbeam has habits like the other ironwood and an equal reputation for the hardness of its wood. The tree, however, wears scaly, shaggy brown bark, suggesting in its manner of scaling off the shagbark hickory. Its nutlets are packed separate in loose papery bags, and together form a loose, cone-like cluster, like the fruit of a hop vine. The wind scatters these buoyant little bags, that travel far. This tree often twists in growing, and the trunk shows spiral furrows. "Hard-tack," "beetle-wood," "lever-wood"--all take us back to the pioneer who put this wood to such good uses, and who was glad to have these little trees growing in his wood-lot. In hickories, even, he had not the equal of them for strength and hardness. [Illustration: _See page 70_ THE AMERICAN LINDEN The broad leaves are unsymmetrical. Dry seed-balls are scattered by winter winds, the leathery bracts serving as wings] [Illustration: _See page 78_ TREMBLING ASPEN Catkins and newly opened, flannel-like leaves] [Illustration: _See page 84_ THE PUSSY WILLOW 1--Mature staminate flower. 2--Immature staminate flowers. 3--Mature pistillate flowers] [Illustration: _See page 85_ THE AMERICAN HORNBEAM A fruiting branch showing the thin beech-like leaves and the seeds on their leafy triangular bracts] =Knowlton's Ironwood= _O. Knowltoni_, Cov. Knowlton's ironwood is found nowhere but in a thick grove on the southern slope of the canyon of the Colorado in Arizona, about seventy miles north of Flagstaff. Here these trees are numerous, crouching under oaks, their twisted branches ending in drooping twigs, bearing the characteristic pale green hops in autumn, small oval leaves, and the catkin flowers in spring. Such a restricted distribution for a distinct species of trees is unmatched in the annals of botany. THE BIRCHES Grace and gentility of appearance are attributes of this most interesting, attractive, and valuable family of trees. _Shabby_ gentility, one may insist, thinking of the untidy, frayed-out edges that adorn the silky outer bark of almost every birch tree in the woods. (_See illustration, page 102._) Not one of them, however, but lends a note of cheerfulness to the landscape. There is beauty and daintiness in leaf, flower, and winged seed, and despite the inferiority of most birch wood, the history of the family is a long story of usefulness to the human race. About thirty species of birches grow in the Northern Hemisphere, ten of them are North American. The white birch of Europe extends across the northern half of Asia, and is cultivated in delicate cut-leaved and weeping forms, as a lawn and park tree in this country. =The Canoe Birch= _Betula papyrifera_, Marsh. The canoe birch or paper birch is the noblest member of the family. (_See cover of book._) Ernest Thompson Seton calls it "The White Queen of the Woods--the source of food, drink, transport, and lodging to those who dwell in the forest--the most bountiful provider of all the trees." Then he enumerates the sweet syrup yielded by its sap; the meal made by drying and grinding the inner bark; the buds and catkins upon which the partridge feeds; and the outer bark, which is its best gift to primitive man. "The broad sheets of this vegetable rawhide, ripped off when the weather is warm, and especially when the sap is moving, are tough, light, strong, pliant, absolutely waterproof, almost imperishable in the weather; free from insects, assailable only by fire. It roofs the settler's shack and the forest Indian's wigwam. It supplies cups, pails, pots, pans, spoons, boxes; under its protecting power the matches are safe and dry; split very thin, as is easily done, it is the writing paper of the woods, flat, light, smooth, waterproof, tinted, and scented; but the crowning glory of the birch is this--it furnishes the indispensable substance for the bark canoe, whose making is the highest industrial exploit of the Indian life." From the Atlantic to the Pacific, and from our northern tier of states to the arctic seas, woodsmen, red and white, have found this white-barked tree ready to their hand, their sure defense against death by cold and by starvation. The weather is never so wet but that shreds of birch bark burn merrily to start a campfire, and the timber of the trunk burns readily green or dry. =The White Birch= _B. populifolia_, Marsh. The white birch is a small, short-lived tree that grows in swampy ground, its bark chalky white or grayish, with triangular rough patches of black, where branches are or have been. (The canoe birch has a clean bole, chalky white, with none of these ugly black patches.) A vagabond tree it is, with thin pointed leaves and long pencil-like catkins and seed cones. The chief contributions of the poplar-leaved birch to the well-being of men are that it clothes with beauty the most uninviting situations, and that it comes again, after fire or other general slaughter, promptly and abundantly, from stump and scattered seed. =The Yellow Birch= _B. lutea_, Michx. The yellow birch shows gleams of yellow under every rent in its gray, silky, frayed-out surface. Here is a timber tree of considerable size and value: its hard wood furnishes the frames of northern sledges; the knots and burs make good mallets; the curiously knotted roots show a curly grain, valuable to the cabinet-maker. From New England to Minnesota, and south along the Appalachian range, this tree is found, always telling its name by the color of its shaggy bark. =The Red Birch= _B. nigra_, Linn. Red birch or river birch wears its name in its chocolate-hued or terra-cotta bark, whose scaly surface flaunts a series of tattered fringes to the very twig ends. Tall and graceful fountains of living green, these birches lean over stream borders from Minnesota and New York to the Gulf of Mexico, and reach westward to the foothills of the Rockies. Close-grained and strong, the pale brown wood is used for furniture, shoe lasts, and a multitude of woodenwares. In the bayous of the lower Mississippi, where its roots and the base of the trunk are inundated for half the year, the tree reaches its greatest size. The cones stand erect and shed their heart-shaped, winged seeds in June--an exception to the autumn-fruiting of all other birches. =The Cherry Birch= _B. lenta_, Linn. The cherry birch has dark, irregularly checked bark like the wild cherry, but the oval, pointed leaf, the catkin flowers, and the cone fruits of its family. Birch beer is made of its aromatic sap and wintergreen oil is extracted from the leaves. Indians shred the inner bark and dry it in the spring when it is rich in starch and sugar. These shreds, like vermicelli, are boiled with fish and form a nourishing dish. The wood is heavy, hard, and close-grained, valuable for the manufacture of furniture and implements, especially wheel hubs, and for fuel. It is one of the handsomest, most symmetrical, and most luxuriant of all our birch trees, and a worthy addition to any park. THE ALDERS Closely related to the hornbeams and birches is a genus of small water-loving trees that grow rapidly and serve definite, special uses in the Old and New World. The genus _alnus_ includes twenty species, nine of which grow in North America; six of these reach the height of trees. =The Black Alder= _Alnus glutinosa_, Gaertn. Of the alders, the black alders of Europe is the largest and most important timber tree. Its range includes western Asia and northern Africa. It was introduced successfully into our Northeastern states in colonial times and has become naturalized in many localities. These trees sometimes reach seventy feet in height and a trunk diameter of three feet. Their dark green foliage, glutinous when the leaves unfold in the spring, ranks these giant alders among the beautiful and picturesque trees. The lumberman esteems alder wood only for special purposes. It grows in water and its wood resists decay better than any other kind when saturated through indefinite periods. In the old days it was the wood for the boat-builder. The piles of the Rialto in Venice and along the canals of Amsterdam and other Dutch cities are of black alder. Water pipes and troughs, pumps, barrel staves, kneading troughs, sabots and clogs were made of alder wood. The bark and cones are rich in tannin and a yellow dye used in making ink. Willow and alder make the best charcoal for gunpowder. Warty excrescences on old trees and twisted roots furnished the inlayer with small but beautifully veined and very hard pieces, beautiful in veneer work when polished. In America the black alder is often met in horticultural varieties. The daintiest are the cut-leaved forms, of which _imperialis_, with leaves fingered like a white oak, is a good example. One of the best uses to which alders are put in Europe is planting in hedges along borders of streams, where their closely interlacing roots hold the banks from crumbling and keep the current clear in midstream. No English landscape is more beautiful than one through which a little river winds, its banks and the boggy spots tributary to it softened by billows of living green. "He who would see the alder in perfection must follow the banks of the Mole and Surrey through the sweet vales of Dorking and Wickleham." =Seaside Alder= _A. maritima_, Nutt. The seaside alder shares with the witch hazel the peculiar distinction of bearing its flowers and ripening its fruit simultaneously in the fall of the year. The alder comes first, hanging out its golden catkins in clusters on the ends of the season's shoots in August and September. Nothing is left of them when the witch hazel scatters its dainty stars along the twigs in October and November. The seaside alder follows stream borders near but not actually on the seacoast, through eastern Delaware and Maryland, but ranges comfortably on drier soil as far west as Oklahoma and is hardy in gardens and parks as far north as Boston, where it blooms profusely and is much admired for both flowers and glossy foliage through the late summer. =Oregon Alder= _A. Oregona_, Nutt. The Oregon or red alder reaches eighty feet in height and its trunk may exceed three feet in diameter. This Western tree exceeds the Old World alder in size. The smooth, pale-gray bark reminds us of the beech and sets this tree apart from the white alder whose bark is brown and deeply furrowed. The flowers and cone fruits are very large. The ovate leaves are cut-toothed and often lobed. This is the alder of the West Coast, largest where it comes down to the sea near the shores of Puget Sound, but climbing the mountains and canyon sides wherever there is water, from Sitka to Santa Barbara. The reddish brown wood is light, easily worked, and beautifully satiny when polished. In Washington and Oregon it is largely used in the manufacture of furniture. The Indian dug-outs are made of the butts of large trees. THE SYCAMORES, OR BUTTONWOODS =The Buttonwood= _Platanus occidentalis_, Linn. Our eastern buttonwood is a tree to which, in America, we supply the name sycamore. Its European counterpart is the plane tree of the Old World. It is one of the easiest trees to recognize, for its most prominent trait is fairly shouted at us from a distance, whenever one of these trees comes within the range of our vision. The smooth bark that covers the branches is thin, very brittle, and has the habit of flaking off in irregular plates, leaving white patches under these plates that contrast sharply with the dingy olive of the unshed areas. On old trunks the bark is reddish brown and breaks into small, irregular plates; but above, and out among the branches, the tree looks downright untidy, and as though it had been splashed with whitewash by some careless painter. (_See illustrations, pages 102-103._) White birches grow in copses in low ground, a whole regiment of their white stems slanting upward. But the ghostly sycamore is apt to stand alone along the river-courses, scattered among other water-loving trees. The tree is wayward in its branching habit, its twigs irregular and angular. When the leaves are gone, it is a distressed-looking object, dangling its seed-balls in the wind until the central, bony cob is bare, the seeds having all sailed away on their hairy parachutes. In the warmer South our buttonwood is a stalwart, large-limbed tree of colossal trunk, that shelters oaks and maples under its protecting arms. And there are some large specimens on Long Island. The buttonwood leaf in a general way resembles a maple's, being as broad as long, with three main lobes at the top. The leaf stem forms a tent over the bud formed in summer and containing the leafy shoot of the next year. The leaf scar, therefore, is a circle and the leaf base a hollow cone. At first a sheathing stipule, like a little leafy ruffle, grows at the base of each leaf, but this is shed before midsummer. =Oriental Plane= _P. Orientalis_, Linn. The oriental plane is almost as familiar a tree as our native species, for it is planted as a street tree in every city and village, and is a favorite shade and lawn tree besides. The city of Washington has set the example and so has Philadelphia. One third of the street trees of Paris are plane trees. The chief merits of this tree immigrant are its perfect hardiness, its fine, symmetrical, compact pyramid, its freedom from injury by smoke and dust, and its rapid growth in the poor soil of the parkings of city and village. In leaf and fruit and bark-shedding habit, it is easily recognized as a sycamore, though in this species more than one ball dangles from each stem. The exactions of city life limit the number of tree species that will do well. Our native sycamore patiently endures the foul breath of factory chimneys, and helps, in the smallest, downtown city parks, to make green oases in burning deserts of brick and stone pavements. But it is subject to the ravages of insect and fungous enemies to a greater extent than the oriental species. THE GUM TREES Southern people talk more about "gum trees" than people in the North. Two of our three native species of Nyssa belong solely to southern swamps, and the third, which comes north to Canada, is oftener called by other names. All these trees are picturesque, with twiggy, contorted branches; tough, cross-grained wood; alternate, simple, leathery, but deciduous leaves, beautiful at all seasons; minute flowers and fleshy, berry-like fruits. =The Sour, or Black, Gum= _Nyssa sylvatica_, Marsh. The sour or black gum of the South has a wide range, being hardy to southern Ontario and Maine. To the New Englander this is the "pepperidge"; the Indians called it "tupelo"; but the woodsman, North and South, calls it the gum tree, as a rule. "Black gum" refers to its dark gray, rough bark, which is broken into many-sided plates. By this, it is easily distinguished from the "red gum" or liquid amber, which grows in the same situations, but is not related to it. "Sour gum" refers to the acid, blue-black berries, one to three in a cluster, ripe in October. We shall know this tree by its tall, slender trunk, clothed with short, ridged, full-twigged, horizontal branches. With no claim to symmetry, the black gum is a striking and picturesque figure in winter. It is beautiful in summer, covered with the dark polished leaves, two to four inches long. In autumn patches of red appear as the leaves begin to drop. This is the tupelo's signal that winter is coming. Soon the tree is a pillar of fire against yellowing ashes and hickories. The reds of the swamp maple and scarlet oak are brighter, but no tree has a richer color than this one. A spray brought in to decorate the mantelpiece lasts till Christmas holly displaces it. The leaves, being leathery, do not curl and dry, as do thin maple leaves, in the warm air of the house. =The Cotton Gum= _N. aquatica_, Marsh. The cotton gum is draped in cottony white down as the new shoots start and the leaves unfold in spring. In midsummer this down persists in the leaf-linings, lightening the dark green of the tree-tops. The dark blue fruits of this species have no culinary value. The wood is used for crating material. The tree reaches its maximum height--one hundred feet--in the cypress swamps of Louisiana and Texas, its abundant, corky roots adapting it to its habitat. =The Sweet Gum= _Liquidamber styraciflua_, Linn. The sweet gum is a tall tree with a straight trunk, four to five feet in diameter, with slender branches covered with corky bark thrown out in wing-like ridges. At first the head is regular and pyramidal, but in old age it becomes irregularly oblong and comparatively narrow. The bark is reddish brown, deeply furrowed between rough scaly plates, marked by hard, warty excrescences. The leaves are lobed like a maple's, but more regularly, so as to form a five-pointed star. Brilliant green in summer, they become streaked with crimson and yellow. Wherever these gum trees grow, the autumn landscape is painted with the changeful splendor of the most gorgeous sunset. "The tree is not a flame, it is a _conflagration_!" Often along a country road the rail fence is hidden by an undergrowth of young gum trees. Their polished star leaves may pass from green into dull crimsons and then into lilacs and so to brown, or they may flame into scarlets and orange instead. Always, the foliage of the sweet gum falls before it loses its wonderful colors. The flowers of the sweet gum are knobby little bunches; the swinging balls covered with curving horns contain the winged seeds, small but shaped like the key of the maple. One recognizes the gum tree in winter by these swinging seed-balls, an inch in diameter, like the balls of the buttonwood, except that those are smooth. (_See illustrations, pages 102-103._) The best distinguishing mark of sweet gums in winter are the corky ridges on the branches, and the star-shaped leaves under the trees. Sweet gum sap is resinous and fragrant. Chip through the bark, and an aromatic gum soon accumulates in the wound. The farther South one goes, the more copious is the exudation. In Mexico a Spanish explorer described, in 1651, "large trees that exude a gum like liquid amber." This is the "copalm balm" gathered and shipped each year to Europe from New Orleans and from Mexican ports. The fragrant gum, _storax_ or _styrax_, derived from forests of the oriental sweet gum in Asia Minor, is used as incense in temples of various oriental religions. It blends with frankincense and myrrh in the censers of Greek and Roman Catholic churches. It is used in medicines also, and as a dry gum is the standard glove perfume in France. Beautiful and interesting in every stage of growth, our native sweet gums are planted largely in the parks of Europe and are earning recognition at home, through the efforts of tree-lovers who would make the most of native species in ornamental planting. The name, gum tree, is applied to our tupelos, and to the great tribe of Australian eucalyptus trees, now largely planted in the Southwest. =The Osage Orange= _Toxylon pomiferum_, Raff. Related to figs and mulberries, but solitary in the genus _toxylon_, is the osage orange, a handsome round-headed tree, native of eastern North America, whose fleshy roots and milky, bitter, rubbery sap reveal its family connections with the tropical rubber plants. (_See illustration, page 119._) The fruits are great yellow-green globes, four to five inches in diameter, covered on the outside by crowded, one-seeded berries. This compound fruit reveals the tree's relationship to both figs and mulberries. The aborigines, especially of the Osage tribe, in the middle Mississippi Valley, cherished these trees for their orange-yellow wood, which is hard, heavy, flexible, and strong--the best bow-wood to be found east of the Rocky Mountains. When the settlers came the sharp thorns with which the branches are effectually armed appealed strongly to the busy farmers and the tree was widely planted for hedges. Nurserymen produced them by thousands, from cuttings of root and branch. These trees made rapid growth and seemed most promising as a solution of the fencing problem, but they did not prove hardy in Iowa and neighboring states. Even now remnants of those old winter-killed hedges may be found on farm boundaries, individual trees having been able to survive. The native osage orange timber is about all gone, for the rich bottom lands where it once grew most abundantly in Oklahoma and Texas have been converted into farm land. However, the growing of osage orange timber for posts is on the increase. Systematically maintained, plantations pay well. The wood is exceptionally durable in soil. Good prices are paid for posts in local markets. Twenty-five posts can be grown to the rod in rows of a plantation; they grow rapidly and send up new shoots from the roots. The brilliant, leathery leaves and conspicuous green fruits make this native bow-wood a very striking lawn tree. It holds its foliage well into the autumn and turns at length into a mass of gold. It harbors few insects, has handsome bark, and is altogether a distinguished, foreign-looking tree. Experiments of feeding osage orange leaves to silkworms have been successfully made at different times, but nowhere in America has silk culture succeeded. Since the white mulberry is hardy here and its foliage is the basis of the silk-growing industry in the Old World, it is futile to look for substitutes in the osage orange or any other tree. PART IV TREES WITH SHOWY FLOWERS AND FRUITS The Magnolias--The Dogwoods--The Viburnums--The Mountain Ashes--The Rhododendron--The Mountain Laurel--The Madroña--The Sorrel Tree--The Silver Bell Trees--The Sweet Leaf--The Fringe Tree--The Laurel Family--The Witch Hazel--The Burning Bush--The Sumachs--The Smoke Tree--The Hollies THE MAGNOLIAS Four of the ten genera in the magnolia family are represented in North America. Of these, two are trees. All are known by their large, simple, alternate leaves, with margins entire; their showy, solitary, terminal flowers, perfect and with all parts distinct; and their cone-like fruits, compounded of many one- or two-seeded follicles, shingling over each other upon a central spike. The wood is soft and light throughout the family, and the roots are fleshy. The sap is watery and the bark is bitter and aromatic. The genus _magnolia_, named by Linnaeus in honor of Pierre Magnol, a French botanist, includes twenty species; twelve are native to eastern and southern Asia, two to Mexico, and six to eastern North America. They are of peculiar interest to horticulturists and to the general public, because they have the largest flowers of any trees in cultivation. A white blossom from six inches to a foot across is bound to attract attention and admiration when set off by a whorl of lustrous evergreen leaves. The petals of most magnolia blossoms are notably thick and waxy in texture and deliciously fragrant. Last but not least are the cone-like fruits, which flush from pale green to rose as they ripen against the dark, leathery foliage; at maturity their follicles open in a peculiar fashion and hang out their bright red seeds on slender elastic threads. Foliage, flowers, or cones alone would make magnolias superb as ornamental trees. All these qualities combined have given them a preëminent place in every country where ornamental planting is done. North America is fortunate in having so large a number of species that assume tree form. When you see a magnolia in the North blossoming before the leaves, you may be sure it is an exotic species, and if the flowers are colored you may be equally sure that it is a hybrid between two oriental species, and belongs to the group of which the type is _M. Soulangeana_. The owner may be a magnolia enthusiast, able to show you on his premises both parents of this interesting and beautiful hybrid. [Illustration: _See page 87_ THE TATTERED, SILKY BARK OF THE BIRCHES] [Illustration: _See page 93_ BLOTCHED BARK OF THE SYCAMORE, AND THE SEED-BALLS THAT HANG ON ALL WINTER] [Illustration: _See page 97_ THE WARTY, RIDGED BARK, THE SWINGING SEED-BALLS, AND THE WINGED SEEDS OF THE SWEET GUM] [Illustration: _See page 109_ TULIP TREE, FLOWER AND LEAVES] =Yulan Magnolia= _Magnolia Yulan_ The Yulan magnolia, for centuries a favorite in Japanese gardens, covers itself before the leaves appear with pure white, fragrant flowers, bell-shaped and fully six inches across. In our Eastern gardens it is quite as much at home, and though young trees are oftenest seen, the older specimens are as large as any native magnolia. This is one parent. The other is but a shrub, the purple magnolia, _M. obovata_, that must be protected against the rigors of our Northern winters. It blooms in May or June, and its purple flowers, with rosy linings, are relatively small and almost scentless. The children of this parentage get their tints of pink and rose and crimson from this purple magnolia shrub. Splendid, hardy, fragrant, big-flowered varieties have arisen from this cross. All are small trees, suitable for planting in city yards, where they are decorative throughout the season. =Starry Magnolia= _M. stellata_ The starry magnolia blooms in March or April, covering itself with star-shaped white flowers made of strap-like petals that form a flat whorl instead of a cup. This is the earliest magnolia and wonderfully precocious, blooming when scarcely two feet high. The Southern states can grow the splendid Campbell's magnolia, which is in its glory in the high mountain valleys of the Himalayas, where it reaches one hundred feet in height. The fragrant flower-cups, from six to ten inches in diameter, shade from pink to crimson. It is rare in cultivation because it is not easy to grow, and northern horticulturists fail utterly to grow it outdoors; but the fact that it is the most beautiful of all exotic species must encourage its culture in the South, and difficulties will be overcome when the tree's peculiar needs are fully understood. =The Great Laurel Magnolia= _M. foetida_, Sarg. The great laurel magnolia is oftenest seen in cultivation as a small tree of pyramidal or conical habit, with stiff, ascending branches, bearing a lustrous mass of leathery oval leaves, five to eight inches long, lined with dull green, or with rusty down, persistent until the second spring. When small these magnolia trees are as conventional as the rubber plants in hotel lobbies, whose foliage resembles theirs. But in the forests of Louisiana, where this tree reaches its greatest perfection, it earns the characterization that Sargent gave it, "the most splendid ornamental tree in the American forests." With a trunk four feet thick, and its head lifted from fifty to eighty feet above the ground and with each leaf cluster holding up a great white flower, waxy as a camellia, seven to eight inches across, the tree is indeed superb. William Bartram likened these flowers to great white roses, distinctly visible from a distance of a mile. The purple heart of the flower, made by a spot of color at the base of each petal, and the overpowering odor, rather sickening as the flowers fade, lure insects to the nectar store at the bottom of the flower-cup. This odor, disagreeable to many people, is the one objection to this flower when brought indoors. A drawback that florists discover is that the slightest bruise of the waxy petals produces a brownish discoloration, which prevents the shipment of these flowers. The splendid foliage, however, travels perfectly, and a new and growing industry is the gathering of magnolia branches in Southern woods for Christmas decoration. These branches are offered in all Northern cities, and this demand threatens the extinction of the tree, which until comparatively recent years has enjoyed immunity because of the worthlessness of its soft wood. The tree's natural range is from the North Carolina coast to Tampa Bay, and west along the Gulf Coast to Texas and southern Arkansas. As an ornamental tree, it is safely planted in Philadelphia, but its life is precarious farther north. It is widely grown in southern California as a street tree, notably in Pasadena and in parks and gardens for its blossoms, foliage, and fuzzy, horny cones. =The Swamp Bay= _M. glauca_, Linn. The swamp bay has lustrous, bright green leaves with silvery linings. In Florida and across to Texas and Arkansas it grows into a superb evergreen tree, fifty to seventy-five feet in height. Northward along the Atlantic Coast its growth is stunted as the climate becomes more rigorous, until it reaches Massachusetts and Long Island, where it becomes a many-stemmed shrub, whose beautiful leaves fall in the autumn. On the streets of cities near the New Jersey swamps the flowers of the swamp bay are offered for sale in May. The buds are almost globular, and each one is surrounded by a cluster of new leaves. To spring back these waxy white petals, that are marred by a touch, is criminal; but it is the common practice with boys who hawk these flowers on the streets. Most of the charm is gone from flowers thus defiled by dingy fingers. The finest flowers are borne on strong young shoots. The florists collect and handle them with extreme care. Much of the swamp land now useless along the Atlantic seaboard could be profitably planted to this magnolia, for the florist trade alone. The flowers bloom slowly through a period of several weeks. The enterprising owner of tracts planted to swamp bay could reap two harvests a year, almost from the first season: the flowers in spring and the leafy shoots for holiday decorations. In the South the leaves are evergreen. =The Large-leaved Cucumber Tree= _M. macrophylla_, Michx. The large-leaved cucumber tree exceeds all other magnolias in the size of its leaves and flowers. In fact, no tree outside the tropics can match it, for its blades are almost a yard in length. The flowers are great white bowls, sometimes a foot across, made of six white waxy petals, much broader than the three protecting sepals outside. The inner petals have purple spots at the base. The fruits are almost globular, two to three inches long, turning red as they mature, equally showy when the scarlet seeds dangle from the open follicles. These trees are at home in fertile valleys among the foothills of the Alleghanies, from North Carolina to middle Florida, and west to central Arkansas. Their range is not continuous. They occur in scattered groups that have come from seed. The horticulturist has greatly aided nature in the spread of this tree in this country and in Europe, where its flowers and leaves attract universal attention. The mistake usually made is to plant it in the middle of a lawn where the wind lashes the broad leaves into ribbons before they have reached their full size. Every twig or leaf that touches a petal mars it with a brown bruise. The only way to enjoy one of these remarkable trees is to plant it in the most sheltered situation, where the sunshine will reach it and the breezes will not. Then the silver-lined foliage and the superb white blossoms can come to perfection and the sight is worth going miles to see. =The Cucumber Tree= _M. acuminata_, Linn. The cucumber tree is the hardiest of our native magnolias, tropical-looking by reason of its heart-shaped leaves, six to ten inches long. Its chosen habitat is rocky uplands, where the fleshy roots can find moist soil. It ranges from western New York to Illinois, Kentucky, and Arkansas, and follows the mountain foothills through Pennsylvania and Tennessee into Alabama and Mississippi. The flowers are like tulips, and though large can scarcely be seen among the new leaves, because they are all yellowish green in color. The petals are leaf-like and the flowers have no fragrance to make up for their lack of beauty. Imperfect pollination results in distorted, fleshy cones that resemble cucumbers that have twisted and shrunken in spots as they grew. These fruits turn from pink to red as they mature, redeeming their ugly shape by their vivid color as the leaves turn yellow. In September, the scarlet seeds hang out and the wind whips them until they dangle several inches below the fruit. One by one they drop and new cucumber trees come up from this planting. The wood of the cucumber tree is light, close-textured, weak, and pale brown in color. It has only local use in cabinet-making and for flooring. The tree is far more valuable in horticulture. It is a splendid stock on which to graft less hardy magnolias. It is a superb avenue and shade tree for Northern cities, and in this capacity it is as yet little known. It grows vigorously from seed, and stands transplanting, if care is used that the brittle roots are not mutilated nor dried. =The Umbrella Tree= _M. tripetala_, Linn. The umbrella tree has an umbrella-like whorl of leaves surrounding the flower whose white cup stands above three recurving white sepals. The whole tree suggests an umbrella, so closely thatched is its dome of thin, bright green leaves. The stout contorted branches and twigs lack symmetry, from the forking habit. Side twigs strike out at right angles from an erect branch, then turn up into a position parallel with the parent branch, and bear terminal flowers, which induce another branching system the following year. Despite its angularity this is the trimmest and one of the handsomest of our native magnolias, and it has the merit of hardiness even in New England, where it attains large size. Its native range extends from Pennsylvania near the coast, along the Atlantic seaboard, and westward to southern Alabama and Arkansas. It loves swamp borders and the banks of mountain streams, but behaves well in the moderately rich soil of parks and gardens. =The Tulip Tree= _Liriodendron tulipifera_, Linn. The tulip tree is a cousin, rather than a sister, to the foregoing magnolias. It stands alone in its genus in America, but has a sister species that grows in the Chinese interior. A tall, stately forest tree, it reached two hundred feet in height, and a trunk diameter of ten feet, in the lower Ohio Valley, when it was covered with virgin forest. This species still holds its own as a valuable lumber tree on mountain slopes of North Carolina and Tennessee. Smaller, but still stately and beautiful, it is found in woods from Vermont to Florida and west to Illinois, Arkansas, and Mississippi. In Europe the tulip tree has been a favorite since its discovery and exportation by the American colonists. More and more it is coming to be appreciated at home as a lawn and shade tree, for there is no time in the year when it is not full of interest and beauty, and no time in its life when it is not a distinct and beautiful addition to any plantation. In the dead of winter young tulip trees are singularly straight and symmetrical compared with saplings of other trees. There is usually a grove of them, planted by some older tree that towers overhead, and still holds up its shiny cones, that take months to give up their winged seeds. The close, thick, intricately furrowed bark of the parent tree contrasts sharply with the smooth rind of its branches and the stems of the saplings. Tulip trees are trim as beeches until the trunks are old. The winter twigs are set with oblong blunt leaf-buds. The terminal one contains the flower, when the tree is old enough to bloom. (_See illustration, page 103._) In spring the terminal buds of saplings best show the peculiarity of the tree's vernation. Two green leaves with palms together form a flat bag that encloses the new shoot. Hold this bag up to the light and you see, as a shadow within, a curved petiole and leaf. The bag opens along its edge seam, the leaf-stem straightens, lifting the blade which is folded on the midrib. At the base of the petiole stands a smaller flat green bag. As the leaf grows to maturity the basal palms of its protecting bag shrivel and fall away, leaving the ring scar around the leaf base. Now the growing shoot has carried up the second bag, which opens and another leaf expands, sheds its leafy stipules, and a third follows. The studies of this unique vernation delight children and grown-ups. It is absolutely unmatched in the world of trees. The leathery blades of the tulip tree are from four to six inches broad and long, with basal lobes, like those of a maple leaf, and the end chopped off square. Occasionally there is a notch, made by the two end lobes projecting a trifle beyond the midrib. The leaves are singularly free from damage, keeping their dark lustrous beauty through the summer, and turning to clear yellow before they fall. The winged seeds fall first from the top of the erect cones, the wind whirling them far, because the flat blades are long and the seed-cases light--many of them empty in fact. Far into winter a tulip tree seems to be blossoming, because its bare branches are tipped with the remnants of the seed cones, faded and shining almost white against the dark branches. Tulip wood is soft and weak, pale brown, and light in weight. It is easily worked and is used locally for house and boat-building. Wood pulp consumes much of the yearly harvest. It is known as "poplar," whose wood it resembles. Ordinary postal cards are made of it. The bark yields a drug used as a heart stimulant. THE DOGWOODS Foliage of exceptional beauty is the distinguishing trait of the trees in the cornel family, from the standpoint of the landscape gardener and the lover of the woods. Showy flowers and fruit belong to some of the species; extremely hard, close-textured wood belongs to all; and this means slow growth, which is a limitation in the eyes of the planter who wishes quick results. But he who plants a cornel tree and watches it season after season, finds it one of the most interesting of nature studies through the whole round of the year. The dogwoods are slender-twigged trees of small size, with simple, entire leaves, strongly ribbed, and with one exception, set opposite upon the twigs. Fifty species are distributed over the Northern Hemisphere; one crosses the equator into Peru. Four of the seventeen species found in the United States are trees; the rest are shrubs, one of them the low-growing bunchberry of our Northern woods. =The Flowering Dogwood= _Cornus florida_, Linn. The flowering dogwood (_see illustration, page 134_) is a little tree whose round, bushy, flat-topped head is made of short, horizontal branches. The twigs hold erect in the winter a multitude of buds, large, squat, enclosed in four scales, like the husk of a hickory nut. All the delicate tints that the water-colorist delights in are found in these buds and the twigs that bear them. When spring comes, these scales loosen, expand, turn green, then fade into pure white--forming the four banners, ordinarily called petals--of the bloom of the dogwood. The true flowers are small and clustered in the centre. These white expanses are merely modified bud scales, the botanist will tell you, and the notch at the end is where the horny winter scale broke away, while its base was growing into the large white palm. From March till May one finds the dogwood clothed in white (_see illustration, page 118_), and the glossy leaves passing through changing hues from rose to green. The wayward arrangement of the blossoms on the branch is the delight of artists. Lured by the white signals, bees and other nectar-loving insects come to the flowers, cross-fertilizing them while they supply their own needs. In midsummer the pale green clusters of berries replace the flowers, and when in autumn the foliage, still glossy and smooth, changes to crimson and scarlet, the berries are brighter still, until the birds have taken every one. The bark of the dogwood is checkered like alligator skin but with deep furrows that make it very rough. The wood is used for wood engraving blocks, for tool handles, hubs, and cogs. But it is becoming very scarce. The deplorable destruction of the dogwoods comes not so much from the lumberman as from the irresponsible people who tear the trees to pieces in blossoming time. The wanton mutilation of the dogwoods in natural woodlands belonging to cities can be curbed only by policing the tracts. The saving of every flowering dogwood tree is a duty owed to his community by every wood-lot owner within the range of this hardy, handsome tree. Though exterminated over much of its range, it is able and willing to grow in any state east of the Mississippi River. It is one of the most deservedly popular trees planted for ornament in this country and in Europe. =Western Dogwood= _C. Nuttallii_, Aud. The Pacific Coast outdoes the rest of the country in the size of its forest trees. Superlatives in vegetation abound where the breath of the Japan current tempers the air. The Western dogwood often reaches one hundred feet in height in the forests near Seattle. Its flowers have six, instead of four, of the petal-like, white bracts, each narrower and pointed, and without the terminal notch. The tree in blossom is more magnificent than the eastern species, for the flowers are often twice as large, and the spectacle of one of these trees, after the leaves turn to scarlet in autumn, and it leans against the sombre evergreens that cover the mountain-side, is always startling, even in a country where surprises are the rule. =European Dogwood= _C. mas._ The European dogwood or cornel is often planted in the Eastern states as an ornamental tree, but not for its flowers alone, though these tiny, button-like clusters cover the bare branches in earliest spring. The showy fruits look like scarlet olives hanging among the glossy foliage in late summer. These fruits are edible, and in Europe are used in preserves and cordials. THE VIBURNUMS The honeysuckle family, which includes a multitude of ornamental shrubs, furnishes two genera with three representatives. Handsome foliage, showy flowers, and attractive fruits justify the popularity of this family in gardens and parks. The viburnums are distributed over the Northern Hemisphere and extend into the tropics. There are about one hundred species, including the old-fashioned snowball bush, perhaps the best-known species in this country. Discriminating gardeners have replaced it by the Japanese snowball, because the latter has much more handsome foliage and perfect flowers, instead of the barren flower cluster that has nothing to show for itself once the bloom is past. This new species wears the autumn decoration of bright red berries well into the winter. =The Sheepberry= _Viburnum lentago_, Linn. In our native woods the sheepberry is a small round-headed tree, with slim, drooping branches and oval leaves, finely cut-toothed and tapering to wavy-winged petioles. In autumn these leathery leaves change to orange and red, their shiny surfaces contrasting with the dull lining, pitted with black dots. The fruit, a loose cluster of dark blue berries, on branching red stems, is an attractive color contrast, and the birds flutter in the trees until they have eaten the last one. The fragrant white flowers light up the tree from April to June with their flat clusters three to five inches across. The opposite arrangement of the leaves and that short-winged petiole identify the little tree, whether it grows by the swamp borders, along the streams, or in parks and gardens. At any season it is good to look upon. Its range covers the eastern half of the country, extending almost to the Gulf of Mexico and west into Wyoming. =The Rusty Nannyberry= _V. rufidulum_, Raff. The rusty nannyberry is easily distinguished by the rusty hairs that clothe its new shoots and the stems and veins of the leaves. White flower clusters are succeeded by bright blue berries of unusual size and brilliance, ripe in October, on red-stemmed pedicles. The handsome polished leaves are rounded at the tips. The wood of this little tree has a very unpleasant odor, but this trait has no bearing upon its merits as a garden ornament. It is found wild from Virginia to Illinois and southward. In cultivation it is hardy in the latitude of Boston. =The Black Haw= _V. prunifolium_, Linn. The black haw has the characteristic flowers and fruit of its genus, but is smaller throughout than the other two, and its branches are stout. In European parks and gardens it is known as the "stagbush." Its fruit turns dark when dead ripe, and persists well into the winter. In the wilds, this little viburnum is found from southern New England to Michigan, and south to Georgia and Texas. THE MOUNTAIN ASHES The handsome foliage and showy flower clusters make the mountain ashes a favorite group of little trees for border shrubberies and other ornamental planting. The foliage is almost fern-like in delicacy and it spreads in a whorl below the flower clusters in spring and the scarlet berry clusters in autumn. Far into the winter after the foliage has dropped the berries persist, supplying the birds with food, especially in snowy winters, when their need is greatest, and brightening the dull thickets of bare twigs on dreary days. =Eastern Mountain Ash= _Sorbus Americana_, Marsh. The common eastern mountain ash reaches thirty feet in height--a slender, pyramidal tree, with spreading branches and delicate leaves of from thirteen to seventeen leaflets. The flat-topped cluster of creamy white flowers (_see illustration, page 135_) appears in May and June, above the dark yellow-green foliage; and the scarlet berries, ripe in September when the leaves have turned yellow, may persist until spring. Along the borders of swamps and climbing rocky bluffs, often scattered in plum thickets, these trees are handsome at any season. Along the mountains of Tennessee and North Carolina home remedies are made out of the berries. From Newfoundland to Manitoba and southward the tree grows wild and is planted for ornament in home grounds. =Elder-leaved Mountain Ash= _S. sambucifolia_, Roem. The elder-leaved mountain ash overlaps the first species, and is even more daring as a climber. It ranges from Labrador to Alaska, follows the Rocky Mountains to Colorado, and in the Eastern states goes no farther south than Pennsylvania. Its leaves are graceful and drooping like the elder. The flowers and fruits are large; the whole tree tropical looking, its open, pyramidal head giving each leaf a chance at the sun. =European Mountain Ash= _S. Aucuparia_, Linn. Most common in cultivation is the European mountain ash called in England the rowan tree. This trim round-headed species is very neat and conventional compared with its wild cousins, but in the craggy highlands of Scotland and Wales it much resembles our mountain ashes. Old superstitions cluster around the rowan tree in all rural sections. These are preserved in the folk-lore and the literature of many countries. Rowans were planted by cottage doors and at the gates of church yards, being considered effectual in exorcising evil spirits. Leafy twigs hung over the thresholds, crosses made of "Roan" wood given out on festival days, were worn as charms or amulets. Milkmaids, especially, depended upon these for the defeat of the "black elves" who constantly tried to make their cows go dry, and unless prevented got into the churns--and then the butter would never come! The farther north a tree can grow, the more likely it is to have close relatives in the Old World. One mountain ash of Japan is hardly distinguishable from our western species, and some authorities believe that our two native species are but varieties of the rowan tree of Europe. THE RHODODENDRON The heath family, of about sixty-seven genera, distributed over the temperate and tropical countries of the earth, has twenty-one genera in the United States, seven of which have tree representatives. Azaleas, the multitude of the heathers, the huckleberries, the madroñas, call to mind flower shows we have seen--under glass, in gardens, in parks, and among mountain fastnesses brightened by the loveliness of the mountain laurel, azalea, and rhododendron. In this wonderful family the leaves are simple and mostly evergreen. Rarely are the fruits of any importance. It is the flowers in masses that give the chief distinction to a family with over a thousand species, which have been the subjects of study and cultivation through centuries. The type of the family is the Scotch heather, immortalized in song and story. In London the Christmas season is marked by the sale of half a million little potted plants of heather! Each is about a foot in height and bears a thousand tiny bells, rosy, with white lips. This is the poor man's Christmas flower. It costs a shilling and lasts a month or more. [Illustration: _See page 111_ FLOWERING DOGWOOD] [Illustration: _See page 99_ THE OSAGE ORANGE Flowers appear in June, after the lustrous leaves] Trees are scarce in the heath family. Shrubs are in the majority. The azaleas, which the Belgian gardeners have brought to such perfection and developed in such a great number of varieties, are among the best known of the heaths. The profuse blossoms in potted azaleas entirely extinguish the foliage, and the flowers are almost as lasting as if they were artificial. The genus rhododendron in American woods is represented by a mountain shrub and a tree. Both are evergreen and both are widely planted for ornament during the entire season. Carloads of these wonderful plants are shipped from the mountain slopes of the Alleghanies for mass planting on rocky ground, and to cover embankments along the drives in great estates. Because of the altitude of their native habitat, they are hardy in New England, and even as far as the Great Lakes. In time of bloom, these masses are the great flower show of the countryside, and in winter nothing is more beautiful than the evergreen foliage of rhododendrons, lifted out of the snow. =Great Laurel or Rose Bay= _Rhododendron maximum_, Linn. Among the Alleghany Mountains, from Virginia southward, the great laurel rises to a height of forty feet, and interlaces its boughs with those of Fraser's magnolia and the mountain hemlock in the dense forest cover. Thickets of rhododendron trees are common, and though its stature is reduced, it follows the highlands into New York, and is one of the most striking and beautiful shrubs in the Pennsylvania mountains. Scattered and becoming more rare and more stunted, it reaches Lake Erie and on into New Brunswick. The leaves crown each of the stiff branches with an umbrella-like whorl, that stands guard in winter time about a large scaly bud. In spring the scales fall and a cone-like flower cluster rises. Each blossom is white, marked with yellow or orange spots, in the bell-like corolla's throat; or the flowers may be pale rose, with deeper tones in the unopened buds. A great tree in blossom, with its flower clusters lighting up the umbrella-like whorls of glossy, evergreen leaves, illuminates the woods, and makes every other tree look commonplace beside it. In late summer, green capsules, each with a curving style at the top, cluster where the flowers stood, but these are scarcely ornamental. The evergreen leaves and the buds, full of promise for June blossoming, are the beautiful features of rhododendrons in winter. The wonderful array of color and profusion of bloom, seen in an exhibit of rhododendrons and azaleas, is the most convincing proof of what crossing and careful selection can do in developing races of flowering plants. The ancestry of all these tub-plants is a matter of record, and goes back to a few comparatively insignificant wild species, competing with all the rest of the native flora for a livelihood. THE MOUNTAIN LAUREL The mountain laurel (_Kalmia latifolia_, Linn.) grows from Nova Scotia to Lake Erie and southward through New England and New York, and along the Alleghanies to northern Georgia. Hardier than the rhododendrons, smaller in blossoms and in foliage, the laurel is in many points its superior in beauty. In June and July the polished evergreen foliage of the kalmia bushes is almost overwhelmed by the masses of its exquisite pink blossoms, beside which the bloom of rhododendrons looks coarse and crude in coloring. Coral-red fluted buds with pointed tips show the richest color, making with the yellow-green of the new leaves one of the most exquisite color combinations in any spring shrubbery. The largest buds open first, spreading into wide five-lobed corollas, with two pockets in the base of each forming a circle of ten pockets. Ten stamens stand about the free central pistil, and the anther of each is hid in a pocket of the corolla--the slender filament bent backward. This is a curious contrivance for insuring cross-fertilization through the help of the bees. (_See "Flowers Worth Knowing."_) Linnaeus commemorated in the name of this genus the devoted and arduous labors of Peter Kalm, the Swedish botanist, who sent back to his master at the university of Upsala specimens of the wonderful and varied flora found in his travels in eastern North America. Most of the names accredited to Linnaeus were given to plants he never saw except as dried herbarium specimens from the New World. THE MADRO�A The madroña (_Arbutus Menziesii_, Pursh.), another member of the Heath family, is one of the superbly beautiful trees in the forests that stretch from British Columbia southward into California. South of the bay of San Francisco and on the dry eastern slopes of California mountains it is stunted to a shrub, but on the high, well-drained slopes through the coast region and in the redwood forests of northern California it is a tree that reaches a hundred feet in height. John Muir writes: "The madroña, clad in thin, smooth, red and yellow bark, with big, glossy leaves, seems in the dark coniferous forests of Washington and Vancouver Island like some lost wanderer from the magnolia groves in the South." All the year around this is one of the most beautiful of American trees. It bears large conical clusters of white flowers above the vivid green of its leathery leaves, that are wonderfully lightened by silvery linings. In autumn the red-brown of the branches is enriched and intensified by the luxuriant clusters of scarlet berries against the red and orange of the two-year-old leaves. Among the giant redwoods this tree commands the highest admiration. THE SORREL TREE The sorrel tree, or sour-wood (_Oxydendrum arboreum_, DC.) belongs among the heaths. Its vivid scarlet autumn foliage is its chief claim to the admiration of gardeners. In spring the little tree is beautiful in its bronze-green foliage, and in late July and August it bears long branching racemes of tiny bell-shaped white flowers. This multitude of little bells suggests the tree's relationship to the blossoming heather we see in florists' shops. The leaves give the tree its two common names: they have a sour taste, resembling that of the herbaceous sorrels. The twigs, even in the dead of winter, yield this refreshing acid sap, that flows through the veins of the membranous leaves in summer. Many a hunter, temporarily lost in Southern woods, quenches his thirst by nibbling young shoots of the sour-wood. After the flower comes a downy capsule, five-celled, with numerous pointed seeds. The leaves are not unlike those of a plum tree except that they attain a length of five to seven inches. In the woods from Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Indiana, southward to Florida, Alabama, Louisiana, and Arkansas this tree ranges, and we often see it in cultivation as far north as Boston. It grows to its largest size on the western slopes of the Big Smoky Mountains in Tennessee, attaining here a height of sixty feet. In cultivation it is one of the little, slender-stemmed, dainty trees, beautiful at any season. It is the sole representative of its genus in the world, so far as botanists know. THE SILVER BELL TREES The silver bell tree (_Mohrodendron tetraptera_, Britt.) earns its name in May when among the green leaves the clustered bell flowers gradually pale from green to white, with rosy tints that seem to come from the ruddy flower-stems. A "snowdrop tree" may be eighty feet in height, in the mountains of east Tennessee and western North Carolina, but ordinarily we see it in gardens and parks as a delicate, slender-branched tree, that stands out from every other species in the border as the loveliest thing that blooms there. Not a moment in spring lacks interest if one has a little mohrodendron tree to watch. For weeks the ruddy twigs grow ruddier by the opening of leaf and flower buds; then comes the slow fading of the flowers, when sun and rain seem to work together to bleach them into utter purity of color and texture. Gradually the white bells fade and a queer little green, tapering seed-case enlarges and ripens. Through the late summer these pale green fruits are exceedingly ornamental as the leaves turn to pale yellow. In cultivation, the silver bell tree is hardy in the New England states, but in its native woods it grows north no farther than West Virginia and Illinois. It is easily transplanted and pruned to bush form, if one desires to keep the blossoming down where the perfection of the flowers can be enjoyed at close range. =Snowdrop Tree= _M. diptera_, Britt. A second species called the snowdrop tree skirts the swamps along the South Atlantic and Gulf coast and follows the Mississippi bayous to southern Arkansas. It is smaller in stature than the silver bell tree, but has larger leaves and more showy flowers. The botanical names record the chief specific difference between the two species: this one has but two wings on its seed-cases, while the other has four. This species is hardy no farther north than Philadelphia. The flowers have their bells cleft almost to the base, whereas the bell of the other species is merely notched at the top. THE SWEET LEAF Two genera of trees in this country are temperate zone representatives of a tropical family which furnishes benzoine, torax, and other valuable balsams of commerce. It is easy to see that these trees are strangers from warm countries, for many of their traits are singularly unfamiliar. =The Sweet Leaf= _Symplocos tinctoria_, L'Her. The sweet leaf is our sole representative of a large genus of trees native to the forests of Australia and the tropics in Asia and South America. They yield important drugs and dyestuffs, particularly in British India. But the sweet leaf is a small tree, rarely over twenty feet in height, with ashy gray bark, warty and narrowly fissured. In earliest spring its twigs are clothed with yellow or white blossoms that come in a procession and cover the tree from March until May, preceding the leaves, and breathing a wonderful fragrance into the air. The leaves are small, leathery, dark green, lustrous above, deciduous in the regions of colder winters, persistent from one to two years in the warmer part of its range. The flowers are succeeded by brown berries that ripen in summer, or early autumn. The flesh is dry about the single seed. Horses and cattle greedily browse upon the foliage, which has a distinctly sweet taste. The bark and leaves both yield a yellow dye, and the roots a tonic from their bitter, aromatic sap. "Horse sugar" is another local name for this little tree, which is found sparingly from Delaware to Florida, west to the Blue Ridge Mountains, and in the Gulf states to Louisiana and northward into Arkansas and to eastern Texas. It is a shade-loving tree, usually found under the forest cover of taller species, skirting the borders of cypress swamps, and climbing to elevations of nearly three thousand feet on the slopes of the Blue Ridge. A wonderful new species of _symplocos_ has come into cultivation from Japan and will enjoy a constantly increasing popularity. Its fragrant white blossoms, before the leaves, make the tree look like a hawthorn; but its unique distinction is that the racemed flowers give place to berries of a brilliant turquoise blue, which make this shrubby tree a most striking and beautiful object in the autumn when the leaves are turning yellow. THE FRINGE TREE Native to the middle and southern portions of the United States is a slender little tree (_Chionanthus Virginica_, Linn.), whose sister species inhabits northern and central China. Both of them cover their branches with delicate, fragrant white flowers, in loose drooping panicles, when the leaves are about one third grown. Each flower has four slender curving petals an inch long, but exceedingly narrow. In May and June the tree is decked with a bridal veil of white that makes it one of the most ethereal and the most elegant of lawn and park trees at this supreme moment of the year. Later the leaves broaden and reach six to eight inches in length, tapering narrowly to the short petioles. Thick and dark green, with plain margins, and conspicuously looped venation near the edges, these leaves suggest a young magnolia tree. Blue fruits the size of plums succeed the flowers in September, denying the magnolia theory and shading to black before they fall. The flesh is dry and seeds solitary under the thick skin of the drupe. As in many other instances, European gardeners have led in the appreciation of this American ornamental tree. However, New England has planted it freely in parks and gardens, and popularity will follow wherever it becomes known. Its natural distribution is from southern Pennsylvania to Florida, and west to Arkansas and Texas. In cultivation it is hardy and flourishes far north of its natural range. No garden that can have a fringe tree should be without it. Fortunately its wood is negligible in quantity, and the temptation to chop down these trees does not come to the ignorant man with an axe. Whoever goes to the woods in May is rewarded for many miles of tramping if he comes upon a "snow-flower tree" in the height of its blooming season, led perhaps by its delicate fragrance when the little tree is overshadowed by the deep green of the forest cover. It is an experience that will not be forgotten soon. THE LAUREL FAMILY The laurel family, a large group of aromatic trees and shrubs found chiefly in the tropics, includes with our sassafras, laurels, and bays the cinnamon and camphor trees. =California Laurel= _Umbellaria Californica_, Nutt. The California laurel climbs the western slopes of the Sierra Nevada from the forests of southwestern Oregon to the San Bernardino range near Los Angeles. "Up North" it is called pepperwood. It is a lover of wet soil, so it keeps near streams. With the broad-leaved maple it gives character to the deciduous growth near the northern boundaries of California, where it reaches eighty to ninety feet in height, and a trunk diameter of four to five feet. Sometimes it is tall, but usually it divides near the ground into several large diverging stems, forming a broad round head. In southern California, and at high elevations, it oftenest occurs as a low shrub. The willow-like leaves, lustrous and evergreen, last often through the sixth season. Unfolding in winter or early spring, they continue to appear as the branches lengthen until late in the autumn, turning to beautiful yellow or orange and falling one by one. Beginning during the second season, they continue to drop, as new shoots loosen their hold. These leaves are rich in an aromatic oil which causes them to burn readily when piled green upon a campfire. Plum-like purple fruits succeed the small white fragrant flowers, borne in clusters in the axils of the leaves. The seeds germinate before the fruit begins to decay. Indeed the plantlet has attained considerable size before the acid flesh shows any signs of change. This tree is a superb addition to the parks and gardens of the Pacific Coast. It is strikingly handsome in a land of handsome trees, native and exotic. Its wood is the most beautiful and valuable produced in the forests of Pacific North America for the interior finish of houses and for furniture. It is heavy, hard, strong, fine-grained, light brown, of a rich tone, with paler sap-wood, that includes the annual growth of thirty or forty seasons. The leaves yield by distillation a pungent, aromatic, volatile oil, and the fruit a fatty acid commercially valuable. =The Red Bay= _Persea Borbonia_, Streng. Another laurel native to stream and swamp borders, from Virginia to Texas and north to Arkansas, is the red bay, whose bark, thick, red, and furrowed into scaly ridges on the trunk, becomes smooth and green on the branches. The evergreen leaves are narrowly oval, three to four inches long, bright green, polished, with pale linings. The white flowers are very minute bells borne in axillary clusters, succeeded in autumn by blue or black shiny berries, one half inch long, one-seeded, making a pretty contrast with the clear yellow of the year-old leaves and the bright green of the new ones. This native laurel, lover of rich, moist soil, deserves the place in cultivation more commonly granted its European cousin, _Laurus nobilis_, Linn., the familiar tub laurel of hotel verandas in the Northern states, and much grown out of doors in southern California and in milder climates east. The tree is occasionally sixty to seventy feet high, with trunk two to three feet in diameter. Such specimens furnish the cabinet-maker and carpenter with a beautiful, bright red, close-grained wood for fine interior finish and furniture. Formerly it was used in the construction of river boats, but the timber supply is now very limited. =The Avocado= _P. gratissima_, Gaertn. In Florida and southern California the avocado or alligator pear is being extensively cultivated. This laurel grows wild in the West Indies, Brazil, Peru, and Mexico. Its berry attains the size of a large pear. It has been developed in several commercial varieties, all having smooth green or purple skin, and soft oily pulp like marrow surrounding a single gigantic seed. It is usually cut in two like a melon and eaten raw as a salad dressed with vinegar, salt, and pepper. Once a stranger acquires the taste, he is extremely fond of this new salad fruit. The growing of the trees is easy and very profitable. At present the fruits are in great demand in city markets, and the prices are too high for any but the rich to enjoy this luxury. Where a market is difficult to reach, the abundant oil is expressed from these fruits and used for illumination and the manufacture of soap. The seeds yield an indelible ink. It is interesting to the student of trees to note how many tropical families have representation in North America, due to the fact that Florida extends into the tropics, and the West Indies seem to form a sort of bridge over which Central American and South American species have reached the Floridian Keys and the mainland. =The Sassafras= _Sassafras_, Karst. The sole remnant of an ancient genus is the aromatic sassafras familiar as a roadside tree that flames in autumn with the star gum and the swamp maples. In the deep woods it reaches a height of more than a hundred feet and is an important lumber tree. In the arctic regions and in the rocky strata of our western mountains, fossil leaves of sassafras are preserved, and the same traces are found in Europe, giving to the geologist proofs that the genus once had a much wider range than now. But no living representative of the genus was known outside of eastern North America, until the report of a recently discovered sassafras in China. The Indians in Florida named the sassafras to the inquiring colonists who came with Columbus. They explained its curative properties, and its reputation traveled up the Atlantic seaboard. The first cargo of home products shipped by the colonists back to England from Massachusetts contained a large consignment of sassafras roots. To-day we look for an exhibit of sassafras bark in drug-store windows in spring. People buy it and make sassafras tea which they drink "to clear the blood." "In the Southwestern states the dried leaves are much used as an ingredient in soups, for which they are well adapted by the abundance of mucilage they contain. For this purpose the mature green leaves are dried, powdered (the stringy portions being separated), sifted and preserved for use. This preparation mixed with soups gives them a ropy consistence and a peculiar flavor, much relished by those accustomed to it. To such soups are given the names _gombo file_ and _gombo zab_." (_Seton._) Emerson says that in New England a decoction of sassafras bark gave to the housewife's homespun woolen cloth a permanent orange dye. The name "Ague Tree" originated with the use of sassafras bark tea as a stimulant that warmed and brought out the perspiration freely for victims of the malarial "ague," or "chills and fever." Sassafras wood is dull orange-yellow, soft, weak, light, brittle, and coarse-grained, but it is amazingly durable in contact with the soil, as the pioneers learned when they used it to make posts and fence rails. It is largely used also in cooperage, and in the building of light boats. Oil of sassafras distilled from the bark of the roots is used for perfuming soaps and flavoring medicines. With all its practical uses listed above, we must all have learned to know the tree if it grows in our neighborhood, and if we observe it closely, month by month throughout the year, we shall all agree that its beauty justifies its selection for planting in our home grounds, and surpasses all its medicinal and other commercial offerings to the world. In winter the sassafras tree is most picturesque by reason of the short, stout, twisted branches that spread almost at right angles from the central shaft, and form a narrow, usually flat, often unsymmetrical head. The bark is rough, reddish brown, deeply and irregularly divided into broad scaly plates or ridges. The branches end in slim, pale yellow-green twigs that are set with pointed, bright green buds, giving the tree an appearance of being thoroughly alive while others, bare of leaves, look dead in winter. What country boy or girl has not lingered on the way home from school to nibble the dainty green buds of the sassafras, or to dig at the roots with his jack-knife for a sliver of aromatic bark? As spring comes on the bare twigs are covered with a delicate green of the opening leaves, brightened by clusters of yellow flowers (_see illustration, page 150_) whose starry calyxes are alike on all of the trees; but only on the fertile trees are the flowers succeeded by the blue berries, softening on their scarlet pedicels, if only the birds can wait until they are ripe. Midsummer is the time to hunt for "mittens" and to note how many different forms of leaves belong on the same sassafras tree. First, there is the simple ovate leaf; second, a larger blade oval in form but with one side extended and lobed to form a thumb, making the whole leaf look like the pattern of a mitten cut out by an unskilled hand; third, a symmetrical, three-lobed leaf, the pattern of a narrow mitten with a large thumb on each side. Not infrequently do all these forms occur on a single twig. Only the mulberry, among our native trees, shows such a variety of leaf forms as the sassafras. There is quite as great variation in the size of the leaves. One law seems to prevail among sassafras trees: more of the oval leaves than the lobed ones are found on mature trees. It is the roadside sapling, with its foliage within easy reach, that delights boys and girls with its wonderful variety of leaf patterns. Here the size of the leaves greatly surpasses that of the foliage on full-grown trees, and the autumnal colors are more glorious in the roadside thickets than in the tree-tops far above them. Sassafras trees grow readily from seed in any loose, moist soil. A single tree spreads by a multitude of fleshy root-stalks, and these natural root-cuttings bear transplanting as easily as a poplar. Every garden border should have one specimen at least to add its flame to the conflagration of autumn foliage and the charming contrast of its blue berries on their coral stalks. THE WITCH HAZEL Eighteen genera compose the sub-tropical family in which _hamamelis_ is the type. Two or three Asiatic species and one American are known. The witch hazel (_Hamamelis Virginiana_, Linn.) is a stout, many-stemmed shrub or a small tree, with rough unsymmetrical leaves, strongly veined, coarsely toothed, and roughly diamond-shaped. The twigs, when bare, are set with hairy sickle-shaped buds. Nowhere in summer would an undergrowth of witch hazel trees attract attention. But in autumn, when other trees have reached a state of utter rest, the witch hazel wakes and bursts into bloom. Among the dead leaves which stubbornly cling as they yellow, and often persist until spring, the tiny buds, the size of a pin-head, open into starry blossoms with petals like gold threads. The witch hazel thicket is veiled with these gold-mesh flowers, as ethereal as the haunting perfume which they exhale. Frost crisps the delicate petals but they curl, up like shavings and stay till spring. At no time is the weather cold enough to destroy this November flower show. Among the blossoms are the pods in clusters, gaping wide if the seeds are shed; closed tight, with little monkey faces, if not yet open. The harvest of witch hazel seeds is worth going far to see. Damp weather delays this most interesting little game. Dry frosty weather is ideal for it. Go into a witch hazel thicket on some fine morning in early November and sit down on the drift of dead leaves that carpet the woods floor. The silence is broken now and then by a sharp report like a bullet striking against the bark of a near-by trunk, or skipping among the leaves. Perhaps a twinge on the ear shows that you have been a target for some tiny projectile, sent to its mark with force enough to hurt. [Illustration: _See page 111_ BARK, BLOSSOM, FRUIT, AND WINTER FLOWER BUDS OF THE FLOWERING DOGWOOD] [Illustration: _See page 116_ THE MOUNTAIN ASH The flat, crowded cluster of tiny white flowers is set in a whorl of dark-green leaves in May or June] The fusillade comes from the ripened pods, which have a remarkable ability to throw their seeds, and thus do for the parent tree what the winged seeds of other trees accomplish. The lining of the two-celled pod is believed to shorten and produce a spring that drives the seeds forth with surprising force when they are loosened from their attachment. This occurs when the lips part. Frost and sun seem to decide just when to spring the trap and let fly the little black seeds. A young botanist went into the woods to find out just how far a witch hazel tree can throw its seeds. She chose an isolated tree and spread white muslin under it for many yards in four directions. The most remote of the many seeds she caught that day fell eighteen feet from the base of the tree. The Indians in America were the first people to use the bark of the witch hazel for curing inflammations. An infusion of the twigs and roots is now made by boiling them for twenty-four hours in water to which alcohol has been added. "Witch hazel extract," distilled from this mixture, is the most popular preparation to use for bruises and sprains, and to allay the pain of burns. Druggists and chemists have failed to discover any medicinal properties in bark or leaf, but the public has faith in it. The alcohol is probably the effective agent. Witch hazel comes honestly by its name. The English "witch hazel" is a species of elm to which superstitious miners went to get forked twigs to use as divining rods. No one in the countryside would dream of sinking a shaft for coal without the use of this forked twig. In any old and isolated country district in America there is usually a man whose reputation is based in his skilful use of a forked witch hazel twig. Sent for before a well is dug, he slowly walks over the ground, holding the twig erect by its two supple forks, one in each hand. When he passes over the spot where the hidden springs of water are, the twig goes down, without any volition of the "water-witch." At least, so he says, and if water is struck by digging, his claims are vindicated and scoffers hide their heads. THE BURNING BUSH American gardeners cherish with regard that amounts almost to affection any shrub or tree which will lend color, especially brilliant color, to the winter landscape. Thus the holly, the Japanese barberry, many of the haws, the mountain ash, and the rugosa rose will be found in the shrubbery borders of many gardens, supplying the birds with food when the ground is covered with snow, and sprinkling the brightness of their red berries against the monotony of dull green conifers. The burning bush (_Euonymus atropurpureus_, Jacq.) lends its scarlet fruits to the vivid colors that paint any winter landscape. They hang on slender stalks, clustered where the leaves were attached. Four flattish lobes, deeply separated by constrictions, form each of these strange-looking fruits. In October each is pale purplish in color and one half an inch across. Now the husk parts and curls back, revealing the seeds, each of the four enveloped in a loose scarlet wrinkled coat. Until midwinter the little tree is indeed a burning bush, glowing brighter as the advancing season opens wider the purple husks, and the little swinging Maltese cross, made by the four scarlet berries, is the only thing one sees, looking up from below. Birds take the berries, though they are bitter and poisonous. In spring the slender branchlets of this little tree are covered with opposite, pointed leaves, two to five inches long, and in their axils are borne purplish flowers, with four spreading recurving petals. In the centre of each is supported a square platform upon which are the spreading anthers and styles. It does not require much botanical knowledge to see a family relationship between this tree and the woody vine we call "bitter-sweet"; the flowers and fruits are alike in many features. In Oklahoma and Arkansas and eastern Texas the burning bush becomes a good-sized tree and its hard, close-grained wood is peculiarly adapted to making spindles, knitting needles, skewers, and toothpicks. "Prickwood" is the English name. Chinese and Japanese species have been added to our list of flowering trees and vines. Two shrubby species of _Euonymus_ belong to the flora of North America, but the bulk of the large family is tropical. Our dainty little American tree skirts the edges of deep woods from New York to Montana, and southward to the Gulf. In cultivation it extends throughout New England. "Wahoo," the common name in the South, is probably of Indian origin. THE SUMACHS The sumach family contains more than fifty genera, confined for the most part to the warmer regions of the globe. Two fruit trees within this family are the mango and the pistachio nut tree. Commercially important also is the turpentine tree of southern Europe. The Japanese lacquer tree yields the black varnish used in all lacquered wares. The cultivated sumachs of southern Europe are important in the tanning industry, their leaves containing from twenty-five to thirty per cent. of tannic acid. In the flora of the United States three genera of the family have tree representatives. The genus _Rhus_, with a total of one hundred and twenty species, stands first. Most of these belong to South Africa; sixteen to North America where their distribution covers practically the entire continent. Of these, four attain the habit of small trees. Fleshy roots, pithy branchlets, and milky, or sometimes caustic or watery juice, belong to the sumachs, which are oftenest seen as roadside thickets or fringing the borders of woods. The foliage is fern-like, odd-pinnate, rarely simple. The flowers are conspicuous by their crowding into terminal or axillary panicles, followed by bony fruits, densely crowded like the flowers. =The Staghorn Sumach= _Rhus hirta_, Sudw. The staghorn sumach is named for the densely hairy, forking branchlets, which look much like the horns of a stag "in the velvet." The foliage and fruit are also densely clothed with stiff pale hairs, usually red or bright yellow. The leaves reach two feet in length, with twenty or thirty oblong, often sickle-shaped leaflets, set opposite on the stem, and terminating in a single odd leaflet. Bright yellow-green until half grown, dark green and dull above when mature, often nearly white on the under surface, these leaves turn in autumn to bright scarlet, shading into purple, crimson, and orange. No sunset was ever more changeful and glorious than a patch of staghorn sumach that covers the ugliness of a railroad siding in October. After the leaves have fallen, the dull red fuzzy fruits persist, offering food to belated bird migrants and gradually fading to browns before spring. The maximum height of this largest of northern sumachs is thirty-five feet. The wood of such large specimens is sometimes used for walking-sticks and for tabourets and such fancy work as inlaying. Coarse, soft, and brittle, it is satiny when polished, and attractively streaked with orange and green. The young shoots are cut and their pith contents removed to make pipes for drawing maple sap from the trees in sugaring time. But the best use of the tree is for ornamental planting. In summer, the ugliness of the most unsightly bank is covered where this tree is allowed to run wild and throw up its root suckers unchecked. The mass effect of its fern-like foliage in spring is superb, when the green is lightened by the fine clusters of pink blossoms. No tree carries its autumn foliage longer nor blazes with greater splendor in the soft sunshine of the late year. The hairy staghorn branches, bared of leaves, hold aloft their fruits like lighted candelabra far into the waning winter. For screens and border shrubs this sumach may become objectionable, by reason of its habit of spreading by suckers as well as seed. Its choice of situations is broken uplands and dry, gravelly banks. Its range extends from New Brunswick to Minnesota and southward through the Northern states, and along the mountains to the Gulf states. In cultivation, it is found in the Middle West and on the Atlantic seaboard, and is a favorite in central and northern Europe. =The Dwarf Sumach= _R. copallina_, Linn. The black dwarf, or mountain sumach, is smaller, with softer, closer velvet coating its twigs and lining its leaves, than the burly staghorn sumach wears. It grows all over the eastern half of the United States, even to the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, and rises to thirty feet in height above a short, stout trunk in the mountains of Tennessee and North Carolina. Its leaves are the most beautiful in the sumach family. They are six to eight inches long, the central stalk bearing nine to twenty-one dark green leaflets, lustrous above, lined with silvery pubescence. A striking peculiarity is that the central leaf-stem is winged on each side with a leafy frill between the pairs of leaflets. In autumn, the foliage mass changes to varying shades of scarlet and crimson. The flower clusters are copious and loose, and the heavy fruits nod from their great weight and show the most beautiful shades, ranging from yellow to dull red. Sterile soil is often covered by extensive growths of this charming shrubby tree which spreads by underground root-stocks. It is the latest of all the sumachs to bloom. In the South the leaves are sometimes gathered in summer to be dried and pulverized for use in tanning leather. A yellow dyestuff is also extracted from them. It is a favorite sumach for ornamental planting in this country and in Europe. =The Poison Sumach= _R. Vernix_, Linn. The poison sumach is a small tree with slender drooping branches, smooth, reddish brown, dotted on the twigs with orange-colored breathing holes, becoming orange-brown and gray as the bark thickens. The trunk is often somewhat fluted under a smooth gray rind. This is one of the most brilliant and beautiful of all the sumachs, but _unfortunately it is deadly poisonous, more to be dreaded than the poison ivy of our woods_, and the poisonwood of Florida, both of which are near relatives. By certain traits we may always know, with absolute certainty, a poison sumach when we find it. _Look at the berries. If they droop and are grayish white, avoid touching the tree_, no matter how alluring the wonderful scarlet foliage is. _Poison sumachs grow only in the swamps. We should suspect any sumach that stands with its feet in the water_, whether it bears flowers and fruit or not. The temptation is strongest when one is in the woods gathering brilliant foliage for decoration of the home for the holidays. The bitter poisonous juice that exudes from broken stems turns black almost at once. This warning comes late, however, for as it dries upon the hands it poisons the skin. Handled with care, this juice becomes a black, lustrous, durable varnish, but it is not in general use. =The Smooth Sumach= _R. glabra_, Linn. The smooth sumach (_see illustrations, pages 150-151_) is quite as familiar as the staghorn, as a roadside shrub. It forms thickets in exactly the same way, and its foliage, flowers and fruit make it most desirable for decorative planting, especially for glorious autumnal effects. The stems are smooth and coated with a pale bluish bloom. This is the distinguishing mark, at any season, of the sumach that often equals the other species in height, but does not belong in this book, for the reason that it never attains the stature of a tree. THE SMOKE TREE A favorite tree in American and European gardens is the smoke tree (_Cotinus_), a genus which has native representatives in both continents. The European _C. Cotinus_, Sarg., was brought to this country by early horticulturists and in some respects it is superior to our native_ C. Americanus_, Nutt. Cultivation for centuries has given the immigrant species greater vigor and hardiness, which produces more exuberant growth throughout. Bring in a sapling of the native tree and it looks a starveling by comparison. The glory of the smoke tree is the utter failure of its clustered flowers to set seed. Branching terminal panicles of minute flowers are held high above the dark green simple leaves. As they change in autumn to brilliant shades of orange and scarlet, the seed clusters are held aloft. The seeds are few but the panicles have expanded and show a peculiar feathery development of the bracts that take the place of the fruits. The clusters take on tones of pink and lavender and in the aggregate they form a great cloud made up of graceful, delicate plumes. At a little distance the tree appears as if a great cloud of rosy smoke rested upon its gorgeous foliage. Or the haze may be so pale as to look like mist. This wonderful development of the flower cluster is unique among garden shrubs and it places _Cotinus_ in a class by itself. No garden with a shrubbery border is complete without a smoke tree, which is interesting and beautiful at any season. In its native haunts our American smoke tree is found in small isolated groves or thickets, along the sides of rocky ravines or dry barren hillsides in Missouri, Oklahoma, and Texas, and in eastern Tennessee and northern Alabama. THE HOLLIES The holly family, of five genera, is distributed from the north to the south temperate zones, with representation in every continent. It includes trees and shrubs of one hundred and seventy-five species, seventy of which grow in northern Brazil. The dried and powdered leaves of two holly trees of Paraguay are commercially known as maté, or Paraguay tea, to which the people of South America are addicted, as we are to the tea of China. "Yerba maté" has a remarkable, stimulating effect upon the human system, fortifying it for incredible exertions and endurance. Indulged in to excess, it has much the effect of alcohol. China and Japan have thirty different species of holly. America has fourteen, four of which assume tree form; the rest are shrubby "winterberries." =European Holly= _Ilex aquifolium_, Linn. The holly of Europe is perhaps the most popular ornamental tree in the world, cultivated in Europe through centuries, and now coming to be a favorite garden plant wherever hardy in the United States. Some indication of its popularity abroad is found in the fact that one hundred and fifty-three distinct horticultural varieties are in cultivation. The Englishman makes hedges of it, and depends upon it to give life and color to his lawn and flower borders in the winter. The fellfare or fieldfare, a little thrush, feeds upon the tempting red berries in winter; but even when these dashes of color are all gone, the brilliance of the spiny-margined leaves enlivens any landscape. Americans know the European holly chiefly through importations of the cut branches offered in the markets for Christmas decoration. The leaf is small, brilliantly polished, and very deeply indented between long, spiny tips, giving it a far more decorative quality than the native evergreen holly of the South. Many varieties of the European holly are found in American gardens, particularly near eastern cities. North of Washington they must be tied up in straw for the winter, and in the latitude of Boston it is a struggle to keep them alive. From southern California to Vancouver, no such precautions are necessary, and the little trees deserve a much wider popularity than they yet enjoy. Grown commercially, they are the finest of Christmas greens. =American Holly= _I. Opaca_, Ait. The American holly also yields its branches for Christmas greens. In the remotest village in the North one may now buy at any grocery store a sprig of red-berried holly to usher in the holiday season. The tree is a small one at best, slow-growing, pyramidal, twenty to forty feet in height, with short, horizontal branches and tough, close-grained white wood. It is rare to find so close an imitation of ivory, in color and texture, as holly wood supplies. It is the delight of the wood engraver, who uses it for his blocks. Scroll work and turnery employ it. It is used for tool handles, walking-sticks, and whip-stocks. Veneer of holly is used in inlay work. In southern woods and barren fallow fields where hollies grow, collectors, without discrimination, cut many trees each autumn, strip them of their branches, and leave the trunks to rot upon the ground. The increasing demand for Christmas holly seriously threatens the present supply, for no methods are being practised for its renewal. It will not be long before the wood engraver will have to buy his blocks by the pound, as he does the eastern boxwood. The range of this holly tree extends from southern Maine to Florida, throughout the Gulf states, and north into Indiana and Missouri. =The Yaupon= _I. vomitoria_, Ait. The yaupon is a shrubby tree of spreading habit, with very small, oval, evergreen leaves and red berries. It grows from Virginia to Florida and west to Texas and Arkansas. A nauseating beverage, made by boiling its leaves, was the famous "black drink" of the Indians. A yearly ceremonial, in which the whole tribe took part, was the persistent drinking of this tea for several days, the object being a thorough cleansing of the system. PART V WILD RELATIVES OF OUR ORCHARD TREES The Apples�The Plums�The Cherries�The Hawthorns�The Service-berries�The Hackberries�The Mulberries�The Figs�The Papaws�The Pond Apples�The Persimmons THE APPLES The chance apple tree beside the road, with fruit too gnarly to eat, is common on roadsides throughout New England. Occasionally one of these trees bears edible fruit, but this is not the rule. Perhaps the seed thus planted was from the core of a very delicious apple, nibbled close, and thrown away with regret. But trees thus planted are seedlings and seedling apple trees "revert" to the ancient parent of the race, the wild apple of eastern Asia. Horticulture began long ago to improve these wild trees, and through the centuries improvement and variation have stocked the orchards of all temperate countries with the multitude of varieties we know. A visit in October to Nova Scotia or to the Yakima Valley in Washington, is an eye-opener. Thousands of acres of the choicest varieties of this most satisfying of all fruits show the debt we owe to patient scientists, whose work has so enriched the food supply of the world. The pear, the quince, and the curious medlar, with its core exposed at the blossom end--all relatives of the apple--trace their lineage to European and Asiatic wild ancestors. The Siberian crab, native of northern Asia, is the parent of our hard-fleshed, slender-stemmed garden crabapples. Japan has given us some wonderful apple trees, with fruit no larger than cherries, cultivated solely for their flowers. The ornamental flora of America has been greatly enriched by these varieties. Four native apples are found in American woods. Horticulturists have produced new varieties by crossing some of these sturdy natives with cultivated apples, or their seedling offspring. =The Prairie Crab= _Malus Ioënsis_, Britt. The prairie crabapple is the woolly twigged, pink-blossomed wild crab of the woods, from Minnesota and Wisconsin to Oklahoma, Texas, and Louisiana. It has crossed with the roadside "wilding" trees and produced a hybrid known to horticulture as the Soulard apple, from its discoverer. These wild trees bear fruit that is distinctly an improvement upon that of either parent. It is regarded as a distinctly promising apple for the coldest of the prairie states, and has already become the parent of several improved varieties. =The Wild Crab= _M. coronaria_. Mill. Throughout the wooded regions, from the Great Lakes to Texas and Alabama, the wild crabapple brightens the spring landscape with its rose-colored, spicy-scented blossoms. The little trees huddle together, their flat tops often matted and reaching out sidewise from under the shade of the other forest trees. The twigs are crabbed indeed in winter, but they silver over with the young foliage in April. The coral flower buds sprinkle the new leaves, and through May a great burst of rose-colored bloom overspreads the tree-tops. It is not sweetness merely that these flowers exhale, but an exquisite, spicy, stimulating fragrance, by which one always remembers them. The pioneers made jellies and preserves out of the little green apples (_see illustrations, pages 150-151_), which lost some of their acrid quality by hanging on until after a good frost. There are those who still gather these fruits as their parents and grandparents did. In their opinion the wild tang and the indescribable piquancy of flavor in jellies made from this fruit are unmatched by those of any other fruit that grows. THE PLUMS The genus _prunus_ belongs to the rose family and includes shrubs and trees with stone fruits. Of the over one hundred species, thirty are native to North America; but ten of them assume tree form, and all but one are small trees. Related to them are the garden cherries and plums, native to other countries, and the peach, the apricot, and the almond, found in this country only in horticultural varieties. The wood of _prunus_ is close-grained, solid, and durable, and a few of the species are important timber trees. The simplest way to identify a member of the genus is to break a twig at any season of the year and taste the sap. If it is bitter and astringent with hydrocyanic acid (the flavor we get in fresh peach-pits and bitter almonds), we may be sure we have run the tree down to the genus _prunus_. =The Wild Red Plum= _Prunus Americanus_, Marsh. The wild red or yellow plum forms dense thickets in moist woods and along river banks from New York to Texas and Colorado. Its leafless, gnarled, and thorny twigs are covered in spring with dense clusters of white bloom, honey-sweet in fragrance, a carnival of pleasure and profit to bees and other insects. In hot weather this nectar often ferments and sours before the blossoms fall. The abundant dry pollen is scattered by the wind. The plum crop depends more upon wind than upon insects, for the pollination period is very brief. After the frost in early autumn, the pioneers of the prairie used always to make a holiday in the woods and bring home by wagon-loads the spicy, acid plums which crowded the branches and fairly lit up the thicket with the orange and red color of their puckery, thick skins. In a land where fruit orchards were newly planted, "plum butter" made from the fruit of nature's orchards was gratefully acceptable through the long winters. Even when home-grown sorghum molasses was the only available sweetening, the healthy appetites of prairie boys and girls accepted this "spread" on the bread and butter of noon-day school lunches, as a matter of course. [Illustration: _See page 130_ FLOWERS, FRUIT, AND ODD LEAF PATTERNS OF THE SASSAFRAS TREE] [Illustration: _See page 141_ FOLIAGE AND FLOWER CLUSTER OF THE SMOOTH SUMACH] [Illustration: _See page 148_ BUDS, LEAVES, AND FRUIT OF THE WILD CRABAPPLE] [Illustration: _See page 151_ THE CANADA PLUM Its white, fragrant flowers turn pink in fading; and its stiff, zigzag branches are beset with spiny stubs] =The Canada Plum= _P. nigra._, Ait. The Canada plum (_see illustration, page 151_) whose range dips down into the northern tier of states, is so near like the previous species as to be called by Waugh a mere variety. Its leaves are broad and large, and the flowers and fruit larger. A peculiarity of blossoming time is that the petals turn pink before they fall. This tree furnished the settler with a relish for his hard fare, and the horticulturist a hardy stock on which to graft scions of tenderer and better varieties of plums. It is a tree well worth bringing in from the woods to set in a bare fence-corner that will be beautified by the blossoms in spring, and in late summer by the bright orange-colored fruit against the ruddy foliage. Exotic plums have greatly enriched our horticulture, giving us fruits that vie with the peach in size and lusciousness. In New-England gardens, the damsons, green gages and big red plums are imported varieties of the woolly twigged, thick-leaved European, _P. domestica_, which refused utterly to feel at home on its own roots in the great middle prairies of the country. These European plums have found a congenial home in the mild climate of the West Coast. Japan has furnished to the Middle West and South a hardy, prolific species, _P. triflora_, generally immune to the black knot, a fungous disease which attacks native plums. Crosses between the Japanese and American native plums promise well. California now ranks first in prune raising as an industry, with France a close second. Prunes are the dried fruit of certain sweet, fleshy kinds of plums. Many cultivated varieties of Japanese plums have enriched the horticulture of our West Coast. The almond, now grown commercially in California, is the one member of the genus prunus whose flesh is dry and woody, and whose pit is a commercial nut. THE CHERRIES Small-fruited members of the genus prunus, wild and cultivated, are grouped under the popular name, cherries, by common consent. The pie cherry of New-England gardens is _prunus cerasus_, Linn. It often runs wild from gardens, forming roadside thickets, with small sour red fruits, as nearly worthless as at home in the wilds of Europe and Asia. This tree has, through cultivation, given rise to two groups of sour cherries cultivated in America. The early, light-red varieties, with uncolored juice, of which the Early Richmond is a familiar type, and the late, dark-red varieties, with colored juice, of which the English Morello is the type. The sweet cherry of Europe (_P. Avium_, Linn.) has given us our cultivated sweet cherries, whose fruit is more or less heart-shaped. Japan celebrates each spring the festival of cherry blossom time, a great national fête, when the gardens burst suddenly into the marvelous bloom of _Sakura_, the cherry tree, symbol of happiness, in which people of all classes delight. The native species (_P. pseudo-Cerasus_), has been cultivated by Japanese artist-gardeners in the one direction of beauty for centuries. Not in flowers alone, but in leaf, in branching habit, and even in bark, beauty has been the ideal toward which patience and skill have striven successfully. "Spring is the season of the eye," says the Japanese poet. Of all their national flower holidays, cherry blossom time, in the third month, is the climax. =The Wild Cherry= _Prunus Pennsylvanica_, Linn. The wild red, bird, or pin cherry grows in rocky woods, forming thickets and valuable nurse trees to hardwoods, from Newfoundland to Georgia, and west to the Rocky Mountains. The birds enjoy the ruddy little fruits and hold high carnival in June among the shining leaves. Many an ugly ravine is clothed with verdure and whitened with nectar-laden flowers by this comparatively worthless, short-lived tree; and in many burnt-over districts, the bird-sown pits strike root, and the young trees render a distinct service to forestry by this young growth, which is gone by the time the pines and hardwoods it has nursed require the ground for their spreading roots. =The Wild Black Cherry= _P. serotina_, Ehrh. The wild black cherry or rum cherry (_see illustration, page 166_), is the substantial lumber tree of the genus, whose ponderous trunk furnishes cherry wood, vying with mahogany and rosewood in the esteem of the cabinet-maker, who uses cherry for veneer oftener than for solid furniture. The drug trade depends upon this tree for a tonic derived from its bark, roots, and fruit. Cherry brandies, cordials, and cherry bounce, that good old-fashioned homebrewed beverage, are made from the heavy-clustered fruits that hang until late summer, turning black and losing their astringency when dead ripe. From Ontario to Dakota, and south to Florida and Texas, this tree is found, reaching its best estate in moist, rich soil, but climbing mountain canyons at elevations of from five to seven thousand feet. A worthy shade and park tree, the black cherry is charmingly unconventional, carrying its mass of drooping foliage with the grace of a willow, its satiny brown bark curling at the edges of irregular plates like that of the cherry birch. =The Choke Cherry= _P. Virginiana_, Linn. The choke cherry is a miniature tree no higher than a thrifty lilac bush, from the Eastern states to the Mississippi, but between Nebraska and northern Texas it reaches thirty-five feet in height. The trunk is always short, often crooked or leaning, and never exceeds one foot in diameter. Its shiny bark, long racemed flowers and fruit, and the pungent odor of its leaves and bark might lead one to confuse it with a black cherry sapling. But there is a marked difference between the two species. The choke cherry's odor is not only pungent, but rank and disagreeable besides. The leaf of the choke cherry is a wide and abruptly pointed oval. The fruit until dead ripe is red or yellow, and so puckery, harsh, and bitter that children, who eat the black cherries eagerly, cannot be persuaded to taste choke cherries a second time. Birds are not so fastidious; they often strip the trees before the berries darken. It is probably by these unconscious agents of seed distribution that choke-cherry pits are scattered. From the Arctic Circle to the Gulf of Mexico, and from the Atlantic to the Rocky Mountains this worthless little choke cherry is found in all wooded regions. THE HAWTHORNS In the same rose family with apples, plums, cherries, and service-berries is listed the genus _Crataegus_, a shrubby race of trees, undersized as a rule, with stiff, zigzag branches set with thorns. Over one hundred species have been described by Charles Sargent in his "Manual of Trees of North America," published in 1905. The centre of distribution for the hawthorn is undoubtedly the eastern United States. From Newfoundland the woods are full of them. A few species belong to the Rocky Mountain region, a few to the states farther west. Europe and Asia each has a few native hawthorns. =The English Hawthorn= _Crataegus oxyacantha_, Linn. The English hawthorn is the best-known species in the world. When it first came into cultivation, no man knows. Englishmen will tell you it has always formed the hedge-rows of the countryside. This is the "blossoming May." The sweetness of its flowers, snowy white, or pink, or rose-colored, turns rural England into a garden, while linnets and skylarks fill the green lanes with music. American "forests primeval" were swept with the woodman's axe before the hawthorns had their chance to assert themselves sufficiently to attract the attention of botanists and horticulturists. The showy flowers and fruits, the vivid coloring of autumn foliage, and the striking picturesqueness of the bare tree, with its rigid branches armed with menacing thorns, give most of these little trees attractiveness at any season. They grow in any soil and in any situation, and show the most remarkable improvement when cultivated. Their roots thrive in heavy clay. When young the little trees may be easily transplanted from the wild. They come readily from seed, though in most species the seed takes two years to germinate. With few exceptions, the flowers of our hawthorns are pure white, perfect, their parts in multiples of five--a family trait. Each flower is a miniature white rose. Rounded corymbs of these flowers on short side twigs cover the tree with a robe of white after the leaves appear. In autumn little fleshy fruits that look like apples, cluster on the twigs. Inside the thick skin, the flesh is mealy and sweetish around a few hard nutlets that contain the seed. As a rule, the fruits are red. In a few species they are orange; in still fewer, yellow, blue, or black. It is not practicable to describe the many varieties of our native hawthorns in a volume of the scope of this one. A few of the most distinctive species only can be included, but no one will ever confuse a hawthorn with any other tree. =The Cockspur Thorn= _C. Crus-galli_, Linn. The cockspur thorn is a small, handsome tree, fifteen to twenty feet high, with stiff branches in a broad round head. The thorns on the sides of the twig are three to four inches long, sometimes when old becoming branched, and reaching a length of six or eight inches. Stout and brown or gray, they often curve, striking downward as a rule, on the horizontal branches. The leaves, thick, leathery, lustrous, dark green above, pale beneath, one to four inches long, taper to a short stout stalk, seeming to stand on tiptoe, as if to keep out of the way of the thorns. From the ground up, the tree is clothed in bark that is bright and polished, shading from reddish brown to gray. The flowers come late, in showy clusters; and the fruit gleams red against the reddening leaves. As winter comes on the leaves fall and the branches are brightened by the fruit clusters which are not taken by the birds (_see illustration, page 167_). All the year long the cockspur thorn is a beautiful, ornamental tree and a competent hedge plant, popular alike in Europe and America. =The Scarlet Haw= _C. pruinosa_, K. Koch. The scarlet haw found from Vermont to Georgia, and west to Missouri, prefers limestone soil of mountain slopes, and is more picturesque than beautiful. The foliage is distinctive; it is dark, blue-green, smooth, and leathery, pale beneath, and turns in autumn to brilliant orange. In summer the pale fruit wears a pale bloom but at maturity it is dark purplish red and shiny. =The Red Haw= _C. mollis_, Scheele The red haw is the type of a large group, ample in size, fine in form and coloring, of fruit and foliage. This tree reaches forty feet in height, its round head rising above the tall trunk, with stout branchlets and stubby, shiny thorns. The twigs are coated with pale hairs, the young leaves, and ultimately the leaf-linings and petioles are hairy, and the fruits are downy, marked with dark dots. The only fault the landscape gardener can find with this red haw, is that its abundant fruit, ripe in late summer, falls in September. The species is found from Ohio to Dakota, Nebraska, and Kansas. =The Scarlet Haw= _C. coccinea_, Linn. The scarlet haw, native of the Northeastern states, is one of the oldest native thorns in cultivation. It is a favorite in New England gardens, because of its abundant bloom, deep crimson fruit and vivid autumn foliage. It is a shrubby, round-headed tree, with stout ascending branches, set with thorns an inch or more in length. =The Black Haw= _C. Douglasii_, Lindl. In the West the black haw is a round-headed, native tree found from Puget Sound southward through California and eastward to Colorado and New Mexico. It is a round-headed tree reaching forty feet in height, in moist soil. Its distinguishing feature is the black fruit, ripe in August and September, lustrous, thin-fleshed, sweet, one-half an inch long. The thorns are stout and sharp, rarely exceeding one inch in length. The leathery dark-green leaves, one to four inches long, commend this black-fruited thorn of the West to the Eastern horticulturists. It has proved hardy in gardens to the Atlantic seaboard and in Nova Scotia. THE SERVICE-BERRIES A small genus of pretty, slender trees related to apples, and in the rose family, has representatives in every continent of the Northern Hemisphere, and also in North Africa. Their natural range is greatly extended by the efforts of horticulturists, for the trees are among the best flowering species. =The Service-berry= _Amelanchier Canadensis_, T. & G. The Eastern service-berry, June-berry, or shad-bush, is often seen in parks and on lawns; its delicate, purple-brown branches covered in April, before the oval leaves appear, with loose, drooping clusters of white flowers. (_See illustration, page 182._) Under each is a pair of red silky bracts and the infant leaves are red and silky, all adding their warmth of color when the tree is white with bloom. The blossoms pass quickly, just about the time the shad run up the rivers to spawn. We may easily trace this common name to the early American colonists who frugally fished the streams when the shad were running, and noted the charming little trees lighting up the river banks with their delicate blossoms, when all the woods around them were still asleep. In June the juicy red berries call the birds to a feast. Then the little tree quite loses its identity, for the forest is roofed with green, and June-berries are quite overshadowed by more self-assertive species. The borders of woods in rich upland soil, from Newfoundland to the Dakotas and south to the Gulf, are the habitat and range of this charming little tree. =The Western Service-berry= _A. alnifolia_, Nutt. The Western service-berry grows over a vast territory which extends from the Yukon River south through the Coast Ranges to northern California and eastward to Manitoba and northern Michigan. In the rich bottom lands of the lower Columbia River, and on the prairies about Puget Sound, it reaches twenty feet in height, and its nutritious, pungent fruits are gathered in quantities and dried for winter food by the Indians. Indeed, the horticulturists consider this large juicy fine-flavored, black berry quite worthy of cultivation, as it grows in the wild to one inch in diameter--the average size of wild plums. THE HACKBERRIES Fifty or sixty tropical and temperate-zone species of hackberries include two North American trees which have considerable value for shade and ornamental planting. One hardy Japanese species has been introduced; three exotic species are in cultivation in the South. One is from South Africa, a second from the Mediterranean basin, and a third from the Orient. It is easy to mistake the hackberry for an elm; the habits of the two trees lead the casual observer astray. The leaf is elm-like, though smaller and brighter green than the foliage of the American elm. A peculiarity of the foliage is the apparent division of the petiole into three main ribs, instead of a single midrib. At base, the leaves are always unsymmetrical. The bark is broken into thick ridges set with warts, separated by deep fissures. The absence of terminal buds induces a forking habit, which makes the branches of a hackberry tree gnarled and picturesque. The hackberry is not familiarly known by the inhabitants of the regions where it grows, else it would more commonly be transplanted to adorn private grounds and to shade village streets. =The Hackberry= _Celtis occidentalis_, Linn. The hackberry reaches one hundred and twenty-five feet in height in moist soil along stream borders or in marshes. It is distributed from Nova Scotia to Puget Sound, and south to Florida, Tennessee, Missouri, Texas, and New Mexico. The beauty of its graceful crown is sometimes marred by a fungus which produces a thick tufting of twigs on the ends of branches. The name, "witches' brooms" has been given to these tufts. Growths of similar appearance and the same name are produced by insect injury on some other trees. The fruit of the hackberry is an oblong, thin-fleshed sweet berry, purple in color, one fourth to one half inch long. It dries about the solitary seed and hangs on the tree all winter, to the great satisfaction of the birds. (_See illustration, page 183._) Emerson says: "The wood is used for the shafts and axle-trees of carriages, the naves of wheels, and for musical instruments. The root is used for dyeing yellow, the bark for tanning, and an oil is expressed from the stones of the fruit." The best use we can make of the hackberry tree is to plant it for shade and ornament. It is easily transplanted, for the roots are shallow and fibrous, so that well-grown trees may be moved in winter time. The autumn yellow of the foliage is wonderfully cheerful, and the warty bark, checked into small thick plates, is interesting at any season. =European Nettle Tree= _C. Australis_ The European nettle tree is supposed to have been the famous "lotus" of classical literature. Homer tells of the lotus-eaters who, when they tasted the sweet fruit, straightway forgot their native land or could not be persuaded to return. This innocent tree, against which the charge has never been proved, bears a better reputation for the qualities of its wood. It is as hard as box or holly, and as beautiful as satin-wood when polished. Figures of saints and other images are carved out of it. Hay-forks are made of its supple limbs. Rocky worthless land is set apart by law in some countries for the growing of these trees. Suckers from the roots make admirable ramrods, coach-whip stocks and walking-sticks. Shafts and axle-trees of carriages are made of the larger shoots; oars and hoops are supplied from these coppiced trees. From northern Africa, throughout Europe, and on to India, the tree is planted for shade, and its foliage is used as fodder for cattle. THE MULBERRIES The mulberry family includes fifty-five genera and nearly a thousand species of temperate-zone and tropical plants. The genus _ficus_ alone includes six hundred species. Hemp, important for its fibrous, inner bark, and the hop vine are well known herbaceous members of the mulberry family, which stands botanically between the elms and the nettles--strange company, it would seem, but justified by fundamental characteristics. Three genera of this family have tree forms in America--the mulberry, the Osage orange, and the fig. Two native mulberries and three exotic species are widely cultivated for their fruit, their wood, and as ornamental trees. Weeping mulberries are among the most popular horticultural forms. =The Red Mulberry= _Morus rubra_, Linn. The red mulberry grows to be a large dense, round-headed tree, with thick fibrous roots and milky sap. Its alternate leaves, three to five inches long, are variable in form, often irregularly lobed, very veiny, usually rough, blue-green above, pale and pubescent beneath, turning yellow in early autumn. The inconspicuous flower spikes are succeeded by fleshy aggregate fruits like a blackberry, sweet, juicy, dark purple or red, each individual fruit single-seeded. Birds and boys alike throng the trees through the long period during which these berries ripen. They are hardly worthy to rank with the cultivated mulberries as a fruit tree. But planted in poultry yards and hog pastures the dropping fruits are eagerly devoured by the occupants of these enclosures. The chief value of the tree lies in the durability of its orange-yellow wood, which, though coarse-grained, soft and weak, is very durable in the soil and in contact with water. Hence it has always commended itself to fence- and boat-builder. It is sometimes planted for ornament, but its dropping fruit is a strong objection to it as a street or lawn tree. One of the mulberry's chief characteristics is its tenacity to life. Its seeds readily germinate and cuttings, whether from roots or twigs, strike root quickly. Indians discovered that rope could be made out of the bast fibre of mulberry bark. They even wove a coarse cloth out of the same material. The early settlers of Virginia, who found the red mulberry growing there in great abundance, dreamed in vain of silk culture as an industry based upon this native tree. Their hopes were not realized. Silk culture has never yet become a New-World industry. =The White Mulberry= _M. alba_, Linn. The white mulberry is a native of northern China and Japan. From this region it has been extensively introduced into all warm temperate climates. Its white berries are of negligible character. It is the leaves that give this oriental mulberry a unique position in the economic world. They are the chosen food of silkworms. No substitute has ever robbed this tree of its preëminence, maintained for many centuries in its one field of usefulness. The hardy Russian mulberries are derived from _M. alba_. These have done much to enrich the horticulture of our Northern states, but the parent tree, though it thrives in the eastern United States and in the South, has not been the means of establishing silk culture on a paying basis in this country. =The Black Mulberry= _M. nigra_, Linn. The black mulberry, probably a native of Persia, has large, dark red, juicy fruits, for which it is extensively cultivated in Europe. In this country it is hardy only in the Southern and the Pacific Coast states. It is the best fruit tree of its family, yet no mulberry is able to take rank among profitable fruit trees. The fruits are too sweet and soft, and they lack piquancy of flavor. They ripen a few at a time and are gathered by shaking the trees. The dark green foliage of the black mulberry gives ample shade throughout the season. Planted in the garden or in the border of the lawn where no walk will be defaced by the dropping fruits, the mulberry is a particularly desirable tree because it attracts some of our most desirable song-birds to build on the premises. Given a mulberry tree and a bird-bath near by, and the smallest city lot becomes a bird sanctuary through the summer and a wayside inn for transients during the two migratory seasons. THE FIGS The genus _ficus_ belongs to all tropical countries, and this remarkable range accounts for the six hundred different species botanists have identified. The rubber plant, popular in this country as a pot and tub plant, is one of the best-known species. In its East Indian forest home it is the "Assam Rubber Tree." It may begin life as an air plant, fixing its roots in the crotch of another tree, in which a chance seed has lodged. A shock of aërial roots strikes downward and reaches the ground. After this the tree depends upon food drawn from the earth. The supporting host tree is no longer needed. The young rubber tree has by this time a trunk stiff enough to stand alone. Assam rubber, which ranks in the market with the best Brazilian crude rubber, comes from the sap of this wild fig tree, _Ficus elasticus_. Clip off a twig of your leathery-leaved rubber plant and note the sticky white sap that exudes. In the highest priced automobile tires you find the manufactured product. Dried figs have always been an important commercial fruit. These imported figs are from trees that are horticultural varieties of a wild Asiatic species, _Ficus Carica_. Smyrna figs are best for drying. They form a delicious, wholesome sweet, which has high food value and is more wholesome than candy for children. Tons of this dried fruit are imported each year from the countries east of the Mediterranean Sea. Now California is growing Smyrna figs successfully. The banyan tree of India is famous, striking its aërial rootlets downward until they reach the ground and take root, and thus help support the giant, horizontal limbs. These amazing trees, members of the genus _ficus_, sometimes extend to cover an acre or more of ground. To walk under one is like entering the darkness of a forest of young trees. By the clearing away of most of these aërial branches, a great arbor is made for the comfort of people in regions where the sun's rays are overpowering in the middle of the day. Our own fig trees in North America are but sprawling parasitic trees, unable to stand alone. They are found only in the south of Florida, and therefore are generally unknown. [Illustration: _See page 153_ FLOWERS AND FRUIT OF THE WILD BLACK CHERRY] [Illustration: _See page 156_ A FRUITING BRANCH OF THE COCKSPUR THORN] =The Golden Fig= _Ficus aurea_, Nutt. The golden fig climbs up other trees and strangles its host with its coiling stems and aërial roots. One far-famed specimen has grown and spread like a banyan tree, its trunk and head supported by secondary stems that have struck downward from the branches. Smooth as a beech in bark, crowned with glossy, beautiful foliage, like the rubber plants, this parasitic fig is a splendid tropical tree, but the host that supports all this luxuriance is sacrificed utterly. The little yellow figs that snuggle in the axils of the leaves turn purple, sweet, and juicy as they ripen. They are sometimes used in making preserves. An interesting characteristic of the wood of the golden fig is its wonderful lightness. Bulk for bulk, it is only one fourth as heavy as water. THE PAPAWS Two of the forty-eight genera of the tropical custard-apple family are represented by a solitary species each in the warmer parts of the United States. Important fruit and ornamental trees in the tropics of the Old World are included in this family, but their New-World representatives are not the most valuable. However, they have a sufficient number of family traits to look foreign and interesting among our more commonplace forest trees; and because their distribution is limited they are not generally recognized in gardens, where they are planted more for curiosity than for ornament. =The Papaw= _Asimina triloba_, Dunal. The papaw has the family name, custard-apple, from its unusual fruit, whose flesh is soft and yellow, like custard. The shape suggests that of a banana. The fruits hang in clusters and their pulp is enclosed in thick dark brown skin, wrinkled, sometimes shapeless, three to five inches long. Dead ripe, the flesh becomes almost transparent, fragrant, sweet, rather insipid, surrounding flat, wrinkled seeds an inch long. The fruit is gathered and sold in local markets from forests of these papaws which grow under taller trees in the alluvial bottom lands of the Mississippi Valley. In summer the leaves are tropical-looking, having single blades eight to twelve inches long, four to five inches broad, on short, thick stalks. These leaves are set alternately upon the twig, and cluster in whorls on the ends of branches. The flowers appear with the leaves and would escape notice but for their abundance and the unusual color of their three large membranous petals. At first these axillary blossoms are as green as the leaves; gradually the dark pigment overcomes the green, and the color passes through shades of brownish green to dark rich wine-red. The full-grown foliage by midsummer has become very thin in texture, and lined with pale bloom. The tree throughout exhales a sickish, disagreeable odor. The fruit is improved in flavor by hanging until it gets a nip of frost. This "wild banana tree" is the favorite fruit tree of the negroes in the Black Belt. Its hardiness is surprising. From the Southern states, it ranges north into Kansas, Michigan, New York, and New Jersey. =The Melon Papaw= _Carica Papaya_, Linn. The melon papaw does not belong to the custard-apple family, but it grows in southern Florida and throughout the West Indies, and has the name of our little "wild banana tree," so it may as well have mention here, as it is the sole representative of the true Papaw family, and it is universally cultivated for its fruit in the warm regions of the world. By selection the fruit has been improved until it ranks as one of the most wholesome and important of all the fruits in the tropics. In Florida the papaw grows on the rich hummocks along the Indian River, and on the West Coast southward from Bay Biscayne. It is very common on all the West Indian Islands. It grows like a palm, with tall stem crowned by huge simple leaves, one to two feet across, deeply lobed into three main divisions, and each lobe irregularly cut by narrow sinuses. The veins are very thick and yellow, and the hollow leaf-stalks lengthen to three or four feet. The bark of this tree is silvery white--a striking contrast with the lustrous head of foliage. The flowers are waxy, tubular, fragrant, turning their yellow petals backward in a whorl. On fertile trees the fruits mature into great melons, sometimes as large as a man's head; but these are the cultivated varieties. Wild papaws rarely exceed four inches long, and usually they are smaller. When full grown the fruit turns to bright orange-yellow. The succulent pulp separates easily from the round seeds. In the West Indies, the trees often branch and attain much greater size than in Florida, where fifteen feet is the maximum, in the wilds. The leaves of this papaw contain, in their abundant sap, a solvent, _papain_, which has the property of destroying the connective tissue in meats. They are bruised by the natives and tough meat, wrapped closely in them, becomes tender in a few hours. The fruits are eaten raw and made into preserves. Negroes use the leaves also as a substitute for soap in the washing of clothes. THE POND APPLES The pond apple (_Anona glabra_, Linn.) is our only representative of its genus that reaches tree form and size, and it is the second of our native custard-apples. It comes to us _via_ the West Indies, and reaches no farther north than the swamps of southern Florida. It is a familiar tree on the Bahama Islands. Thirty to forty feet high, the broad head rises from a short trunk, less than two feet in diameter, but very thick compared with the wide-spreading, contorted branches and slender branchlets. It is often buttressed at the base. The leaves are oval and pointed, rarely more than four inches long, bright green, leathery, paler on the lower surface, plain-margined. The flowers in April form pointed, triangular boxes by the touching of the tips of the yellowish white petals, whose inner surfaces near the base have a bright red spot. The fruit, which ripens in November, is somewhat heart-shaped, four to six inches long, compound like a mulberry. The smooth custard-like flesh forms a luscious mass between the fibrous core and the surface, studded with the hard seeds. Fragrant and sweet, these wild pond apples have small merit as fruit. Little effort has been made to improve the species horticulturally. Its rival species in the West Indies have a tremendous lead which they are likely to keep. =The Cherimoya= _Anona Cherimolia_, Mill. The cherimoya, native of the highlands of Central America, has long been cultivated, and its fruit has been classed, with the pineapple and the mangosteen, as one of the three finest fruits in the world. Certainly it deserves high rank among the fruits of the tropics. This also has been introduced into cultivation in southern Florida, but its culture has assumed much more importance in California, where it seems to feel quite at home. The tree is a handsome one, with broad velvety bright green leaves, deciduous during the winter months. It grows wherever the orange is hardy, and its fruit, heart-shaped or oval, green or brown, is about the size of a navel orange. Conical protuberances cover the surface and enclose a mass of white, custard-like pulp, with the flavor of the pineapple, in which are imbedded twenty or thirty brown seeds. A taste for this tropical pond apple is as easily acquired as for the pineapple, which has become universally popular. Every garden in the Orange Belt should have a cherimoya tree for ornament and for its fruit. THE PERSIMMONS The persimmon tree of the Southern woods belongs to the ebony family, which contains some important fruit and lumber trees, chiefly confined to the genus _diospyros_, which has two representatives among the trees of North America. Doubtless a climate of longer summers would enable our persimmon trees to produce wood as hard as the ebony of commerce, whose black heart-wood and thick belt of soft yellow sap-wood are the products of five different tropical species of the genus--two from India, one from Africa, one from Malaysia and one from Mauritius. The beautiful, variegated wood called _coromandel_ is produced by a species of ebony that grows in Ceylon. Fossil remains of persimmon trees are found in the miocene rocks of Greenland and Alaska, and in the later cretaceous beds uncovered in Nebraska. These prove that _diospyros_ once had a much wider range than now, extending through temperate to arctic regions, whereas now our two persimmons and the Chinese and Japanese species, are the only representatives outside the tropics. =The Persimmon= _Diospyros Virginiana_, Linn. The persimmon will never be forgotten by the Northerner who chances to visit his Virginia cousins in the early autumn. Strolling through the woods he notes among other unfamiliar trees a tall shaft covered with black bark, deeply checked into squarish plates. The handsome round head, held well aloft, bears a shock of angular twigs and among the glossy, orange-red leaves hang fruits the size and shape of his Northern crabapples. The rich orange-red makes it extremely attractive, and the enthusiasm with which the entire population regards the approaching persimmon harvest focuses his interest likewise upon this unknown Southern fruit. He is eager to taste it without delay, and usually there is no one to object. Forthwith he climbs the tree, or beats a branch with a long pole until a good specimen is obtained. Its thin skin covers the mellow flesh--but the first bite is not followed by a second. The fruit is so puckery that it almost strangles one. But after the frosts and well on into the winter the persimmons grow more sweet, juicy, and delicious, and lose all their bitterness and astringency. To find a few of these sugary morsels in the depths of the woods at the end of a long day's hunting is a reward that offsets all disappointments of an empty bag. No fruit could be more utterly satisfying to a dry-mouthed, leg-weary, hungry boy. The opossum is the chief competitor of the local negro in harvesting the persimmon crop. Individual trees differ in the excellence of their fruit. These special trees are "spotted" months before the crop is fit to eat. It would seem as if the opossums camp under the best persimmon trees and take an unfair advantage, because they are nocturnal beasts and have nothing to do but watch and wait. One thing solaces the negro, when he sees the harvest diminish through the unusual industry and appetite of his bright-eyed, rat-tailed rival. He knows what brush-pile or hollow tree shelters the opossum, while he sleeps by day. Every persimmon the opossum steals helps to make him fat and tender for the darkey's Thanksgiving feast, so it is only a question of patience and strategy to recoup his losses by feasting on his fat 'possum neighbor, and to boast to the friends who join him at the feast, of the contest of wits at which he came off victorious. In summer time a persimmon tree is handsome in its oval pointed leaves, often six inches long, with pale linings. The flowers that appear in axillary clusters on the sterile trees are small, yellowish green and inconspicuous. On the fertile trees the flowers are solitary and axillary. The fruit is technically a berry, containing one to eight seeds. The following first impressions of persimmons in Virginia woods are from the pen of a traveler in the early part of the seventeenth century, whom Pocahontas might have introduced to a fruit well known to the Indians: * * * * * "They have a plumb which they call pessemmins, like to a medler, in England, but of a deeper tawnie cullour; they grow on a most high tree. When they are not fully ripe, they are harsh and choakie, and furre in a man's mouth like allam, howbeit, being taken fully ripe, yt is a reasonable pleasant fruiet, somewhat lushious. I have seen our people put them into their baked and sodden puddings; there be whose tast allows them to be as pretious as the English apricock; I confess it is a good kind of horse plumb." * * * * * "'Simmon beer" and brandy are made from the fruit, and its seeds are roasted to use when coffee is scarce. The inner bark of the tree has tonic properties, and the country folk use it for the allaying of intermittent fevers. The wood is used in turnery, for shoe lasts, plane stocks and shuttles. It is a peculiarity of the persimmon tree that almost one hundred layers of pale sap-wood, the growth of as many years, lie outside of the black heart-wood, upon which the reputation of ebony rests. The Japanese Persimmon Kaki The native persimmon of Japan has been developed into an important horticultural fruit. China also has species that are fruit trees of merit. In the fruit stalls of all American cities, the Japanese persimmon is found in its season, the smooth, orange-red skin, easily mistaken for that of a tomato as the fruits lie in their boxes. The pointed cones differ in form, however, and the soft mellow flesh, with its melon-like seeds and leathery calyx at base, mark this fruit as still a novelty in the East. In southern California no garden is complete without a Japanese persimmon tree to give beauty by its cheerful, leathery, green leaves and its rich-colored fruits. But the beginner will establish a grave personal prejudice against this fruit unless he wait until it is dead ripe, for it has the astringent qualities of its genus. No fruit is more delicate in flavor than a thoroughly ripe kaki, so soft that it must be eaten with a spoon. The Department of Agriculture at Washington has established a number of varieties of these oriental fruit trees in the warmer parts of the United States. Our native persimmons are being used as stock upon which to graft the exotics. A distinct addition to the fruits of this country has thus been made and the public is fast learning to enjoy the luscious, wholesome Japanese persimmons. PART VI THE POD-BEARING TREES The Locusts--The Acacias or Wattles--Other Pod-bearers Whenever we see blossoms of the sweet-pea type on a tree or pods of the same type as the pea's swinging from the twigs, we may be sure that we are looking at a member of the pod-bearing family, _leguminosae_, to which herbaceous and woody plants both belong. The family is one of the largest and most important in the plant kingdom, and its representatives are distributed to the uttermost parts of the earth. Four hundred and fifty genera contain the seven thousand species already described by botanists. Varieties without number belong to the cultivated members of the family, and new forms are being produced by horticulturists all the time. This great group of plants has fed the human race, directly and indirectly, since the First Man appeared on earth. Clovers, alfalfas, lentils, peas, beans yield foodstuffs rich in all the elements that build flesh and bone and nerve tissues. They take the place of meat in vegetarian dietaries. Besides foods, the pod-bearers yield rubber, dyestuffs, balsams, oils, medicinal substances, and valuable timber. A long list of ornamental plants, beautiful in foliage and flowers, occurs among them, chiefly of shrub and tree form. Last, but not least, among their merits stands the fact that leguminous plants are the only ones that actually enrich the soil they grow in, whereas the rest of the plant creation feed upon the soil, and so rob it of its plant food and leave it poorer than before. Pod-bearers have the power to take the nitrogen out of the air, and store it in their roots and stems. The decay of these parts restores to the soil the particular plant food that is most commonly lacking and most costly to replace. Farmers know that after wheat and corn have robbed the soil of nitrogen, a crop of clover or cow peas, plowed under when green and luxuriant, is the best restorer of fertility. It enriches by adding valuable chemical elements, and also improves the texture of the soil, increasing its moisture-holding properties, which commercial fertilizers do not. Seventeen genera of leguminous plants have tree representatives within the United States. These include about thirty species. Valuable timber trees are in this group. All but one, the yellow-wood, have compound leaves, of many leaflets, often fern-like in their delicacy of structure, and intricacy of pattern. With few exceptions the flowers are pretty and fragrant in showy clusters. The ripening pods of many species add a striking, decorative quality to the tree from midsummer on through the season. Thorns give distinction and usefulness to certain of these trees, making them available for ornamental hedges. THE LOCUSTS Three representatives of the genus _robinia_ are among our native forest trees. They are known in early summer by their showy, pea-like blossoms in full clusters, and their compound leaves, that have the habit of drooping and folding shut their paired leaflets when night comes on, or when rain begins to fall. The pods are thin and small, splitting early, but hanging late on the twigs. =The Black Locust= _Robinia Pseudacacia_, Linn. The black or yellow locust is a beautiful tree in its youth, with smooth dark rind and slender trunk, holding up a loose roundish head of dark green foliage. Each leaf is eight to fourteen inches long, of nine to nineteen leaflets, silvery when they unfold, and always paler beneath. In late May, the tree-top bursts into bloom that is often so profuse as to whiten the whole mass of the dainty foliage. The nectar-laden, white flowers have the characteristic "butterfly" form, the banner, wings, and keel of the type pease-blossom. (_See illustration, page 198_). The bees lead the insect host that swarms about them as long as a locust flower remains to offer sweets to the probing tongues. Cross-fertilization is the advantage the tree gains for all it gives. The crop of seeds is sure. The angled twigs of the black locust break easily in windy weather. The rapid growth of the limbs spreads the narrow head, and its symmetry is soon destroyed, unless the tree grows in a sheltered situation. An old locust is usually an ugly, broken specimen, ragged-looking for three-fourths of the year. The twigs look dead, because their winter buds are buried out of sight! The bark is dull, deeply cut into irregular, interlacing furrows, roughened by scales and shreds on the ridges. In winter the pods chatter querulously, as the wind plays among the tree tops. The black locust is found from Pennsylvania to Iowa, and south from Georgia to Oklahoma. The lumber is coarse-grained, heavy, hard, and exceptionally durable in contact with the soil or water. This makes it especially adaptable for fence posts and boat bottoms. Crystals, called _raphides_, in the wood cells, take the edges off tools used in working locust lumber. Yet it is sought by manufacturers of mill cogs and wheel hubs, and railroad companies plant the trees for ties. The locust-borer has ruined plantations of this tree of late years, and trees in the woods have become infested except in mountainous regions not yet reached by the pest. Trees become distorted with warty excrescences and the lumber is riddled with burrows made by the larvae. Until the entomologist finds a remedy in some natural parasite of the locust-borer, the outlook for locust culture seems dark enough. No insecticide can reach an enemy that hides in the trunk of the tree it destroys. =The Clammy Locust= _R. viscosa_, Vent. The clammy locust has beautifully shaded pink flowers in clusters, each blossom accented by the dark red, shiny calyx, and the glandular exudation of wax, that covers all new growth. A favorite ornamental locust, this little tree has been widely distributed in this and other temperate countries of the globe. Its leaves are delicately feathery, with the dew-like gum brightening them, as it does also the hairy, curling pods that flush as they ripen. In winter the twigs are ruddy. The trees grow wild on the mountains of the Carolinas and nowhere else. =The Honey Locust= _Gleditsia triacanthos_, Linn. The honey locust is a tall handsome flat-topped tree, with stiff horizontal, often drooping branches, ending in slim brown polished twigs, with three-branched thorns, stout and very sharp, set a little distance above the leaf scar of the previous season. Occasionally a thornless tree occurs. Inconspicuous greenish flowers, regular, bell-shaped, appear in elongated clusters, the fertile and sterile clusters distinct, but on the same tree. The leaves are almost full-grown when the blossoms appear. Their feathery, fern-like aspect is the tree's greatest charm in early June. When the pods replace the flowers they attract attention and admiration as their velvety surfaces change from pale green to rose and they curve, as they lengthen, into all sorts of graceful and fantastic forms. The sweet, gummy pulp of the honey locust pods is considered edible by boys, who brave the thorns to get them. As the autumn approaches, the pulp turns bitter, and dries around the shiny black seeds. The purple pods cling and rattle in the wind long after the yellow leaves have fallen. One by one, they are torn off, their S-curves tempting every vagrant breeze to give them a lift. On the crusty surface of snowbanks and icy ponds, they are whirled along, and finally lodge, to rot and liberate the seeds. It takes much soaking to prepare the adamantine seeds for sprouting. The planter scalds his seed to hasten the process. Nature soaks, freezes, and thaws them, and thus the range of the honey locust is extended. In the wild, this tree is found from Ontario to Nebraska, and south to Alabama and Texas. It chooses rich bottom lands, but is found also on dry gravelly slopes of the Alleghany Mountains. Trunks six feet in diameter are still in existence, preserved from the early forests of the Wabash Basin in Indiana. They tower nearly one hundred and fifty feet above the ground, and their branches are a formidable array of thorns (_see illustration, page 198_), that have grown into proportions unmatched in trees of slender build and fewer years. Such a veteran honey locust is one of the most picturesque figures in a winter landscape. Honey locust wood is hard, coarse-grained, heavy, and durable in contact with water and soil. It is made into wheel-hubs, fence-posts, and fuel. In all temperate countries this species has been used as a shade and ornamental tree and as a hedge plant. =The Kentucky Coffee Tree= _Gymnocladus dioicus_, K. Koch The Kentucky coffee tree is the one clumsy, coarse member of a family that abounds in graceful, dainty species. Its head is small and unsymmetrical, above a trunk that often rises free from limbs for fifty feet above ground. The branches are stiff and large, bare until late spring, when the buds expand and the shoots are thrown out. The leaves are twice compound, often a yard in length and half as wide; the leaflets, six to fourteen on each of the five to nine divisions of the main rib. No other locust can boast a leaf numbering more than one hundred leaflets, each averaging two inches in length. When the tree turns to gold in autumn, it is a sight to draw all eyes. The flower spray is large, but the flowers are small, imperfect, salver-form, purplish green--the fertile ones forming thick, clumsy pods that dangle in clusters, and seem to weigh down the stiff branchlets. The fresh pulp used to be made into a decoction used in homeopathic practice. The ripe seeds were used in Revolutionary times as a substitute for coffee. How the pioneer ever crushed them is a puzzle to all who have tried to break one with a nut-cracker. In China the fresh pulp of the pods of a sister species is used as we use soap. The wood is not hard, but in other respects it resembles other locust lumber. It is sometimes used in cabinet work, being a rich, reddish brown, with pale sap-wood. The range of the coffee tree extends from New York to Nebraska, and south through Pennsylvania, Tennessee and Oklahoma, with bottom lands as the tree's preference. Nowhere is this species common. Occasionally, it is planted as a street tree, in this country and abroad. =The Redbud= _Cercis Canadensis_, Linn. The redbud covers its delicate angled, thornless branchlets with a profusion of rosy-purple blossoms, typically pea-like, before the leaves appear. The unusual color, so abundant where little redbuds form thickets on the outskirts of a woodland, leads to a very general recognition of this tree among people who go into the April woods for early violets. It vies with the white banner of the shad-bush, in doing honor to the spring. Later, the broad heart-shaped leaves cover and adorn the tree, concealing the dainty tapering pods that turn to purple as the polished leaf blades, unmarred by insect or wind, change from green to clear yellow before falling. [Illustration: _See page 159_ SERVICE-BERRY IN BLOSSOM The flowers appear in April, before the leaves] [Illustration: _See page 161_ THE HACKBERRY Leaves, berries, and (A) pistillate and (B) staminate flowers] Tradition has given this charming little locust tree the name, "Judas-tree," from its European cousin, rumored to have been the one upon which the choice of Judas fell when he went out and hanged himself. It is an unearned stigma, better forgotten, for it does prejudice the planter against a tree that should be on every lawn, preferably showing its rosy flowers against a bank of evergreens. Its natural range extends from New Jersey to Florida and west from Ontario to Nebraska and southward. The largest specimens reach fifty feet in height in Texas and Arkansas, in river bottom lands, and in the Southwest the tree is an abundant undergrowth--making a beautiful woodland picture in early spring. =The Yellow-wood= _Cladrastis lutea_, K. Koch. The yellow-wood was named by the wife of a pioneer, surely, for she soaked the chips and got from them a clear yellow dye, highly prized for the permanent color it gave to her homespun cotton and woolen cloth that must have gone colorless, but for dyestuffs discoverable in the woods. The satiny grain of the wood, and its close hard texture, commended it to the woodsman, who used it for gun stocks. But the tree is too small to be important for the lumber it yields. In winter the smooth pale bark of the "Virgilia," as the nurseryman calls it, reminds one of the rind of the beech. The broad rounded head, often borne on three or more spreading stems, is formed of drooping graceful branches, ending in brittle twigs. Summer clothes these twigs with a light airy covering of compound leaves, of seven to eleven broadly oval leaflets, on a stalk less than a foot in length. In autumn, the foliage turns yellow. White flowers, pea-like, delicate, fragrant, in clusters a foot long, and so loose that the flowers seem to drip from the twig ends, drape the tree in white about the middle of June, when the young leaves show many tints of green to form a background for the blossoms. This is the supreme moment of the year for one of the most charming of trees, in any park that cherishes one of these virgilias. In the wilds of eastern Tennessee, northern Alabama, and central Kentucky the species is found in scattered places. But the wild trees have scant food and they show it. The full beauty of the species is seen only in cultivation, as one sees it in the Arnold Arboretum, and in private gardens near Boston. Even the little pods, thin, satiny pointed, add a harmonious note of beauty; their silvery fawn color blending with the quiet Quaker drab worn by the tree all winter. Fortunately, this hardy beautiful park tree is easily raised from seeds and from root cuttings. It thrives on soil of many different kinds. It has no bad habits, no superior, and few equals among flowering trees. THE ACACIAS, OR WATTLES Australia has contributed to southern California's tree flora a large number of forms of the acacia tribe, shrubs and trees of great variety and beauty of flowers and evergreen foliage. They are hardy and perfectly at home, and are planted in such profusion as to be the commonest of all street and ornamental trees. The leaves are set on a branching pinnate stem, making them "twice compound" of many tiny leaflets, fascicled on the sides of the twigs, alternate on the terminal shoots of the season. The lacy, fern-like foliage of most acacias would justify the planting of them for this trait alone. But the abundant mass of bloom usually overwhelms the tree-tops, obscuring the foliage with a veil of golden mesh. Sometimes white, but oftenest yellow, the individual flowers are very small; but they crowd in button-like heads or elongated spikes, set close in axillary clusters. In their native woods these trees flower much less freely than in the land of their adoption. The curling pods are in most species and varieties ornamental, as they pass through many color changes before they finally discharge their seeds. Acacias compose a genus of four hundred species, and an untold and constantly increasing number of cultivated varieties. The continent of Australia has the greatest representation of native species. Others belong to Africa--tropical, northern, and southern regions. Asia, in its warmer southern territory, and in southwestern China, has many native acacias. Tropical and temperate South America, the West Indies, Central America, Mexico, the southwestern region of the United States, and the islands of the South Pacific, all have representatives of this wonderful and far-scattered genus. There is no country interested in horticulture that does not grow acacias as ornamental shrubs and trees, even if they must be grown under glass the year round. In southern England the acacias, grown in open ground, and known as "tassel trees," attain good size. Valuable lumber, tanbarks, dyes, perfumes, and drugs are yielded by acacias. Gum Arabic is the dried sap of several oriental species, particularly, _Acacia Arabica_, Linn. of Egypt and southern Asia. As a rule, acacias have slender branches armed with spines. Often these are too small to attract notice, or to make the species useful as a hedge plant. All spines are modifications of the stipules at the base of leaf or leaflet. Thorns, however, are modified twigs, strong, stiff and sharp, often branched. The honey locust shows true thorns, not spines or prickles. The armament of canes of blackberry is only skin deep. This means of defence is best called "prickles." =The Black Acacia= _Acacia melanoxylon_ The black acacia, called at home in Australian woods, the "blackwood-tree," for its black heart-wood, is a familiar street and shade tree in California. In narrow parkings it is likely to surprise the planter by outgrowing in a few years the space allotted to it, and upheaving both cement walk and curb, by the irresistible force of its thick roots. It is one of the large timber acacias, and even in the cool climate of England reaches fifty feet. In suitable situations in California it grows much higher, and its compact conical head of dense evergreen foliage, gives abundant shade at all seasons. The flowers are white or cream-colored, lightening the yellow-green of the new shoots and the dull, opaque of the older leaves, with abundant clusters in earliest spring. The succeeding fruits are curling thin pods that hang in brownish sheaves, giving the tree a rusty look. Each seed is rimmed with a frill of terra cotta hue that serves as a wing for its flight, when detached by the wind. The roots send up suckers and the seeds are quick to grow. So any one can have black acacias with little trouble or expense. Its shedding of leaves and pods makes much litter, however, a trait sometimes overlooked which seriously diminishes its desirability as a street and shade tree. =The Silver Wattle= _A. dealbata_ The silver wattle of nursery catalogues is named for its abundant, silvery-pubescent, feathery foliage. Its flowers--fluffy golden balls, small but abundant--make this a wonderfully showy tree. Sea-green and turquoise-blue leaves, with abundant canary-yellow bloom, are traits of many different acacias in cultivation, all of which are rapid growers, and soon repay the planter who wants quick results. From being mere ornaments they rise to the stature of shade trees, and merely multiply the charms that made them admired when young. Varieties with sharp spines are employed as hedge plants. Curious leaf forms and unusual, edgewise position of the foliage, make us wonder at some of the glorious "golden wattles" and "knife-leaved acacias," that bring us glimpses of the forests of Australia and other strange far countries. OTHER POD-BEARERS =The Mesquite= _Prosopis juliflora_, DC. The mesquite or honey pod is one of the wonderful plants of the arid and semi-arid regions from Colorado and Utah to Texas and southern California. At best it is a tree sixty feet high along the rivers of Arizona. In the higher and more desert stretches it is stunted to a sprawling shrub, with numerous stems but a few feet high. Its leaves are like those of our honey locust but very much smaller, and the tree furnishes little shade. The bark of the trunk is thick, dark reddish brown, shallowly fissured between scaly ridges. In winter the tree looks dead enough, but the young shoots clothed with tender green bring it to life in early spring, and the greenish fragrant flowers, thickly set in finger-like clusters, appear in successive crops from May to July. These are succeeded by pods four to nine inches long in drooping clusters, each containing ten to twenty beans. Not its beauty of leaf and blossom but its usefulness is what makes this tree almost an object of worship to desert dwellers, red men and white. The long fat pods supply Mexicans and Indians with a nutritious food, green or ripe. Cattle feed upon the young shoots and thrive, when other forage is scant or utterly lacking. The fuel problem of the desert is solved by the mesquite in a way that is a great surprise to the newcomer. His sophisticated neighbor takes him on a wood-gathering expedition. Stopping where a shrubby mesquite sprawls, he hitches his team to a chain or rope that lays hold of the trunk, and hauls the plant out by its roots. And what roots the mesquite has developed in its search for water! There is a central tap root that goes down, down, sometimes sixty feet or more. Secondary roots branch out in all directions, interlock, thicken, and form a labyrinth of woody substance, in quantity and quality that makes the timber above ground a negligible quantity. This wood is cut into building and fencing materials--two great needs in the desert. The waste makes good fuel, and every scrap is precious. Posts, railroad ties, frames for the adobe houses, furniture, fellies of wheels, paving blocks, and charcoal are made of this wonderful tree's root system. A gum resembling gum-arabic exudes from the stems. =The Screw-bean= _P. pubescens_, Benth. The screw-bean or screw-pod mesquite is a small slender-trunked tree with sharp spines at the bases of the hoary foliage. The marked distinction between this species and the preceding one is in the fruit, which makes from twelve to twenty turns as it matures, and forms when ripe a narrow straight spiral, one to two inches long; but when drawn out like a coiled spring the pod is shown to be more than a foot in length. These sweet nutritious pods are a most useful fodder for range cattle, and the wood is used for fencing and fuel. This tree grows from southern Utah and Nevada through New Mexico and Arizona into San Diego County, California, western Texas and northern Mexico. =The Palo Verde Acacia= _Cercidium Torreyanum_, Sarg. The palo verde is another green-barked acacia whose leaves are almost obsolete. Miniature honey-locust leaves an inch long unfold, a few here and there in March and April, but they are gone before they fully mature, and the leaf function is carried on entirely by the vivid green branches. Clustered flowers, like little yellow roses, cover the branches in April, and the pointed pods ripen and fall in July. In the Colorado desert of southern California, in the valley of the lower Gila River in Arizona, on the sides of low canyons and on desert sandhills into Mexico, this small tree, with its multitude of leafless, ascending branches, is one of the brightest features on a hopelessly dun-colored landscape. =The Jamaica Dogwood= _Icthyomethia Piscipula_, A. S. Hitch. The Jamaica dogwood is a West Indian tree that grows also in southern Florida and Mexico. It is one of the commonest tropical trees on the Florida West Coast from the shores of Bay Biscayne to the Southern Keys. The leaves are four to nine inches long, with leaflets three to four inches in length, deciduous, vivid green, making a tree fifty feet high an object of tropical luxuriance. Its beauty is greatly enhanced in May by the opening of the pink, pea-like blossoms that hang in drooping clusters a foot or more in length. The necklace-like pods are frilled on four sides with thin papery wings. The wood of this tree is very durable in contact with water, besides being heavy, close-grained, and hard. It is locally used in boat-building, and for fuel and charcoal. All parts of the tree, but especially the bark of the roots, contain an acid drug of sleep-inducing properties. In the West Indies the powdered leaves, young branches, and the bark of the roots have long been used by the natives to stupefy fish they try to capture. =The Horse Bean= _Parkinsonia aculeata_, Linn. The horse bean or retama, native to the valleys of the lower Rio Grande and Colorado River, is a small graceful pod-bearing tree of drooping branches set with strong spines, long leaf-stems, branching and set with many pairs of tiny leaflets. The bright yellow, fragrant flowers are almost perennial. In Texas the tree is out of bloom only in midwinter. In the tropics, it is ever-blooming. The fruit hangs in graceful racemes, dark orange-brown in color, and compressed between the remote beans. As a hedge and ornamental garden plant, this tree has no equal in the Southwest. It is met with in cultivation in most warm countries. =The Texas Ebony= _Zigia flexicaulis_, Sudw. The Texas ebony is a beautiful, acacia-like tree of southern Texas and Mexico. One of the commonest and most beautiful trees on the bluffs along the coast, south of the Rio Grande. Its leaves are feathery, fern-like, its flowers in creamy clusters, its pods thick, almost as large as those of the honey locust. The seeds are palatable and nutritious, green or ripe. Immature, the pods are cooked like string beans; ripe, they are roasted, and the pods themselves are ground and used as a substitute for coffee. The wood is valuable in fine cabinet work, and because it is almost indestructible in contact with the ground, it is largely used for fence posts. It makes superior fuel. Besides being more valuable than any other tree of the Rio Grande Valley, though it rarely exceeds thirty feet in height, it is worthy of the attention of gardeners as well as foresters in all warm temperate countries. Prof. Sargent calls it the finest ornamental tree native to Texas. =The Frijolito= _Sophora secundiflora_, DC. The frijolito or coral-bean is a small, slender narrow-headed tree, with persistent, locust-like leaves, fragrant violet-blue flowers, and small one-sided racemes. The pods are silky white, pencil-like, constricted between the bright scarlet seeds. The tree grows wild in canyons in southern Texas and New Mexico, forming thickets or small groves in low moist limestone soil and stream borders. It is a close relative of the famous pagoda tree of Japan, _S. Japonica_, universally cultivated; and it deserves to be a garden tree throughout the Southern states. PART VII DECIDUOUS TREES WITH WINGED SEEDS The Maples--The Ashes--The Elms THE MAPLES A single genus, _acer_, includes from sixty to seventy species, widely distributed over the Northern Hemisphere. A single species goes south of the equator, to the mountains of Java. All produce pale close-grained, fairly hard wood, valued in turnery and for the interior finish of houses. The clear sap of some American species is made into maple sugar. The signs by which we may know a member of the maple family are two: opposite, simple leaves, palmately veined and lobed; and fruits in the form of paired samaras, compressed and drawn out into large thin wings. No amount of improvement changes these family traits. No other tree has both leaves and fruits like a maple's. The distribution of genus _acer_ is interesting. The original home of the family is in the Far East. In China and Japan we may reckon up about thirty indigo maples, while only nine are native to North America. Of these, five are in the eastern half of the continent, three in the West, and one grows indifferently on both sides of the Great Divide. =The Sugar Maple= _Acer saccharum_, Marsh. The sugar maple (_see illustration, page 198-199_) is economically the most important member of its family in this country. As an avenue and shade tree it is unsurpassed. It is the great timber maple, whose curly and bird's-eye wood is loved by the cabinet-maker; and whose sap boiled down, yields maple sugar--a delicious sweet, with the distinctive flavor beloved by all good Americans. In October the sugar maple paints the landscape with yellow and orange and red. Its firm broad leaves, shallowly cleft into five lobes, are variously toothed besides. The flowers open late, hanging on the season's shoots in hairy yellow clusters. The key fruits are smooth and plump, with wings only slightly diverging. They are shed in midsummer. Hard maple wood outranks all other maple lumber, though the curly grain and the bird's-eye are accidental forms rarely found. Flooring makes special demands upon this wood. Much is used in furniture factories; and small wares--shoe lasts, shoe pegs and the like--consume a great deal. As fuel, hard maple is outranked only by hickory. Its ashes are rich in potash and are in great demand as fertilizer in orchards and gardens. The living tree, in the park, on the street, casting its shade about the home, or glowing red among the trees of the woods, is more valuable than its lumber. Slow-growing, strong to resist damage by storm, clean in habit and beautiful the year round--this is our splendid rock maple. Rich, indeed, is the city whose early inhabitants chose it as the permanent street tree. =The Black Maple= _A. nigrum_, Michx. The black maple is so like the sugar maple that they are easily confused, but its stout branchlets are orange-colored, the leaves are smooth and green on both sides, scantly toothed, and they droop as if their stems were too weak to hold up the blades. The keys spread more widely than those of the sugar maple. The black maple is the sugar maple of South Dakota and Iowa. It becomes rarer as one goes east. It is an admirable lumber tree, as well as a noble street and shade tree. Two soft maples are found in the eastern part of the country, their sap less sweet, their wood softer than the hard maples, and their fitness for street planting correspondingly less. =The Red Maple= _A. rubrum_, Linn. The red maple is a lover of swamps. It thrives, however, on hillsides, if the soil be moist; and is planted widely in parks and along village streets. In beauty it excels all other maples. In early spring its swelling buds glow like garnets on the brown twigs (_see illustrations, pages 198-199_). The opening flowers have red petals, and the first leaves, which accompany the early bloom, are red. In May the dainty flat keys, in clusters on their long, flexible stems, are as red as a cock's comb, and beautiful against the bright green of the new foliage. In early September in New England, a splash of red in the woods, across a swamp, is sure to be a scarlet maple that suddenly declares its name. Against the green of a hemlock forest these maples show their color like a splash of blood. The tree is gorgeous. In winter the lover of the woods, re-visiting the scenes of his summer rambles, knows the scarlet maple by the knotty, full-budded twigs which gleam like red-hot needles set with coral beads, against the clean-limbed, gray-trunked tree. The red maple never quite forgets its name. As a street tree, it makes rapid progress when it once becomes established, though it is apt to stand still for a time after being transplanted. Its branches are short, numerous, and erect, making a round head, admirably adapted to the resistance of heavy winds. It is particularly suited to use in narrow streets. =The Soft Maple= _A. saccharinum_, Linn. The soft maple or silver maple (_see illustration, page 199_) has a white-lined leaf, cleft almost to the midrib and each division again deeply cut. It is quick and ready to grow, and has been widely planted as a street tree, especially in prairie regions of uncertain rainfall. It is one of the poorest of trees for street planting, because it has a sprawling habit and weak brittle wood. The heavy limbs have great horizontal spread, and are easily broken by ice and windstorms. When planted on streets, they require constant cutting back to make them even safe. Thick crops of suckers rise from the stubs of branches, but the top thus formed is neither beautiful nor useful. Wier's weeping maple, a cut-leaved, drooping variety of this silver maple, is often seen as a lawn tree, imitating the habit of the weeping willow. =The Oregon Maple= _A. macrophyllum_, Pursh. The Oregon maple grows from southern Alaska to Lower California, along the banks of streams. The great leaves, often a foot in diameter, on blades of equal length, are the distinguishing marks of this stout-limbed tree, that grows in favorable soil to a height of a hundred feet. In southern Oregon it forms pure forest, its huge limbs forming magnificent, interlacing arches that shut out the sun and make a wonderful cover for ferns and mosses far below. The wood of this tree is the best hard-wood lumber on the West Coast. =The Vine Maple= _A. circinatum_, Pursh. The vine maple reminds one of the lianas of tropical woods, for it has not sufficient stiffness to stand erect. It grows in the bottom lands and up the mountain sides, but always following watercourses, from British Columbia to northern California. Its vine-like stems spring up in clusters from the ground, spreading in wide curves, and these send out long, slender twigs which root when they touch the ground, thus forming impenetrable thickets, often many acres in extent. The leaf is almost circular and cut into narrow equal lobes around the margin; green in midsummer, it changes to red and gold in autumn, and the woodsman, almost worn out with the labor of getting through the maze these trees form, must delight, when he stops to rest, in the autumn glory of this wonderful ground cover. These little maples lend a wonderful charm to the edges of forest highways in the Eastern states. Like the hornbeams, hazel bushes, and ground hemlock, they are lovers of the shade; and they fringe the forest with a shrubbery border. =The Striped Maple= _A. Pennsylvanicum_, Linn. The striped maple is quickly recognized by the pale white lines that streak in delicate patterns the smooth green bark of the branches. The leaves are large and finely saw-toothed, with three triangular lobes at the top. The yellowish bell-flowers hang in drooping clusters, followed by the smooth green keys, in midsummer. This tree is called "Moosewood," for moose browse upon it. The shrubbery border of parks is lightened in autumn by the yellow foliage of this little tree, and in winter the bark is very attractive. "Whistlewood" is the name the boys know this tree by, for in spring the bark slips easily, and they cut branches of suitable size for whistles. =The Mountain Maple= _A. spicatum_, Lam. The mountain maple is a dainty shrub with ruddy stems, large, three-lobed leaves, erect clusters of yellow flowers and tiny brown keys. It follows the mountains from New England to northern Georgia, and from the Great Lakes extends to the Saskatchewan. [Illustration: _See page 180_ _See page 178_ THE THORNY TRUNK OF THE HONEY LOCUST, AND THE FOLIAGE AND FLOWERS OF THE BLACK LOCUST] [Illustration: _See page 194_ SUGAR MAPLE Maple sugar is made in February; the trees bloom in May; their seeds ripen in October] [Illustration: _See page 195_ THE RED MAPLE'S PISTILLATE (_left_) AND STAMINATE (_right_) FLOWERS] [Illustration: _See page 196_ SEED KEYS AND NEW FOLIAGE OF THE SOFT OR SILVER MAPLE] =The Dwarf Maple= _A. glabrum_, Torr. The dwarf maple ranges plentifully from Canada to Arizona and New Mexico. Its leaves, typically three-lobed and cut-toothed, vary to a compound form of three coarse-toothed leaflets. The winged keys are ruddy in midsummer, lending an attractive dash of color to the woods that border high mountain streams. Very common in cultivation are the Japanese maples--miniature trees, bred and cultivated for centuries, wonderful in the variations in form and coloring of their leaves. Tiny maple trees in pots are often very old. Some leaves are mere skeletons. The Japanese people are worshippers of beauty and they delight particularly in garden shows. In the autumn, when the maples have reached perfection, the populace turns out in holiday attire to celebrate a grand national fête. A sort of æsthetic jubilee it is, like the spring jubilee of the cherry blossom. To each careful gardener who has patiently toiled to bring his maples to perfection, it is sufficient reward that the people make this annual pilgrimage to view them. =The Box Elder= _A. Negundo_, Linn. The box elder is the one maple whose leaves are always cleft to the stem, making it compound of irregularly toothed leaflets. The clusters of flattened keys, which hang all winter on the trees, declare the kinship of this tree to the maples. Fast-growing, hardy, willing to grow in treeless regions, this tree has spread from its eastern range throughout the plains, where shelter belts were the first needs of the settlers. Pretty at first, these box elders are soon broken down and unsightly. They should be used only as temporary trees, alternating with elms, hard maples, and ashes. Where they are neglected, or continue to be planted, the character of the town or the premises must be cheap and ugly. =The Norway Maple= _A. platanoides_, Linn. The Norway maple is counted the best maple we have for street planting. Broad, thin leaves, three-lobed by wide sinuses, cover with a thick thatch the rounded head of the tree. Green on both sides, thin and smooth, these leaves seem to withstand remarkably the smoke, soot, and dust of cities, and also the attacks of insects. The keys are large, wide-winged, set opposite, the nutlets meeting in a straight line. These pale green key clusters are very handsome among the green leaves in summer--the tree's chief ornament until the foliage mass turns yellow in autumn. A peculiarity of the Norway maple is the milky juice that starts from a broken leaf-stem. =The Sycamore Maple= _A. pseudo-platanus_, Linn. The sycamore maple is another European immigrant, whose broad leaf is thick and leathery in texture, and pale underneath. Its late-opening flowers are borne in long racemes, followed by the small key fruits which cling to the twigs over winter, making the tree look dingy and untidy. This tree has not the hardiness nor the compact form of the Norway maple, and it is subject to the attack of borers. It is the "sycamore" of Europe, famed as a lumber and an avenue tree abroad, but with us it proves short-lived, and we have no reason for choosing it. The copious seed production of the far preferable Norway maple puts it within the reach of all. THE ASHES Few large trees in our American woods have their leaves set opposite upon the twig. Still fewer of the trees with compound leaves show this arrangement. Consult the first broad-leaved tree you meet, and the chances are that its leaves are set alternately upon the twigs. There is a multitude of families in this class; but if the leaves are paired and set opposite, we narrow the families to a very few. Are the leaves simple? Then the tree may be a maple or a dogwood, or a viburnum. Are the leaves opposite and compound? Then you have one of two families. Are the leaflets clustered on the end of the leaf-stalk? Then the tree is a buckeye or a horse chestnut--members of the buckeye family. Are the leaflets set along the sides of the central stem? Then the tree is an ash. A few exceptions may be discovered, but the rule holds in the general forest area of North America. Ash trees have lance-shaped, winged seeds, borne in profuse clusters, and often held well into the winter. But there is no season when the leaf arrangement cannot be at once determined by the leaf scars, prominent upon the twigs; and under the tree there will always be remnants of the cast-off foliage, to show that it is compound. Ash trees are usually large and stately when full grown, with trunks clothed in smooth bark, checked into small, often diamond-shaped plates. This gives the trees a trim, handsome appearance in the winter woods. As shade trees, ashes are very desirable, and they are valuable for their timber. The near relatives of ashes surprise us. They belong to the olive family, whose type is the olive tree of the Mediterranean region, now extensively cultivated in California for its fruit. Privets, lilacs, and forsythias, favorites in the gardens of all countries that have temperate climates, are cousins to the ash tree. One of its most charming relatives is the little fringe tree of our own woods. Thirty species of ash are known; half of that number inhabit North America. There are ash trees in every section of our country except the extremes of latitude and altitude. Tropical ash trees are native to Cuba, North Africa, and the Orient. =The White Ash= _Fraxinus Americana_, Linn. The white ash is one of the noblest trees in the American forest, the peer of the loftiest oak or walnut. When young it is slim and graceful, but it grows sturdier as it approaches maturity, lifting stout, spreading branches above a tall, massive trunk. In the forest the head is narrow, but in the open the dome of a white ash is as broad and symmetrical as that of a white oak. A gray rind covers the young branches and the bark is gray. The foliage has white lining and each of the seven leaflets has a short stalk. These are all characters that distinguish the white ash from other species and enable one to name it at a glance. In the South the white ash is undersized and the wood is of poor quality. In the Northeastern and Central states it is one of the most important and largest of our timber trees, with wood more valuable than any other ash. Its uses are manifold: it is staple in the manufacture of agricultural implements, carriages, furniture, and in the interior finish of buildings. Tool handles and oars are made of white ash and it is superior as fuel. The reddish-brown heart-wood, with paler sap-wood, is tough, elastic, hard, and heavy. It is not durable in soil and becomes brittle with age. Ash trees are late in coming into leaf. When all the forest is green and full of blossoms, the ash trees are still naked. Not until May do the rusty yellow winter buds of the white ash swell and throw out on separate trees their staminate and pistillate flower clusters from the axils of last year's foliage. (_See illustration, page 214._) Then the leaves unfold; downy at first, becoming bright and shiny above, but always with pale linings. On fertile trees the inconspicuous flowers mature into pointed fruits, one to two inches long. The wing is twice the length of the seed and is rounded to a blunt point. The seed itself is round and pointed, on branching stalks that form clusters from six to eight inches long. As a street tree the white ash deserves much more general favor in cities than it has yet achieved, for it is straight and symmetrical, and its light foliage grows in irregular, wavy masses, through which some sunlight can always sift and let grass grow under the tree. This tree is a rapid grower, perfectly hardy in most sections of the country, and has no serious insect enemies. The foliage turns to brownish purple and yellow in the autumn. =The Black Ash= _F. nigra_, Marsh. The black ash is a lover of marshes, found from Newfoundland to Manitoba, and from Virginia to Arkansas. Its blue-black winter buds, the sombre green of its foliage, and the dark hues of its bark and wood have justified the popular name of this handsome, slender tree. The leaflets, oval and long-pointed, are sessile on the hairy leaf stalk, except the terminal one. At maturity the leaves are a foot or more in length, of seven to eleven leaflets, that turn brown and fall early in autumn. The keys of the black ash are borne in open panicles, eight to ten inches long; each has a short, flat seed, with a broad blade, thin, rounded, and notched instead of pointed, at the extremity. The wood of black ash has the tough, heavy coarse-grained qualities of the white ash, but differs in being very durable and in being easily split into thin layers--each a year's growth. The Indians taught the early settlers to weave baskets out of black ash splints. These splints are easily separated by bending the split wood over a block. The strain breaks loose the tissue that forms the spring wood, and separates the bands of tough, dense summer wood into strips suitable for basket weaving. Black ash is used for chair seats, barrel hoops, furniture, and cabinetwork. The saplings are oftenest chosen for hop and bean poles. As a lawn tree, the black ash has little to recommend it for it often dies of thirst in the loam of a garden. At best it is short-lived. Planted in swampy ground, the tree spreads by seeds, and suckers from the roots, soon forming extensive thickets, and drinking up the moisture at a marvelous rate. =The Red Ash= _F. Pennsylvanica_, Marsh. The red ash follows the courses of streams and lake margins from New Brunswick to the Black Hills and south into Florida, Alabama, and Nebraska. This tree is much planted for shade and ornament in New England, and in other Eastern sections. The tree is small, spreading into a compact though irregular head of twiggy, slender branches. The yellow-green foliage, a foot long, of seven to nine short, stalked, lustrous leaflets, is lightened by a pale pubescence on petioles and leaf-linings. The same velvety down covers the new shoots. Summer and winter this sign never fails. Red ash seeds are extremely long and slender, and have the most graceful outlines of all the darts that various ash trees bear. The heavy, round body has a wing twice its length by which the wind carries the seeds far away. Very gradually an ash tree launches its seeds. It is easy to understand why the family is so scattered through any woods, for the wind is the sower. The reddish bark of the twigs and trunk of this tree seems to be the justification for its name. Its brown wood is inferior to white ash. =The Green Ash= _F. Pennsylvanica_, Variety _lanceolata_, Sarg. The green ash has narrower, shorter leaves than the parent species and usually more sharply saw-toothed margins. Instead of having pale linings, the leaflets are bright green on both surfaces. This is the ash tree of the almost treeless prairies from Dakota southward, where it not only lives, but flourishes as well as in its native habitat, the rich soil of stream banks farther east. Its range crosses the Rocky Mountains and reaches the slopes of the Wasatch Mountains in Utah. East of the Alleghanies the tree is little known. It is in the West that it is the dominant ash. It is one of the few important agencies which have turned the "Great American Desert" into a land of shady roads and comfortable, protected homesteads. =The Blue Ash= _F. quadrangulata_, Michx. The blue ash has four-angled twigs, often winged at the corners with a thin plate of bark. The sap contains a substance that gives a blue dye when the inner bark is macerated in water. The tree reaches one hundred and twenty feet in height, above a slender trunk, and has small spreading branches that terminate in stout twigs, characteristically angled. The tree is occasionally cultivated in parks and gardens in the Eastern states where it is a distinct addition to the list of handsome shade trees. It is hardy, quick of growth, and unusually free from the ills that beset trees. In the forests it reaches its best estate on the limestone hills of the Big Smoky Mountains. Its wood ranks with the best white ash and exceeds it in one particular; it is the most durable ash wood when exposed alternately to wet and dry conditions. It is used for vehicles, for flooring and for handles of tools especially pitchforks. =The Oregon Ash= _F. Oregona_, Nutt. The Oregon ash follows the coast south from Puget Sound to San Francisco Bay, and from the western foothills of the Sierra Nevada to those of the mountains of southern California. In southwestern Oregon the tree reaches the height of eighty feet, with a trunk three to four feet in diameter. The stout branches form a broad crown where there is room, and the luxuriant foliage is wonderfully light in color, pale green above, with silvery pubescent leaf-linings. Of the five to seven leaflets, all are sessile or short-stalked, except the terminal one, which has a stem an inch long. All are oval and abruptly pointed, thick and firm in texture, turning yellow or russet brown in autumn. The lumber is counted equal to white ash and is one of the most valuable of deciduous timber trees in the western coast states. A number of little ash trees, distinct in species from those described already, are native to limited sections of the country. All have the family traits by which they are readily recognized, if seed form, leaf form, and leaf arrangement are kept in mind. In the corner where Colorado, Nevada, and Utah meet, is an ash with its leaf reduced to a single leaflet, but the seeds are profusely borne to declare the tree's name to any one who visits its restricted territory. In rich soil, three leaflets are occasionally developed. =The European Ash= _F. Excelsior_, Linn. The _European ash_ is the large timber ash from the Atlantic Coast of Europe to western Asia. The earliest writers have ranked its wood next to oak in usefulness. It was known as "the husbandman's tree." Its uses were listed at interminable length, for "ploughs, axle-trees, wheel-rings, harrows, balls ... oars, blocks for pulleys, tenons and mortises, poles, spars, handles, and stocks for tools, spade trees, carts, ladders.... In short, so good and profitable is this tree that every prudent Lord of a Manor should employ one acre of ground with Ash to every twenty acres of other land, since in as many years it would be more worth than the land itself." The saplings, cut when three to six years old, made excellent fork and spade handles on account of the toughness and pliability of their fibre. Crates for china were made of the branches. Steamed and bent, this wood lent itself to the making of hoops for barrels and kegs. The cutting off of the main trunk set the roots to sending up a forest of young shoots, ready for cutting again when they reached the size for walking-sticks and whip-stocks. Quite independent of its lumber value, but possibly correlated with it, was the great reputation the ash tree achieved in the myths and superstitions of widely separated peoples. In south Europe, tradition declared that a race of brazen men sprung from the ash tree. In the North, the Norse mythology made _Igdrasil_, the ash, the "World tree," from whose roots the whole race of men sprung. The roots of this mythological tree penetrated the earth to its lowest depths and its giant top supported the heavens. Wisdom and knowledge gushed from its base as from a fountain, and underneath were the abodes of the gods, giants, and the Fates. Superstitions of all kinds have come down with the language of different peoples, making the history of the ash tree a most interesting study. A Chinese ash yields a valuable white wax which exudes from the bark of the twigs. _F. ornus_, Linn., native to south Europe and Asia Minor, exudes a waxy secretion from bark and leaves. This is the manna of commerce. Last but not least of the products of the ash tree are the curious and beautiful contortions of the grain found in "burls" on the trunks of old trees of many species. These warty excrescences are eagerly bought by special agents for cabinet-makers. Woodwork from these abnormal growths shows exquisitely waved lines when polished, as delicate as those in a banded agate. Fancy boxes, bowls, and other articles brought fancy prices when made of "ram's horn" or "fiddleback" ash, which often went under the trade name of green ebony. The black ash in America is particularly subject to contortions of the grain. THE ELMS Elms of sixteen distinct species are native to boreal and temperate regions of the Northern Hemisphere, with this single exception: western North America is without a representative. Europe has three species, two of which extend their range into eastern Asia and northern Africa. Southern and central Asia have their own species. Five are native to our Eastern states. Two European species are in cultivation in the North Atlantic states, especially in the neighborhood of Boston, where they are as familiar as the native species, in street planting. Elm trees are valuable for shade and for lumber; their wood is hard, heavy, tough, pale in color, often difficult to split. The trees are distinguished from others by their simple, unsymmetrical, strong-ribbed leaves, saw-toothed, short-stalked, always unequal and often oblique at the base of the blade. The flowers, usually perfect, are inconspicuous, and the seeds are flat, entirely surrounded by a thin papery wing, that forms two hooks at the tip. Wind-carried, these seeds have had much to do with the wide distribution of elms. =The White Elm= _Ulmus Americana_, Linn. The white or American elm is widely known as a tall, graceful wide-spreading tree, usually of symmetrical, vase shape, with slender limbs and drooping twigs. (_See illustration, page 215._) It has the rough furrowed bark characteristic of the genus, dark or light gray, with paler branches and red-brown twigs. The leaves are alternate, two to six inches long, broadest near the abruptly pointed apex. Distinctly one-sided at the tapering base, the leaves have a fashion of arranging themselves in a flat spray so as to present almost a continuous leaf area to the sun. One spray overlaps another, and leaves varying in size fit in to fill every little corner to which sunlight comes. This "leaf mosaic" is not confined to elms alone. It is especially noticeable on the southern border of any dense wood. Winter offers the best opportunity for the study of tree forms. Our common elm shows at least five different patterns. The first is the "vase form," the commonest and most beautiful. This is best realized by old trees which have had plenty of room. In it the branches spread gradually upward at first but at a considerable height sweep boldly out forming a broad, rounded, or flattened head. Second is the "plume form," in which two or three main limbs rise to a great height before branching, and then break into feathery spray. Trees crowded in woods are likely to take this form. Third, the "oak tree form" shows a horizontal habit of branching, and an angularity of limbs usually more noticeable among oaks. Fourth, the "weeping willow form," where trees have short trunks, from which the branches curve rapidly outward and end in long, drooping branchlets. Fifth is the "feathered elm," marked by a fringe of short twigs which outline the trunk and limbs. This "feathering" is caused by the late development of latent buds. It may occur in any of the tree types just mentioned, but it is more noticeable in individuals of the plume form. The American elm is very familiar for it grows everywhere east of the Rocky Mountains. Not to know this tree is a mark of indifference and ignorance. No village of any pride but plants it freely as a street tree. It is hardy and cheerful, reflecting the indomitable spirit of the pioneer, whom it accompanied by seed and sapling from the Eastern states into the treeless territories of the Middle West. With him the tree seized the land and made it yield a living. Elms, which have outlived the cottonwoods and willows, are not so large yet as the patriarchal trees in old New-England villages, yet time alone is needed to match, in the valley of the Missouri, the elms in the valley of the Connecticut. I think, with due appreciation of its summer luxuriance of foliage, and the grace and strength of the elm's framework in winter, that the moment of greatest charm in the life of a roadside elm comes in the first warm days of late March. The brown buds on the sides of the twigs are swelling and a flush of purple overspreads the tree, while snow still covers the ground. A tremendous "fall of leaves" ensues, for the tiny bud scales that enclose the elm flowers are but leaves in miniature. The elms are in blossom! Each flower of each cluster has a calyx with scalloped edges, and a fringe of four to nine stamens hanging far out and surrounding the central solitary ovary. The color is in the yellow anthers and the dark red calyx lobes. Speedily, the stamens shrivel and pale green pendants, which are the seeds, cluster upon the twigs. Winged for flight, these ripen and are scattered before the leaves are fairly open, and the growth of the season's shoots begins. Only the pussy willow, the quaking asp, and the earliest maples bloom as early as the elm. How much they have missed, who never saw an elm tree in blossom! The hubs of the "one-hoss shay" were of "ellum," its interlacing fibres peculiarly fitting this wood for indestructibility. Saddle trees, boat timbers, cooperage, and flooring employ it in quantities. It is also used for flumes and piles, for it resists decay on exposure to water. =The Slippery Elm= _U. fulva_, Michx. The slippery elm is also known as the red elm and moose elm, because its wood is red and moose are fond of browsing its young shoots. In regions where moose are rarely seen, it is the small boy who browses and often utterly destroys every specimen of this valuable tree. Under the bark of young shoots a sweet substance is found, which gives the tree its common name. What man lives who in the heydey of youth has not had the spring craze for slippery elm bark, as surely as he had the fever for kite-flying and playing marbles? The trees in every fence row show the wounds of jack-knives; stripping the bark, the boys scrape from its inner surface the thick, fragrant mucilaginous _cambium_--a delectable substance that allays both hunger and thirst. Fortunately the bark of the limbs supplies the demand; many a veteran tree still suffers the pollarding process, serving one generation of schoolboys after another. The inner bark, dried and ground and mixed with milk, forms a valuable food for invalids. Poultices of slippery elm bark relieve throat and chest ailments. Fevers and acute inflammatory disorders are treated with the same bark, which has passed from the list of mere home remedies to an established place on the apothecary's shelf. How shall we tell a slippery elm tree from the American elm? By its leaf in summer. The roughness of the foliage is one of its striking characteristics. Crumple a leaf, and its surfaces grate harshly, for they are covered with stiff, tubercular hairs. The leaves are larger, often reaching seven inches in length. There is a reddish or tawny pubescence on all young shoots, and especially on the bud scales in winter. The tree itself, in winter or summer, is much more coarse than its cousin. It is also unsymmetrical in habit, each limb striking out for itself. Very often one meets a tree quite as one-sided in form as its leaf, and this without any apparent reason. But given a chance to grow without mutilation, the slippery elm attains a height of seventy feet, forming a broad, open head, in comparatively few years. It is well worth planting for its lumber and for shade. =The Rock Elm= _U. Thomasi_, Sarg. The rock elm or cork elm chooses dry, gravelly upland and low heavy clay soil, on rocky slopes and river cliffs, from Ontario and New Hampshire westward through northern New York, southern Michigan to Nebraska and Missouri. It is more abundant and of largest size in Ontario and in the southern peninsula of Michigan. Its leaf is small, thick, and firm, dark green, and turns to brilliant yellow in the autumn. Its flowers and fruits are borne in racemes. At any season, one knows this cork elm by the shaggy bark on its stout limbs that make the tree resemble a bur oak. "Rock elm" and "hickory elm" are names that refer to the hardness of the wood. The wheelwright counts it the best of all elms. Compact, with interlacing fibres, there are spring, strength, and toughness in this wood which adapt it for bridge timbers, heavy agricultural implements, wheel stocks, sills, and axe-handles. The name "cork elm" refers to the corky bark which runs out in winged ridges, even to the twigs. [Illustration: _See page 202_ THE WHITE ASH Winter buds Pistillate flowers Staminate flowers] [Illustration: _See page 222_ A GROUP OF WHITE PINES] [Illustration: _See page 235_ LEAVES AND CONES OF THE SHORTLEAF PINE] [Illustration: _See page 210_ AMERICAN ELM] =The Winged Elm= _U. alata_, Michx. The winged elm, or wahoo, is dainty and small, its leaves and the two thin corky blades that arise on each twig befitting the smallest elm tree in the family. Despite its corky wings, it has none of the ruggedness of the cork elm, but is a pretty round-headed tree. It is distributed from Virginia to Florida and west to Illinois and Texas. "Mountain elm" and "small-leaved elm" are local names. "Wahoo" is local also, belonging chiefly to the South. Even the little seed of this tree is long and slender, its wing prolonged into two incurving hooks. =The English Elm= _U. campestris_, Linn. The English elm is often seen in the Eastern states, planted with the American elm in parks and streets, where the two species contrast strikingly. The English tree looks stocky, the American airily graceful. One stands heavily upon its heels, the other on tiptoe. One has a compact, pyramidal or oblong head, the other a loose open one. In October the superb English elms on Boston Common are still bright green, while their American cousins have passed into "the sere and yellow leaf." =The Scotch Elm= _U. montana_, Linn. The Scotch or wych elm is planted freely in parks and private grounds. It is a medium-sized tree of rather more strict habit of growth than the American elm. Before the leaves open the tree often looks bright green from a distance. This appearance is due to the winged seeds which are exceptionally large and crowd the twig in great rosettes. One horticultural variety of this species is the weeping form known as the Camperdown elm, which arches its limbs downward on all sides, forming when full-grown a natural arbor. One often sees this tree planted on lawns of limited extent, and so near the street as to render utterly absurd its invitation to privacy. To serve that reasonable and delightful end, the tree should be planted in a retired corner of one's grounds, where an afternoon siesta may be enjoyed undisturbed. PART VIII THE CONE-BEARING EVERGREENS The Pines--The Spruces--The Firs--The Douglas Spruce--The Hemlocks--The Sequoias--The Arbor-vitaes--The Incense Cedar--The Cypresses--The Junipers--The Larches, or Tamaracks The cone-bearers, or conifers, are a distinct race that we commonly call evergreens. They include pines, hemlocks, spruces, firs, sequoias, cypresses, cedars, and junipers. Besides these, the tamaracks and the bald cypress must be included, although their leaves are shed in the autumn. The term "evergreen" applies equally well to magnolias, laurels, and many oaks. Birches and alders and magnolias bear cone-like fruits. Notwithstanding such exceptions, the cone-bearing trees are mostly evergreen, and their family traits are so strongly marked that even the beginner in tree study eliminates the exceptional instances early in his studies. The pines and their relatives in the coniferous group are an ancient race, composed of proud old "first families." Along the shores of the Silurian seas they stood up, straight and tall, their only companions that stood erect, the giant horse-tails and tree ferns. This was long before modern tree families had any existence. There were no broad-leaved trees. In the coal measures are found the mummied remains of these prehistoric conifers. The cycads in the Everglades of Florida are some of their surviving representatives. These are facing extinction, and the conifers, too, are declining. They had reached their prime as a race when the broad-leaved trees appeared upon the earth. The vigor of the new race enabled it to seize the richest, well-watered regions. They drove the conifers to seek the swamps, the exposed seacoasts, the barren and rocky mountain slopes. Man has ruthlessly destroyed for timber the coniferous forests of this country and much of the territory denuded by the axe is either devoted to agriculture or has been seized by broad-leaved species of trees, more tenacious of life and with seeds more quick and sure to germinate than those of the conifers. The time is not far distant, geologically speaking, when this ancient and declining family of trees will exist only as man fosters it by cultivation. The conifers have resinous wood, with stiff, needle-like or scale-like leaves, and inconspicuous flowers of two sorts, borne in clusters like catkins. The pistillate catkin matures into a woody cone made of overlapping scales attached to a central stem. On each scale are borne one or more winged seeds. The one character which is constant in the whole coniferous group and sets it apart from the rest of the plant kingdom, is expressed in the name _Gymnosperm_, applied to this botanical grand division. It means "naked seed." There is no ovary in the flower. The naked ovules are borne on the scales of the fertile spike or catkin, which is held apart and erect in blossoming time. They are pollinated by the wind, which sifts them with golden pollen dust, abundant in the staminate catkins clustered on the same tree. Contact of pollen grains and naked ovules is followed by their coalescence--the "setting of seeds." The distinguishing trait of the higher plants that form the grand division known as _Angiosperms_, is that the ovules are borne in a closed ovary, and the pollen lodges on the end of a stigma. "Pollen tubes" grow down through the long style, finally reach the hidden ovule, and seed is set. This complicated process is found in the majority of flowers one studies in botany classes. Gymnosperms, and the still lower groups of flowerless ferns and mosses, are merely glanced at by amateur botanists. The more primitive plant forms are too difficult for beginners. The habit of the conifers is a character upon which we may depend. With rare exceptions, there is a central shaft, "the leader," and short horizontal branches in whorls forming platforms. The side branches, also whorled, are generally flattened into a horizontal spray. The leaves are narrow, needle-like, or scale-like, and waxy or resinous. The tough fibre of the wood enables the conifers to resist damage by wind and by ice. Snowflakes sift to the ground instead of accumulating upon the branches and breaking them by their cumulative weight. The wind, which pollinated the fertile flowers of coniferous forests long before nectar-gathering insects came upon the earth, is the harvester of their seeds. It scatters them far and wide; each seed has a wing that adapts it to long journeys in front of a gale. The resinous sap that courses through the veins of coniferous wood seals up the bark, leaves, and cones against the invasion of enemies, and acts as an antiseptic dressing for wounds. Without these special adaptations to a life of hardship, the conifers would never have held their own as they have done. They inhabit regions where conditions discourage all but a few of the broad-leaved trees. THE PINES In a forest of needle-leaved evergreens it is perfectly easy to distinguish the pines by their leaves. Look along the twigs and you will find the needles arranged in bundles, with a papery, enclosing sheath at the base. Follow farther back and these sheaths are missing, but on long stretches between the growing tip and the leafless part of the branch the characteristic sheathed needle-bundles declare this evergreen to be a pine. No other conifer has this trait, no pine grows but shows it every day in the year. One half of the eighty known species of pines grow in North America. Pure forests of great extent are found in the Southern states, in the Great Lakes region, and on the mountain slopes in the western and northern parts of the continent. Smaller areas occur in the Eastern states. Very soon these forests must be spoken of in the past tense, for a century of destructive lumbering has almost cleared the Northeast of pine timber, and though the exploitation of the pine forests of the South and about the Great Lakes came later, as population increased in the Middle West, the work has progressed much more rapidly. The idea of forest conservation, crystallized into federal law by popular demand, has come too late to save from wasteful exploitation the superb pine forests west of the Rockies. Yet thousands of acres of forests are now under government control and here a great object lesson in rational methods of forest maintenance is being given. The pineries of the future depend upon the success of methods there employed. The uses of pines are not all counted in terms of the lumberman. There are pines for every situation, soil, and climate. On low seaboard plains they come down to the highwater mark. They wade into inundated swamps and climb to the timber line on arid, rocky mountain-sides. The bravest species go out into the desert. Almost as brave are those which survive the smoke and dust of cities like Pittsburg and St. Louis, though theirs is a losing fight with sulphurous fumes and cramped root space in the smoky town. As shelter belts, as wind-breaks, as shade and ornamental trees, there are pines in cultivation in all parts of the country, their winter usefulness and beauty making them universally the choice of home-makers, rich and poor. By-products of pine wood are chiefly turpentine, pitch, resin, and oil, derived from the resinous sap. "Naval stores" these products are called, for their consumption is greatest in shipyards. Turpentine is extensively used in the arts and industries. If the Southern pine forests are allowed to dwindle, the deficit in lumber will not affect world commerce as disastrously as the cutting off of the naval stores production. The lumberman's division of the pines is a convenient one. "Soft pines" have soft, light wood, not heavily impregnated with resin. It is the delight of wood-workers. "Hard pines" have heavy, dark-colored wood, full of resin, which is a nuisance to the carpenter, because it "gums up" his tools. The one little sign enables us to distinguish hard and soft pines without examination of the wood. Soft pines shed the papery sheath of their leaf bundles before the leaves themselves begin to fall. Hard pines retain the leaf sheath until the leaves are shed. A glance at any leafy pine branch will enable us to determine to which of the two classes a given tree belongs. THE SOFT PINES The outward and visible sign of a soft pine is the loose, deciduous sheath of its leaf bundles. The scales of its cones are usually unarmed with horns or prickles. The wood is soft, light colored, close-grained. The number of leaves in a bundle is the principal key to the species. =The White Pine= _Pinus Strobus_, Linn. The white pine (_see illustrations, pages 214-215_) is the only pine east of the Rocky Mountains that bears its leaves in bundles of five. This semi-decimal plan is found in three western soft pines and two western hard pines; but in the East, a native tree with needles in fives, leaves no doubt as to its name. From a distance this plan of five can be seen in the five branches that form a platform each year around the central shaft. Study a sapling pine and you see in its vigorous young growth the fulfillment of nature's plan, before storms have broken any of the branches and changed the mathematics of the pattern. Stroke the flexible, soft leaves that sway graceful and lithe in the wind. If it is spring, note that the terminal bud has pushed out, and around it five-clustered buds are forming a circle of shoots. In autumn, after the season's growth is finished, each twig ends in a single bud, with a whorl of five buds around it. From the ground upward, count the platforms of branches. Each whorl of five marks a year in the tree's growth. The terminal bud carries the height a foot or two upward, and its surrounding five buds grow in the horizontal plane, forming the last and smallest platform of leafy shoots. Each branch is a year younger than the shoot that bears it. Note throughout this little tree the plan of five, from leaf cluster to largest branch. Now go to the largest white pine in your neighborhood, study the plan of five in this tree, and find out the reason for any failures. Notice the conflict between the branches in the close platforms. Find branches where this conflict is in progress. Pick out the winner. Read the age of the tree by the platforms of branches on the trunk. No evergreen is more beautiful than a white pine grown in rich soil in a situation sufficiently sheltered to defend its supple branches from breakage by severe winds. Its soft, plume-like twigs are dark blue-green, with pale lines lining each individual leaf. The young shoots are yellowish green, and they lighten in a wonderful manner the sombre coloring of the older foliage. At the bases of the new shoots cluster the staminate catkins, in early June. Yellow and becoming loose and pendulous as the wind shakes them, they are soon empty of their abundant pollen, which drifts like gold dust and fills the air. Among the youngest leaves, toward the end of the shoot, the purplish rosy lips of the erect pistillate cone-flowers catch the dust from neighbor trees, and their naked ovules absorb it and set seed. Close shut are the lips again, against any other invasion, while these ovules mature. We shall find them standing erect until autumn, but next season they hang down with their added weight, and at the end of the second summer the scales change from green to brown, open and give their ripe winged seeds to the wind for distribution. Because the tree is biennial-fruited, it always carries two sizes of cones. The large ones are one year older than the small ones. Ripe cones are five to ten inches long, with thin, broad, unarmed scales, squarish at the tips. The most hopeful phase of the white pine problem to-day is the fact that new forests are coming up naturally where the early lumbering deforested great tracts in the Eastern states. Careful forestry improves upon nature's method, and so the pines are being restored on land unfit for agricultural crops. White pine is one of the most profitable timber crops to plant at the present time. =The Mountain Pine= _P. monticola_, D. Don. The mountain pine is scattered through mountain forests from the Columbia River Basin in British Columbia to Vancouver Island, along the western slopes of the Rocky Mountains to northern Montana and Idaho, and south along the Sierra Nevada and Cascade ranges in Washington and Oregon, well into California. From the bottom lands of streams, where it is most abundant and reaches a height of one hundred to one hundred and fifty feet, and a trunk diameter of five to eight feet, it climbs to elevations of eight to ten thousand feet on the California Sierras. The bark of young trees and on the branches of old ones is smooth and pale-gray. The leaves, five in the bundles, range from one to four inches in length, stiff, blue-green, whitened by two to six stripes on the inner side. The cones are twelve to eighteen inches long, with thickened, pointed scales ending in an abrupt beak. The larger cone, denser, stiffer foliage, and the white bark make this white pine of the western mountains a great contrast to the Eastern white pine. Unlike many trees whose size diminishes with increase in altitude, this white pine grows to majestic size at altitudes of nearly two miles, its noble figure more striking and impressive because of the dwindling size of its companions on the mountain-sides. The lumberman looks with despair upon these giant white pines, quite out of his reach. In the Arnold Arboretum in Boston a fine seedling specimen of this western silver pine fruited when but twelve feet high, and proves vigorous and altogether happy in this absolutely changed climatic environment. In Europe the same success attends the cultivation of these trees, which have become very popular in parks and private grounds. Their introduction into our Eastern states can now be assured of success. =The Sugar Pine= _P. Lambertiana_, Dougl. The sugar pine (_see illustration, page 231_) belongs in the class with those tree giants, the sequoias, with which it grows in the mountain forests of Oregon and California. John Muir calls it "the largest, noblest, and most beautiful of all the pine trees in the world." Trees two hundred feet high, with trunk diameter of six to eight feet, are not uncommon. The maximum given by Sargent is twelve feet across the stump. The head of a sugar pine is rounded and broad, with pendulous branches, tufted with stout, dark green leaves, three to four inches long. The cones are the largest known, reaching eighteen inches in length, rarely longer. The black or dark brown seeds are one to five inches long, including the flat, blunt wings. Indians, bears, and squirrels gather the abundant harvest of these cones, which are rich in nutriment and pleasant to the taste. Crystals of sugar form white masses like rock candy, but with a taste of maple sugar, wherever a break in the bark of a sugar pine permits the escape of the sweet sap. This gives the tree its name. No other pine has sap with such a noticeable sugar content. Fortunately, these gigantic soft pines belong to the high Sierras and do not go down to the sea, where lumbermen could sacrifice them without effort. Nature has fenced them in by many barriers, and the government, by reservation in national parks, insures the preservation of some of the finest sugar pine groves, for the use and inspiration of all the people. A visit to Yosemite is the experience of a lifetime to any American. Here grow the most gigantic trees in the world, and the sugar pines are nobler even than the giant "big trees," for the latter are often decrepit, while the sugar pines are hale and youthful by comparison. Leaving behind the scrawny gray digger pines on the foothills, the traveler enters the belt of the yellow pines, on the higher elevations, and passing these he comes to the grand sugar pines along the highest level of the stage road that leads into the National Park. The road is no wider than the broad stumps of sugar pines, scattered here and there. The standing trees amaze one with their height and girth. It is impossible to shake off the impression that some magic has put magnifiers in our eyes; for trees, beetling cliffs, and rushing cataracts are bigger than their counterparts in other regions of the world far-famed for their scenery. The sugar pine trunks seem like great builded columns, too large for any real tree to grow, and the "big trees" in the Mariposa Grove intensify this impression of unreality. In a day or two the traveler becomes accustomed to his surroundings. He goes out of the Park and down into the world of men and affairs, his soul enlarged, his life enriched by an experience he can never quite forget. He is a bigger, better man for his brief association with Nature in her noblest manifestations. The wood of the sugar pine is soft, golden, satiny, fragrant, inviting the woodworker through every one of his senses. A single tree often yields five thousand dollars' worth of marketable lumber, the finest, straight-grained soft pine in the world. The shame of the century is the wanton destruction of sugar pine trees by vagrant shingle-makers and thieving mill-owners, who despoiled the grandest trunks of their choicest wood, wastefully leaving the bulk to cumber the ground and invite forest fires. Late and slowly, but surely also is the popular mind awakening to the fact that forests belong to the nation and should be conserved and maintained for the whole people--not wasted for the temporary enrichment of private owners, as forest wealth has been squandered in past years. =Rocky Mountain White Pine= _P. flexilis_, James The Rocky Mountain white pine inhabits mountain slopes from Alberta to Mexico, including the Sierra Nevada range. In northern New Mexico and Arizona it occasionally reaches eighty feet in height, but ordinarily does not exceed fifty. Its rounded dome, as broad as an oak, bravely dares the wind on exposed cliffs, and crouches as a stunted shrub at altitudes of twelve thousand feet. The "limber pine" it is called, from the toughness of its fibre, which alone enables its long limbs to sustain the whipping they get. The leaves form thick, beautiful dark-green tufts, which are not shed until the fifth or sixth year. The cones are three to ten inches long, purplish; scales rounded, abruptly beaked at the apex; narrow wings entirely surround the seeds, which fall in September. This is the lumber pine of the semi-arid ranges of "The Great American Desert"; the main dependence of builders, too, on the eastern slopes of the Rockies in Montana. =The White-bark Pine= _P. albicaulis_, Engelm. The white-bark pine is a rippled, gnarled, squatting tree, whose matted branches, cumbered with needles and snow, make a platform on which the hardy mountain-climber may walk with safety in midwinter. It offers him a springy mattress for his bed, as well. The trunk is covered with snowy bark that glistens like the icemantle that lies on the treeless mountain-side just above the timber line. From a twelve-thousand-foot elevation on the Rocky Mountains, in British Columbia and south to the Yellowstone, the tree clambers down to the five-thousand-foot line, where it sometimes attains forty feet in height; its dark green, rigid leaves persist from five to eight years, always five in a bundle, and never more than two and a half inches long. The cones, horny-tipped, dark purple, one to three inches long, are ripe in August; the large sweet seeds are gathered and eaten by Indians. In California the tree's range extends into the San Bernardino Mountains. THE TWO "FOXTAIL" PINES Two Western pines are distinguished by the common name "foxtail pine," because the leaves are crowded on the ends of bare branchlets. _P. Balfouriana_, M. Murr., has stiff, stout dark green leaves with pale linings. The tree is wonderfully picturesque when old, with an open irregular pyramid, on the higher foothills of the California mountains, or crouching as an aged straggling shrub at the timber-line. Its cones are elongated, the scales thickened and minutely spiny at tip. The second five-leaved foxtail pine is _P. aristata_, Engelm., also called the "prickle-cone pine," from the curving spines that arm the scales of the purplish brown fruits. This is a bushy tree, with sprawling lower branches and upper ones that stand erect and are usually much longer, giving the tree a strange irregularity of form. The leaves are short and crowded in terminal brushes. From a stocky tree forty feet high, to a shrub at the timber line, this tree is found near the limit of tree growth, from the outer ranges of the mountains of Colorado to those of southern Utah, Nevada, northern Arizona and southeastern California. In Eastern parks it is occasionally seen as a shrubby pine with unusually interesting, artistic cones. THE NUT PINES The nut pines, four in number, supply Indians and Mexicans of the Southwest with a store of food in the autumn, for the seeds are large and rich in oils and they have keeping qualities that permit their hoarding for winter. The four-leaved _P. quadrifolia_, Sudw., scattered over the mountains of southern and Lower California, has four leaves in a cluster, as a rule. A desert tree, its foliage is pale gray-green, harmonizing with the arid mesas and low mountain slopes, where it is found. The cones are small with few scales, but the nut is five-eighths of an inch long and very rich. _P. cembroides_, Zucc., with two to three leaves, is the "piñon," that covers the upper slopes of Arizona mountains with open forests fifteen to twenty feet high. The leaves are one to two inches long, dark green with pale lines, the branchlets orange-colored and matted with hairs. The large nuts are very oily, and so abundant in the mountains of northern Mexico that they are sold in large quantities in every town. [Illustration: _See page 276_ EASTERN RED CEDARS AND HICKORY] [Illustration: _See page 225_ THE SUGAR PINE "The largest, noblest, and most beautiful of all pine trees in the world"] The piñon (_P. edulis_, Engelm.) ranges from the eastern foothills of the Colorado Rockies to western Texas and westward to the eastern borders of Utah, southwestern Wyoming, central Arizona and on into Mexico, often forming extensive open forests, and reaching an elevation of seven thousand feet. Short, stiff leaves in clusters of two or three, dark green, ridged, stout, often persist for eight or nine years. The tree is a broad compact pyramid; in age, dense, round-topped, with stout branchlets and abundant globose cones. Each scale covers two seeds, wingless, about the size of honey locust seeds, oily, sweet, nutritious and of delicious flavor. This is the pine nut _par excellence_, whose newest market is among confectioners and fancy grocers throughout the states. The one-leaved nut pine (_P. monophylla_, Torr.), spreads like an old apple tree, and forms a low, round-topped, picturesque head, its lower limbs drooping to the ground. The reduction of the leaves in the clusters to lowest terms, gives the tree a starved look, and the eighteen or twenty rows of pale stomates on each leaf give the tree-top a ghostly pallor. The vigor of the tree is expressed in its abundant fruit, short, oblong, one to two inches in length, with rich plump brown seeds upon which the Indians of Nevada and California have long depended. The wood supplies fuel and charcoal for smelters; and this stunted tree, rarely over twenty feet in height, forms nut orchards for the aborigines and the scattered population of whatever race, between altitudes of five and seven thousand feet. From the western slopes of the Wasatch Mountains of Utah, it ranges to the eastern slopes of the southern Sierra Nevada, to their western slopes at the head waters of King's River, and southward to northern Arizona and to the mountains of southern California. John Muir says: "It is the commonest tree of the short mountain ranges of the Great Basin. Tens of thousands of acres are covered with it, forming bountiful orchards for the red man. Being so low and accessible, the cones are easily beaten off with poles, and the nuts are procured by roasting until the scales open. To the tribes of the desert and sage plains these seeds are the staff of life. They are eaten either raw or parched, or in the form of mush, or cakes, after being pounded into meal. The time of nut harvest is the merriest time of the year. An industrious, squirrelish family can gather fifty or sixty bushels in a single month before the snow comes, and then their bread for the winter is sure." THE PITCH PINES Pitch pines have usually heavy coarse-grained, dark-colored wood, rich in resin--a nuisance to the carpenter. The leaf-bundles have persistent sheaths. The cone scales are thick and usually armed. "Hard pine" is a carpenter's synonym. The group includes some of the most valuable timber trees in American forests. =The Longleaf Pine= _P. palustris_, Mill. The longleaf pine is preëminent in importance in the lumber trade and in the production of naval stores. It stretches in a belt about one hundred and twenty-five miles wide, somewhat back from the coast, all the way from Virginia to Tampa Bay and west to the Mississippi River. Isolated forests are scattered in northern Alabama, Louisiana, and Texas. The trees are tall, often exceeding one hundred feet in height; with trunks slender in proportion, rarely reaching three feet in diameter. The narrow, irregular head is formed of short stout twisted limbs on the upper third of the trunk. The leaves are from twelve to eighteen inches long, forming dense tufts at the ends of the branches. Being flexible they droop and sway on the ends of erect branches like shining fountains, their emerald lightened by the silvery sheaths that invest each group of three. Sapling longleaf pines have recently entered the market for Christmas greens in Northern cities. This threatens the renewal of longleaf forests that have fallen to the axe of the lumberman. Unless Federal restriction comes to the rescue, there is little hope of saving this young growth, for nothing can exceed in beauty a three-foot sapling of longleaf pine as a Christmas decoration. The lumber of this species is the "Southern pine" of the builder. Heavy, strong, yellowish brown, durable, it has a tremendous vogue for flooring and the interior finish of buildings. It is used in the construction of railway cars. Its durability in contact with water accounts for its use in bridge-building, and for masts and spars of vessels. A great deal of this lumber is exported for use in European shipyards. It has replaced the dwindling supply of white pine for building purposes throughout the North, and the strong demand for it has been followed by lumbering of the most destructive and wasteful type, because the forests are owned privately. In the early days the American colonists in Virginia tapped the longleaf pine, collected the resin from the bleeding wounds, and boiled it down for pitch and tar. These crude beginnings established an industry now known as the "orcharding" of the longleaf pine. After a century of wastefulness and wanton destruction of the trees, it has become patent to all that scientific methods must be resorted to in the production of turpentine and other products derived from the living trees. Otherwise the dwindling industry will soon come to an end. Resin is the sap of the tree. The first problem is to draw it in a manner least wasteful of the product, and least dangerous to the life of the tree. The second process is the melting of the collected resin in a still and the drawing off of the volatile turpentine. What is left solidifies and is known as _rosin_. "Boxing" the trees was the cutting of a grooved incision low on the trunk, with a hollow at the base of the vertical trough to hold the discharge of the bleeding sap-wood. Resin-gatherers visited the tapped trees and emptied the pockets into buckets by means of a ladle. They also scraped away the hardened sap and widened the wounds to induce the flow from new tissues. This method cost the life of the tree in two or three years, and it became a prey to disease and a menace to the whole forest, as fuel for fires accidentally started. Nowadays, all reasonable owners of longleaf pine have discarded the old-fashioned boxing and installed methods approved by the Department of Forestry. Tar was formerly derived from the slow burning of wood in a clay-lined pit. The branches, roots and other lumber refuse, cut in small sizes were heaped in a compact mound and covered with sods and earth. Smoldering fires soon induced a flow of smoky tar, thick as molasses, in the bottom of the pit. In due time the flow ceased, the fires went out, and charcoal was the result of this slow burning. Removing the charcoal, the tar became available for various purposes; boiled until it lost its liquid character, it became tough sticky _pitch_. This primitive pit method of extracting tar and making charcoal has been abandoned wherever intelligence governs the industry, and distillation processes have been installed. =The Shortleaf Pine= _P. echinata_, Mill. The shortleaf pine ranks second to the longleaf in importance to the lumber industries of the East and South. It ranges from Staten Island, New York, to north Florida, and west through West Virginia, eastern Tennessee, southern Missouri, Louisiana and eastern Texas. It reaches its largest size and greatest abundance west of the Mississippi River, where great forests, practically untouched thirty years ago, have become the centre of the "yellow pine" industry, out of which vast fortunes have been made. The wood is preferred by builders, because it is less rich in resin, softer and therefore more easily worked. Young trees yield turpentine and pitch, and with the longleaf and the Cuban pine much forest growth has suffered destruction in the production of these commodities. The slender tree equals the longleaf in height and bears its dark green leaves in clusters of twos and threes, scattered on short branches that form a narrow loose head. The pale green, stout branchlets are lightened by the silvery sheaths of the young leaves (_see illustrations, pages 214-215_) which are short only in comparison with the companion species, the longleaf. The cones are abundant; the seeds numerous, winged for flight, retaining their vitality longer than most pine seeds. The tree is less sensitive to injuries and has the propensity, unusual in the pine family, of throwing up suckers from the roots. In open competition, this pine will hold its own against the invasion of other trees, if only allowed to do so. Much of the deforested territory, let alone, will cover itself with a ripe crop of shortleaf pine lumber in a hundred years. =The Cuban Pine= _P. Caribaea_, Morelet The Cuban pine stands third in the triumvirate of lumber pines of the South. This is the "swamp pine" or "slash pine," found in the coast regions from South Carolina throughout Florida, and along the Gulf Coast to the Pearl River in Louisiana. It is a beautiful pine--tall, with dense crown of dark green leaves, in twos and threes, eight to twelve inches long, falling at the end of their second season, before they lose their brightness. A large part of the turpentine of commerce has been derived from these coast forests, as well as lumber, which takes its place in the Northern market with the longleaf and the shortleaf. Natural reforestation has taken place in the Southeast, and a large part of the turpentine exported by Georgia and South Carolina to-day, is from second-growth Cuban pine, on land from which the lumber companies have stripped the virgin growth. =The Loblolly Pine= _P. Taeda_, Linn. The loblolly or old field pine chooses land generally sterile and otherwise worthless. It grows in swamps along the Atlantic coast, from New Jersey through the Carolinas, and follows the Gulf from Tampa Bay into Texas. Inland, it is found from the Carolinas to Arkansas and Louisiana. It has remarkable vitality of seed and seedlings, which do equally well on sterile uplands, on water-soaked ground, or where soil is light and sandy. It is very apt to take possession of land once cleared for agriculture. The young trees crowd together and grow with tremendous vigor the first years of their lives, successfully holding large tracts in pure forests. The limbs are short, thick, matted, forming a compact rounded head; the leaves slender, stiff, twisted, pale-green, six to nine inches long, in groups of threes. The wood is rich in resin, but differs greatly in quality with age and the fertility of the soil. "Rosemary pine" was heavy, hard, close-grained, with a thin rim of soft sap-wood. This famous lumber, preferred by shipbuilders of many countries for masts, grew in the virgin forest of the Carolinas. Giants were cut in the rich marsh lands back from the Sounds. But the small loblolly pine, grown on sandy soil, is but third-grade lumber, the sap-wood three times as thick as the heart-wood and exceedingly coarse-grained. One merit has recently been discovered in this lumber, that formerly blackened before it was seasoned, by the invasion of a fungous growth. It quickly absorbs creosote, which renders it immune from decay. It is used in the building of docks, cars, boats, and locally in house-building. Its wood makes a sharp, quick heat when dried. It is used in bakeries and brick kilns, and in charcoal-burning. =The Pitch Pine= _P. rigida_, Mill. The pitch pine goes down to the very water's edge on the sand-dunes along the New-England Coast, and spreads on worthless land from New Brunswick to Georgia and west to Ontario and Kentucky. Occasionally in cultivation the tree is symmetrical, and grows to considerable size. In the most favorable situations, however, it rarely exceeds fifty feet in height, with gnarled rough branches, oftenest irregular in form and becoming painfully grotesque with age. The persistence of its clustered black cones adds to the tree's ugliness; and the tufted, scant foliage has a sickly yellowish-green color when new, and becomes darker and twisted the second year. The cones are armed with stout thorns and often remain on the trees ten or twelve years. The knots, particularly, are rich in resin--the delight of camping parties. "Pine-knots" and "candlewood" are household necessities in regions where these trees are the prevailing species of pine. Starved as is its existence, the pitch pine springs up with amazing vigor after a fire. Suckers are sent up about the roots of the fire-killed trees, and the wind scatters the seeds broadcast for a new crop. The chief merit of the tree is that it grows on worthless land, and holds with its gnarled roots the shifting sand-dunes of the New-England Coast better than any other tree. =The Gray Pine= _P. divaricata_, Sudw. The gray pine goes farther north than any other pine, following the McKenzie River to the Arctic Circle. From Nova Scotia to the Athabasca River, it covers barren ground, reaching its greatest height, seventy feet, in pure forests north of Lake Superior. In Michigan it forms the "jack-pine plains" of the Lower Peninsula. As a rule it is a crouching, sprawling tree, its twigs covered with scant short dingy leaves in twos, averaging an inch in length. The wood is a great boon to the regions this tree inhabits. It is light, soft, weak, and close-grained; used for posts, railroad ties, building material and fuel. Its seeds germinate better from cones that have been scorched by fire. =The Digger Pine= _P. Sabiniana_, Dougl. The digger pine is a western California tree of the semi-arid foothill country. Gray-green, sparse foliage on the gnarled branches gives the tree a forlorn starved look, as it stands or crouches, singly or in scattered groups, along the gravelly sun-baked slopes. The great cones, six to ten inches long, fairly loading the branches, express most emphatically the vigor of the tree. The thickened scales protrude at a wide angle from the central core, and each bears a strong beak, triangular, flattened like a shark's tooth, but curved. The rich oily nuts, as big as lima beans, furnish a nourishing food to the Indians. The Digger tribe harvested these nuts, and the pioneer gave the tree the tribal name. =The Western Pitch Pine= _P. Coulteri_, D. Don. The Western pitch pine, most abundant in the San Bernardino and San Jacinto Mountains, at elevations of about a mile above the sea, has cones not unlike those of the digger pine, in the armament of their scales. These are notable by being the heaviest fruits borne by any pine tree. Occasionally they exceed fifteen inches in length and weigh eight pounds. The seeds are one-half an inch in length, not counting the thin wing, which is often an inch long. The leaves of this "big-cone" pine match the cones. They are stout, stiff, dark blue-green, six to sixteen inches long, three in a bundle, which has a sheath an inch or more in length. Crowded on the ends of the branches, these leaves would entitle this tree to qualify as a "foxtail" pine, except for the fact that the foliage persists into the third and fourth year, which clothes the branches far back toward the trunk and gives the tree a luxuriant crown. The dry slopes and ridges of the Coast Ranges of California are beautified by small groves and scattered specimens of this striking and picturesque pine, so unlike its neighbors. Its wood is used only for fuel. In European countries this is a popular ornamental pine, planted chiefly for its great golden-brown cones. =The Knob-cone Pine= _P. attenuata_, Lemm. The knob-cone pine inhabits the Coast Ranges from the San Bernardino Mountains northward on the western slopes of the Sierra Nevada and Cascade Mountains, into southwestern Oregon, where it forms pure forests over large areas, its altitude limit being four thousand feet. It is a tall slim tree of the hot dry fire-swept foothills, and it comes again with absolute certainty after forest fires. The clustered cones, three to six inches long, are amazingly hard and do not open at maturity, but wait for the death of the tree. Leaves three to seven inches long, in clusters of three, firm, rigid, pale yellow or bluish green, cover the tree with a sparse thin foliage-mass; but the branches, new and old, are covered with cones, many of which are being swallowed up by the growth of wood on trunk and limb. Thirty or forty years these cones may hang, their seeds never released and never losing their vitality, until fire destroys the tree. Then the scales open and the winged seeds are scattered broadcast. They germinate and cover the deforested slopes with a crop of knob-cone pine saplings that soon claim all standing room and cover the scars of fire completely. =The Monterey Pine= _P. radiata_, D. Don. The Monterey pine, like its companion, the Torrey pine, is restricted to a very narrow area. They grow together on Santa Rosa Island. At Point Pinos, south of Monterey Bay, this tree stands a hundred feet in height, with trunks occasionally five to six feet in diameter, its branches spreading into a round luxuriant, though narrow, head. From Pescadero to San Simeon Bay, in a narrow belt a few miles wide, and on the neighboring islands, this tree finds its limited natural range; but the horticulturist has noted the silvery sheen of its young growth and the rich bright green that never dulls in its foliage. Its quick growth and handsome form in cultivation make it the most desirable pine for park and shade planting in California. Indeed it is a favorite park tree north to Vancouver along the Coast. It has been introduced into Europe and is occasionally met in parks in the Southeastern states. =The Western Yellow Pine= _P. ponderosa_, Laws. The Western yellow pine forms on the Colorado Plateau the most extensive pine forests of the American continent. Mountain slopes, high mesas, dry canyon sides, even swamps, if they occur at elevations above twenty-five hundred feet, furnish suitable habitats for this amazing species, in some of its varying forms. From British Columbia and the Black Hills it follows the mountains through the Coast Ranges, Sierras, and the Great Continental Divide, to the highlands of Texas and into Mexico, forming the most extensive pine forests in the world. All sorts of construction work draw upon this wonderful natural supply of timber, from the droughty western counties of the Dakotas, Nebraska and Texas, to the Pacific Coast. The typical tree has thick plates of cinnamon-red bark, a massive trunk, five to eight feet in diameter, one hundred to two hundred feet high, with many short, thick, forked branches in a spire-like head. In arid regions the trunk is shorter and the head becomes broad and round-topped. Near the timber line and in swamps, the trees are stunted and the bark is nearly black. The leaves of this pine tree are two or three in a bundle, stout, dark yellow-green, five to eleven inches long, deciduous during their third season. Their color has given the name to the species, for the wood is not yellow, but light red, with nearly white sap-wood. On the way to the Yosemite, the traveler meets the yellow pine--splendid tracts of it--with the giant sugar pine, in open park-like areas, where each individual tree has room to manifest the noble strength of its tall shaft. The flowers appear in May, brightening the even color of the shiny leaves with their pink or brown staminate clusters two or three inches wide. The crimson pistillate cones hide at the ends of the branches, lengthening into fruits three to ten inches in length, and half as wide. Strong, recurving tips, armed with slender prickles, are seen in the scales of the reddish-brown cones that fall soon after they spread and liberate the winged seeds. These are produced in abundance, are scattered widely by the wind, and accomplish the renewal of these mountain forests. The bark is usually very thick at the bases of the trunks, reaching eighteen inches on the oldest trees. With this cloak wrapped about its living cambium, the yellow pine is able, better than most trees, to survive a sweeping forest fire. Botanists have found _P. ponderosa_ extremely variable, and they quarrel among themselves about species and variety, for the tree endures many climates, adapts itself to varying conditions and develops a type for each habitat and region. In old lake basins on the Sierra slopes, "variety _Jeffreyi_, Vasey," is the name given to the gigantic yellow pine, which there finds food and moisture in abundance and reaches its finest proportions and its greatest lumber value. In the Rocky Mountains, "variety _scopulorum_, Engelm.," is the type. "But all its forms can be traced to a common origin and so the parent species stands; and despite man's devastating axe the yellow pine flourishes in the drenching rains and fog of the northern coast at the level of the sea, in the snow-laden blasts of the mountains, in the white glaring sunshine of the interior plateaus and plains, and on the borders of mirage-haunted deserts, volcanoes, and lava beds,--waving its bright plumes in the hot winds undaunted, blooming every year for centuries, and tossing big ripe cones among the cinders and ashes of nature's hearths." (_John Muir._) =The Scrub Pine= _P. contorta_, Loud. The scrub pine is the humble parent of one of the splendid Western lumber pines, whose description comes under its varietal name. Down the coast of Alaska, usually in sphagnum bogs, on sand-dunes, in tide-pools and deep swamps to Cape Mendocino, the indomitable, altogether-admirable scrub pine holds its own against cold, salt air and biting arctic blasts. No matter how stunted, gnarly and round-shouldered these trees are, one thing they do, often when only a few inches high: _they bear cones_, and keep them for years; and each season add more. Up from the sea the scrub pine climbs, ascending the Coast Ranges and western slopes of the Cascade Mountains, changing its habit to a tree twenty to thirty feet tall with thick branches and dark red-brown bark, checked into oblong plates. Gummy exudations of this pitch pine make it peculiarly liable to running fires. Thousands of acres are destroyed every summer, but they seize the land again and soon cover it with the young growth. This happens because the burned trees drop their cones, which open and set free the seeds which have never lost their vitality. In all the vast region over which this vagrant tree swarms, it furnishes firewood and shelter. The pioneer blesses it, and a great multitude of wild things, both plant and animal, maintain their lives in comfort and security because of its protection. The lodge-pole pine or tamarack pine is but a variety (_Murrayana_) of _P. contorta_, that grows in forests on both slopes of the Rocky Mountains of Montana and Wyoming, at elevations of from seven to eight thousand feet, and stretches away into British Columbia and Alaska, and southward to the San Jacinto Range. Between eight thousand and nine thousand five hundred feet in altitude, along the Sierra Nevada in California, it reaches its greatest size and beauty, and forms extensive dense forests. The young trees have very slender trunks, and often stand crowded together like wheat on the prairie. An average forest specimen is five inches in diameter, when thirty or forty feet in height. No wonder the Indian in Wyoming and Colorado called it "the lodge-pole pine," for their supple trunks fitted these trees, while yet saplings, to support the lodge he built. Richer, moister ground nourishes this fortunate offspring of the scrub pine. The two-leaved foliage, usually about two inches long, wears a cheerful yellow-green, while the parent tree is dark and sombre, with leaves an inch in length. The hard, strong, brown wood of _contorta_ contrasts strikingly with that of its variety, which is light yellow or nearly white--soft, weak, straight-grained and easily worked. Its abundance in regions where other timber is scarce, brings it into general use for construction work. It also furnishes railroad ties, mine timbers and fuel, with the minimum of labor, since trunks of proper sizes can easily be selected. The Indians, whose food supply was always precarious, gathered branches and made a soft pulp of the inner bark, scraped out in the growing season. This they baked, after shaping it into huge cakes, in pit ovens built of stones, and heated for hours by burning in them loads of firewood. When the embers were burned out, the oven was cleaned and the cakes put in. Later they were smoked with a damp fire of moss, which preserved them indefinitely. "Hard bread" of this type provisioned the Indian's canoe on long trips. Inedible until boiled, it was a staple winter food at home and on long expeditions, among various tribes of the Northwest. =The Red Pine= _P. resinosa_, Ait. The red pine, also called the "Norway pine" for no particular reason, is something of an anomaly. Its wood is soft like that of the white pine with which it grows, and though _resinosa_ means "full of resin," it is not so rich as several other pitch pines. Its paired leaves and red bark reveal its kinship with the Scotch pine, a European species, very common in cultivation in America. Seemingly intermediate between soft and hard pines, _P. resinosa_ appeals to lumbermen and landscape gardeners because it embodies the good points of both classes. No handsomer species grows in the forests, from New Brunswick to Minnesota and south into Pennsylvania. The sturdy red trunk makes a bright color contrast with the broad symmetrical pyramid of boughs clothed in abundant foliage. The paired, needle-like leaves, dark green and shining, are six inches in length. The flowers are abundant and bright red, more showy than is ordinary in the pine family. Brown cones one to three inches long with thin unarmed scales, discharge their winged seeds in early autumn, but cling to the branches until the following summer. [Illustration: _See page 259_ _See page 248_ LEAVES AND CONES OF HEMLOCK (_left_) AND OF NORWAY SPRUCE (_right_)] [Illustration: _See page 248_ THE SPINY FOLIAGE AND FAST-CLINGING CONES OF THE BLACK SPRUCE] The wood of red pine is pale red, light in weight, close-grained with yellowish or nearly white sap-wood. Logs a hundred feet and more in length used to be shipped out of Canadian woods to England. Singularly free from large knots and other blemishes, they made huge spars and masts of vessels, as well as piles for dockyards, bridges, etc. Other woods have proved more durable, and the largest red pine timber has been harvested. So its importance in the lumber trade has declined. But in cultivation the red pine holds its own for its quick growth, its hardiness, its lusty vigor and its beauty of color contrasts. It grows on sterile ground exposed to the sea, forming groves of great beauty where other pines would languish and die. For shelter belts, inland, it is equally dependable, and as specimen trees in parks and gardens it has few equals. At no season of the year does it lose its fresh look of health. Young trees come readily from seed, and throughout their lives they are unusually free from injuries by insects and fungi. THE SPRUCES The distinguishing mark of spruce trees is the woody or horny projection on which the leaf is set. Look at the twigs of a tree which you think may be a fir or a spruce. Wherever the leaves have fallen, the spruce twig is roughened by these spirally arranged leaf-brackets. Leaf-scars on a fir twig are level with the bark, leaving the twig smooth. Spruce twigs are always roughened, as described above. Most spruce trees have distinctly four-angled leaves, sharp-pointed and distributed spirally around the shoot, not two-ranked like fir leaves. They are all pyramidal trees with flowers and fruits of the coniferous type. The cones are always pendent and there is an annual crop. The wood is soft, not conspicuously resinous, straight-grained and valuable as lumber. The genus picea comprises eighteen species, seven of which belong to American forests. These include some of the most beautiful of coniferous trees. =The Norway Spruce= _Picea excelsa_, Link. The Norway spruce (_see illustration, page 246_) is the commonest species in cultivation. It is extensively planted for wind-breaks, hedges and shelter belts, where its long lower arms rest on the ground and the upper limbs shingle over the lower ones, forming a thick leafy shelter against drifting snow and winds. =The Black Spruce= _P. Mariana_, B. S. & P. The black spruce is a ragged, unkempt dingy tree, with short drooping branches, downy twigs, and stiff dark blue-green foliage, scarcely half an inch long. Its cones, least in size of all the spruce tribe, are about one inch long and they remain on the branches for years (_See illustration, page 247_). Rarely higher than fifty feet, these scraggly undersized spruces are ignored by horticulturists and lumbermen, but the wood-pulp man has taken them eagerly. The soft weak yellow wood, converted into paper, needs very little bleaching. From the far North the species covers large areas throughout Canada, choosing cold bogs and swamp borders, or well-drained bottom lands. In the United States it extends south along the mountains to Virginia and to central Wisconsin and Michigan. =The Red Spruce= _P. rubens_, Sarg. The red spruce forms considerable forests from Newfoundland to North Carolina, following the mountains and growing best in well-drained upland soil. This Eastern spruce is more deserving of cultivation than the one just described, for its leaves, dark yellow-green and shining, make the tree cheerful-looking. The slender downy twigs are bright red, and there is a warm reddish tone in the brown bark. The winter buds are ruddy; the flowers purple; and the glossy cones, one to two inches long, change from purple to pale reddish brown before they mature and drop to pieces. Even in crowded forests this spruce keeps its lower limbs and looks hale and fresh by the prompt casting of its early ripening cones. The pale red wood is peculiarly adapted for sounding-boards of musical instruments. It has been used locally in buildings, but of late the wood-pulp mills get most of this timber. =The Engelmann Spruce= _P. Engelmanni_, Engelm. The Engelmann spruce is the white spruce of the Rocky Mountains and the Cascade Range of Washington and Oregon, which forms great forests on high mountain slopes from Montana and Idaho to New Mexico and Arizona. Always in damp places, this thin-barked beautiful tree is safest, from fire. The leaves are blue-green, soft and flexible but with sharp callous tips. The cones are about two inches long, their thin scales narrowing to the blunt tips. Each year a crop of seeds is cast and the cones fall. Running fires destroy the seed crop with the standing trees, making renewal of the species impossible in the burnt-over tracts. For this reason, this beautiful spruce tree is oftenest found on the higher altitudes, or where wet ground and banks of snow defend it from its arch enemy. The tree is satisfactory in cultivation, but never equal to the wild-forest specimens. The wood is used locally for building purposes, for fuel and charcoal. =The Blue Spruce= _P. Parryana_, Sarg. The blue spruce well known in Eastern lawns as the "Colorado blue spruce," is a crisp-looking, handsome tree, broadly pyramidal, with rigid branches and stout horny-pointed leaves, blue-green to silvery white, exceeding an inch in length. At home on the mountains of Colorado, Utah and Wyoming, it reaches a hundred to a hundred and fifty feet in height and a trunk diameter of three feet, and becomes thin and ragged at maturity. The same fate overtakes the trim little lawn trees, so perfect in color and symmetry for a few years. =Tideland Spruce= _P. Sitchensis_, Carr. The tideland spruce is the most important lumber tree in Alaska. It inhabits the coast region from Cape Mendocino, in California, northward; and is abundant on wet, sandy and swampy soil. The conspicuous traits of this tree are its strongly buttressed trunk, one hundred to two hundred feet tall, often greatly swollen at the base; the graceful sweep of its wide low-spreading lower limbs; and the constant play of light and shadows in the tree-top, due to the lustrous sheen on the bright foliage. It is a magnificent tree, one of the largest and most beautiful of the Western conifers, indomitable in that it climbs from the sea-level to altitudes three thousand feet above, and follows the coast farther north than any other conifer. THE FIRS In a forest of evergreens the spire form, needle leaves, and some other traits belong to several families. To distinguish the firs from the spruces, which they closely resemble in form and foliage, notice the position of the cones. All fir trees hold their ripe cones erect. No other family with large cones has this striking characteristic. All the rest of the conifers have pendent cones, except the small-fruited cypresses and arbor-vitaes. All fir trees belong to the genus _abies_, whose twenty-five species are distributed from the Far North to the highlands of tropical regions in both the Eastern and Western Hemispheres. All are tall pyramidal trees, with wide-spreading horizontal limbs bearing thick foliage masses, and with bark that contains vesicles full of resinous balsam. The branches grow in whorls and spread like fern fronds, covered for eight or nine years with the persistent leaves. Circular scars are left on the smooth branches when they fall. The leaves are the distinguishing character of the genus when cones are lacking. They are usually flat, two-ranked on the twig, without stems, and blunt, or even notched at the tip. For these typical leaves one must look on the lower sterile branches of the tree, and back of the growing shoots, where leaves are apt to be crowded and immature. The cones are borne near the tops of the trees, and on these branches the leaves are often crowded and not two-ranked as they are below. The flowers of fir trees are abundant and showy, the staminate clusters appearing on the under sides of the platforms of foliage; the pistillate held erect on platforms higher up on the tree's spire. Always the flowers are borne on the shoots of the previous season. The cone fruits are cylindrical or ovoid, ripening in a single season and discharging their seeds at maturity. The stout tapering axis of the cone persists after seeds and scales have fallen. The bark of fir trees is thin, smooth, and pale, with abundant resin vesicles, until the trees are well grown. As age advances the bark thickens and becomes deeply furrowed. The wood is generally pale, coarse-grained, and brittle. =The Balsam Fir= _Abies balsamea_, Mill. The balsam fir is probably best known as the typical Christmas tree of the Northeastern states and the source of Canada balsam, used in laboratories and in medicine. Fresh leaves stuff the balsam pillows of summer visitors to the North Woods. In the lumber trade and in horticulture this fir tree cuts a sorry figure, for its wood is weak, coarse, and not durable, and in cultivation it is short-lived, and early loses its lower limbs. Throughout New England, northward to Labrador, and southward along the mountains to southwestern Virginia, this tree may be known at a glance by its two-ranked, pale-lined leaves, lustrous and dark green above, one half to one and one half inches long, sometimes notched on twigs near the top of the tree. Rich dark purple cones, two to four inches long, with thin plain-margined, broad scales, stand erect, glistening with drops of balsam, on branches near the top of the tree. The same balsam exudes from bruises in the smooth bark. By piercing the white blisters and systematically wounding branch and trunk, the limpid balsam is made to flow freely, and is collected as a commercial enterprise in some parts of Canada. "Oil of fir" also is obtained from the bark. =The Balsam Fir= _A. Fraseri_, Poir. This balsam fir, much more luxuriant in foliage, and worthier of cultivation as an ornamental tree, is native to the Appalachian Mountains of southwestern Virginia, Tennessee and North Carolina. The purple cones are ornamented by pale yellow cut-toothed bracts that turn back over the edge of the plain scale. Limited in range, but forming forests between the limits of four and six thousand feet in altitude, this tree is confined to local uses as lumber and fuel. All the other firs of America are Western, and among these are some of the tree giants of the world. =The Red Fir= _A. magnifica_, A. Murr. The magnificent red fir is called by John Muir "the noblest of its race." In its splendid shaft that reaches two hundred and fifty feet in height, and a trunk diameter of seven feet, there is a symmetry and perfection of finish throughout that is achieved by no other tree. One above another in graduated lengths the branches spread in level collars, the oldest drooping on the ground, the rest horizontal, their framework always five main branches that carry luxuriant flat plumes of silvery needles. Each leaf is almost equally four-sided, ribbed above and below, with pale lines on all sides, so wide as to make the new growth silvery throughout the season. Later these leaves become blue-green, and persist for about ten years. Only on the lower side of the branch are the leaves two-ranked. The bark of this fir tree is covered with dark brown scales, deeply divided into broad rounded ridges, broken by cross fissures when old. Out toward the tips of the branches the bark is silvery white. In mid-June the flowers appear, the staminate in profuse clusters against the silvery leaf-linings, bright red, on the under sides of the platforms. It is a blind or stupid person who can travel in fir woods and fail to notice this wonderful flower pageant, that may be viewed by merely looking upward. The pistillate flowers, greenish yellow, tipped with pink, are out of sight as a rule, among the needles in the tree-tops. They ripen into tall cylindrical cones, six to eight inches long and half as wide, that fall to pieces at maturity, discharging their broad thin scales with the purple iridescent winged seeds. Pure forests of this splendid fir tree are found in southern Oregon among the Cascade Mountains, between five and seven thousand feet above the sea. It is the commonest species in the forest belt of the Sierra Nevada, between elevations of six thousand and nine thousand feet. From northern California, it follows the western slope of the Sierra Nevada, climbing to ten thousand feet in its southernmost range. A variety, _Shastensis_, Lemm., is the red fir with bright yellow fringed bracts on its stout cones. This ornament upon its fruits seems to be the chief distinguishing character of the form which occurs with the parent species on the mountains in Oregon and northern California, and recurs in the southern Sierra Nevada. The best defense of this superb red fir is the comparative worthlessness of its soft, weak wood. Coarse lumber for cheap buildings, packing cases and fuel makes the only demands upon it. In European parks it is successfully grown as an ornamental tree, and has proved hardy in eastern Massachusetts. =The Noble Fir= _A. nobilis_, Lindl. The noble fir or red fir is another giant of the Northwest. On the western slopes of the Cascade Mountains of Washington and Oregon it reaches occasionally two hundred and fifty feet in height, differing from _magnifica_ in being round-topped instead of pyramidal before maturity. Its red-brown wood, furrowed bark and the red staminate flowers justify its name. The twigs are red and velvety for four or five years. The leaves are deeply grooved above, rounded and obscurely ribbed on the lower surface, blue-green, often silvery through their first season, crowded and curved so that the tips point away from the end of the branch. The oblong cylindrical cones, four to five inches long, are velvety, their scales covered by bracts, shaped and notched like a scallop shell, with a forward-pointing spine, exceeding the bract in length. Forests of this tree at elevations of twenty-five hundred to five thousand feet are found in Washington and northern Oregon, from which limited quantities of the brownish-red wood enter the lumber trade under the name of "larch." =The White Fir= _A. grandis_, Lindl. The white fir is a striking figure, from its silvery lined, dark green foliage, its slender pyramidal form that reaches three hundred feet in height, and the vivid green of its mature cones that are destitute of ornament and slenderly cylindrical. From Vancouver Island southward to Mendocino County in California, this tree is common from the sea level to an elevation of four thousand feet. Eastward it extends into Idaho, climbing to seven thousand feet, but choosing always moist soil in the neighborhood of streams. Various uses, woodenwares, packing cases, and fuel consume its soft, coarse wood to a limited extent. The delicate grace of its sweeping down-curving branches makes it one of the most beautiful of our Western firs. It grows rapidly, and is a favorite in European parks. =The White Fir= _A. concolor_, Lindl. and Gord. This white fir is a giant of the Sierras, but a tree of medium height in the Rocky Mountains. Its leaves are often two to three inches long, very unusual for a fir tree, curving to an erect position, pale blue or silvery at first, becoming dull green at the end of two or three years. On the California Sierras, this silver fir tree lifts its narrow spire two hundred and fifty feet toward the sky and waves great frondlike masses of foliage on pale gray branches. As a much smaller tree, it is found in the arid regions of the Great Basin and of southern New Mexico and Arizona, territory which no other fir tree invades. In gardens of Europe and of our Eastern states this is a favorite fir tree, often known as the "blue fir" and the "silver fir" from its pale bark and foliage, whose blue cast is not always permanent. Eastern nurseries obtain their best trees from seeds gathered in the Rocky Mountains. THE DOUGLAS SPRUCE The Douglas spruce (_Pseudotsuga mucronata_, Sudw.), ranks with the giant arbor-vitaes, firs, and sequoias in the forests of the Pacific Coast. Thousands of square miles of pure forest of this species occur in Oregon, Washington, and British Columbia. Here the trees stand even, like wheat in a grain field, the tallest reach four hundred feet, the redwood its only rival. Nowhere but in the redwood forests is there such a heavy stand of timber on this continent. No forest tree except sequoias equals the Douglas spruce in massiveness of trunk and yield of straight-grained lumber. The genus _pseudotsuga_ stands botanically in a position intermediate between firs and hemlocks. Our tree giant is as often called the Douglas fir as Douglas spruce. The lumberman sells the output of his mills under the trade name, "Oregon pine." This is perhaps the best known lumber in all the Western country. It has a great reputation abroad, where timbers of the largest size are used for masts, spars, piles for wharves and bridges, and for whatever uses heavy timbers are needed. The wood is stronger in proportion to its weight than that of any other large conifer in the country. It is tough, durable, and elastic. Its only faults are its extreme hardness and liability to warp when cut into boards. These faults are noted only by carpenters who use the wood for interior finish of houses. "Red pine" it is called in regions of the Great Basin, where the trees grow smaller than on the Coast, and are put to general lumber purposes. It is variable in quality, but always pale yellow, striped with red, and handsomely wavy when quarter-sawed; distractingly so in the "slash grain," oftenest seen in the interior finish of the typical California bungalow. The living tree is a superb, broad-based pyramid, bearing a load of crowded drooping branches, where it has a chance to assume its normal habit. A delicate lace-like drooping spray of yellowish or bluish green leaves, flat, spreading at right angles from the twig, gives the Douglas spruce its hale, abundant vigor. The dark red staminate flowers glow in late winter against the yellow foliage mass of the new leaves; but even the flowers are not so showy as the drooping cones, two to four inches long, their plain scales adorned with bracts, notched and bearing a whip that extends half an inch beyond the scales. Blue-green, shading to purple, with red-lipped scales and bright green bracts, these cones are truly the handsomest ornaments worn by any tree. Finally, this paragon of conifers surprises Eastern nurserymen by outstripping other seedlings in vigor and quickness of growth. Rocky Mountain seed does best. The Oregon trees furnish seed to European nurseries and seedlings from Europe grow quickly into superb ornamental trees. THE HEMLOCKS Unlike any other conifer, the hemlock mounts its evergreen leaves on short petioles, jointed to projecting, horny brackets on the twig. At any season this character determines the family name of a group of exceptionally graceful pyramidal conifers. The Eastern hemlocks have their leaves arranged in a flat spray, silvery white underneath, by pale lines on the underside of the flat blunt-pointed blade (_See illustration, page 246_). An abundance of pendent cones is borne annually. The wood of hemlocks is comparatively worthless but the bark is rich in tannin, and so the tree is important in the leather trade. =The Hemlock= _Tsuga Canadensis_, Carr. The hemlock lifts its dark green, feathery spray above the sturdy trunk into a splendid broad pyramid. In all rocky uplands from Nova Scotia to Alabama and west to Minnesota, the drooping lower branches sweep the ground, and the tree is often half buried in snow. But in spring every twig is dancing and waving yellow plumes of new foliage, the picture of cheerfulness as the sunlight sifts through the tree-tops. In May the new blossoms sprinkle all the leafy twigs--the staminate, yellow; the pistillate, pale violet. Looking up from below, one sees a charming iridescent effect when the blossoms add their color to the shimmering silver which lines the various platforms of foliage. The little red-brown cones cling to the twigs all winter, slowly parting their scales to release the winged seeds. Squirrels climb the trees in the fall and cut off these cones to store away for winter use. "Peelers" go into the woods in May, when the new growth is well started and the bark will peel readily. They fell and strip hemlock trunks and remove the bark in sheets, which are piled to dry and be measured like cord-wood, and later shipped to the tanneries. The cross-grained coarse wood is left to rot and feed forest fires. Locally, it is useful for the timbers of houses and barns, because it is rigid and never lets go its hold upon a nail or spike. =The Western Hemlock= _T. heterophylla_, Sarg. The Western hemlock is a giant that dominates other trees in the Western mountain forests, famous for their giants of many different names. It is a noble pyramidal tree that reaches two hundred feet in height and a maximum trunk diameter of ten feet. Its heavy horizontal branches droop and hold out feathery tips as light and graceful in the adult monarch as in the sapling of a few years' growth. The characteristic hemlock foliage, lustrous green above and pale below, is two-ranked by the twisting of the slender petioles. From southeastern Alaska, eastward into Montana and Idaho, and southward to Cape Mendocino in California, this tree climbs from the lowlands to an altitude that exceeds a mile. Wherever there are rich river valleys and the air is humid, this hemlock is superb, the delight of artists and lumbermen. At its highest range it becomes stunted, but always produces its oval, pointed cones in abundance. Its wood, the strongest and most durable in the hemlock family, is chiefly used in buildings, and the bark for tanning. =The Mountain Hemlock= _T. Martensiana_, Sarg. The mountain hemlock of the West is called by John Muir "the loveliest evergreen in America." Sargent endorses this judgment with emphasis. It grows at high altitudes, fringing upland meadows, watered by glaciers, with groves of the most exquisite beauty. The sweeping, downward-drooping branches, clothed with abundant pea-green foliage, silver-lined, resist wind storms and snow burdens by the wonderful pliancy of their fibres. In early autumn the trees are bent over so as to form arches. Young forests are thus buried out of sight for six months of the year. With the melting of the snow they right themselves gradually, and among the new leaves appear the flowers, dark purple cones and staminate star-flowers, blue as forget-me-nots. Three-angled leaves, whorled on the twig, and cones two to three inches long, set this hemlock apart from its related species, but the leaf-stalk settles once for all the question of its family name. [Illustration: _See page 268_ THE FLAT, FROND LIKE SPRAY OF THE ORNAMENTAL ARBOR-VITAE] [Illustration: _See page 278_ FRUIT AND LEAVES OF THE AMERICAN LARCH] THE SEQUOIAS Nowhere else in the world are conifers found in such extensive forests and in such superlative vigor and stupendous size as in the states that border the Pacific Ocean. California is particularly the paradise of the conifers. All of the species that make the forests of the Northwest the wonder of travelers and the pride of the states are found in equally prodigal size and extent in California. To these forests are added groves of sequoias--the Big Tree and the redwood, the former found nowhere outside of California, the latter reaching into Oregon. Once the sequoias had a wide distribution in the Old and the New World. With magnolias and many other luxuriant trees found in warm climates, five species of sequoia extended over the North Temperate zone in both hemispheres, reaching even to the Arctic Circle. The glacial period transformed the climate of the world and destroyed these luxuriant northern forests under a grinding continuous glacier. The rocks of the tertiary and cretaceous periods preserved in fossils the story of these pre-glacial forests. Two of the species of sequoia escaped destruction in tracts the ice sheet did not overwhelm. For ten thousand years, perhaps, the sequoia has held its own in the California groves. Indeed, both species are able to extend their present range if nature is unhindered. The three enemies that threaten sequoia groves are the axe of the lumberman, the forest fire kindled by the waste about sawmills, and the grazing flocks that destroy seedling trees. =The Big Tree= _Sequoia Wellingtonia_, Seem. The Big Tree is the most gigantic tree on the face of the earth, the mightiest living creature in existence. Among the giant sugar pines and red firs it lifts a wonderfully regular, rounded dome so far above the aspiring arrow-tips of its neighbors as to make the best of them look like mere saplings. The massive trunk, clothed with red-brown or purplish bark, is fluted by furrows often more than a foot in depth. The trunk is usually bare of limbs for a hundred or two hundred feet, clearing the forest cover completely before throwing out its angular stout arms. These branch at last into rounded masses of leafy twigs, whose density and brilliant color express the beauty and vigor of eternal youth in a tree which counts its age by thousands of years already. To see this Big Tree in blossom one must visit the high Sierras while the snow is eight to ten feet deep upon the buttressed base of the huge trunk. It is worth a journey, and that with some hardship in it, to see these trees with all their leafy spray, gold-lined with the multitude of little staminate flowers that sift pollen gold-dust over everything, and fill the air with it. The pistillate flowers, minute, pale green, crowd along the ends of the leafy sprays, their cone scales spread to receive the vitalizing dust brought by the wind. When spring arrives and starts the flower procession among the lower tree-tops, the spray of the Big Tree is covered with green cones that mature at the end of the second season. They are woody, two to three inches long, and spread their scales wide at a given signal, showering the surrounding woods with the abundant harvest of their minute winged seeds. Each scale bears six to eight of them, each with a circular wing that fits it for a long journey. The cones hang empty on the trees for years. The leaves of the Big Tree are of the close, twig-hugging, scaly type, never exceeding a half inch in length on the most exuberant-growing shoots. For the most part they are from one fourth to one eighth of an inch in length, sharp pointed, ridged, curved to clasp the stem, and shingled over the leaves above. John Muir believes there is no absolute limit to the existence of any tree. Accident alone, he thinks, not the wearing out of vital organs, accounts for their death. The fungi that kill the silver fir inevitably before it is three hundred years old touch no limb of the Big Tree with decay. A sequoia must be blown down, undermined, burned down, or shattered by lightning. Old age and disease pass these trees by. Their heads, rising far above the spires of fir and spruce, seem not to court the lightning flash as the lower, pointed trunks do; and yet no aged sequoia can be found whose head has not suffered losses by Jove's thunderbolts. Cheerfully the tree lets go a fraction of its mighty top, and sets about the repair of the damage, with greatly accelerated energy, as if here was an opportunity to expend the tree's pent-up vitality. It is strange to see horizontal branches of great age and size strike upward to form a part of a new, symmetrical dome to replace the head struck off or mangled by lightning. With all the signs of damage lightning has done to these tree giants of the Sierras, but one instance of outright killing of a tree is on record. The wood of the Big Tree is red and soft, coarse, light, and weak--unfit for must lumber uses. It ought, by all ordinary standards, to be counted scarcely worth the cutting; but the vast quantity yielded by a single tree pays the lumberman huge profits, though he wastes thousands of feet by blasting the mighty shaft into chunks manageable in the sawmill. Shingles, shakes, and fencing consume more of the lumber than general construction--ignoble uses for this noblest of all trees. The best groves of Big Trees now under government protection are in the grand Sequoia National Park. Near the Yosemite is the famous Mariposa Grove that contains the "grizzly giant" and other specimen trees of great age and size. More than half of the Big Trees are in the hands of speculators and lumber companies. Exploitation of nature's best treasure is as old as the human race. The idea of conservation is still in its infancy. The ruin by the lumbering interests of a sequoia grove means the drying up of streams and the defeat of irrigation projects in the valleys below. Big Trees inhabit only areas on the western slopes of the Sierras. Wherever they grow their roots have made of the deep soil a sponge that holds the drainage of melting snowbanks and doles it out through streams that flow thence to famishing, hot, wind-swept plains and valleys. When the trees are gone, turbulent, short-lived spring floods exhaust the water supply and do untold damage in the lowlands. Big Trees have not succeeded in cultivation in our Eastern states, but for many years have been favorites in European gardens and parks. In the native groves the seedlings do not show the virility of the redwoods, though to the south the range of the species is being gradually extended. No tree is more prodigal in seed production and more indifferent, when mature, to the ills that beset ordinary forest trees; yet government protection must be strengthened, private claims must be bought, and scientific forestry maintained in order to prevent the extinction of the species, with the destruction of trees that are, as they stand to-day, the greatest living monuments in the world of plants. =The Redwood= _S. sempervirens_, Endl. The redwood comes down to the sea on the western slopes of the Coast Range, from southern Oregon to Monterey County in California, tempting the lumberman by the wonderful wealth and accessibility of these groves of giant trees. The wood is soft, satiny, red, like the thick, fibrous, furrowed bark that clothes the tall, fluted trunks. Redwoods are taller than Big Trees, have slenderer trunks and branches and a more light and graceful leaf-spray. The head is pyramidal in young trees, later becoming irregular and narrow, and exceedingly small in forests by the crowding of the trees and the death of lower branches. The leaves on the terminal shoots spread into a flat spray, two-ranked, like those of a balsam fir. Each blade is flat, tapering to both ends, and from one fourth to one half an inch in length. Awl-shaped and much shorter leaves are scattered on year-old twigs, back of the new shoots, resembling the foliage of the Big Tree. The cones are small and almost globular, maturing in a single season, scarcely an inch long, with three to five winged seeds under each scale. Seedling redwoods come quickly from this yearly sowing, and thrive under the forest cover, unless fire or the trampling feet of grazing flocks destroy them. After the lumberman, the virile redwood sends up shoots around the bleeding stumps, thus reinforcing the seedling tree and promising the renewal of the forest groves in the centuries to come. Redwood lumber is the most important building material on the Pacific Coast. The hardest and choicest wood comes in limited quantities from the stumps which furnish curly and bird's-eye wood, used by the makers of bric-à-brac and high-priced cabinet work. Shingles, siding, and interior finish of houses consume quantities of the yearly output of the mills. Demand for fence posts, railway ties and cooperage increases. Quantities of lumber are shipped east to take the place of white pine no longer obtainable. In cultivation the redwood is a graceful, quick-growing, beautiful evergreen, successful in the Southeastern states, and often met in European parks and gardens. Weeping forms are very popular abroad. Government and state protection has made sure the safeguarding for coming generations of some groves of redwoods, containing trees whose size and age rival those of the most ancient Big Trees. But the fact that the redwood, restricted on the map to such a limited territory, is the most important timber tree on the Coast, is a blot upon our vaunted Democracy, which has allowed the cunning of a few small minds to defeat the best interests of the whole people and rob them of forest treasure which might yield its benefits continuously, if properly managed. Government purchase of all sequoia-bearing land, followed by rational methods of harvesting the mature lumber and conserving the young growth, is the ideal solution of the problem. Such a plan would assure the saving of the monumental giants. THE ARBOR-VITAES Minute, scale-like leaves, four-ranked, closely overlapping, so as to conceal the wiry twig, mark the genus _thuya_, which is represented in America by two species of slender, pyramidal evergreen trees, whose intricately branched limbs terminate in a flat, open spray (_see illustration, page 262_). "Tree of Life" is the English translation, but the Latin name everywhere is heard. =Eastern Arbor-vitae= _Thuya occidentalis_, Linn. The Eastern arbor-vitae, called also the white cedar, is found in impenetrable pure forest growth, from Nova Scotia and New Brunswick northwestward to the mouth of the Saskatchewan River, always in swampy regions, or along the rocky banks of streams. In the East it follows the mountains to Tennessee, and from Lake Winnipeg it extends south to middle Minnesota and northern Illinois. In cultivation it is oftenest seen as an individual lawn and park tree, or in hedges on boundary lines. It submits comfortably to severe pruning, is easily transplanted, and comes readily from seed. Plantations grow rapidly into fence posts and telegraph poles. The wood is durable in wet ground, but very soft, coarse, and brittle. =The Red Cedar= _T. plicata_, D. Don. The red cedar or canoe cedar is the giant arbor-vitae of the coast region from British Columbia to northern California and east over the mountain ranges into Idaho and northern Montana. Its buttressed trunk is a fluted column one hundred and fifty to two hundred feet high in western Washington and Oregon, along the banks of mountain streams and in the rich bottom land farther seaward. The leaves in a flat spray at once distinguish this tree from any other conifer, for they are pointed, scale-like, closely overlapping each other in alternate pairs. The clustered cones, with their six or eight seed-bearing scales, seem absurdly small fruits on so huge a tree. None exceeds one half an inch in height, but their number makes up for size deficiency and the seed crop is tremendous. The Alaskan Indian chooses the tall bole of a red cedar for his totem pole, and from the massive butt hollows out the war canoe and "dug-out" which solve his problems of transportation in summer. Durability is the chief merit of this soft, brittle wood, which is easily worked with the Indian's crude tools. The bark of the tree furnishes the walls of the Indian huts and its inner fibre is the raw material of his cordage--the harness for his dog team, his nets and lines for fishing; and it is the basis of the squaw's basket-weaving industry. This is the best arbor-vitae for ornamental planting. Its success in Europe is very striking, and from European nurseries it has been successfully re-introduced into the United States, where it is hardy and vigorous. But it fails when taken directly into the North Atlantic states. It must come in via Europe, as nearly all West Coast trees have to do in order to succeed. THE INCENSE CEDAR One tree, so magnificent in proportions that it ranks among the giants in our Western forests, stands as the sole American representative of its genus. Its nearest relatives are the arbor-vitaes, sequoias, and the bald cypress of the South. The incense cedar (_Librocedrus Decurrens_, Torr.) has its name from its resinous, aromatic sap. The tree, when it grows apart from others, forms a perfect tapering pyramid, with flat, plume-like sprays that sweep downward and outward with wonderful lightness and grace. The leaves are scale-like, closely appressed to the wiry twigs, in four ranks, bright green, tinged with gold in late winter, by the abundance of the yellow staminate flowers. The cones are small, narrowly pointed, made of few paired scales, each bearing two seeds. The bark is cinnamon-red in color. The trees occur scattered among other species in open forests from three thousand to six thousand feet above the sea, reaching a height of two hundred feet and a trunk diameter of twelve feet on the Sierra Nevada glacial moraines. The lumber resembles that of arbor-vitae, and is used for the same purposes. In cultivation the tree is hardy and thrives in parks in the neighborhood of New York. In Europe it has long been a favorite. THE CYPRESSES Three genera of pyramidal conifers, with light, graceful leaf-spray, and small woody cones, held erect, compose the group known as cypresses. All have found places in horticulture, for not one of them but has value for ornamental planting. Some species have considerable lumber value. =The Monterey Cypress= _Cupressus macrocarpa_, Cord. The Monterey cypress is now restricted to certain ocean-facing bluffs about Monterey Bay in California. These trees are derelicts of their species. Wind-beaten into grotesqueness of form, unmatched in any other tree near the sea-level, their matted and gnarled branches make a flat and very irregular top above a short, thick, often bent and leaning trunk. Clusters of globular cones stud the twigs behind the leafy spray composed of thread-like wiry twigs, entirely covered with scaly, four-ranked leaves. In cultivation this cypress grows into a luxuriant, pyramidal tree, often broadening and losing its symmetry, but redeeming it by the grace of its plume-like, outstretched branches. One by one the native cypresses on the crumbling bluffs will go down into Monterey Bay, for the undermining process is eating out their foundations. Wind and wave are slowly but surely sealing their doom. But the species is saved to a much wider territory. =The European Cypress= _C. sempervirens_, Linn. A tall, narrow pyramid of sombre green, the European cypress is found in cemeteries in south Europe and everywhere, planted for ornament. This is the classic cypress, a conventional feature of Italian gardens, the evergreen most frequently mentioned in classical literature. Slow-growing and noted for its longevity, it was the symbol of immortality. It is hardy in the South-Atlantic and Pacific-Coast states, and is a favorite evergreen for hedges in the Southwest. Three other members of the genus occur on mountain foothills--one in Arizona, two in California--all easily recognized by their scale-like leaves and button-like woody cones, which require two years to mature. =The White Cedar= _Chamaecyparis Thyoides_, Britt. The genus _chamaecyparis_ includes three American species, of tall, narrow pyramidal habit and flat leaf-spray like that of the arbor-vitae. Annual erect globular cones of few, woody scales, produce one to five seeds under each. This white cedar is the swamp-loving variety of the Atlantic seaboard--its range stretches from Maine to Mississippi. The durability of its white wood gives it considerable importance as a lumber tree. It is particularly dependable when placed in contact with water and exposed to weather. Cedar shingles, fence posts, railroad ties, buckets, and other cooperage consume quantities each year. The trees are important ornamental evergreens, planted for their graceful spray and their dull blue-green leaves. Their maximum height is eighty feet. =The Lawson Cypress= _C. Lawsoniana_, A. Murr. The Lawson cypress lifts its splendid spire to a height of two hundred feet, on the coast mountains of Oregon and California, forming a nearly continuous forest belt twenty miles long, between Point Gregory and the mouth of the Coquille River. Spire-like, with short, horizontal branches, this species bears a leaf-spray of feathery lightness, bright green, from the multitude of minute paired leaf-scales, and adorned with the clustered pea-sized cones, which are blue-green and very pale until they ripen. The wood of this giant cypress is used in house-finishing and in boat-building; for flooring, fencing, and for railroad ties. =The Bald Cypress= _Taxodium distichum_, Rich. The bald cypress is the one member of the cypress group that sheds its foliage each autumn, following the example of the tamarack. In the Far South, river swamps are often covered with a growth of these cypresses whose trunks are strangely swollen at the base, and often hollow. The flaring buttresses are prolonged into the main roots, which form humps that rise out of the water at some distance from the tree. These "cypress knees" are not yet explained, though authorities suspect that they have something to do with the aëration of the root system. Inundated nine or ten months of the year, these cypress swamps are often dry the remaining time, and it is a surprise to Southerners to find these trees comfortable and beautiful in Northern parks. Cleveland and New York parks have splendid examples. The leaves of the bald cypress are of two types. They are scale-like only on stems that bear the globular cones. On other shoots they form a flat spray, each leaf one half to three-fourths of an inch long, pea-green in the Southern swamps, bright yellow-green on both sides in dry ground, turning orange-brown before they fall. The twigs that bear these two-ranked leaves are also deciduous, a unique distinction of this genus. Cypress wood is soft, light brown, durable, and easily worked. Quantities of it are shipped north and used in the manufacture of doors and interior finishing of houses, for fencing, railroad ties, cooperage, and shingles. THE JUNIPERS The sign by which the junipers are most easily distinguished from other evergreens, is the juicy berries instead of cones. In some species these are red, but they are mostly blue or blue-black. Before they mature it is easy to see the stages by which the cone-scales thicken and coalesce, instead of hardening and remaining separate, as in the typical fruit of conifers. Juniper leaves are of two types: scale-like in opposite pairs, pressed close to the twig, as in the cypresses; and stiff, spiny, usually channelled leaves, which stand out free from the twig in whorls of threes. The wood is red, fragrant, durable, and light. =The Dwarf Juniper= _Juniperus communis_, Linn. The dwarf juniper departs from the pyramidal pattern and forms a loose, open head above a short, stout trunk. The slender branchlets are clothed with boat-shaped leaves which spread nearly at right angles from the twigs in whorls of three. Each one is pointed and hollowed, dark green outside, snowy white inside, which is really the upper side of the leaf. It requires three years to mature the bright blue berries, and they hang on the tree two or three years longer. Each fruit contains two or three seeds, and these require three years to germinate. It is plain to see that time is no object to this slow-growing dwarf juniper, found in both the Eastern and Western Hemispheres, covering vast stretches of waste land. From Greenland to Alaska it is found and south along the highlands into Pennsylvania, New Mexico, and California. Its hardiness gives it importance as a cover for waste land on seashores and for hedges and wind-breaks in any exposed situation. It is a tree reaching thirty feet in height on the limestone hills of southern Illinois. In other situations it is usually a sprawling shrubby thing, the cringing parent of a race of dwarf junipers, known in many and various horticultural forms. =The Western Juniper= _J. occidentalis_, Hook. The giant of its race is the Western juniper, one of the patriarchial trees of America, ranking in age with the sequoias. Never a tall tree, it yet attains a trunk diameter of ten feet, and an age that surely exceeds two thousand years. At elevations of seven to ten thousand feet this valiant red cedar is found clinging to the granite domes and bare glacial pavements where soil and moisture seem absolutely non-existent. Sunshine and thin air are abundant, however, and elbow room. Upon these commodities the tree subsists, crouching, stubbornly clinging, while a single root offers foothold, its gnarled branches picturesque and beautiful in their tufts of gray-green leaves. Avalanches have beheaded the oldest of these giants, but their denuded trunks throw out wisps of new foliage with each returning spring. When they succumb, their trunks last almost as long as the granite boulders among which they are cast by the wind or the ice-burden that tore them loose. The stringy bark is woven into cloth and matting by the Indians, and the fine-grained, hard, red wood finds no better use than for the mountaineer's fencing and fuel. =The Eastern Red Cedar= _J. Virginiana_, Linn. The Eastern red cedar is a handsome, narrow pyramid in its youth, often becoming broad and irregular, or round-topped above a buttressed, twisted trunk, as it grows old. The scale-like leaves are four-ranked, blue-green when young, spreading, and sometimes three fourths of an inch long, on vigorous new shoots. The dark blue berries are covered with a pale bloom and have a resinous, sweet flesh. This juniper is familiar in abandoned farms and ragged fence-rows, becoming rusty brown in foliage to match the stringy red bark in winter time. The durable red wood is used for posts and railroad ties, for cedar chests and pencils. The tree is profitably planted by railroad companies, as cedar ties are unsurpassed. In cultivation the tree forms an interesting, symmetrical specimen, adapted to formal gardens. (_See illustration, page 230_.) =The Red Juniper= _J. Barbadensis_, Linn. The red juniper, much more luxuriant than its close relative of the North, is the handsomest juniper in cultivation. Its pyramid is robbed of a rigid formal expression by the drooping of its fern-like leaf-spray. The berries are silvery white and abundant. The wood is used principally for pencils. This species grows in the Gulf states. THE LARCHES, OR TAMARACKS The notable characteristic of the small genus, _larix_, is that the narrow leaves are shed in the autumn. Here is a tall pyramidal conifer which is not evergreen. It bears an annual crop of small woody cones, held erect on the branches, and the leaves are borne in crowded clusters on short lateral spurs, except upon the terminal shoots, where the leaves are scattered remotely but follow the spiral plan. Larch wood is hard, heavy, resinous, and almost indestructible. The tall shafts are ideal for telegraph poles and posts. =The Tamarack= _Larix Americana_, Michx. The tamarack or American larch (_see illustration, page 263_) goes farther north than any other tree, except dwarf willows and birches. Above these stunted, broad-leaved trees pure forests of tamarack rise, covering Northern swamps from Newfoundland and Labrador to Hudson Bay and west across the Rocky Mountains, the trees dwindling in size as they approach the arctic tundras, the limit of tree growth. The wood of these bravest of all conifers is a God-send over vast territories where other supply of timber is wanting. The tough roots of the larch tree supply threads with which the Indian sews his birch canoe. In cultivation the American species is too sparse of limb and foliage to compete with the more luxuriant European larch, yet it is often planted. Its fresh spring foliage is lightened by the pale yellow of the globular staminate flowers and warmed by the rosy tips of the cone flowers. In early autumn the plain, thin-scaled cones, erect and bright chestnut-brown, shed their small seeds while the yellow leaves are dropping, and the bare limbs carry the empty cones until the following year. =The Western Larch= _L. occidentalis_, Nutt. The Western larch is the finest tree in its genus, reaching six feet in trunk diameter and two hundred feet in height, in the Cascade forests from British Columbia to southern Oregon and across the ranges to western Montana. This tree has the unusual distinction of exceeding all conifers in the value of its wood, which is heavy, hard, strong, dense, durable, of a fine red that takes a brilliant polish. It is used for furniture and for the interior finish of houses. Quantities of it supply the demand for posts and railroad ties, in which use it lasts indefinitely, compared with other timber. PART IX THE PALMS Palms are tropical plants related to lilies on one hand and grasses on the other. One hundred genera and about one thousand species compose a family in which tree forms rarely occur. A few genera grow wild in the warmest sections of this country, and exotics are familiar in cultivation, wherever they are hardy. The leaves are parallel-veined, fan-shaped, or feather-like, on long stalks that sheath the trunk, splitting with its growth. The flowers are lily-like, on the plan of three, and the fruits are clustered berries, or drupes. Sago, tapioca, cocoanuts, and dates are foods derived from members of this wonderful family. The fibres of the leaves supply thread for weaving cloth and cordage to the natives of the tropics, where houses are built and furnished throughout from the native palms. The royal palm, crowned with a rosette of feather-like leaves, each ten to twelve feet long, above the smooth, tall stems, is a favorite avenue tree in tropical cities. In Florida it grows wild in the extreme southwest, but is planted on the streets of Miami and Palm Beach. Its maximum height is one hundred feet. In California the favorite avenue palm of this feather-leaved type is the Canary Island palm, whose stout trunk, covered with interlacing leaf-bases, wears a crown of plumes that reach fifteen feet in length and touch the ground with their drooping tips. Huge clusters of bright yellow, dry, olive-shaped berries ripen in midsummer. The date palm of commerce, once confined to the tropical deserts of Asia Minor and North Africa, has been successfully established by the Government in hot, dry localities of the Southwest. Fruit equal to any grown in plantations of the Old World is marketed now from the Imperial and Coachella valleys in California, and from orchards near Phoenix, Arizona. Dry air and a summer temperature far above the hundred degree mark is necessary to insure the proper sugar content and flavor in these fruits, which are borne in huge clusters and ripen slowly, one by one. Fan-shaped leaves plaited on the ends of long stalks that are usually spiny-edged are borne by the stocky Florida palmettos and the tall desert palm of California, planted widely in cities of the Southwest and in Europe. Several genera of this fan-leaved type are represented in palm gardens, and in the general horticulture of warm regions of this country. THE END GENERAL INDEX PAGE _Abies balsamea_, 258 _Abies concolor_, 257 _Abies Fraseri_, 253 _Abies grandis_, 256 _Abies magnifica_, 254 _Abies nobilis_, 256 _Acacia dealbata_, 187 _Acacia Melanoxylon_, 186 _Acacia_, Palo verde, 190 Acacias, The, 184-187 _Acer circinatum_, 197 _Acer glabrum_, 199 _Acer macrophyllum_, 197 _Acer nigrum_, 195 _Acer Negundo_, 199 _Acer Pennsylvanicum_, 198 _Acer pseudo-platanus_, 200 _Acer rubrum_, 195 _Acer saccharinum_, 196 _Acer saccharum_, 194 _Acer spicatum_, 198 _Aesculus Californica_, 68 _Aesculus glabra_, 67 _Aesculus Hippocastanum_, 65 _Aesculus octandra_, 67 "Ague tree", 131 Alder, Black, 91 Alder, Oregon, 93 Alder, Red, 93 Alder, Seaside, 92 Alders, The, 91-93 Alligator pear, 129 Almond, 152 _Alnus glutinosa_, 91 _Alnus maritima_, 92 _Alnus Oregona_, 93 _Amelanchier alnifolia_, 160 _Amelanchier Canadensis_, 159 American beech, 42 American elm, 210 American holly, 145 American hornbeam, 85 American larch, 278 American linden, 70 Annual rings, 12 _Anona cherimolia_, 171 _Anona glabra_, 170 Apples, The, 147-149 Arbor-vitaes, The, 268-270 Arboreta, xiv _Arbutus Menziesii_, 121 Arnold arboretum, xiv Ash, Black, 204 Ash, Blue, 206 Ash, European, 208 Ash, Green, 206 Ash, Oregon, 207 Ash, Red, 205 Ash, White, 202 Ashes, Mountain, 116-118 Ashes, The, 201-209 _Asimina triloba_, 168 Aspen, 78 Assam rubber tree, 166 Autumn leaves, 19 Avocado, 129 Bald cypress, 273 Balm of Gilead, 79 Balsam fir, 253 Balsam poplar, 79 "Banana tree, Wild", 169 Banyan tree, 166 Bark, xv, 23 Basket oak, 55 Basswood, Downy, 72 Basswood, White, 71 Basswoods, The, 68-74 Bay, Red, 129 Bay, Rose, 119 Bay, Swamp, 105 Bee tree, 71 Beech, American, 42 "Beech, Blue", 85 "Beech, Water", 85 "Beetle-wood", 86 _Betula lenta_, 90 _Betula lutea_, 89 _Betula nigra_, 90 _Betula papyrifera_, 88 _Betula populifolia_, 89 "Big-cone" pine, 240 Big shellbark, 38 Big Tree, 263 Birch, Canoe, 88 Birch, Cherry, 90 Birch, Paper, 88 Birch, Red, 90 Birch, River, 90 Birch, White, 89 Birch, Yellow, 89 Birches, The, 87-91 Bird cherry, 153 "Bird's-eye" maplewood, 15 Black acacia, 186 Black alder, 91 Black ash, 204 Black cherry, Wild, 153 Black cottonwood, 80 Black dwarf sumach, 140 Black gum, 96 Black haw, 115, 158 Black locust, 178 Black maple, 195 Black mulberry, 165 Black oak, 58 Black oak group, 58-65 Black poplar, 77 Black spruce, 248 Black walnut, 31 Blackwood-tree, 186 Blue ash, 206 "Blue beech", 85 Blue fir, 257 Blue spruce, 250 Box elder, 199 Buckeye, California, 68 Buckeye, Ohio, 67 Buckeye, Sweet, 67 Buds, 3, 23 Bur oak, 51 Burning bush, 136 Butternut, 30 Buttonwoods, The, 93-95 California walnut, 29 California white oak, 57 Cambium, 9, 21 Campbell's magnolia, 103 Camperdown elm, 216 Canada plum, 151 Canary island palm, 280 Canoe birch, 88 Canoe cedar, 269 _Carica papaya_, 169 Carolina poplar, 78 _Carpinus Carolinianum_, 85 _Castanea dentata_, 44 _Castanea pumila_, 44-46 Cedar, Canoe, 269 Cedar, Eastern red, 276 Cedar, Incense, 270 Cedar, Red, 269 Cedar, White, 272 _Celtis Australis_, 162 _Celtis occidentalis_, 161 _Cercidium Torreyanum_, 190 _Cercis Canadensis_, 182 _Chamaecyparis Lawsoniana_, 273 _Chamaecyparis Thyoides_, 272 Chemistry of trees, 5-8 Cherimoya, 171 Cherries, The, 152-155 Cherry birch, 90 Chestnut oak, 53 Chestnuts, The, 44-47 Chinquapin, 44-46 _Chionanthus Virginica_, 126 Chlorophyll, Breaking down of the, 18 Choke cherry, 154 _Cladrastis lutea_, 183 Clammy locust, 179 Cockspur thorn, 156 Coffee tree, Kentucky, 181 Colorado blue spruce, 250 Common lime, 72 Cone-bearing evergreens, 217-279 Conifers, 217-279 Coral-bean, 192 "Cork elm", 215 Cornel, 113 _Cornus Florida_, 111 _Cornus mas_, 113 _Cornus Nuttallii_, 113 _Cotinus_, 142 Cotton gum, 97 Cottonwood, 77 Cottonwood, Black, 80 Cottonwood, Lance-leaved, 80 Cottonwood, Mexican, 80 Cottonwood, Narrow-leaved, 80 Cottonwood, Swamp, 81 Crab, Prairie, 148 Crab, Wild, 148 _Crataegus coccinea_, 158 _Crataegus Crus-galli_, 156 _Crataegus Douglasii_, 158 _Crataegus mollis_, 157 _Crataegus oxyacantha_, 155 _Crataegus pruinosa_, 157 Cuban pine, 236 Cucumber tree, 107 Cucumber tree, Large-leaved, 106 _Cupressus macrocarpa_, 271 _Cupressus sempervirens_, 272 "Curly maplewood", 15 Custard-apple, 168, 170 Cypresses, The, 271-274 Date palm, 281 Digger pine, 239 _Diospyros Virginiana_, 172 Dogwood, European, 113 Dogwood, Flowering, 111 Dogwood, Jamaica, 190 Dogwood, Western, 113 Dogwoods, The, 111-114 Douglas spruce, 258 Downy basswood, 72 Dwarf juniper, 275 Dwarf maple, 199 Dwarf sumach, 140 Eastern arbor-vitae, 268 Eastern mountain ash, 116 Eastern red cedar, 276 Eastern service berry, 159 Ebony, Texas, 191 Elder, Box, 199 Elder-leaved mountain ash, 117 Elm, American, 210 Elm, Camperdown, 216 "Elm, Cork", 215 Elm, English, 215 Elm, Hickory, 214 Elm, Moose, 213 Elm, Mountain, 215 Elm, Red, 213 Elm, Rock, 214 Elm, Scotch, 216 Elm, Slippery, 213 Elm, Small-leaved, 215 Elm, White, 210 Elm, Winged, 215 Elm, Wych, 216 Elms, The, 210-216 "Encina", 64 Engelmann spruce, 250 English elm, 215 English hawthorn, 155 English walnut, 33 _Euonymus atropurpureus_, 136 European ash, 208 European cypress, 272 European dogwood, 113 European holly, 144 European mountain ash, 117 European nettle tree, 162 Evergreens, Cone-bearing, 217-279 Evergreens, Leaves of, 20 _Fagus Americanus_, 42 Fibres of wood, 13 _Ficus aurea_, 167 _Ficus elasticus_, 166 "Fiddleback" ash, 209 Figs, The, 165-167 Fir, Balsam, 253 Fir, Blue, 257 Fir, Noble, 256 Fir, Red, 254 Fir, Red (_A. nobilis_), 256 Fir, Silver, 257 Fir, White, 256 Fir, White (_A. concolor_), 257 Firs, The, 251-257 Flowering dogwood, 111 "Foxtail" pines, The, 229 _Fraxinus Americana_, 202 _Fraxinus excelsior_, 208 _Fraxinus nigra_, 204 _Fraxinus Oregona_, 207 _Fraxinus ornus_, 209 _Fraxinus Pennsylvanica_, 205 _Fraxinus Pennsylvanica_ (_lanceolata_), 206 _Fraxinus quadrangulata_, 206 Frijolito, 192 Fringe tree, 126 Gerarde, 73 _Gleditsia triacanthos_, 180 Golden fig, 167 Grain of wood, 13 Gray pine, 238 Great laurel, 119 Great laurel magnolia, 104 Green ash, 206 "Grete Herball", 73 Gum, Cotton, 97 Gum, Sour or Black, 96 Gum, Sweet, 97 Gum trees, The, 95-100 _Gymnocladus dioicus_, 181 Gymnosperms, 217-279 Hackberries, The, 160-162 _Hamamelis Virginiana_, 134 "Hard-tack", 86 Haw, Black, 115, 158 Haw, Red, 157 Haw, Scarlet, 157-158 Hawthorns, The, 155-159 Hazel, Witch, 133 Heath family, 118 Hemlocks, The, 259-262 _Hicoria alba_, 40 _Hicoria glabra_, 41 _Hicoria lacinata_, 38 _Hicoria ovata_, 37 _Hicoria Pecan_, 38 Hickories, The, 36-41 Hickory elm, 214 Hollies, The, 143-146 Holly, American, 145 Holly, European, 144 Honey locust, 179 Honey pod, 188 Hop hornbeam, 86 Hornbeam, American, 85 Hornbeam, Hop, 86 Horse bean, 191 Horse-chestnut foliage, 17 Horse-chestnuts, The, 65-68 "Horse sugar", 125 _Icthyomethia Piscipula_, 190 _Ilex aquifolium_, 144 _Ilex Opaca_, 145 _Ilex vomitoria_, 145 Incense cedar, 270 "Iron oak", 52 "Ironwood," _see also_ Hornbeam Ironwood, Knowlton's, 87 Jack pine, 238 Jamaica dogwood, 190 Japanese persimmon, 175 Japanese walnut, 33 "Judas-tree", 183 _Juglans, Californica_, 29 _Juglans cinerea_, 30 _Juglans cordiformis_, 33 _Juglans nigra_, 31 _Juglans regia_, 33 _Juglans rupestris_, 29 _Juglans Sieboldiana_, 33 June-berry, 159 Junipers, The, 274-277 _Juniperus Barbadensis_, 277 _Juniperus communis_, 275 _Juniperus occidentalis_, 276 _Juniperus Virginiana_, 276 Kaki, 175 Kalm, Peter, xx _Kalmia latifolia_, 120 Kentucky coffee tree, 181 Knob-cone pine, 240 Knowlton's ironwood, 87 Lance-leaved Cottonwood, 80 "_Langues de femmes_", 81 Larches, The, 277-279 Large-leaved cucumber tree, 106 _Larix Americana_, 278 _Larix occidentalis_, 279 Laurel family, 127-133 Laurel, Great, 119 Laurel, Mountain, 120 Laurel oak, 63 _Laurus nobilis_, 129 Lawson cypress, 273 Leaves, 4, 16-20 "Lever-wood", 86 _Librocedus Decurrens_, 270 Lime, Common, 72 "Lime Trees," _see_ Lindens Linden, American, 70 Lindens, The, 68-74 Linnaeus, xviii, 73 _Liquidamber styraciflua_, 97 _Liriodendron tulipifera_, 109 Live oak, 56 Live oak (_Q. aquifolia_), 64 Loblolly pine, 236 Locusts, The, 177-184 Lodge-pole pine, 245 Lombardy poplar, 77 Longleaf pine, 232 Madroña, 121 _Magnolia acuminata_, 107 Magnolia, Campbell's, 103 _Magnolia foetida_, 104 _Magnolia Glauca_, 105 Magnolia, Great laurel, 104 _Magnolia macrophylla_, 106 Magnolia, Starry, 103 _Magnolia stellata_, 103 _Magnolia tripetala_, 108 _Magnolia yulan_, 102 Magnolias, The, 101-111 _Malus coronaria_, 148 _Malus ioensis_, 148 Maple, "Bird's eye" and "Curly", 15 Maple, Black, 195 Maple, Dwarf, 199 Maple, Mountain, 198 Maple, Norway, 200 Maple, Oregon, 197 Maple, Red, 195 Maple, Silver, 196 Maple, Soft, 196 Maple, Striped, 198 Maple, Sugar, 194 Maple, Sycamore, 200 Maple, Vine, 197 Maple, Wier's weeping, 196 Maples, The, 193-201 Melon papaw, 169 Mesquite, 188 Mexican cottonwood, 80 Mississippi Valley chestnut oak, 54 Mockernut, 40 _Mohrodendron diptera_, 124 _Mohrodendron tetraptera_, 123 Monterey cypress, 271 Monterey pine, 241 Moose elm, 213 _Morus alba_, 164 _Morus nigra_, 165 _Morus rubra_, 163 Mountain ashes, 116-118 Mountain elm, 215 Mountain hemlock, 261 Mountain laurel, 120 Mountain maple, 198 Mountain pine, 224 Mountain sumach, 140 Muir, John, xvi Mulberries, The, 163-165 Names of trees, xvii-xxiii Nannyberry, Rusty, 115 Narrow-leaved cottonwood, 80 "Necklace-bearing" poplar, 78 Nettle tree, European, 162 Noble fir, 256 Nomenclature of trees, xvii-xxiii Norway maple, 200 Norway pine, 246 Norway spruce, 248 Nut pines, 230-232 Nut trees, The, 28-74 _Nyssa aquatica_, 97 _Nyssa sylvatica_, 96 Oak, Basket, 55 Oak, Black, 58 Oak, Bur, 51 Oak, California white, 57 Oak, Chestnut, 53 Oak, "Iron", 52 Oak, Live, 56 Oak, Live (_Q. agrifolia_), 64 Oak, Mississippi Valley chestnut, 54 Oak, Pacific post, 57 Oak, Pin, 60 Oak, Post, 52 Oak, Red, 61 Oak, "Rock chestnut", 53 Oak, Scarlet, 59 Oak, Single or Laurel, 63 Oak, Swamp white, 54 Oak, White, 49 Oak, Willow, 62 Oak, "Yellow", 54 Oaks, Black, 58-65 Oaks, The, 46-65 Oaks, White, 49-58 Ohio buckeye, 67 Oilnut, 30 Old field pine, 236 One-leaved nut pine, 231 Oregon alder, 93 Oregon ash, 207 Oregon maple, 197 Oriental plane, 95 Osage orange, 99 _Ostrya Knowletoni_, 87 _Ostrya Virginiana_, 86 _Oxydendrum arboreum_, 122 Pacific post oak, 57 Palms, The, 280 Palo verde acacia, 190 Papaws, The, 167-170 Paper birch, 88 _Parkinsonia aculeata_, 191 Pecan, 38 "Pepperidge", 96 _Persea Borbonia_, 129 _Persea gratissima_, 129 Persimmons, The, 172-175 _Picea Engelmanni_, 250 _Picea excelsa_, 248 _Picea Mariana_, 248 _Picea Parryana_, 250 _Picea rubens_, 249 _Picea Sitchensis_, 251 Pie cherry, 152 Pignut, 41 Pin cherry, 153 Pin oak, 60 Pine, "Big-cone", 240 Pine, Cuban, 236 Pine, Digger, 239 Pine, Gray, 238 Pine, Jack, 238 Pine, Knob-cone, 240 Pine, Loblolly, 236 Pine, Lodge-pole, 245 Pine, Longleaf, 232 Pine, Monterey, 241 Pine, Mountain, 224 Pine, Norway, 246 Pine, Old field, 236 Pine, One-leaved nut, 231 Pine, Pitch, 237 Pine, Prickle-cone, 229 Pine, Red, 246 "Pine, Red", 258 Pine, Rocky Mountain white, 228 Pine, Rosemary, 237 Pine, Scrub, 244 Pine, Shortleaf, 235 Pine, Slash, 236 Pine, "Southern", 233 Pine, Sugar, 225 Pine, Swamp, 236 Pine, Tamarack, 245 Pine, Western pitch, 239 Pine, Western yellow, 242 Pine, White, 222 Pine, White bark, 228 Pines, "Foxtail", 229 Pines, Nut, 230-232 Pines, The, 220-247 Piñon, 230 _Pinus albicaulis_, 228 _Pinus aristata_, 229 _Pinus attenuata_, 240 _Pinus Balfouriana_, 229 _Pinus Caribaea_, 236 _Pinus cembroides_, 230 _Pinus contorta_, 244 _Pinus Coulteri_, 239 _Pinus divaricata_, 238 _Pinus echinata_, 235 _Pinus edulis_, 230 _Pinus flexilis_, 228 _Pinus Lambertiana_, 225 _Pinus monophylla_, 231 _Pinus Monticola_, 224 _Pinus palustris_, 232 _Pinus ponderosa_, 242 _Pinus quadrifolia_, 230 _Pinus radiata_, 241 _Pinus resinosa_, 246 _Pinus rigida_, 237 _Pinus Sabiniana_, 239 _Pinus Strobus_, 222 _Pinus Taeda_, 236 Pitch pine, 237 Pitch pine, Western, 239 Pitch pines, The, 232 Plane, Oriental, 95 _Platanus occidentalis_, 93 _Platanus orientalis_, 95 Plums, The, 149-152 "Pod-bearers," The, 176-192 Poison sumach, 141 Pond apples, The, 170-172 Poplar, Balsam, 79 Poplar, Black, 77 Poplar, Carolina, 78 Poplar, Lombardy, 77 Poplar, "Necklace-bearing", 78 Poplar, Silver-leaved, 76 Poplar, White, 76 Poplars, The, 75-81 _Populus acuminata_, 80 _Populus alba_, 76 _Populus angustifolia_, 80 _Populus balsamifera_, 79 _-Populus deltoidea_, 77 _Populus heterophylla_, 81 _Populus Mexicana_, 80 _Populus nigra_, 77 _Populus tremuloides_, 78 _Populus trichocarpa_, 80 Post oak, 52 Prairie crab, 148 Prickle-cone pine, 229 Prickwood, 137 _Prosopis pubescens_, 189 _Prosopis Tuliflora_, 188 _Prunus Americanus_, 150 _Prunus avium_, 152 _Prunus cerasus_, 152 _Prunus nigra_, 151 _Prunus Pennsylvanica_, 153 _Prunus pseudo-Cerasus_, 152 _Prunus serotina_, 153 _Prunus Virginiana_, 154 _Pseudotsuga mucronata_, 258 Pussy willow, 84 Quaking asp, 78 _Quercus acuminata_, 54 _Quercus agrifolia_, 64 _Quercus alba_, 49 _Quercus chrysolepis_, 63 _Quercus coccinea_, 59 _Quercus Garryana_, 57 _Quercus lobata_, 57 _Quercus macrocarpa_, 51 _Quercus Michauxii_, 55 _Quercus minor_, 52 _Quercus palustris_, 60 _Quercus Phellos_, 62 _Quercus platanoides_, 54 _Quercus prinus_, 53 _Quercus rubra_, 61 _Quercus velutina_, 58 _Quercus Virginiana_, 56 Ram's horn ash, 209 Red alder, 93 Red ash, 205 Red bay, 129 Red birch, 90 Red cedar, 269 Red cedar, Eastern, 276 Red elm, 213 Red fir, 254 Red fir (_A. nobilis_), 256 Red haw, 157 Red juniper, 277 Red maple, 195 Red mulberry, 163 Red oak, 61 Red pine, 246 "Red pine", 258 Red plum, Wild, 150 Red spruce, 249 Redbud, 182 Redwood, 266 Retama, 191 Rhododendron, 118 _Rhododendron maximum_, 119 _Rhus copallina_, 140 _Rhus glabra_, 141 _Rhus hirta_, 138 _Rhus Vernix_, 141 Rings, The Annual, 12 River birch, 90 _Robinia Pseudacacia_, 178 _Robinia viscosa_, 179 "Rock chestnut" oak, 53 Rock elm, 214 Rocky Mountain white pine, 228 Rose bay, 119 Rosemary pine, 237 Rowan tree, 117 Royal palm, 280 Rubber plant, 166 Rum cherry, 153 Rusty nannyberry, 115 _Salix Babylonica_, 83 _Salix discolor_, 84 Sap, 6 Sargent, Professor, xxi Sassafras, 130 Scarlet haw, 157 Scarlet oak, 59 Scientific names, xvii Scotch elm, 216 Screw-bean, 189 Screw-pod, 189 Scrub pine, 244 Seaside alder, 92 _Sequoia sempervirens_, 266 _Sequoia Wellingtonia_, 263 Sequoias, The, 262-268 Service-berries, The, 159-160 Shad-bush, 159 Shagbark, 37 Shaw botanical garden, xiv Sheepberry, 114 Shellbark, 37 Shellbark, Big, 38 Shingle oak, 63 Shortleaf pine, 235 "Silva of North America", xxi Silver bell trees, 123 Silver fir, 257 Silver-leaved poplar, 76 Silver maple, 196 Silver wattle, 187 Slash pine, 236 Slippery elm, 213 Small-leaved elm, 215 Smoke tree, 142 Smooth sumach, 141 Snowdrop tree, 124 "Snowdrop tree", 123 Soft maple, 196 Soft pines, 222-229 _Sophora secundiflora_, 192 _Sorbus Americana_, 116 _Sorbus Aucuparia_, 117 _Sorbus sambucifolia_, 117 Sorrel tree, 122 Sour gum, 96 Sour-wood, 122 "Southern" pine, 233 Southwestern walnut, 29 "_Species plantarum_", xix Spruce, Black, 248 Spruce, Blue, 250 Spruce, Douglas, 258 Spruce, Engelmann, 250 Spruce, Norway, 248 Spruce, Red, 249 Spruce, Tideland, 251 Spruces, The, 247-251 Staghorn sumach, 138 Starch, 7 Starry magnolia, 103 Striped mapl, 198 Sugar maple, 194 Sugar pine, 225 Sumach, Black dwarf, 140 Sumach, Dwarf, 140 Sumach, Mountain, 140 Sumach, Poison, 141 Sumach, Smooth, 141 Sumach, Staghorn, 138 Sumachs, The, 137-142 Swamp bay, 105 Swamp Cottonwood, 81 Swamp pine, 236 Swamp white oak, 54 Sweet buckeye, 67 Sweet cherry, 152 Sweet gum, 97 Sweet leaf, 124 Sycamore maple, 200 Sycamores, The, 93-95 _Symplocos tinctoria_, 125 Tamarack pine, 245 Tamaracks, The, 277-279 "Tassel trees", 186 _Taxodium distichum_, 273 Texas ebony, 191 _Thuya occidentalis_, 268 _Thuya plicata_, 269 Tideland spruce,, 251 _Tilia Americana_, 70 _Tilia heterophylla_, 71 _Tilia pubescens_, 72 _Tilia vulgaris_, 72 _Toxylon pomiferum_, 99 Transpiration, 23 Trees, Bark of, xv, 23 Trees, Breathing of, 22 Trees, Buds of, 3, 23 Trees, Chemistry of., 5-8 Trees, Food of, 6 Trees, Growth of, 9-16 Trees, How to know the, xiv-xvi Trees in winter, 20-27 Trees, Leaves of, 4, 16-20 Trees, Life of, 3-27 Trees, Names of, xii, xvii-xxiii Trees, Opposite-leaved, xv Trees, Sap of, 6 Trembling aspen, 78 _Tsuga Canadensis_, 260 _Tsuga heterophylla_, 261 _Tsuga Martensiana_, 231 Tulip tree, 109 "Tupelo", 96 _Ulmus alata_, 215 _Ulmus Americana_, 210 _Ulmus campestris_, 215 _Ulmus fulva_, 213 _Ulmus montana_, 216 _Ulmus Thomasi_, 214 Umbrella tree, 108 _Viburnum lentago_, 114 _Viburnum prunifolium_, 115 _Viburnum rufidulum_, 115 Viburnums, The, 114 Vine maple, 197 "Virgilia", 183 Wahoo, 137 "Wahoo", 215 Walnut, Black, 31 Walnut, California, 29 Walnut, English, 33 Walnut, Japanese, 33 Walnut, Southwestern, 29 Walnut, White, 30 Walnuts, The, 28-35 "Water Beech", 85 Wattles, The, 184-187 Weeping maple, Wier's, 196 Weeping willow, 83 Western dogwood, 113 Western hemlock, 261 Western juniper, 276 Western larch, 279 Western pitch pine, 239 Western service-berry, 160 Western yellow pine, 242 White ash, 202 White-bark pine, 228 White basswood, 71 White birch, 89 White cedar, 272 White elm, 210 White fir, 256 White fir (_A. concolor_), 257 White mulberry, 164 White oak, 49 White oak group, 49-58 White pine, 222 White pine, Rocky Mountain, 228 White poplar, 76 White walnut, 30 Wier's weeping maple, 196 "Wild banana tree", 169 Wild black cherry, 153 Wild cherry, 153 Wild crab, 148 Wild red plum, 150 Willow oak, 62 Willow, Pussy, 84 Willow, Weeping, 83 Willows, The, 81-84 Winged elm, 215 Winter, Trees in, 20-27 "Winter berries", 143 Witch hazel, 133 Wood, 12-16 Wych elm, 210 Yaupon, 145 Yellow birch, 89 Yellow locust, 178 "Yellow oak", 54 Yellow pine, Western, 242 Yellow plum, 150 Yellow-wood, 183 Yulan magnolia, 102 _Zigia flexicaulis_, 191 Transcriber's Notes Where images split paragraphs and in some cases would split off a short section of a species description, the text was moved above or below the images to rejoin the text. Small caps formatting is usually converted to ALL CAPS. Although the section header lists on the chapter title pages were printed in small caps and the section header text are printed in ALL CAPS where they occur within the chapter, it was decided that the header lists would be left as mixed caps for better readability. Where text is printed as superscripts, they are presented using a carat symbol (ex., CO^2 for the Carbon Dioxide). When text is printed as subscripts, an underscore is used (ex., H_{2}O for water). Although current usage would display the numbers in chemical formulæ as subscripts (ex., H_{2}O, CO_{2} and C_{6}H_{10}O_{5}), they are displayed here as printed. Original gramatical constructions were left as is (ex. P. 83, "...the light seeds ... floats away..."). In order to match the most commonly used spelling, the instances where Arbor-vitae was printed with an ae ligature were converted to individual letters. The oe ligature on page xxi was converted to the letters "oe". As three variant spellings birdseye, birds-eye and bird's-eye appear, the others were converted to the most prevalent form--bird's-eye. This was also the case with a number of other words which were changed; but are not specifically listed here. Typographical Corrections Page Correction 67 Raffinesque => Rafinesque 89 uniniviting => uninviting 156 hawthrons => hawthorns 284 Black haw, 115-158 => Black haw, 115, 158 285 Diospyrus => Diospyros 286 Bardadensis => Barbadensis 289 Rew Haw => Red haw Emphasis Notation =Text= - bold _Text_ - italic 
29724	----	TREES OF THE NORTHERN UNITED STATES THEIR STUDY, DESCRIPTION AND DETERMINATION FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS AND PRIVATE STUDENTS BY AUSTIN C. APGAR PROFESSOR OF BOTANY IN THE NEW JERSEY STATE NORMAL SCHOOL "Trees are God's Architecture."--_Anonymous._ "A Student who has learned to observe and describe so simple a matter as the form of a leaf has gained a power which will be of lifetime value, whatever may be his sphere of professional employment."--_Wm. North Rice._ NEW YORK-:-CINCINNATI-:-CHICAGO AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY Copyright, 1892, by the AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY. W. P. 3. PREFACE. This book has been prepared with the idea that teachers generally would be glad to introduce into their classes work dealing with the real objects of nature, provided the work chosen were of a character that would admit of its being studied at all seasons and in all localities, and that the subject were one of general interest, and one that could be taught successfully by those who have had no regular scientific instruction. The trees of our forests, lawns, yards, orchards, streets, borders, and parks give us just such a department. Though many consider a large part of the vegetable kingdom of little importance, and unworthy of any serious study, there are few who do not admire, and fewer still who do not desire to know, our trees, the monarchs of all living things. The difficulty in tree study by the aid of the usual botanies lies mainly in the fact that in using them the first essential parts to be examined are the blossoms and their organs. These remain on the trees a very short time, are often entirely unnoticed on account of their small size or obscure color, and are usually inaccessible even if seen. In this book the leaves, the wood, the bark, and, in an elementary way, the fruit are the parts to which the attention is directed; these all can be found and studied throughout the greater part of the year, and are just the parts that must be thoroughly known by all who wish to learn to recognize trees. Though every teacher is at liberty to use the book as he thinks best, the author, who has been a class teacher for over twenty years, is of the opinion that but little of Part I. need be thoroughly studied and recited, with the exception of Chapter III. on leaves. The object of this chapter is not to have the definitions recited (the recitation of definitions in school work is often useless or worse than useless), but to teach the pupil to use the terms properly and to make them a portion of his vocabulary. The figures on pages 38-43 are designed for class description, and for the application of botanical words. The first time the chapter is studied the figure illustrating the term should be pointed out by the pupil; then, as a review of the whole chapter, the student should be required to give a full description of each leaf. After this work with Chapter III., and the careful reading of the whole of Part I., the pupils can begin the description of trees, and, as the botanical words are needed, search can be made for them under the proper heads or in the Glossary. The Keys are for the use of those who know nothing of scientific botany. The advanced botanist may think them too artificial and easy; but let him remember that this work was written for the average teacher who has had no strictly scientific training. We can hardly expect that the great majority of people will ever become scientific in any line, but it is possible for nearly every one to become interested in and fully acquainted with the trees of his neighborhood. The attainment of such botanical knowledge by the plan given in this volume will not only accomplish this useful purpose, but will do what is worth far more to the student, _i.e._, teach him to employ his own senses in the investigation of natural objects, and to use his own powers of language in their description. With hardly an exception, the illustrations in the work are taken from original drawings from nature by the author. A few of the scales of pine-cones were copied from London's "Encyclopædia of Trees"; some of the Retinospora cones were taken from the "Gardener's Chronicle"; and three of the illustrations in Part I. are from Professor Gray's works. The size of the illustration as compared with the specimen of plant is indicated by a fraction near it; ¼ indicates that the drawing is one fourth as long as the original, 1/1 that it is natural size, etc. The notching of the margin is reduced to the same extent; so a margin which in the engraving looks about entire, might in the leaf be quite distinctly serrate. The only cases in which the scale is not given are in the cross-sections of the leaves among the figures of coniferous plants. These are uniformly three times the natural size, except the section of Araucaria imbricata, which is not increased in scale. The author has drawn from every available source of information, and in the description of many of the species no attempt whatever has been made to change the excellent wording of such authors as Gray, Loudon, etc. The ground covered by the book is that of the wild and cultivated trees found east of the Rocky Mountains, and north of the southern boundary of Virginia and Missouri. It contains not only the native species, but all those that are successfully cultivated in the whole region; thus including all the species of Ontario, Quebec, etc., on the north, and many species, both wild and cultivated, of the Southern States and the Pacific coast. In fact, the work will be found to contain so large a proportion of the trees of the Southern States as to make it very useful in the schools of that section. Many shrubby plants are introduced; some because they occasionally grow quite tree-like, others because they can readily be trimmed into tree-forms, others because they grow very tall, and still others because they are trees in the Southern States. In nomenclature a conservative course has been adopted. The most extensively used text-book on the subject of Botany, "Gray's Manual," has recently been rewritten. That work includes every species, native and naturalized, of the region covered by this book, and the names as given in that edition have been used in all cases. Scientific names are marked so as to indicate the pronunciation. The vowel of the accented syllable is marked by the grave accent (`) if long, and by the acute (´) if short. In the preparation of this book the author has received much valuable aid. His thanks are especially due to the authorities of the Arnold Arboretum, Boston, Massachusetts, and of the Missouri Botanical Garden, St. Louis, for information in regard to the hardiness of species; to Mr. John H. Redfield, of the Botanical Department of the Philadelphia Academy of Natural Sciences, for books, specimens from which to make illustrations, etc.; and to Dr. A. C. Stokes, of Trenton, New Jersey, for assistance in many ways, but especially for the accurate manner in which he has inked the illustrations from the author's pencil-drawings. The author also wishes to acknowledge the help received from many nurserymen in gathering specimens for illustration and in giving information of great value. Among these, special thanks are due to Mr. Samuel C. Moon, of Morrisville Nurseries, who placed his large collection of living specimens at the author's disposal, and in many other ways gave him much intelligent aid. CONTENTS. PAGE. PART I. ESSENTIAL ORGANS, AND TERMS NEEDED FOR THEIR DESCRIPTION 9-43 CHAPTER I. Roots 9 CHAPTER II. Stems and Branches 11 CHAPTER III. Leaves 17 CHAPTER IV. Flowers and Fruit 24 CHAPTER V. Winter Study of Trees 29 CHAPTER VI. The Preparation of a Collection 35 CHAPTER VII. Figures to be used in Botanical Description 38 PART II. PLAN AND MODELS FOR TREE DESCRIPTION 44-50 PART III. KEY, CLASSIFICATION AND DESCRIPTION OF THE SPECIES 51-201 * * * * * GLOSSARY OF BOTANICAL TERMS, AND INDEX TO PART I 203-212 INDEX TO PART III 213-224 TREES. PART I. THE ESSENTIAL ORGANS, AND THE TERMS NEEDED FOR THEIR DESCRIPTION. CHAPTER I. _Roots._ Though but little study of the roots of trees is practicable, some knowledge of their forms, varieties, and parts is important. The great office of the roots of all plants is the taking in of food from the soil. Thick or fleshy roots, such as the radish, are stocks of food prepared for the future growth of the plant, or for the production of flowers and fruit. The thick roots of trees are designed mainly for their secure fastening in the soil. The real mouths by which the food is taken in are the minute tips of the hair-like roots found over the surface of the smaller branches. As trees especially need a strong support, they all have either a _tap-root_--one large root extending from the lower end of the trunk deep down into the ground; or _multiple roots_--a number of large roots mainly extending outward from the base of the trunk. Trees with large tap-roots are very hard to transplant, and cannot with safety be transferred after they have attained any real size. The Hickories and Oaks belong to this class. Trees having multiple roots are readily transplanted, even when large. The Maples and Elms are of this class. Roots that grow from the root-end of the embryo of the seed are called _primary roots_; those growing from slips or from stems anywhere are _secondary roots_. Some trees grow luxuriantly with only secondary roots; such trees can readily be raised from stems placed in the ground. The Willows and Poplars are good examples of this group. Other trees need all the strength that primary roots can give them; these have to be raised from seed. Peach-trees are specially good examples, but practically most trees are best raised from seed. A few trees can be easily raised from root-cuttings or from suckers which grow up from roots. The Ailanthus, or "Tree of Heaven," is best raised in this way. Of this tree there are three kinds, two of which have disagreeable odors when in bloom, but the other is nearly odorless. By using the roots or the suckers of the third kind, only those which would be pleasant to have in a neighborhood would be obtained. One of the large cities of the United States has in its streets thousands of the most displeasing of these varieties and but few of the right sort, all because the nurseryman who originally supplied the city used root-cuttings from the disagreeable kind. If such trees were raised from the seed, only about one third would be desirable, and their character could be determined only when they had reached such a size as to produce fruit, when it would be too late to transplant them. Fruit-trees, when raised from the seed, have to be grafted with the desired variety in order to secure good fruit when they reach the bearing age. CHAPTER II. _Stems and Branches._ The stem is the distinguishing characteristic of trees, separating them from all other groups of plants. Although in the region covered by this book the trees include all the very large plants, size alone does not make a tree. A plant with a single trunk of woody structure that does not branch for some distance above the ground, is called a _tree_. Woody plants that branch directly above the soil, even though they grow to the height of twenty feet or more, are called _shrubs_, or, in popular language, _bushes_. Many plants which have a tendency to grow into the form of shrubs may, by pruning, be forced to grow tree-like; some that are shrubs in the northern States are trees further south. All the trees that grow wild, or can be cultivated out of doors, in the northern States belong to one class, the stems having a separable bark on the outside, a minute stem of pith in the center, and, between these, wood in annual layers. Such a stem is called _exogenous_ (outside-growing), because a new layer forms on the outside of the wood each year. Another kind of tree-stem is found abundantly in the tropics; one, the Palmetto, grows from South Carolina to Florida. While in our region there are no trees of this character, there are plants having this kind of stem, the best illustration being the corn-stalk. In this case there is no separable bark, and the woody substance is in threads within the pithy material. In the corn-stalk the woody threads are not very numerous, and the pith is very abundant; in most of the tropical trees belonging to this group the threads of wood are so numerous as to make the material very durable and fit for furniture. A stem of this kind is called _endogenous_ (inside-growing). Fig. 1 represents a longitudinal and a cross section of an exogenous stem, and Fig. 2 of an endogenous one. [Illustration: Fig. 1.] [Illustration: Fig. 2.] Since all the stems with which we have to deal are exogens, a particular description of that class will here be given. Fig. 1 shows the appearance of a section of an Ash stem six years old. The central portion, which is about as thick as wrapping-twine, is the _pith_; from this outward toward the bark can be seen the six annual layers of the _wood_; and then comes the _bark_, consisting of two portions. First there is an inside layer of greenish material, the fresh-growing portion, and lastly the outer or dead matter. This outer portion must crack open, peel off, or in some way give a chance for the constant growth of the trunk. The different kinds of trees are readily known by the appearance of the bark of the trunk, due to the many varieties of surface caused by the allowance for growth. None of the characteristics of trees afford a better opportunity for careful observation and study than the outer bark. The Birches have bark that peels off in thin horizontal layers--the color, thinness, and toughness differing in the different species; the Ashes have bark which opens in many irregular, netted cracks moderately near each other; the bark of the Chestnut opens in large longitudinal cracks quite distant from one another. The color of the bark and the character of the scales are quite different in the White and the Black Oaks. In the woody portion radiating lines may be seen; these are the _silver grain_; they are called by the botanist _medullary rays_. The central portion of the wood of many large stems is darker in color than the rest. This darker portion is dead wood, and is called _heart-wood_; the outer portion, called _sap-wood_, is used in carrying the sap during the growing season. The heart-wood of the Walnut-tree is very dark brown; that of the Cherry, light red; and that of the Holly, white and ivory-like. The heart-wood is the valuable part for lumber. If examined under a magnifying glass, the _annual layers_ will be seen to consist of minute tubes or cells. In most trees these tubes are much larger in the portion that grew early in the season, while the wood seems almost solid near the close of the annual layer; this is especially true in the Ashes and the Chestnut; some trees, however, show but little change in the size of the cells, the Beech being a good example. In a cross-section, the age of such trees as the Chestnut can readily be estimated, while in the Beech it is quite difficult to do this. Boxwood, changing least in the character of its structure, is the one always used for first-grade wood-engravings. When wood is cut in the direction of the silver grain, or cut "quartering" as it is called by the lumbermen, the surface shows this cellular material spread out in strange blotches characteristic of the different kinds of wood. Fig. 16 shows an Oak where the blotches of medullary rays are large. In the Beech the blotches are smaller; in the Elm quite small. Lumber cut carefully in this way is said to be "quartered," and with most species its beauty is thereby much increased. Any one who studies the matter carefully can become acquainted with all the useful and ornamental woods used in a region; the differences in the color of the heart-wood, the character of the annual layers, and the size and the distribution of the medullary rays, afford enough peculiarities to distinguish any one from all others. BRANCHING.--The regular place from which a branch grows is the _axil_ of a leaf, from what is called an _axillary bud_; but branches cannot grow in the axils of all leaves. A tree with opposite leaves occasionally has opposite branches; while a tree with alternate leaves has all its branches alternate. Most branches continue their growth year after year by the development of a bud at the end, called a _terminal bud_. Many trees form this bud for the next year's growth so early in the year that it is seldom or never killed by the winter weather; such trees grow very regularly and are symmetrical in form. Most evergreens are good examples. Fig. 3 represents a good specimen. The age of such trees, if not too great, can be readily ascertained by the regularity of each year's growth. The tree represented is sixteen years old. The branches that started the fifth year, about the age at which regular growth begins, are shown by their scars on the trunk. [Illustration: Fig. 3.] The terminal buds of many trees are frequently killed by the frosts of winter; such trees continue their growth by the development of axillary buds; but as growth from an axillary bud instead of a terminal one will make a branch crooked, such trees are irregular in their branching and outline. Just which axillary buds are most apt to grow depends upon the kind of tree, but trees of the same variety are nearly uniform in this respect. Most trees are therefore readily recognized by the form of outline and the characteristic branching. A good example of a tree of very irregular growth is the Catalpa (Indian Bean), shown in Fig. 4. The tendency to grow irregularly usually increases with age. The Buttonwood, for example, grows quite regularly until it reaches the age of thirty to forty years; then its new branches grow in peculiarly irregular ways. The twigs of a very old and a young Apple-tree illustrate this change which age produces. [Illustration: Fig. 4.] There are great differences in the color and surface of the bark of the twigs of different species of trees; some are green (Sassafras), some red (Peach, on the sunny side), some purple (Cherry). Some are smooth and dotless, some marked with dots (Birch), some roughened with corky ridges (Sweet Gum), etc. The taste and odor of the bark are characteristics worthy of notice: the strong, fragrant odor of the Spice-bush; the fetid odor of the Papaw; the aromatic taste of the Sweet Birch; the bitter taste of the Peach; the mucilaginous Slippery Elm; the strong-scented, resinous, aromatic Walnut, etc. The branches of trees vary greatly in the thickness of their tips and in their tendency to grow erect, horizontal, or drooping. Thus the delicate spray of the Birches contrasted with the stout twigs of the Ailanthus, or the drooping twigs of the Weeping Willow with the erect growth of the Lombardy Poplar, give contrasts of the strongest character. In the same way, the directions the main branches take in their growth from the trunk form another distinctive feature. Thus the upward sloping branches of the Elm form a striking contrast to the horizontal or downward sloping branches of the Sour Gum, or, better still, to certain varieties of Oaks. When the main trunk of a tree extends upward through the head to the tip, as in Fig. 3, it is said to be _excurrent_. When it is soon lost in the division, as in Fig. 4, it is said to be _deliquescent_. CHAPTER III. _Leaves._ Leaves are the lungs of plants. The food taken in by the roots has to pass through the stem to the leaves to be acted upon by the air, before it becomes sap and is fit to be used for the growth of the plant. No portion of a plant is more varied in parts, forms, surface, and duration than the leaf. No one can become familiar with leaves, and appreciate their beauty and variety, who does not study them upon the plants themselves. This chapter therefore will be devoted mainly to the words needed for leaf description, together with their application. THE LEAF.--In the axil of the whole leaf the bud forms for the growth of a new branch. So by noting the position of the buds, all the parts included in a single leaf can be determined. As a general thing the leaf has but one blade, as in the Chestnut, Apple, Elm, etc.; yet the Horse-chestnut has 7 blades, the Common Locust often has 21, and a single leaf of the Honey-locust occasionally has as many as 300. Figs. 17-58 (Chapter VII.) are all illustrations of single leaves, except Fig. 43, where there are two leaves on a twig. A number of them show the bud by which the fact is determined (Figs. 25, 26, 31, 33, 34, 36, 40, etc.); others show branches which grew from the axillary buds, many of them fruiting branches (Figs. 37, 42, 43, 50, and 54), one (Fig. 51) a thorny branch. The cone-bearing plants (Figs. 59-67) have only simple leaves. Each piece, no matter how small and scale-like, may have a branch growing from its axil, and so may form a whole leaf. A study of these figures, together with the observation of trees, will soon teach the student what constitutes a leaf. ARRANGEMENT.--There are several different ways in which leaves are arranged on trees; the most common plan is the _alternate_; [Illustration] in this only one leaf occurs at a joint or node on the stem. The next in frequency is the _opposite_, [Illustration] where two leaves opposite each other are found at the node. A very rare arrangement among trees, though common in other plants, is the _whorled_, [Illustration] where more than two leaves, regularly arranged around the stem, are found at the node. When a number of leaves are bundled together,--a plan not rare among evergreens,--they are said to be _fasciculated_ or in _fascicles_. [Illustration] The term _scattered_ is used where alternate leaves are crowded on the stem. This plan is also common among evergreens. CAUTION.--In some plants the leaves on the side shoots or spurs of a twig are so close together, the internodes being so short, that at first sight they seem opposite. In such cases, the leaf-scars of the preceding years, or the arrangement of the branches, is a better test of the true arrangement of the leaves. The twig of Birch shown in Fig. 5 has alternate leaves. [Illustration: Fig. 5.] [Illustration: Fig. 6.] There is one variety of alternation, called _two-ranked_, which is quite characteristic of certain trees; that is, the leaves are so flattened out as to be in one plane on the opposite sides of the twig (Fig. 6). The Elm-trees form good examples of two-ranked alternate leaves, while the Apple leaves are alternate without being two-ranked. Most leaves spread from the stem, but some are _appressed_, as in the Arbor-vitæ (Fig. 7). In this species the _branches_ are _two-ranked_. PARTS OF LEAVES.--A _complete leaf_ [Illustration] consists of three parts: the _blade_, the thin expanded portion; the _petiole_, the leafstalk; and the _stipules_, a pair of small blades at the base of the petiole. The petiole is often very short and sometimes wanting. The stipules are often absent, and, even when present, they frequently fall off as soon as the leaves expand; sometimes they are conspicuous. Most Willows show the stipules on the young luxuriant growths. [Illustration: Fig. 7.] VEINING.--The leaves of most trees have a distinct framework, the central line of which is called a _midrib_; sometimes the leaf has several other lines about as thick as the midrib, which are called _ribs_; the lines next in size, including all that are especially distinct, are called _veins_, the most minute ones being called _veinlets_ (Fig. 8). [Illustration: Fig. 8.] KINDS.--Leaves are _simple_ when they have but one blade; [Illustration] _compound_ when they have more than one. Compound leaves are _palmate_ when all the blades come from one point, as in the Horse-chestnut; [Illustration] _pinnate_ when they are arranged along the sides, as in the Hickory. Pinnate leaves are of two kinds: _odd-pinnate_, [Illustration] when there is an odd leaflet at the end, as in the Ash, and _abruptly pinnate_ [Illustration] when there is no end leaflet. Many trees have the leaves _twice pinnate_; they are either _twice odd-pinnate_ [Illustration] or _twice abruptly pinnate_. [Illustration] The separate blades of a compound leaf are called _leaflets_. Leaves or leaflets are _sessile_ when they have no stems, and _petiolate_ when they have stems. When there are several ribs starting together from the base of a blade, it is said to be _radiate-veined_ or _palmate-veined_.[Illustration] When the great veins all branch from the midrib, the leaf is _feather-veined_ or _pinnate-veined_. [Illustration] If these veins are straight, distinct, and regularly placed, the leaf is said to be _straight-veined_. The Chestnut is [Illustration] a good example. Leaves having veinlets joining each other like a net are said to be _netted-veined_. All the trees with broad leaves in the northern United States, with one exception, have netted-veined foliage. A leaf having its veinlets parallel to one another is said to be _parallel-veined_ or _-nerved_. [Illustration] The Ginkgo-tree, the Indian Corn, and the Calla Lily have parallel-veined leaves. The narrow leaves of the cone-bearing trees are also parallel-veined. FORMS.--Leaves can readily be divided into the three following groups with regard to their general outline: 1. _Broadest at the middle._ _Orbicular_, [Illustration] about as broad as long and rounded. _Oval_, [Illustration] about twice as long as wide, and regularly curved. _Elliptical_, [Illustration] more than twice as long as wide, and evenly curved. _Oblong_, [Illustration] two or three times as long as wide, with the sides parallel. _Linear_, [Illustration] elongated oblong, more than three times as long as wide. _Acerose_, [Illustration] needle-shaped, like the leaf of the Pine-tree. 2. _Broadest near the base._ _Deltoid_, [Illustration] broad and triangular. _Ovate_, [Illustration] evenly curved, with a broad, rounded base. _Heart-shaped_ or _cordate_, [Illustration] similar to ovate, but with a notch at the base. _Lanceolate_, [Illustration] shaped like the head of a lance. _Awl-shaped_, [Illustration] shaped like the shoemaker's curved awl. _Scale-shaped_, [Illustration] short, rounded, and appressed to the stem. The Arbor-vitæ has both awl-shaped and scale-shaped leaves. 3. _Broadest near the apex._ _Obovate_, [Illustration] same as ovate, but with the stem at the narrow end. _Obcordate_, [Illustration] a reversed heart-shape. _Oblanceolate_, [Illustration] a reversed lanceolate. _Wedge-shaped_ or _cuneate_, [Illustration] having a somewhat square end and straight sides like a wedge. These words are often united to form compound ones when the form of the leaf is somewhat intermediate. The term which most nearly suits the general form is placed at the end; thus _lance-ovate_ indicates a leaf between lanceolate and ovate, but nearer ovate than lanceolate; while _ovate-lanceolate_ indicates one nearer lanceolate. BASES.--Oftentimes leaves are of some general form, but have a peculiar base, one that would not be expected from the statement of shape. An ovate leaf which should have a rounded base might have a tapering one; it would then be described as ovate with a _tapering base_. [Illustration] A lanceolate leaf should naturally have a tapering base, but might have an _abrupt_ one. [Illustration] Many leaves, no matter what their general form may be, have more or less notched bases; such bases are called _cordate_, [Illustration] _deeply_ or _slightly_, as the case may be; and if the lobes at base are elongated, _auriculate_. [Illustration] If the basal lobes project outward, the term _halberd-shaped_ [Illustration] is used. Any form of leaf may have a base more or less _oblique_. [Illustration] POINTS.--The points as well as the bases of leaves are often peculiar, and need to be described by appropriate terms. _Truncate_ [Illustration] indicates an end that is square; _retuse_, [Illustration] one with a slight notch; _emarginate_, one with a decided notch; _obcordate_, with a still deeper notch; _obtuse_, [Illustration] angular but abrupt; _acute_, [Illustration] somewhat sharpened; _acuminate_, [Illustration] decidedly sharp-pointed; _bristle-pointed_ and _awned_, [Illustration] with a bristle-like tip; _spiny-pointed_, with the point sharp and stiff (Holly); _mucronate_, [Illustration] with a short, abrupt point. MARGINS.--_Entire_, [Illustration] edge without notches; _repand_, [Illustration] slightly wavy; _sinuate_, [Illustration] decidedly wavy; _dentate_, [Illustration] with tooth-like notches; _serrate_, [Illustration] with notches like those of a saw; _crenate_, [Illustration] with the teeth rounded; _twice serrate_, [Illustration] when there are coarse serrations finely serrated, as on most Birch leaves; _serrulate_, with minute serrations; _crenulate_, with minute crenations. Leaves can be _twice crenate_ or _sinuate-crenate_. _Revolute_ indicates that the edges are rolled over. When a leaf has a few great teeth, the projecting parts are called _lobes_, and the general form of the leaf is what it would be with the notches filled in. In the description of such leaves, certain terms are needed in describing the plan of the notches, and their depth and form. Leaves with palmate veining are _palmately lobed_ [Illustration] or _notched_; those with pinnate veining are _pinnately lobed_ [Illustration] or _notched_. While the term _lobe_ is applied to all great teeth of a leaf, whether rounded or pointed, long or short, still there are four terms sometimes used having special signification with reference to the depth of the notches. _Lobed_ indicates that the notches extend about one fourth the distance to the base or midrib; _cleft_, that they extend one half the way; _parted_, about three fourths of the way; and _divided_, that the notches are nearly deep enough to make a compound leaf of separate leaflets. So leaves may be palmately lobed, cleft, parted or divided, and pinnately lobed, cleft, parted or divided. The term _pinnatifid_ [Illustration] is often applied to pinnately cleft leaves. The terms _entire_, _serrate_, _crenate_, _acute-pointed_, etc., are applied to the lobes as well as to the general margins of leaves. SURFACE.--The following terms are needed in describing the surface of leaves and fruit. _Glabrous_, smooth; _glaucous_, covered with a whitish bloom which can be rubbed off (Plum); _rugous_, wrinkled; _canescent_, so covered with minute hairs as to appear silvery; _pubescent_, covered with fine, soft, plainly seen hairs; _tomentose_, densely covered with matted hairs; _hairy_, having longer hairs; _scabrous_, covered with stiff, scratching points; _spiny_, having stiff, sharp spines; _glandular-hairy_, having the hairs ending in glands (usually needing a magnifying glass to be seen). TEXTURE.--_Succulent_, fleshy; _scarious_, dry and chaffy; _punctate_, having translucent glands, so that the leaf appears, when held toward the light, as though full of holes; _membranous_, thin, soft, and rather translucent; _thick_, _thin_, etc. DURATION.--_Evergreen_, hanging on the tree from year to year. By noticing the color of the different leaves and their position on the twigs, all evergreen foliage can readily be determined at any time during the year. _Deciduous_, falling off at the end of the season. _Fugacious_, falling early, as the stipules of many leaves. CHAPTER IV. _Flowers and Fruit._ The author hopes that those who use this work in studying trees will become so much interested in the subject of Botany as to desire more information concerning the growth and reproduction of plants than can here be given. In Professor Asa Gray's numerous works the additional information desired may be obtained: "How Plants Grow" contains an outline for the use of beginners; "The Elements of Botany" is a more advanced work; while the "Botanical Text Book", in several volumes, will enable the student to pursue the subject as far as he may wish. In this small book the barest outline of the parts of flowers and fruit and of their uses can be given. [Illustration: Fig. 9.] FLOWERS.--Parts. The flowers of the Cherry or Apple will show the four kinds of organs that belong to a complete flower. Fig. 9 represents an Apple-blossom. The _calyx_ is the outer row of leaves, more or less united into one piece. The _corolla_ is the row of leaves within the calyx; it is usually the brightest and most conspicuous part of the flower. The _stamens_ [Illustration] are the next organs; they are usually, as in this case, small two-lobed bodies on slender, thread-like stalks. The enlarged parts contain a dust-like material called _pollen_. The last of the four kinds of parts is found in the center of the flower, and is called the _pistil_. It is this part which forms the fruit and incloses the seed. The stamens and the pistil are the _essential_ organs of a flower, because they, and they only, are needed in the formation of seeds. The pollen from the stamen, acting on the pistil, causes the _ovules_ which are in the pistil to grow into _seeds_. The calyx and corolla are called _enveloping organs_, since they surround and protect the essential parts. The pieces of which the calyx is composed are called _sepals_. The Apple-blossom has five sepals. The pieces that compose the corolla are called _petals_. KINDS OF FLOWERS.--When the petals are entirely separate from each other, as in the Apple-blossom, the flower is said to be _polypetalous_; when they grow together more or less, as in the Catalpa (Fig. 10), _monopetalous_; and when the corolla is wanting, as in the flowers of the Oak, _apetalous_. [Illustration: Fig. 10.] When all sides of a flower are alike, as in the Apple-blossom, the flower is _regular_; when one side of the corolla differs from the other in color, form, or size, as in the Common Locust, or Catalpa, the flower is _irregular_. In trees the stamens and pistils are often found in separate flowers; in that case the blossoms containing stamens are called _staminate_, and those containing pistils _pistillate_; those that contain both are called _perfect_. Staminate and pistillate flowers are usually found on the same tree, as in the Oaks, Birches, Chestnut, etc.; in that case the plant is said to be _monoecious_, and all trees of this kind produce fruit. Sometimes, however, the staminate and pistillate flowers are on separate trees, as in the Willows, which are _dioecious_; and then only a portion of the trees--those with pistillate flowers--produce fruit. ARRANGEMENT OF FLOWERS.--Flowers, either solitary or clustered, grow in one of two ways; either at the end of the branches, being then called _terminal_, or in the axils of the leaves, then called _axillary_. The stem of a solitary flower or the main stem of a cluster is called a _peduncle_; the stems of the separate blossoms of a cluster are called _pedicels_. When either the flowers or the clusters are without stems, they are said to be _sessile_. _Clusters with Pedicellate Flowers._ _Raceme_, [Illustration] flowers on pedicels of about equal length, scattered along the entire stem. Locust-tree. _Corymb_, [Illustration] like a raceme except that the lower flowers have longer stems, making the cluster somewhat flat-topped; the outer flowers bloom first. Hawthorn. _Cyme_, [Illustration] in appearance much like a corymb, but it differs in the fact that the central flower blooms first. Alternate-leaved Cornel. _Umbel_, [Illustration] stems of the separate flowers about equal in length, and starting from the same point. Garden-cherry. _Panicle_, [Illustration] a compound raceme. Catalpa. _Thyrsus_, a compact panicle. Horse-chestnut. _Clusters with Sessile or Nearly Sessile Flowers._ _Catkin_, [Illustration] bracted flowers situated along a slender and usually drooping stem. This variety of cluster is very common on trees. The Willows, Birches, Chestnuts, Oaks, Pines, and many others have their flowers in catkins. _Head_, [Illustration] the flowers in a close, usually rounded cluster. Flowering Dogwood. FRUIT.--In this book a single fruit will include all the parts that grow together and contain seeds, whether from a single blossom or a cluster; there will be no rigorous adherence to an exact classification; no attempt made to distinguish between fruits formed from a simple pistil and those from a compound one; nor generally between those formed from a single and those formed from a cluster of flowers. The fruit and its general classification, determined by the parts easily seen, is all that will be attempted. As stated before, it is hoped that this volume will not end the student's work in the investigation of natural objects, but that the amount of information here given will lead to the desire for much more. _Berry_ will be the term applied to all fleshy fruits with more than one seed buried in the mass. Persimmon, Mulberry, Holly. The _pome_ or _Apple-pome_ differs from the berry in the fact that the seeds are situated in cells formed of hardened material. Apple, Mountain-ash. The _Plum_ or _Cherry drupe_ includes all fleshy fruits with a single stony-coated part, even if it contains more than one seed. Peach, Viburnum, China-tree. In some cases, when there is but one seed in the flesh and that not stony-coated, it will be called a _drupe-like berry_. The _dry drupe_ is like the Cherry drupe except that the flesh is much harder. The fruit of the Walnut, Hickory, and Sumac. [Illustration: Fig. 11.] The inner hard-coated parts of these and some others will be called _nuts_. If the nut has a partial scaly covering, as in the Oaks, the whole forms an _acorn_. [Illustration] If the coating has spiny hairs, as in the Chestnut and Beechnut, the whole is a _bur_. The coating in these cases is an _involucre_. If the coating or any part of the fruit has a regular place for splitting open, it is _dehiscent_ (Chestnut, Hickory-nut); if not, _indehiscent_ (Black Walnut). [Illustration: Fig. 12.] Dry fruits with spreading, wing-like appendages, as in the Ash (Fig. 11), Maple (Fig. 12), Elm (Fig. 13), and Ailanthus, are called _samaras_ or _keys_. Dry fruits, usually elongated, containing generally several seeds, are called _pods_. If there is but one cell and the seeds are fastened along one side, _Pea-like pods_, or _legumes_. Locust. The term _capsule_ indicates that there is more than one cell. Catalpa, Hibiscus. [Illustration: Fig. 13.] All the dry, scaly fruits, usually formed by the ripening of some sort of catkin of flowers, will be included under the term _cone_. Pine, Alder, [Illustration] Magnolia. If the appearance of the fruit is not much different from that of the cluster of flowers, as in the Hornbeams, Willows, and Birches, the term _catkin_ will be retained for the fruit also. The scales of a cone may lap over each other; they are then said to be _imbricated_ or _overlapping_, [Illustration] (Pine); or they may merely touch at their edges, when they are _valvate_ [Illustration] (Cypress). When cones or catkins hang downward, they are _pendent_. If the scales have projecting points, these points are _spines_ if strong, and _prickles_ if weak. The parts back of the scales are _bracts_; these often project beyond the scales, when they are said to be _exserted_. [Illustration] Sometimes the exserted bracts are bent backward; they are then said to be _recurved_ or _reflexed_. CHAPTER V. _Winter Study of Trees._ Many of the peculiarities of trees can be studied much better during the winter and early spring than at any other time of the year. The plan of branching, the position, number, size, form, color, and surface of buds, as well as the arrangement of the leaves within the bud and the peculiarities of the scales that cover them, are points for winter investigation. GENERAL PLAN OF BRANCHING.--There are two distinct and readily recognized systems of branching. 1. The main stem is _excurrent_ (Fig. 3) when the trunk extends as an undivided stem throughout the tree to the tip; this causes the spire-like or conical trees so common among narrow-leaved evergreens. 2. The main stem is _deliquescent_ (Fig. 4) when the trunk divides into many, more or less equal divisions, forming the broad-topped, spreading trees. This plan is the usual one among deciduous trees. A few species, however, such as the Sweet Gum and the Sugar-maple, show the excurrent stem while young, yet even these have a deliquescent stem later in life. The English Maple and the Apple both have a deliquescent stem very early. All the narrow-leaved evergreens, and many of the broad-leaved trees as well, show what is called _definite_ annual growths; that is, a certain amount of leaf and stem, packed up in the winter bud, spreads out and hardens with woody tissue early in the year, and then, no matter how long the season remains warm, no additional leaves or stem will grow. The buds for the next year's growth then form and often become quite large before autumn. There are many examples among the smaller plants, but rarely one among the trees, of _indefinite_ annual growth; that is, the plant puts forth leaves and forms stems throughout the whole growing-season. The common Locust, the Honey-locust, and the Sumacs are illustrations. BUDS.--Buds are either undeveloped branches or undeveloped flowers. They contain within the scales, which usually cover them, closely packed leaves; these leaves are folded and wrinkled in a number of different ways that will be defined at the end of this chapter. [Illustration: Fig. 14.] POSITION AND NUMBER.--While the axils of the leaves and the ends of the stems are the ordinary places for the buds, there are many peculiarities in regard to their exact position, number, etc., that render them very interesting for winter study. Sometimes there are several to the single leaf. In the Silver Maple there are buds on each side of the true axillary one; these are flower-buds, and during the winter they are larger than the one which produces the branch. The Butternut (Fig. 14) and the Walnut have several above each other, the upper one being the largest and at quite a distance from the true axil. In these cases the uppermost is apt to grow, and then the branch is said to be _extra-axillary_. In the Sycamore the bud does not show while the leaf remains on the tree, as it is in the hollow of the leafstalk. In the winter the bud has a ring-like scar entirely around it, instead of the moon-shaped scar below as in most trees. The Common Locust has several buds under the leafstalk and one above it in the axil. This axillary bud may grow during the time the leaf remains on the tree, and afterward the growth of the strongest one of the others may give the tree two branches almost together. Some plants form extra buds especially when they are bruised or injured; those which have the greatest tendency to do so are the Willows, Poplars, and Elms. Such buds and growths are called _adventitious_. By cutting off the tops or _pollarding_ such trees, a very great number of adventitious branches can be made to grow. In this way the Willow-twigs used for baskets are formed. Adventitious buds form the clusters of curious thorns on the Honey-locust and the tufts of whip-like branches on the trunks and large limbs of the Elms. In trees the terminal bud and certain axillary ones, differing according to the species or variety of tree, are, during the winter, much larger than the rest. These are the ones which naturally form the new growth, and upon their arrangement the character of branching and thus the form of the tree depend. Each species has some peculiarity in this regard, and thus there are differences in the branching of all trees. In opposite-leaved plants the terminal bud may be small and weak, while the two buds at its side may be strong and apt to grow. This causes a forking of the branches each year. This plan is not rare among shrubs, the Lilac being a good example. BUD-SCALES.--The coverings of buds are exceedingly varied, and are well worthy of study and investigation. The large terminal buds of the Horse-chestnut, with their numerous scales, gummy on the outside to keep out the dampness, and hairy within to protect them from sudden changes of temperature, represent one extreme of a long line; while the small, naked, and partly buried buds of the Honey-locust or the Sumac represent the other end. The scales of many buds are merely extra parts formed for their protection, and fall immediately after the bursting of the buds; while other buds have the stipules of the leaves as bud-scales; these remain on the twigs for a time in the Tulip-tree, and drop immediately in the Magnolia. FORMS OF BUDS.--The size of buds varies greatly, as before stated, but this difference in size is no more marked than the difference in form. There is no better way to recognize a Beech at any time of the year than by its very long, slender, and sharp-pointed buds. The obovate and almost stalked buds of the Alders are also very conspicuous and peculiar. In the Balsam Poplar the buds are large, sharp-pointed, and gummy; in the Ailanthus they cannot be seen. [Illustration: Fig. 15.] All the things that might be learned from a small winter twig cannot be shown in an engraving, but the figures here given illustrate some of the facts easily determined from such specimens. The first twig (Ash) had opposite leaves and is 3 years old (the end of each year's growth is marked by dotted lines on all the figures); the year before last it had 6 leaves on the middle portion; last year it had 8 leaves on the end portion and 12 on the side shoots of the middle portion. The buds near the end of the annual growth are strongest and are most apt to grow. The specimen illustrated was probably taken from the end of a branch of a rather young and luxuriantly growing tree. Thus the Ash must have quite a regular growth and form a regularly outlined tree. The second twig (Sweet Gum) shows 7 years' growth and is probably a side shoot from more or less within the tree-top. It is stunted in its growth by the want of light and room. The leaves were alternate. The third twig (Sycamore) also had alternate leaves; the pointed buds must have been under the leafstalks, as the leaf-scars show as rings around the buds. The larger branch grew three years ago. From the specimen one judges that the Sycamore is quite an irregularly formed tree. The twig had 11 leaves last year. The fourth twig (Silver Maple) shows that the plant had opposite leaves, and supernumerary buds at the sides of the true axillary ones; the true axillary buds are smaller than those at the sides. It would, in such cases, be reasonable to suppose that the supernumerary buds were floral ones, and that the plant blooms before the leaves expand. The annual growths are quite extended; two years and a part of the third make up the entire twig. If it was cut during the winter of 1891-92, it must have had leaves on the lower part in 1889 and 12 leaves on the middle portion in 1890, as well as probably 4 on the lower portion on the side shoots. Last year it had 14 leaves on the end portion, two at least on each side shoot below, making 24 in all. _Folding of Leaves in the Bud._ There are some peculiarities in the arrangement of leaves in the bud which can be investigated only in the early spring. The common plans among trees are--_Inflexed_: blade folded crosswise, thus bringing it upon the footstalk. Tulip-tree. _Conduplicate_: blade folded along the midrib, bringing the two halves together. Peach. _Plicate_: folded several times lengthwise, like a fan. Birch. _Convolute_: rolled edgewise from one edge to the other. Plum. _Involute_: both edges rolled in toward the midrib on the upper side. Apple. _Revolute_: both edges rolled backward. Willow. _Obvolute_: folded together, but the opposite leaves half inclosing each other. Dogwood. CHAPTER VI. _The Preparation of a Collection._ [Illustration: Fig. 16.] Three specimens are needed of each kind of tree: one, a branch showing the flowers; another, showing the fruit--one of these, and in many cases both, will show the leaves. The third specimen, cut from a large limb or trunk, shows the bark and the wood. This should be a specimen with a surface so cut as to show the wood in the direction of the silver grain, _radial section_; with another surface cut in the direction of the annual layers, _tangential section_; and with a third cut across the grain, _cross-section_. It should be a specimen old enough to show the change of color in the heart-wood. By taking a limb or trunk 8 inches in diameter, all these points can be secured. A specimen cut as shown in the figure will illustrate all the desired points. Side E F G shows sap-and heart-wood in tangential section; side A B D C shows the same in radial section; end A B F E, in cross-section; and B F G D shows the bark. The central pith is at I; the heart-wood extends from C to J; the sap-wood from J to D. The silver grain is well shown at the end, and the blotches formed by it on the radial section. By having the piece made smooth, and the upper part down to the center (H) varnished, the appearance of the wood in furniture or inside finish will be illustrated. The specimens should be as nearly uniform in size as possible. If a limb 8 inches in diameter be taken and a length of 6 inches be cut off, the section A B D C should pass through the line of pith; the section E F G should be parallel with this at a distance from it of two inches; and two inches from the line of pith, the section A E C should be made. The whole specimen will then be 6 inches wide and long, and 2 inches thick. The twigs containing leaves, flowers and fruit need to be pressed while drying in order that they may be kept in good form and made tough enough to be retained as specimens. The plants should be placed between a large supply of newspapers, or, better still, untarred building-felt, while drying. A weight of from 40 to 80 pounds is needed to produce the requisite pressure. The weight is placed upon a board covering the pile of plants and paper. On account of the size of many leaves and flower-clusters, these pressed specimens of trees should not be shorter than from 12 to 15 inches, and even a length of 18 inches is an advantage. The pads or newspapers should be about 12 by 18 inches. A transfer of the plants into dry pads each day for a few days will hasten the drying and increase the beauty of the specimens. The specimens of twigs can be mounted on cardboard by being partly pasted and partly secured by narrow strips of gummed cloth placed across the heavier portions. The cardboard should be uniform in size. One of the regular sizes of Bristol-board is 22 by 28 inches; this will cut into four pieces 11 by 14. Specimens not over 15 inches in length can readily be mounted on these, and for most collectors this might be a very convenient size. Another regular size is 22 by 32 inches, cutting well into pieces 11 by 16. Specimens 15 to 18 inches long can be mounted on these. Some kinds of Evergreens, the Spruces especially, tend to shed their leaves after pressing. Such kinds can in most cases be made to form good specimens without pressing. Fasten the fresh specimens on pillars of plaster in boxes or frames 2 to 3 inches deep, so that they touch nothing but the column of plaster. Mix calcined plaster in water (as plasterers do), and build up a column high enough to support the branch. Place the specimen on the top of the pillar already formed, and pour over the whole some quite thin plaster till a rounded top is formed completely fastening the specimen. If the leaves are not touched at all, after they are dry, they will hang on for a long time, making specimens that will show the tree characteristics better than pressed specimens possibly could. CHAPTER VII. _Figures to be used in Botanical Description._ [Illustration: Fig. 17.] [Illustration: Fig. 18.] [Illustration: Fig. 19.] [Illustration: Fig. 20.] [Illustration: Fig. 21.] [Illustration: Fig. 22.] [Illustration: Fig. 23.] [Illustration: Fig. 24.] [Illustration: Fig. 25.] [Illustration: Fig. 26.] [Illustration: Fig. 27.] [Illustration: Fig. 28.] [Illustration: Fig. 29.] [Illustration: Fig. 30.] [Illustration: Fig. 31.] [Illustration: Fig. 32.] [Illustration: Fig. 33.] [Illustration: Fig. 34.] [Illustration: Fig. 35.] [Illustration: Fig. 36.] [Illustration: Fig. 37.] [Illustration: Fig. 38.] [Illustration: Fig. 39.] [Illustration: Fig. 40.] [Illustration: Fig. 41.] [Illustration: Fig. 42.] [Illustration: Fig. 43.] [Illustration: Fig. 44.] [Illustration: Fig. 45.] [Illustration: Fig. 46.] [Illustration: Fig. 47.] [Illustration: Fig. 48.] [Illustration: Fig. 49.] [Illustration: Fig. 50.] [Illustration: Fig. 51.] [Illustration: Fig. 52.] [Illustration: Fig. 53.] [Illustration: Fig. 54.] [Illustration: Fig. 55.] [Illustration: Fig. 56.] [Illustration: Fig. 57.] [Illustration: Fig. 58.] [Illustration: Fig. 59.] [Illustration: Fig. 60.] [Illustration: Fig. 61.] [Illustration: Fig. 62.] [Illustration: Fig. 63.] [Illustration: Fig. 64.] [Illustration: Fig. 65.] [Illustration: Fig. 66.] [Illustration: Fig. 67.] PART II. PLAN AND MODELS FOR TREE DESCRIPTION All pupils should be required to write some form of composition on the trees of the region. As far as possible, these compositions should be the result of personal investigation. It is not what a pupil can read and redescribe in more or less his own words, but how accurately he can see and, from the information conveyed by his own senses, describe in his own way the things he has observed, that makes the use of such a book as this important as an educational aid. Some information in regard to trees, in a finished description, must be obtained from books, such as hardiness, geographical distribution, etc. Pupils generally should be required to include only those things which they can give from actual observation. There are four distinct forms of tree descriptions that might be recognized by the teacher and occasionally called for as work from the pupil. 1st. A bare skeleton description, written by aid of a topical outline, from the observation of a single tree and its parts. 2d. A connected description, conveying as many facts given in the outline as can well be brought into good English sentences. This again is the description of a single tree. 3d. A connected, readable description of a certain kind of tree, made up from the observation of many trees of the same species to be found in the neighborhood. 4th. The third description including information to be obtained from outside sources in regard to the origin, geographical distribution, hardiness, character of wood, habits, durability, etc. These four plans of description are more or less successive methods to be introduced as the work of a class. Pupils should be induced to carry on their own investigations as far as possible before going to printed sources for information. A good part of class work should be devoted to the first three of the methods given, but the work might finally include the fourth form of composition. The first two methods should follow each other with each of the trees studied; that is, one week let a mere outline be written, to be followed the next week with as clear and connected a description as the ability of the pupil will allow, and containing as much of the information given in the outline as possible. OUTLINE FOR TREE DESCRIPTION. _The tree as a whole_: size, general form, trunk, branching, twigs, character of bark, color of bark on trunk, branches, and fine spray. _Leaves_: parts, arrangement, kinds, size, thickness, form, edges, veining, color, surface, duration. _Buds_: position, size, form, covering, number, color. _Sap_ and _juice_. _Flowers_: size, shape, color, parts, odor, position, time of blooming, duration. _Fruit_: size, kind, form, color when young and when ripe, time of ripening, substance, seeds, duration, usefulness. _Wood_ (often necessarily omitted): hardness, weight, color, grain, markings, durability. _Remarks_: the peculiarities not brought out by the above outline. NOTES ON THE FOREGOING OUTLINE. The height of a tree can be readily determined by the following plan. Measure the height you can easily reach from the ground in feet and inches. Step to the trunk of the tree you wish to measure and, reaching up to this height, pin a piece of white paper on the tree. Step back a distance equal to three or four times the height of the tree; hold a lead-pencil upright between the thumb and forefinger at arm's-length. Fix it so that the end of the pencil shall be in line with the paper on the trunk; move the thumb down the pencil till it is in line with the ground at the base of the tree; move the arm and pencil upward till the thumb is in line with the paper, and note where the end of the pencil comes on the tree. Again move the pencil till the thumb is in line with the new position, and so continue the process till the top of the tree is reached. The number of the measures multiplied by the height you can reach will give quite accurately the height of the tree. The width of the tree can be determined in the same manner, the pencil, however, being held horizontally. In giving the forms of trees, it is well to accompany the description with a penciled outline. The distance from the ground at which the trunk begins to branch and the extent of the branching should be noted. The direction taken by the branches, as well as the regularity and the irregularity of their position, should also be observed and described. Although most twigs are cylindrical, still there are enough exceptions to make it necessary to examine them with reference to their form. Under leaves, it will be well to make drawings, both of the outline and of the veining. Crushed leaves will give the odor, and the sap can best be noticed at the bases of young leaves. The differences in sap and juice need the following words for their description: _watery_, _milky_, _mucilaginous_, _aromatic_, _spicy_, _sweet_, _gummy_, _resinous_. Pupils should not always be expected to find out much about the flowers of a tree, as they are frequently very evanescent, and usually difficult to reach. The fruit lasts a greater length of time and, usually dropping spontaneously, gives a much better chance for investigation. Specimens of most of the common woods may be obtained from cabinet-makers and carpenters. In cases where these specimens are at hand, description of the wood should be required. If the school has such specimens as are described in Chapter VI., Part I., the wood in all its peculiarities can be described. EXAMPLES OF TREE DESCRIPTION. _Taxodium distichum (Bald Cypress)._ _(Atterbury's Meadow.)_ _No. 1._ Tree eighty-four feet tall, thirty feet wide near base, ovate, conical, pointed; trunk seven feet in circumference near base and ridged lengthwise, but only four feet at the height of six feet from the ground, where it becomes round or nearly so, then gradually tapering to the top; branches small, very numerous, beginning six feet from the ground, sloping upward from the trunk at an angle of nearly forty-five degrees; twigs very slender, numerous, pendulous, two, three or even more growing together from supernumerary buds around the old scars; bark brownish, quite rough, thick and soft on the trunk, smoother on the branches, greenish on the young spray. [Illustration] Leaves about sessile, without stipules, alternate, crowded, two-ranked, thin, linear, entire, parallel-veined, with midrib, dark green, smooth, deciduous. Buds show in the axils of only a few of the leaves, and are very small; but there are several supernumerary buds around many of the clusters of the shoots of the year. Sap clear and slightly sticky with resin. [Illustration] Flowers looked for, but not seen; must have been small, or have bloomed before my examination in the spring. Fruit one inch in diameter, cone globular, brown in the autumn; did not notice it before; fifteen six-sided scales, two seeds under each, still hanging on, though the leaves have dropped; only to produce seeds, I think. The wood I do not know about. _Remarks._ Around the base, at some distance from the trunk, there are four peculiar knobs, seemingly coming from the roots, one being nearly a foot high and nine inches through. _No. 2._ The Bald Cypress standing near a small ditch in Atterbury's meadow is a very beautiful, tall, conical tree, over 80 feet high, with an excurrent trunk which is very large and ridged near the ground. It tapers rapidly upward, so that the circumference is only about half as great at the height of 6 feet, where the branches begin. The branches are very numerous and, considering the size of the trunk, very small; the largest of them being only about 2 inches through. They all slope upward rapidly, but the tip and fine spray show a tendency to droop; the fine thread-like branchlets, bearing the leaves of the year, are almost all pendulous. The bark is very rough, thick and soft, as I found in pinning on the bit of paper to measure the height of the tree, when I could easily press the pin in to its head. The leaves are very small and delicate, and as they extend out in two ranks from the thread-like twigs, look much like fine ferns. The small linear leaves and the spray drop off together in the autumn, as I can find much of last year's foliage on the ground still fastened to the twigs. I could not see any flowers, though I looked from early in the spring till the middle of the summer; then I saw a few of the globular green cones, almost an inch in diameter, showing that it had bloomed. Next spring I shall begin to look for the blossoms before the leaves come out. On the ground, about 6 feet from the tree, there are four very strange knobs which I did not notice till I stumbled over one of them. They seem to grow from the roots, and are quite soft and reddish in color. _No. 3._ I have found twenty-two Bald Cypresses in Trenton; they are all beautiful conical trees, and seem to grow well in almost any soil, as I have found some in very wet places and some in dry, sandy soil. They look from their position as though they had been planted out, and as I have found none in the woods around the town, they are probably not native in this region. They are from 50 to nearly 100 feet tall. I found one 96 feet high. They are all of a very symmetrical, conical form, and pointed at the top; in no case has the trunk divided into branches, and on the old trees the trunk enlarges curiously near the ground, the lower portion being very rough with ridges. The bark is very thick and rough, and is so soft that a pin can readily be pushed through it to the wood. The branches are very numerous and small, and are not regularly arranged in whorls like most of the narrow-leaved trees. These branches all slope upward from the trunk, the ends having a tendency to bend downward and make delicate drooping spray, with very small, linear, entire leaves only ½ inch long. Four of the largest trees show fruit, and each of these has only about a half-dozen of the globular cones. Only a few of the trees--those in the wettest places--have the knobs on the ground near the base. _No. 4._ The Bald Cypress (_Taxodium distichum_) is a common tree, a native of the Gulf States, growing very abundantly in the wettest swamps of that region. The northern limit of the tree in its wild state is said to be central Delaware and southern Illinois, but it can be successfully cultivated in the region around Boston. There are several named varieties, one with the leaves but slightly spreading from the spray, and the whole of the branches showing a decided weeping tendency, so that it is called the Weeping Cypress. The knobs from the roots, called Cypress-knees, grow very abundantly around all the trees in the southern swamps. These grow to the height of from 2 to 4 feet, and are very thick, sometimes as much as 5 feet. They are hollow, and are occasionally used for bee-hives. It is said to be a broad, flat-topped tree, spreading its top over other trees. This seems very strange, as none of those in Trenton, N. J., show such a tendency, but are quite spire-shaped. The wood is light, soft, straight-grained, and is said to be excellent for shingles and for other purposes. It generally has a dark reddish or brownish hue. It is a large tree, growing to the height of 140 feet. The trunk is sometimes 12 feet through near the ground. The flowers of the tree are in small catkins, blooming before the leaves expand in the early spring; in February, in South Carolina. PART III. KEY, CLASSIFICATION AND DESCRIPTION OF THE SPECIES. _Method of Using the Key._ First read _all_ the statements following the stars (*) at the beginning of the Key; decide which one of the statements best suits the specimen you have. At the end of the chosen one there is a letter in parenthesis ( ). Somewhere below, this letter is used two or more times. Read carefully _all_ the statements following this letter; at the end of the one which most nearly states the facts about your specimen, you will again be directed by a letter to another part of the Key. Continue this process till, instead of a letter, there is a number and name. The name is that of the genus, and forms the first part of the scientific name of the plant. Turn to the descriptive part of the book, where this number, in regular order, is found. Here descriptions of the species of the genus are given. If there are many species, another Key will lead to the species. While the illustrations are intended to represent characteristic specimens, too much dependence must not be placed upon them; the leaves even of the same plant vary considerably, and the different varieties, especially of a cultivated plant, vary widely. Read the whole description before deciding. The fractions beside the figures indicate the scale of the drawing as compared with the natural size of the part: 1/1 indicates natural size; 2/1, that the drawing is twice the length of the object; ¼, that the drawing is one fourth the length of the object, etc. In the description of leaves the dimensions given refer to the blade. =KEY TO THE GENERA OF TREES.= * Leaves narrow linear, needle, scale or awl shaped, usually but not always evergreen. (=GG.=) page 60. * Leaves broad, flat, usually deciduous, occasionally evergreen, rarely over 5 times as long as wide. (=A.=) =A.= Leaves alternate,[1] simple. (=B.=) =A.= Leaves alternate, compound. (=m.=) page 57. =A.= Leaves opposite or whorled on the stem. (=u.=) page 58. =B.= Leaves with a midrib, netted-veined. (=C.=) =B.= Leaves without a midrib, parallel-veined 109. _Salisburia._ =C.= With radiating ribs, and including those which have the lower ribs longer and more branching than those above them. (=f.=) page 56. =C.= With distinct and definite feather-veining. (=D.=) =D.= Margin entire, or so nearly so as to appear entire, sometimes slightly angulated but not lobed. (=V.=) =D.= Once or twice serrate or crenate or wavy-edged, but not lobed. (=E.=) =D.= Distinctly lobed. (=S.=) (If the notches are over 10 on a side, look under =E.=) =E.= Straight-veined. (=M.=) =E.= Not distinctly and evenly straight-veined. (=F.=) =F.= Leaves evergreen with either revolute or spiny-tipped margins 18. _Ilex._ =F.= Leaves evergreen, lanceolate-oblong, minutely serrate; flowers white, 4 in. in diameter 8. _Gordonia._ =F.= Leaves deciduous. (=G.=) =G.= Fruit with fleshy and often edible pulp. (=K.=) =G.= Fruit a dry and more or less rounded pod. (=H.=) =G.= Fruit and flowers in dry catkins; leaves, in most species, 3 or more times as long as wide, finely serrate to entire, with free stipules, in many species remaining on the young twigs, in others shown by a rounded scar on the sides of the stem; wood soft; the Willows 91. _Salix._ =G.= Fruit dry akenes with silky pappus, in small heads; whole plant whitened with scurf; leaves broadened and coarsely notched near tip; a broad spreading bush 49. _Baccharis._ =H.= Flowers conspicuous, 1 in. or more in size, white. (=J.=) =H.= Flowers quite small. (=I.=) =I.= Flowers and fruit in large panicles; leaves elongated, peach-like in shape, sour 50. _Oxydendrum._ =I.= Flowers in terminal, erect racemes; fruit small, three-celled pods; leaves oval, 3-7 in. long, pointed, thin, finely serrate; plant hardly a tree 53. _Clethra._ =I.= Fruit rounded, small, with calyx adhering to the lower part, one-seeded, in clusters of 3-many; leaves 1-3 in. long. 56. _Styrax._ =I.= Fruit hairy, in long, hanging panicles, tipped with long, persistent style, one-seeded 57. _Pterostyrax._ =J.= Flowers bell-shaped, 1 in. long; leaves widest below the middle; fruit winged pods 58. _Halesia._ =J.= Flowers spreading, 2 in. broad; leaves about twice as long as wide, widest near the center 7. _Stuartia._ =J.= Flowers spreading, 3 in. broad; leaves about 3 times as long as wide, widest near tip 8. _Gordonia._ =K.= Fruit a plum-like drupe with a single bony stone; plant sometimes thorny 36. _Prunus._ =K.= Fruit berry-like, ending in a conspicuous spreading calyx; plant generally quite thorny 38. _Cratægus._ =K.= Fruit berry-like, black when ripe, small, without calyx, with usually 3 cartilaginous coated seeds 20. _Rhamnus._ =K.= Fruit berry-like, red when ripe, small, without calyx, with usually 4-6 hard-coated, grooved nutlets 18. _Ilex._ =K.= Fruit a small or large apple-like pome, with the seeds in horny cells. (=L.=) =L.= Fruit about ½ in. in diameter, sweet, in drooping racemes 39. _Amelanchier._ =L.= Fruit either sour or much larger, and not in elongated racemes 37. _Pyrus._ =M.= Leaves harsh to the touch; somewhat oblique at base; quite distinctly two-ranked; large trees 74. _Ulmus._ =M.= Leaves decidedly oblique at base; margin wavy; small tree, usually a shrub 40. _Hamamelis._ =M.= Fruit berry-like, ending in a conspicuous spreading calyx; plant generally quite thorny 38. _Cratægus._ =M.= Leaves not regularly oblique at base; plant not thorny. (=N.=) =N.= Leaves thin and light, not harsh to the touch; spray light; bark smooth, in two species somewhat rough on the trunk. (=Q.=) =N.= Leaves thick; edge wavy, almost lobed; fruit an acorn. 88. _Quercus._ =N.= Leaves broad for the length, generally doubly serrate or wavy and serrate; shrubs, rarely tall enough for trees. (=P.=) =N.= Not included in the above. (=O.=) =O.= Leaves 3 or more times as long as wide, widest near the center; fruit a round, prickly bur with 1-3 horny-coated nuts 89. _Castanea._ =O.= Leaves widest near the sharply serrate tip, narrow and entire near the base; fruit small pods in terminal racemes; small tree or shrub 53. _Clethra._ =O.= Leaves widest near the base, usually small; bark scaling off like the Buttonwood; fruit axillary, solitary, small (¼ in.) roundish, dry drupes. A cultivated species, has rather large leaves, widest near the center 75. _Planera._ =P.= Fruit an open oval woody catkin or cone, remaining on the plant through the winter 84. _Alnus._ =P.= Fruit a rounded stony nut, in green leafy edged bracts; shrubs or small trees 85. _Corylus._ =Q.= Usually aromatic; bark dotted on the spray and with horizontal marks on the trunk, peeling off in thin, often papery layers 83. _Betula._ =Q.= Bark not peeling off in thin layers. (=R.=) =R.= Leaf-buds long and slender; fruit a small prickly bur with two triangular, horny-coated nuts; large trees 90. _Fagus._ =R.= Fruit an elongated catkin with large leaf-like bracts; bark close, gray, on a grooved trunk 87. _Carpinus._ =R.= Fruit a hop-like catkin; bark brownish, finely furrowed 86. _Ostrya._ =S.= Plant more or less thorny; shrub or small tree; fruit rounded berries ending in persistent calyx-lobes 38. _Cratægus._ =S.= Plant not thorny. (=T.=) =T.= Leaf deeply pinnatifid, usually with the basal lobes completely separated; cultivated 37. _Pyrus._ =T.= End of leaf as though cut off; sides with one large lobe; margin entire; large tree 2. _Liriodendron._ =T.= Lower leaves three-lobed, heart-shaped at base, upper merely ovate, margin entire; small tree or shrub 66. _Clerodendron._ =T.= Not as above; leaves usually many-lobed. (=U.=) =U.= Leaves thin; bark of trunk peeling off in thin horizontal strips 83. _Betula._ =U.= Leaves thin; leaf-buds long, slender, sharp-pointed; bark smooth, not peeling; cultivated 90. _Fagus._ =U.= Leaves thickish; bark roughish; fruit an oval woody cone, remaining on through the year 84. _Alnus._ =U.= Leaves thick; fruit an acorn 88. _Quercus._ =V.= Leaves evergreen, small, 2-3 in. long, thick, with revolute margins; fruit an acorn 88. _Quercus._ =V.= Leaves evergreen, oval to lance-oval, usually large; small trees, almost shrubs. (=d.=) page 56. =V.= Leaves deciduous (some are evergreen in the Southern States). (=W.=) =W.= Plant more or less spiny. (=c.=) =W.= Plant not at all spiny. (=X.=) =X.= Leaf-blade thin, long, pointed, with curved parallel veins or ribs 45. _Cornus._ =X.= Leaf-blade thin, circular or broadly oval in outline, with blunt, almost rounded apex; veins not regularly parallel 27. _Rhus._ =X.= Leaf quite elongated, 5 or more times as long as wide. (=b.=) =X.= Leaves with none of the above peculiarities. (=Y.=) =Y.= Deciduous bud-scales (stipules), leaving a scar or mark completely around the stem at the base of the leaves. 1. _Magnolia._ =Y.= Leaves covered on one or both sides with silvery scales 71. _Elæagnus._ =Y.= No such ring around the stem, or silvery scales on the leaves. (=Z.=) =Z.= Leaves distinctly straight-veined, thin 90. _Fagus._ =Z.= Leaves thick, obtuse; fruit an acorn 88. _Quercus._ =Z.= Leaves 6 in. or more long; crushed leaves with a rank, fetid odor 5. _Asimina._ =Z.= Leaves 3-5 in. long; twigs and leaves very spicy; shrub rather than tree 70. _Lindera._ =Z.= Leaves about 2 in. long, oval, on twigs which have ridges extending down from the sides of the leafstalk; small tree, almost a shrub, with beautiful flowers 43. _Lagerstroemia._ =Z.= Leaves not as above. (=a.=) =a.= Fruit a large (½-1½ in.) rounded pulpy berry with a heavy calyx at the base 55. _Diospyros._ =a.= Fruit small (¼ in.), fleshy, drupe-like, with a striate stone; limbs branching horizontally, often descending 46. _Nyssa._ =a.= Fruit a black, juicy berry (1/3-½ in.), with about 3 seeds 20. _Rhamnus._ =a.= Fruit an ovoid dry drupe (½ in.); leaves sweet-tasting 59. _Symplocos._ =a.= Fruit an apple-like pome (Quince) 37. _Pyrus._ =b.= Wood soft; both kinds of flowers in catkins in spring; with either stipules or stipular sears 91. _Salix._ =b.= Wood hard; leaves thick; fruit an acorn 88. _Quercus._ =c.= Fruit a 2-4-seeded small berry; juice not milky 20. _Rhamnus._ =c.= Fruit large, orange-like in size and color when ripe; juice milky 77. _Maclura._ =c.= Fruit small, black when ripe, cherry-like; juice milky 54. _Bumelia._ =d.= Aromatic; berries dark blue on red stalks 68. _Persea._ =d.= Not aromatic; leaves nearly 1 ft. long; flowers large and solitary. 1. _Magnolia._ =d.= Not aromatic; leaves 1-4 in. long; flowers very small; fruit small dark-colored berries, with 2-4 seeds 20. _Rhamnus._ =d.= Not aromatic; flowers large, in showy clusters. (=e.=) =e.= Leaves 5 in. or more long 52. _Rhododendron._ =e.= Leaves less than 4 in. long 51. _Kalmia._ =f.= Leaves decidedly aromatic, usually somewhat irregularly lobed, margin entire, base tapering 69. _Sassafras._ =f.= Leaves usually deltoid, sometimes heart-shaped with serrate margin and gummy buds, rarely palmately lobed. All have either the petiole flattened sidewise, the leaf-blade densely silvery-white beneath, or gummy aromatic buds 92. _Populus._ =f.= Leaves broadly heart-shaped; margin entire; small tree with abundance of red flowers in early spring; fruit a pea-like pod. 32. _Cercis._ =f.= Leaves not as above given. (=g.=) =g.= Leaves broadly heart-shaped, with a serrate margin and a petiole about as long as the blade, sometimes longer; base of leaf not oblique 4. _Idesia._ =g.= Leaves broadly heart-shaped, those on the suckers much lobed; base not oblique; margin serrate; juice milky; bark very tough. (=l.=) =g.= Leaves broadly heart-shaped, with an oblique base; margin regularly serrate; juice not milky 11. _Tilia._ =g.= Leaves slightly if at all heart-shaped at base, usually somewhat oblique, with neither milky juice nor lobes. (=j.=) =g.= Leaves decidedly and quite regularly lobed. (=h.=) =h.= Leaves with 3-5 large lobes, the margin entire or slightly angulated. 10. _Sterculia._ =h.= Leaves star-shaped, with 5-9 pointed, serrate lobes. (=i.=) =h.= Leaves large, irregularly margined; leaf-stem covering the bud; large tree 80. _Platanus._ =h.= Plant quite thorny; fruit berry-like, ending in a conspicuous spreading calyx; small trees or shrubs with apple-like blossoms. 38. _Cratægus._ =h.= Leaves with a tapering base; small tree, almost a shrub, with large Hollyhock-like flowers; plant not thorny 9. _Hibiscus._ =i.= Large tree, with fruit 1 in. in diameter, dry, rough, hanging on a long stem 41. _Liquidambar._ =i.= Small tree with few branches and the trunk usually quite prickly; fruit berry-like in large clusters 44. _Aralia._ =j.= Fruit small berries, with 3 flattened seeds, in clusters in the axils of the leaves, which are decidedly 3-ribbed from the base 21. _Hovenia._ =j.= Fruit small drupes, with 1 seed, either solitary or in pairs in the axils of the leaves. (=k.=) =k.= Plant without prickles; leaves decidedly oblique at base 76. _Celtis._ =k.= Plant with prickles; leaves narrow, decidedly 3-ribbed, and 2-ranked on green twigs 22. _Zizyphus._ =l.= Fruit not very edible; leaves rough above, very hairy below, on some of the twigs opposite 79. _Broussonetia._ =l.= Fruit edible; leaves not very hairy, never opposite 78. _Morus._ =m.= Leaves of 3 entire-edged leaflets; fruit a pea-like pod 28. _Laburnum._ =m.= Leaves of 3 quite regularly serrate, transparent-dotted leaflets 13. _Ptelea._ =m.= Leaves once or twice pinnate; the leaflets entire. (=s.=) =m.= Leaves once or twice pinnate; the leaflets with margins more or less serrate or notched. (=n.=) =n.= Leaves irregularly once to twice, in one case three times, pinnate. (=r.=) =n.= Leaves regularly once pinnate. (=o.=) =o.= Leaves less than 1 ft. long, on a small, quite prickly plant; fruit very small pods (¼ in. long) 12. _Xanthoxylum._ =o.= Leaves less than 1 ft. long; leaflets 3 in. or less long; fruit bright-colored, berry-like pomes in clusters, persistent through the autumn; plant not thorny; branches not heavy-tipped. 37. _Pyrus._ =o.= Leaves usually larger on the small tree or almost a shrub; juice in most cases milky; branches heavy-tipped 27. _Rhus._ =o.= Leaves 1-2 ft. long; leaflets 3 in. or more long; fruit a bony nut with green fleshy coat; large trees. (=q.=) =o.= Leaves very large, 2 ft. or more long on the rapid-growing branches; branches heavy-tipped; odor of bruised leaves quite strong; leaflets 15 or more in number; large trees; juice not milky. (=p.=) =p.= Leaflets with 1-3 glandular notches at the base 17. _Ailanthus._ =p.= Leaflets entire at base, but very slightly serrate near the tip 16. _Cedrela._ =q.= Coat of fruit more or less dehiscent into 4 valves; nut smoothish; leaflets, except in one species, not over 11 in number, usually 5-7 82. _Carya._ =q.= Coat of fruit not regularly dehiscent; nut, in the wild species, rough-coated; leaflets, except in a cultivated species, over 11 in number 81. _Juglans._ =r.= Leaves quite regularly twice odd-pinnate; leaflets about 1 in. long; juice not milky; fruit rounded berries in large clusters; plant not prickly; branchlets not heavy-tipped 15. _Melia._ =r.= Leaves once to twice irregularly odd-pinnate; the leaflets very irregularly and coarsely toothed; a small, round-headed tree with bladdery pods 24. _Koelreuteria._ =r.= Leaves irregularly about twice odd-pinnate; the leaflets lanceolate; quite a low plant with few heavy-tipped branches; plant without prickles 27. _Rhus._ =r.= Leaves 2 (sometimes 3) times odd-pinnate; tree-stem with prickles; small tree or shrub, with few branches 44. _Aralia._ =r.= Leaves once to twice abruptly pinnate; large tree with slender-tipped branches, usually very thorny 34. _Gleditschia._ =s.= Leaves very large (2 ft. or more long), about twice abruptly pinnate; leaflets broad and often 2 in. long; branches blunt; no thorns 33. _Gymnocladus._ =s.= Leaves and leaflets much smaller, leaves quite irregularly once or twice abruptly pinnate; branches slender-tipped; large tree, usually very thorny 34. _Gleditschia._ =s.= Leaves twice abruptly pinnate; leaflets over 400 in number, with midrib near the upper edge 35. _Albizzia._ =s.= Leaves regularly once pinnate, not over 2 ft. long. (=t.=) =t.= Leaves abruptly pinnate, not over 5 in. long; leaflets 8-12, small, mucronate-pointed 29. _Caragana._ =t.= Leaves odd-pinnate; shrub or small tree, with few, heavy-tipped branches; no spines or prickles 27. _Rhus._ =t.= Leaves odd-pinnate; leaflets large (3-5 in. long), not usually over 11 in number; round-topped tree 30. _Cladrastis._ =t.= Leaves odd-pinnate; leaflets less than 3 in. long, frequently 11-21 in number; often with spines at the bases of the leaves in the place of stipules 12. _Xanthoxylum_ or 31. _Robinia._ =u.= Leaves palmately compound. (=CC.=) =u.= Leaves pinnately compound. (=BB.=) =u.= Leaves simple, evergreen, sessile, in whorls around the stem, which they completely cover (98a. _Araucaria._) =u.= Leaves simple, opposite, evergreen, entire, over 2 in. long 61. _Osmanthus._ =u.= Leaves simple, opposite, evergreen, entire, under 1 in. long 73. _Buxus._ =u.= Leaves simple, deciduous. (=v.=) =v.= Branches ending in thorns; small trees, or shrubs. (=AA.=) =v.= Plants not thorny. (=w.=) =w.= Leaves palmately lobed (one variety, rarely cultivated, lacks lobes, but is heart-shaped with a serrate margin), the lobes over 3 in number, or with notches or serrations; fruit dry, winged 25. _Acer._ =w.= Lower leaves palmately 3-lobed, and heart-shaped at base, upper ones ovate, all with entire margin; fruit with juicy pulp covering the 4 seeds 66. _Clerodendron._ =w.= Leaves palmately lobed; fruit small, one-seeded, berry-like drupes in large clusters, with flattened stones, or large rounded clusters of flowers without stamens or pistils; shrubs rather than trees 47. _Viburnum._ =w.= Leaves heart-shaped, entire or slightly angulated; not lobed. (=DD.=) =w.= Leaves irregularly serrate, somewhat straight-veined; fruit single-winged; large cultivated tree 60. _Fraxinus._ =w.= Leaves neither heart-shaped nor lobed; small trees, almost shrubs. (=x.=) =x.= Leaves entire. (=z.=) =x.= Leaves serrate or dentate, ovate or oval. (=y.=) =y.= Fruit rounded drupes in large clusters, with single flattened stones 47. _Viburnum._ =y.= Fruit lobed pods, which burst open in the autumn; branchlets somewhat 4-sided 19. _Euonymus._ =z.= Leaves small, lanceolate; flowers and fruit large and beautiful 42. _Punica._ =z.= Leaves broad, thin, with curved parallel veins or ribs. 45. _Cornus._ =z.= Leaves large, broad, oval, without either curved or straight parallel ribs 63. _Chionanthus._ =AA.= Leaves entire and covered on both sides with silvery, peltate scales 72. _Shepherdia._ =AA.= Leaves ovate, small, minutely serrate 20. _Rhamnus._ =BB.= Leaves large, 18 in. or more long; leaflets 11 or more, very finely serrated 14. _Phellodendron._ =BB.= Leaves smaller; leaflets entire or quite evenly toothed, usually over 5 in number 60. _Fraxinus._ =BB.= Leaflets coarsely and quite irregularly toothed, 3-5 (rarely 7) in number 26. _Negundo._ =CC.= Leaflets slender-lanceolate, almost entire; shrub or small tree, 5-10 ft. high 67. _Vitex._ =CC.= Leaflets broader and serrate; usually large trees. 23. _Æsculus._ =DD.= Leaves with radiating ribs. (=FF.=) =DD.= Leaves with feather-veining. (=EE.=) =EE.= Leaves 2-6 in. long; flowers small, in large, dense, terminal clusters 62. _Syringa._ =EE.= Leaves 1-4 in. long; flowers in pairs 48. _Lonicera._ =FF.= Leaves large, 6 in. or more long; two almost hidden buds, one above the other, in the axils of the leaves on the rapid-growing branches; flowers large, purple, blooming in early spring; fruit rounded pods 64. _Paulownia._ =FF.= Leaves large, 6 in. or more long; flowers large, white, blooming in June; fruit long pods 65. _Catalpa._ =FF.= Leaves 2-4 in. long, with red stems 3. _Cercidiphyllum._ =GG.= Leaves scattered singly over the stem, not in bundles or clusters. (=JJ.=) =GG.= Leaves in large or small clusters. (=HH.=) =HH.= Clusters in whorls of many leaves around the stem like an umbrella 100. _Sciadopitys._ =HH.= Leaves clustered in bundles of 2-6 93. _Pinus._ =HH.= Leaves clustered in bundles of over 8. (=II.=) =II.= Leaves deciduous, soft 97. _Larix._ =II.= Leaves evergreen, rigid 98. _Cedrus._ =JJ.= Leaves hardly evergreen; spray quite slender. (=ZZ.=) =JJ.= Leaves fully evergreen. (=KK.=) =KK.= Leaves awl or scale shaped, and mainly appressed to the stem. (=WW.=) =KK.= Leaves linear or needle shaped, and decidedly spreading from the stem, though sometimes with a decurrent base. (=LL.=) =LL.= Leaves narrowed to a distinct though short stem. (=RR.=) =LL.= Leaves sessile; if narrowed, not so abruptly as to form a petiole. (=MM.=) =MM.= Leaves opposite or whorled on the stem. (=PP.=) =MM.= Leaves rather spirally arranged around the stem, not just opposite. (=NN.=) =NN.= Leaves linear to lanceolate, flattened, spreading quite squarely from the stem. (=OO.=) =NN.= Leaves not flattened but 4-sided, curved, gradually enlarging from the tips to the bases, which are decurrent, and on the young twigs completely cover the stem; cones rounded; the scales not lapping 105. _Cryptomeria._ =OO.= Leaves about linear in form, of nearly the same width throughout, and usually fastened to the cylindrical stem by a distinct disk-like base; cones erect; scales lapping. 96. _Abies._ =OO.= Leaves about 2 in. long and gradually widening from the acute tips to the broad (1/8 in.) bases, which are decurrent on the stem 99. _Cunninghamia._ =OO.= Leaves ½-1 in. long, sharp-pointed, very flat, two-ranked, somewhat lanceolate in form; base narrowed almost to a petiole 102. _Sequoia._ =PP.= Leaves not decurrent, usually in whorls of three around the stem, sometimes opposite, acute-pointed; fruit small (1/8 in.), rounded, dark-colored berries 106. _Juniperus._ =PP.= Leaves decurrent on the stem, less than ½ in. long. (=QQ.=) =QQ.= Fruit small, globular cones; the scales not lapping 104. _Chamæcyparis._ =QQ.= Fruit small, elongated cones of few, lapping scales 103. _Thuya._ =RR.= Leaves usually but little flattened, but jointed to a short, brown petiole which is attached to a somewhat grooved twig; cones pendent, of lapping scales 94. _Picea._ =RR.= Leaves decidedly flattened, not jointed, but narrowed to a petiole which is usually green or greenish in color. (=SS.=) =SS.= Leaves rounded or obtuse at the tip, distinctly two-ranked, usually less than 1 in. long; cones oval, 1 in. or less long, of lapping scales 95. _Tsuga._ =SS.= Leaves acute at the tip; fruit (found only on a portion of the plants, as the flowers are dioecious) drupe-like, with a single nut-like seed. (=TT.=) =TT.= Leaves not two-ranked, over 2 in. long 108. _Podocarpus._ =TT.= Leaves quite regularly two-ranked. (=UU.=) =UU.= Leaves marked by two longitudinal lines; bruised or burned leaves with a very disagreeable odor (107a. _Torreya._) =UU.= Leaves with the midrib forming a distinct ridge, odor not disagreeable. (=VV.=) =VV.= Leaves usually less than an inch long 107. _Taxus._ =VV.= Leaves usually more than an inch long (107b. _Cephalotaxus._) =WW.= Spray decidedly two-ranked, fan-like. (=YY.=) =WW.= Spray branching in an irregular way, not two-ranked. (=XX.=) =XX.= Fruit a purplish berry; bark shreddy 106. _Juniperus._ =XX.= Fruit a cone of thick, pointed, not lapping scales 102. _Sequoia._ =YY.= Cones elongated, of lapping scales 103. _Thuya._ =YY.= Cones globular, of peltate, valvate scales 104. _Chamæcyparis._ =ZZ.= Leaves very broad at base, half clasping the stem and rapidly narrowed to an acute tip; hardly at all spreading from the thread-like twigs; flowers pinkish, in spike-like clusters 6. _Tamarix._ =ZZ.= Leaves more elongated, quite even in width, not clasping the stem 101. _Taxodium._ [Footnote 1: Look on the elongated branches for the arrangement of the leaves; they are too closely clustered on the short side shoots. See page 18.] =CLASS I. ANGIOSPÉRMÆ.= Plants with a pistil consisting of a closed ovary, which contains the ovules and forms the fruit. ORDER =I. MAGNOLIACEÆ.= (MAGNOLIA FAMILY.) Trees or shrubs, mainly of tropical regions, including, in our section, the three following genera: GENUS =1. MAGNÒLIA.= Trees and tall shrubs with alternate, thick, smooth, entire leaves with deciduous stipules which form the bud-scales, and are attached entirely around the stem, leaving a ridge, as in Liriodendron. Flowers very large (3 to 10 in. in diameter), usually white, solitary. Fruit a large cone from which the seeds, drupe-like, usually red, hang out on long threads during the autumn. * Blooming with or before the opening of the leaves. (=A.=) =A.= Flowers entirely white 9, 10. =A.= Flowers dark purple 11. =A.= Flowers mixed purple and white. A large number of hybrids from China and Japan. * Blooming after the leaves expand. (=B.=) =B.= Leaves evergreen, more than 8 in. long 1. =B.= Leaves evergreen, not 6 in. long 2. =B.= Leaves deciduous. (=C.=) =C.= Leaves decidedly auriculate or cordate at the base. (=D.=) =D.= Leaves very large (1 to 3 ft. long) 5. =D.= Leaves smaller and much clustered at the tips of the flowering branches 6. =C.= Leaves not conspicuously cordate at base. (=E.=) =E.= Leaves clustered at the tips of the flowering branches 7. =E.= Leaves scattered along the branches. (=F.=) =F.= Base of leaf abrupt 3, 4. =F.= Base of leaf tapering. (=G.=) =G.= Leaves quite large, about 1 ft. long; a very erect growing tree 8. =G.= Leaves smaller, medium thick, glossy above 2. medium thin (5 to 10 in. long) 3. [Illustration: M. grandiflòra.] 1. =Magnòlia grandiflòra=, L. (LARGE-FLOWERED MAGNOLIA. SOUTHERN EVERGREEN MAGNOLIA.) Leaves evergreen, thick, oval-oblong; upper surface glossy, under surface somewhat rusty. Flowers large, 6 to 10 in. wide, white, fragrant. In spring. Fruit oval, 3 to 4 in. long, ripe in October. Seeds scarlet. Splendid evergreen tree (50 to 80 ft.) in the Southern States; half hardy, and reduced to a shrub (10 to 20 ft.) when cultivated in the Middle States. [Illustration: M. glaùca.] 2. =Magnòlia glaùca=, L. (SWEET-BAY. SWAMP-MAGNOLIA.) Leaves quite thick, oblong-oval, obtuse, smooth and glossy above, white or rusty pubescent beneath; evergreen in the Southern States. Leaf-buds silky. Flowers globular, white, and very fragrant. June to August. Fruit about 1½ in. long, ripe in autumn. Shrub, 4 to 20 ft. high, in the swamps of the Atlantic States from Massachusetts southward. Slender tree, 15 to 30 ft. high, when cultivated in good damp soil. [Illustration: M. acuminàta.] 3. =Magnòlia acuminàta=, L. (CUCUMBER-TREE.) Leaves thin, green above, paler beneath, oblong, usually pointed at both ends, 5 to 10 in. long. Leaf-buds silky. Flowers pale yellowish-green, 3 in. wide, late in spring. Fruit irregular-oblong (2 to 3 in. long), rose-colored when ripe, with a few hard, bony, black seeds, coated with red pulp, ripe in autumn. Large (50 to 90 ft.) noble forest tree, wild in western New York and southward. Wood rather soft, yellowish-white, quite durable, and extensively used for pump logs. Occasionally cultivated; fine for avenues. [Illustration: M. cordàta.] 4. =Magnòlia cordàta=, Michx. (YELLOW CUCUMBER-TREE.) Leaves broadly ovate or oval, rarely cordate at base, smooth above, white-downy beneath, 4 to 6 in. long. Flowers lemon-yellow slightly streaked with red. June. Fruit nearly 3 in. long, red when ripe in autumn. A rather small, broad-headed tree (20 to 50 ft.), wild in the Southern States, but hardy as far north as Boston; not often cultivated. Probably an upland variety of the preceding. [Illustration: M. macrophýlla.] 5. =Magnòlia macrophýlla=, Michx. (GREAT-LEAVED MAGNOLIA.) Leaves very large, sometimes 3 ft. long, crowded at the summit of the branches, obovate-oblong, cordate at the narrowed base, glaucous-white beneath, green above; twigs whitish pubescent. Flowers very large (12 in. broad), white with a purple spot near the base; fragrant. Fruit cylindrical, 4 in. long, deep rose-colored when ripe in autumn. A medium-sized (30 to 40 ft.), spreading tree; wild from Kentucky south, hardy and cultivated as far north as New York City. [Illustration: M. Fràseri.] 6. =Magnòlia Fràseri=, Walt. (EAR-LEAVED UMBRELLA-TREE.) Leaves crowded at the ends of the flowering branches, obovate or spatulate, auriculate at base, smooth (1 ft. long). Leaf-buds smooth. Flowers (6 in. wide) white, slightly scented. April to May. Fruit 3 to 4 in. long, rose-colored, ripe in autumn. Medium-sized, rather slender tree (30 to 50 ft.), with soft yellowish-white wood. Virginia and southward. Hardy and extensively cultivated as far north as New York City. [Illustration: M. umbrélla.] 7. =Magnòlia umbrélla=, Lam. (UMBRELLA TREE.) Leaves clustered at the ends of the branches, obovate-lanceolate, pointed at both ends, 1 to 2 ft. long; downy beneath when young, but soon becoming smooth. Flowers white, 6 to 8 in. broad. May. Fruit oblong, 4 to 6 in. long, rather rose-colored when ripe in autumn. A small, rather straggling tree, 20 to 40 ft. high; common in the Southern States, and wild as far north as New York State; cultivated throughout. [Illustration: M. hypoleùca.] 8. =Magnòlia hypoleùca=, S. & Z. (JAPAN MAGNOLIA.) Leaves large (1 ft. long), somewhat purple-tinted above, white and glaucous beneath. Midrib and leafstalk often red. Flowers cream-white, fragrant, appearing after the leaves in June. Twigs stout and polished. A medium-sized, very erectly growing tree; from Japan. [Illustration: M. conspícua.] 9. =Magnòlia conspícua,= Salisb. (YULAN OR CHINESE WHITE MAGNOLIA.) Leaves deciduous, obovate, abruptly acuminate, pubescent when young. Flowers large (4 in.), cream-white, very fragrant, appearing very early (May), before any of the leaves. Fruit rarely formed, with few (1 to 3, rarely more) seeds to a cone. Bark dark brown on the young branches; terminal winter buds over ½ in. long. Small tree (10 to 30 ft.) with spreading habit and stout branches; very extensively cultivated for its abundant early bloom; from China. [Illustration: M. Kòbus.] 10. =Magnòlia Kòbus.= (THURBER'S JAPAN MAGNOLIA.) Leaves similar to the preceding, but smaller. Flowers also similar, but pure white. Fruit abundantly formed, with several (2 to 12) seeds to the cone. Bark green on the young growth; terminal winter-buds under ½ in. long. Small tree (15 to 40 ft.) with erect habit and slender branches. A beautiful tree of recent introduction from Japan. [Illustration: M. purpùrea.] 11. =Magnòlia purpùrea=, Sims. (PURPLE JAPAN MAGNOLIA.) Leaves obovate, pointed at both ends, dark green. Flowers erect, of 3 sepals and 6 obovate, purple petals; blooming about as the leaves expand. A low tree, or usually merely a shrub, from Japan; often cultivated. Besides the Magnolias here given, there are quite a number of varieties and hybrids in cultivation, from China and Japan, most of them blooming before the leaves expand in spring. GENUS 2. =LIRIODÉNDRON.= Trees with alternate, deciduous, smooth, stipulate, 4-lobed leaves, the stipules large, attached entirely around the stem, and leaving a ridge when they drop off, as in the genus Magnolia. Flowers tulip-shaped, large (3 in.), greenish-yellow. May to June. Fruit a pointed cone, 3 in. long, hanging on the tree till autumn. [Illustration: L. tulipífera.] =Liriodéndron tulipífera=, L. (TULIP-TREE.) Leaves large, smooth on both sides, somewhat 3-lobed, the end one seemingly cut off, leaving a shallow notch; stipules light-colored, large, oblong, attached all around the stem, often remaining on through half the season. A very large (80 to 150 ft. high), beautiful, rapidly growing tree, with soft, straight-grained, greenish wood, of great use for inside work. Southern New England and southward. Especially abundant and large in the Western States. Also cultivated. GENUS 3. CERCIDIPHÝLLUM. Shrubs or trees with opposite, rarely subalternate, simple, deciduous leaves. Fruit short-stemmed, with divergent pods, 2-4 in number, splitting open on the outer edges; each one-celled, with one row of lapping, pendulous seeds with membranous wings. [Illustration: C. Japónicum.] =Cercidiphýllum Japónicum.= (KATSURA-TREE.) Leaves broadly heart-shaped, palmately veined with 5-7 ribs, and with an apparently entire margin, dark green above, somewhat glaucous beneath. Under a magnifying glass the margin will be found to have pellucid crenulations. Leafstalk dark red and jointed above the base, the veins somewhat red-tinted. A beautiful, upright tree with birch-like, dotted, brown bark; of recent introduction from Japan, and probably completely hardy throughout the region. ORDER =II. BIXÍNEÆ.= A rather small order of mostly tropical trees or shrubs, with alternate, simple leaves. GENUS 4. =IDÈSIA.= Large trees with terminal and axillary panicles of very small flowers and berries. [Illustration: I. polycárpa.] =Idèsia polycárpa=, Hook. Leaves large, heart-shaped, serrate, palmately veined with 5 ribs; leafstalk very long, red, with two glands near the base; twigs also glandular; berries very small (¼ inch), with many seeds. A large tree recently introduced from Japan, which may prove hardy from Pennsylvania south, but is killed by the climate of Massachusetts. ORDER =III. ANONÀCEÆ.= (CUSTARD-APPLE FAMILY.) An order of tropical trees and shrubs except the following genus: GENUS =5. ASÍMINA.= Small trees or shrubs with simple, deciduous, alternate, entire, pinnately-veined leaves. Flowers large, dull purplish, solitary in the axils of last year's leaves. Fruit a large, oblong, several-seeded, pulpy berry. [Illustration: A. tríloba.] =Asímina tríloba=, Dunal. (COMMON PAPAW.) Leaves large (8 to 12 in. long), oblong-obovate, acuminate, thin, lapping over each other in such a manner as to give the plant a peculiar imbricated appearance. Flowers 1 in. broad, appearing before the leaves. Fruit 3 in. long, 1½ in. thick, yellowish, fragrant, about 8-seeded, ripe in the autumn. Small (10 to 20 ft. high), beautiful tree with dark-brown twigs. All parts have a rank, fetid smell. Wild in New York and southward along streams; cultivated. ORDER =IV. TAMARISCÍNEÆ.= A small order, consisting mostly of shrubs (from the Old World) with minute leaves. GENUS =6. TÁMARIX.= Leaves simple, very small, alternate, clasping; old ones almost transparent at the apex. Flowers in spike-like panicles, small, red, or pink, rarely white. [Illustration: T. Gállica.] =Támarix Gállica=, L. (FRENCH TAMARISK.) Leaves very small, acute; spray very slender, abundant. A sub-evergreen shrub or small tree, 5 to 20 ft. high; with very small pinkish flowers, in spike-like clusters, blooming from May to October. A very beautiful and strange-looking plant, which, rather sheltered by other trees, can be successfully grown throughout. ORDER =V. TERNSTROEMIÀCEÆ.= (TEA OR CAMELLIA FAMILY.) An order of showy-flowered trees and shrubs of tropical and subtropical regions, here represented by the following genera: GENUS =7. STUÁRTIA.= Shrubs or low trees with alternate, simple, exstipulate, ovate, serrulate leaves, soft downy beneath. Flowers large (2 in.), white to cream-color, solitary and nearly sessile in the axils of the leaves; blooming in early summer. Fruit a 5-celled capsule with few seeds; ripe in autumn. [Illustration: S. pentágyna.] 1. =Stuártia pentágyna=, L'Her. (STUARTIA.) Leaves thick, ovate, acuminate, acute at base, obscurely mucronate, serrate, finely pubescent, 3 to 4 in. long, one half as wide. Flowers whitish cream-colored, one petal much the smallest; stamens of the same color. Pod 5-angled. Handsome shrub or small tree (10 to 15 ft.), wild south in the mountains, and hardy and cultivated as far north as New York City without protection. In Massachusetts it needs some sheltered position. [Illustration: S. Virgínica.] 2. =Stuártia Virgínica=, Cav. (VIRGINIA STUARTIA.) Leaves elliptic-ovate, acuminate at both ends, 2 in. long, 1 in. wide, thin, serrate, silky pubescent beneath. Flowers white with purple filaments and blue anthers. Pod globular and blunt; ripe in October. A beautiful shrub rather than tree (8 to 12 ft.), wild in Virginia and south; hardy as far north as Washington. GENUS =8. GORDÒNIA.= Shrubs or small trees with alternate, simple, feather-veined leaves. Flowers large (3 to 4 in. wide), white, showy, solitary in the axils of the leaves. Blooming in summer. Fruit a dry, dehiscent, conical-pointed, 5-celled capsule with 10 to 30 seeds, ripe in the autumn. [Illustration: G. Lasiánthus.] 1. =Gordònia Lasiánthus=, L. (LOBLOLLY BAY.) Leaves thick, evergreen, lanceolate-oblong, minutely serrate, nearly sessile, smooth and shining on both sides. The large, solitary, sweet-scented, axillary flowers on peduncles half as long as the leaves. A large tree (30 to 70 ft. high) in the south (wild in southern Virginia), and cultivated as far north as central Pennsylvania, without protection; at St. Louis and Boston it needs protection. Wood of a reddish color, light and brittle. [Illustration: G. pubéscens.] 2. =Gordònia pubéscens=, L'Her. Leaves thin, deciduous, obovate-oblong, sharply serrate, white beneath. Flowers nearly sessile. A small tree or shrub of the south (30 ft. high in Georgia), hardy, and rarely cultivated as far north as Philadelphia, or still farther north if slightly sheltered. ORDER =VI. MALVÀCEÆ.= (MALLOW FAMILY.) A large family, mainly of herbs, found in tropical and temperate regions. One cultivated species, almost a tree, is included in this work. GENUS =9. HIBÍSCUS.= Herbs or shrubs; one sometimes tree-like, with simple, deciduous, alternate, stipulate, usually lobed leaves. Flowers large, showy, 5-parted (Hollyhock-shaped), in late summer. Fruit a 5-celled, many-seeded pod, ripe in autumn. [Illustration: H. Syrìacus.] =Hibíscus Syrìacus=, L. (TREE HIBISCUS.) The only woody and sometimes tree-like species; has ovate, wedge-shaped, 3-lobed, toothed leaves, and large (3 in.) white, purple, red, or variegated flowers. Usually a shrub, 6 to 15 ft. high, often cultivated throughout; introduced from Syria. ORDER =VII. STERCULIÀCEÆ.= Trees or shrubs (a few are herbs), with alternate leaves, and the stamens united into a tube. A large order of tropical plants. GENUS =10. STERCÙLIA.= Leaves alternate, simple, usually lobed, ovaries more or less divided into 5 carpels, each 2- to many-lobed; fruit when ripe forming a star of 5 distinct pods. [Illustration: S. platanifòlia.] =Stercùlia platanifòlia=, L. (CHINESE PARASOL.) Leaves large, deciduous, alternate, palmately 3- to 5-lobed, deeply heart-shaped at base, the margin entire, the lobes acute; smooth or slightly hairy; leafstalk about as long as the blade. Flowers green, in axillary panicles; fruit star-shaped. A small, beautiful tree from China; probably not hardy north of Washington. ORDER =VIII. TILIÀCEÆ.= (LINDEN FAMILY.) An order, mainly of trees, abundant in the tropics; here represented by a single genus: GENUS 11. =TÍLIA.= Trees with alternate, deciduous, obliquely heart-shaped, serrate leaves, about as broad as long. Leaves two-ranked on the stem. Flowers small, cream-colored, fragrant, in clusters on a peculiar, oblong, leaf-like bract. Fruit small (1/8 in.), globular, woody, in clusters from the same bract. Wood white and soft; inner bark very fibrous and tough. * Flowers with petal-like scales among the stamens; American species. (=A.=) =A.= Leaves very large, 6 to 8 in. 3. =A.= Leaves medium, 4 to 6 in. 1. =A.= Leaves small, 2 to 3 in. 2. * Flowers with no petal-like scales among the stamens. 4. [Illustration: T. Americàna.] 1. =Tília Americàna=, L. (BASSWOOD. WHITEWOOD. LINDEN.) Leaves large, 4 to 6 in. long, green and smooth, or very nearly so, thickish. Fruit ovoid, somewhat ribbed, ¼ in. broad, greenish when ripe in October, on a bract which is usually tapering to the base. Tall tree, 60 to 80 ft. high, wild in rich woods and often cultivated. [Illustration: T. pubéscens.] 2. =Tília pubéscens=, Ait. (SMALL-LEAVED BASSWOOD.) Leaves smaller, 2 to 3 in. long, thinner and rather pubescent beneath. Fruit globose, 1/5 in. broad, on a bract usually quite rounded at base. This is usually considered as a variety of the last-named species. It is found from New York south and west. [Illustration: T. heterophýlla.] 3. =Tília heterophýlla=, Vent. (WHITE BASSWOOD.) Leaves large, often 8 in. broad, smooth and bright green above, silvery white and downy beneath, with darker, purplish veins. A large tree; wild in Pennsylvania, west and south, and often cultivated. [Illustration: T. Europæa.] 4. =Tília Europæa=, Mill. (EUROPEAN LINDEN.) Leaves twice as long as the petioles, and smooth except a woolly tuft in the axils of the veins beneath. Small and large leaved varieties are in cultivation. The flowers have no petal-like scales among the stamens, while the American species have. An ornamental tree with dense foliage; often cultivated from Europe. The twigs are more numerous and more slender than those of the American species. Nearly a score of named varieties are in cultivation. Var. _laciniata_ has deeply cut and twisted leaves. ORDER =IX. RUTÀCEÆ.= (RUE FAMILY.) Shrubs and trees, rarely herbs, in most cases with transparent-dotted, heavy-scented foliage. A rather large order in warm climates. GENUS =12. XANTHÓXYLUM.= Shrubs or trees with mostly odd-pinnate, alternate leaves. The stem and often the leaflets prickly; flowers small, greenish or whitish; fruit dry, thick pods, with 1 to 2 seeds. [Illustration: X. Americànum.] 1. =Xanthóxylum Americànum=, Mill. (NORTHERN PRICKLY-ASH. TOOTHACHE-TREE.) Leaves and flowers in sessile, axillary, umbellate clusters; leaflets 5 to 9, ovate-oblong, downy when young. Flowers appear before the leaves. Shrub, scarcely at all tree-like, with bark, leaves, and pods very pungent and aromatic. Common north, and sometimes cultivated. [Illustration: X. Clàva Hércules.] 2. =Xanthóxylum Clàva Hércules=, L. (SOUTHERN PRICKLY-ASH.) Leaflets 7 to 17, ovate to ovate-oblong, oblique at base, shining above. Flowers appear after the leaves. A small tree with very sharp prickles. Sandy coast of Virginia and southward; occasionally cultivated in the north. GENUS =13. PTÈLEA.= Shrub with compound leaves of three leaflets, greenish-white flowers in terminal cymes, and 2-seeded fruit with a broad-winged margin, somewhat like the Elm, only larger. [Illustration: P. trifoliàta.] =Ptèlea trifoliàta=, L. (HOP-TREE. SHRUBBY TREFOIL.) Leaflets ovate, pointed, downy when young. Flowers with a disagreeable odor; fruit bitter, somewhat like hops. A tall shrub, often, when cultivated, trimmed into a tree-like form. Wild, in rocky places, in southern New York and southward. GENUS =14. PHELLODÉNDRON.= Leaves opposite, odd-pinnate. Flowers dioecious; so only a portion of the trees bear the small, odoriferous, 5-seeded, drupe-like fruit. [Illustration: P. Amurénse.] =Phellodéndron Amurénse.= (CHINESE CORK-TREE.) Leaves opposite, odd-pinnate, 1½ to 3 ft. long; leaflets 9 to many, lanceolate, sharply serrate, long-acuminate. Flowers inconspicuous, dioecious, in loose-spreading clusters at the ends of the branches. The pistillate flowers form small, black, pea-shaped fruit, in loose, grape-like clusters, thickly covered with glands containing a bitter, aromatic oil, and remaining on the tree in winter. Medium-sized tree (20 to 40 ft.), with Ailanthus-like leaves which turn bright red in autumn, and remain long on the tree. Hardy as far north as central Massachusetts. ORDER =X. MELIÀCEÆ.= (MELIA FAMILY.) Tropical trees, including the Mahogany; represented in the south by the following: GENUS =15. MÈLIA.= Trees with alternate, bipinnate leaves. The flowers are conspicuous and beautiful, in large panicles, in the spring. Fruit in large clusters of berry-like drupes, with a 5-celled stone. [Illustration: M. Azédarach.] =Mèlia Azédarach, L.= (CHINA-TREE. PRIDE OF INDIA.) Leaves very large, doubly pinnate, with many obliquely lance-ovate, acuminate, smooth, serrate leaflets. Flowers small, lilac-colored, deliciously fragrant, in large axillary clusters. Fruit globular, as large as cherries, yellow when ripe in autumn; hanging on through the winter. A rather small (20 to 40 ft. high), rapidly growing, round-headed, popular shade-tree in the south, and hardy as far north as Virginia. Introduced from Persia. GENUS =16. CEDRÉLA.= Leaves large, alternate, deciduous, odd-pinnate. Flowers with separate petals, fragrant, white, in large clusters. Fruit 5-celled dehiscent pods, with many pendulous, winged seeds. [Illustration: C. Sinénsis.] =Cedréla Sinénsis.= (CHINESE CEDRELA.) Leaves large, odd-pinnate, alternate, appearing much like those of the Ailanthus, but with slight serrations near the tips of the leaflets, and no glands near the base. Bruised leaves with a strong odor; footstalk and stout-tipped branches with glands. Large tree, seemingly hardy in New Jersey, but dies to the ground in winter in Massachusetts. Recently introduced from China. ORDER =XI. SIMARUBÀCEÆ.= (QUASSIA FAMILY.) Eastern trees and shrubs, here represented by a single tree: GENUS =17. AILÁNTHUS.= Large trees to shrubs, with alternate, odd-pinnate leaves. Flowers small, greenish, in large terminal panicles. Fruit broadly winged, like the Ash, but with the seed in the center. [Illustration: A. glandulòsus.] =Ailánthus glandulòsus=, Desf. (TREE OF HEAVEN.) Leaves very large, 2 to 5 ft. long on the younger growths; leaflets obliquely lanceolate, coarsely toothed at the base, with a gland on the lower side at the point of each tooth; point of leaflets entire. Young twigs thick, rusty brown; buds very small in the axils. Only some of the trees have fruit, as some have only staminate flowers. The staminate flowers are very ill-scented. A rapid-growing tree, with useful hard wood; cultivated and naturalized; hardy throughout. See page 10. ORDER =XII. ILICÌNEÆ.= (HOLLY FAMILY.) A small order of trees and shrubs, including for our purpose only one genus: GENUS =18. ÌLEX.= Trees or shrubs with simple, alternate, thick, mostly evergreen leaves. Flowers rather inconspicuous, mostly in clusters. Fruit berry-like, small (¼ to ½ in.), with 4 to 6 nutlets; hanging on the plants late in the autumn or through the winter. * Leaves evergreen. (=A.=) =A.= Leaves with spiny teeth 1. =A.= No spiny teeth 2. * Leaves deciduous 3. [Illustration: I. opàca.] 1. =Ìlex opàca=, Ait. (AMERICAN HOLLY.) Leaves evergreen, oval, acute, thick, smooth, with scattered spiny teeth. Flowers white; May. The bright-red berries, found only on some of the trees, remain on through the greater part of the winter. Small tree, 15 to 40 ft. high, with very hard white wood; wild in southern New England and southward. A beautiful broad-leaved, evergreen tree which should be more extensively cultivated. North of latitude 41° it needs a protected situation. [Illustration: I. Dahòon.] 2. =Ìlex Dahòon=, Walt. (DAHOON HOLLY.) Leaves 2 to 3 in. long, evergreen, oblanceolate or oblong, entire or sharply serrate toward the apex, with revolute margins, not spiny. Young branches and lower surface of the leaves, especially on the midrib, pubescent. Small tree, 10 to 30 ft. high; Virginia and south, with very hard, white, close-grained wood. Rarely cultivated. [Illustration: I. montícola.] 3. =Ìlex montícola=, Gray. Leaves deciduous, ovate to lance-oblong, 3 to 5 in. long, taper-pointed, thin, smooth, sharply serrate. Fruit red, on short stems, with the seeds many-ribbed on the back. Usually a shrub but sometimes tree-like; damp woods in the Catskills and in the Alleghany Mountains. ORDER =XIII. CELASTRÀCEÆ.= Shrubs with simple leaves and small, regular flowers, forming a fruit with ariled seeds. GENUS =19. EUÓNYMUS.= Shrubs somewhat tree-like, with 4-sided branchlets, opposite, serrate leaves, and loose cymes of angular fruit which bursts open in the autumn. [Illustration: E. atropurpùreus.] 1. =Euónymus atropurpùreus=, Jacq. (BURNING-BUSH. WAHOO.) Leaves petioled, oval-oblong, pointed; parts of the dark-purple flowers commonly in fours; pods smooth, deeply lobed, when ripe, cinnamon in color and very ornamental. Tall shrub, 6 to 20 ft. high; wild in Wisconsin to New York, and southward; often cultivated. [Illustration: E. Europæus.] 2. =Euónymus Europæus=, L. (EUROPEAN SPINDLE-TREE OR BURNING-BUSH.) Leaves oblong-lanceolate, serrate, smooth; flowers and fruit commonly in threes on compressed stems; fruit usually 4-lobed, the lobes acute; flowers greenish-white; May; fruit abundant, scarlet, ripe in September. Generally a shrub, though sometimes tall enough (4 to 20 ft.) and trimmed so as to appear tree-like; twigs smooth, green or reddish-green. Extensively cultivated; from Europe. ORDER =XIV. RHAMNÀCEÆ.= (BUCKTHORN FAMILY.) An order mainly of shrubs, but including in the north-eastern United States two or three small trees. GENUS =20. RHÁMNUS.= Shrubs or small trees with deciduous (rarely evergreen), usually alternate (rarely opposite), pinnately veined leaves. Flowers small, 4-parted, inconspicuous, in clusters in the axils of the leaves. Fruit berry-like, with 2 to 4 seed-like nuts. * Branches terminating in thorns 1. * Plant without thorns. (=A.=) =A.= Leaves deciduous 2. =A.= Leaves evergreen 3. [Illustration: R. cathártica.] 1. =Rhámnus cathártica, L.= (COMMON BUCKTHORN.) Leaves ovate, minutely serrate, alternate or many of them opposite; branchlets terminating in thorns. Flowers greenish. Fruit globular, 1/3 in. in diameter, black with a green juice, and 3 or 4 seeds; ripe in September. A shrub or small tree, 10 to 15 ft. high, from Europe; cultivated for hedges, and found wild in a few places, where it forms a small tree. [Illustration: R. Caroliniàna.] 2. Rhámnus Caroliniàna, Walt. (CAROLINA BUCKTHORN.) Leaves 3 to 5 in. long, alternate, oblong, wavy and obscurely serrulate, nearly smooth, on slender pubescent petioles. Flowers greenish, 5-parted, solitary or in umbellate clusters in the axils. Fruit berry-like, globular, the size of peas, 3-seeded, black when ripe in September. A thornless shrub or small tree, 5 to 20 ft. high. New Jersey, south and west. Usually a shrub except in the Southern States. [Illustration: R. Califòrnicus.] 3. =Rhámnus Califòrnicus=, Esch. (CALIFORNIA BUCKTHORN.) Leaves evergreen, oval-oblong to elliptical, 1 to 4 in. long, rather obtuse, sometimes acute, generally rounded at base, serrulate or entire. Fruit blackish purple, with thin pulp, ¼ in., 2- to 3-seeded. A spreading shrub, 5 to 18 ft. high, without thorns; from California. GENUS =21. HOVÈNIA.= Leaves alternate, deciduous, simple, oblique at base. Fruit an obscurely 3-lobed, 3-celled, 3-seeded pod in dichotomous clusters, both axillary and terminal. [Illustration: H. dúlcis] =Hovènia dúlcis=, Thunb. Leaves long-petioled, more or less ovate to cordate, serrate, palmately 3-ribbed, much darker on the upper surface; both sides slightly roughened with scattered hairs. Fruit sweet, edible, in clusters in the axils of the leaves; seeds lens-shaped, with a ridge on the inner side. Flowers white; in July. A large, broad-topped tree, introduced from Japan. Hardy at Washington, but dies to the ground in the Arnold Arboretum, Massachusetts. GENUS =22. ZÌZYPHUS.= Leaves simple, alternate, deciduous, 3-ribbed. Flowers axillary, 5-petaled. Fruit fleshy, drupe-like, containing a 1- to 2-celled nut. [Illustration: Z. vulgàris.] =Zìzyphus vulgàris=, Lam. (JUJUBE.) Leaves ovate-lanceolate, obtuse, serrate, smooth, and glossy green on both sides, upper side quite dark; slightly hairy beneath on the veins; prickles twin, one recurved, sometimes none. New growth of the year green, and resembling a once-pinnate compound leaf and usually dropping off in the autumn like one. Leaves 10 to 20 on a twig, 2-ranked; flowers and drupes nearly sessile in the axils; fruit small (¼ in.), blood-red when ripe. A small tree (10 to 30 ft. high), of recent introduction from Syria; hardy at Philadelphia, but needing some protection at the Arnold Arboretum, Massachusetts. ORDER =XV. SAPINDÀCEÆ.= (SOAPBERRY FAMILY.) A large order represented in all countries, and so varied in its characteristics as to form several sub-orders. GENUS =23. ÆSCULUS.= Deciduous trees or sometimes shrubs, with opposite, palmately compound leaves with serrated, straight-veined leaflets. Flowers usually conspicuous in dense terminal panicles. Fruit large, leathery-coated, often rough, with one or few large Chestnut-like but bitter seeds. Fruit large in midsummer, hanging on the tree until frost. * Fruit prickly. (=A.=) =A.= Leaflets usually 7; flowers widely spreading 1. =A.= Leaflets 5-7, red-spotted and rough; flowers rosy red _Æsculus rubicunda_ (1). =A.= Leaflets usually 5; flowers not much spreading 2. * Fruit smooth or nearly so. (=B.=) =B.= Flowers bright red 3. =B.= Flowers yellow, purplish or pinkish 4. =B.= Flowers white, in long, slender, erect clusters 5. [Illustration: Æ. Hippocástanum.] 1. =Æsculus Hippocástanum.= (COMMON HORSE-CHESTNUT.) Leaves of 7 obovate, abruptly pointed, serrated leaflets. Flowers very showy in large clusters, with 5 white, purple and yellow spotted, broadly spreading petals. A variety with double flowers is in cultivation. May or June. Fruit large, covered with prickles. Seeds large, chestnut-colored. Tree of large size, with brown twigs; cultivated everywhere; from Asia. [Illustration: Æ. rubicúnda.] _Æsculus rubicunda_ (Red-flowering Horse-chestnut) is frequent in cultivation; leaflets 5 to 7, red-spotted and rough; flowers rosy red. It is probably a hybrid between the common Horse-chestnut and one of the Buckeyes. [Illustration: Æ glàbra.] 2. =Æsculus glàbra=, Willd. (OHIO BUCKEYE.) Leaves with 5 oval-oblong, acuminate, serrate, smooth leaflets. Flowers not showy, yellowish-white, with 4 somewhat irregular, slightly spreading petals. June. Fruit small, 1 in. in diameter, covered with prickles, at least when young; ripe in autumn. Small to large tree, wild in the basin of the Ohio River, along river-banks. Sometimes cultivated. [Illustration: Æ. Pàvia.] 3. =Æsculus Pàvia=, L. (RED BUCKEYE.) Leaves of 5 to 7 oblong-lanceolate, finely serrate, generally smooth leaflets, of a shining green color, with purple veins and petioles. Flowers (corolla and calyx) bright red, with included stamens; corolla of 4 petals, not spreading; calyx tubular. Fruit smooth, oblong-obovate, 1 in. long. Small tree or shrub, 10 to 20 ft. high, with purple twigs. Virginia west and south, and occasionally cultivated throughout. [Illustration: Æ. flàva.] 4. =Æsculus flàva=, Ait. (SWEET BUCKEYE.) Leaves with 5 to 7 serrulate, elliptical, acuminate leaflets, usually smooth, sometimes minutely pubescent beneath; the pubescent petiole flattish toward the base. Flowers yellow, not spreading. Spring. Fruit globose, uneven but not prickly, 2 in. in diameter. Seeds large (1 in.), 1 or 2 in number, mahogany-colored; ripe in autumn. Often a large tree, sometimes only a shrub, 6 to 70 ft. high, in rich woods; Virginia to Indiana, and southward. Cultivated occasionally throughout. Var. _purpurascens_ of this species has flesh-colored or dull-purple flowers, and leaflets quite downy beneath. [Illustration: Æ. macrostàchya.] 5. Æsculus macrostàchya, Mx. (LONG-RACEMED BUCKEYE.) Leaflets 5 to 7, ovate, acuminate, serrate, velvety with hairs beneath. Flowers white, in long, slender, erect clusters; July; petals 4, spreading; stamens very long. A beautiful, widely spreading shrub. 5 to 18 ft. high; from the Southern States; often cultivated. Probably hardy throughout. GENUS =24. KOELREUTÈRIA.= A small tree with alternate, once to twice irregularly pinnate leaves with many coarsely toothed leaflets. Flowers conspicuous, yellow, in terminal panicles. In summer. Fruit rounded, bladdery, 3-celled, few-seeded pods; ripe in autumn. [Illustration: K. paniculàta.] =Koelreutèria paniculàta=, Laxm. Leaflets thin and very irregularly toothed. Clusters 6 to 12 in. long, of many irregular flowers, ½ in. wide; through the summer. Fruit an ovate, bladdery capsule, ripening in autumn. A fine, small, round-headed tree, 20 to 40 ft. high; from China. Probably hardy throughout. GENUS =25. ÀCER.= Trees, or rarely shrubs, with simple, opposite, and almost always palmately lobed leaves, which, in our species, are always deciduous. Flowers small and usually dull-colored, in clusters. Fruit double-winged and 2-seeded, in some species hanging on the tree till the leaves have fallen; in others dropping off early in the spring. The species differ much in the spreading of the wings of the fruit. Wood light-colored and medium hard; bark rather smoothish, but in large trees with longitudinal cracks. * Leaves slightly or not lobed 13. * Leaves about 3-lobed (rarely 5-lobed); shrubs or small trees. (=A.=) =A.= Leaves serrate 1, 2. =A.= Leaves somewhat sinuate, not at all serrate; juice milky. 10. * Leaves 5-, rarely 3-lobed. (=B.=) =B.= The lobes acute, irregularly but quite fully serrate; juice not milky. (=C.=) =C.= The fruit in corymbs, dropping early; American species. (=D.=) =D.= Leaf-notches somewhat rounded; tree large; limbs drooping on old trees 3. =D.= Leaf-notches acute; tree small 4. =C.= Fruit in hanging racemes, remaining on the tree till autumn; leaves thickish 5. =B.= The lobes acute; sparingly or not at all serrate. (=E.=) =E.= Juice not milky 6. =E.= Juice milky at the bases of the leaves 8, 9. =B.= The lobes obtuse and sinuate 10. * Leaves 5- to 7-lobed. (=F.=) =F.= Lobes fully serrate 11. =F.= Lobes sparingly serrate. (=G.=) =G.= Juice milky 8, 9. =G.= Juice not milky; leaves 8 to 10 in. broad 7. =F.= Lobes somewhat sinuate, not serrate; juice milky 10. * Leaves with 7 or more lobes 11, 12. [Illustration: À. spicàtum.] 1. =Àcer spicàtum=, Lam. (MOUNTAIN MAPLE.) Leaves with 3 (rarely 5) coarsely serrated, taper-pointed lobes, with slightly cordate base; downy beneath. Flowers greenish-yellow, in erect, slender racemes or panicles, blooming in June. Wings of the small fruit at about a right angle. Small tree, 6 to 10 ft. high, or usually a shrub, with brown twigs. Native; growing in moist woods; rarely cultivated. [Illustration: À. Pennsylvánicum.] 2. =Àcer Pennsylvánicum=, L. (STRIPED MAPLE.) Leaves large, thin, 3-lobed at the end, cordate at base, finely and sharply doubly serrate. Flowers greenish, in drooping, elongated, loose racemes appearing after the leaves in spring. Fruit with large diverging wings. A small, slender tree, with light green bark striped with dark red. Wild throughout and cultivated. [Illustration: À. dasycárpum.] 3. =Àcer dasycárpum=, Ehrh. (SILVER OR WHITE MAPLE.) Leaves large, truncated at base, 5-lobed, with blunt notches, the lobes irregularly serrated and notched, silvery white, and, when young, downy beneath. Flowers light yellowish-purple, preceding the leaves, in crowded umbels along the branches. Wings of fruit large and forming about a right angle; ripe early in June. A rather large, rapidly growing, and usually somewhat weeping tree, with soft white wood. Special cut-leaved and weeping varieties are sold at the nurseries. Wild along river-banks, and extensively cultivated in the streets of cities. [Illustration: À. rùbrum.] 4. =Àcer rùbrum=, L. (RED MAPLE.) Leaves cordate at base and cleft into 3 to 5 acute-notched, irregularly toothed lobes, whitish beneath, turning a bright crimson in early autumn. Flowers usually scarlet, rarely yellowish, in close clusters along the branches, appearing before the leaves in the spring. Fruit often reddish, small, with the wings at about a right angle. A rather small, somewhat spreading tree with reddish branches; wild in wet places and often cultivated. [Illustration: À. Pseudoplátanus.] 5. =Àcer Pseudoplátanus=, L. (SYCAMORE-MAPLE.) Leaves thickish, cordate, downy beneath, with 5 rather crenately toothed lobes, on long, often reddish petioles. Flowers in long pendulous racemes, appearing after the leaves. Fruit hanging on the tree till after the leaves fall in the autumn, the wings forming about a right angle. A rather large, spreading tree, 30 to 80 ft. high, with reddish-brown twigs. Cultivated; from Europe. Many varieties of this species are sold by the nurserymen; among them may be mentioned the Purple-leaved, Golden-leaved, Silver-leaved, Tricolored, etc. [Illustration: À. saccharìnum.] 6. =Àcer saccharìnum=, Wang. (SUGAR OR ROCK MAPLE.) Leaves deeply 3- to 5-lobed, with rounded notches; lobes acute, few-toothed; base heart-shaped, smooth above, glaucous beneath. Flowers hanging in umbel-like clusters at the time the leaves are expanding in the spring. Fruit with wings not quite forming a right angle. A large (50 to 100 ft. high), very symmetrical tree, ovate in form, with whitish-brown twigs. Wild throughout, and extensively cultivated in the streets of cities. Var. _nigrum_, Torr. and Gray. (Black Sugar-maple.) Leaves scarcely paler beneath, but often minutely downy; lobes wider, often shorter and entire; notch at the base often closed (the under leaf in the figure). Found with the other Sugar-maple, and quite variable. [Illustration: À. macrophýllum.] 7. =Àcer macrophýllum=, Ph. (LARGE-LEAVED OR CALIFORNIA MAPLE.) Leaves very large, 8 to 10 in. broad; 5-, sometimes 7-lobed, with deep, rounded notches; lobes themselves somewhat 3-lobed and repand-notched; pubescent beneath. Flowers yellow, in erect panicles, fragrant, blooming after the leaves are expanded. Fruit large, with the seeded portion hairy; wings at about a right angle. Tree very large (100 ft. high); wood soft, whitish, beautifully veined. Twigs brown; buds green. Cultivated; from the Pacific coast, but not hardy north of 40° N. latitude. [Illustration: À. platanoìdes.] 8. =Àcer platanoìdes=, L. (NORWAY MAPLE.) Leaves large, smooth, 5-, rarely 7-cleft, with cordate base; lobes acute, with few coarse, sharp teeth, bright green both sides. The leaves resemble those of the Sycamore (Platanus). Flowers a little later than the leaves in spring, in stalked corymbs, less drooping than the Sugar-maple (No. 6). Fruit with wings diverging in a straight line. A medium-sized, broad, rounded tree with brown twigs and milky juice, best seen at the bases of the young leaves. Cultivated throughout. [Illustration: À. Lætum.] 9. =Àcer Lætum.= (COLCHICUM-LEAVED MAPLE.) Leaves 5- to 7-lobed, scarcely heart-shaped at base, smooth and green on both sides; juice milky; the lobes usually without any notches or irregularities, sometimes with about three winding sinuations. Flowers in erect corymbs. Differs from Acer platanoides in having the lobes of the leaves more nearly entire, and the fruit much smaller with wings not so broadly spreading. [Illustration: À. campéstre.] 10. =Àcer campéstre=, L. (ENGLISH OR CORK-BARK MAPLE.) Leaves cordate, with usually 5 roundish lobes, sparingly crenate or rather undulated; juice milky. Racemes of flowers erect, appearing after the leaves in spring. Wings of the fruit broadly spreading; fruit ripening very late. A low (15 to 30 ft. high), round-headed tree, with the twigs and smaller branches covered with corky bark. Occasionally cultivated; from Europe. Var. _variegatum_ has white blotched leaves. [Illustration: À. palmàtum.] 11. =Àcer palmàtum=, Thunb. (PALMATE-LEAVED JAPAN MAPLE.) Leaves small, smooth, palmately parted into 5 to 9 quite regularly serrated lobes. Flowers in small umbels. A very low tree, almost a shrub; cultivated; from Japan; probably hardy throughout. There are a great number of Japan Maples, many of them probably varieties of this species, others hybrids. The leaves of some are so divided and dissected as to form merely a fringe or feather. In color they range from pure green to the richest reds. [Illustration: À. circinàtum.] 12. =Àcer circinàtum=, Pursh. (ROUND-LEAVED OR VINE MAPLE.) Leaves orbicular, with 7 to 11 serrated, acute lobes, a heart-shaped base, reddish-green color, and both surfaces smooth. Corymbs of purplish flowers, small and hanging on long peduncles; appearing after the leaves. Wings of the fruit diverging in a straight line. A small tree or tall shrub, 10 to 30 ft. high, of spreading habit, with smooth bark, and pale brown twigs; cultivated; from the Pacific coast of North America. [Illustration: À. Tartáricum.] 13. =Àcer Tartáricum=, L. (TARTARIAN MAPLE.) Leaves ovate, slightly cordate, rarely lobed, serrated, light-colored, expanding very early in the spring. Panicle of greenish-yellow flowers erect, blooming after the leaves have expanded. Wings of the fruit parallel or sometimes touching. A small tree, sometimes shrubby in growth, of irregular form, with brown twigs; rarely cultivated; from Europe. GENUS =26. NEGÚNDO.= Leaves pinnate, of 3 to 5 leaflets. Flowers rather inconspicuous. Fruit a two-winged key as in Acer, in drooping racemes. [Illustration: N. aceroìdes.] =Negúndo aceroìdes=, Moench. (ASH-LEAVED MAPLE. BOX-ELDER.) Leaves pinnate, of 3 to 5 (rarely 7) coarsely and sparingly toothed leaflets. Flowers staminate and pistillate on separate trees, in drooping clusters rather earlier than the leaves. Fruit on only a portion of the trees; wings forming less than a right angle. A rather small (30 to 60 ft. high), rapidly growing tree, with light pea-green twigs; wild from Pennsylvania and south, and cultivated throughout. Var. _Californicum_, Torr. and Gray (the under drawing in the figure), has leaflets more deeply cut, thicker, and quite hairy; it is occasionally cultivated. ORDER =XVI. ANACARDIÁCEÆ.= (CASHEW FAMILY.) Trees and shrubs, mainly of the tropical regions, here represented by only one genus: GENUS =27. RHÚS.= Low trees or shrubs with acrid, often poisonous, usually milky juice, and dotless, alternate, usually pinnately compound leaves. Flowers greenish-white or yellowish, in large terminal panicles. Fruit small (1/8 in.), indehiscent, dry drupes in large clusters, generally remaining on through the autumn. * Leaves simple, rounded, entire 6, 7. * Leaves once-pinnate. (=A.=) =A.= Twigs very hairy; rachis not winged; leaflets 11 to 31 1. =A.= Twigs downy; rachis wing-margined; leaflets entire or nearly so 3. =A.= Twigs smooth. (=B.=) =B.= Rachis of leaf broadly winged; leaflets serrate 5. =B.= Rachis not winged. (=C.=) =C.= Leaflets 11 to 31, serrate; fruit hairy 2. =C.= Leaflets 7 to 13, entire; fruit smooth; poisonous 4. * Leaves twice-pinnate; variety under 2. [Illustration: R. týphina.] 1. =Rhús týphina=, L. (STAG-HORN SUMAC.) Leaflets 11 to 31, oblong-lanceolate, pointed, serrate (rarely laciniate), pale beneath. Branches and footstalks densely hairy. Fruit globular, in large, dense, erect panicles, covered with crimson hairs. Shrub or tree, 10 to 30 ft. high. It is very common along fences and on hillsides. The wood is orange-colored and brittle. [Illustration: R. glàbra.] 2. =Rhús glàbra=, L. (SMOOTH SUMAC.) Leaflets 11 to 31, lanceolate-oblong, pointed, serrate, smooth, glaucous white beneath. Branches not hairy. Fruit globular, in a rather open, spreading cluster, covered densely with crimson hairs. A shrubby plant, 2 to 12 ft. high, found quite abundantly in rocky or barren soil throughout. [Illustration: R. laciniàta.] Var. _laciniata_ is frequently planted for ornament. It has very irregularly twice-pinnate leaves drooping gracefully from the branches. [Illustration: R. copallìna.] 3. =Rhús copallìna=, L. (DWARF MOUNTAIN SUMAC.) Branches and stalks downy; leafstalk wing-margined between the 9 to 21 oblong-lanceolate, usually entire leaflets, which are oblique at base and smooth and shining above. Wild in rocky hills throughout; often cultivated. North, a beautiful shrub; south, a tree. 2 to 25 ft. high. [Illustration: R. venenàta.] 4. =Rhús venenàta=, DC. (POISON-SUMAC. POISON-DOGWOOD. POISON-ELDER.) Leaflets 7 to 13, obovate-oblong, entire, abruptly pointed, smooth or nearly so. Fruit small, globular, smooth, dun-colored, in loose axillary panicles hanging on late in winter; the stone striate. This is a very poisonous species (to the touch), 6 to 18 ft. high, growing in swamps. Rarely at all tree-like. [Illustration: R. Osbéckii.] 5. =Rhús Osbéckii=, DC. (CHINESE SUMAC.) Leaves very large, pinnate, assuming in autumn a rich reddish-fawn or orange color; the leafstalk broadly winged between the leaflets; leaflets serrate. A small ornamental tree, 10 to 25 ft. high; cultivated; from China; quite hardy in the Northern States. [Illustration: R. Cótinus.] 6. =Rhús Cótinus=, L. (SMOKE-TREE. VENETIAN SUMAC.) Leaves smooth, obovate, entire, on slender petioles. Flowers greenish, minute, in terminal or axillary panicles. Fruit seldom found. Usually most of the flowers are abortive, while their pedicels lengthen, branch, and form long feather-like hairs, making large cloud-like branches that look somewhat like smoke (whence the name). A shrub or small tree, 6 to 10 ft. high, often planted for ornament; from Europe. [Illustration: R. cotinoìdes.] 7. =Rhús cotinoìdes=, Nutt. (AMERICAN SMOKE-TREE.) Leaves thin, oval, obtuse, entire, acute at base, 3 to 6 in. long, smooth or nearly so. Flowers and fruit like those of the cultivated species (Rhus Cotinus). A tree 20 to 40 ft. high; stem sometimes a foot or more in diameter in the Southern States; wild in Tennessee, west and south. Rare in cultivation. ORDER =XVII. LEGUMINOSÆ.= (PULSE FAMILY.) A very large order of plants, mainly herbaceous; found in all climates. A few are shrubby, and others are from small to large trees. GENUS =28. LABÚRNUM.= Low trees or shrubs with alternate, palmate leaves of three leaflets. Flowers conspicuous, pea-blossom-shaped, in long hanging racemes, in late spring. Fruit pea-pod-shaped, dark brown, and many-seeded; ripe in autumn. [Illustration: L. vulgàre.] =Labúrnum vulgàre.= (LABURNUM. GOLDEN-CHAIN. BEAN-TREFOIL TREE.) Leaves petiolate, with 3 ovate-lanceolate leaflets, pubescent beneath. Flowers bright yellow, nearly 1 in. long, in long (1 ft.), pendulous, simple racemes; in late spring. Pods 2 in. long, linear, many-seeded, covered with closely appressed pubescence; one edge thick; ripe in autumn. A low, very ornamental tree, 10 to 20 ft. high, often cultivated; from Switzerland. Varieties with reddish, purple, and white flowers are also in cultivation. Var. _alpinus_ has smooth pods. GENUS =29. CARAGÀNA.= Leaves alternate, deciduous, abruptly once-pinnate; leaflets mucronate; stipules usually spinescent. Flowers pea-flower-shaped, mostly yellow. Trees or shrubs of Asia. [Illustration: C. arboréscens.] =Caragàna arboréscens=, Larn. (PEA-TREE.) Leaves with 4 to 6 pairs of oval-oblong, mucronate-pointed, hairy leaflets; petioles unarmed; stipules spinescent. Flowers yellow, blooming in May. Pods brown, ripe in August. A low, stiff, erect tree, 10 to 15 ft. high; in poor soil a bush. From Siberia; frequent in cultivation. GENUS =30. CLADRÁSTIS.= Small tree with alternate, odd-pinnate leaves, the base of the petiole hollow, and inclosing the leaf-buds of the next year. Flowers large, pea-blossom-like in shape, in large clusters. Fruit pea-pod-like in shape and size. Wood light yellow, firm and hard. [Illustration: C. tinctòria.] =Cladrástis tinctòria=, Raf. (YELLOW-WOOD.) Leaflets 7 to 11, oval to ovate, 3 to 4 in. long, beautiful light green in color. Flowers 1 in. long, white, not so fragrant as the common Locust, in hanging panicles 10 to 20 in. long; blooming in June. Pods 2 in. long, ripe in August. Wild but rare in Kentucky and south. A beautiful tree, 20 to 50 ft. high, with very smooth grayish bark; rarely cultivated. GENUS =31. ROBÍNIA.= Trees or shrubs with alternate, odd-pinnate leaves, having spines on each side of the stalk in place of stipules. Leafstalk thickened near the base, and covering 2 to 3 buds for the growth of a branch for the next year. An axillary bud also found that may produce a branch the same year as the leaf. Flowers large, pea-blossom-shaped, in large clusters. Fruit a pea-shaped pod. * Branchlets and leafstalks not sticky 1. * Branchlets and leafstalks sticky 2. [Illustration: R. Pseudacácia.] 1. =Robínia Pseudacácia=, L. (COMMON LOCUST.) Leaflets 9 to 19, small, oblong-ovate, entire, thin. Twigs purplish-brown, slender, smooth, not sticky. Flowers white, fragrant, in hanging racemes, 3 to 6 in. long. June. Pods flat, smooth, purplish-brown, ripe in September. An irregularly growing, slender tree, 70 to 80 ft. high, with white or greenish-yellow, very durable wood, and on old trees very rough bark with long, deep furrows. Native; Pennsylvania, west and south, and extensively planted and naturalized throughout. A number of varieties, some of which are thornless, are in cultivation. [Illustration: R. viscòsa.] 2. =Robínia viscòsa=, Vent. (CLAMMY LOCUST.) Leaflets 11 to 25, ovate-oblong, sometimes slightly heart-shaped at base, tipped with a short bristle. Twigs and leafstalks sticky to the touch. Flowers in a short, rather compact, upright raceme, rose-colored and inodorous. A small tree, 30 to 40 ft. high; native south, and has been quite extensively cultivated north. 3. =Robínia híspida=, L. (BRISTLY LOCUST. ROSE-ACACIA.), with bristly leafstalks and branchlets, and large rose-colored flowers, is only a bush. Often cultivated. Wild from Virginia and south. GENUS =32. CÉRCIS.= Small trees or shrubs, with alternate, simple, heart-shaped leaves. Flowers in umbel-like clusters along the branches, appearing before the leaves, and shaped like pea-blossoms. Fruit pea-like pods, remaining on the tree throughout the year. Wood hard, heavy, and beautifully blotched or waved with black, green, and yellow, on a gray ground. [Illustration: C. Canadénsis.] 1. =Cércis Canadénsis=, L. (JUDAS-TREE. REDBUD.) Leaves acutely pointed, smooth, dark green, glossy. Flowers bright red-purple. Pods nearly sessile, 3 to 4 in. long, brown when ripe in August. A small ornamental tree, 10 to 30 ft. high, with smooth bark and hard apple-tree-like wood; wild from Central New York southward, and often cultivated. 2. =Cércis siliquástrum= (EUROPEAN JUDAS-TREE.), from Europe, with obtusely pointed, somewhat kidney-shaped leaves, and white to purple flowers, is sometimes cultivated. It is not so tall or tree-like as the American species. GENUS =33. GYMNÓCLADUS.= Tall trees with alternate, very large (2 to 4 ft. long), unequally twice-pinnate leaves. Flowers white, conspicuous, in racemes at the ends of the branches. Fruit a large pea-like pod. Some trees are without fruit through the abortion of the pistils. [Illustration: G. Canadénsis.] =Gymnócladus Canadénsis=, Lam. (KENTUCKY COFFEE-TREE.) Leaves 2 to 3 ft. long, often with the lower pinnæ simple and the upper pinnate. Leaflets ovate, of a dull bluish-green color. Shoots cane-like, blunt and stubby, quite erect. Bark exceedingly rough. Pod large, 6 to 10 in. long, 2 in. broad, with seeds over ½ in. across. A large (50 to 80 ft. high) tree with compact, tough, reddish wood. Wild from western New York southwestward, and occasionally cultivated as an ornamental tree. GENUS =34. GLEDÍTSCHIA.= Usually thorny trees with alternate, once to twice abruptly pinnate leaves. Flowers inconspicuous, greenish, in small spikes. Summer. Fruit a small or large pea-like pod, with one to many seeds; ripe in autumn, but often hanging on the trees through the winter. [Illustration: G. triacánthos.] 1. =Gledítschia triacánthos=, L. (HONEY-LOCUST.) Leaflets lanceolate-oblong, somewhat serrate. Pods linear, 1 to 1½ ft. long, often twisted, filled with sweet pulp between the seeds. A large, handsome, clean tree, with usually many stout, much-branched thorns, especially abundant on bruised portions of the trunk and large branches; thorns compressed at base. Wild from Pennsylvania southward and westward, and extensively cultivated throughout. A variety without thorns is frequently met with (var. _inermis_), also one with drooping foliage (var. _Bujotii pendula_). [Illustration: G. aquática.] 2. =Gledítschia aquática=, Marsh. (WATER-LOCUST.) Leaflets ovate or oblong. Pods oval, 1 to 4 in. long, 1- to few-seeded, without pulp. A small tree with few slender, usually simple thorns; in swamps in southern Illinois and south. Occasionally planted for ornament. This species is quite similar to the preceding one, but the leaves are somewhat smaller, the thorns, though occasionally branching, do not branch so extensively, and the pod is very short and rounded. [Illustration: G. sinénsis.] 3. =Gledítschia sinénsis=, Lam. (CHINESE HONEY-LOCUST.) A tree with stouter and more conical thorns, broader and more oval leaflets. A medium-sized or small tree, often cultivated. This species, like the others, has a thornless variety. GENUS =35. ALBÍZZIA.= Trees or shrubs with abruptly pinnate leaves. Fruit a broad-linear straight pod. [Illustration: A. julibríssin.] =Albízzia julibríssin=, Boivin. (SILK-TREE.) Leaves twice abruptly pinnate, of many (over 400) leaflets; leaflets semi-oblong, curved, entire, acute, with the midrib near the upper edge. Flowers in globose heads forming panicles. Fruit plain pods on short stems. A very beautiful small tree, introduced from Japan; probably not hardy north of Washington. The figure shows only one of the lowest and shortest side divisions (pinnæ) of the leaf. The pinnæ increase in length and number of leaflets to the end of the leaf. ORDER =XVIII. ROSACEÆ.= (ROSE FAMILY.) A large and very useful order of trees, shrubs, and herbs of temperate regions. GENUS =36. PRÙNUS.= Trees or shrubs with simple, alternate, deciduous, usually serrate, stipulate leaves, without lobes. The stems produce gum when injured. Foliage and nuts have flavor of peach-leaves. Flowers conspicuous, usually white, or light pink, often in clusters, peach-blossom-shaped; in early spring. Fruit in size from pea to peach, a rounded drupe with one stony-coated seed. * Drupe large, soft velvety on the surface; stone rough (Peach, Apricot) 1. * Drupe medium, covered with a bloom; stone smooth, flattened (Plums). (=A.=) =A.= Usually thorny; wild, rarely cultivated. (=B.=) =B.= Leaves acuminate 2, 3. =B.= Leaves not acuminate 4, 5. =A.= Not thorny; cultivated 6. * Drupe medium to small, smooth, without bloom (Cherries). (=C.=) =C.= Drupes clustered in umbels, ½-1 in. in diameter. (=D.=) =D.= Small cultivated tree; drupe globose, rather large, very sour 9. =D.= Large cultivated tree; drupe large, somewhat pitted at the stem 8. =D.= Rather small, native tree; drupe small, flesh thin 7. =C.= Drupes clustered in racemes, 1/8 - 1/3 in. in diameter. (=E.=) =E.= Tall shrubs rather than trees; racemes short 11. =E.= Trees; racemes quite elongated. (=F.=) =F.= Stone of fruit somewhat roughened 12. =F.= Stone smooth 10. [Illustration: P. Pérsica.] 1. =Prùnus Pérsica=, L. (COMMON PEACH.) Leaves lanceolate, serrate. Flowers rose-colored, nearly sessile, very early in bloom. Fruit clothed with velvety down, large; stone rough-wrinkled. A small tree, 15 to 30 ft. high, cultivated in numberless varieties for its fruit. Var. _lævis_ (Nectarine) has smooth-skinned fruit. [Illustration: P. Americàna.] 2. =Prùnus Americàna=, Marsh. (WILD YELLOW OR RED PLUM.) Leaves ovate or somewhat obovate, conspicuously pointed, coarsely or doubly serrate, very veiny, smooth when mature. Fruit with little or no bloom, ½ to 1 in. in diameter, yellow, orange, or red; skin tough and bitter. Stone with two sharp edges. A small, thorny tree, 8 to 20 ft. high, common in woodlands and on river-banks. Many improved varieties, some thornless, are in cultivation. Wood reddish color. [Illustration: P. Alleghaniénsis.] 3. =Prùnus Alleghaniénsis=, Porter. (ALLEGHANY PLUM.) Leaves lanceolate to oblong-ovate, often long-acuminate, finely and sharply serrate, softly pubescent when young, smooth when old; fruit globose-ovoid, under ½ in., very dark purple, with a bloom; stone turgid, a shallow groove on one side and a broad, flat ridge on the other. A low, straggling bush, occasionally a tree, 3 to 15 ft. high. Mountains of Pennsylvania. [Illustration: P. Chicàsa.] 4. =Prùnus Chicàsa=, Michx. (CHICASAW PLUM.) Leaves long, narrow, almost lanceolate, acute, finely serrate, thin. Flowers on short stalks. Fruit globular, ½ to 2/3 in. in diameter, thin-skinned, without bloom, yellowish-red, pleasant to taste. Stone globular, without sharp edges. A thorny shrub or small tree, 6 to 15 ft. high; wild in New Jersey, west and south, and often cultivated. [Illustration: P. spinòsa.] 5. =Prùnus spinòsa=, L. (SLOE. BLACKTHORN. BULLACE PLUM.) Leaves obovate-oblong to lance-oblong, sharply serrate, soon smooth; leafstalk smooth; fruit small, globular, black, with a bloom; the stone rounded, acute at one edge; flesh greenish, astringent. A low tree with thorny branches; it is becoming naturalized along roadsides and waste places; from Europe. Var. _instititia_ (Bullace Plum) is less thorny, and has the leafstalk and lower side of the leaves pubescent. [Illustration: P. doméstica.] 6. =Prùnus doméstica=, L. (COMMON GARDEN PLUM.) Leaves 1 to 3 in. long, oval or ovate-lanceolate, acute to obtuse. Flowers white, nearly solitary. Drupe globular, obovoid to ovoid, of many colors (black, white, etc.), covered with a rich glaucous bloom. A small tree, 10 to 20 ft. high, in cultivation everywhere for its fruit. Over a hundred varieties are named in the catalogues. [Illustration: P. Pennsylvánica.] 7. =Prùnus Pennsylvánica=, L. f. (WILD RED CHERRY.) Leaves oblong-lanceolate, pointed, finely and sharply serrate, shining green, smooth on both sides. Flowers many in an umbel on long stems. Fruit round, light red, quite small, ¼ in. in diameter, sour. A small tree, 20 to 30 ft. high, in rocky woods; common north and extending southward along the Alleghanies to North Carolina. [Illustration: P. àvium.] 8. =Prùnus àvium=, L. (BIRD-CHERRY OR ENGLISH CHERRY.) Leaves oval-lanceolate, sharp-pointed, coarsely or doubly serrate. Flowers in sessile umbels, opening when the leaves appear. Fruit of various colors, somewhat heart-shaped. This is the Cherry tree, 30 to 50 ft. high, of which there are many named varieties usually cultivated for the fruit. [Illustration: P. Cérasus.] 9. =Prùnus Cérasus=, L. (GARDEN RED CHERRY. MORELLO CHERRY.) Leaves obovate and lance-ovate, serrate, on slender spreading branches. Flowers rather large. Fruit globular, bright red to dark purple, very sour; in sessile umbels. A small, round-headed tree, 10 to 30 ft. high, often cultivated. The preceding species and this one are the parents of most of the Cherry trees in cultivation. [Illustration: P. serótina.] 10. =Prùnus serótina=, Ehrh. (WILD BLACK CHERRY.) Leaves oblong or lance-oblong, thickish, smooth, usually taper-pointed, serrate, with incurved, short, thick teeth. Flowers in long racemes. June. Fruit as large as peas, purple-black, bitter; ripe in autumn. A fine tree, 15 to 60 ft. high, with reddish-brown branches. Wood reddish and valuable for cabinet-work. Common in woodlands and along fences. [Illustration: P. Virginiàna.] 11. =Prùnus Virginiàna=, L. (CHOKE-CHERRY.) Leaves thin, oval-oblong or obovate, abruptly pointed, very sharply, often doubly serrate, with slender teeth. Racemes of flowers and fruit short and close. Fruit dark crimson, stone smooth. Flowers in May; fruit ripe in August; not edible till fully ripe. A tall shrub, sometimes a tree, with grayish bark. River-banks, common especially northward. [Illustration: P. Pàdus.] 12. =Prùnus Pàdus=, L. (SMALL BIRD-CHERRY.) Like Prunus Virginiana, excepting that the racemes are longer and drooping, and the stone is roughened. Occasionally planted for ornament. GENUS =37. PYRUS.= Trees and shrubs, with alternate, stipulate, simple, or pinnately compound leaves. Flowers conspicuous, white to pink, apple-blossom-shaped (5 petals); in spring. Fruit a fleshy pome, with the cells formed by papery or cartilaginous membranes within juicy flesh. * Leaves deeply pinnatifid or fully pinnate (Mountain Ashes) (=A.=) =A.= Leaf deeply pinnatifid, sometimes fully divided at the base. 6. =A.= Leaf once-pinnate throughout. (=B.=) =B.= Leaf-buds pointed, smooth and somewhat glutinous 7. =B.= Leaf-buds more or less hairy 8, 9. * Leaves simple and not pinnatifid. (=C.=) =C.= Leaves entire; fruit solitary (Quinces) 5. =C.= Leaves serrate; fruit clustered. (=D.=) =D.= Fruit large, sunken at both ends (Apples) 1. =D.= Fruit small (½-1 in.), sour, much sunken at the stem end and but little at the other (Crab-apples). (=E.=) =E.= Leaves very narrow; fruit ½ in. 2. =E.= Leaves broad; fruit 1 in. 3. =D.= Fruit usually obovate, not sunken at the stem end (Pears). 4. [Illustration: P. Màlus.] 1. =Pyrus Màlus=, L. (COMMON APPLE-TREE.) Leaves simple, ovate, evenly crenate or serrate, smooth on the upper surface and woolly on the lower. Flowers large (1 in.), white, tinged with pink, in small corymbs. May. Fruit large, sunken at both ends, especially at base; ripe from August to October, according to variety. A flat-topped tree, 20 to 40 ft. high, cultivated in hundreds of named varieties; from Europe. [Illustration: P. angustifòlia.] 2. =Pyrus angustifòlia=, Ait. (NARROW-LEAVED CRAB-APPLE.) Leaves simple, lanceolate or oblong, often acute at base, mostly serrate, smooth. Flowers large (2/3 in.), rose-colored, fragrant, in small, simple, umbel-like clusters. Fruit very sour, small (½ in.). Twigs lead-colored and speckled. A small tree, 12 to 20 ft. high. Pennsylvania and southward. [Illustration: P. coronària.] 3. =Pyrus coronària=, L. (AMERICAN OR GARLAND CRAB-APPLE.) Leaves simple, ovate, often rather heart-shaped, cut-serrate, often 3-lobed, soon smooth. Flowers large (¾ in.), few, in a cluster, rose-colored, very fragrant. Fruit very sour and astringent, flattened, broad, 1 in. or more in diameter, yellowish green. Small tree, 10 to 25 ft. high; New York, west and south, also frequently cultivated. [Illustration: P. commùnis.] 4. =Pyrus commùnis=, L. (COMMON PEAR-TREE.) Leaves simple, ovate, serrate, smooth on both sides, at least when mature. Flowers large (over 1 in.), white, with purple anthers. April and May. Fruit large, usually obovate and mainly sunken at the large end; ripe July to October, according to the variety. A pyramidal-shaped tree, 30 to 70 ft. high, with smooth bark and often somewhat thorny branches. Of several hundred named varieties, native to Europe. Cultivated for its fruit. Wood slightly tinged with red; strong, and of fine grain. [Illustration: P. vulgàris.] 5. =Pyrus vulgàris.= (QUINCE. COMMON QUINCE-TREE.) Leaves ovate, obtuse at base, entire, hairy beneath. Flowers solitary, large, 1 in., white or pale rose-color. Fruit large, hard, orange-yellow, of peculiar sour flavor; seeds mucilaginous; ripens in October. A low tree, 10 to 20 ft. high, with a crooked stem and rambling branches; from Europe. Several varieties in cultivation. [Illustration: P. pinnatífida.] 6. =Pyrus pinnatífida=, Ehrh. (OAK-LEAVED MOUNTAIN-ASH.) Leaves pinnately cleft and often fully pinnate at base, hairy beneath. Pome globose, ¼ in., scarlet, ripe in autumn. A cultivated tree, 20 to 30 ft. high; from Europe. [Illustration: P. Americàna.] 7. =Pyrus Americàna=, DC. (AMERICAN MOUNTAIN-ASH.) Leaflets 13 to 15, lanceolate, bright green, nearly smooth, taper-pointed, sharply serrate with pointed teeth. Leaf-buds pointed, glabrous and somewhat glutinous. Flowers white, 1/3 in., in large, flat, compound cymes. In June. Fruit berry-like pomes, the size of small peas, bright scarlet when ripe in September, and hanging on the tree till winter. A tall shrub or tree, 15 to 30 ft. high, in swamps and mountain woods; more abundant northward. Often cultivated for the showy clusters of berries in autumn. [Illustration: P. sambucifòlia.] 8. =Pyrus sambucifòlia=, Cham. & Schlecht. (ELDER-LEAVED MOUNTAIN-ASH.) Leaflets oblong, oval or lance-ovate, obtuse (sometimes abruptly sharp-pointed), usually doubly serrate with rather spreading teeth, generally pale beneath. Leaf-buds somewhat hairy. Flowers and berries larger, but in smaller clusters, than the preceding species. The berries globose when ripe, 1/3 in. broad, bright red. This species, much like Pyrus Americana, is found wild in northern New England and westward. [Illustration: P. aucupària.] 9. =Pyrus aucupària=, Gaertn. (EUROPEAN MOUNTAIN-ASH, OR ROWAN-TREE.) Much like Pyrus Americana, but the leaflets are paler and more obtuse, with their lower surface downy. Leaf-buds blunter and densely covered with hairs. Flowers larger, ½ in. or more in diameter. Fruit also much larger, sometimes nearly ½ in. in diameter. Beautiful tree, 20 to 30 ft. high, often cultivated. GENUS =38. CRATÆGUS.= Thorny shrubs or small trees with simple, alternate, serrate, doubly serrate or lobed leaves. Flowers cherry-like blossoms, usually white in color and growing in corymbs, generally on the ends of side shoots; in spring. Fruit a berry or drupe with 1 to 5 bony stones, tipped with the 5 persistent calyx-teeth; ripe in autumn. * Calyx, stipules, bracts, etc., often glandular. (=A.=) =A.= Flowers and fruit often over 6 in a cluster. (=B.=) =B.= Leaves usually abrupt at base 1. =B.= Leaves usually attenuate at base 2. =A.= Flowers and fruit few, 1 to 6 in a cluster 10. * Calyx, etc., without glands (No. 4 has glandular teeth to the calyx); flowers many in a cluster. (=C.=) =C.= Leaves more or less tapering at base. (=D.=) =D.= Leaves generally lobed; cultivated, rarely escaped 3. =D.= Leaves rarely lobed; native. (=E.=) =E.= Leaves small, shining, crenate at the end 5. =E.= Leaves villous or pubescent, at least when young 9. =E.= Leaves smooth or only downy at the axils, acutely serrate. South 7. =C.= Leaves usually abrupt at base, sometimes cordate. (=F.=) =F.= Leaves downy when young. (=G.=) =G.= Leaves usually lobed 4. =G.= Leaves rarely lobed; veins very prominent 8. =F.= Leaves quite smooth 6. [Illustration: C. coccínea.] 1. =Cratægus coccínea=, L. (SCARLET-FRUITED THORN.) Leaves bright green, smooth, thin, roundish-ovate, sharply cut-toothed or lobed, on slender petioles. Branches reddish, villous-pubescent; spines stout, chestnut-brown. Flowers large, ½ to 2/3 in., many in a corymb, on glandular peduncles. May to June. Fruit scarlet, round or pear-shaped, ½ in.; ripe in September, with from 1 to 5 cells and seeds. Tall shrub or low tree, 10 to 25 ft. high, in hedges and woods; common from Canada to Florida. Var. _mollis_ has the shoots densely pubescent; leaves large, slender-petioled, cuneate, cordate or truncate at base, usually with acute narrow lobes, often rough above, and more or less densely pubescent beneath. Flowers large, 1 in.; fruit light scarlet with a light bloom, 1 in. broad. [Illustration: C. Crus-gálli.] 2. =Cratægus Crus-gálli=, L. (COCKSPUR THORN.) Leaves smooth, thick, shining above, wedge-obovate, finely serrate above the middle, with a short petiole. There are broad and narrow-leaved varieties. Flowers large and numerous, in lateral corymbs. May to June. Fruit globular, 1/3 in. broad, dull red; ripe in September and October. A small tree with a flat, bushy head, horizontal branches, and long, sharp thorns. Wild and common throughout, and often planted. [Illustration: C. oxyacántha.] 3. =Cratægus oxyacántha.= (ENGLISH HAWTHORN.) Leaves obovate, smooth, wedge-shaped at base, cut-lobed and toothed above. No glands. Flowers medium-sized, ½ in., single or double, white, rose, or pink-red, numerous in corymbs. In spring. Fruit coral-red, 1/3 in.; ripe in autumn. A small tree or shrub, fine for lawn; from Europe; also escaped in some places. [Illustration: C. apiifólia.] 4. =Cratægus apiifólia=, Michx. (PARSLEY-LEAVED THORN.) Leaves small, ovate, with a broad truncate or heart-shaped base, pinnatifid into 5 to 7 crowded, irregularly toothed lobes; white and soft-downy when young, smoothish when grown; petioles slender. Flowers medium-sized, ½ in., many in a corymb, white. May to June. Fruit small, 1/3 in., coral-red, ripe in autumn. A handsome, low (10 to 20 ft. high), spreading tree, with flexible branches and white-downy twigs. Virginia and south, in moist woods. [Illustration: C. spathulàta.] 5. =Cratægus spathulàta=, Michx. (SPATULATE-LEAVED THORN.) Leaves almost evergreen, thick, shining, spatulate, crenate toward the apex and nearly sessile, those on the young downy branches somewhat cut or lobed. Flowers small, ½ in., in large clusters. May. Fruit small, ¼ in., bright red; ripe in October. A small tree, 12 to 25 ft. high; Virginia and south. [Illustration: C. cordàta.] 6. =Cratægus cordàta=, Ait. (WASHINGTON THORN.) Leaves broadly triangular-ovate, somewhat heart-shaped, thin, deep shining green, smooth, often 3- to 5-lobed and serrate, on slender petioles. Flowers small, 2/5 in., many in terminal corymbs, white. May, June. Fruit scarlet, about the size of peas; ripe in September. A compact, close-headed, small tree, 15 to 25 ft. high, with many slender thorns. Virginia, Kentucky, and southward. Sometimes planted in the North for hedges. [Illustration: C. víridis.] 7. =Cratægus víridis=, L. (TALL HAWTHORN.) Leaves ovate to ovate-oblong, or lanceolate, or oblong-obovate, mostly acute at both ends, on slender petioles; acutely serrate, often somewhat lobed and often downy in the axils. Flowers numerous, in large clusters. Fruit bright red, or orange, ovoid, small, ¼ in. broad. A small tree, 20 to 30 ft. high, with few large thorns or without thorns. Southern Illinois and Missouri, along the Mississippi and in the Southern States. [Illustration: C. tomentòsa.] 8. =Cratægus tomentòsa=, L. (BLACK OR PEAR HAWTHORN.) Leaves downy-pubescent on the lower side (at least when young), thickish, rather large, oval or ovate-oblong, sharply toothed and often cut-lobed below, abruptly narrowed into a margined petiole, the upper surface impressed along the main veins or ribs. Branches gray. Flowers ill-scented, many in a corymb. Fruit ½ in. long, obovate to globose, dull red. Shrub or tree, 10 to 30 ft. high, wild in western New York, west and south. [Illustration: C. punctàta.] 9. =Cratægus punctàta.= (DOTTED-FRUITED HAWTHORN.) Leaves rather small, mostly wedge-obovate, attenuate and entire below, unequally toothed above, rarely lobed, villous-pubescent, becoming smooth but dull, the veins prominent beneath and impressed above. Fruit globose, large, 1 in. broad, red to bright yellow; peduncles not glandular. Shrub to tree, 10 to 20 ft. high, with horizontal branches; Canada to Georgia. [Illustration: C. flàva.] 10. =Cratægus flàva=, Ait. (YELLOW OR SUMMER HAW.) Leaves small, wedge-obovate, unequally toothed and cut above the middle; on short petioles; the teeth, stipules and petioles glandular. Flowers mostly solitary, white, large (¾ in). May. Fruit usually pear-shaped, quite large (¾ in. long), yellow or greenish-yellow, sometimes tinged or spotted with red, pleasant-flavored. Ripe in autumn. A low spreading tree, 15 to 20 ft. high. Virginia, south and west, in sandy soil. Var. _pubescens_ is downy-or villous-pubescent when young, and has thicker leaves and larger and redder fruit. GENUS =39. AMELÁNCHIER.= Small trees or shrubs with simple, deciduous, alternate, sharply serrate leaves; cherry-blossom-like, white flowers, in racemes at the end of the branches, before the leaves are fully expanded. Fruit a small apple-like pome; seeds 10 or less, in separate cartilaginous-coated cells. [Illustration: A. Canadénsis.] =Amelánchier Canadénsis=, Torr. & Gray. (SHAD-BUSH. SERVICE-BERRY.) A very variable species with many named varieties. The leaves, 1 to 3½ in. long, vary from narrow-oblong to roundish or cordate; bracts and stipules silky-ciliate. Flowers large, in drooping racemes, in early spring, with petals from 2 to 5 times as long as wide. Fruit globular, ½ in. broad, purplish, sweet, edible; ripe in June. It varies from a low shrub to a middle-sized tree, 5 to 30 ft. high. ORDER =XIX. HAMAMELÍDEÆ.= (WITCH-HAZEL FAMILY.) A small family of trees and shrubs represented in most countries. GENUS =40. HAMAMÈLIS.= Tall shrubs, rarely tree-like, with alternate, straight-veined, 2-ranked, oval, wavy-margined leaves. Flowers conspicuous, yellow, 4-parted; blooming in the autumn while the leaves are dropping, and continuing in bloom through part of the winter. Fruit rounded capsules which do not ripen till the next summer. [Illustration: H. Virginiána.] =Hamamèlis Virginiána=, L. (WITCH-HAZEL.) The only species; 10 to 30 ft. high; rarely grows with a single trunk, but usually forms a slender, crooked-branched shrub. Flowers sessile, in small clusters of 3 to 4, in an involucre in the axils of the leaves. GENUS =41. LIQUIDÁMBAR.= Trees with alternate, simple, palmately cleft leaves. Flowers inconspicuous; in spring. Fruit a large (1 in.), globular, long-stalked, dry, open, rough catkin, hanging on the tree through the winter. [Illustration: L. Styracíflua.] =Liquidámbar Styracíflua=, L. (SWEET GUM. BILSTED.) Leaves rounded, deeply 5- to 7-cleft, star-shaped, dark green, smooth and shining, glandular-serrate. Twigs often covered with corky ridges. A large, beautiful tree, 30 to 70 ft. high, with deeply furrowed bark. Connecticut, west and south; abundant south of 40° N. Lat. Well worthy of more extensive cultivation than it has yet received. ORDER =XX. LYTHRÀCEÆ.= (LOOSESTRIFE FAMILY.) A small order of shrubs, herbs, or trees; mainly tropical. GENUS =42. PÙNICA.= Leaves simple, usually opposite, deciduous; flowers scarlet, with 5 petals and numerous stamens; fruit a many-seeded berry. [Illustration: P. granàtum.] =Pùnica granàtum=, L. (POMEGRANATE-TREE.) Leaves opposite, lanceolate, smooth, entire; flowers large, both calyx and corolla scarlet and very ornamental; the fruit as large as an orange, fine-flavored. A tree-shaped plant, growing to the height of 20 ft. in the Southern States. If given some protection, it can be grown as far north as Washington. It has been cultivated from the earliest times, and is probably a native of western Asia. GENUS =43. LAGERSTROEMIA.= Flowers with 6 long-clawed petals inserted on the broadly spreading calyx; fruit 3- to 6-celled pods with many winged seeds. [Illustration: L. Índica.] =Lagerstroemia Índica=, L. (CRAPE-MYRTLE.) Leaves roundish-ovate, thick, smooth, short-petiolate; branches winged; flowers in terminal clusters with large, delicately crisped, long-stemmed petals of pink, purple, and other colors. A beautiful small tree, or usually a shrub, from India; often cultivated in the North in conservatories; hardy as far north as Washington. ORDER =XXI. ARALIÀCEÆ.= (GINSENG FAMILY.) A small order of herbs, shrubs, and trees, here represented by the following genus: GENUS =44. ARÀLIA.= Herbs, shrubs, or trees, with pinnately or palmately compound leaves; here including Acanthopanax with palmately cleft leaves. Flowers whitish or greenish, in umbels, often forming large panicles. Fruit small, berry-like, several-celled, several-seeded. * Leaves 2 to 3 times odd-pinnate (Aralia proper) 1, 2. * Leaves simple, palmately cleft (Acanthopanax) 3. [Illustration: A. spinòsa.] 1. =Aràlia spinòsa=, L. (ANGELICA-TREE. HERCULES'-CLUB.) Leaves large, crowded at the summit of the stem, twice or sometimes thrice odd-pinnate, usually prickly, with sessile, ovate, acuminate, deeply serrate leaflets, glaucous beneath. Large panicles of small whitish flowers in umbels, with involucres of few leaves. Berry small, ¼ in., 5-ribbed, crowned with the remains of the calyx. A tree-like plant, 8 to 12 ft. high, or in the Gulf States 30 ft. high, with the stem covered with numerous prickles. Usually dies to the ground after flowering. Wild in damp woods, Pennsylvania and south, and cultivated in the North. [Illustration: A. Chinénsis.] 2. =Aràlia Chinénsis.= Leaves more or less fully twice-pinnate; leaflets ovate-oblong, oblique at base, acuminate, sharply serrate, hairy. Flowers and fruit in large, branching, hairy panicles; thorns few, straight. A small tree, 10 to 15 ft. high; occasionally cultivated; from China. [Illustration: A. Maximowíczii.] 3. =Aràlia (Acanthópanax) Maximowíczii.= Leaves long-petioled, simple, thick, palmately cleft, with 7 serrate lobes; old leaves smooth, the young with woolly bases. Panicles of flowers and fruit terminal; the berries striated. Tree-trunk usually quite prickly. This species is said to grow 50 ft. high in Japan. It has been recently introduced, and proves perfectly hardy in Massachusetts. ORDER =XXII. CORNÀCEÆ.= (DOGWOOD FAMILY.) A small order of shrubs and trees (rarely herbs) of temperate regions. GENUS =45. CÓRNUS.= Small trees or shrubs (one species an herb) with simple, entire, curved-veined, and (except in one species) opposite leaves. The curved parallel ribs of the leaves in all the species are quite peculiar and readily recognized. Flowers small, of 4 petals, in some species rendered very conspicuous by large bracts. Fruit small, usually bright-colored drupes in clusters; ripe from August to October. There are but 3 species that grow at all tree-like. * Leaves opposite. (=A.=) =A.= Fruit in close head-like clusters, red when ripe 1. =A.= Fruit in open clusters. (=B.=) =B.= Branches bright red; fruit white 2. =B.= Branches brownish; fruit bright red 3. * Leaves alternate; fruit blue 4. [Illustration: C. flórida.] 1. =Córnus flórida=, L. (FLOWERING DOGWOOD.) Leaves ovate, pointed, acutish at base. Flowers in a head surrounded by 4 white bracts, making the whole cluster look like a single large flower 3 in. broad. Abundant in May and June. Fruit a small, bright red drupe with a single 2-seeded nut. Ripe in August. A large shrub or low tree 15 to 40 ft. high, with broad, roundish head. Common on high ground throughout, and one of the finest small trees in cultivation. A variety with the bracts quite red is also cultivated. [Illustration: C. álba.] 2. =Córnus álba=, L. (SIBERIAN RED-STEMMED CORNEL.) Leaves broadly ovate, acute, densely pubescent beneath; drupes white; branches recurved, bright red, rendering the plant a conspicuous object in the winter. A shrub rather than a tree, cultivated from Siberia; hardy throughout. [Illustration: C. máscula.] 3. =Córnus máscula=, Dur. (CORNELIAN CHERRY.) Leaves opposite, oval-acuminate, rather pubescent on both surfaces. Flowers small, yellow, in umbels from a 4-leaved involucre, blooming before the leaves are out in spring. Fruit oval, ½ in. long, cornelian-colored, ripe in autumn, rather sweet, used in confectionery. A large shrub or low tree, 8 to 15 ft. high, with hard, tough, flexible wood, sometimes cultivated for its early flowers and late, beautiful fruit. [Illustration: C. alternifòlia.] 4. =Córnus alternifòlia=, L. f. (ALTERNATE-LEAVED CORNEL.) Leaves alternate, clustered at the ends of the branches, ovate or oval-acuminate, tapering at base, whitish with minute pubescence beneath. Cymes of flowers and fruit broad and open. Fruit deep blue on reddish stalks. Shrub, though occasionally tree-like, 8 to 25 ft. high; on hillsides throughout; rarely cultivated. GENUS =46. NÝSSA.= Trees with deciduous, alternate, exstipulate, usually entire leaves, mostly acute at both ends. Flowers somewhat dioecious, i.e. staminate and pistillate flowers on separate trees. The staminate flowers are quite conspicuous because so densely clustered. April and May. Fruit on but a portion of the trees, consisting of one or two small (¼ to ½ in.), drupes in the axils of the leaves. Stone roughened with grooves. Ripe in autumn. * Fruit usually clustered 1, 2. * Fruit solitary 3. [Illustration: N. sylvática.] 1. =Nýssa sylvática=, Marsh. (PEPPERIDGE. BLACK OR SOUR GUM.) Leaves oval to obovate, pointed, entire (sometimes angulate-toothed beyond the middle), rather thick, shining above when old, 2 to 5 in. long. The leaves are crowded near the ends of the branches and flattened so as to appear 2-ranked, like the Beech; turning bright crimson in the autumn. Fruit ovoid, bluish-black, about ½ in. long, sour. Medium-sized tree with mainly an excurrent trunk and horizontal branches. Wood firm, close-grained and hard to split. Rich soil, latitude of Albany and southward. Difficult to transplant, so it is rarely cultivated. 2. =Nýssa biflòra=, Walt. (SOUR GUM.) Leaves 1 to 3 in. long, smaller than in N. sylvatica; fertile flowers and fruit 1 to 3, in the axils; stone decidedly flattened and more strongly furrowed. New Jersey to Tennessee and southward. Too nearly like the last to need a drawing. All the species of Nyssa may have the margin of the leaves somewhat angulated, as shown in the next. [Illustration: N. uniflòra.] 3. =Nýssa uniflòra=, Wang. (LARGE TUPELO.) Leaves much larger, 4 to 12 in. long, sometimes slightly cordate at base, entire or angularly toothed, downy beneath. Fruit solitary, oblong, blue, 1 in. or more in length. Wood soft, that of the roots light and spongy and used for corks. In water or wet swamps; Virginia, Kentucky, and southward. ORDER =XXIII. CAPRIFOLIÀCEÆ.= (HONEYSUCKLE FAMILY.) Shrubs (rarely herb or tree-like plants) of temperate regions. GENUS =47. VIBÚRNUM.= Shrubs or small trees with opposite, simple, petioled leaves. Flowers light-colored, small but in large, conspicuous, flat-topped clusters at the ends of the branches; blooming in early summer. Fruit small, 1-seeded drupes with flattened stones; ripe in autumn. * Leaves distinctly palmately lobed 1. * Leaves pinnately veined and not lobed. (=A.=) =A.= Coarsely dentated 2. =A.= Finely serrated. (=B.=) =B.= Leaves long-acuminated 3. =B.= Obtuse or slightly pointed 4. [Illustration: V. Ópulus.] 1. =Vibúrnum Ópulus=, L. (CRANBERRY-TREE.) Leaves palmately veined and strongly 3-lobed, broadly wedge-shaped or truncate at base, the spreading lobes mostly toothed on the sides and entire in the notches; petiole with 2 glands at the apex. Fruit in peduncled clusters, light red and quite sour (whence the name "Cranberry-tree"). A nearly smooth, small tree or shrub, 4 to 12 ft. high; wild along streams, and cultivated under the name of Snowball-tree or Guelder Rose. In this variety the flowers have all become sterile and enlarged. =Vibúrnum acerifòlium= (ARROW-WOOD) has also lobed leaves, and is much more common. This species never forms a tree, and has dark-colored berries. [Illustration: V. dentàtum.] 2. =Vibúrnum dentàtum=, L. (ARROW-WOOD.) Leaves, pale green, broadly ovate, somewhat heart-shaped at base, coarsely and sharply dentated, strongly veined and often with hairy tufts in the axils; petioles rather long and slender. Fruit ¼ in. long, in peduncled clusters, blue or purple; a cross-section of the stone between kidney-and horseshoe-shaped. A shrub or small tree, 5 to 15 ft. high, with ash-colored bark; in wet places. [Illustration: V. Lentàgo.] 3. =Vibúrnum Lentàgo=, L. (SWEET VIBURNUM OR SHEEP-BERRY.) Leaves broad, ovate, long-pointed, 2 to 3 in. long, closely and sharply serrated; petioles long and with narrow, curled margins; entire plant smooth. Fruit in sessile clusters of 3 to 5 rays, oval, large, ½ in. long, blue-black, edible, sweet; ripe in autumn. A small tree, 10 to 30 ft. high; found wild throughout, in woods and along streams. [Illustration: V. prunifòlium.] 4. =Vibúrnum prunifòlium=, L. (BLACK HAW.) Leaves oval, obtuse or slightly pointed, 1 to 2 in. long, finely and sharply serrated. Blooming early, May to June. Fruit oval, large (½ in. long), in sessile clusters of 3 to 5 rays, black or blue-black, sweet. A tall shrub or small tree, 6 to 12 ft. high; in dry soil or along streams; New York, south and west. GENUS =48. LONÍCERA.= Leaves entire, opposite; corolla 5-lobed; berry several-seeded. [Illustration: L. Tartárica.] =Lonícera Tartárica=. (TARTARIAN HONEY-SUCKLE.) Leaves deciduous, oval, heart-shaped; flowers in pairs, showy, pink to rose-red; in spring; berries formed of the two ovaries, bright red; ripe in summer. A shrub, often planted and occasionally trimmed to a tree-like form, and growing to the height of nearly 20 ft. ORDER =XXIV. COMPÓSITÆ.= This, the largest order of flowering plants, is made up almost exclusively of herbaceous plants, but contains one shrub or low tree which is hardy from Boston southward near the Atlantic coast. GENUS =49. BÁCCHARIS.= Leaves simple, deciduous; heads of flowers small, many-flowered; receptacle naked; pappus of hairs. [Illustration: B. halimifòlia.] =Báccharis halimifòlia=, L. (GROUNDSEL-TREE.) Leaves obovate, wedge-shaped, crenately notched at end, light grayish in color, with whitish powder; branches angled; flowers white with a tint of purple, blooming in the autumn. A broad, loose-headed, light-colored bush rather than a tree, 8 to 15 ft. high; wild on sea-beaches, Massachusetts and south, and occasionally cultivated. The plant is dioecious; the fertile specimens are rendered quite conspicuous in autumn by their very long, white pappus. ORDER =XXV. ERICÀCEÆ.= (HEATH FAMILY.) A large order, mainly of shrubs, though a few species are herbs, and fewer still are tall enough to be considered trees. GENUS =50. OXYDÉNDRUM.= Trees with deciduous, alternate, oblong-lanceolate, pointed, serrate, sour-tasting leaves. Flowers small, in large panicles at the ends of the branches. In summer. Fruit small, dry capsules, with 5 cells and many seeds. [Illustration: O. arbòreum.] =Oxydéndrum arbòreum=, DC. (SORREL-TREE. SOURWOOD.) Leaves in size and shape much like those of Peach trees. Flowers small, urn-shaped. Small-sized tree, 15 to 50 ft. high; wild in rich woods, Pennsylvania and southward, mainly in the mountains. Rare in cultivation, but very beautiful, especially in autumn, when its leaves are brilliantly colored, and the panicles of fruit still remain on the trees. It is perfectly hardy both at the Arnold Arboretum, Boston, and the Missouri Botanical Garden, St. Louis. GENUS =51. KÁLMIA.= Evergreen shrubs with alternate, entire, thick, smooth leaves. Flowers large, beautiful, cup-shaped, in showy clusters. Fruit a small, 5-celled, many-seeded capsule. [Illustration: K. latifòlia.] =Kálmia latifòlia=, L. (MOUNTAIN-LAUREL. CALICO-BUSH.) The only species which grows at all tree-like has ovate-lanceolate or elliptical, smooth, petioled leaves, tapering at both ends and green on both sides. Flowers in terminal corymbs, clammy-pubescent, white to pink. June. Pod depressed, glandular. Shrub or small tree, 4 to 25 ft. high, with reddish twigs; wild in rocky hills and damp soils through out; occasionally planted. Wood very hard and close-grained. GENUS =52. RHODODÉNDRON.= Shrubs or low trees with usually alternate, entire leaves and showy flowers in umbel-like clusters from large, scaly-bracted, terminal buds. Fruit a dry 5-celled pod with many seeds. [Illustration: R. máximum.] =Rhododéndron máximum=, L. (GREAT LAUREL.) Leaves thick, 4 to 10 in. long, elliptical-oblong or lance-oblong, acute, narrowed toward the base, very smooth, with somewhat revolute margins. Flowers large (1 in.), with an irregular bell-shaped corolla and sticky stems, in large clusters, white or slightly pinkish with yellowish dots. July. Evergreen shrub or tree, 6 to 20 ft. high, throughout the region, especially in damp swamps in the Alleghany Mountains; occasionally cultivated. GENUS =53. CLÈTHRA.= Shrubs or trees with alternate, simple, deciduous, exstipulate, serrate leaves. Flowers (July and August) conspicuous, white, in elongated terminal racemes which are covered with a whitish powder. Fruit 3-celled pods with many seeds, covered by the calyx. * Leaves thin, large, 3 to 7 in. long, pale beneath 1. * Leaves thickish, smaller, green both sides 2. [Illustration: C. acuminàta.] 1. =Clèthra acuminàta=, Michx. (ACUMINATE-LEAVED CLETHRA. SWEET PEPPER-BUSH.) Leaves 3 to 7 in. long, oval to oblong, pointed, thin, abruptly acute at base, finely serrate, on slender petioles, smooth above and glaucous below. Racemes drooping, of sweet-scented flowers, with the bracts longer than the flowers. Filaments and pod hairy. A small tree or shrub, 10 to 20 ft. high, in the Alleghanies, Virginia, and south. Not often in cultivation, but well worthy of it. [Illustration: C. alnifòlia.] 2. =Clèthra alnifòlia=, L. (COMMON SWEET PEPPER-BUSH.) Leaves wedge-obovate, sharply serrate near the apex, entire near the base, straight-veined, smooth, green on both sides. Racemes erect, often compound, with bracts shorter than the flowers and with smooth filaments. This is a shrub rather than a tree; abundant in wet places east of the Alleghanies. Occasionally cultivated for its sweet-scented flowers. ORDER =XXVI. SAPOTÀCEÆ.= (SAPODILLA FAMILY.) A small order, mainly of tropical plants, here including one genus found only in the southern part of our range. GENUS =54. BUMÈLIA.= Leaves simple, alternate, entire, sub-evergreen, exstipulate; branches often spiny. Flowers small, whitish, usually crowded in fascicles. Fruit a black cherry-like drupe with a 2- to 3-celled nut. Shrubs and trees of the Southern States. Two species (although hardly trees) are found far enough north to be included in this work. * Leaves rusty-woolly beneath 1. * Leaves smooth or slightly silky beneath 2. [Illustration: B. lanuginòsa.] 1. =Bumèlia lanuginòsa=, Pers. (WOOLLY-LEAVED BUCKTHORN.) Leaves oblong-obovate, obtuse, entire, smooth above and rusty-woolly beneath, but not silky; spiny, with downy branchlets. Clusters 6- to 12-flowered, pubescent; flowers greenish-yellow. Fruit globular and quite large (½ in.), black, edible. A small tree, 10 to 40 ft. high, of the woods of southern Illinois and southward. With slight protection it can be cultivated in Massachusetts. [Illustration: B. lycioìdes.] 2. =Bumèlia lycioìdes=, Pers. (SOUTHERN BUCKTHORN.) Leaves 2 to 4 in. long, oval-lanceolate, usually bluntish with a tapering base and entire margin, deciduous, a little silky beneath when young. Clusters densely many-flowered (20 to 30); flowers small (1/6 in.), smooth, greenish-white. May, June. A spiny shrub or tree, 10 to 25 ft. high, in moist ground, Virginia, west and south. About as hardy as the preceding species. ORDER =XXVII. EBENÀCEÆ.= (EBONY FAMILY.) A small order of mostly tropical trees and shrubs. GENUS =55. DIOSPYROS.= Trees or shrubs with alternate, simple, entire, feather-veined leaves. Flowers small, inconspicuous, mostly dioecious. Fruit a globose berry with the 5-lobed thick calyx at the base, and with 8 to 12, occasionally 1 to 5, rather large seeds; ripe after frost. [Illustration: D. Virginiàna.] =Diospyros Virginiàna=, L. (COMMON PERSIMMON.) Leaves 4 to 6 in. long, ovate-oblong, acuminate, rather thick, smooth, dark, shining above, a little pale beneath. Bark dark-colored and deeply furrowed in a netted manner with rather small meshes. Flowers yellowish, rather small, somewhat dioecious; the staminate ones urn-shaped with mouth nearly closed; the pistillate ones more open. June. Fruit large, 1 in.; very astringent when young, yellow and pleasant-tasting after frost. A handsome, ornamental tree, 20 to 60 ft. high, with very hard, dark-colored wood and bright foliage. Southern New England to Illinois and south; also cultivated. =Diospyros Lòtus= (DATE-PLUM), with leaves very dark green above, much paler and downy beneath, and fruit much smaller (2/3 in.), and =Diospyros Kàki= (JAPAN PERSIMMON), with large, leathery, shining leaves and very large fruit (2 in.), are successfully cultivated from Washington, D. C., southward. The under leaf represents D. Lotus, the upper one a small specimen of D. Kaki. [Illustration: D. Lòtus and D. Kàki.] ORDER =XXVIII. STYRACÀCEÆ.= (STORAX FAMILY.) A small order of shrubs and trees, mostly of warm countries. GENUS =56. STYRAX.= Shrubs or small trees with commonly deciduous leaves, and axillary, or racemed, white, showy flowers on drooping stems. Pubescence scurfy or stellate; fruit a globular dry drupe, its base covered with the persistent calyx, forming a 1- to 3-seeded nut. [Illustration: S. Americàna.] 1. =Styrax Americàna=, Lam. (AMERICAN STORAX.) Shrub or small tree (4 to 10 ft.), with oblong, alternate leaves acute at both ends, 1 to 3 inches long, smooth or very nearly so; fruit ½ in. long, in racemes of 3-4. Wild along streams, Virginia and south; occasionally cultivated, and probably hardy throughout. [Illustration: S. Japónica.] 2. =Styrax Japónica=, Sieb. (JAPAN STORAX.) Leaves alternate, membranaceous, ovate to ovate-lanceolate, serrate or crenate, ½ to 3 in. long, smooth or with short stellate hairs; flowers and fruit in long racemes. A beautiful low tree, 6 to 12 ft. high; from Japan. Hardy as far north as Philadelphia, but needing a little protection in Massachusetts and Missouri. GENUS =57. PTEROSTYRAX.= Similar to Styrax, but with the fruit in panicles, 5-winged, conical, and crowned with the persistent base of the style. [Illustration: P. corymbòsum.] =Pterostyrax corymbòsum=, Sieb. Leaves deciduous, 2 to 5 in. long, feather-veined, petioled, ovate, rarely cordate at base, sharply serrate, with stellate hairs. Shrub or small tree, 10 to 12 ft. high, cultivated from Japan; with ashy-gray bark, and white flowers turning yellowish or purplish with age; blooming in May, fruit ripe in August. Not perfectly hardy in Massachusetts. GENUS =58. HALÈSIA.= Small trees or shrubs with alternate, simple, deciduous, serrate leaves. Flowers large, 1 in. long, conspicuous, white, hanging, bell-shaped, monopetalous, 4-lobed; blooming in spring. Fruit with a single, rough, elongated, bony nut surrounded by a 2- to 4-winged coat; ripe in autumn. Wood light-colored, very hard and fine-grained. [Illustration: H. díptera.] 1. =Halèsia díptera, L.= (TWO-WINGED SILVERBELL TREE.) Leaves large (4 to 5 in. long), ovate, acute, serrate, softly pubescent. Fruit with 2 conspicuous, broad wings, sometimes with 2 intermediate narrow ridges. A small tree or a large shrub, wild in the south, and cultivated as far north as New York City. [Illustration: H. tetráptera.] 2. =Halèsia tetráptera, L.= (FOUR-WINGED SILVERBELL TREE.) Leaves smaller (2 to 4 in.), oblong-ovate, finely serrate. Fruit smaller, with 4 nearly equal wings. A small, beautiful tree, 10 to 30 ft. high, more hardy than Halesia diptera, and therefore cultivated occasionally throughout. Wild in Virginia and south. GENUS =59. SÝMPLOCOS.= Shrubs or small trees, with leaves furnishing a yellow dye. [Illustration: S. tinctòria.] =Sýmplocos tinctòria=, L'Her. (HORSE-SUGAR. SWEETLEAF.) Leaves simple, alternate, thick, 3 to 5 in. long, elongate-oblong, acuminate, nearly entire, almost persistent, pale beneath, with minute pubescence, sweet-tasting. Flowers 6 to 14, in close-bracted, axillary clusters, 5-parted, sweet-scented, yellow; in early spring. Fruit a dry drupe, ovoid, ½ in. long. A shrub or small tree, 10 to 20 ft. high. Delaware and south. ORDER =XXIX. OLEÀCEÆ.= (OLIVE FAMILY.) An order of trees and shrubs, mainly of temperate regions. GENUS =60. FRÁXINUS.= Trees with petioled, opposite, odd-pinnate leaves (one cultivated variety has simple leaves). Flowers often inconspicuous, in large panicles before the leaves in spring. Fruit single-winged at one end (samara or key-fruit), in large clusters; ripe in autumn. Some trees, owing to the flowers being staminate, produce no fruit. Wood light-colored, tough, very distinctly marked by the annual layers. The leaves appear late in the spring, and fall early in the autumn. * Flowers with white corolla; a cultivated small tree 8. * Flowers with no corolla. (=A.=) =A.= Leaves pinnate; leaflets petiolate; calyx small, persistent on the fruit. (=B.=) =B.= Fruit broad-winged, ¾ in. wide. South 5. =B.= Wings much narrower. (=C.= ) =C.= Branchlets round and pubescent 2. =C.= Branchlets round and smooth. (=D.=) =D.= Leaflets nearly entire 1. =D.= Leaflets serrate near tip, entire below 3. =C.= Branchlets, on vigorous growths, square 4. =A.= Leaves pinnate; leaflets sessile; no calyx. (=E.=) =E.= Native; wing of fruit rounded at tip 6. =E.= Cultivated from Europe; wing notched at tip 7. =A.= Leaves simple; variety under 7. [Illustration: F. Americàna.] 1. =Fráxinus Americàna=, L. (WHITE ASH.) Leaflets 7 to 9 (usually 7), stalked, ovate or lance-oblong, pointed, shining above, pale and either smooth or pubescent beneath, somewhat toothed or entire. Flowers almost always dioecious (May), thus the fruit is found on but a portion of the trees. The fruit (August to September) terete and marginless below, abruptly dilated into the wing, which is 2 to 3 times as long as the terete portion; entire fruit about 1½ in. long. A common large forest-tree, 60 to 80 ft. high, with gray, furrowed bark, smooth, grayish-green branchlets, and rusty-colored buds. Extensively cultivated. [Illustration: F. pubéscens.] 2. =Fráxinus pubéscens=, Lam. (RED ASH.) Like the White Ash, but to be distinguished from it by the down on the young, green or olive-green twigs, and on the footstalks and lower surface of the leaves. Fruit acute, 2-edged at base, gradually dilated into the wings as in Fraxinus viridis. A smaller and more slender tree than the White Ash; growing in about the same localities, but rare west of the Alleghanies; heart-wood darker-colored. [Illustration: F. víridis.] 3. =Fráxinus víridis=, Michx. f. (GREEN ASH.) Smooth throughout; leaflets 5 to 9, bright green on both sides, ovate or oblong-lanceolate, often wedge-shaped at base and serrate above. Fruit acute and 2-edged or margined at base and gradually spreading into an oblanceolate or linear-spatulate wing as in the Red Ash. Small to middle-sized trees (like the Red Ash), found throughout, but common westward. [Illustration: F. quadrangulàta.] 4. =Fráxinus quadrangulàta=, Michx. (BLUE ASH.) Leaflets 7 to 9, short-stalked, oblong-ovate or lanceolate, pointed, sharply serrate, green on both sides. Fruit narrowly oblong, blunt, of the same width at both ends, or slightly narrowed at the base. A large tree, 60 to 80 ft. high, with smooth square twigs on the vigorous growths. Wisconsin to Ohio and Kentucky. [Illustration: F. platycárpa.] 5. =Fráxinus platycárpa=, Michx. (WATER-ASH.) Leaflets 5 to 7, 3 to 5 in. long, ovate or oblong, acute at both ends, short-stalked, slightly serrate. Branchlets terete, smooth to pubescent. Fruit broadly winged, ¾ in. wide, often 3-winged, tapering to the base. A medium-sized tree in deep river-swamps, Virginia and south. [Illustration: F. sambucifòlia.] 6. =Fráxinus sambucifòlia=, Lam. (BLACK ASH.) Leaflets 7 to 11, sessile, oblong-lanceolate, tapering to a point, serrate, obtuse or rounded at base, green and smooth on both sides; when young, with some rusty hairs along the midrib. Fruit without calyx at base and with wing all around the seed-bearing part, blunt at both ends. A slender tree, 40 to 70 ft. high, with dark-blue or black buds. [Illustration: F. excélsior.] [Illustration: Var. monophýlla.] 7. =Fràxinus excélsior=, L. (EUROPEAN ASH.) Leaflets 11 to 13 (in some cultivated varieties reduced to 1 to 5), almost sessile, lanceolate-oblong, acuminate, serrate, wedge-shaped at base. Flowers naked, somewhat dioecious, and so the fruit does not form on all the trees. Keys linear-oblong, obtuse, obliquely notched at apex. This species in its very numerous varieties is common in cultivation. One of the most interesting is the Weeping Ash (var. _pendula_). The most remarkable is the one with simple, from pinnatifid to entire leaves (var. _monophylla_). [Illustration: F. òrnus.] 8. =Fráxinus òrnus.= (FLOWERING ASH.) Leaflets 7 to 9, lanceolate or elliptical, attenuated, serrated, entire at the stalked bases, villous or downy beneath. Flowers fringe-like, white, in large terminal drooping clusters, of 4 or 2 petals. May to June. Fruit small, lance-linear, obtuse, attenuate at each end. A small tree, 15 to 30 ft. high, planted in parks. Not hardy north of New York City without some protection. GENUS =61. OSMÁNTHUS.= Shrub or small tree with opposite, thick, evergreen, nearly entire leaves. Flowers small, white, in panicles or corymbs in late spring. Fruit a spherical drupe, ½ in. long, with a 2-seeded stone; hanging on during the winter. [Illustration: O. Americàna.] =Osmánthus Americàna, L.= (DEVIL-WOOD.) Leaves thick, evergreen, oblong-lanceolate, entire, acute, narrowed to a petiole, 4 to 5 in. long. Flowers dioecious, very small. May. Fruit globular, about ½ in. in diameter, violet-purplish; ripe in autumn, and remaining on the tree through the winter. A small tree, 15 to 20 ft. high, from southern Virginia southward, in moist woods. GENUS =62. SYRÍNGA.= Leaves simple, entire, opposite; flowers ornamental, in large, dense clusters. The Lilacs are all beautiful, but form mere shrubs, except the following: [Illustration: S. Japónica.] =Syrínga Japónica.= (JAPAN LILAC. GIANT TREE LILAC.) Leaves deciduous, opposite, oval to cordate, thick, dark green, glossy; flowers white, 4-parted, odorless, in very large, dense, erect, terminal clusters, blooming in summer; fruit dry 2-celled pods with 2 to 4 seeds. A magnificent small tree, 20 to 30 ft. high; from Japan; probably hardy throughout. GENUS =63. CHIONÁNTHUS.= Low trees or shrubs with simple, deciduous, opposite, entire, thick, smooth, petioled leaves. Flowers 4-parted, with long, slender, delicate white lobes, drooping in clusters from the lower side of the branches and forming a fringe; in early summer. Fruit a purple drupe. [Illustration: C. Virgínica.] =Chionánthus Virgínica, L.= (FRINGE-TREE). Leaves smooth, thickish, large (3 to 6 in. long), oval or obovate, entire. The leaves are occasionally somewhat alternate and thin; they resemble those of the Magnolia. Drupe ovoid, ¾ in. long, covered with a bloom. A beautiful small tree or shrub, 8 to 30 ft. high, wild along streams, southern Pennsylvania and southward, and generally cultivated north for its delicate fringe-like flowers. Hardy. A variety (var. _angustifolia_) with long, narrow leaves is occasionally cultivated. ORDER =XXX. SCROPHULARIÀCEÆ.= (FIGWORT FAMILY.) A large order of plants, almost entirely herbaceous; found in all climates; it includes one cultivated tree in this region. GENUS =64. PAULÒWNIA.= Tree with opposite (sometimes in whorls of three), large, deciduous, palmately veined, heart-shaped leaves. Leaf-stem often hollow; minute cup-shaped glands, separated from one another, situated on many portions of the leaf, but quite abundant on the upper side at the branching of the veins. Flowers large, in immense panicles; in spring, before the leaves expand. Fruit a dry, ovate, pointed capsule, 1½ in. long, with innumerable flat-winged seeds; hanging on the tree throughout the winter. [Illustration: P. imperiàlis.] =Paulòwnia imperiàlis=, (IMPERIAL PAULOWNIA.) Leaves 7 to 14 in. long, sometimes somewhat lobed, usually very hairy beneath; 2 buds, almost hidden under the bark, above each other in the axil. Flowers purple, nearly 2 in. long, with a peculiar, thick, leather-like calyx. A broad flat-headed tree, of rapid growth when young. Cultivated; from Japan; and hardy throughout, but the flower-buds are winter-killed quite frequently north of New York City. ORDER =XXXI. BIGNONIÀCEÆ.= (BIGNONIA FAMILY.) An order of woody plants abundant in South America; here including one genus of trees: GENUS =65. CATÁLPA.= Trees or shrubs with large, simple, opposite (or whorled in threes), heart-shaped, pointed leaves. Flowers irregular, showy, in large panicles; blooming in June. Fruit long pods with many, winged seeds, hanging on till spring. Branches coarse and stiff. Wood light and close-grained. * Flowers bright-spotted; wings of seeds narrowed 1. * Flowers nearly pure white; wings of seeds broad 2. [Illustration: C. bignonioìdes.] 1. =Catálpa bignonioìdes=, Walt. (INDIAN BEAN. SOUTHERN CATALPA.) The large heart-shaped leaf has connected scaly glands in the axils of the large veins on the lower side; usually entire though sometimes angulated, generally opposite though sometimes in whorls of threes, very downy beneath when young, 6 to 12 in. long. Flowers much spotted with yellow and purple, and with the lower lobe entire. Pod thin, 10 in. or more in length. A medium-sized, wide-spreading tree, 20 to 40 ft. high, of rapid growth, with soft, light wood and thin bark; wild in the Southern States, and extensively cultivated as far north as Albany. [Illustration: C. speciósa.] 2. =Catálpa speciósa=, Warder. (INDIAN BEAN. WESTERN CATALPA.) Leaves large (5 to 12 in. long), heart-shaped, long-pointed. Flowers 2 in. long, nearly white, faintly spotted, the lower lobes somewhat notched. Pod thick. A large, tall tree, 40 to 60 ft. high, with thick bark; wild in low, rich woodlands, southern Indiana, south and west. [Illustration: C. Kæmpferi.] =Catálpa Kæmpferi= and =Catálpa Búngei= are dwarf forms from Japan, the latter growing to the height of from 4 to 8 ft., and the former rarely reaching the height of 18 ft. The leaf of C. Kæmpferi is figured. It is more apt to have its margin angulated, though all the species occasionally have angulated leaves. ORDER =XXXII. VERBENACEÆ.= Herbs, shrubs, rarely small trees, with opposite leaves, irregular flowers and dry 2- to 4-celled fruits. GENUS =66. CLERODÉNDRON.= Shrubby trees or climbing shrubs with opposite or whorled, usually entire leaves; flowers with an almost regular, 5-parted corolla surrounded by a bell-shaped calyx; fruit drupe-like, with 4 seeds. [Illustration: C. trichótomum.] =Clerodéndron trichótomum=, Thunb. (FATE-TREE.) Leaves opposite, long-petioled, cordate, thin, entire, glandular-dotted above, very veiny; lower leaves largest and three-lobed, the upper ovate, long-pointed, all 3-ribbed. Flowers in large, terminal clusters; fruit with juicy pulp covering the 4 seeds. A small tree from Japan; hardy at Washington and south. The figure represents one of the upper leaves. GENUS =67. VÍTEX.= Shrubs or low trees with opposite, usually palmate leaves, panicled clusters of flowers and drupe-like fruit. [Illustration: V. Agnus-cástus.] =Vítex Agnus-cástus, L.= (CHASTE-TREE.) Leaves long-petioled, palmate, with 5 to 7 lanceolate, acute, nearly entire leaflets, whitened beneath; with an aromatic though unpleasant odor. Branches obtusely 4-sided, hairy; flowers pale lilac, in interrupted panicles, agreeably sweet-scented in late summer. Shrub or small tree, 5 to 10 ft. high, cultivated from southern Europe; hardy at Washington and south. If cultivated further north, it needs protection, at least when young. ORDER =XXXIII. LAURÀCEÆ.= (LAUREL FAMILY.) An order of aromatic trees and shrubs, chiefly tropical. GENUS =68. PÉRSEA.= Aromatic, evergreen trees with alternate, entire, feather-veined leaves. Flowers small, in small close panicles. Fruit small (½ in.) 1-seeded drupes. [Illustration: P. Carolinénsis.] =Pérsea Carolinénsis=, Nees. (RED BAY.) Leaves 2 to 5 in. long, oblong, entire, covered with a fine down when young, soon smooth above. Flowers silky, in small rounded clusters on short stems. May. Fruit an ovate, pointed, 1-seeded, deep-blue drupe, ½ in. long, on a red stalk; ripe in autumn. Usually a small tree, 15 to 70 ft. high, wild in swamps, Delaware, Virginia, and south. Wood reddish, beautiful, hard, strong, durable. GENUS =69. SÁSSAFRAS.= Aromatic trees or shrubs with alternate, simple, deciduous, often lobed leaves. Juice of bark and leaves mucilaginous. Flowers yellowish-green, in clusters; blooming in early spring. Fruit a small bluish drupe on a thick reddish stem. Ripe in September. Twigs greenish-yellow. [Illustration: S. officinàle.] =Sássafras officinàle=, Nees. (SASSAFRAS.) Leaves very variable in form, ovate, entire, or some of them 2- to 3-lobed, soon smooth. Flowering as the leaves are putting forth. Tree 15 to 100 ft. high, common in rich woods. The aromatic fragrance is strongest in the bark of the roots. Wood reddish, rather hard and durable. GENUS =70. LÍNDERA.= Shrubs with deciduous, alternate, aromatic leaves and small, yellow flowers in close clusters along the branches. Fruit a drupe on a not-thickened stalk. [Illustration: L. Benzòin.] =Líndera Benzòin=, Blume. (SPICE-BUSH. BENJAMIN-BUSH.) Leaves alternate, oblong-ovate, entire, pale beneath, very spicy in odor and taste; twigs green; leaf-buds scaly; drupes red, ripe in autumn. Flowers 4 to 5 together in sessile umbels; in early spring, before the leaves expand. Common in damp woods throughout. ORDER =XXXIV. ELÆAGNÀCEÆ.= (OLEASTER FAMILY.) A small order of shrubs or small trees, with the leaves covered with silvery scurf. GENUS =71. ELÆÁGNUS=. Leaves alternate, entire; flowers axillary, stemmed; fruit drupe-like with an 8-grooved stone. [Illustration: E. lóngipes.] =Elæágnus lóngipes.= (SILVER-LEAVED ELÆAGNUS.) Leaves almost evergreen, rather thick, ovate-oblong, rather blunt, entire, smooth and dark green above, but silvery below. Flowers inconspicuous. Fruit about ½ in. long, bright red, with silvery scales, very abundant and beautiful; ripe in July; juicy and edible, with a pungent flavor. Shrub from Japan; hardy throughout. GENUS =72. SHEPHÉRDIA.= Small trees or shrubs with opposite, deciduous, entire, silvery-scaled leaves. Flowers very small, dioecious. Fruit small, berry-like, translucent, 1-seeded. [Illustration: S. argéntea.] =Shephérdia argéntea=, Nutt. (BUFFALO-BERRY. RABBIT-BERRY.) Leaves opposite, oblong-ovate, tapering at base, silvery on both sides, with small peltate scales. Branches often ending in sharp thorns. Fruit, scarlet berries the size of currants, forming continuous clusters on every branch and twig, but found only on the pistillate plants. They are juicy, somewhat sour, pleasant-tasting, and make excellent jelly; ripe in September. A small handsome tree, 5 to 20 ft. high, wild in the Rocky Mountains, and sometimes cultivated east. Its thorny-tipped branches make it a good hedge-plant. Hardy. ORDER =XXXV. EUPHORBIÀCEÆ.= (SPURGE FAMILY.) A large order of mainly herbaceous and shrubby plants of warm countries, with usually milky juice. GENUS =73. BÚXUS.= Shrubs or trees with opposite, evergreen, entire leaves and small flowers. The fruit 3-celled, 6-seeded pods. [Illustration: B. sempérvirens.] =Búxus sempérvirens=, L. (BOXWOOD.) Leaves ovate, smooth, dark green; leaf-stems hairy at edge. This plant is a native of Europe, and in its tree form furnishes the white wood used for wood-engraving. Var. _subfruticosa_ (dwarf boxwood) grows only a foot or two high, and is extensively used for edgings in gardens. The tree form is more rare in cultivation, and is of slow growth, but forms a round-topped tree. ORDER =XXXVI. URTICÀCEÆ.= (NETTLE FAMILY.) A large order of herbs, shrubs and trees, mainly tropical. GENUS =74. ÚLMUS.= Tall umbrella-shaped trees with watery juice and alternate, 2-ranked, simple, deciduous, obliquely ovate to obliquely heart-shaped, strongly straight-veined, serrate leaves, harsh to the touch, often rough. Flowers insignificant, appearing before the leaves. Fruit a flattened, round-winged samara; ripe in the spring and dropping early from the trees. Bark rough with longitudinal ridges. * Leaves very rough on the upper side. (=A.=) =A.= Leaves 4 to 8 in. long; buds rusty-downy; inner bark very mucilaginous 1. =A.= Leaves smaller; buds not downy; cultivated. (=B.=) =B.= Wide-spreading tree; twigs drooping; fruit slightly notched 2. =B.= Tree rather pyramidal; twigs not usually drooping; fruit deeply notched 3. * Leaves not very rough on the upper side. (=C.=) =C.= Buds and branchlets pubescent; twigs often with corky ridges 4. =C.= Buds and branchlets free from hairs, or very nearly so. (=D.=) =D.= Twigs with corky wings 5. =D.= Twigs often with corky ridges; cultivated 2, 3. =D.= Branchlets never corky 6. [Illustration: U. fúlva.] 1. =Úlmus fúlva=, Michx. (SLIPPERY OR RED ELM.) Leaves large, 4 to 8 in., very rough above, ovate-oblong, taper-pointed, doubly serrate, soft-downy beneath; branchlets downy; inner bark very mucilaginous; leaves sweet-scented in drying; buds in spring soft and downy with rusty hairs. Fruit with a shallow notch in the wing not nearly reaching the rounded nut. A medium-sized tree, 45 to 60 ft. high, with tough and very durable reddish wood; wild in rich soils throughout. [Illustration: U. montàna.] 2. =Úlmus montàna=, Bauh. (SCOTCH OR WITCH ELM.) Leaves broad, obovate, abruptly pointed and doubly serrated. Fruit rounded, with a slightly notched wing, naked. Branches drooping at their extremity, their bark smooth and even. A medium-sized tree, 50 to 60 ft. high, with spreading or often drooping branches; extensively cultivated under a dozen different names, among the most peculiar being the White-margined (var. _alba marginata_), the Crisped-leaved (var. _crispa_), and the Weeping (var. _pendula_) Elms. [Illustration: U. campéstris.] 3. =Úlmus campéstris=, L. (ENGLISH OR FIELD ELM.) Leaves much smaller and of a darker color than the American Elm, obovate-oblong, abruptly sharp-pointed, doubly serrated, rough. Fruit smooth, with the wing deeply notched. A tall and beautiful cultivated tree, with the branches growing out from the trunk more abruptly than those of the American Elm, and thus forming a more pyramidal tree. A score of named varieties are in cultivation in this country, some with very corky bark, others with curled leaves, and still others with weeping branches. [Illustration: U. racemòsa.] 4. =Úlmus racemòsa=, Thomas. (CORK OR ROCK ELM.) Leaves 2 to 4 in. long, obovate-oblong, abruptly pointed, often doubly serrated, with very straight veins; twigs and bud-scales downy-ciliate; branches often with corky ridges. Fruit large (½ in. or more long), with a deep notch; hairy. A large tree with fine-grained, heavy and very tough wood. Southwest Vermont, west and south, southwestward to Missouri, on river-banks. [Illustration: U. alàta.] 5. =Úlmus alàta=, Michx. (WAHOO OR WINGED ELM.) Leaves small, 1 to 2 in. long, ovate-oblong or oblong-lanceolate, acute, thickish, downy beneath and nearly smooth above, sharply serrate. Bud-scales and branchlets nearly smooth. Notch in the wing of the fruit deep. A small tree, 30 to 40 ft. high, the branches having corky wings. Wild, Virginia, west and south; rarely cultivated. [Illustration: U. Americàna.] 6. =Úlmus Americàna=, L. (AMERICAN OR WHITE ELM.) Leaves 2 to 4 in. long, obovate-oblong or oval, abruptly sharp-pointed, sharply and often doubly serrated, soft-pubescent beneath when young, soon quite smooth; buds and branchlets smooth. Fruit ½ in. long, its sharp points incurved and closing the deep notch; hairy only on the edges. A large ornamental tree, usually with spreading branches and drooping branchlets, forming a very wide-spreading top. Wild throughout in rich, moist soil; common in cultivation. GENUS =75. PLÁNERA.= Trees or tall shrubs with alternate, simple, pointed, 2-ranked, feather-veined, toothed leaves. Flowers inconspicuous, with the leaves in spring. Fruit a small, nut-like, scaly, globular drupe, ripe in autumn. Bark scaling off like that of the Sycamore. [Illustration: P. aquática.] 1. =Plánera aquática=, Gmel. (AMERICAN PLANER-TREE.) Leaves ovate-oblong, small, 1 to 1½ in. long, on short stems, sharp-pointed, serrate with equal teeth, smooth, green above and gray below, not oblique at base. Flowers minute, in small heads, appearing before the leaves. Fruit a scaly, roughened nut, ¼ in., raised on a stalk in the calyx; ripe in September. A small tree, 20 to 50 ft. high; wet banks, Kentucky and southward; hardy as far north as Philadelphia. [Illustration: P. acuminàta.] 2. =Plánera acuminàta.= (KIAKA ELM OR JAPAN PLANER-TREE.) Leaves large, glossy, smooth, deeply notched, on red stems; young shoots also red. This is a larger, more hardy, and finer tree than the American Planer-tree, and should be more extensively cultivated. The Caucasian Planer-tree (_Planera parvifolia_), with very small leaves, is also occasionally cultivated. GENUS =76. CÉLTIS.= Trees or shrubs with alternate, simple, 2-ranked, oblique, serrate leaves. Flowers inconspicuous, greenish, axillary. Fruit berry-like, sweet, edible drupes, about the size of a currant, with one seed; color dark; ripe in autumn. * Leaves usually sharply serrate 1. * Leaves almost entire 2. [Illustration: C. occidentàlis.] 1. =Céltis occidentàlis=, L. (SUGARBERRY. HACKBERRY.) Leaves ovate, obliquely subcordate to truncate at base, long-acuminate, serrate (at least near the apex), rough above and hairy beneath. Fruit a single-seeded, ¼ in., globular drupe, solitary on a peduncle, 1 in. long, in the axils of the leaves; purple when ripe in autumn. Shrub (var. _pumila_) to large tree, 6 to 50 ft. high; throughout; rare north, abundant south. Sometimes cultivated. The branches are numerous, slender, horizontal, giving the tree a wide-spreading, dense top. [Illustration: C. Mississippiénsis.] 2. =Céltis Mississippiénsis=, Bosc. Leaves almost entire, with a very long, tapering point, a rounded and mostly oblique base, thin and smooth. Fruit smaller than that of the preceding species. A small tree with rough, warty bark. Illinois and southward. GENUS =77. MACLÙRA.= Trees or shrubs with milky juice and simple, alternate, entire, deciduous leaves, generally having a sharp spine by the side of the bud in the axils. Flowers inconspicuous; in summer. Fruit large, globular, orange-like in appearance. [Illustration: M. aurantìaca.] =Maclùra aurantìaca=, Nutt. (OSAGE ORANGE. BOW-WOOD.) Leaves rather thick, ovate to ovate-oblong, almost entire, smooth and shining above, strong-veined and paler beneath, 4 in. long by 2 in. wide; spines simple, about 1 in. long. Fruit as large as an orange, golden-yellow when ripe. A medium-sized tree, 20 to 50 ft. high; native west of the Mississippi. Extensively cultivated for hedges, and also for ornament, throughout. GENUS =78. MÒRUS.= Trees with milky juice and alternate, deciduous, exstipulate, broad, heart-shaped, usually rough leaves. Flowers inconspicuous; in spring. Fruit blackberry-like in shape and size; in summer. * Leaves rough; fruit dark-colored 1. * Leaves smooth and shining; fruit white to black 2. [Illustration: M. rùbra.] 1. =Mòrus rùbra=, L. (RED MULBERRY.) Leaves broad, heart-shaped, 4 to 6 in. long, serrate, rough above and downy beneath, pointed; on the young shoots irregularly lobed. Fruit dark red, almost purple when ripe, cylindrical; not found on all the trees, as the flowers are somewhat dioecious; ripe in July. Wood yellow, heavy and durable. Usually a small tree, 15 to 60 ft. high; wild throughout, also cultivated. [Illustration: M. álba.] 2. =Mòrus álba=, L. (WHITE MULBERRY.) Leaves obliquely heart-ovate, pointed, serrate, smooth and shining; lobed on the younger growths; 2 to 7 in. long. Fruit whitish, oval to oblong; ripe in July. A small tree from China, planted for feeding silkworms, but now naturalized throughout. Var. _multicaulis_ has large leaves, and is considered better for silkworm food than the usual form. It is not very hardy, as it is frequently winter-killed in the latitude of New York City. Var. _Downingii_ (Downing's everbearing Mulberry) has large leaves and very large, dark red or black fruit, of excellent flavor, which does not ripen all at once as most Mulberries do. GENUS =79. BROUSSONÈTIA.= Trees with milky juice and alternate, deciduous, stipulate, broad, very hairy leaves. Flowers dioecious. Fruit (only on a portion of the plants) similar to the common Mulberry. [Illustration: B. papyrífera.] =Broussonètia papyrífera=, L. (PAPER-MULBERRY.) Leaves ovate to heart-shaped, variously lobed, deeply so on the young suckers, serrate, very rough above and quite soft-downy beneath; leaves on the old trees almost without lobes; bark tough and fibrous. Flowers in catkins, greenish; in spring. Fruit club-shaped, dark scarlet, sweet and insipid; ripe in August. Small cultivated tree, 10 to 35 ft. high, hardy north to New York; remarkable for the great variety in the forms of its leaves on the young trees. ORDER =XXXVII. PLATANÀCEÆ.= (PLANE-TREE FAMILY.) A very small order, containing but one genus: GENUS =80. PLÁTANUS.= Trees with alternate, simple, large, palmately lobed leaves. The base of the petiole is hollowed to cover the bud. Flowers inconspicuous; in early spring. Fruit a large, dry ball, hanging on a long peduncle, and remaining on the tree through the winter. Large tree with white bark separating into thin, brittle plates. [Illustration: P. occidentàlis.] 1. =Plátanus occidentàlis=, L. (AMERICAN SYCAMORE. BUTTONWOOD.) Leaves large (6 to 10 in. broad), roundish heart-shaped, angularly sinuate-lobed, the short lobes sharp-pointed, scurfy-downy till old. Fruit globular, solitary, 1 in. in diameter, hanging on long, 4-in. peduncles; remaining on the tree through the winter. A large, well-known tree, 80 to 100 ft. high; found on river-banks throughout; also cultivated. Wood brownish, coarse-grained; it cannot be split, and is very difficult to smooth. The marking of the grain on the quartered lumber is very beautiful. [Illustration: P. orientàlis.] 2. =Plátanus orientàlis=, L. (ORIENTAL PLANE.) Leaves more deeply cut, smaller, and sooner smooth than those of the American Sycamore. Fruit frequently clustered on the peduncles. This tree is similar to the American Sycamore, and in many ways better for cultivation. ORDER =XXXVIII. JUGLANDÀCEÆ.= (WALNUT FAMILY.) A small order of useful nut-and timber-trees. GENUS =81. JÙGLANS.= Trees with alternate, odd-pinnate leaves, of 5 to 17 leaflets, with 2 to 4 axillary buds, the uppermost the largest. Flowers inconspicuous, the sterile ones in catkins. May. Fruit a large, bony, edible nut surrounded by a husk that has no regular dehiscence. The nut, as in the genus Carya, has a bony partition between the halves of the kernel. * Leaflets 13 to 17, strongly serrate; husk of the fruit not separating from the very rough, bony nut; native. (=A.=) =A.= Upper axillary bud cylindrical, whitish with hairs; nut elongated 1. =A.= Upper axillary bud ovate, pointed; nut globular 2. * Leaflets 5 to 9; husk of the fruit separating when dry from the smoothish, thin-shelled nut; cultivated 3. [Illustration: J. cinèrea.] 1. =Jùglans cinèrea=, L. (BUTTERNUT. WHITE WALNUT.) Leaflets 11 to 17, lanceolate, rounded at base, serrate with shallow teeth; downy, especially beneath; leafstalk sticky or gummy. Buds oblong, white-to-mentose. Fruit oblong, clammy, pointed. A thick-shelled nut, deeply sculptured and rough with ragged ridges; ripe in September. A widely spreading, flat-topped tree, 30 to 70 ft. high, with gray bark and much lighter-colored wood than that of the Juglans nigra. [Illustration: J. nìgra.] 2. =Jùglans nìgra=, L. (BLACK WALNUT.) Leaflets 13 to 21, lanceolate-ovate, taper-pointed, somewhat heart-shaped and oblique at base, smooth above and very slightly downy beneath. Fruit globular, roughly dotted; the thick-shelled nut very rough; ripe in October. A large handsome tree, 50 to 120 ft. high, with brown bark; more common west than east of the Alleghanies; often planted. Wood dark purplish-brown. [Illustration: J. règia.] 3. =Jùglans règia=, L. (MADEIRA NUT. ENGLISH WALNUT.) Leaflets 5 to 9, oval, smooth, obscurely serrate. Fruit oval, with a thin-shelled oval nut not nearly so rough as that of Juglans cinerea, or of Juglans nigra. When ripe the husk becomes very brittle and breaks open to let out the nut. Tree intermediate in size, 40 to 60 ft. high, hardy as far north as Boston in the East, but needs protection at St. Louis. It should be more extensively cultivated. Introduced from Persia. GENUS =82. CÁRYA.= Hard-wooded trees with alternate, odd-pinnate leaves having straight-veined leaflets. The leaflets are opposite each other, and the terminal pair and end leaflet are usually much the largest. The sterile flowers are in hanging catkins, the fertile ones minute, forming a large, rounded, green-coated, dry drupe, with a roughened nut having a bony partition. The drupes hang on till frost, when they open more or less and usually allow the nut to drop out. Wood hard and tough. * Bark shaggy and scaly; kernel very good. (=A.=) =A.= Leaflets usually 5 (5 to 7) 1. =A.= Leaflets 7 to 9 2. * Bark rough, deeply furrowed but not shaggy; kernel edible. (=B.=) =B.= Leaflets 7 to 9, usually 7 3. =B.= Leaflets 5 to 7, usually 5 4. * Bark smooth; kernel bitter. (=C.=) =C.= Leaflets 5 to 7, usually 7, smooth 5. =C.= Leaflets 7 to 11, serrate with deep teeth 6. * Bark smooth; nut thin-shelled; kernel sweet; leaflets 13 to 15 7. [Illustration: C. álba.] 1. =Cárya álba=, Nutt. (SHELLBARK OR SHAGBARK HICKORY.) Leaflets 5, the lower pair much smaller, all oblong-lanceolate, taper-pointed, finely serrate, downy beneath when young. Fruit globular, depressed at the top, splitting readily into 4 wholly separate valves. Nut white, sweet, compressed, 4-angled. Husk quite thin for the Hickories. Tree 70 to 90 ft. high, with very shaggy bark, even on quite small trees. Wild throughout, and cultivated. [Illustration: C. sulcàta.] 2. =Cárya sulcàta=, Nutt. (BIG SHELLBARK. KINGNUT.) Leaflets 7 to 9, obovate-acuminate, sharply serrate, the odd one attenuate at base and nearly sessile; downy beneath (more so than Carya alba). Fruit large, oval, 4-ribbed above the middle, with 4 intervening depressions. Husk very thick, entirely separating into 4 valves. Nut large, 1¼ to 2 in. long, dull-whitish, thick-shelled, usually strongly pointed at both ends. Kernel sweet and good. Tree 60 to 90 ft. high, with a shaggy bark of loose, narrow strips on large trees. Quite common west of the Alleghanies. [Illustration: C. tomentòsa.] 3. =Cárya tomentòsa=, Nutt. (MOCKERNUT. WHITE-HEART HICKORY.) Leaflets 7 to 9 (mostly 7), lance-obovate, pointed, obscurely serrate or almost entire, the lower surface as well as the twigs and the catkins tomentose when young. Fruit globular or ovoid, usually with a very hard, thick husk slightly united at base. Nut somewhat hexagonal, with a very thick shell and well-flavored kernel. A tall, slender tree, 60 to 100 ft. high, with a rough deeply furrowed, but not shaggy bark. Common on dry hillsides throughout. [Illustration: C. microcárpa.] 4. =Cárya microcárpa=, Nutt. (SMALL MOCKERNUT.) Leaflets about 5 (5 to 7), oblong-lanceolate, long-pointed, finely serrate, smooth, glandular beneath; buds small, ovate. Fruit small, subglobose, with a thin husk; nut not sharply angled, with a thin shell; edible. A large tree, 70 to 90 ft. high; New York, Pennsylvania, and westward. [Illustration: C. porcìna.] 5. =Cárya porcìna=, Nutt. (PIGNUT. BROOM-HICKORY.) Leaflets 5 to 7 (usually 7), oblong-ovate, acuminate, serrate, smooth. Fruit pear-shaped to oval, somewhat rough, splitting regularly only about half-way. Nut large (1½ to 2 in. long), brownish, somewhat obcordate, with a thick, hard shell, and poor, bitter kernel. Tall tree, 70 to 80 ft. high, with dark-colored heart-wood, and rather smooth bark. Common on ridges. [Illustration: C. amàra.] 6. =Cárya amàra=, Nutt. (BITTERNUT. SWAMP-HICKORY.) Leaflets 7 to 11, lanceolate to oblong-lanceolate, serrate with deep teeth. Fruit roundish-ovate, regularly separable only half-way, but friable at maturity. Nut small, white, subglobose, with a very thin shell and an extremely bitter kernel. Large tree with orange-yellow winter buds, and firm, not scaly, bark. Wild throughout, and sometimes cultivated. [Illustration: C. olivæfórmis.] 7. =Cárya olivæfórmis=, Nutt. (PECAN-NUT.) Leaflets 13 to 15, ovate-lanceolate, serrate; lateral ones nearly sessile and decidedly curved. Fruit oblong, widest above the middle, with 4 distinct valves. Nut oblong, 1¼ in., nearer smooth than the other edible Hickory-nuts, the shell thin, but rather too hard to be broken by the fingers. The kernel is full, sweet, and good. A tall tree, 80 to 90 ft. high. Indiana and south; also cultivated, but not very successfully, as far north as New York City. ORDER =XXXIX. CUPULÌFERÆ.= (OAK FAMILY.) This order contains more species of trees and shrubs in temperate regions than any other, except the Coniferæ. The genus Quercus (Oak) alone contains about 20 species of trees in the region covered by this work. GENUS =83. BÉTULA.= Trees or shrubs with simple, alternate, mostly straight-veined, thin, usually serrate leaves. Flowers in catkins, opening in early spring, in most cases before the leaves. Fruit a leafy-scaled catkin or cone, hanging on till autumn. Twigs usually slender, the bark peeling off in thin, tough layers, and having peculiar horizontal marks. Many species have aromatic leaves and twigs. * Trunks with chalky white bark. (=A.=) =A.= Native. (=B.=) =B.= Small tree with leafstalks about ½ as long as the blades 1. =B.= Large tree; leafstalks about 1/3 as long as the blades 2. =A.= Cultivated; from Europe; many varieties 3. * Bark not chalky white, usually dark. (=C.=) =C.= Leaves and bark very aromatic. (=D.=) =D.= Bark of trunk yellowish and splitting into filmy layers 5. =D.= Bark not splitting into filmy layers 4. =C.= Leaves not very aromatic; bark brownish and loose and shaggy on the main trunk; growing in or near the water 6. [Illustration: B. populifòlia.] 1. =Bétula populifòlia=, Ait. (AMERICAN WHITE OR GRAY BIRCH.) Leaves triangular, very taper-pointed, and usually truncate or nearly so at the broad base, irregularly twice-serrate; both sides smooth and shining, when young glutinous with resinous glands; leafstalks half as long as the blades and slender, so as to make the leaves tremulous, like those of the Aspen. Fruit brown, cylindrical, more or less pendulous on slender peduncles. A small (15 to 30 ft. high), slender tree with an ascending rather than an erect trunk. Bark chalky or grayish white, with triangular dusky spaces below the branches; recent shoots brown, closely covered with round dots. [Illustration: B. papyrífera.] 2. =Bétula papyrífera=, Marsh. (PAPER OR CANOE BIRCH.) Leaves 2 to 4 in. long, ovate, taper-pointed, heart-shaped, abrupt or sometimes wedge-shaped at the base, sharply and doubly serrate, smooth and green above, roughly reticulated, glandular-dotted and slightly hairy beneath; footstalk not over 1/3 the length of the blade. Fruit long-stalked and drooping. A large tree, 60 to 75 ft. high, with white bark splitting freely into very thin, tough layers. A variety, 5 to 10 ft. high (var. _minor_), occurs only in the White Mountains. Young shoots reddish or purplish olive-green deepening to a dark copper bronze. New England and westward, also cultivated. [Illustration: B. álba.] 3. =Bétula álba=, L. (EUROPEAN WHITE BIRCH.) Leaves ovate, acute, somewhat deltoid, unequally serrate, often deeply cut, nearly smooth; in var. _pubescens_ covered with white hairs. Fruit brown, cylindric, drooping. A tree, 30 to 60 ft. high, with a chalky-white bark; from Europe, extensively cultivated in this country, under many names, which indicate the character of growth or foliage; among them may be mentioned _pendula_ (weeping), _laciniata_ (cut-leaved), _fastigiata_ (pyramidal), _atropurpurea_ (purple-leaved), and _pubescens_ (hairy-leaved). [Illustration: B. lénta.] 4. =Bétula lénta=, L. (SWEET, BLACK OR CHERRY BIRCH.) Leaves and bark very sweet, aromatic. Leaves ovate or ovate-oblong, with more or less heart-shaped base, very acute apex, and doubly and finely serrate margin, bright shining green above, smooth beneath, except the veins, which are hairy. Fruit 1 to 1¼ in. long, cylindric, with spreading lobes to the scales. A rather large tree, 50 to 70 ft. high, with bark of trunk and twigs in appearance much like that of the garden Cherry, and not splitting into as thin layers as most of the Birches. Wood rose-colored, fine-grained. Moist woods, rather common throughout; also cultivated. [Illustration: B. lùtea.] 5. =Bétula lùtea=, Michx. f. (YELLOW OR GRAY BIRCH.) A species so like the preceding (Betula lenta) as to be best described by stating the differences. Leaves and bark are much less aromatic. Leaves 3 to 5 in. long, not so often nor so plainly heart-shaped at base, usually narrowed; less bright green above, and more downy beneath; more coarsely serrate. Fruit not so long, and more ovate, with much larger and thinner scales, the lobes hardly spreading. A large tree, 50 to 90 ft. high, with yellowish or silvery-gray bark peeling off into very thin, filmy layers from the trunk. Wood whiter, and not so useful. Rich, moist woodlands, especially northward; also cultivated. [Illustration: B. nìgra.] 6. =Bétula nìgra=, L. (RIVER OR RED BIRCH.) Leaves 2½ to 3½ in. long, rhombic-ovate, acute at both ends, distinctly doubly serrate, bright green above; glaucous beneath when young; on petioles only 1/6 their length. Twigs brown to cinnamon-color, and downy when young. A medium-sized tree, 30 to 50 ft. high, usually growing on the edges of streams, the old trunks having a very shaggy, loose, torn, reddish-brown bark. Wild in Massachusetts, south and west; often cultivated. GENUS =84. ÁLNUS.= Shrubs or small trees with deciduous, alternate, simple, straight-veined leaves with large stipules that remain most of the season. Flowers in catkins. Fruit a small, scaly, open, woody cone, remaining on the plant throughout the year. * Native species; growing in wet places. (=A.=) =A.= Leaves rounded at base; whitened beneath; found north of 41° N. Lat 1. =A.= Leaves acute or tapering at base; southward. (=B.=) =B.= Flowering in the spring 2. =B.= Flowering in the autumn 3. * Cultivated species; from Europe; will grow in dry places 4, 5. [Illustration: A. incàna.] 1. =Álnus incàna=, Willd. (SPECKLED OR HOARY ALDER.) Leaves 3 to 5 in. long, broadly oval or ovate, rounded at base, sharply serrate, often coarsely toothed, whitened and mostly downy beneath; stipules lanceolate and soon falling. Fruit orbicular or nearly so. A shrub or small tree, 8 to 20 ft. high, with the bark of the trunk a polished reddish green; common along water-courses north of 41° N. Lat.; sometimes cultivated. [Illustration: A. serrulàta.] 2. =Álnus serrulàta=, Willd. (SMOOTH ALDER.) Leaves 2 to 4½ in. long, thickish, obovate, acute at base, sharply and finely serrate, green both sides, smooth or often downy beneath; stipules yellowish green, oval, and falling after 2 or 3 leaves have expanded above them. Fruit ovate. Rather a shrub than a tree, 6 to 12 ft. high, common along streams south of 41° N. Lat. In the Southern States it sometimes forms a tree 30 ft. high. [Illustration: A. marítima.] 3. =Álnus marítima=, Muhl. (SEASIDE ALDER.) Smooth; leaves oblong-ovate to obovate, with a tapering base, sharply serrulate; petiole slender; color bright green, somewhat rusty beneath. Flowering in the autumn. Fruiting catkin large, ¾ to 1 in. long, ½ in. thick, usually solitary, ovoid to oblong. A small tree, 15 to 25 ft. high. Southern Delaware and eastern Maryland, near the coast. [Illustration: A. glutinòsa.] 4. =Álnus glutinòsa=, L. (EUROPEAN ALDER.) Leaves roundish, wedge-shaped, wavy-serrated, usually abrupt at tip, glutinous; sharply and deeply incised in some varieties. Fruit oval, ½ in. long. A medium-sized tree, 25 to 60 ft. high, of rapid growth, often cultivated under several names; the most important being vars. _laciniata_ (cut-leaved), _quercifolia_ (oak-leaved), and _rubrinervis_ (red-leaved). [Illustration: A. cordifòlia.] 5. =Álnus cordifòlia=, Ten. (HEART-LEAVED ALDER.) Leaves heart-shaped, dark green and shining. Flowers greenish-brown, blooming in March and April, before the leaves expand. A large and very handsome Alder, 15 to 20 ft. high, growing in much dryer soil than the American species. Cultivated from southern Europe. Hardy after it gets a good start, but often winter-killed when young. GENUS =85. CÓRYLUS.= Low trees and large shrubs with simple, alternate, deciduous, doubly serrate, straight-veined leaves. Flowers insignificant, in catkins in early spring. Fruit an ovoid-oblong bony nut, inclosed in a thickish involucre of two leaves with a lacerated frilled border; ripe in autumn. * Leafy bracts of fruit forming a bottle-shaped involucre 2. * Leafy bracts not bottle-shaped. (=A.=) =A.= Involucre much longer than the nut 1. =A.= Involucre but little longer than the nut 3. [Illustration: C. Americàna.] 1. =Córylus Americàna=, Walt. (WILD HAZELNUT.) Leaves roundish heart-shaped, pointed, doubly serrate; stipules broad at base, acute, and sometimes cut-toothed; twigs and shoots often hairy. Involucre of the fruit open to the globose nut, the two leaf-like bracts very much cut-toothed at the margin and thick and leathery at the base. Merely a shrub, 5 to 6 ft. high; quite common throughout. [Illustration: C. rostràta.] 2. =Córylus rostràta=, Ait. (BEAKED HAZELNUT.) Leaves but little or not at all heart-shaped; stipules linear-lanceolate. The involucre, extending beyond the nut in a bract like a bottle, is covered with stiff, short hairs. Shrub, 4 to 5 ft. high. Wild in the same region as Corylus Americana, but not so abundant. [Illustration: C. Avellàna.] 3. =Córylus Avellàna=, L. (EUROPEAN HAZEL. FILBERT.) Leaves roundish-cordate, pointed, doubly serrate, nearly sessile, with ovate-oblong, obtuse stipules; shoots bristly. Involucre of the fruit not much larger than the large nut (1 in.), and deeply cleft. A small tree or shrub, 6 to 12 ft. high, from Europe; several varieties in cultivation. GENUS =86. ÓSTRYA.= Slender trees with very hard wood, brownish, furrowed bark, and deciduous, alternate, simple, exstipulate, straight-veined leaves. Flowers inconspicuous, in catkins. Fruit hop-like in appearance, at the ends of side shoots of the season, hanging on through the autumn. [Illustration: O. Virgínica.] 1. =Óstrya Virgínica=, Willd. (IRON-WOOD. AMERICAN HOP-HORNBEAM.) Leaves oblong-ovate, taper-pointed, very sharply doubly serrate, downy beneath, with 11 to 15 straight veins on each side of the midrib; buds acute. The hop-like fruit 2 to 3 times as long as wide; full grown and pendulous, 1 to 3 in. long, in August, when it adds greatly to the beauty of the tree. A small, rather slender tree, 30 to 50 ft. high, with the bark on old trees somewhat furrowed; wood white and very hard and heavy; common in rich woods, and occasionally cultivated. [Illustration: O. vulgàris.] 2. =Óstrya vulgàris=, Willd. (EUROPEAN HOP-HORNBEAM.) This species from Europe is much like the American one, but has longer, more slender, more pendulous fruit-clusters. Occasionally cultivated. GENUS =87. CARPÌNUS.= Trees or tall shrubs with alternate, simple, straight-veined leaves, and smooth and close gray bark. Flowers in drooping catkins, the sterile flowers in dense cylindric ones, and the fertile flowers in a loose terminal one forming an elongated, leafy-bracted cluster with many, several-grooved, small nuts, hanging on the tree till late in the autumn. [Illustration: C. Caroliniàna.] 1. =Carpìnus Caroliniàna=, Walt. (AMERICAN HORNBEAM. BLUE OR WATER BEECH.) Leaves ovate-oblong, pointed, sharply doubly serrate, soon nearly smooth. Fruit with the scales obliquely halberd-shaped and cut-toothed, ¾ in. long, nuts 1/8 in. long. A tree or tall shrub, 10 to 25 ft. high, with a peculiarly ridged trunk; the close, smooth gray bark and the leaves are much like those of the Beech. The wood is very hard and whitish. Common along streams; sometimes cultivated. [Illustration: C. Bétulus.] 2. =Carpìnus Bétulus=, L. (EUROPEAN HORNBEAM.) This cultivated species is quite similar to the American, but can be distinguished by the scales of the fruit, which are wholly halberd-shaped, having the basal lobes nearly equal in size, as shown in the cut; while the American species has scales only half halberd-shaped. GENUS =88. QUÉRCUS.= Large trees to shrubs, with simple, alternate, deciduous or evergreen, entire to deeply lobed leaves. The leaves are rather thick and woody, and remain on the tree either all winter or at least until nearly all other deciduous leaves have fallen. Flowers insignificant; the staminate ones in catkins; blooming in spring. Fruit an acorn, which in the White, Chestnut, and Live Oaks matures the same year the blossoms appear; while in the Red, Black, and Willow Oaks the acorns mature the second year. They remain on the tree until late in autumn. The Oaks, because of their large tap-roots, can be transplanted only when small. Most of the species are in cultivation. The species are very closely related, and a number of them quite readily hybridize; this is especially true of those of a particular group, as the White Oaks, Black Oaks, etc. There is no attempt in the Key to characterize the hybrids, of which some are quite extensively distributed. _Quercus heterophylla_, Michx. (Bartram's Oak), supposed to be a hybrid between _Quercus Phellos_ and _Quercus rubra_, is found quite frequently from Staten Island southward to North Carolina. * Cultivated Oaks from the Old World; bark rough; leaves more or less sinuated or lobed. (=A.=) =A.= Acorn cup not bristly 20. =A.= Acorn cup more or less bristly 21. * Wild species, occasionally cultivated. (=B.=) =B.= Leaves entire or almost entire, or merely 3- (rarely 5-) lobed at the enlarged summit. (=C.=) =C.= Ends about equal, petioles very short. (=D.=) =D.= Leaves small (2 to 4 in. long), evergreen, bark smooth, black (Live-oaks) 10. =D.= Leaves not evergreen in the North, somewhat awned when young, bark very smooth, black and never cracked (Willow-oaks). (=E.=) =E.= Down on the under side quite persistent 18. =E.= Under side soon smooth 19. =C.= Widened near the tip, somewhat obovate and the end usually 3-lobed; bark quite black, smooth or furrowed, but never scaly (Black-oaks). (=F.=) =F.= Leaves acute at base 16. =F.= Leaves abrupt or cordate at base 17. =B.= Leaves distinctly straight-veined, sinuate rather than lobed, the teeth generally rounded and never awned; bark white, rough and scaling (Chestnut-oaks). (=G.=) =G.= Lobes rounded 5, 6, 7. =G.= Lobes rather acute 8, 9. =B.= Leaves coarsely lobed, the lobes usually rounded, never awned; bark white or whitish-brown, cracking and scaling off in thin laminæ (White Oaks). (=H.=) =H.= Leaves crowded at the ends of the branchlets 4. =H.= Leaves not crowded 1, 2, 3. =B.= Leaves more or less lobed, the lobes and teeth acute and bristle-pointed; petiole slender; base rather abrupt; bark dark-colored, smooth or furrowed, but never scaly (Red Oaks). (=I.=) =I.= Leaves smooth both sides, at least when mature 11, 12, 13. =I.= Leaves soft-downy beneath 14, 15. [Illustration: Q. álba.] 1. =Quércus álba=, L. (AMERICAN WHITE OAK.) Leaves short-stemmed, acute at base, with 3 to 9 oblong, obtuse, usually entire, oblique lobes, very persistent, many remaining on the tree through the winter; pubescent when young, soon smooth, bright green above. Acorns in the axils of the leaves of the year, ovoid-oblong, 1 in., in a shallow, rough cup, often sweet and edible. A large tree, 60 to 80 ft. high, with stem often 6 ft. in diameter; wood light-colored, hard, tough and very useful. Common throughout. [Illustration: Q. stellàta] 2. =Quércus stelláta=, Wang. (POST-OAK. ROUGH OR BOX WHITE OAK.) Leaves 4 to 6 in. long, sinuately cut into 5 to 7 roundish, divergent lobes, the upper ones much larger and often 1- to 3-notched, grayish-or yellowish-downy beneath, and pale and rough above. Acorn ovoid, about ½ in. long, one third to one half inclosed in a deep, saucer-shaped cup; in the axils of the leaves of the year. A medium-sized tree, 40 to 50 ft. high, with very hard, durable wood, resembling that of the White Oak. Massachusetts, south and west. [Illustration: Q. macrocárpa.] 3. =Quércus macrocárpa=, Michx. (BUR-OAK. MOSSY-CUP.) Leaves obovate or oblong, lyrately pinnatifid or deeply sinuate-lobed or nearly parted, the lobes sparingly and obtusely toothed or entire. Acorn broadly ovoid, 1 in. or more long, one half to almost entirely inclosed in a thick and woody cup with usually a mossy fringed border formed of the upper awned scales; cup very variable in size, ¾ to 2 in. across. A handsome, middle-sized tree, 40 to 60 ft. high. Western New England to Wisconsin, and southwestward. [Illustration: Q. lyràta.] 4. =Quércus lyràta=, Walt. (SWAMP POST-OAK.) Leaves crowded at the ends of the branchlets, very variable, obovate-oblong, more or less deeply 7- to 9-lobed, white-to-mentose beneath when young, becoming smoothish; the lobes triangular to oblong, acute or obtuse, entire or sparingly toothed. Acorn about ¾ in. long, nearly covered by the round, ovate, thin, rugged, scaly cup. A large tree with pale flaky bark. River-swamps in southern Indiana to Wisconsin, and southward. [Illustration: Q. bícolor.] 5. =Quércus bícolor=, Willd. (SWAMP WHITE OAK.) Leaves obovate or oblong-obovate, wedge-shaped at base, coarsely sinuate-crenate, and often rather pinnatifid than toothed, whitish, soft-downy beneath. Main primary veins 6 to 8 pairs. Acorns, nearly 1 in., oblong-ovoid, set in a shallow cup often mossy fringed at the margin, on a peduncle about as long as the acorn, much longer than the petioles of the leaves; in the axils of the leaves of the year. A large tree, 60 to 80 ft. high, stem 5 to 8 ft. in diameter. Most common in the Northern and Western States, in swamps, but found in moist soil in the mountains of the South. [Illustration: Q. Michaùxii.] 6. =Quércus Michaùxii=, Nutt. (BASKET-OAK or COW-OAK.) Leaves 5 to 6 in. long, oval to obovate, acute, obtuse, or even cordate at base, regularly but usually not deeply sinuate, rather rigid, usually very tomentose beneath. Acorn large, 1-1/3 in. long, sweet and edible; cup shallow and roughened with coarse, acute scales; no fringe. A large and valuable Oak with gray and flaky bark. [Illustration: Q. Prìnus] 7. =Quércus Prìnus=, L. (CHESTNUT-OAK.) Leaves obovate or oblong, coarsely undulately toothed, with 10 to 16 pairs of straight, prominent ribs beneath; surface minutely downy beneath, and smooth above. Acorn ovoid, 1 in. long, covered nearly half-way with a thick, mostly tuberculated cup; in the axils of the leaves of the year; kernel sweetish and edible. A middle-sized or small tree, with reddish, coarse-grained wood. Found throughout, but common only southward. [Illustration: Q. Muhlenbérgii.] 8. =Quércus Muhlenbérgii=, Engelm. (YELLOW CHESTNUT-OAK.) Leaves usually thin, 5 to 7 in. long, 1½ to 2 in. broad, oblong-lanceolate, rather sharply notched, mostly obtuse or roundish at base, sometimes broadly ovate or obovate, and two thirds as wide as long. The leaves are usually more like those of the Chestnut than any other Oak; the primary veins very straight, impressed above, prominent beneath. Acorn 2/3 to ¾ in. long, inclosed in a thin, hemispherical cup with small, appressed scales. A middle-sized tree with flaky, pale, thin, ash-colored bark, and tough, very durable, yellowish or brownish wood. Western New England, westward and south. [Illustration: Q. prinoìdes.] 9. =Quércus prinoìdes=, Willd. (DWARF CHESTNUT-OAK.) Much like the last, but generally grows only 2 to 4 ft. high in the Eastern States. The leaves are more wavy-toothed, on shorter stems. It seems to be only a variety of Quercus Muhlenbergii, especially in the West, where it grows much taller and runs into that species. [Illustration: Q. vìrens.] 10. =Quércus vìrens=, Ait. (LIVE-OAK.) Leaves thick, evergreen, 2 to 4 in. long, oblong, obtuse, and somewhat wrinkled; smooth and shining above, hairy beneath, the margin revolute, usually quite entire, rarely spiny-toothed. Acorns pedunculate, 1 to 3 in a cluster, oblong-ovate, with top-shaped nut. A mere shrub to a large tree, with yellowish wood of excellent grain and durability. Virginia and south. [Illustration: Q. rùbra.] 11. =Quércus rùbra, L.= (RED OAK.) Leaves rather thin, smooth, oblong, moderately pinnatifid, sometimes deeply so, into 8 to 12 entire or sharply toothed lobes, turning dark red after frost. Acorn oblong-ovoid, 1 in. or less long, set in a shallow cup of fine scales, with a narrow raised border, ¾ to 1 in. in diameter; sessile or nearly so. A large tree, 60 to 90 ft. high, with reddish, very coarse-grained wood. Common throughout. [Illustration: Q. coccínea.] 12. =Quércus coccínea=, Wang. (SCARLET OAK.) Leaves, in the ordinary form on large trees, bright green, shining above, turning red in autumn, oval or oblong, deeply pinnatifid, the 6 to 8 lobes divergent, and sparingly cut-toothed, notches rounded. Acorn ½ to ¾ in. long, roundish, depressed, one half or a little more inclosed in a top-shaped, coarsely scaled cup; in the axils of the leaf-scars of the preceding year. A large handsome tree, 60 to 80 ft. high, with grayish bark not deeply furrowed, interior reddish; coarse-grained reddish wood. Moist or dry soil. Common. [Illustration: Var. tinctória.] Var. _tinctoria_. (Quercitron. Yellow-barked or Black Oak.) Leaves, especially on young trees, often less deeply pinnatifid, sometimes barely sinuate. Foliage much like that of Quercus rubra. Acorn nearly round, ½ to 2/3 in. long, set in a rather deep, conspicuously scaly cup. Bark of trunk thicker, rougher, darker-colored and with the inner color orange. Rich and poor soil. Abundant east, but rare west. [Illustration: Q. palústris.] 13. =Quércus palústris=, Du Roi. (SWAMP, SPANISH, OR PIN OAK.) Leaves oblong, deeply pinnatifid, with divergent, sharply toothed, bristle-tipped lobes and rounded notches, and with both sides bright green. Acorn globular, hardly ½ in. long, cup shallow and saucer-shaped, almost sessile, in the axils of last year's leaf-scars. A handsome, medium-sized tree; wood reddish, coarse-grained. In low ground. Common throughout. [Illustration: Q. falcàta.] 14. =Quércus falcàta=, Michx. (SPANISH OAK.) Leaves obtuse or roundish at base, 3- to 5-lobed above, the lobes prolonged, mostly narrow, and the end ones more or less scythe-shaped, bristle-tipped, entire or sparingly cut-toothed, soft-downy beneath. Foliage very variable. Acorn 1/3 to ½ in. long, globose, half inclosed in the hemispherical cup; nearly sessile. A tree, 30 to 70 ft. high, large and abundant in the South; bark thick and excellent for tanning; wood coarse-grained, dark brown or reddish. New Jersey, south and west. [Illustration: Q. ilicifòlia.] 15. =Quércus ilicifòlia=, Wang. (BEAR OR BLACK SCRUB-OAK.) Leaves obovate, wedge-shaped at base, angularly about 5-lobed (3 to 7), white-downy beneath, 2 to 4 in. long, thickish, with short, triangular bristle-tipped lobes. Acorn ovoid, globular, ½ in. long. A dwarfed, straggling bush, 3 to 10 ft. high. Sandy barrens and rocky hills. New England to Ohio, and south. [Illustration: Q. aquática.] 16. =Quércus aquática=, Walt. (WATER-OAK.) Leaves thick, sub-evergreen, obovate-wedge-shaped, smooth, tapering at the base, sometimes obscurely 3-lobed at the tip; on the seedlings and the young rapid-growing shoots often incised or sinuate-pinnatifid, and then bristle-pointed. Acorn small, globular-ovoid, downy, in a saucer-shaped cup, very bitter; in the axils of leaf-scars of the previous year. A very variable tree, 30 to 40 ft. high, with smooth bark. Wet ground. Maryland, west and south. [Illustration: Q. nìgra.] 17. =Quércus nìgra=, L. (BLACK OAK OR BARREN OAK.) Leaves large, 5 to 10 in. long, thick, wedge-shaped, broadly dilated above, and truncate or slightly 3-lobed at the end, bristle-awned, smooth above, rusty-downy beneath. Acorn oblong-ovate, ½ to ¾ in. long, in the axils of the leaves of the preceding year, one third or one half inclosed in the top-shaped, coarse-scaled cup. A small tree, 10 to 25 ft. high, with rough, very dark-colored bark. New York, south and west, in dry, sandy barrens. [Illustration: Q. imbricària.] 18. =Quércus imbricària=, Michx. (LAUREL-OR SHINGLE-OAK.) Leaves lanceolate-oblong, entire, tipped with an abrupt, sharp point, pale-downy beneath. Acorn globular, 5/8 in. long, cup with broad, whitish, close-pressed scales, covering about one third of the nut. A stout tree, 30 to 50 ft. high, found in barrens and open woodlands. Wood extensively used in the West for shingles. New Jersey to Wisconsin, and southward. [Illustration: Q. Phéllos.] 19. =Quércus Phéllos=, L. (WILLOW-OAK.) Leaves 2 to 4 in. long, thick, linear-lanceolate, narrowed at both ends, entire or very nearly so, soon smooth, light green, bristle-tipped, willow-like, scurfy when young. Acorns about sessile, globular, small (½ in.), in a shallow saucer shaped cup; on the old wood. Tree 30 to 50 ft. high, with smooth, thick bark, and reddish, coarse-grained wood, of little value. Borders of swamps, New Jersey, south and west; also cultivated. [Illustration: Q. Ròbur.] 20. =Quércus Ròbur=, L. (ENGLISH OAK.) Leaves on short footstalks, oblong, smooth, dilated upward, sinuately lobed, hardly pinnatifid. Acorns in the axils of the leaves of the year, ovate-oblong, over 1 in., about one third inclosed in the hemispherical cup; sessile in var. _sessiliflora_; clustered and long-peduncled in var. _pedunculata_. Trees 50 to 100 ft. high, extensively cultivated; from Europe; the nursery catalogues name as many as a score or more varieties. One var., _fastigiata_ (Pyramidal Oak), is a peculiar upright tree like the Lombardy Poplar; var. _pendula_ (Weeping Oak) has long, slender, drooping branches. [Illustration: Q. Cérris.] 21. =Quércus Cérris=, L. (TURKEY OAK.) Leaves on very short stalks, oblong, deeply and unequally pinnatifid, hairy beneath; lobes lanceolate, acute, somewhat angular. Acorns in the axils of the leaves of the year, ovate, with a hemispherical, bristly or mossy cup. Several varieties of this species, from Europe, are cultivated in this country. They form tall, round-headed, symmetrical trees. GENUS =89. CASTÀNEA.= Trees or shrubs with alternate, simple, straight-veined, elongated, pointed leaves. Sterile flowers in long, drooping, conspicuous catkins, blooming in June or July; the fertile ones rather inconspicuous, but forming prickly-coated burs which hang on till the frost, when they split open and let out the brown, horny-coated nuts. Wood light, coarse-grained. * Large tree with burs having 1 to 3 nuts 1. * Small tree with burs having 1 rounded nut 2. [Illustration: C. satìva.] 1. =Castànea satìva=, Mill. (CHESTNUT.) Leaves oblong-lanceolate, pointed, coarsely serrate, with usually awned teeth; smooth on both sides, 6 to 9 in. long, 1½ to 2¼ in. wide. Burs large, very prickly, inclosing 1 to 3 large, ovoid, brown nuts, ripe after frost, which opens the bur into 4 valves. A common large tree, with light, coarse-grained wood, and bark having coarse longitudinal ridges on the old trees. Many varieties of this species are in cultivation, varying in the size and sweetness of the nuts, the size of the trees, and the size and the margins of the leaves, some of which are almost entire. The wild species is var. _Americana_. [Illustration: C. pùmila.] 2. =Castànea pùmila=, Mill. (CHINQUAPIN.) Leaves lance-oblong, strongly straight-veined, coarsely serrate, usually with awned tips; whitish-downy beneath, 3 to 5 in. long, 1¼ to 2 in. wide. Bur small, prickly, with a single small, rounded, sweet, chestnut-colored nut. A handsome small tree, or in the wild state usually a shrub, 6 to 40 ft. high. Central New Jersey, southern Ohio and southward, and cultivated successfully as far north as New York City. GENUS =90. FÀGUS.= Trees with alternate, strongly straight-veined, almost entire to deeply pinnatifid leaves. Flowers inconspicuous, appearing with the leaves. Fruit a prickly bur, inclosing 2 triangular, sharp-ridged nuts, the bur hanging on the trees during the greater part of the winter. Leaf-buds very elongated, slender, sharp-pointed. * The straight veins all ending in the teeth; native 1. * Margin varying from entire to deeply pinnatifid, the straight veins occasionally ending in the notches 2. [Illustration: F. ferrugínea.] 1. =Fàgus ferrugínea=, Ait. (AMERICAN BEECH.) Leaves thin, oblong-ovate, taper-pointed, distinctly and often coarsely toothed; petioles and midrib ciliate with soft silky hairs when young, soon almost naked. The very straight veins run into the teeth. Prickles of the fruit mostly recurved or spreading. Large tree, 60 to 100 ft. high, with grayish-white, very smooth bark, and firm, light-colored, close-grained wood. Wild throughout, and frequently cultivated. [Illustration: F. sylvática.] 2. =Fàgus sylvática=, L. (EUROPEAN BEECH.) Leaves often similar to those of the American Beech, but usually shorter and broader; the border, often nearly entire, is wavy in some varieties, and in others deeply pinnatifid. The bark in most varieties is darker than in the American. This Beech, with its numerous varieties, is the one usually cultivated. Among the most useful varieties are _atropurpurea_ (Purple Beech), with the darkest foliage of any deciduous tree, and almost entire-margined leaves; _laciniata_ (Cut-leaved Beech), with very deeply cut leaves; and _argentea variegata_ (Silver Variegated Beech), having in the spring quite distinctly variegated leaves. ORDER =XL. SALICÀCEÆ.= (WILLOW FAMILY.) A small order of soft-wooded trees and shrubs, abundantly distributed in the northern temperate and frigid zones. GENUS =91. SÀLIX.= Soft-wooded trees or shrubs growing in damp places, with alternate, usually quite elongated, pointed, deciduous leaves, without lobes. Stipules often large, leaf-like, and more or less persistent through the summer; sometimes scale-like and dropping early. The stipules are always free from the leafstalk and attached to the twig at small spots just below the leafstalk. Even if the stipules have dropped off, the small scars remain. Flowers staminate and pistillate on separate trees (dioecious), in elongated catkins in early spring. Fruit consists of catkins of small pods with numerous seeds having silky down at one end. The seeds usually drop early. Among the Willows there are so many hybrids and peculiar varieties as to render their study difficult, and their classification, in some cases, impossible. The following Key will probably enable the student to determine most specimens. No attempt has been made to include all the cultivated forms. * Spray decidedly weeping 5. * Spray not decidedly weeping. (=A.=) =A.= Rather small Willows, 10 to 30 ft. high, with broad leaves, usually not over twice as long as wide; cultivated. (=B.=) =B.= Leaves glossy dark green on the upper side, taper-pointed 7. =B.= Leaves with white cottony hairs beneath 10. =B.= Leaves rough-veiny beneath 13. =A.= Rather large Willows, 12 to 80 ft. high, with the bark of the trunk very rough; leaves more elongated. (=C.=) =C.= Petioles of the leaves not glandular; tree 10 to 40 ft. high. (=D.=) =D.= Leaves green on both sides when mature 1. =D.= Leaves glaucous beneath 2. =C.= Petioles of the leaves usually glandular; tree 50 to 80 ft. high. (=E.=) =E.= Young leaves green above and glaucous beneath 3. =E.= Young leaves ashy gray or silvery white on both sides 4. =A.= Small trees or almost shrubs, under 18 ft. high; bark of trunk rather smooth. (=F.=) =F.= Leaves ovate rather than lanceolate, sometimes truncate or even cordate at base. (=G.=) =G.= Leaves quite broad, shining on both sides. (=H.=) =H.= Leaves bright green; twigs polished green 6. =H.= Leaves very dark green, strongly fragrant when bruised 7. =G.= Leaves pale-downy beneath, often cordate at base 8. =F.= Leaves usually wider near the acute or acuminate tip, glaucous beneath. (=I.=) =I.= Branches very twiggy; leaves often opposite; twigs olive-color or reddish 9. =I.= Branches not very twiggy; leaves all alternate 11, 12. =F.= Leaves very long and slender, almost linear 14. [Illustration: S. nìgra] 1. =Sàlix nìgra=, Marsh. (BLACK WILLOW.) Leaves narrowly lanceolate, tapering at the ends, serrate, smooth except on the petiole and midrib, green on both sides; stipules small (large in var. _falcata_), dentate, dropping early. Branches very brittle at base. A small tree, 15 to 35 ft. high, with rough black bark. Common along streams, southward, but rare in the northern range of States. [Illustration: S. amygdaloìdes.] 2. =Sàlix amygdaloìdes=, Anderson. (WESTERN BLACK WILLOW.) Leaves 2 to 4 in. long, lanceolate or ovate-lanceolate, attenuate-cuspidate, pale or glaucous beneath, with long slender petioles; stipules minute and soon falling. A small tree, 10 to 40 ft. high, from central New York westward. It is the common Black Willow of the streams of Ohio to Missouri. [Illustration: S. frágilis.] 3. =Sàlix frágilis=, L. (BRITTLE WILLOW. CRACK-WILLOW.) Leaves lanceolate, taper-pointed, smooth, glaucous beneath (slightly silky when young), serrate throughout; stipules half heart-shaped, usually large. Branches smooth and polished, very brittle at base. A tall (50 to 80 ft. high) handsome Willow, with a bushy head and salmon-colored wood; cultivated from Europe for basket-work, and extensively naturalized. Many varieties, hybrids between this species and the next, are very common. Among them may be mentioned the following: Var. _decipiens_, with dark-brown buds; var. _Russelliana_, with more slender, brighter, and more sharply serrate leaves, the annual shoots silky-downy toward autumn; var. _viridis_, with tough, pendulous branchlets, and firmer, bright green leaves. [Illustration: S. álba.] 4. =Sàlix álba=, L. (WHITE WILLOW.) Leaves lanceolate or elliptical-lanceolate, pointed, serrate, covered more or less with white silky hairs, especially beneath; var. _cærulea_ has nearly smooth leaves, at maturity of a bluish tint; stipules small and quite early deciduous. Catkins of flowers long and loose, on a peduncle; stamens usually 2; stigmas nearly sessile, thick, and recurved. May, June. A quite large tree, 50 to 80 ft. high, with thick, rough bark, usually having yellow twigs (var. _vitellina_); introduced from Europe and now quite common throughout. Branches very brittle at base. [Illustration: S. Babylónica.] 5. =Sàlix Babylónica=, Tourn. (WEEPING WILLOW.) Leaves linear-lanceolate, acuminate, finely serrate, smooth, glaucous beneath; stipules small, roundish, oblique, acuminate; branches pendulous. A large, gracefully drooping tree, so extensively cultivated for ornament as to seem native; from Europe. Var. _annularis_ (Ring-leaved Willow. Curled Willow) has the leaves coiled round into rings and spirals. [Illustration: S. lùcida.] 6. =Sàlix lùcida=, Mühl. (SHINING OR AMERICAN BAY WILLOW.) Leaves thickish, ovate-lanceolate, with a rounded base, a very long acuminate point, and a glandular petiole; when mature, smooth and shining on both sides. Twigs rather stout, polished, and dark green. Bark of trunk smooth. Fruiting catkins quite persistent. A beautiful small tree or shrub, 6 to 15 ft. high, of bushy form. New Jersey, north and westward. [Illustration: S. pentándra.] 7. =Sàlix pentándra, L.= (LAUREL-LEAVED OR BAY WILLOW.) Leaves ovate, taper-pointed, crenate, glandular, smooth, glossy, bright deep green on both sides, strongly fragrant when bruised. Catkins large, fragrant, golden-yellow, with 4 to 12 (commonly 5) stamens to each flower. June, after the leaves are expanded. A small handsome tree, 15 to 20 ft. high, from Europe, which should be more extensively cultivated in damp soils, as its form, flowers, and foliage are all beautiful. [Illustration: S. cordàta. Var. rufescens.] 8. =Sàlix cordàta, Mühl.= (HEART-LEAVED WILLOW.) Leaves lanceolate or ovate-lanceolate, heart-shaped, truncate or sometimes acute at base, taper-pointed, sharply serrate, smooth above, pale-downy beneath; stipules often large, kidney-shaped, and toothed, sometimes small and entire. Catkins appearing with or before the leaves along the sides of the stem; stamens 2; scales dark or black, hairy, persistent. Shrub or small tree, 8 to 20 ft. high, very common in low and wet places. Many named varieties are found. Var. _rigida_ has large, thick, coarse-toothed leaves; vars. _myricoides_ and _angustata_ have narrower, finely serrate leaves, almost or fully acute at base. [Illustration: S. purpùrea.] 9. =Sàlix purpùrea, L.= (PURPLE WILLOW.) Leaves lanceolate, pointed, partly opposite, minutely serrate, smooth. Twigs olive-color or reddish. Catkins cylindric, with leafy bracts at base, and apparently 1 stamen to each flower (the filaments are united). A shrub or small tree, 3 to 12 ft. high; from Europe. In low ground; often cultivated for the twigs, which are used in basket-making. [Illustration: S. càprea.] 10. =Sàlix càprea, L.= (GOAT-WILLOW.) Leaves large, roundish, ovate, pointed, serrate, wavy, deep green above, pale and downy with soft, white-cottony hairs beneath; stipules somewhat crescent-shaped. Catkins large, oval, numerous, almost sessile, blooming much before the leaves appear, and of a showy yellow color. A moderate-sized tree, 15 to 30 ft. high, with spreading, brown or purplish branches. Frequent in cultivation; from Europe; growing well in dry places. The Goat-willow is the one generally used for the stock of the artificial umbrella-formed "Kilmarnock Willow." The growth of shoots from these stocks is rendering the Goat-willow quite common. [Illustration: S. rostràta.] 11. =Sàlix rostràta, Richards.= (BEAKED WILLOW.) Leaves oblong to obovate-lanceolate, acute, usually obscurely toothed, sometimes crenate or serrate, downy above, prominently veined, soft-hairy and somewhat glaucous beneath. Twigs downy. Catkins appearing with the leaves. Fruit-capsules tapering to a long slender beak, pedicels long and slender. A small, tree-shaped shrub, 4 to 15 ft. high, common in both moist and dry ground. New England, west and north. [Illustration: S. díscolor.] 12. =Sàlix díscolor, Mühl.= (GLAUCOUS OR BOG WILLOW.) Leaves lanceolate or ovate-lanceolate, acute, remotely serrate at the base, finely serrate along the middle, and almost entire near the tip; smooth and bright green above, soon smooth and somewhat glaucous beneath; stipules, on the vigorous shoots, equaling the petiole, more frequently small and inconspicuous. Catkins sessile, 1 in. long, appearing before the leaves in the spring; scales dark red or brown, becoming black, covered with long glossy hairs. Fruit in catkins, 2½ in. long, the capsules very hairy, with short but distinct style. A very variable species, common in low meadows and on river-banks; usually a shrub, but occasionally 15 ft. high. [Illustration: S. cinèrea.] 13. =Sàlix cinèrea, L.= (GRAY OR ASH-COLORED WILLOW.) Leaves obovate-lanceolate, entire to serrate; glaucous-downy and reticulated with veins beneath; stipules half heart-shaped, serrate. Flowers yellow; ovary silky, on a stalk half as long as the bracts. A shrub to middle-sized tree, 10 to 30 ft. high, with an erect trunk; occasionally cultivated; from Europe. [Illustration: S. longifòlia.] 14. =Sàlix longifòlia=, Mühl. (LONG-LEAVED WILLOW.) Leaves linear-lanceolate, very long, tapering at each end, nearly sessile, remotely notched with projecting teeth, clothed with gray hairs when young; stipules small, lanceolate, toothed. Branches brittle at base. A shrub or small tree, 2 to 20 ft. high, common, especially westward, along river-banks. GENUS =92. PÓPULUS.= Trees with alternate, deciduous, broad-based leaves. Flowers in long and drooping catkins, appearing before the leaves are expanded in the spring. Fruit small, dry pods in catkins, having seeds, coated with cottony down, which early in the season escape and float in the wind. On this account the trees are called Cottonwoods in the West. Trees with light-colored, rather soft wood. * Leaves always white-hairy underneath; more or less deeply lobed; buds not gummy 1. * Leaves smooth beneath, at least when old. (=A.=) =A.= Leafstalk decidedly flattened laterally. (=B.=) =B.= Buds not covered with sticky gum. (=C.=) =C.= Leaves roundish heart-shaped; bark on trunk greenish-white, 2. =C.= Leaves large, ovate, with large, irregular, sinuate teeth, 3. =B.= Buds covered with aromatic, glutinous resin. (=D.=) =D.= Tree tall, spire-shaped, 5. =D.= Not very spire-shaped; young twigs sharply angled or winged, leaves 6 to 10 in. long, broadly deltoid, serrate with incurved teeth, 6. =D.= Not spire-shaped; young twigs not angular, 7. =A.= Leafstalk not decidedly flattened; leaf-margin crenate. (=E.=) =E.= Buds not glutinous; leaves white-woolly beneath when young, 4. =E.= Buds very glutinous; leaves large, shining green on both sides, 8. [Illustration: P. álba.] 1. =Pópulus álba=, L. (WHITE POPLAR OR ABELE TREE.) Leaves roundish, slightly heart-shaped, wavy toothed or lobed, soon green above, very white-cottony beneath even when old; buds without the sticky coating common in the genus. Branches very white with down when young. Root creeping and producing numerous suckers. A large tree, 50 to 80 ft. high, of rapid growth, often cultivated; from Europe. Leaves and branches very variable, forming several named varieties in the catalogues of the nurseries. [Illustration: P. tremuloìdes.] 2. =Pópulus tremuloìdes=, Michx. (QUAKING-ASP. AMERICAN ASPEN.) Leaves roundish heart-shaped, with a short sharp point, and small, quite regular teeth; downy when young, but soon smooth on both sides; margins downy. Leafstalk long, slender, compressed, causing the leaves to tremble continually in the slightest breeze. Leaf with 2 glands at the base on the upper surface; buds varnished. A medium-sized tree, 30 to 60 ft. high; bark greenish-white outside, yellow within, quite brittle. Common both in forests and in cultivation. [Illustration: P. grandidentàta.] 3. =Pópulus grandidentàta=, Michx. (LARGE-TOOTHED ASPEN.) Leaves large, 3 to 5 in. long, roundish-ovate, with large, irregular, sinuate teeth; and when young densely covered with white, silky wool, but soon becoming smooth on both sides; leaf, when young, reddish-yellow; petiole compressed. A large tree, 60 to 80 ft. high, with rather smoothish gray bark. Woods; common northward, rare southward, except in the Alleghanies. Wood soft and extensively used for paper-making. [Illustration: P. heterophýlla.] 4. =Pópulus heterophýlla=, L. (DOWNY-LEAVED POPLAR.) Leaves heart-shaped or roundish-ovate with small, obtuse, incurved teeth; white-woolly when young, but soon becoming smooth on both sides except on the veins beneath. Leafstalk slightly compressed. Shoots round, tomentose. Buds not glutinous. A large tree, 70 to 80 ft. high, not very common; found from western New England to Illinois, and southward. [Illustration: P. dilatàta.] 5. =Pópulus dilatàta=, L. (LOMBARDY POPLAR.) Leaves deltoid, wider than long, crenulated all round, both sides smooth from the first; leafstalk compressed; buds glutinous. A tall tree, 80 to 120 ft. high; spire-like, of rapid growth, with all the branches erect; the trunk twisted and deeply furrowed. Frequently planted a century ago, but now quite rare in the eastern United States. From Europe. It is thought to be a variety of Populus nigra (No. 7). [Illustration: P. monilífera.] 6. =Pópulus monilífera=, Ait. (COTTONWOOD. CAROLINA POPLAR. NECKLACE-POPLAR.) Leaves large, broadly heart-shaped or deltoid, serrate with cartilaginous, incurved, slightly hairy teeth. The rapid-growing young twigs very angular and bearing very large (6 to 9 in. long) leaves. A very large (80 to 100 ft. high) tree, common in the Mississippi valley, but found in western New England and often planted. [Illustration: P. nìgra.] 7. =Pópulus nìgra=, L. (BLACK POPLAR.) Leaves rather large, deltoid, pointed, serrate with glandular teeth, smooth on both sides even when young. Leafstalk somewhat compressed. Buds very sticky. A very variable, large (50 to 80 ft. high), rapidly growing tree with spreading branches. Occasionally planted. From Europe. [Illustration: P. balsamífera.] 8. =Pópulus balsamífera=, L. (BALSAM-POPLAR. TACAMAHAC. BALM OF GILEAD.) Leaves very large, ovate, gradually acuminate, sometimes heart-shaped, finely serrate, smooth, bright green and shining on both sides; leafstalk nearly round; leaves in spring rich yellow. Branches ridged below the leaves; buds large and covered with very fragrant resin. A medium-sized tree, 40 to 70 ft. high, pyramidal in form. Wild in the North and often cultivated. Var. _candicans_, or Balm of Gilead, has larger and more or less heart-shaped leaves (the larger figure in the cut). CLASS II. GYMNOSPÉRMÆ. Plants in which the pistil is represented by an open scale instead of a body with a closed ovary, as in Class I. ORDER =XLI. CONÍFERÆ.= (PINE FAMILY.) As far as the number of species is concerned, this is the largest order of trees and shrubs of temperate and cold-temperate regions. The order is of the greatest importance, both on account of the valuable timber it furnishes and for its resinous secretions, turpentine and resin. GENUS =93. PÌNUS.= (THE PINES.) Leaves needle-shaped, 1 to 15 in. long, almost cylindric, 2, 3, or 5 together in clusters, with a sheath, more or less persistent, at the base. Flowers monoecious, both staminate and pistillate in catkins, usually insignificant and unnoticeable. In spring. Fruit a cone, persistent and formed of more or less woody, overlapping scales. * Leaves usually 5 together in bundles. (=A.=) =A.= Leaves 6 in. or more long, glaucous green and very pendulous 1. =A.= Leaves under 4 in. long. (=B.=) =B.= Cones over 10 in. long, on stalks 3 in. long, pendulous when ripe 2. =B.= Cones 4 to 10 in. long. (=C.=) =C.= Scales of cones thin, unarmed 3, 4. =C.= Scales of cones thick and woody, obtuse, 1 in. broad 5. =B.= Cones under 4 in. long; scales slightly hooked but pointless 6. * Leaves usually in threes, rarely in twos; scales of cones with spines or prickles. (=D.=) =D.= Scales of cones with short, rigid, straight spines; leaves 6 to 10 in. long 7. =D.= Scales with sharp, bent prickles. (=E.=) =E.= Leaves over 5 in. long, sometimes 15 in. long 8, 9. =E.= Leaves 3 to 5 in. long, rigid and flattened, from short sheaths, 10. * Leaves usually in twos; cones rarely over 3 in. long. (=F.=) =F.= Leaves over 3 in. long. (=G.=) =G.= Cone-scales with dull spines 11. =G.= With small or minute, persistent prickles 12, 13, 14. =G.= With no prickles, or small ones, early deciduous 15, 16. =F.= Leaves 3 in. or less long. (=H.=) =H.= Cone-scales with straight or slightly curved, rigid spines 17. =H.= Cone-scales with stout, recurved spines 18, 19. =H.= Cone-scales with small prickles which are early deciduous 20. =H.= Cone-scales without spines or prickles 21, 22. [Illustration: P. excélsa.] 1. =Pìnus excélsa=, Wallich. (BHOTAN PINE.) Leaves in fives, from short, fugacious, overlapping, membranaceous sheaths, 6 to 7 in. long, very slender, of a glaucous-green color, and very pendulous. Cones 6 to 9 in. long, and 2 in. in diameter, drooping and clustered, with broad, thick, wedge-shaped scales. A large beautiful tree from southern Asia, much subject to blight when planted in this country. Owing to its peculiar drooping branches it has been called the Weeping Fir. [Illustration: P. Lambertiàna.] 2. =Pìnus Lambertiàna=, Douglas. (LAMBERT'S or SUGAR PINE.) Leaves in fives, 3 to 4 in. long, from short, deciduous sheaths. Cones 12 to 18 in. long and 3 to 4 in. in diameter, gradually tapering to a point, on stalks 3 in. long, brown and pendulous when ripe, without resin; seeds large, oval, nearly 1 in. long, edible. A very large tree (100 to 300 ft. high in California and northward), and seemingly hardy and well worth cultivation in the East. Wood white and soft like that of the White Pine. [Illustration: P. Stróbus.] 3. =Pìnus Stróbus=, L. (WHITE PINE. WEYMOUTH PINE.) Leaves in fives, 3 to 4 in. long, from a loose, deciduous sheath; slender, soft, and whitish on the under side. Cones 4 to 6 in. long, cylindric, usually curved, with smooth, thin, unarmed scales. Tall (100 to 150 ft. high), very useful tree, of white, soft wood nearly free from resin and more extensively used for lumber than any other American tree. Has been common throughout, but is getting scarce on account of its consumption for lumber. [Illustration: P. montícola.] 4. =Pìnus montícola=, Dougl. (MOUNTAIN-PINE.) Leaves in fives, 3 to 4 in. long, from short, overlapping, very deciduous sheaths; smooth, glaucous green. Cones 7 in. long and 1¾ in. in diameter, cylindric, smooth, obtuse, short-peduncled, resinous, with loosely overlapping, pointless scales. A large tree, 60 to 80 ft. high, resembling the White Pine, and often considered a variety of it, but the foliage is denser; Pacific coast. [Illustration: P. fléxilis.] 5. =Pìnus fléxilis=, James. (WESTERN WHITE PINE.) Leaves 2 to 3 in. long, rigid, entire, acute, densely crowded, sharp-pointed, of a rich dark green color, 5 together in lanceolate, deciduous sheaths. Cones 4 to 6 in. long and half as wide, subcylindric, tapering to the end, semipendulous, clustered. Scales thick, woody, obtuse, loose, 1¼ in. broad, yellowish brown. Seeds rather large, with rigid margins instead of wings. A handsome hardy tree from the Pacific Highlands, occasionally cultivated. It resembles the eastern White Pine, but is more compact and of a darker color. [Illustration: P. Cémbra.] 6. =Pìnus Cémbra=, L. (CEMBRA PINE. SWISS STONE-PINE.) Leaves 3 to 4 in. long, from a medium-sized deciduous sheath; triangular, rigid, slender, straight, crowded, dark green with a glaucous surface; 5 together. Cones 2½ in. by 2 in., ovate, erect, with obtuse, slightly hooked, but pointless scales. Seeds as large as peas and destitute of wings. A slow-growing, cultivated tree, 40 to 80 ft. high. Forms a regular cone; branches to the ground; Europe; hardy throughout. [Illustration: P. Tæda.] 7. =Pìnus Tæda=, L. (LOBLOLLY OR OLD-FIELD PINE.) Leaves in twos and threes, 6 to 10 in. long, with elongated, close sheaths; slender and of a light green color. Cones in pairs or solitary, lateral, 3 to 4 in. long, oblong, conical; the scales having short, rigid, straight spines. A large tree, 50 to 130 ft. high, wild from Delaware, south and west, in swamps and old fields. [Illustration: P. ponderòsa.] 8. =Pìnus ponderòsa=, Dougl. (WESTERN YELLOW OR HEAVY-WOODED PINE.) Leaves in threes, 5 to 10 in. long, from short sheaths; broad, coarse, twisted, flexible, of a deep green color; branchlets thick, reddish brown. Cones 3 to 4 in. long, ovate, reflexed, clustered on short stems. Scales long, flattened, with small, sharp, recurved prickles. A large Pacific coast species, 100 to 300 ft. high, with rather coarse-grained, hard and heavy, whitish wood, and thick, deeply furrowed bark; beginning to be cultivated east. [Illustration: P. paltústris.] 9. =Pìnus palústris=, Mill. (LONG-LEAVED OR SOUTHERN YELLOW PINE.) Leaves 3 together in bundles, 10 to 15 in. long, from a long, lacerated, light-colored sheath, of a bright green color, and crowded in dense clusters at the ends of the branches. Cones 6 to 10 in. long, usually cylindric, of a beautiful brown color, with thick scales, armed with very small, slightly recurved prickles. A rather tall pine, 75 ft. high, wild in the Southern States, and cultivated as far north as New Jersey, in sheltered situations. [Illustration: P. rígida.] 10. =Pìnus rígida=, Mill. (PITCH-PINE.) Leaves in threes, 3 to 5 in. long, from short sheaths; rigid and flattened. Cones ovate, 1 in. to nearly 4 in. long, sometimes in clusters; scales with a short, recurved prickle. A medium-sized tree, 40 to 70 ft. high, with hard, coarse-grained, very resinous wood; found east of the Alleghanies throughout; more abundant in swamps. [Illustration: P. Austrìaca.] 11. =Pìnus Austrìaca=, Höss. (AUSTRIAN OR BLACK PINE.) Leaves long, 3 to 5 in., rigid, slender, incurved, sharply mucronate, of a dark green color; from short sheaths; 2 together. Cones 2½ to 3 in. long, regularly conical, slightly recurved, of a light brown color; scales smooth, shining, with a dull spine in the center. A large cultivated tree, 60 to 80 ft. high, hardy throughout. Europe. [Illustration: P. Larício.] 12. =Pìnus Larício=, Poir. (CORSICAN PINE.) Leaves 4 to 6 in. long, slender, very wavy, dark green; 2 together in a sheath. Cones 2 to 3 in. long, conical, somewhat curved, often in pairs. Scales with very small prickles. Seeds rather large with broad wings. A tall, open, pyramidal, rapid-growing tree, 60 to 100 ft. high, with the branches in regular whorls, spreading and very resinous. Often cultivated. Europe. [Illustration: P. Massoniàna.] 13. =Pìnus Massoniàna=, Sieb. (MASSON'S PINE.) Leaves in twos, 4 to 6 in. long, rather stiff, concave on one side and convex on the other, twisted but not curved; sharp-pointed, of a fresh, bright green color. Cones 1 to 1½ in. long, conical, incurved, solitary but numerous, with closely overlapping scales terminating in slender prickles. An upright, compact tree, 40 to 50 ft. high, from Japan; sometimes cultivated. Hardy at Boston. [Illustration: P. mìtis.] 14. =Pìnus mìtis=, Michx. (COMMON YELLOW PINE.) Leaves sometimes in threes, usually in twos, from long sheaths; slender, 3 to 5 in. long, dark green, rather soft. Cones ovate to oblong-conical, hardly 2 in. long; the scales with minute weak prickles. A large tree with an erect trunk, 50 to 100 ft. high. Staten Island, south and west. The western form has more rigid leaves, and more spiny cones. [Illustration: P. densiflòra.] 15. =Pìnus densiflòra=, Siebold. (JAPAN PINE.) Leaves about 4 in. long, from short, fringed, scale-like sheaths; rigid, convex above, concave beneath and somewhat serrulate on the margin, very smooth, sharp-pointed and crowded, shining green and somewhat glaucous; falling when one to two years old; 2 in a sheath. Cones abundant; 1½ in. long, short-peduncled, conical, obtuse, terminal, somewhat pendent; scales linear-oblong, woody, with a small prickle which soon falls off. A beautiful small tree, 30 to 40 ft. high; from Japan; hardy throughout. [Illustration: P. resinòsa.] 16. =Pìnus resinòsa=, Ait. (RED PINE.) Leaves 5 to 6 in. long, in twos, from long sheaths; rigid, straight, dark green. Cones 2 in. long, ovate-conical, smooth, their scales without points, slightly thickened, usually growing in clusters. A tall tree, 60 to 80 ft. high, with rather smooth, reddish bark and hard light-colored wood; branchlets also having smooth reddish bark. Pennsylvania, north and west. [Illustration: P. ínops.] 17. =Pìnus ínops=, Ait. (JERSEY OR SCRUB PINE.) Leaves short, 1½ to 3 in. long, rigid; usually 2, rarely 3, in a short sheath. Cones solitary, 2 to 3 in. long, ovate-oblong, curved, on a short stalk. Scales tipped with a straight, rigid spine. A small tree, 15 to 30 ft. high, growing wild in sections where the soil is poor and sandy; having straggling flexible branches with rough, dark bark; New Jersey, south and west. Rarely cultivated. [Illustration: P. púngens.] 18. =Pinus púngens=, Michx. f. (TABLE-MOUNTAIN PINE.) Leaves in twos, sometimes in threes, stout, short, 1¼ to 2½ in. long, crowded, bluish; the sheath short (very short on old foliage). Cones 3 in. or more long, hanging on for a long time; the scales armed with a stout, hooked spine, ¼ in. long. A rather small tree, 20 to 60 ft. high. New Jersey and south westward, along the mountains. [Illustration: P. sylvéstris.] 19. =Pìnus sylvéstris=, L. (SCOTCH PINE, wrongly called SCOTCH FIR.) Leaves in twos, 1½ to 2½ in. long, from short, lacerated sheaths, twisted, rigid, of a grayish or a glaucous-green color. Cones 2 to 3 in. long, ovate-conical, of a grayish-brown color, ripening the second year, the scales having 4-sided, recurved points. A large and very valuable tree of central Europe. Many varieties are in cultivation in this country. It forms the Red and Yellow Deal so extensively used for lumber in Europe. [Illustration: P. contórta.] 20. =Pìnus contórta=, Dougl. (TWISTED-BRANCHED PINE.) Leaves 2 in. long, numerous, rigid, sharply mucronate, from a short, dark, overlapping sheath; 2 to a sheath. Cones from 2 to 2½ in. long, ovate, smooth, clustered. Scales furnished with a point which is soon shed. A small cultivated tree, 30 to 40 ft. high, from the Pacific coast of the United States. As it has an irregular shape, and crooked branches, it is not often planted. [Illustration: P. Banksiàna.] 21. =Pìnus Banksiàna=, Lambert. (GRAY OR NORTHERN SCRUB PINE.) Leaves in twos, short, 1 in. long, oblique, divergent from a close sheath. Cones lateral, conical, oblong, usually curved, 1½ to 2 in. long, the scales thickened at the end and without points. A straggling shrub, sometimes a low tree, found wild in the extreme Northern States. [Illustration: P. édulis.] [Illustration: P. monophýlla.] 22. =Pìnus édulis=, Engelm. (PIÑON OR NUT-PINE.) Leaves mostly in pairs, rarely in threes, 1 to 1½ in. long, from short sheaths, light-colored, rigid, curved or straightish, spreading; cones sessile, globose or nearly so, 2 in. long; tips of scales thick, conical-truncate, no awns or prickles; seeds large, nut-like, wingless, edible. A low, round-topped tree, branching from near the base, 10 to 25 ft. high; from the Rocky Mountains. A fine small pine; cultivated in the East. It needs some protection at Boston. The figure shows the seed. =Pìnus monophýlla=, Torr. and Frem., from the mountain regions farther west, has its leaves in ones and twos; when in ones, round and very rigid; when in pairs, flat on the inner side; leaves on the young shoots bluish, glaucous green, or silvery. This is probably only a variety of P. edulis. The seeds of both are so large and nutritious that they are extensively used for food by the Indians. GENUS =94. PÌCEA.= (THE SPRUCES.) Leaves evergreen, scattered (pointing in every direction), needle-shaped, keeled above and below, thus making them somewhat 4-sided. Fertile catkins and cones terminal; cones maturing the first year, pendulous; scales thin, without prickles, persistent, the cone coming off the tree whole. * Leaves very short, usually ¼ to ½ in. long, obtuse 7, 8. * Leaves usually ½ in. or more long, acute. (=A.=) =A.= Cones over 3 in. long; cultivated. (=B.=) =B.= Leaves dark green; large tree, common 3. =B.= Leaves bright or pale green 4, 5, 6. =A.= Cones 2 in. or less long; large native trees 1, 2. [Illustration: P. nìgra.] 1. =Pìcea nìgra=, Link. (BLACK OR DOUBLE SPRUCE.) Leaves about ½ in. long, erect, stiff, somewhat 4-sided, very dark green or whitish-gray; branchlets pubescent. Cones persistent, 1 to 1½ in. long, ovate or ovate-oblong, changing from dark purple to dull reddish-brown; scales very thin, roundish, with toothed or uneven edges. A conical-shaped tree, 40 to 80 ft. high; wild in the North and along the Alleghanies; often cultivated. Bark dark brown; branches horizontal; wood light reddish. Var. _rubra_ has larger, darker leaves, and larger, brighter-colored cones. [Illustration: P. álba.] 2. =Pìcea álba=, Link. (WHITE OR SINGLE SPRUCE.) Leaves ½ to ¾ in. long, rather slender, needle-shaped, sharp-pointed, incurved, pale- or glaucous-green; branchlets smooth. Cones deciduous, 2 in. long, oblong-cylindrical, with entire, thin-edged scales. Tree 25 to 100 ft. high, of beautiful, compact, symmetrical growth when young, and such light-colored foliage as to make it a fine species for cultivation. Wild in the North, and cultivated throughout. There are varieties with bluish-green (var. _cærulea_) and with golden (var. _aurea_) foliage in cultivation. [Illustration: P. excélsa.] 3. =Pìcea excélsa=, Link. (NORWAY SPRUCE.) Leaves ¾ to 1 in. long, rigid, curved, dark green. Cones 5 to 7 in. long, and pendent at maturity, with the scales slightly incurved. A large tree, 70 to 120 ft. high, of vigorous growth, with numerous, stout, drooping branches; abundant in cultivation. A score of named varieties are sold at the nurseries, some quite dwarf, others so very irregular in shape as to be grotesque. [Illustration: P. políta.] 4. =Pìcea políta=, Carr. (TIGER'S-TAIL SPRUCE.) Leaves ½ to ¾ in. long, strong, rigid, sharp-pointed, somewhat curved, glabrous, bright green, on stout branches with prominent buds. Leaves persistent for 7 years; not 2-ranked. Cones 4 to 5 in. long, spindle-shaped elliptical, rounded at the ends. Tree of slow growth, with horizontal, yellowish-barked branches. As it is a tree of recent introduction (1865) from Japan, there are no large specimens. Hardy at Boston. [Illustration: P. púngens.] 5. =Pìcea púngens=, Eng. (SILVER SPRUCE.) Leaves ½ to 1 in. long, broad, rigid, stout, sharply acute, usually curved, pale green above, silvery-glaucous beneath, on smooth and shining branchlets. Cones very abundant, 3 to 5 in. long, cylindric, with elongated, undulated, retuse scales. A strictly conical tree with spreading branches and thick, smooth, gray bark. Sometimes cultivated; from the Rocky Mountains. Hardy. [Illustration: P. Morínda.] 6. =Pìcea Morínda=, Link. (HIMALAYAN SPRUCE.) Leaves 1 to 2 in. long, very sharply acute, pale green color, spreading, 4-sided, straight, rigid, slightly glaucous beneath; branches horizontal; branchlets remotely verticillate, numerous, drooping, with light-colored bark. Cones 6 to 7 in. long, ovate-oblong; scales light brown, oblong, entire, smooth, loosely imbricated. A tall tree, cultivated from eastern Asia and not hardy north of Washington except in sheltered positions. [Illustration: P. Alcóquina.] 7. =Pìcea Alcóquina=, Lindl. (ALCOCK'S SPRUCE.) Leaves ¼ to ¾ in. long, crowded, somewhat 4-sided, flattish, recurved, obtusely rounded at tip, deep green above, whitish or yellowish below. Cones 2 to 3 in. long, 1 in. in diameter, reddish fawn-color, with very persistent scales; scales wedge-shaped at base, rounded at tip. A large tree from Japan; fully hardy as far north as Mass. [Illustration: P. orientàlis.] 8. =Pìcea orientàlis=, L. (EASTERN OR ORIENTAL SPRUCE.) Leaves very short, ½ in. long, 4-sided, rigid, stout, rather obtuse, dark shining green, entirely surrounding the branches. Cones 2½ to 3 in. long, cylindrical, with soft, thin, loose, rounded scales, uneven on the edges. A beautiful, conical, slow-growing, compact tree, reaching the height of 75 ft.; often cultivated; from the Black Sea. Hardy. GENUS =95. TSÙGA.= (HEMLOCKS.) Leaves evergreen, scattered, flat, narrowed to a green petiole, appearing 2-ranked by the direction they take, whitened beneath. Fertile catkins and cones on the end of last year's branchlets. Cones pendulous, maturing the first year; scales thin, persistent. [Illustration: T. Canadénsis.] 1. =Tsùga Canadénsis=, Carr. (COMMON HEMLOCK.) Leaves short-petioled, linear, ½ in. long, obtuse, dark green above and white beneath; the young leaves in the spring a very light green. Cones oval, ½ to ¾ in. long, pendent, of few (20 to 40) scales. A large, very beautiful tree, 50 to 80 ft. high, abundant in rocky woods, and cultivated throughout; spray light and delicate. [Illustration: T. Caroliniàna.] 2. =Tsùga Caroliniàna=, Engelm. (MOUNTAIN-HEMLOCK.) This is similar to the last; its leaves are larger, glossier, more crowded; its cones are larger, and have wider and more spreading scales; the tree is smaller, rarely growing 40 ft. high. Wild, but scarce, in the higher Alleghanies, south; beginning to be cultivated north, and probably hardy throughout. [Illustration: T. Siebòldii.] 3. =Tsùga Siebòldii.= (JAPAN HEMLOCK.) Leaves ½ to ¾ in. long, linear, obtuse to notched at the tip, smooth, thick, dark green above, with two white lines below. Cones scarcely 1 in. long, elliptical, solitary, terminal, obtuse, quite persistent; scales pale brown. A beautiful small tree, 20 to 30 ft. high, with an erect trunk, dark-brown bark, and numerous, pale, slender branchlets. Introduced from Japan, and probably hardy throughout. GENUS =96. ÀBIES.= (THE FIRS.) Leaves evergreen, flat, scattered, generally whitened beneath, appearing somewhat 2-ranked by the directions they take. Fertile catkins and cones erect on the upper side of the spreading branches. Cones ripening the first year; their scales thin and smooth, and the bracts generally exserted; scales and bracts breaking off at maturity and falling away, leaving the axis on the tree. A great number of species and varieties have been planted in this country, but few if any besides those here given do at all well in our dry and hot climate. * Cones 6 to 8 in. long; leaves blunt at tip. (=A.=) =A.= Leaves over an inch long 10, 11. =A.= Leaves an inch or less long 12. * Cones 3½ to 6 in. long. (=B.=) =B.= Leaves 2 in. or more long, 2-ranked 9. =B.= Leaves 1 in. or less long. (=C.=) =C.= Leaves acute at tip 7, 8. =C.= Leaves blunt or notched at tip. (=D.=) =D.= Two-ranked 4. =D.= Not 2-ranked 3. * Cones 1 to 3½ in. long. (=E.=) =E.= Leaves an inch or more long 5, 6. =E.= Leaves less than an inch long 1, 2. [Illustration: A. balsàmea.] 1. =Àbies balsàmea=, Mill. (COMMON BALSAM-FIR.) Leaves narrow, linear, ½ to ¾ in. long, and much crowded, silvery beneath; those on the horizontal branches spreading into 2 ranks. Bark yielding Canada balsam from blisters. Cones erect, on spreading branches, 2 to 4 in. long and 1 in. thick, cylindric, violet-colored, with mucronate-pointed bracts extending beyond the scales and not reflexed. Wild in cold, wet grounds; 20 to 45 ft. high, with numerous horizontal branches. Has been cultivated quite extensively, although there are better Firs for ornamental purposes. [Illustration: A. Fràseri.] 2. =Àbies Fràseri=, Lindl. (FRASER'S OR SOUTHERN BALSAM-FIR.) Leaves ½ to ¾ in. long, somewhat 2-ranked, linear, flattened, obtuse, emarginate, whitish beneath, the lower ones curved and the upper ones erect. Cones oblong, 1 to 2 in. long, with sharp-pointed bracts half exserted and reflexed. A rare, small tree, 30 to 40 ft. high, growing wild in the mountains, from Virginia south. A hardy tree and handsome when young. [Illustration: A. Nordmanniàna.] 3. =Àbies Nordmanniàna=, Link. (NORDMANN'S SILVER FIR.) Leaves very numerous, crowded, broad, linear, blunt or erose-dentate at the ends, somewhat curved, of unequal length, 1 in. or less long, deep green above and whitened beneath. Cones large, 5 in. long, ovate, erect, with very obtuse scales; bracts exserted and recurved. A beautiful large tree, 50 to 80 ft. high, occasionally cultivated; with numerous horizontal branches and smooth bark. [Illustration: A. fírma.] 4. =Àbies fírma=, S. and Z. (JAPAN SILVER FIR.) Leaves ¾ to 1 in. long, very closely 2-ranked, slightly twisted, linear, somewhat notched at the end, smooth and dark above, somewhat silvery below. Cones 3 to 4½ in. long, 1 to 1½ in. in diameter, straight, cylindric, with broad, downy, leathery, crenulated scales; bracts exserted, with acute, slightly recurved points. A beautiful tall tree with somewhat the habit of the common Silver Fir; recently introduced from Japan, and hardy as far north as central New York. [Illustration: A. grándis.] 5. =Àbies grándis=, Lindl. (GREAT SILVER FIR.) Leaves 1 to 1½ in. long, mostly curved, deep green above and silvery below, not 2-ranked. Cones 3 in. long and about 2 in. broad, obtuse, solitary, chestnut-brown in color. A very large (200 to 300 ft. high), handsome tree from the Pacific coast. Hardy at Washington; needs protection north. [Illustration: A. Píchta.] 6. =Àbies Píchta=, Fisch. (SIBERIAN SILVER FIR.) Leaves 1 in. long, linear, flat, obtuse, incurved at the apex, mostly scattered, very dark green above, paler beneath. Cones 3 in. long, ovate, cylindric, obtuse, with rounded, entire scales and hidden bracts. A small to medium-sized cultivated tree, 25 to 50 ft. high, with horizontal, somewhat pendulous branches and dense compact growth. It is peculiar in its very dark foliage; very hardy. [Illustration: A. Cephalónica.] 7. =Àbies Cephalónica=, Loud. (CEPHALONIAN SILVER FIR.) Leaves ¾ in. long, very stiff, sharp-pointed, spreading broadly from the branches in all directions, dark green above and white beneath; petioles very short, dilated lengthwise at the point of attachment of the branches. Cones very erect, 4 to 6 in. long, 1-1/3 in. in diameter; projecting scales unequally toothed and reflexed at the point. A beautiful, cultivated tree, 30 to 60 ft. high, with bright brown bark and resinous buds. [Illustration: A. Pinsàpo.] 8. =Àbies Pinsàpo=, Bois. (PINSAPO FIR.) Leaves less than 1 in. long (usually ½ in.), rigid, straight, scattered regularly around the branches, and pointing in all directions; disk-like bases large; branches in whorls, and branchlets very numerous. Cones 4 to 5 in. long, oval, sessile; scales rounded, broad, entire; bracts short. A very handsome tree from Spain, and reported hardy at the Arnold Arboretum. [Illustration: A. cóncolor.] 9. =Àbies cóncolor=, Lindl. (WHITE FIR.) Leaves 2 to 3 in. long, mostly obtuse, but on young trees often long-pointed, 2-ranked, not crowded on the stem, pale green or silvery. Cones oblong-cylindric, 3 to 5 in. long, 1½ in. in diameter; scales twice as broad as long; bracts short, not projecting. A large tree, 75 to 150 ft. high; bark rough, grayish. Native in the Rocky Mountains; hardy at the Arnold Arboretum, Massachusetts, but needs some protection at St. Louis. [Illustration: A. Cilícica.] 10. =Àbies Cilícica=, Carr. (CILICIAN SILVER FIR.) Leaves flat, linear, 1 to 1¾ in. long and 1/12 in. broad, somewhat 2-ranked but rather irregularly scattered around the young shoots; shining dark green above and whitish beneath. Cones 7 to 8 in. long, nearly 2 in. in diameter, cylindric, obtuse, erect, with thin and entire scales, and short and hidden bracts. A very conical tree, 50 ft. high, with branches in whorls, and numerous, small, slender branchlets. Bark light gray; recently cultivated from Asia. [Illustration: A. nóbilis.] 11. =Àbies nóbilis=, Lindl. (NOBLE SILVER FIR.) Leaves 1 to 2 in. long, linear, much curved, the base extending a short distance upward along the branch, then spreading squarely from it, crowded, compressed, deep green above, glaucous below; base of the leaf much less disk-like than in most of the Firs; branches horizontal, spreading, numerous. Cones 6 to 7 in. long and nearly 2 in. in diameter, cylindric, sessile, with large, entire, incurved scales; bracts large, exserted, reflexed, spatulate, with terminal, awl-shaped points. A very large, beautiful tree, from the Pacific coast, where it grows 200 ft. high. Hardy in Pennsylvania, but needs some protection in Massachusetts. [Illustration: A. pectinàta.] 12. =Àbies pectinàta=, DC. (EUROPEAN OR COMMON SILVER FIR.) Leaves ½ to 1 in. long, linear, obtuse, occasionally with an incurved point, polished green above, two white lines below, rigid, straight; branches horizontal and in whorls. Cones 6 to 8 in. long, cylindric, brown when ripe; scales broad, thin, rounded; bracts long, exserted, with an acute reflexed tip. Introduced from Europe. Good specimens can be found as far north as Massachusetts, though our climate is not fitted to give them either long life or perfect form. GENUS =97. LÀRIX.= (THE LARCHES.) Leaves deciduous, all foliaceous, the primary ones scattered, but most of them in bundles of numerous leaves from lateral globular buds. Cones usually small (in one cultivated species 3 in. long), ovoid, erect, with smooth scales. * Cones less than 1 in. long, of not more than 25 scales 1. * Cones 1 to 2 in. long, of from 40 to 60 scales 2, 3. * Cones 2 to 3 in. long, with thick, woody, somewhat divergent deciduous scales. (Pseudolarix) 4. [Illustration: L. Americàna.] 1. =Làrix Americàna=, Michx. (AMERICAN LARCH. TAMARACK OR HACKMATACK.) Leaves less than 1 in. long, thread-like, linear, slender, light bluish-green. Cones ½ to ¾ in. long, ovoid, of a reddish color. A tree of large size, 50 to 100 ft. high, growing wild in all the northern portion of our region, and frequent in cultivation, although not quite so fine a tree as Larix Europæa. [Illustration: L. Europæa.] 2. =Lárix Europæa=, DC. (EUROPEAN LARCH.) Leaves 1 in. long, linear, obtuse, flat, soft, numerous, and bright green in color. Cones sometimes more than 1 in. long, with oval, erect, very persistent scales. A beautiful tree with horizontal branches and drooping branchlets; abundant in cultivation. Var. _pendula_ has long, pendent branches, and forms a very fine weeping tree. [Illustration: L. Leptolépsis.] 3. =Làrix Leptolépsis=, Gordon. (JAPAN LARCH.) Leaves 1 to 1½ in. long, slender, pale green. Cones 1-1/3 in. long, and half as wide, of about 60 scales, reflexed at the margin, pale brown in color; bracts lanceolate, acute, entire, thin, one half the length of the scales; seeds obovate, compressed, with long, obtuse, thin wings. A small tree from northern Japan, where it grows 40 ft. high. It is a handsome, erect-growing tree, with slender, smooth, ash-colored branches, and rather rigid, spreading branchlets. [Illustration: L. Kæmpferi] 4. =Làrix Kæmpferi=, Lamb. (GOLDEN LARCH.) Leaves from 1 to 2½ in. long, flat, linear, sword-shaped, somewhat soft, pale pea-green in the spring, golden-yellow in the autumn. Cones 2 to 3 in. long, with flattish, divergent scales which are very deciduous. A beautiful large tree, over 100 ft. high, from China, which proves hardy as far north as central New York. It is often placed in a new genus (Pseudolarix) because of the deciduous scales to the cones. GENUS =98. CÈDRUS.= (THE LEBANON CEDARS.) Leaves linear, simple, evergreen, in large, alternate clusters. Cones large, erect, solitary, with closely appressed scales; seeds adhering to the base of their lacerated, membranous wings. Large, spreading-branched trees from southern Asia and northern Africa. Occasionally successfully grown from New York City southward. * Leaves 1 in. or less long 1, 2. * Leaves over 1 in. long, light glaucous-green 3. [Illustration: C. Libàni.] 1. =Cèdrus Libàni=, Barr. (CEDAR OF LEBANON.) Leaves ¾ to 1 in. long, acuminate, needle-form, rigid, few in a fascicle, deep green in color. Cones 3 to 5 in. long, oval, obtuse, very persistent, grayish-brown in color; scales thin, truncate, slightly denticulate; seeds quite large and irregular in form. A cultivated tree with wide-spreading, whorled, horizontal branches covered with rough bark. Somewhat tender when young in the Middle States, but forming a grand tree in proper positions. [Illustration: C. Atlántica.] 2. =Cèdrus Atlántica=, Manetti. (MT. ATLAS, SILVER, OR AFRICAN CEDAR.) Leaves ½ to ¾ in. long, mostly cylindric, straight, rigid, mucronate, crowded, and of a beautiful glaucous-green color. Cones 2½ to 3 in. long, ovate, glossy. This beautiful tree has been considered a silvery variety of Cedrus Libani. They are about alike in hardiness and in general form. Cedrus Atlantica has more slender branches, denser and more silvery foliage. From Africa. [Illustration: C. Deodàra.] 3. =Cèdrus Deodàra=, Lindl. (DEODAR OR INDIAN CEDAR.) Leaves 1 to 2 in. in length, 3- or usually 4-sided, rigid, acute, very numerous (about 20 in a fascicle), bright green, covered with a glaucous bloom. Cones 4 to 5 in. long, ovate, obtuse, very resinous, rich purple when young, and brown when old; the scales separating from the axis at maturity. Seeds wedge-shaped, with large, bright brown wings. A beautiful pyramidal tree, with graceful drooping branches and light silvery foliage. Not hardy north of Philadelphia; from India. GENUS =98a. ARAUCÀRIA.= [Illustration: A. imbricàta.] =Araucària imbricàta=, Pavon. (CHILE PINE.) Leaves 1 to 2 in. long, ovate-lanceolate, sessile, rigid, acute, very persistent, closely overlapping, completely covering the thick stems, in whorls of 6 to 8, deep glossy green; branches horizontal, in whorls of 6 to 8, with ascending tips, covered with resinous, corky bark. Flowers dioecious; cones (on only a portion of the trees) large, roundish, about 7 in. in diameter, erect, solitary; seeds wedge-shaped, 1 to 2 in. long. A large, peculiar, beautiful, conical tree, with much the appearance of a cactus; not fitted to our climate, although a few specimens may be found growing quite well near the coast south of Philadelphia. From the mountains of Chile. GENUS =99. CUNNINGHÀMIA.= A genus of but one species. The cone-scales are very small, but the bracts are large, thick, and serrate. [Illustration: C. Sinénsis.] =Cunninghàmia Sinénsis=, R. Br. (CUNNINGHAMIA.) Leaves 1½ to 2½ in. long, flat, rigid, numerous, alternate, somewhat serrulate; the leaf gradually increases in width from the acute tip to the base, which is decurrent on the stem and about 1/8 in. wide. Cones 1 to 1½ in. long, nearly globular, erect, very persistent, mostly clustered, sessile; the scale is a mere transverse ridge, but the bract is large and prominent, like a triangular-hastate, dilated leaf. A very handsome tree, from China, which does not succeed very well in this region except in protected situations. GENUS =100. SCIADÓPITYS.= Cones elliptical or cylindrical, large, obtuse. Leaves evergreen, somewhat flattened, arranged in distant whorls around the stems, and spreading in all directions. [Illustration: S. verticillàta.] =Sciadópitys verticillàta=, S. and Z. (UMBRELLA-PINE.) Leaves 2 to 4 in. long, 1/6 in. wide, linear, obtuse, smooth, persistent, sessile, entire, in whorls of 30 to 40 at the nodes and extremity of the branches. Cones 3 by 1½ in. Scales wedge-shaped, corrugated, overlapping, coriaceous, persistent; bracts adherent, broad, and smooth. A beautiful, tall, conical, slow-growing tree, with the branches whorled. Recently introduced; hardy in the New England States. GENUS =101. TAXÒDIUM.= Leaves deciduous, spreading, in 2 ranks. Flowers monoecious on the same branch, the staminate ones in spikes, and the pistillate ones in pairs below. Cones globular; the scales peltate, angular, thick, firmly closed till ripe, with 2 angular seeds under each. [Illustration: T. dístichum.] =Taxòdium dístichum=, Richard. (SOUTHERN OR BALD CYPRESS.) Leaves deciduous, flat, linear, ½ to ¾ in. long, in 2 rows on the slender branchlets, forming feather-like spray of a light green color. This whole spray usually falls off in the autumn as though a single leaf. Cones round, closed, hard, 1 in. in diameter. A fine, tall (100 to 125 ft. high), slender, spire-shaped tree with a large, spreading, rigid trunk, 6 to 9 ft. thick, and peculiar conical excrescences (called knees) growing up from the roots. Wild from Maryland south, and cultivated and hardy in the Middle and many of the Northern States. [Illustration: Var. pendulum.] Var. _pendulum_, with horizontal branches and drooping branchlets, has the leaves but slightly spreading from the stems, especially when young. Very beautiful; hardy as far north as Massachusetts. GENUS =102. SEQUÓIA.= Flowers monoecious, terminal, solitary, catkins nearly globular. Seeds winged, 3 to 5 under each scale. [Illustration: S. gigántea.] 1. =Sequóia gigántea=, Torr. (BIG OR GREAT TREE OF CALIFORNIA.) Leaves on the young shoots spreading, needle-shaped, sharp-pointed, scattered spirally around the branchlets; finally scale-shaped, overlapping, mostly appressed, with generally an acute apex, light green in color. Cones oval, 2 to 3 in. long, of about 25 scales. The largest tree known, 300 ft. high, with a trunk nearly 30 ft. through, found in California and occasionally planted east, though with no great success, as it is almost certain to die after a few years. [Illustration: S. sempérvirens.] 2. =Sequóia sempérvirens=, Endl. (REDWOOD.) Leaves from ½ to 1 in. long, linear, smooth, 2-ranked, flat, acute, dark shining green, glaucous beneath; branches numerous, horizontal, spreading. Cones 1 in. long, roundish, solitary, terminal; scales numerous, thick, rough, furnished with an obtuse point. A magnificent tree from California, where it grows 200 to 300 ft. high. In the East it can be kept alive but a few years even at Washington. GENUS =103. THÚYA.= (ARBOR-VITÆ.) Small, evergreen trees with flat, 2-ranked, fan-like spray and closely overlapping, small, appressed leaves of two shapes on different branchlets, one awl-shaped and acute, the other scale-like, usually blunt and close to the branch. Fertile catkins of few, overlapping scales fixed by the base; at maturity, dry and spreading. There are scores of named varieties of Arbor-vitae sold by the nurserymen under 3 different generic names, Thuya, Biota, and Thuyopsis. There are but slight differences in these groups, and they will in this work be placed together under Thuya. Some that in popular language might well be called Arbor-vitæ (the Retinosporas) will, because of the character of the fruit, be included in the next genus. * Scales of the cones pointless, thin, straight. (Thuya) 1, 2. * Scales reflexed and wedge-shaped. (Thuyopsis) 3. * Scales thick, with horn-like tips. (Biota) 4. [Illustration: T. occidentàlis.] 1. =Thùya occidentàlis=, L. (AMERICAN ARBOR-VITÆ. WHITE CEDAR.) Leaves in 4 rows on the 2-edged branchlets, having a strong aromatic odor when bruised. Cones oblong, 1/3 in. long, with few (6 to 10) pointless scales. A small tree, 20 to 50 ft. high, or in cultivation 1 to 50 ft. high, with pale, shreddy bark, and light, soft, but very durable wood. Wild north, and extensively cultivated throughout under more than a score of named varieties. Their names--_alba_, _aurea_, _glauca_, _conica_, _globosa_, _pyramidalis_, _pendula_, etc.--will give some idea of the variations in color, form, etc. [Illustration: T. gigantèa.] 2. =Thùya gigantèa=, Nutt. (GIANT ARBOR-VITÆ.) Leaves scale-shaped, somewhat 4-sided, closely overlapping, sharp-pointed, slightly tuberculate on the back; cones more or less clustered and nearly ½ in. long. A very large and graceful tree, 200 ft. high, with white, soft wood; from the Pacific coast; introduced but not very successfully grown in the Atlantic States. [Illustration: T. dolabràta.] 3. =Thùya dolabràta=, L. (HATCHET-LEAVED ARBOR-VITÆ.) Leaves large, sometimes ¼ in. long, very blunt, in 4 rows on the flattened spray. Cones quite small, ovate, sessile, with jagged edges; scales reflexed and wedge-form. A small conical tree with horizontal branches and drooping branchlets; which, because of its large leaves (for an Arbor-vitæ) and flexible branchlets, is quite unique and interesting. In shaded and moist places it has done quite well as far north as New York. [Illustration: T. orientàlis.] 4. =Thùya orientàlis=, L. (EASTERN OR CHINESE ARBOR-VITÆ.) Leaves small, in 4 opposite rows, appressed, acute, on the numerous 2-edged branchlets. Cones large, roundish, with thick leathery scales having recurving, horn-like tips. Of this species there are as many varieties sold as of number one, and nearly the same varietal names are used; but it is not so good a species for general cultivation in this country. Var. _flagelliformis_, Jacq. (Weeping Arbor-vitæ), has very slender, elongated, weeping branches, curving gracefully to the ground. It is a beautiful variety, often cultivated (a single stem is shown in the figure). GENUS =104. CHAMÆCÝPARIS.= (THE CYPRESSES.) Strong-scented, evergreen trees with very small, scale-like or somewhat awl-shaped, closely appressed (except in some cultivated varieties), overlapping leaves and 2-ranked branchlets, almost as in Thuya. Cones globular, with peltate, valvate scales, firmly closed till ripe; the scales thick and pointed at the center. * Native trees; leaves light glaucous-green. 1. * Cultivated trees from Western America; leaves dark green. (=A.=) =A.= No tubercle on the backs of the leaves. 2. =A.= Usually a tubercle on the back 3. * Cultivated small trees and shrubs from Japan (called Retinospora) 4. [Illustration: C. sphæroídea.] 1. =Chamæcýparis sphæroídea=, Spach. (WHITE CEDAR.) Leaves very small, triangular, awl-shaped, regularly and closely appressed in 4 rows, of a light glaucous-green color, often with a small gland on the back. Cones very small, 1/3 in. in diameter, of about 6 scales, clustered. Tree 30 to 90 ft. high, wild in low grounds throughout; abundant in Middle States. With reddish-white wood and slender, spreading and drooping sprays; bark fibrous, shreddy; sometimes cultivated. [Illustration: C. Nutkænsis.] 2. =Chamæcýparis Nutkænsis=, Lambert. (NOOTKA SOUND CYPRESS.) Leaves only 1/8 in. long, sharp-pointed, and closely appressed, of a very dark, rich green color; very slightly glaucous, without tubercles on the back. Cones small, globular, solitary, with a fine, whitish bloom; scales 4, rough and terminating in a sharp straight point. Tree 100 ft. high in Alaska, and would make a fine cultivated tree for this region if it could stand our hot, dry summers. [Illustration: C. Lawsoniàna.] 3. =Chamæcýparis Lawsoniàna=, Park. (LAWSON'S CYPRESS.) Leaves small, deep green, with a whitish margin when young, forming with the twigs feathery-like, flat spray of a bluish-green color; leaves usually with a gland on the back. Cones scarcely ¼ in. in diameter, of 8 to 10 scales. A magnificent tree in California, and where it is hardy (in rather moist soil, New York and south) it forms one of our best cultivated evergreens. The leading shoot when young is pendulous. [Illustration: R. obtùsa.] 4. =Chamæcýparis= (=Retinóspora=) =obtùsa=, Endl. (JAPANESE ARBOR-VITÆ.) Leaves scale-formed, obtuse, closely appressed and very persistent. Cones of 8 or 10 hard, light brown, wedge-shaped scales. Beautiful small trees or generally shrubs (in this country), of a score of named varieties of many colors and forms of plant and foliage. There are probably a number of species of Japanese and Chinese Chamæcyparis (Retinospora), but till their size, hardiness, and origin have been more fully determined, it would be impossible to make an entirely satisfactory list for such a work as this. Figures are given of the common, so-called, species cultivated in this country; under each of these, several varieties are sold by the nurserymen. The three twigs of Retinospora squarrosa were all taken from a single branch; this shows how impossible it is to determine the varieties or species; the twig at the left represents the true _squarrosa_; the others, the partial return to the original. Most of the forms shown in the figures have purple, golden, silvery, and other colored varieties. [Illustration: Retinospora filifera.] [Illustration: Retinospora pisifera.] [Illustration: Retinospora squarrosa.] [Illustration: Retinospora Lycopoides.] [Illustration: Retinospora plumosa.] GENUS =105. CRYPTOMÈRIA.= A genus of evergreens containing only the following species: [Illustration: C. Japónica.] =Cryptomèria Japónica=, Don. (JAPAN CEDAR.) Leaves about ½ in. long, not flattened, but about equally 4-sided, curved and tapering quite gradually from the tip to the large, sessile base; branches spreading, mostly horizontal, with numerous branchlets. Cones ½ to ¾ in. in diameter, globular, terminal, sessile, very persistent, with numerous, loose, not overlapping scales. A beautiful tree from Japan, 50 to 100 ft. high. Not very successfully grown in our climate. North of Washington, D. C., it needs a sheltered position, and should have a deep, but not very rich soil. GENUS =106. JUNÍPERUS.= Leaves evergreen, awl-shaped or scale-like, rigid, often of two shapes on the same plant. Spray not 2-ranked. Flowers usually dioecious. Fertile catkins rounded, of 3 to 6 fleshy, coalescent scales, forming in fruit a bluish-black berry with a whitish bloom, but found on only a portion of the plants. * Leaves rather long, ½ in., in whorls of threes 1. * Leaves smaller; on the old branches mostly opposite 2. [Illustration: J. commùnis.] 1. =Juníperus commùnis=, L. (COMMON JUNIPER.) Leaves rather long, ½ in., linear, awl-shaped, in whorls of threes, prickly-pointed, upper surface glaucous-white, under surface bright green. Fruit globular, ¼ in. or more in diameter, dark purple when ripe, covered with light-colored bloom. A shrub or small tree with spreading or pendulous branches; common in dry, sterile soils. There are a great many varieties of this species in cultivation, but few of them grow tall enough to be considered trees. Var. _Hibernica_ (Irish Juniper) grows erect like a column. Var. _Alpina_ is a low creeping plant. Var. _hemispherica_ is almost like a half-sphere lying on the ground. [Illustration: J. Virginiàna.] 2. =Juníperus Virginiàna=, L. (RED CEDAR.) Leaves very small and numerous, scale-like on the older branches, but awl-shaped and somewhat spreading on the young shoots; dark green. Fruit small, 1/5 in., abundant on the pistillate plants, dark purple and covered with fine, glaucous bloom. Trees from 20 to 80 ft. high (sometimes only shrubs), with mostly horizontal branches, thin, scaling bark, dense habit of growth, and dark foliage. Wood light, fine-grained, durable; the heart-wood of a handsome dark red color. Wild throughout; several varieties are found in cultivation. Many other species from China, Japan, California, etc., are occasionally cultivated, but few are large enough to be called trees, and those that are large enough are not of sufficient importance to need specific notice. GENUS =107. TÁXUS.= Leaves evergreen, flat, linear, mucronate, rigid, scattered, appearing more or less 2-ranked. Fertile flowers and the fruit solitary; the fruit, a nut-like seed in a cup-shaped, fleshy portion formed from a disk; red. [Illustration: T. baccàta.] =Táxus baccàta=, L. (COMMON EUROPEAN YEW.) Leaves evergreen, 2-ranked, crowded, linear, flat, curved, acute. Fruit a nut-like seed within a cup 1/3 in. in diameter; red when ripe in the autumn. As this species is somewhat dioecious, a portion of the plants will be without fruit. A widely spreading shrub rather than a tree, extensively cultivated under nearly a score of named varieties. We have a closely related wild species, =Táxus Canadénsis= (THE GROUND-HEMLOCK), which is merely a low straggling bush. GENUS =1O7a. TORRÈYA.= [Illustration: T. taxifòlia.] The Torreyas are much like the Yews, but their leaves have two longitudinal lines, and a remarkably disagreeable odor when burned or bruised. =Torrèya taxifòlia=, Arn., from Florida, and =Torrèya Califòrnica=, Torr., from California, have been often planted. They form small trees, but probably cannot be grown successfully in the region. The figure shows a twig of T. taxifolia. GENUS =1O7b. CEPHALOTÁXUS.= [Illustration: C. Fortùnii.] =Cephalotáxus Fortùnii=, Hook., does not form a tree in this section, but a wide-spreading bush growing sometimes to the height of 10 ft., and spreading over a spot 15 ft. wide. Leaves flat, with the midrib forming a distinct ridge on both sides, linear, sometimes over 2 in. long, glossy green on the upper side, slightly whitened beneath. Fruit very large, 1 in. or more long, elliptical, with a single, thin-shelled nut-like seed covered with purplish, pulpy, thin flesh. Branches spreading, drooping, long, slender; buds small, covered with many sharp-pointed, overlapping scales; twigs green, somewhat grooved. From Japan; about hardy in New Jersey. GENUS =108. PODOCÁRPUS.= Leaves one-nerved, opposite, alternate, or scattered, linear or oblong. Flowers axillary and mostly dioecious; fruit drupe-like, with a bony-coated stone. [Illustration: P. Japónica.] =Podocárpus Japónica=, Sieb. (JAPAN PODOCARPUS.) Leaves alternate, crowded, flat, linear-lanceolate, elongated, quite sharp-pointed, narrowed to a short though distinct petiole, and continued down the stem by two ridges; leaves not 2-ranked, large, 4 to 8 in. long and ½ in. wide when growing in perfection; in specimens grown in this region, 2 to 5 in. long and ¼ in. wide; midrib forms a ridge on both sides; upper side dark glossy green; lower side with two broad whitish lines. A beautiful, erect-growing, small tree; from Japan; about hardy in central New Jersey; needs some protection in Massachusetts. GENUS =109. SALISBÙRIA.= Leaves broad, simple, alternate, stipulate, deciduous, deeply cut or lobed at the apex, alike on both surfaces, with long petioles. Flowers dioecious; staminate ones in catkins, pistillate ones either solitary or in clusters of a few each. Fruit a nut with a drupaceous covering. [Illustration: S. adiantifòlia.] =Salisbùria adiantifòlia=, Sm. (GINKGO TREE.) Leaves parallel-veined, fan-shaped, with irregular lobes at the end, thick, leathery, with no midrib. Fruit globular or ovate, 1 in. long, on long, slender stems. A very peculiar and beautiful large tree, 50 to 100 ft. high; from Japan. Hardy throughout, and should be more extensively cultivated than it is. GLOSSARY OF BOTANICAL TERMS AND INDEX TO PART I. The numbers refer to the pages where the illustrations appear or where fuller definitions of the words are given. _Abortive._ Defective or barren; not producing seeds. _Abrupt base of leaf_, 21. _Abruptly pinnate._ Pinnate, without an odd leaflet at the end; even-pinnate, 20. _Acerose._ Slender; needle-shaped, 20. _Acorn_, 27. _Acuminate._ Taper-pointed, 22. _Acute._ Terminating in a well-defined angle, usually less than a right angle, 22. _Adventitious buds_, 31. _Alternate._ Not opposite each other; as the leaves of a stem when arranged one after the other along the branch, 18. _Angulated._ Edge with such sudden bends as to form angles. _Annual layer of wood_, 13. _Anther._ The essential part of a stamen of a flower; the part which contains the pollen, 24. _Apetalous._ Said of a flower which has no corolla, 25. _Apex._ The point or summit, as the point of a leaf. _Apple-pome._ A fruit like the apple, with seeds in horny cells, 27. _Appressed._ Pressed close to the stem or other part, 19. _Ariled._ Seed with a somewhat membranous appendage, sometimes surrounding it, and attached to one end. _Aromatic._ With an agreeable odor. _Arrangement of flowers_, 26; of leaves, 18. _Astringent._ That which contracts or draws together muscular fiber; the opposite of laxative. _Auriculate._ Furnished with ear-shaped appendages, 21. _Awl-shaped._ Like a shoemaker's curved awl; subulate, 21. _Awned._ Furnished with a bristle-shaped appendage, 22. _Axil._ The angle between the leafstalk and the twig, 14. _Axillary._ Situated in the axil; as a bud, branch, or flower-cluster when in the axil of a leaf, 14, 26, 30. _Bark_, 12. _Bases of leaves_, 21. _Berry._ Used in this work to include any soft, juicy fruit with several (at least more than one), readily separated seeds buried in the mass, 27. _Bipinnate._ Twice-pinnate, 20. _Bladdery._ Swollen out and filled with air. _Blade._ The thin, spreading portion, as of a leaf, 19. _Bract._ A more or less modified leaf belonging to a flower or fruit; usually a small leaf in the axil of which the separate flower of a cluster grows, 28. _Branch._ A shoot or stem of a plant, 11. _Branching_, general plan of, 29. _Branchlet._ A small branch. _Bristle-pointed._ Ending in a stiff, roundish hair, 22. _Bud._ Undeveloped branch or flower, 30; forms of, 32; bud-scales, 31. _Bur._ Rough-prickly covering of the seeds or fruit, 27. _Bush._ A shrub, 11. _Calyx._ The outer leafy part of a flower, 24. _Canescent._ With a silvery appearance, 23. _Capsule._ A dry, pod-like fruit which has either more than one cell, or, if of one cell, not such a pod as that of the pea with the seeds fastened on one side on a single line, 28. _Carpel._ That part of a fruit which is formed of a simple pistil, or one member of a compound pistil; often shown by a single seed-bearing line or part. A fruit has as many carpels as it has seed-bearing lines on its outer walls, or as it had stigmas when it was a pistil, or as it had leaves at its origin. _Catkin._ A scaly, usually slender and pendent cluster of flowers, 26, 28. _Ciliate._ Fringed with hairs along its edge. _Cleft._ Cut to about the middle, 22. _Cluster._ Any grouping of flowers or fruit on a plant, so that more than one is found in the axil of a leaf, or at the end of a stem, 26. _Complete._ Having all the parts belonging to an organ; a _complete leaf_ has blade, leafstalk, and stipules, 19; a _complete flower_ has calyx, corolla, stamen, and pistil, 24. _Compound._ Composed of more than one similar part united into a whole; a _compound leaf_ has more than one blade, 19. _Conduplicate._ Folded on itself lengthwise, 33. _Cone._ A hard, scaly fruit, as that of a pine-tree, 28. _Conical._ With a circular base and sloping sides gradually tapering to a point; more slender than pyramidal. _Convolute._ In a leaf, the complete rolling from edge to edge, 34. _Cordate._ Heart-shaped, the stem and point at opposite ends, 21. _Coriaceous._ Leathery in texture or substance. _Corolla._ The inner, usually the bright-colored, row of floral leaves, often grown together, 24. _Corymb._ A flat-topped or rounded flower-cluster; in a strict use it is applied only to such clusters when the central flower does not bloom first. See _cyme_, 26. _Crenate._ Edge notched with rounded teeth, 22. _Crenulate._ Finely crenated, 22. _Crisped._ Having an undulated or curled edge. _Cross-section of wood_, 35. _Cuneate._ Wedge-shaped, 21. _Cylindric._ With an elongated, rounded body of uniform diameter. _Cyme._ A flat-topped flower-cluster, the central flower blooming first, 26. _Deciduous._ Falling off; said of leaves when they fall in autumn, and of floral leaves when they fall before the fruit forms, 23. _Decurrent leaf._ A leaf which extends down the stem below the point of fastening. _Definite annual growth_, 29. _Dehiscence._ The regular splitting open of fruits, anthers, etc. _Dehiscent._ Opening in a regular way, 27, 28. _Deliquescent_, 16, 29. _Deltoid._ Triangular, 21. _Dentate._ Edge notched, with the teeth angular and pointing outward, 22. _Denticulate._ Minutely dentate. _Dichotomous._ Forking regularly by twos, as the branches of the Lilac. _Dilated._ Spreading out; expanding in all directions. _Dioecious._ With stamens and pistils on different plants, 25. _Distichous._ Two-ranked; spreading on opposite sides in one plane; as _leaves_, 18; or _branches_, 19. _Divergent._ Spreading apart. _Divided._ Separated almost to the base or midrib, 23. _Drupe._ A fleshy fruit with a single bony stone. In this book applied to all fruits which, usually juicy, have a single seed, even if not bony, or a bony stone, even if the stone has several seeds, 27. _Dry drupe._ Used when the material surrounding the stone is but slightly fleshy, 27. _Duration of leaves_, 23. _Elliptical._ Having the form of an elongated oval, 20. _Emarginate._ With a notched tip, 22. _Endogenous._ Inside-growing; growing throughout the substance of the stem, 12. _Entire._ With an even edge; not notched, 22. _Enveloping organs._ In a flower, the calyx and corolla which cover the stamens and pistil, 25. _Essential organs._ In a flower, the organs needed to produce seeds; the stamens and pistil, 25. _Evergreen._ Retaining the leaves (in a more or less green condition) through the winter and till new ones appear, 23. _Excurrent._ With the trunk continued to the top of the tree, 16, 29. _Exogenous._ Outside-growing; growing by annual layers near the surface, 11. _Exserted._ Projecting beyond an envelope, as the stamens from a corolla, or the bracts beyond the scales of a cone, 28. _Exstipulate._ Without stipules, 19. _Extra-axillary buds_, 30. _Fasciculated._ In clusters or fascicles, 18. _Feather-veined._ With the veins of a leaf all springing from the sides of the midrib, 20. _Fibrous._ Composed of fine threads or fibers. _Filament._ The stalk of a stamen, 24; any thread-like body. _Flowering._ Having flowers. _Flowers_, 24; clusters of, 26; kinds of, 25. _Folding of leaves in the bud_, 33. _Foliaceous._ Like a leaf in texture or appearance. _Footstalk._ The stem of a leaf (petiole), or the stem of a flower (peduncle). _Forms of leaves_, 20. _Fruit_, 24, 26. _Gamopetalous._ Same as monopetalous, 25. _Glabrous._ Having a smooth surface; free from hairs, bristles, or any pubescence, 23. _Glands._ Small cellular organs which secrete oily, aromatic, or other products. They are sometimes sunk in the leaves, etc., as on the Prickly-ash; sometimes on the surface as small projections; sometimes on the ends of hairs. The word is also used to indicate small swellings, whether there is a secretion or not. _Glandular._ Having glands. _Glandular-hairy._ With glandular-tipped hairs, 23. _Glaucous._ Covered with a fine white powder that rubs off, 23. _Globose._ Spherical in form. _Globular._ Nearly globose. _Glutinous._ Covered with a sticky gum. _Hairy._ Having rather long hairs, 23. _Halberd-shaped_, 21. _Head._ A compact, rounded cluster of flowers or fruit, 26. _Heart-shaped._ Ovate, with a notched base; cordate, 21. _Heart-wood_, 13, 35. _Herbaceous._ Without woody substance in the stem; like an herb; soft and leaf-like. _Hybrid._ An intermediate form of plant between two nearly related species; formed by the action of the pollen of one upon the pistil of the other. _Imbricated._ Overlapping one another like the shingles on a roof, 28. _Incised._ Irregularly and deeply cut, as the edge of a leaf. _Incurved._ Gradually curving inward. _Indefinite annual growth_, 30. _Indehiscent._ Not splitting open. _Inflexed._ Bent inward, 33. _Involucre._ A whorl or set of bracts around a flower, a cluster of flowers, or fruit, 27. _Involute._ Rolled inward from the edges, 34. _Irregular._ Said of a flower which has its corolla of different sized, shaped, or colored pieces, 25. _Kernel._ The substance contained within the shell of a nut or the stone of a fruit. _Key._ A fruit furnished with a wing, or leaf-like expansion, 28. _Kidney-shaped._ Broadly heart-shaped, with the apex and basal notch somewhat rounded. _Lacerated._ With a margin irregularly notched or apparently torn. _Laciniate._ Cut into narrow lobes; slashed. _Lance-shaped._ _Lanceolate._ Like a lance-head in shape, 21. _Leaf_, 17; arrangement of leaves, 18; bases of, 21; forms of, 20; kinds of, 19; margins of, 22; parts of, 19; points of, 22; veining, 19. _Leaflet._ A separate blade of a compound leaf, 20. _Leafstalk._ The stem of a leaf; petiole, 19. _Legume._ A pea-like pod, 28. _Lensform._ _Lenticular._ Thickest in the center, with the edges somewhat sharp; like a double-convex lens. _Linear._ Long and narrow, with the edges about parallel, 20. _Lobe._ The separate, projecting parts of an irregularly edged leaf if few in number, 22. _Lobed._ Having lobes along the margin, 22. _Margin of leaves_, 22. _Medullary rays_, 13. _Membranous._ Thin and rather soft, and more or less translucent, 23. _Midrib._ The central or main rib of a leaf, 19. _Monoecious._ With both pistillate and staminate flowers on the same plant, 25. _Monopetalous._ With the corolla more or less grown together at the base; gamopetalous, 25. _Mucronate._ Tipped with a short abrupt point, 22. _Multiple roots_, 9. _Nerved._ Parallel-veined, as the leaves of some trees, 20. _Netted-veined._ With branching veins, forming a network as in the leaves of most of our trees, 20. _Node._ The part of a stem to which a leaf is attached, 18. _Nut._ A hard, unsplitting, usually one-seeded fruit, 27. _Nutlet._ A small nut. _Obcordate._ Heart-shaped, with the stem at the pointed end, 21, 22. _Oblanceolate._ Lanceolate, with the stem at the more pointed end, 21. _Oblong._ Two to four times as long as wide, with the sides somewhat parallel, 20. _Oblique._ Applied to leaves when the sides are unequal, 21. _Obovate._ A reversed ovate, 21. _Obovoid._ A reversed ovoid; an egg form, with stem at the smaller end. _Obscurely._ Not distinctly; usually needing a magnifying-glass to determine. _Obtuse._ Blunt or rounded at tip, 22. _Obvolute_, 34. _Odd-pinnate._ Pinnate, with an end leaflet, 20. _Once-pinnate._ A compound leaf, with but a single series of leaflets along the central stem, 19. _Opposite._ With two leaves on opposite sides of a stem at a node, 18. _Orbicular._ Circular in outline, 20. _Oval._ Broadly elliptical, 20. _Ovary._ The part of the pistil of a flower containing the ovules or future seeds. _Ovate._ Shaped like a section of an egg, with the broader end near the stem, 21. _Overlapping._ One piece spreading over another. _Ovoid._ Ovate or oval in a solid form, like an egg. _Ovules._ The parts within the ovary which may form seeds, 25. _Palmate._ A compound leaf, with the leaflets all starting from the end of the petiole, 19. _Palmately lobed_, 22. _Palmately veined._ With three or more main ribs, or veins of a leaf, starting from the base, 20. _Panicle._ An open, much branched cluster of flowers or fruit, 26. _Pappus._ The down, hairs, or teeth on the end of the fruit in Compositæ, as the thistle-down. _Parallel-veined._ With the veins of the leaf parallel; nerved, 20. _Parted._ Edge of a blade separated three fourths of the distance to the base or midrib, 23. _Pedicel._ The stem of each flower of a cluster, 26. _Peduncle._ The stem of a solitary flower, or the main stem of a cluster, 26. _Pellucid._ Almost or quite transparent. _Peltate._ Applied to a leaf or other part when the stem or stalk is attached within the margin on the side. _Pendent._ Hanging downward, 28. _Pendulous._ Hanging or drooping. _Perfect._ Said of a flower with both stamen and pistil, 25. _Petal._ A leaf of the corolla of a flower, 25. _Petiole._ The stalk or stem of a leaf, 19. _Petiolate._ Said of a leaf which has a stem, 20. _Pinnæ._ The first divisions of a bipinnate or tripinnate leaf. _Pinnate leaf._ A compound leaf with the leaflets arranged along the sides of the stem, 19. _Pinnately lobed_, 22; _Pinnate-veined_, 20. _Pinnatifid._ A leaf deeply notched along the sides in a pinnate manner, 23. _Pistil._ The central essential organ of a flower, 25. _Pistillate._ A flower with pistil but no stamens, 25. _Pith_, 12. _Plicate._ Folded like a fan, 34. _Pod._ A dry dehiscent fruit like that of the pea, 28. _Points of leaves_, 22. _Pollarding trees_, 31. _Pollen._ The dust or fertilizing material contained in the anther, 24. _Polypetalous._ Having a corolla of separate petals, 25. _Pome._ An apple-like fruit with the seeds in horny cells, 27. _Preparation of a collection_, 35. _Pressing plants_, 36. _Prickles._ Sharp, spine-like elevations on the bark, leaf or fruit, 28. _Primary root_, 10. _Pubescent._ Hairy or downy, especially with fine soft hairs or pubescence, 23. _Pulp._ The soft flesh of such fruits as the apple or cherry. _Punctate._ With translucent glands, 23. _Pyramidal._ With sloping sides like a pyramid, but with a circular base; broad-conical. _Raceme._ A flower-cluster with one-flowered stems arranged along the peduncle, 26. _Radial section of wood_, 35. _Radiating ribs._ The ribs of a leaf when several start together at or near the base. A leaf having such ribs is said to be radiately or palmately veined, 20. _Rapier-shaped._ Narrow, pointed, and curved like a sword. _Recurved_ or _reflexed_. Bent backward, 28. _Regular._ Said of a flower which has its enveloping organs alike on all sides, 25. _Repand._ Wavy-margined, 22. _Retuse._ With a slightly notched tip, 22. _Revolute._ Rolled backward, as the edges of many leaves, 22, 34. _Ribbed._ With prominent ribs, often somewhat parallel. _Ribs._ The strong veins of a leaf, 19. _Root_, 9. _Rugous._ Having an irregularly ridged surface, 23. _Samara._ A winged fruit; a key fruit, 28. _Sap-wood_, 13. _Scabrous._ Rough or harsh to the touch, 23. _Scale-shaped_, 21. _Scarious._ Thin, dry, and membranous, 23. _Scattered leaves_, 18. _Secondary roots_, 10. _Section of wood_, 35. _Seedling._ A young plant raised from a seed. _Seeds_, 25. _Sepal._ A division of a calyx, 25. _Serrate._ Having a notched edge, with the teeth pointing forward, 22. _Serration._ A tooth of a serrated edge. _Serrulate._ Finely serrate, 22. _Sessile._ Without stem; sessile leaf, 20; sessile flower, 26. _Sheath._ A tubular envelope. _Shoot._ A branch. _Shrub._ A bush-like plant; one branching from near the base, 11. _Silver grain._ _Medullary rays_, 13, 36. _Simple leaf._ One with but a single blade, 19. _Sinuate._ With a margin strongly wavy, 22. _Sinuation._ One of the waves of a sinuate edge. _Spatulate._ Gradually narrowed downward from a rounded tip. _Spike._ An elongated cluster of flowers with the separate blossoms about sessile. _Spine._ A sharp, rigid outgrowth from the wood of a stem; sometimes applied to sharp points not so deeply seated which should be considered as prickles, 28. _Spinescent_ or _spiny_. Having spines, 22, 23. _Spray._ A collection of small shoots or branches of a plant. _Stamen._ One of the pollen-bearing or fertilizing parts of a flower, 24. _Staminate._ Said of flowers which have stamens but no pistil, 25. _Stellate._ Branching, star-like. _Stems and branches_, 11. _Stipules._ Small blades at the base of a leafstalk, 19. _Straight-veined._ Feather-veined with the veins straight and parallel, 20. _Striate._ Marked with fine longitudinal lines or ridges. _Sub._ A prefix applied to many botanical terms, and indicating nearly. _Subulate._ Awl-shaped, 21. _Succulent._ Thick and fleshy, 23. _Suckers._ Shoots from a subterranean part of a plant. _Surface of leaves and fruit_, 23. _Tangential section of wood_, 35. _Tapering._ Gradually pointed; gradually narrowed, 21. _Tap-root._ A simple root with a stout tapering body, 9. _Terete._ Cylindric, but tapering as the twigs of a tree. _Terminal._ Belonging to the extremity of a branch, as a _terminal bud_, 14; or _terminal flower-cluster_, 26. _Texture of leaves_, 23. _Thyrsus._ A compact, much-branched flower- or fruit-cluster, 26. _Tomentose._ Covered with matted, woolly hairs, 23. _Toothed._ With teeth or short projections. _Tree._ A plant with a woody trunk which does not branch near the ground, 11. _Truncate._ With a square end as though cut off, 22. _Twice-pinnate._ Applied to a leaf which is twice divided in a pinnate manner, 20. _Twice-serrate_, 22. _Twice-crenate_, 22. _Two-ranked._ Applied to leaves when they are flattened out in two ranks on opposite sides of a stem, 18; also applied to spray when it branches out in one plane, 19. _Umbel._ A cluster of flowers or fruit having stems of about equal length, and starting from the same point, 26. _Umbellate._ Like an umbel. _Valvate._ Touching edge to edge, 28. _Veining of leaves_, 19. _Veinlets._ The most minute framework of a leaf, 19. _Veins._ The smaller lines of the framework of a leaf, 19. _Wedge-shaped._ Shaped like a wedge; cuneate, 21. _Whorl._ In a circle around the stem, as the leaves of a plant, 18. _Wings._ A blade or leaf-like expansion bordering a part, as a fruit or stem, 28. _Winged._ With wing-like membranes. _Winter study of trees_, 29. _Wood_, 12. INDEX TO PART III. Abele-tree, 168. Abies, 183-187. Acanthopanax, 110. Acer, 84-88. Acuminate-leaved Clethra, 117. Æsculus, 81-83. African Cedar, 190. Ailanthus, 76. Albizzia, 96. Alcock's Spruce, 181. Alder, 147, 148. Alleghany Plum, 98. Alnus, 147, 148. Alternate-leaved Cornel, 112. Amelanchier, 107. Anacardiaceæ, 89. Angelica-tree, 109. Angiospermæ, 62. Anonaceæ, 68. Apple, 101. Aralia, 109, 110. Araliaceæ, 109. Araucaria, 190. Arbor-vitæ, American, 194. Chinese, 194. Eastern, 194. Giant, 194. Hatchet-leaved, 194. Japanese, 196. Weeping, 195. Arrow-wood, 114. Ash, Black, 124. Blue, 124. European, 124. Flowering, 125. Green, 123. Red, 123. Water, 124. Weeping, 125. White, 123. Ash-colored Willow, 167. Ash-leaved Maple, 89. Asimina, 68. Aspen, 168. Austrian Pine, 175. Baccharis, 115. Bald Cypress, 192. Balm of Gilead, 170. Balsam-fir, 183, 184. Balsam-poplar, 170. Barren Oak, 158. Bartram's Oak, 152. Basket-oak, 154. Basswood, 72, 73. Bay, Red, 130. Bay Willow, 164, 165. Beaked Hazelnut, 149. Beaked Willow, 166. Bean-trefoil Tree, 92. Bear Scrub Oak, 157. Beech, American, 161. Blue, 151. Cut-leaved, 161. European, 161. Purple, 161. Silver Variegated, 161. Water, 151. Benjamin-bush, 131. Betula, 144-147. Bhotan Pine, 172. Bignoniaceæ, 127. Bignonia Family, 127. Big Shellbark, 142. Big Tree of California, 192. Bilsted, 108. Biota, 193. Birch, American White, 145. Black, 146. Canoe, 145. Cherry, 146. Cut-leaved, 146. European White, 146. Gray, 145, 146. Hairy-leaved, 146. Paper, 145. Purple-leaved, 146. Pyramidal, 146. Red, 147. River, 147. Sweet, 146. Weeping, 146. Yellow, 146. Bird-cherry, 99, 100. Bitternut, 143. Bixineæ, 67. Black Ash, 124. Birch, 146. Cherry, 99. Gum, 112. Haw, 114. Hawthorn, 106. Oak, 156, 158. Pine, 175. Poplar, 170. Scrub Oak, 157. Spruce, 179. Sugar-maple, 86. Walnut, 141. Willow, 163. Blackthorn, 98. Blue Ash, 124. Beech, 151. Bog Willow, 166. Bow-wood, 137. Box Elder, 89. White Oak, 153. Boxwood, 133. Bristly Locust, 94. Brittle Willow, 163. Broom-hickory, 143. Buckeye, 82, 83. Buckthorn, California, 80. Carolina, 79. Common, 79. Southern, 119. Woolly-leaved, 118. Buckthorn Family, 79. Buffalo-berry, 132. Bullace Plum, 98. Bumelia, 118, 119. Burning-bush, 78. Bur-Oak, 153. Butternut, 140. Buttonwood, 139. Buxus, 132, 133. Calico-bush, 116. California Buckthorn, 80. Maple, 86. Camellia Family, 69. Canoe Birch, 145. Caprifoliaceæ, 113. Caragana, 92. Carolina Buckthorn, 79. Poplar, 169. Carpinus, 150, 151. Carya, 141-144. Cashew Family, 89. Castanea, 159, 160. Catalpa, 128, 129. Caucasian Planer-tree, 136. Cedar, African, 190. Deodar, 190. Indian, 190. Japan, 198. Lebanon, 189. Mt. Atlas, 190. Red, 199. Silver, 190. White, 194, 195. Cedrela, 76. Cedrus, 189, 190. Celastraceæ, 78. Celtis, 136, 137. Cembra Pine, 173. Cephalonian Silver Fir, 185. Cephalotaxus, 200. Cercidiphyllum, 67. Cercis, 94. Chaste-tree, 130. Cherry, 99, 100. Cherry Birch, 146. Cherry, Cornelian, 111. Chestnut, 160. Chestnut-oak, 154, 155. Chickasaw Plum, 98. Chile Pine, 190. China-tree, 75. Chinese Arbor-vitæ, 194. Cedrela, 76. Cork-tree, 74. Honey-locust, 96. Parasol, 72. Sumac, 91. White Magnolia, 65. Chinquapin, 160. Chionanthus, 126. Choke-cherry, 100. Cilician Silver Fir, 186. Cladrastis, 93. Clammy Locust, 94. Clerodendron, 129. Clethra, 117, 118. Club, Hercules', 109. Cockspur Thorn, 104. Coffee-tree, Kentucky, 95. Colchicum-leaved Maple, 87. Compositæ, 115. Coniferæ, 170. Cork-bark Maple, 87. Cork Elm, 134. Cork-tree, Chinese, 74. Cornaceæ, 110. Cornel, 111, 112. Cornelian Cherry, 111. Cornus, 110-112. Corsican Pine, 175. Corylus, 149. Cottonwood, 169. Cow-oak, 154. Crab-apple, 101. Crack-willow, 163. Cranberry-tree, 114. Crape-myrtle, 109. Cratægus, 103-106. Crisped-leaved Elm, 134. Cryptomeria, 198. Cucumber-tree, 63, 64. Cunninghamia, 191. Cupuliferæ, 144. Custard-apple Family, 68. Cut-leaved Birch, 146. Alder, 148. Cypress, Bald, 192. Lawson's, 196. Nootka Sound, 195. Southern, 192. Dahoon Holly, 77. Date-plum, 120. Deodar Cedar, 190. Devil-wood, 125. Diospyros, 119, 120. Dogwood, Flowering, 111. Poison, 90. Dotted-fruited Hawthorn, 106. Double Spruce, 179. Downy-leaved Poplar, 169. Dwarf Chestnut-oak, 155. Dwarf Mountain Sumac, 90. Ear-leaved Umbrella-tree, 64. Eastern Spruce, 181. Ebenaceæ, 119. Ebony Family, 119. Elæagnaceæ, 131. Elæagnus, 131, 132. Elder-leaved Mountain Ash, 102. Elder, Poison, 90. Elm, American, 135. Cork, 134. Crisped-leaved, 134. English, 134. Field, 134. Kiaka, 136. Red, 134. Rock, 134. Scotch, 134. Slippery, 134. Wahoo, 135. Weeping, 134. White, 135. White-margined, 134. Winged, 135. Witch, 134. English Elm, 134. Cherry, 99. Hawthorn, 104. Maple, 87. Oak, 158. Walnut, 141. Ericaceæ, 116. Euonymus, 78. Euphorbiaceæ, 132. Fagus, 160, 161. Fate-tree, 129. Field Elm, 134. Figwort Family, 127. Filbert, 149. Fir, Balsam, 183, 184. Cephalonian Silver, 185. Cilician Silver, 186. European Silver, 187. Fraser's Balsam, 184. Great Silver, 185. Japan Silver, 184. Noble Silver, 187. Nordmann's Silver, 184. Pinsapo, 186. Scotch, 177. Siberian Silver, 185. Silver, 184-187. Southern Balsam, 184. White, 186. Flowering Ash, 125. Dogwood, 111. Four-winged Silverbell Tree, 121. Fraser's Balsam-fir, 184. Fraxinus, 122-125. French Tamarisk, 69. Fringe-tree, 126. Garden Plum, 99. Red Cherry, 99. Garland Crab-apple, 101. Giant Arbor-vitæ, 194. Tree Lilac, 126. Ginkgo-tree, 201. Gleditschia, 95, 96. Goat-willow, 166. Golden-chain, 92. Golden Larch, 189. Gordonia, 70. Gray Birch, 145, 146. Pine, 178. Willow, 167. Great Laurel, 117. Great-leaved Magnolia, 64. Great Silver Fir, 185. Tree of California, 192. Green Ash, 123. Groundsel-tree, 115. Gum, Black, 112. Sour, 112, 113. Sweet, 108. Gymnocladus, 95. Gymnospermæ, 170. Hackberry, 136. Hackmatack, 188. Halesia, 121. Hamamelideæ, 107. Hamamelis, 107. Hatchet-leaved Arbor-vitæ, 194. Haw, Black, 114. Summer, 106. Yellow, 106. Hawthorn, Black, 106. Dotted-fruited, 106. English, 104. Pear, 106. Tall, 105. Hazel, 149. Hazelnut, 149. Heart-leaved Alder, 148. Willow, 165. Heath Family, 116. Heavy-wooded Pine, 174. Hemlock, Common, 182. Ground, 199. Japan, 182. Mountain, 182. Hercules'-Club, 109. Hibiscus, 71. Hickory, Big Shellbark, 142. Broom, 143. Shagbark, 142. Shellbark, 142. Swamp, 143. White-heart, 142. Himalayan Spruce, 181. Hoary Alder, 147. Holly, 77. Holly Family, 77. Honey-locust, 95, 96. Honeysuckle Family, 113. Hop-hornbeam, 150. Hop-tree, 74. Hornbeam, 151. Horse-chestnut, 81, 82. Horse-sugar, 122. Hovenia, 80. Idesia, 67. Ilex, 77, 78. Ilicineæ, 77. Imperial Paulownia, 127. Indian Bean, 128. Cedar, 190. Irish Juniper, 199. Iron-wood, 150. Japan Arbor-vitæ, 196. Cedar, 198. Hemlock, 182. Larch, 188. Lilac, 126. Magnolia, 65. Maple, 88. Persimmon, 120. Planer-tree, 136. Pine, 176. Podocarpus, 201. Silver Fir, 184. Storax, 120. Jersey Pine, 177. Judas-tree, 94. Juglandaccæ, 140. Juglans, 140, 141. Jujube, 80. Juniper, 198, 199. Juniperus, 198, 199. Kalmia, 116. Katsura-tree, 67. Kentucky Coffee-tree, 95. Kiaka Elm, 136. Kilmarnock Willow, 166. Kingnut, 142. Koelreuteria, 83. Laburnum, 92. Lagerstroemia, 109. Lambert's Pine, 172. Larch, American, 188. European, 188. Golden, 189. Japan, 188. Large-flowered Magnolia, 63. Large-leaved Maple, 86. Large-toothed Aspen, 168. Large Tupelo, 113. Larix, 187-189. Lauraceæ, 130. Laurel, 116, 117. Laurel Family, 130. Laurel-leaved Willow, 165. Laurel-oak, 158. Lawson's Cypress, 196. Lebanon Cedar, 189. Leguminosæ, 92. Lilac, 126. Linden, 72, 73. Linden Family, 72. Lindera, 131. Liquidambar, 108. Liriodendron, 66. Live-oak, 155. Loblolly Bay, 70. Pine, 174. Locust, Bristly, 94. Clammy, 94. Common, 93. Honey, 95, 96. Lombardy Poplar, 169. Long-leaved Pine, 174. Willow, 167. Long-racemed Buckeye, 83. Lonicera, 115. Loosestrife Family, 108. Lythraceæ, 108. Maclura, 137. Madeira Nut, 141. Magnolia, Chinese White, 65. Great-leaved, 64. Japan, 65. Large-flowered, 63. Purple Japan, 66. Southern Evergreen, 63. Swamp, 63. Thurber's Japan, 66. Magnoliaceæ, 62. Magnolia Family, 62. Mallow Family, 71. Malvaceæ, 71. Maple, Ash-leaved, 89. California, 86. Colchicum-leaved, 87. Cork-bark, 87. English, 87. Japan, 88. Large-leaved, 86. Mountain, 84. Norway, 87. Palmate-leaved, 88. Red, 85. Rock, 86. Round-leaved, 88. Silver, 85. Striped, 85. Sugar, 86. Sycamore, 86. Tartarian, 88. Vine, 88. White, 85. Masson's Pine, 175. Melia, 75. Meliaceæ, 75. Melia Family, 75. Mockernut, 142, 143. Morello Cherry, 99. Morus, 137, 138. Mossy-cup Oak, 153. Mountain Ash, 102, 103. Hemlock, 182. Laurel, 116. Maple, 84. Pine, 173, 177. Sumac, 90. Mount Atlas Cedar, 190. Mulberry, 138. Paper, 138. Myrtle, Crape, 109. Narrow-leaved Crab-apple, 101. Necklace-poplar, 169. Negundo, 88, 89. Noble Silver Fir, 187. Nootka Sound Cypress, 195. Nordmann's Silver Fir, 184. Northern Prickly Ash, 73. Scrub Pine, 178. Norway Maple, 87. Spruce, 180. Nut, Bitter, 143. Hickory, 142, 143. King, 142. Mocker, 142, 143. Pecan, 144. Pig, 143. Nut-pine, 178. Nyssa, 112, 113. Oak, American White, 153. Barren, 158. Bartram's, 152. Basket, 154. Bear Scrub, 157. Black, 156, 158. Black Scrub, 157. Box White, 153. Bur, 153. Chestnut, 154, 155. Cow, 154. English, 158. Laurel, 158. Live, 155. Mossy-cup, 153. Pin, 156. Post, 153, 154. Pyramidal, 159. Quercitron, 156. Red, 156. Rough, 153. Scarlet, 156. Scrub, 157. Shingle, 158. Spanish, 156, 157. Swamp, 154, 156. Turkey, 159. Water, 157. Weeping, 159. White, 153, 154. Willow, 158. Yellow, 155, 156. Oak Family, 144. Oak-leaved Alder, 148. Mountain-ash, 102. Ohio Buckeye, 82. Old-field Pine, 174. Oleaceæ, 122. Oleaster Family, 131. Olive Family, 122. Orange, Osage, 137. Oriental Plane, 139. Spruce, 181. Osage Orange, 137. Osmanthus, 125. Ostrya, 150. Oxydendrum, 116. Palmate-leaved Japan Maple, 88. Papaw, 68. Paper Birch, 145. Mulberry, 138. Parsley-leaved Thorn, 105. Paulownia, 127. Peach, 97. Pear Hawthorn, 106. Pear-tree, 101. Pea-tree, 92. Pecan-nut, 144. Pepperbush, 117, 118. Pepperidge, 112. Persea, 130. Persimmon, 119, 120. Phellodendron, 74. Picea, 179-181. Pignut, 143. Pine, Austrian, 175. Bhotan, 172. Black, 175. Cembra, 173. Chile, 190. Corsican, 175. Gray, 178. Heavy-wooded, 174. Japan, 176. Jersey, 177. Lambert's, 172. Loblolly, 174. Long-leaved, 174. Masson's, 175. Mountain, 173, 177. Nut, 178. Old-field, 174. Piñon, 178. Pitch, 174. Red, 176. Scotch, 177. Scrub, 177, 178. Stone, 173. Sugar, 172. Swiss Stone, 173. Table-Mountain, 177. Twisted-branched, 177. Umbrella, 191. Weymouth, 172. White, 172, 173. Yellow, 174,176. Pine Family, 170. Pin-oak, 156. Piñon Pine, 178. Pinsapo Fir, 186. Pitch-pine, 174. Pinus Austriaca, 175. Banksiana, 178. Cembra, 173. contorta, 177. densiflora, 176. edulis, 178. excelsa, 172. flexilis, 173. inops, 177. Lambertiana, 172. Laricio, 175. Massoniana, 175. mitis, 176. monophylla, 178. monticola, 173. palustris, 174. ponderosa, 174. pungens, 177. resinosa, 176. rigida, 174. strobus, 172. sylvestris, 177. Tæda, 174. Plane, Oriental, 139. Planera, 135, 136. Planer-tree, 136. Plane-tree Family, 139. Platanaceæ, 139. Platanus, 139. Plum, 98, 99. Plum, Date, 120. Podocarpus, 200, 201. Poison Dogwood, 90. Elder, 90. Sumac, 90. Pomegranate-tree, 108. Populus, 167-170. Poplar, Balsam, 170. Black, 170. Carolina, 169. Downy-leaved, 169. Lombardy, 169. Necklace, 169. White, 168. Post-oak, 153, 154. Prickly Ash, 73, 74. Pride of India, 75. Prunus, 97-100. Ptelea, 74. Pterostyrax, 121. Pulse Family, 92. Punica, 108. Purple Japan Magnolia, 66. Purple-leaved Birch, 146. Purple Willow, 165. Pyramidal Birch, 146. Oak, 159. Pyrus, 100-103. Quaking-asp, 168. Quassia Family, 76. Quercitron Oak, 156. Quercus alba, 153. aquatica, 157. bicolor, 154. Cerris, 159. coccinea, 156. falcata, 157. fastigiata, 159. heterophylla, 152. ilicifolia, 157. imbricaria, 158. lyrata, 154. macrocarpa, 153. Michauxii, 154. Muhlenbergii, 155. nigra, 158. palustris, 156. pedunculata, 159. pendula, 159. Phellos, 152, 158. prinoides, 155. Prinus, 154. Robur, 158. rubra, 152, 156. sessiliflora, 159. stellata, 153. tinctoria, 156. virens, 155. Quince-tree, 102. Rabbit-berry, 132. Red Ash, 123. Bay, 130. Birch, 147. Buckeye, 82. Cedar, 199. Cherry, 99. Elm, 134. Horse-chestnut, 82. Maple, 85. Mulberry, 138. Oak, 156. Pine, 176. Plum, 98. Redbud, 94. Red-leaved Alder, 148. Redwood, 193. Retinospora, 193, 196, 197. Rhamnaceæ, 79. Rhamnus, 79, 80. Rhododendron, 117. Rhus, 89-91. River Birch, 147. Robinia, 93, 94. Rock Elm, 134. Maple, 86. Rosaceæ, 97. Rose-acacia, 94. Rose Family, 97. Rough Oak, 153. Round-leaved Maple, 88. Rowan-tree, 103. Rue Family, 73. Rutaceæ, 73. Salicaceæ, 161. Salisburia, 201. Salix Alba, 164. amygdaloides, 163. angustata, 165. annularis, 164. Babylonica, 164. caprea, 166. cinerea, 167. cordata, 165. decipiens, 164. discolor, 166. falcata, 163. fragilis, 163. longifolia, 167. lucida, 164. myricoides, 165. nigra, 163. pentandra, 165. purpurea, 165. rigida, 165. rostrata, 166. rufescens, 165. Russelliana, 164 viridis, 164. vitellina, 164. Sapindaceæ, 81. Sapodilla Family, 118. Sapotaceæ, 118. Sassafras, 130, 131. Scarlet-fruited Thorn, 104. Scarlet Oak, 156. Sciadopitys, 191. Scotch Elm, 134. Fir, 177. Pine, 177. Scrophulariaceæ, 127. Scrub Oak, 157. Pine, 177, 178. Seaside Alder, 148. Sequoia, 192, 193. Service-berry, 107. Shad-bush, 107. Shagbark Hickory, 142. Sheep-berry, 114. Shellbark Hickory, 142. Shepherdia, 132. Shingle Oak, 158. Shining Willow, 164. Shrubby Trefoil, 74. Siberian Cornel, 111. Silver Fir, 185. Silk-tree, 96. Silverbell-tree, 121. Silver Cedar, 190. Fir, 184-187. Maple, 85. Spruce, 181. Silver-leaved Elæagnus, 132. Simarubaceæ, 76. Single Spruce, 179. Slippery Elm, 134. Sloe, 98. Smoke-tree, 91. Smooth Alder, 148. Sumac, 90. Soapberry Family, 81. Sorrel-tree, 116. Sour Gum, 112, 113. Sourwood, 116. Southern Cypress, 192. Spanish Oak, 156, 157. Speckled Alder, 147. Spice-bush, 131. Spindle-tree, 78. Spruce, Alcock's, 181. Black, 179. Double, 179. Eastern, 181. Himalayan, 181. Norway, 180. Oriental, 181. Silver, 181. Single, 179. Tiger's-tail, 180. White, 179. Spurge Family, 132. Stag-horn Sumac, 90. Sterculia, 71. Sterculiaceæ, 71. Stone-pine, 173. Storax, 120. Storax Family, 120. Striped Maple, 85. Stuartia, 69, 70. Styracaceæ, 120. Styrax, 120. Sugarberry, 136. Sugar Maple, 86. Pine, 172. Sumac, 90, 91. Summer Haw, 106. Swamp Hickory, 143. Magnolia, 63. Oak, 156. Post-oak, 154. White Oak, 154. Sweet Bay, 63. Birch, 146. Buckeye, 82. Gum, 108. Pepper-bush, 117, 118. Viburnum, 114. Sweetleaf, 122. Swiss Stone-pine, 173. Sycamore, American, 139. Sycamore-maple, 86. Symplocos, 122. Syringa, 126. Table-Mountain Pine, 177. Tacamahac, 170. Tamarack, 188. Tamariscineæ, 68. Tamarisk, 69. Tamarix, 69. Tartarian Honeysuckle, 115. Maple, 88. Taxodium, 192. Tea Family, 69. Ternstroemiaceæ, 69. Thorn, 104, 105. Thurber's Japan Magnolia, 66. Thuya, 193, 194. Thuyopsis, 193. Tiger's-tail Spruce, 180. Tilia, 72, 73. Tiliaceæ, 72. Toothache-tree, 73. Torreya, 200. Tree Hibiscus, 71. Tree of Heaven, 76. Trefoil, 74. Tsuga, 182. Tulip-tree, 66. Tupelo, 113. Turkey Oak, 159. Ulmus, 133-135. Umbrella-pine, 191. Umbrella-tree, 65. Urticaceæ, 133. Venetian Sumac, 91. Verbenaceæ, 129. Viburnum, 113, 114. Vine Maple, 88. Vitex, 129, 130. Wahoo, 78, 135. Walnut, 140, 141. Walnut Family, 140. Washington Thorn, 105. Water Ash, 124. Beech, 151. Locust, 96. Oak, 157. Weeping Ash, 125. Birch, 146. Elm, 134. Oak, 159. Willow, 164. White Ash, 123. Basswood, 73. Birch, 145, 146. Cedar, 194, 195. Elm, 134, 135. Fir, 186. Maple, 85. Mulberry, 138. Oak, 153, 154. Poplar, 168. Spruce, 179. Willow, 164. White-heart Hickory, 142. Whitewood, 72. Willow, American Bay, 164. Ash-colored, 167. Bay, 164, 165. Beaked, 166. Black, 163. Bog, 166. Brittle, 163. Crack, 163. Glaucous, 166. Goat, 166. Gray, 167. Heart-leaved, 165. Kilmarnock, 166. Willow, Laurel-leaved, 165. Long-leaved, 167. Purple, 165. Shining, 164. Weeping, 164. White, 164. Willow Family, 161. Willow-oak, 158. Winged Elm, 135. Witch-elm, 134. Witch-hazel, 107. Witch-hazel Family, 107. Xanthoxylum, 73. Yellow-barked Oak, 156. Yellow Birch, 146. Cucumber-tree, 64. Haw, 106. Plum, 98. Yellow-wood, 93. Yew, 199. Yulan, 65. Zizyphus, 80. 
33948	----	scanned images of public domain material from the Internet Archive. [Illustration: Book Cover] [Illustration: THE HOLLOW TREE AND DEEP WOODS PEOPLE Mr. Crow, Mr. Turtle, Mr. 'Coon, Mr. 'Possum, Mr. Robin, Mr. Squirrel, Mr. Dog, Mr. Rabbit THEN MR. DOG SAID: "I KNOW ALL ABOUT MENAGERIES, FOR I HAVE BEEN TO ONE"] THE HOLLOW TREE SNOWED-IN BOOK * * * * * BEING A CONTINUATION OF THE STORIES ABOUT THE HOLLOW TREE AND DEEP WOODS PEOPLE BY ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE AUTHOR OF "THE HOLLOW TREE AND DEEP WOODS BOOK" WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. M. CONDÉ [Illustration] * * * * * NEW YORK AND LONDON HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS MCMX BOOKS BY ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE THE HOLLOW TREE SNOWED-IN BOOK. Crown 8vo $1.50 THE SHIP-DWELLERS. Illustrated. 8vo 1.50 THE TENT-DWELLERS. Illustrated. Post 8vo 1.50 THE HOLLOW TREE AND DEEP WOODS BOOK. Illustrated. Post 8vo 1.50 FROM VAN-DWELLER TO COMMUTER. Ill'd. Post 8vo 1.50 LIFE OF THOMAS NAST. Ill'd. 8vo _net_ 5.00 * * * * * HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, N. Y. Copyright, 1910, by HARPER & BROTHERS TO ALL DWELLERS IN THE BIG DEEP WOODS OF DREAM [Illustration: MAP OF THE HOLLOW TREE AND DEEP WOODS COUNTRY] EXPLANATION OF MAP The top of the map is South. This is always so with the Hollow Tree People. The cross on the shelf below the edge of the world (where the ladder is) is where Mr. Dog landed, and the ladder is the one brought by Mr. Man for him to climb back on. The tree that Mr. Man cut down shows too. The spot on the edge of the world is where the Hollow Tree People sometimes sit and hang their feet over, and talk. A good many paths show, but not all by a good deal. The bridge and plank near Mr. Turtle's house lead to the Wide Grass Lands and Big West Hills. The spots along the Foot Race show where Grandpaw Hare stopped, and the one across the fence shows where Mr. Turtle landed. Most of the other things tell what they are, and all the things are a good deal farther apart than they look. Of course there was not room on the map for everything. TO FRIENDS OLD AND NEW I wonder if you have ever heard a story which begins like this: "Once upon a time, in the far depths of the Big Deep Woods, there was a Big Hollow Tree with three hollow branches. In one of these there lived a 'Coon, in another a 'Possum, and in the third a Big Black Crow." That was the way the first story began in a book which told about the Hollow Tree People and their friends of the Big Deep Woods who used to visit them, and how they all used to sit around the table, or by the fire, in the parlor-room down-stairs, where they kept most of their things, and ate and talked and had good times together, just like folk.[1] And the stories were told to the Little Lady by the Story Teller, and there were pictures made for them by the Artist, and it was all a long time ago--so long ago that the Little Lady has grown to be almost a big lady now, able to read stories for herself, and to write them, too, sometimes. But the Story Teller and the Artist did not grow any older. The years do not make any difference to them. Like the Hollow Tree People they remain always the same, for though to see them you might think by their faces and the silver glint in their hair that they are older, it would not be so, because these things are only a kind of enchantment, made to deceive, when all the time they are really with the Hollow Tree People in the Big Deep Woods, where years and enchantments do not count. It was only Mr. Dog, because he lived too much with Mr. Man, who grew old and went away to that Far Land of Evening which lies beyond the sunset, taking so many of the Hollow Tree stories with him. We thought these stories were lost for good when Mr. Dog left us, but that was not true, for there came another Mr. Dog--a nephew of our old friend--and he grew up brave and handsome, and learned the ways of the Hollow Tree People, and their stories, and all the old tales which the first Mr. Dog did not tell. And now, too, there is another Little Lady--almost exactly like the first Little Lady--and it may be that it is this Little Lady, after all, who keeps the Artist and the Story Teller young, for when she thought they might be growing older, and forgetting, she went with them away from the House of Many Windows, in the city, to the House of Low Ceilings and Wide Fireplaces--a queer old house like Mr. Rabbit's--built within the very borders of the Big Deep Woods, where they could be always close to Mr. 'Coon and Mr. 'Possum and the Old Black Crow, and all the others, and so learn all the new tales of the Hollow Tree. FOOTNOTES: [1] _The Hollow Tree and Deep Woods Book_, by the same author and artist. CONTENTS PAGE TO FRIENDS OLD AND NEW 7 THE FIRST SNOWED-IN STORY 15 MR. DOG AT THE CIRCUS 21 THE SECOND SNOWED-IN STORY 39 THE WIDOW CROW'S BOARDING-HOUSE 57 THE FINDING OF THE HOLLOW TREE 71 THE THIRD SNOWED-IN STORY 87 THE FOURTH SNOWED-IN STORY 103 THE "SNOWED-IN" LITERARY CLUB 119 THE "SNOWED-IN" LITERARY CLUB--PART II 143 THE DISCONTENTED FOX 155 MR. 'POSSUM'S GREAT STORY 173 THE BARK OF OLD HUNGRY-WOLF 191 AN EARLY SPRING CALL ON MR. BEAR 219 MR. CROW'S GARDEN 239 WHEN JACK RABBIT WAS A LITTLE BOY 261 A HOLLOW TREE PICNIC 273 ILLUSTRATIONS THE HOLLOW TREE AND DEEP WOODS PEOPLE _Frontispiece_ MAP OF THE HOLLOW TREE AND DEEP WOODS COUNTRY 4 GATHERING NICE PIECES OF WOOD 17 THE PANTRY IN THE HOLLOW TREE 24 "SLIPPED IN BEHIND HIM WHEN HE WENT INTO THE TENT" 29 "HE LOOKED SMILING AND GOOD-NATURED, AND I WENT OVER TO ASK HIM SOME QUESTIONS" 31 "GAVE ME AN EXTRA BIG SWING AND CRACK" 35 ALL AT ONCE HE HEARD A FIERCE BARK CLOSE BEHIND HIM 43 THEN I SUDDENLY FELT LIKE A SHOOTING-STAR 47 "THEN MR. DOG SAID, 'TELL ME ANOTHER'" 49 "AND DID ROLL OFF THE EDGE OF THE WORLD, SURE ENOUGH" 53 "I SET OUT FOR HOME WITHOUT WAITING TO SAY GOOD-BYE" 55 CAME CLATTERING DOWN RIGHT IN FRONT OF MR. DOG 61 SO THEN MR. DOG TRIED TO GET MR. 'POSSUM ON HIS SHOULDER 64 HE WAS AN OLD BACHELOR AND LIKED TO HAVE HIS OWN WAY 67 THEY SAW MR. CROW OUT IN THE YARD CUTTING WOOD FOR HIS MOTHER-IN-LAW 69 HAD TO STAY AT HOME AND PEEL POTATOES 75 LISTENED NOW AND THEN AT WIDOW CROW'S DOOR TO BE SURE SHE WAS ASLEEP 79 MR. 'POSSUM SAID HE'D JUST GET ON AND HOLD THE THINGS 81 MR. 'POSSUM AND MR. 'COON TRIED TO PUT UP THE STOVE 83 MR. FOX SAID HE DIDN'T HAVE MUCH TO DO FOR A FEW MINUTES AND HE'D ACT AS JUDGE 93 SAILING ALONG, JUST TOUCHING THE HIGHEST POINTS 97 AWAY WENT MR. TORTOISE, CLEAR OVER THE TOP RAIL 99 SET OUT FOR HOME BY A BACK WAY 101 TRIED TO SPLICE HIS PROPERTY BACK IN PLACE 107 GRANDFATHER WOULD LIGHT HIS PIPE AND THINK IT OVER 109 SET UP HIS EARS AND WENT BY, LICKETY-SPLIT 111 "'GLAD TO SEE YOU,' SAID KING LION; 'I WAS JUST THINKING ABOUT HAVING A NICE RABBIT FOR BREAKFAST" 113 GOT AROUND THE TABLE AND BEGAN TO WORK 125 MR. 'POSSUM WANTED TO KNOW WHAT MR. RABBIT MEANT BY SPINNING THEIR TAILS 129 MR. DOG SAID HE HAD MADE A FEW SKETCHES 133 MR. 'POSSUM SAID IT MIGHT BE A GOOD ENOUGH STORY, BUT IT COULDN'T BE TRUE 137 SO THEN MR. RABBIT SAID THEY MUST CHOOSE WHO WOULD BE "IT" 147 MR. 'POSSUM HAD TO PUT ON THE HANDKERCHIEF AND DO MORE EXERCISING THAN ANY OF THEM 149 WOULD FIND IT ON THE MANTEL-SHELF OR PERHAPS ON MR. CROW'S BALD HEAD 152 MR. 'POSSUM SAID HE HADN'T MEANT ANYTHING AT ALL BY WHAT HE HAD SAID ABOUT THE STORY 162 AND SO THIS CAT GREW RICH AND FAT 164 HIS CLERKS 167 A SOLEMN LOOK WAS IN HIS FACE 168 QUOTH HE; "MY PRIDE IS SATISFIED; THIS KINGDOM BUSINESS DOES NOT PAY" 171 AUNT MELISSY HAD ARRANGED A BUNDLE FOR UNCLE SILAS, AND SHE HAD FIXED UP THE HIRED MAN TOO 179 DIDN'T LOOK AS IF SHE BELONGED TO THE REST OF OUR CROWD 181 THE BALLOON WENT OVER THE WIDE BLUE WATER JUST AFTER IT GOT OUR FAMILY 184 MR. TURTLE SAID THAT WHAT MR. 'POSSUM HAD TOLD THEM WAS TRUE 189 ONE DAY MR. CROW FOUND HE WAS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE BARREL OF EVERYTHING 195 THEN MR. COON SLAMMED HIS DOOR 199 MR. 'POSSUM SAID NOT TO MOVE, THAT HE WOULD GO AFTER A PIECE OF WOOD 201 HE WOULD SMOKE IN THE SUN WHEN THE MORNINGS WERE FAIR 203 WITH A LOOK AND A SIGH THEY WOULD STAND AND BEHOLD 204 THE TASTIEST PASTRY THAT EVER WAS KNOWN 205 THEN TO STIR AND TO BAKE HE BEGAN RIGHT AWAY 206 THE GREEDY OLD RAVEN, BUT GREEDY NO MORE 208 LOOKED STRAIGHT AT MR. 'POSSUM AND SAID, "WHAT WAS THAT YOU WERE CHEWING JUST NOW?" 211 THEY WENT ALONG, SAYING WHAT A NICE MAN THEY THOUGHT MR. BEAR WAS 224 MR. BEAR MUST HAVE BEEN VERY TIRED AND GONE TO SLEEP RIGHT WHERE HE WAS 226 MR. 'COON SCRATCHED HIS BACK AGAINST A LITTLE BUSH 234 MR. RABBIT THANKED HIM FROM ACROSS THE RIVER 237 ONE SAID IT WAS ONE WAY AND THE OTHER THE OTHER WAY 247 MR. CROW DECIDED TO THIN OUT A FEW OF JACK RABBIT'S THINGS 251 MR. CROW WAS ALMOST AFRAID TO BRING ON THE SALAD 255 JACK RABBIT CAPERED AND LAUGHED ALL THE WAY HOME 259 TOOK HER PARASOL AND HER RETICULE AND A CAN OF BERRIES, AND STARTED 265 AND HE MADE SOME STRIPES, TOO--MOSTLY ON TOP OF THE STOVE 267 LITTLE JACK KNEW PERFECTLY WELL THAT SHE WASN'T AT ALL PLEASED 269 PROMISED NEVER TO DISOBEY HIS MOTHER AGAIN 271 AND HE TASTED OF THAT A LITTLE, TOO 278 MR. 'POSSUM LEANED HIS BACK AGAINST A TREE AND READ HIMSELF TO SLEEP 280 SO MR. 'POSSUM PROMISED, AND MR. 'COON UNTIED HIM 282 "AND WHAT DO YOU THINK THEY SAW?" 284 THE FIRST SNOWED-IN STORY [Illustration: GATHERING NICE PIECES OF WOOD] THE FIRST SNOWED-IN STORY IN WHICH THE READER LEARNS TO KNOW THE HOLLOW TREE PEOPLE AND THEIR FRIENDS, AND THE LITTLE LADY, AND THE STORY TELLER Now this is the beginning of the Hollow Tree stories which the Story Teller told the Little Lady in the queer old house which stands in the very borders of the Big Deep Woods itself. They were told in the Room of the Lowest Ceiling and the Widest Fire--a ceiling so low that when the Story Teller stands upright it brushes his hair as he walks, and a fire so deep that pieces of large trees do not need to be split but can be put on whole. In the old days, several great-grandfathers back, as the Hollow Tree People might say, these heavy sticks were drawn in by a horse that came right through the door and dragged the wood to the wide stone hearth. It is at the end of New-Year's Day, and the Little Lady has been enjoying her holidays, for Santa Claus found his way down the big stone chimney and left a number of things she wanted. Now, when the night is coming down outside, and when inside there is a heap of blazing logs and a rocking-chair, it is time for the Story Teller. The Story Teller generally smokes and looks into the fire when he tells a Hollow Tree story, because the Hollow Tree People always smoke and look into the fire when _they_ tell _their_ stories, and the Little Lady likes everything to be "just the same," and the stories must be always told just the same, too. If they are not, she stops the Story Teller and sets him right. So while the Little Woman passes to and fro, putting away the tea-things, the Story Teller lights his pipe, and rocks, and looks into the fire, and holds the Little Lady close, and begins the Tales of the Hollow Tree. "Once upon a time," he begins-- "Once upon a time," murmurs the Little Lady, settling herself. "Yes, once upon a time, in the old days of the Hollow Tree, when Mr. Dog had become friends with the 'Coon and the 'Possum and the Old Black Crow who lived in the three hollow branches of the Big Hollow Tree, and used to meet together in their parlor-room down-stairs and invite all their friends, and have good times together, just like folk--" "But they live there now, don't they?" interrupts the Little Lady, suddenly sitting up, "and still have their friends, just the same?" "Oh yes, of course, but this was one of the old times, you know." The Little Lady settles back, satisfied. "Go on telling, now," she says. "Well, then, this was one of the times when all the Deep Woods People had been invited to the Hollow Tree for Christmas Day, and were snowed in. Of course they didn't expect to be snowed in. Nobody ever expects to be snowed in till it happens, and then it's too late." "Was that the Christmas that Mr. Dog played Santa Claus and brought all the presents, and Mr. Squirrel and Mr. Robin and Mr. Turtle and Jack Rabbit came over, and they all sat around the fire and ate things and told nice stories? You said you would tell about that, and you never did." "I am going to tell it now, as soon as a Little Lady gets real still," says the Story Teller. So then the Little Lady _is_ real still, and he tells the first snowed-in story, which is called: MR. DOG AT THE CIRCUS MR. DOG AT THE CIRCUS THE HOLLOW TREE PEOPLE LEARN SOMETHING VERY IMPORTANT ABOUT SHOWS [Illustration: THE PANTRY IN THE HOLLOW TREE] That was a great Christmas in the Hollow Tree. The 'Coon and the 'Possum and the Old Black Crow had been getting ready for it for a long time, and brought in ever so many nice things to eat, which Mr. Crow had cooked for them, for Mr. Crow is the best cook of anybody in the Big Deep Woods. Then Mr. Dog had brought a lot of good things, too, which he had borrowed from Mr. Man's house, so they had the finest Christmas dinner that you can think of, and plenty for the next day when it would be even better, because chicken and turkey and dressing and such things are always better the next day, and even the _third_ day, with gravy, than they are when they are first cooked. Then, when they were all through and were standing around, smoking their new pipes and looking at each other's new neckties and other Christmas things, Mr. Crow said that he and Mr. Squirrel would clear off the table if the others would get in some wood and stir up the fire and set the room to rights, so they could gather round and be comfortable by-and-by; and then, he said, it might snow as much as it liked as long as they had plenty of wood and things to eat inside. So then they all skurried around getting on their things to go out after wood--all except Mr. Crow and Mr. Squirrel, who set about clearing off the table and doing up the dishes. And pretty soon Mr. Dog and Mr. Coon and the rest were hopping about where the snow was falling so soft and silent among the big, leafless trees, gathering nice pieces of wood and brushing the snow off of them and piling them into the first down-stairs of the Hollow Tree, which the 'Coon and 'Possum and Old Black Crow use for their wood-house and general store-room. It was great fun, and they didn't feel the least bit cold after their warm dinner and with all that brisk exercise. Mr. Robin didn't help carry the wood in. He was hardly strong enough for that, but he hopped about and looked for good pieces, and when he found one he would call to Mr. 'Coon or Mr. 'Possum, or maybe to one of the others, to throw it on his shoulder and carry it in, and then he would tell whoever it happened to be how strong he was and how fine he looked with that great chunk on his shoulder, and would say that he didn't suppose there was another 'Coon, or 'Possum, or Turtle, or Rabbit, or Dog that could begin to stand up straight under such a chunk as that anywhere outside of a menagerie. Mr. Robin likes to say pleasant things to his friends, and is always popular. And each one tried to carry the biggest load of wood to show how strong he was, and pretty soon they had the lower room of the Hollow Tree piled up high with the finest chunks and kindling pieces to be found anywhere. Then they all hurried up-stairs, stamping the snow off their feet, and gathered around the nice warm fire in the big parlor which was just below the three big hollow branches where the 'Coon and 'Possum and the Old Black Crow had their rooms. Mr. Crow and Mr. Squirrel were through with the table by this time, and all hands lit their pipes, and looked into the fire, and smoked, and rested, and thought a little before they began talking--thinking, of course, of what a good time they were having, and how comfortable and nice it was to be inside and warm when such a big snow was falling outside. Mr. 'Possum was the first one to say anything. He said he had been thinking of what Mr. Robin had said about them being outside of a menagerie, and that, come to think about it, he believed he didn't know what a menagerie was, unless it was a new name for a big dinner, as that was the only thing he could think of now that they were outside of, and he said if that was so, and if he could get outside of two menageries, he thought he could carry in a bigger chunk than any two chunks there were down-stairs. Then all the others laughed a good deal, and Mr. 'Coon said he had thought that perhaps a menagerie was something to wear that would make anybody who had it on very strong, and able to stand up under a big load, and to eat as much as Mr. 'Possum could, or even more. But Mr. Robin said that it didn't mean either of those things. He said he didn't really know what it did mean himself, but that it must be some kind of a place that had a great many large creatures in it, for he had heard his grandmother quite often call his grandfather the biggest goose outside of a menagerie, though, being very young then, Mr. Robin couldn't remember just what she had meant by it. Mr. Rabbit said he thought that the word "menagerie" sounded like some kind of a picnic, with swings and nice lively games, and Mr. Crow said that once when he was flying he passed over a place where there was a big sign that said Menagerie on it, and that there were some tents and a crowd of people and a great noise, but that he hadn't seen anything that he could carry off without being noticed, so he didn't stop. Mr. Squirrel thought that from what Mr. Crow said it must be a place where there would be a lot of fine things to see, and Mr. Turtle said that he was a good deal over three hundred years old and had often heard of a menagerie, but that he had never seen one. He said he had always supposed that it was a nice pond of clear water, with a lot of happy turtles and fish and wild geese and duck and such things in it, and maybe some animals around it, all living happily together, and taken care of by Mr. Man, who brought them a great many good things to eat. He had always thought he would like to live in a menagerie, he said, but that nobody had ever invited him, and he had never happened to come across one in his travels. Mr. Dog hadn't been saying anything all this time, but he knocked the ashes out of his pipe now, and filled it up fresh and lit it, and cleared his throat, and began to talk. It made him smile, he said, to hear the different ways people thought of a thing they had never seen. He said that Mr. Turtle was the only one who came anywhere near to what a menagerie really was, though of course Mr. Crow _had_ seen one on the outside. Then Mr. Dog said: [Illustration: "SLIPPED IN BEHIND HIM WHEN HE WENT INTO THE TENT"] "I know all about menageries, on the outside and the inside too, for I have been to one. I went once with Mr. Man, though I wasn't really invited to go. In fact, Mr. Man invited me to stay at home, and tried to slip off from me; but I watched which way he went, and took long roundin's on him, and slipped in behind him when he went into the tent. He didn't know for a while that I was there, and I wasn't there so very long. But it was plenty long enough--a good deal longer than I'd ever stay again, unless I was tied. "I never saw so many wild, fierce-looking creatures in my life as there were in that menagerie, and they were just as wild and fierce as they looked. They had a lot of cages full of them and they had some outside of cages, though I don't know why they should leave any of those dangerous animals around where they could damage folks that happened to come in reach, as I did. Those animals outside didn't look as wild and fierce as those in the cages, but they were. "I kept in the crowd, close behind Mr. Man at first, and nobody knew I was there, but by-and-by he climbed up into a seat to watch some people all dressed up in fancy clothes ride around a ring on horses, which I didn't care much about, so I slipped away, and went over to where there were some things that I wanted to take my time to see quietly." [Illustration: HE LOOKED SMILING AND GOOD-NATURED, AND I WENT OVER TO ASK HIM SOME QUESTIONS] "There was an animal about my size and style tied over in one corner of the tent, behind a rope, with a sign in front of him which said, 'The Only Tame Hyena in the World.' He looked smiling and good-natured, and I went over to ask him some questions. "But that sign wasn't true. He wasn't the least bit tame, and I'm sure now that he wasn't smiling. He grabbed me before I had a chance to say a word, and when I jerked loose, which I did right away, for I didn't want to stir up any fuss there, I left quite a piece of my ear with the tame hyena, and tripped backward over the rope and rolled right in front of a creature called an elephant, about as big as a house and not as useful. "I suppose they thought _he_ was tame, too, but he must have been tamed by the same man, for he grabbed me with a kind of a tail that grew on the end of his nose--a thing a good deal like Mr. 'Possum's tail, only about a million times as big--and I could hear my ribs crack as he waved me up and down. "Of course, as I say, I didn't want to stir up any fuss, but I couldn't keep still under such treatment as that, and I called right out to Mr. Man, where he sat looking at the fancy people riding, and told him that I had had enough of the show, and if he wanted to take any of me home, he ought not to wait very long, but come over that way and see if he couldn't get the tame elephant to practise that performance on the hyena or the next dog, because I had had plenty, and was willing to go home just as I was, all in one piece, even if not very lively. "Mr. Man _came_, too, and so did a lot of the others. They seemed to think that I was more to look at than those riding people; and some of them laughed, though what there was happening that was funny I have never been able to guess to this day. I kept right on telling Mr. Man what I wanted him to do, and mebbe I made a good deal of noise about it, for it seemed to stir up those other animals. There was a cage full of lions that started the most awful roaring you can think of, and a cage of crazy-looking things they called monkeys that screeched and howled and swung back and forth in rings and held on to the bars, and all the other things joined in, until I couldn't tell whether I was still saying anything or not. I suppose they were all jealous of the elephant because of the fun he was having, and howling to be let out so they could get hold of me too. "Well, you never heard of such a time. It nearly broke up the show. Everybody ran over to look, and even the riding people stopped their horses to enjoy it, too. If it only hadn't been so dangerous and unpleasant I should have been proud of the way they came to see me perform. "But Mr. Man didn't seem to like it much. I heard him tell somebody, as loud as he could, that I would be killed, and that I was the best dog he ever had, and that if I _was_ killed he'd sue the show." [Illustration: "GAVE ME AN EXTRA SWING AND CRACK"] "That made me proud, too, but I wished he wouldn't wait to sue the show, but would do something right away, and just then a man with a fancy dress on and a stick with a sharp iron hook on it came running up and said something I didn't understand and hit the elephant with the hook end of the stick, and he gave me an extra big swing and crack and flung me half-way across the tent, where I landed on a bunch of hay right in front of a long-necked thing called a camel--another terrible tame creature, I suppose--who had me about half eaten up with his old long under lip, before Mr. Man could get over there. "When Mr. Man did get hold of me, he said that I'd better take what was left of me home, for they were going to feed the animals pretty soon, and that I would likely get mixed up with the bill of fare. "After that he took me to the entrance and pushed me outside, and I heard all those fierce creatures in the cages growl and roar louder than ever, as if they had expected to sample me and were sorry to see me go. "That's what a menagerie is--it's a place where they have all the kinds of animals and things in the world, for show, and a good many birds, and maybe turtles, too, but they don't have any fine clear pond. They have just a big tent, like the one Mr. Crow saw, and a lot of cages inside. They keep most of the animals in cages, and they ought to keep them all there, and I don't think they feed them very much, nor the best things, or they wouldn't look so fierce and hungry. "They just keep them for Mr. Man and his friends to look at and talk about, and if Mr. Turtle will take my advice he will keep out of a menagerie and live in the Wide Blue Water where he was born. I wouldn't have gone there again unless I had been tied and dragged there, or unless they had put those tame animals into cages with the others. No doubt there are some very fine, strong animals in a menagerie, but they wouldn't be there if they could help it, and if anybody ever invites any of you to join a menagerie, take my advice and don't do it." Then Mr. Dog knocked the ashes out of his pipe again, and all the other Deep Woods People knocked the ashes out of _their_ pipes, too, and filled them up fresh, and one said one thing, and one said another about being in a menagerie or out of it, and every one thought it would be a terrible thing to be shut up in a cage, except Mr. 'Possum, who said he wouldn't mind it if they would let him sleep enough and give him all he could eat, but that a cage without those things would be a lonesome place. Then Mr. 'Coon said that a little adventure had happened to him once which he had never mentioned before, because he had never known just what to make of it; but he knew now, he said, that he had come very near getting into a menagerie, and he would tell them just what happened. The Story Teller looked down at the quiet figure in his lap. The Little Lady's head was nestled close to his shoulder, and her eyes were straining very hard to keep open. "I think we will save Mr. 'Coon's story till another night," he said. THE SECOND SNOWED-IN STORY THE SECOND SNOWED-IN STORY MR. 'COON TELLS HOW HE CAME NEAR BEING A PART OF A MENAGERIE, AND HOW HE ONCE TOLD A STORY TO MR. DOG "You can tell about Mr. 'Coon, now--the story you didn't tell last night, you know," and the Little Lady wriggles herself into a comfortable corner just below the Story Teller's smoke, and looks deep into a great cavern of glowing embers between the big old andirons, where, in her fancy, she can picture the Hollow Tree people and their friends. "Why, yes, let me see--" says the Story Teller. "Mr. Dog had just told about being at the menagerie, you know, and Mr. 'Coon was just going to tell how he came very near getting into a menagerie himself." "Oh yes, of course--well, then, all the Hollow Tree people, the 'Coon and 'Possum and the Old Black Crow, and their friends who were visiting them--Mr. Dog and Mr. Robin and Jack Rabbit and Mr. Turtle and Mr. Squirrel--knocked the ashes out of their pipes and filled them up fresh--" "No, they had just done that." "That's so, I forgot. Well, anyway, as soon as they got to smoking and settled back around the fire again Mr. 'Coon told them his story, and I guess we'll call it "MR. 'COON'S EARLY ADVENTURE" [Illustration: ALL AT ONCE HE HEARD A FIERCE BARK CLOSE BEHIND HIM] Mr. 'Coon said he was quite young when it happened, and was taking a pleasant walk one evening, to think over things a little, and perhaps to pick out a handy tree where Mr. Man's chickens roosted, when all at once he heard a fierce bark close behind him, and he barely had time to get up a tree himself when a strange and very noisy Mr. Dog was leaping about at the foot of the tree, making a great fuss, and calling every moment for Mr. Man to hurry, for he had a young 'coon treed. "Of course I laid pretty low when I heard that," Mr. 'Coon said, "for I knew that Mr. Man would most likely have a gun, so I got into a bunch of leaves and brush that must have been some kind of an old nest and scrooched down so that none of me would show. "Then by-and-by I heard some big creature come running through the brush, and I peeked over a little, and there, sure enough, was Mr. Man with a long gun, and I noticed that he wore a thing on his head--a sort of hat, I suppose--made of what looked to be the skin of some relative of mine. "Of course that made me mad. I hadn't cared so much until I saw that; but I said right then to myself that any one who would do such a thing as that never could be a friend of mine, no matter how much he tried. So I scrooched down and laid low in that old nest, and didn't move or let on in any way that I was there. "Then I heard Mr. Man walking around the tree and talking to his dog and telling him that there wasn't anything up in that tree at all, and that Mr. Dog had just been fooling him. I could tell by his voice that he was getting mad at Mr. Dog, and I hoped that he'd get mad enough pretty soon to take a stick to him for chasing me up a tree like that, and then calling for Mr. Man to come and see me when there wasn't really anything to look at. "But Mr. Dog kept galloping around the tree and barking out, over and over, that I was there; that he had seen me, and that he knew that I was hiding up there somewhere; and pretty soon I heard Mr. Man going away, and I peeked over again. "Sure enough, he was going, but Mr. Dog was staying right there, sitting under the tree and looking up and making a good deal more noise than there was any need of to let me know he hadn't gone. I didn't see why he stayed there. I wished he'd go away and tend to his own business. "Being quite young, I still lived with my folks over near the Wide Grass Lands, and I wanted to get home for supper. It was a good way to go, for the tree I had climbed was over close to the edge of the world where the sun and moon rise, and you all know that's a good way, even from here. "Well, he didn't go, but just sat there, barking up that tree, and after a long time I heard somebody coming again, and I peeked over and there was Mr. Man, hurrying back, this time with an axe. I knew, right then, there was going to be trouble. I knew they were going to cut that tree down, and that I should most likely have quite a fuss with Mr. Dog, and perhaps go home with a black eye and a scratched nose, and then get whipped again for fighting, after I got there." Mr. 'Coon stopped and knocked the ashes out of his pipe and filled it up fresh, and all the others knocked the ashes out of their pipes and filled them up fresh, too. Then Mr. 'Possum poked up the fire and told Mr. Turtle to bring a stick of wood from down-stairs, and when it was blazing up high and bright again they all stepped over to the window a minute, to see how hard it was snowing and banking up outside, then went back to their chairs around the fire, and stretched out their feet and leaned back and smoked, and listened to the rest of Mr. 'Coon's story. Mr. Coon said he didn't like the sound of that axe when Mr. Man began to cut the tree down. "Every time he struck the tree I could feel it all through me," he said, "and I knew if he kept that noise up long enough it would give me a nervous headache. I wished the tree would hurry up and drop, so we could have what muss we were going to, and get it over with. I'd have got out of that old nest and made a jump for another tree if there had been any near enough, but there wasn't, so I just laid low and gritted my teeth and let him chop. [Illustration: THEN I SUDDENLY FELT LIKE A SHOOTING-STAR] "Well, by-and-by that tree began to go down. It seemed to teeter a little at first, this way and that; then it went very slow in one direction; then it went a little faster; then it went a good deal faster; then I suddenly felt like a shooting-star, I came down so fast, and there was a big crash, and I thought I had turned into a lot of stars, sure enough, and was shooting in every direction, and the next I knew I was tied to a tree, hand and foot and around the middle, and Mr. Man and Mr. Dog were sitting and looking at me, and grinning, and talking about what they were going to do. "Mr. Man wasn't scolding Mr. Dog any more. He was telling him what a good thing it was they had caught me alive, for now they could sell me to a show and get a great deal more for me than they could for my skin. I didn't know what a show was, then, or that a show is a menagerie, but I know now, and I can see just what they meant. "Pretty soon Mr. Man told Mr. Dog to stay there and watch me while he went home after a box to put me in. He said he didn't think it would be safe to carry me in his arms, and he was right about that. "So then Mr. Man walked off, and left Mr. Dog guarding me, and saying unpleasant things to me now and then. "At first I wouldn't answer him; but pretty soon I happened to think of something pleasant to say: "'Mr. Dog,' I said, 'I know a good story, if you'd like me to tell it. Mr. Man may be a good while getting that box, and mebbe you'd like to hear something to pass the time.' "Mr. Dog said he would. He said that Mr. Man would most likely have to make the box, and he didn't suppose he knew where the hammer and nails were, and it might be dark before Mr. Man got back. [Illustration: "THEN MR. DOG SAID, 'TELL ME ANOTHER'"] "I felt a good deal better when I heard Mr. Dog say that, and I told him a story I knew about how Mr. Rabbit lost his tail, and Mr. Dog laughed and seemed to like it, and said, 'Tell me another.'" Before Mr. 'Coon could go on with his story, Mr. Rabbit said that of course if that old tale had helped Mr. 'Coon out of trouble he was very glad, but that it wasn't at all true, and that some time _he_ would tell them himself the true story of how it happened. Then they all said that they hoped he would, for they'd always wanted to hear that story told right, and then Mr. 'Coon went on with his adventure. Mr. Coon said that when Mr. Dog said, 'Tell me another,' he knew he was in a good-humor, and that he felt better and better himself. "I thought if Mr. Man didn't come back too soon," he said, "I might get along pretty well with Mr. Dog. "'I know another story, Mr. Dog,' I said--'the funniest story there is. It would make you laugh until you fell over the edge of the world, but I can't tell it here.' "'Why,' he said,--'why can't you tell it here as well as anywhere?' "'Because it has to be acted,' I said, 'and my hands are tied.' "'Will you tell it if I untie your hands?' said Mr. Dog. "'Well,' I said, 'I'll begin it, and you can see how it goes.' "So Mr. Dog came over and untied my hands, for he said he could tie them again before Mr. Man came back, because he knew Mr. Man hadn't found that hammer yet. "'You can't get loose with just your hands untied, can you?' he said. "'No, of course not, Mr. Dog,' I said, pleasant and polite as could be. "'Let's see you try,' said Mr. Dog. "So I twisted and pulled, and of course I couldn't get loose. "'Now tell the story,' said Mr. Dog. "So I said: 'Once there was a man who had a very bad pain in his chest, and he took all kinds of medicine, and it didn't do him any good. And one day the Old Wise Man of the Woods told him if he would rub his chest with one hand and pat his head with the other, it might draw the pain out the top and cure him. So the man with the pain in his chest tried it, and he did it this way.' "Then I showed Mr. Dog just how he did it, and Mr. Dog thought that was funny, and laughed a good deal. "'Go on and tell the rest of it,' he said. 'What happened after that?' "But I let on as if I'd just remembered something, and I said, 'Oh, Mr. Dog, I'm _so_ sorry, but I can't tell the rest of that story here, and it's the funniest part, too. I know you'd laugh till you rolled over the edge of the world.' "'Why can't you tell the rest of that story here as well as anywhere?' said Mr. Dog, looking anxious. "'Because it has to be acted with the feet,' I said, 'and my feet are tied.' "'Will you tell it if I untie your feet?' said Mr. Dog. "'Well, I'll do the best I can,' I said. "So Mr. Dog came over and untied my feet. He said he knew that Mr. Man hadn't found the nails or the pieces to make the box yet, and there would be plenty of time to tie me again before Mr. Man got back. "'You can't get loose, anyway, with just your hands and feet untied, can you?' he said. "'No, of course not, Mr. Dog,' I said, more pleasant and polite than ever. "'Let's see you try,' said Mr. Dog. "So I squirmed and twisted, but of course with a strong string around my waist and tied behind I couldn't do anything. "'Now go on with the story,' said Mr. Dog. [Illustration: "AND DID ROLL OFF THE EDGE OF THE WORLD, SURE ENOUGH"] "'Well,' I said, 'the pain left his chest, but it went into his back, and he had a most terrible time, until one day the Old Wise Man of the Woods came along and told him that he thought he ought to know enough by this time to rub his back where the pain was and pat his head at the same time to draw it out at the top. So then the man with the pain rubbed his back and patted his head this way,' and I showed Mr. Dog how he did it; and I rubbed a good while about where the knot was, and made a face to show how the man with the pain looked, and then I said the pain came back into his chest again instead of being drawn out at the top; and I changed about and rubbed there awhile, and then I went around to my back again, chasing that pain first one side and the other; and then I said that the Old Wise Man of the Woods came along one day and told him that he must kick with his feet too if he ever wanted to get rid of that pain, because, after all, it might have to be kicked out at the bottom; and when I began to kick and dance with both feet and to rub with my hands at the same time, Mr. Dog gave a great big laugh--the biggest laugh I ever heard anybody give--and fell right down and rolled over and over, and did roll off the edge of the world, sure enough. "I heard him go clattering into a lot of brush and blackberry bushes that are down there, and just then I got that back knot untied, and I stepped over and looked down at Mr. Dog, who had lodged in a brier patch on a shelf about ten feet below the edge, where Mr. Man would have to get him up with a ladder or a rope. "'Do you want to hear the rest of the story, Mr. Dog?' I said. "'I'll story _you_,' he said, 'when I catch you!' "'I told you you'd laugh till you fell off the edge of the world,' I said. "'I'll make _you_ laugh,' he said, 'when I catch you!' [Illustration: "I SET OUT FOR HOME WITHOUT WAITING TO SAY GOOD-BYE"] "Then I saw he was cross about something, and I set out for home without waiting to say good-bye to Mr. Man, for I didn't want to waste any more time, though I missed my supper and got a scolding besides. "But I was glad I didn't bring home a black eye and scratched nose, and I'm more glad than ever now that Mr. Man didn't get back in time with that box, or I might be in a menagerie this minute instead of sitting here smoking and telling stories and having a good time on Christmas Day." The Story Teller looks down at the Little Lady. "I'm glad Mr. 'Coon didn't get into the menagerie, aren't you?" she says. "Very glad," says the Story Teller. "He went lickety-split home, didn't he?" "He did that!" "I like them to go lickety-split better than lickety-cut, don't you?" says the Little Lady. "They seem to go so much faster." "Ever so much faster," says the Story Teller. THE WIDOW CROW'S BOARDING-HOUSE THE WIDOW CROW'S BOARDING-HOUSE EARLY DOINGS OF THE HOLLOW TREE PEOPLE AND HOW THEY FOUND A HOME Anybody can tell by her face that the Little Lady has some plan of her own when the Story Teller is ready next evening to "sit by the fire and spin." "I want you to tell me," she says, climbing up into her place, "how the 'Coon and 'Possum and the Old Black Crow ever got to living together in the Hollow Tree." That frightens the Story Teller. He is all ready with something different. "Good gracious!" he says, "that is an old story that all the Deep Woods People have known ever so long." "But I don't know it," says the Little Lady, "and I'd like to know that before you tell anything else. Rock, and tell it." So the Story Teller rocks slowly, and smokes, and almost forgets the Little Lady in remembering that far-away time, and presently he begins. "Well, it was all so long ago that perhaps I can't remember it very well. Mr. 'Possum was a young man in those days--a nice spry young fellow; and he used to think it was a good deal of fun to let Mr. Dog--who wasn't friendly then, of course--try to catch him; and when Mr. Dog would get pretty close and come panting up behind him, Mr. 'Possum would scramble up a tree, and run out on to the longest limb and swing from it, head down, and laugh, and say: "Come right up, Mr. Dog! Always at home to you, Mr. Dog! Don t stop to knock!" And then Mr. Dog would race around under the tree and make a great to do, and sometimes Mr. 'Possum would swing back and forth, and pretty soon give a great big swing and let go, and Mr. Dog would think surely he had him then, and bark and run to the place where he thought he was going to drop. Only Mr. 'Possum didn't drop--not far; for he had his limb all picked out, and he would catch it with his tail as he went by, and it would bend and sway with him, and he would laugh, and call again: "Don't go, Mr. Dog! Mr. Man can get up the cows alone to-night!" And then Mr. Dog would remember that he was a good ways from home, and that if he wasn't there in time to help Mr. Man get up the cows there might be trouble; and he would set out lickety-split for home, with Mr. 'Possum calling to him as he ran. [Illustration: CAME CLATTERING DOWN RIGHT IN FRONT OF MR. DOG] But one time Mr. 'Possum made a mistake. He didn't know it, but he was getting older and a good deal fatter than he had been at first, and when he swung out for another limb that way, and let go, he missed the limb and came clattering down right in front of Mr. Dog. He wasn't hurt much, for the ground was soft, and there was a nice thick bed of leaves; but I tell you he was scared, and when Mr. Dog jumped right on top of him, and grabbed him, he gave himself up for lost, sure enough. But Mr. 'Possum is smart in some ways, and he knows how to play "dead" better than any other animal there is. He knew that Mr. Dog would want to show him to Mr. Man, and that he was too heavy for Mr. Dog to carry. He had thought about all that, and decided what to do just in that little second between the limb and the ground, for Mr. 'Possum can think quick enough when anything like that happens. So when he struck the ground he just gave one little kick with his hind foot and a kind of a sigh, as if he was drawing his last breath, and laid there: and even when Mr. Dog grabbed him and shook him he never let on, but acted almost deader than if he had been really dead and no mistake. Then Mr. Dog stood with his paws out and his nose down close, listening, and barking once in a while, and thinking maybe he would come to pretty soon, but Mr. 'Possum still never let on, or breathed the least little bit, and directly Mr. Dog started to drag him toward Mr. Man's house. That was a hard job, and every little way Mr. Dog would stop and shake Mr. 'Possum and bark and listen to see if he was really dead, and after a while he decided that he was, and started to get Mr. Man to come and fetch Mr. 'Possum home. But he only went a few steps, the first time, and just as Mr. 'Possum was about to jump up and run he came hurrying back, and stood over him and barked and barked as loud as ever he could for Mr. Man to come and see what he had for him. But Mr. Man was too far away, and even if he heard Mr. Dog he didn't think it worth while to come. [Illustration: SO THEN MR. DOG TRIED TO GET MR. 'POSSUM ON HIS SHOULDER] So then Mr. Dog tried to get Mr. 'Possum on his shoulder, to carry him that way; but Mr. 'Possum made himself so limp and loose and heavy that every time Mr. Dog would get him nearly up he would slide off again and fall all in a heap on the leaves; and Mr. Dog couldn't help believing that he was dead, to see him lying there all doubled up, just as he happened to drop. So, then, by-and-by Mr. Dog really did start for Mr. Man's, and Mr. 'Possum lay still, and just opened one eye the least bit to see how far Mr. Dog had gone, and when he had gone far enough Mr. 'Possum jumped up quick as a wink and scampered up a tree, and ran out on a limb and swung with his head down, and called out: "Don't go away, Mr. Dog! We've had such a nice visit together! Don't go off mad, Mr. Dog! Come back and stay till the cows come home!" Then Mr. Dog was mad, I _tell_ you, and told him what he'd do next time; and he set out for home fast as he could travel, and went in the back way and hid, for Mr. Man was already getting up the cows when he got there. Well, Mr. 'Possum didn't try that swinging trick on Mr. Dog any more. He found out that it was dangerous, the way he was getting, and that made him think he ought to change his habits in other ways too. For one thing, he decided he ought to have some regular place to stay where he could eat and sleep and feel at home, instead of just travelling about and putting up for the night wherever he happened to be. Mr. 'Possum was always quite stylish, too, and had a good many nice clothes, and it wasn't good for them to be packed about all the time; and once some of his best things got rained on and he had to sleep on them for a long time to get them pressed out smooth again. [Illustration: HE WAS AN OLD BACHELOR AND LIKED TO HAVE HIS OWN WAY] So Mr. 'Possum made up his mind to find a home. He was an old bachelor and never wanted to be anything else, because he liked to have his own way, and go out all times of the night, and sleep late if he wanted to. So he made up his mind to look up a good place to board--some place that would be like a home to him--perhaps in a private family. One day when he was walking through the woods thinking about it, and wondering how he ought to begin to find a place like that, he met Mr. Z. 'Coon, who was one of his oldest friends in the Big Deep Woods. They had often been hunting together, especially nights, for Mr. 'Coon and Mr. 'Possum always like that time best for hunting, and have better luck in the dark than any other time. Mr. 'Coon had had his troubles with Mr. Dog, too, and had come very near getting caught one night when Mr. Man and some of his friends were out with Mr. Dog and his relatives and several guns looking for a good Sunday dinner. Mr. 'Coon _would_ have got caught that time, only when Mr. Man cut the tree down that he was in he gave a big jump as the tree was falling and landed in another tree, and then ran out on a limb and jumped to another tree that wasn't so far away, and then to another, so that Mr. Man and his friends and all the dog family lost track of him entirely. But Mr. 'Coon was tired of that kind of thing too, and wanted some place where he could be comfortable, and where he could lock the door nights and feel safe. Mr. 'Coon was a bachelor, like Mr. 'Possum, though he had once been disappointed in love, and told about it sometimes, and looked sad, and even shed tears. So when he met Mr. 'Possum that day they walked along and talked about finding a place to live, and just as they were wondering what they ought to do they happened to notice, right in front of them, a little piece of birch bark tacked up on a tree, and when they read it, it said: MRS. WIDOW CROW. WILL TAKE A FEW GUESTS. SINGLE GENTLEMEN PREFERRED; PLEASANT LOCATION NEAR RACE-TRACK. Then Mr. 'Possum scratched his head and tried to think, and Mr. 'Coon scratched _his_ head and tried to think, and pretty soon Mr. 'Coon said: "Oh yes, I know about that. That's Mr. Crow's mother-in-law. He had a wife until last year, and his mother-in-law used to live with them. I believe she was pretty cross, but I've heard Mr. Crow say she was a good cook, and that he had learned to cook a great many things himself. I heard some time ago that she had moved over by the race-track, and perhaps Mr. Crow is boarding with her. Let's go over and see." [Illustration: THEY SAW MR. CROW OUT IN THE YARD CUTTING WOOD FOR HIS MOTHER-IN-LAW] So away they went, saying how nice it would be to be really settled, and pretty soon they got over to Mrs. Widow Crow's, and there, sure enough, they saw Mr. Crow out in the yard cutting wood for his mother-in-law; and when they asked him about the advertisement, he said he was helping her to get started, and she had two nice rooms, and that Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon would be just the ones to fill them. So they went right in and saw Mrs. Widow Crow about it, and by night they had their things moved and were all settled, and Widow Crow got a nice supper for them, and Mr. Crow helped her, and worked as hard as if he were a hired man instead of a boarder like the others, which he was, because he paid for his room as much as anybody, and got scolded besides when he didn't do things to suit his mother-in-law. THE FINDING OF THE HOLLOW TREE THE FINDING OF THE HOLLOW TREE HOW THE 'COON AND 'POSSUM AND THE OLD BLACK CROW MOVED AND SET UP HOUSEKEEPING Well, the Widow Crow set a very good table, and everything in her boarding-house went along quite well for a while, and Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon both said what a good thing it was to have a home, and Mr. Crow said so too, though he didn't look as if he enjoyed it as much as he said, for his mother-in-law kept him so busy cutting and carrying wood and helping her with the cooking that he never had any time for himself at all. [Illustration: HAD TO STAY AT HOME AND PEEL POTATOES] Even when Mr. Rabbit and some of his friends had the great fall handicap race he had to stay at home and peel potatoes, and not see it, besides being scolded all the time for wanting to go to such a thing as a rabbit race anyway. And Mr. Crow was sad because it reminded him of his married life, which he was trying to forget--Mrs. Crow having been the image of his mother-in-law and exactly like her about races and peeling potatoes and such things. And by-and-by, Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon didn't like it so much, either. Widow Crow got so she scolded them, too, about their habits, especially about being out nights and lying in bed next morning, and she wouldn't give them any breakfast unless they got up in time. At last she even asked them to take care of their own rooms and to do other work, the same as Mr. Crow did; and she didn't cook as good things, nor as many of them, as she did when they first came. Then one day when they complained a little--not very much, for they were afraid of the Widow Crow, but a little--she told them that if they didn't like what she gave them they could find a place they liked better, and that she was tired of their ways anyhow. So then Mr. Crow and Mr. 'Coon and Mr. 'Possum all got together and talked it over. And Mr. Crow said _they_ might be pretty tired of it, but that they couldn't in a hundred years, thinking night and day, think how tired of it _he_ was. He said if they would just say the word he would take the things that belonged to him out of that house, and the three of them would find some good place and all live together, and never have anything more to do with mothers-in-law or their families. He said he knew how to cook as well as she did, and really liked to cook when he was in a pleasant place and wasn't henpecked to death. And he said if they moved his things they had better do it at night while his mother-in-law was asleep, so as not to disturb her. Well, Mr. 'Possum and Mr. Coon both spoke right up and said _they'd_ go in a minute, and that they'd hunt up the place to live that very day, though it wasn't the best time of year to move. And Mr. Crow said: "I know where there's a big Hollow Tree that would be _just_ the place. It's the biggest tree in the Big Deep Woods. It has three big hollow branches that would do for rooms, and with a little work it could be made into the finest place anywhere. The Old Wise Man of the Woods once lived there and fixed it all up with nice stairs, and a fireplace, and windows, and doors with good latches on them, and it's still just as he left it. All it needs are a few repairs, and we could move right in. I found it once as I was flying over, and I could tell _you_, so you could find it. It's in a thick swampy place, and you would never guess it was there if you didn't know it. Mr. Dog knows about it, but he never could get in if we kept the door latched, and it's not so far away from Mr. Man's that we could not borrow, when we ran out of little things we needed." Well, Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon took the directions from Mr. Crow, and went right off to look at the Hollow Tree that very day, and decided they'd take it, and pitched in to clean it up and get it ready to live in. And next day they came with a hammer and some nails and worked all day again, and Mr. Rabbit heard the noise and came over and looked through the place and said how nice it was; and they were so tired at night that they never thought of going out, and were up early for breakfast. Widow Crow was so surprised she forgot what she had always scolded them for before, and scolded them this time for getting up so early that they had to stand around and wait for breakfast to be put on the table. But they didn't seem to mind the scolding at all, and Mr. Crow looked happier than he had looked for months, and skipped around and helped set the table, and brought in a big wood-box full of wood, and when Widow Crow scolded him for getting chips on the floor he laughed. Then she boxed his ears and told him he ought to remember the poor Missing One at such a time, and Mr. Crow said he did, and could almost imagine she was there now. Well, Mr. 'Coon and Mr. 'Possum got the Hollow Tree all ready, that day, and that night they moved. The Widow Crow was pretty fat, and liked to go to bed early, and sleep sound, and leave Mr. Crow to do the evening dishes; and that evening Mr. 'Coon and' Mr. Possum pitched in and helped him, and they got through in a jiffy and began to move. Mr. Crow said he knew his own things, and that he wouldn't take any that belonged to the Missing One, because they had mostly come from her mother; and, besides, they would be a sad reminder, and didn't seem to go with the kind of a place they had planned to have. He said if they didn't have enough things they could borrow a few from Mr. Man when Mr. Man went away and left his windows open, and that they wouldn't need much to begin with. [Illustration: LISTENED NOW AND THEN AT WIDOW CROW'S DOOR TO BE SURE SHE WAS ASLEEP] So then they got Mr. Crow's cook-stove out of the back store-room, and a table that was his, and some chairs from different parts of the house, and a few dishes which had come to him from his side of the family, and they tiptoed around and listened now and then at Widow Crow's door to be sure she was asleep. They knew she _was_ by the sound; but still they were very quiet until Mr. 'Possum started to bring a rocking-chair of Mr. Crow's down-stairs and somehow got his legs through the rounds and fell and rolled clear to the bottom, expressing his feelings as he came down. That woke up Widow Crow with a jump, and she sat up in bed and called "Thieves!" and "Help!" and Mr. Crow ran to her door and said that it wasn't anything, only those scamps Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon had been out late again. He said they had brought home one of Mr. Man's beehives and had dropped it because the bees woke up just as they were climbing the stairs. Then Mrs. Crow called out quick, and said for him not to dare to open that door and let those pesky bees into her room, and that she hoped they'd sting that 'Possum and 'Coon until they wouldn't be able to tell themselves apart. She said she bet she'd get that pair out of her house if she lived through the night. Then she rolled over and went to sleep again, and Mr. 'Possum got up and limped a little, but wasn't much damaged, and they got all the things outside and loaded up, and set out for the Hollow Tree. It was moonlight and Mr. Crow led the way, and the minute they were far enough off to be sure they wouldn't wake up Widow Crow they sang the chorus of a song that Mr. Rabbit had made for them the day before when he called at the Hollow Tree, and they had told him what they were going to do. That was the Hollow Tree Song, which, of course, everybody in the Big Deep Woods knows now, but it had never been sung there before, and when they joined in the chorus, Then here's to the 'Possum and the Old Black Crow And the 'Coon with a one, two, three! And here's to the hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow-- Then here's to the Hollow Tree, Mr. Owl, who was watching them from a limb overhead, thought he had never heard anything quite so fine. Well, they couldn't get along very fast, for the things got so heavy and they had to rest so often that it began to look as if they wouldn't get to the Hollow Tree by morning. But just as they got out into a little open place that was about half-way there they saw somebody coming, and who do you suppose it was? "I know," says the Little Lady, "it was the Old Wise Man of the Woods, to tell them they couldn't have his house." "No, he didn't live there any more--he had gone away for good. No, it wasn't the Old Wise Man; it was Mr. Rabbit and Mr. Turtle, coming to help them move. Mr. Rabbit had gone all the way to the Wide Blue Water after Mr. Turtle because he is so strong, and they would have been there a good deal sooner, only Mr. Turtle didn't get home till late, and travels slow." [Illustration: MR. 'POSSUM SAID HE'D JUST GET ON AND HOLD THE THINGS] Well, it wasn't so hard to move after that. They just set the cook-stove on Mr. Turtle's back and piled on as much as would stay on, and he kept telling them to put on more, until pretty soon Mr. 'Possum said that he would just get on and hold the things from slipping off, which he did, and sat on the stove and rode and swung his feet and held the other things, while Mr. Crow and the rest walked and carried what was left. And when they got to the Hollow Tree it was just about sun-up, and Mr. 'Possum said if they didn't have breakfast pretty soon he would starve to death with being up all night and working so hard holding on those things. [Illustration: MR. 'POSSUM AND MR. 'COON TRIED TO PUT UP THE STOVE] So then Mr. Crow told him that he and Mr. 'Coon could set up the stove, and that he would unpack the food and stir up something as quick as he could if the others would bring a little wood and some water from the spring, and place the things around inside; for he saw a cloud coming, he said, and it might rain. And Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon tried to put up the stove in a hurry, and the pieces of pipe didn't fit very well, and they came as near having a quarrel over it as they ever did over anything, for even the best friends can't always put up stovepipe together without thinking and sometimes saying unpleasant things about each other, especially when they are hungry and not very warm and the house is all upset. Mr. 'Coon said he only wished he had another hand and he would do that job alone, and Mr. 'Possum told him that if he'd been provided with a handy and useful tail he'd _have_ the same as another hand, and could work more and not wish so much. Then Mr. Rabbit came to help them, and just as they got it about up it all came down again, and Mr. Crow said that if they'd all go away he'd set up the stove himself; which he did in about a minute, and had a fire in it and the coffee on in no time. Then the others rushed around and got the things straightened out, and a fire in the fireplace, and they said how nice rooms were, and when Mr. Crow called they all came hurrying down, and in about another minute the 'Coon and 'Possum and the Old Black Crow, with Mr. Rabbit and Mr. Turtle, all sat down to the first meal in the Hollow Tree. It was then that Jack Rabbit read all of the "Hollow Tree Song" he had made for them, and they all sang it together; and then the storm that Mr. Crow had seen coming did come, and they shut all the doors and windows tight, and sat before the fire and smoked and went to sleep, because they were so tired with being up all night. And that was the first day in the Hollow Tree, and how the Possum and Coon and Old Black Crow came to live there, and they live there still. THE THIRD SNOWED-IN STORY THE THIRD SNOWED-IN STORY MR. RABBIT TELLS SOME INTERESTING FAMILY HISTORY The Little Lady waited until the Story Teller had lit his pipe and sat looking into the great open fire, where there was a hickory log so big that it had taken the Story Teller and the Little Lady's mother with two pairs of ice-tongs to drag it to the hearth and get it into place. Pretty soon the Little Lady had crept in between the Story Teller's knees. Then in another minute she was on one of his knees, helping him rock. Then she said: "Did Mr. Rabbit tell his story next? He promised to tell about losing his tail, you know." The Story Teller took his pipe from his mouth a moment, and sat thinking and gazing at the big log, which perhaps reminded him of one of the limbs of the Hollow Tree, where the 'Coon and 'Possum and the Old Black Crow lived and had their friends visit them that long-ago snowy Christmas-time. "Why, yes," he said, "that's so, Mr. Rabbit _did_ tell that story. When Mr. 'Coon got through telling how he came near getting into a menagerie, they all said that it certainly was a very narrow escape, and Mr. 'Coon said he shouldn't wonder if that menagerie had to quit business, just because he wasn't in it; and Mr. 'Possum said he thought if anything would _save_ a menagerie that would, for it would keep them from being eaten out of house and home." Then Mr. Coon said that if that was so, Mr. 'Possum had saved at least three menageries by staying right where he was in the Big Deep Woods. This made Mr. Squirrel and Mr. Robin laugh, and the rest wondered what those two gigglers had noticed that was funny. Then they all knocked the ashes out of their pipes again, and walked over to the window, and looked at the snow banking up outside and piling up on the bare limbs of the big trees. They said how early it got dark this time of year, especially on a cloudy day. And pretty soon Mr. Crow said they had just about time for one more story before supper, and that Mr. Rabbit ought to tell now about how, a long time ago, his family had lost their tails. Mr. Rabbit didn't seem to feel very anxious to tell it, but they told him that he had promised, and that now was as good a time as any, so they went back and sat down, and Mr. Rabbit told them THE TRUE STORY OF THE HARE AND THE TORTOISE, AND HOW JACK RABBIT LOST HIS TAIL "Once upon a time," he said, "a great many great-grandfathers back, my family had long bushy tails, like Mr. Squirrel and Mr. Fox, only a good deal longer and finer and softer, and _very handsome_." When Mr. Rabbit said that, Mr. Squirrel sniffed and twitched his nose and gave his nice bushy tail a flirt, but he didn't say anything. Mr. Rabbit went right on. "Well, there was one fine, handsome rabbit who had the longest and plumiest tail of any of the family, and was very proud of it. He was my twenty-seventh great-grandfather, and was called Mr. Hare. He was young and smart then, and thought he was a good deal smarter than he really was, though he was smart enough and handsome enough to set the style for all the other rabbits, and not much ever happened to him, because he could beat anything running that there was in the Big Deep Woods. "That twenty-seventh great-grandfather of mine was very proud of his running, and used to brag that in a foot-race he could beat anything that lived between the Wide Grass Lands and the Edge of the World. He used to talk about it to almost everybody that came along, and one day when he met one of the Turtle family who used to be called Mr. Tortoise in those days, he stopped and began to brag to him how fast he could run and how nobody in the Big Deep Woods dared to race with him. "But Mr. Turtle, he just smiled a little and said: 'Oh, pshaw! you can't run very fast. I believe I can beat you myself!' "Well, that did make Grandfather Hare laugh--and made him a little mad, too. "'You!' he said. 'Why, I'll give you within ten yards of that rail fence of Mr. Man's, half a mile away, and then beat you across it. Just travel along, and some time this afternoon, when you get down that way, I'll come back and let you see me go by. But you'll have to look quick if you see me, for I'll be going fast.' [Illustration: MR. FOX SAID HE DIDN'T HAVE MUCH TO DO FOR A FEW MINUTES AND HE'D ACT AS JUDGE] "But Mr. Tortoise said he didn't want any start at all, that he was ready to begin the race right then; and that made Grandpaw Hare laugh so loud that Mr. Fox heard him as he was passing, and came over to see what the fun was. Then he said that he hadn't much to do for a few minutes, and that he'd stay and act as judge. He thought a race like that wouldn't last long; and it didn't, though it wasn't at all the kind of a race he had expected. "Well, he put Mr. Tortoise and my twenty-seventh great-grandfather side by side, and then he stood off and said 'Go!' and thought it would all be over in a minute. "Grandpaw Hare gave one great big leap, about twenty feet long, and then stopped. He was in no hurry, and he wanted to have some fun with Mr. Tortoise. He looked around to where Mr. Tortoise was coming straddling and panting along, and he laughed and rolled over to see how solemn he looked, and how he was travelling as if he meant to get somewhere before dark. He was down on all fours so he could use all his legs at once, and anybody would think, to look at him, that he really expected to win that race. "The more my Grandpaw Hare looked at him the more he laughed, and then he would make another long leap forward and stop, and look back, and wait for Mr. Tortoise to catch up again. "Then he would call to him, or maybe go back and take roundin's on him, and say, 'Come along there, old tobacco-box. Are you tied to something?' Mr. Fox would laugh a good deal, too, and he told my ancestor to go on and finish the race--that he couldn't wait around there all day. And pretty soon he said if they were going to fool along like that, he'd just go down to the fence and take a nap till they got there; and for Grandpaw Rabbit to call to him when he really started to come, so he could wake up and judge the finish. "Mr. Fox he loped away to the fence and laid down and went to sleep in the shade, and Grandpaw Hare thought it would be fun to pretend to be asleep, too. I've heard a story told about it that says that he really did go to sleep, and that Mr. Tortoise went by him and got to the fence before he woke up. But that is not the way it happened. My twenty-seventh great-grandfather was too smart to go to sleep, and even if he had gone to sleep, Mr. Tortoise made enough noise pawing and scratching along through the grass and gravel to wake up forty of our family. "My ancestor would wait until he came grinding along and got up even with him, then suddenly he'd sit up as if he'd been waked out of a nice dream and say, 'Hello, old coffee-mill! What do you want to wake me up for when I'm trying to get a nap?' Then he would laugh a big laugh and make another leap, and lie down and pretend again, with his fine plumy tail very handsome in the sun. "But Grandpaw Hare carried the joke a little too far. He kept letting Mr. Tortoise get up a little closer and closer every time, until Mr. Tortoise would almost step on him before he would move. And that was just what Mr. Tortoise wanted, for about the next time he came along he came right up behind my ancestor, but instead of stepping on him, he gave his head a quick snap, just as if he were catching fish, and grabbed my Grandpaw Hare by that beautiful plumy tail, and held on, and pinched, and my ancestor gave a squeal and a holler and set out for that rail fence, telling his troubles as he came. [Illustration: SAILING ALONG, JUST TOUCHING THE HIGHEST POINTS] "Mr. Fox had gone sound asleep and didn't hear the rumpus at first, and when he did, he thought grandpaw was just calling to him to wake up and be ready to judge the race, so he sat up quick and watched them come. He saw my twenty-seventh great-grandfather sailing along, just touching the highest points, with something that looked like an old black wash-pan tied to his tail. "When Mr. Fox saw what it was, he just laid down and laughed and rolled over, and then hopped up on the top rail and called, out 'All right, I'm awake, Mr. Hare! Come right along, Mr. Hare; you'll beat him yet!' "Then he saw my ancestor stop and shake himself, and paw, and roll over, to try to get Mr. Tortoise loose, which of course he couldn't do, for, as we all know, whenever any of the Turtle family get a grip they never let go till it thunders, and this was a bright day. So pretty soon grandpaw was up and running again with Mr. Tortoise sailing out behind and Mr. Fox laughing to see them come, and calling out: 'Come right along, Mr. Hare! come right along! You'll beat him yet!' [Illustration: AWAY WENT MR. TORTOISE, CLEAR OVER THE TOP RAIL] "But Mr. Fox made a mistake about that. Grandpaw Hare was really ahead, of course, when he came down the homestretch, but when he got pretty close to the fence he made one more try to get Mr. Tortoise loose, and gave himself and his tail a great big swing, and Mr. Tortoise didn't let go quite quick enough, and off came my twenty-seventh great-grandfather's beautiful plumy tail, and away went Mr. Tortoise with it, clear over the top rail of the fence, and landed in a brier patch on the other side. "Well, Grandpaw Hare was in such a state as you never heard of! He forgot all about the race at first, and just raved about his great loss, and borrowed Mr. Fox's handkerchief to tie up what was left, and said that he never in the world could show his face before folks again. "And Mr. Fox stopped laughing as soon as he could, and was really quite sorry for him, and even Mr. Tortoise looked through the fence, and asked him if he didn't think it could be spliced and be almost as good as ever. "He said he hadn't meant to commit any damage, and that he hoped Mr. Hare would live to forgive him, and that now there was no reason why my grandpaw shouldn't beat him in the next race. "Then my ancestor remembered about the race and forgot his other loss for a minute, and declared that Mr. Tortoise didn't win the race at all--that he couldn't have covered that much ground in a half a day alone, and he asked Mr. Fox if he was going to let that great straddle-bug ruin his reputation for speed and make him the laughing-stock of the Big Deep Woods, besides all the other damage he had done. "Then Mr. Fox scratched his head, and thought about it, and said he didn't see how he could help giving the race to Mr. Tortoise, for it was to be the first one across the fence, and that Mr. Tortoise was certainly the first one across, and that he'd gone over the top rail in style. [Illustration: SET OUT FOR HOME BY A BACK WAY] "Well, that made Grandpaw Hare madder than ever. He didn't say another word, but just picked up his property that Mr. Tortoise handed him through the fence, and set out for home by a back way, studying what he ought to do to keep everybody from laughing at him, and thinking that if he didn't do something he'd have to leave the country or drown himself, for he had always been so proud that if people laughed at him he knew he could never show his face again. "And that," said Mr. Rabbit, is the true story of that old race between the Hare and the Tortoise, and of how the first Rabbit came to lose his tail. I've never told it before, and none of my family ever did; but so many stories have been told about the way those things happened that we might just as well have this one, which is the only true one so far as I know. Then Mr. Rabbit lit his pipe and leaned back and smoked. Mr. Dog said it was a fine story, and he wished he could have seen that race, and Mr. Turtle looked as if he wanted to say something, and did open his mouth to say it, but Mr. Crow spoke up, and asked what happened after that to Mr. Rabbit's twenty-seventh great-grandfather, and how it was that the rest of the Rabbits had short tails, too. Then Mr. Rabbit said that that was another story, and Mr. Squirrel and Mr. Robin wanted him to tell it right away, but Mr. Crow said they'd better have supper now, and Mr. 'Possum thought that was a good plan, and Mr. 'Coon, too, and then they all hurried around to get up some sticks of wood from down-stairs, and to set the table, and everybody helped, so they could get through early and have a nice long evening. And all the time the snow was coming down outside and piling higher and higher, and they were being snowed in without knowing it, for it was getting too dark to see much when they tried again to look out the window through the gloom of the Big Deep Woods. THE FOURTH SNOWED-IN STORY THE FOURTH SNOWED-IN STORY MR. JACK RABBIT CONTINUES HIS FAMILY HISTORY "Did they have enough left for supper--enough for all the visitors, I mean?" asks the Little Lady the next evening, when the Story Teller is ready to go on with the history of the Hollow Tree. "Oh yes, they had plenty for supper, and more, too. They had been getting ready a good while for just such a time as this, and had carried in a lot of food, and they had a good many nice things down in the store-room where the wood was, but they didn't need those yet. They just put on what they had left from their big dinner, and Mr. Crow stirred up a pan of hot biscuits by his best receipt, and they passed them back and forth across the table so much that Mr. 'Possum said they went like hot cakes, sure enough, and always took two when they came his way." And they talked a good deal about the stories that Mr. 'Coon and Mr. Rabbit had told them, and everybody thought how sly and smart Mr. 'Coon had been to fool Mr. Dog that way; and Mr. 'Coon said that, now he came to think it over, he supposed it was a pretty good trick, though it really hadn't seemed so specially great to him at the time. He said he didn't think it half as smart as Mr. Tortoise's trick on Mr. Rabbit's Grandpaw Hare, when he beat him in the foot-race and went over the fence first, taking Mr. Hare's tail with him. And then they wondered if that had all really happened as Mr. Rabbit had told it--all but Mr. Turtle, who just sat and smiled to himself and didn't say anything at all, except "Please pass the biscuits," now and then, when he saw the plate being set down in front of Mr. 'Possum. Then by-and-by they all got through and hurried up and cleared off the table, and lit their pipes, and went back to the fire, and pretty soon Jack Rabbit began to tell HOW THE REST OF THE RABBITS LOST THEIR TAILS "Well," he said, "my twenty-seventh great-grandfather Hare didn't go out again for several days. He put up a sign that said 'Not at Home,' on his door, and then tried a few experiments, to see what could be done. [Illustration: TRIED TO SPLICE HIS PROPERTY BACK IN PLACE] "He first tried to splice his property back into place, as Mr. Tortoise had told him he might, but that plan didn't work worth a cent. He never could get it spliced on straight, and if he did get it about right, it would lop over or sag down or something as soon as he moved, and when he looked at himself in the glass he made up his mind that he'd rather do without his nice plumy brush altogether than to go out into society with it in that condition. "So he gave it up and put on some nice all-healing ointment, and before long what there was left of it was all well, and a nice bunch of soft, white cottony fur had grown out over the scar, and Grandpaw Hare thought when he looked at himself in the glass that it was really quite becoming, though he knew the rest of his family would always be saying things about it, and besides they would laugh at him for letting Mr. Tortoise beat him in a foot-race. [Illustration: GRANDFATHER WOULD LIGHT HIS PIPE AND THINK IT OVER] "Sometimes, when there was nobody around, my grandfather would go out into the sun and light his pipe and lean up against a big stone, or maybe a stump, and think it over. "And one morning, as he sat there thinking, he made up his mind what he would do. Mr. Lion lived in the Big Deep Woods in those days, and he was King. Whenever anything happened among the Deep Woods People that they couldn't decide for themselves, they went to where King Lion lived, in a house all by himself over by the Big West Hills, and he used to settle the question; and sometimes, when somebody that wasn't very old, and maybe was plump and tender, had done something that wasn't just right, King Lion would look at him and growl and say it was too bad for any one so young to do such things, and especially for them to grow up and keep on doing them; so he would have him for breakfast, or maybe for dinner, and that would settle everything in the easiest and shortest way. "Of course Grandfather Hare knew very well that Mr. Tortoise and Mr. Fox wouldn't go with him to King Lion, for they would be afraid to, after what they had done, so he made up his mind to go alone and tell him the whole story, because he was as sure as anything that King Lion would decide that he had really won the race, and would be his friend, which would make all the other Deep Woods People jealous and proud of him again, and perhaps make them wish they had nice bunches of white cottony fur in the place of long dragging tails that were always in the way. "And then some day he would show King Lion where Mr. Fox and Mr. Tortoise lived. [Illustration: SET UP HIS EARS AND WENT BY, LICKETY-SPLIT] "My Grandfather Hare didn't stop a minute after he thought of that, but just set out for King Lion's house over at the foot of the Big West Hills. He had to pass by Mr. Fox's house, and Mr. Fox called to him, but Grandpaw Hare just set up his ears as proud as could be and went by, lickety-split, without looking at Mr. Fox at all. "It was a good way to King Lion's house, but Grandpaw Hare didn't waste any time, and he was there almost before he knew it. "When he got to King Lion's door he hammered on the knocker, and when nobody came right away he thought maybe the King was out for a walk. But that wasn't so. King Lion had been sick for two or three days, and he was still in bed, and had to get up and get something around him before he could let Grandpaw in. "Grandpaw Hare had sat down on the steps to wait, when all at once the door opened behind him and he felt something grab him by the collar and swing him in and set him down hard on a seat, and then he saw it was King Lion, and he didn't much like his looks. [Illustration: "'GLAD TO SEE YOU,' SAID KING LION; 'I WAS JUST THINKING ABOUT HAVING A NICE RABBIT FOR BREAKFAST'"] "'So it was you, was it, making that noise,' he said. 'Well, I'm glad to see you, for I was just thinking about having a nice rabbit for breakfast.' "Then my twenty-seventh great-grandfather knew he'd made a mistake, coming to see King Lion when he was feeling that way, and he had to think pretty quick to know what to say. But our family have always been pretty quick in their thoughts, and Grandpaw Hare spoke right up as polite as could be, and said he would do anything he could to find a nice young plump rabbit for King Lion, and that he would even be proud to be a king's breakfast himself, only he wasn't so very young nor so very plump, and, besides, there was that old prophecy about the king and the cotton-tailed rabbit, which of course, he said, King Lion must have heard about. "Then King Lion said that my twenty-seventh great-grandfather was plenty young enough and plenty plump enough, and that he'd never heard of any prophecy about a cotton-tailed rabbit, and that he'd never heard of a cotton-tailed rabbit, either. "Then Grandpaw Hare just got up and turned around, and as he turned he said, as solemnly as he could: "'When the King eats a hare with a cotton tail, Then the King's good health will fail. "Well, that scared the King a good deal, for he was just getting over one sick spell, and he was afraid if he had another right away he'd die sure. He sat down and asked Grandpaw Hare to tell him how he came to have a tail like that, and grandpaw told him, and it made the King laugh and laugh, until he got well, and he said it was the best joke he ever heard of, and that he'd have given some of the best ornaments off of his crown to have seen that race. "And the better King Lion felt the hungrier he got, and when my Grandfather Hare asked him if he wouldn't decide the race in his favor, he just glared at him and said if he didn't get out of there and hunt him up a nice, young, plump, long-tailed rabbit, he'd eat him--cotton tail, prophecy, and all--for he didn't go much on prophecies anyway. "Then Grandpaw Hare got right up and said, 'Good-day' and backed out and made tracks for the rest of his family, and told them that King Lion had just got up from a sick spell that had given him an appetite for long-tailed rabbits. He said that the King had sent him out to get one, and that King Lion would most likely be along himself pretty soon. He said the sooner the Rabbit family took pattern after the new cotton-tailed style the more apt they'd be to live to a green old age and have descendants. "Well, that was a busy day in the Big Deep Woods. The Rabbit family got in line by a big smooth stump that they picked out for the purpose, and grandpaw attended to the job for them, and called out 'Next!' as they marched by. He didn't have to wait, either, for they didn't know what minute King Lion might come. Mr. Tortoise and Mr. Fox came along and stopped to see the job, and helped grandpaw now and then when his arm got tired, and by evening there was a pile of tails by that stump as big as King Lion's house, and there never was such a call for the all-healing ointment as there was that night in the Big Deep Woods. "And none of our family ever did have tails after that, for they never would grow any more, and all the little new rabbits just had bunches of cotton, too, and that has never changed to this day. "And when King Lion heard how he'd been fooled by Grandpaw Hare with that foolish prophecy that he just made up right there, out of his head, he knew that everybody would laugh at him as much as he had laughed at Mr. Hare, and he moved out of the country and never came back, and there's never been a king in the Big Deep Woods since, so my twenty-seventh great-grandfather did some good, after all. "And that," said Mr. Rabbit, "is the whole story of the Hare and the Tortoise and how the Rabbit family lost their tails. It's never been told outside of our family before, but it's true, for it's been handed down, word for word, and if Mr. Fox or Mr. Tortoise were alive now they would say so." Mr. Rabbit filled his pipe and lit it, and Mr. Crow was just about to make some remarks, when Mr. Turtle cleared his throat and said: "The story that Mr. Rabbit has been telling is all true, every word of it-- I was there." Then all the Deep Woods People took their pipes out of their mouths and just looked at Mr. Turtle with their mouths wide open, and when they could say anything at all, they said: "_You were there!_" You see, they could never get used to the notion of Mr. Turtle's being so old--as old as their twenty-seventh great-grandfathers would have been, if they had lived. "Yes," said Mr. Turtle, "and it all comes back to me as plain as day. It happened two hundred and fifty-eight years ago last June. They used to call us the Tortoise family then, and I was a young fellow of sixty-seven and fond of a joke. But I was surprised when I went sailing over that fence, and I didn't mean to carry off Mr. Hare's tail. Dear me, how time passes! I'm three hundred and twenty-five now, though I don't feel it." Then they all looked at Mr. Turtle again, for though they believed he was old, and might possibly have been there, they thought it pretty strange that he could be the very Mr. Tortoise who had won the race. Mr. 'Possum said, pretty soon, that when anybody said a thing like that, there ought to be some way to prove it. Then Mr. Turtle got up and began taking off his coat, and all the others began to get out of the way, for they didn't know what was going to happen to Mr. 'Possum, and they wanted to be safe; and Mr. 'Possum rolled under the table, and said that he didn't mean anything--that he loved Mr. Turtle, and that Mr. Turtle hadn't understood the way he meant it at all. But Mr. Turtle wasn't the least bit mad. He just laid off his coat, quietly, and unbuttoned his shirt collar, and told Mr. 'Coon and Mr. Crow to look on the back of his shell. And then Mr. Dog held a candle, and they all looked, one after another, and there, sure enough, carved right in Mr. Turtle's shell, were the words: BEAT MR. HARE FOOT-RACE JUNE 10, 1649 "That," said Mr. Turtle, "was my greatest joke, and I had it carved on my shell." And all the rest of the forest people said that a thing like that was worth carving on anybody's shell that had one, and when Mr. Turtle put on his coat they gave him the best seat by the fire, and sat and looked at him and asked questions about it, and finally all went to sleep in their chairs, while the fire burned low and the soft snow was banking up deeper and deeper, outside, in the dark. THE "SNOWED-IN" LITERARY CLUB THE "SNOWED-IN" LITERARY CLUB MR. RABBIT PROPOSES SOMETHING TO PASS THE TIME "Did the Hollow Tree People and their company sleep in their chairs all night?" asks the Little Lady, as soon as she has finished her supper. "And were they snowed in when they woke up next morning?" The Story Teller is not quite ready to answer. He has to fill his pipe first, and puff a little and look into the fire before he sits down, and the Little Lady climbs into her place. The Little Lady knows the Story Teller, and waits. When he begins to rock a little she knows he has remembered, and then pretty soon he tells her about the Snowed-In Literary Club. Well, the Hollow Tree People went to sleep there by the fire and they stayed asleep a long while, for they were tired with all the good times and all the good things to eat they had been having. And when they woke up once, they thought it was still night, for it was dark, though they thought it must be about morning, because the fire was nearly out, and Mr. 'Possum said if there was anybody who wasn't too stiff he wished they'd put on a stick of wood, as he was frozen so hard that he knew if he tried to move he'd break. So Mr. Turtle, who had been drawn up mostly into his shell, and Mr. Dog, who was used to getting up at all hours of the night, stretched and yawned and crept down after some sticks and dry pieces and built up a good fire, and pretty soon they were all asleep again, as sound as ever. And when they woke up next time it was still just as dark, and the fire had gone almost out again, and Mr. 'Coon and Mr. Crow, too, said they didn't understand it, at all, for a fire like that would generally keep all night and all day too, and here two fires had burned out and it was still as dark as ever. Then Mr. Crow lit a splinter and looked at the clock, and said he must have forgotten to wind it, or maybe it was because it was so cold, as it had stopped a little after twelve, and Mr. 'Possum said that from the way he felt it was no wonder the clock had stopped, for if he could tell anything by his feelings it must be at least day after to-morrow. He said he felt so empty that every time he breathed he could hear the wind whistle through his ribs. That made Mr. Rabbit think of something, and he stepped over to the window. Then he pushed it up a little, and put out his hand. But he didn't put it out far, for it went right into something soft and cold. Mr. Rabbit came over to where Mr. Crow was poking up the fire, bringing some of the stuff with him. "Now," he said, "you can all see what's the matter. We're snowed in. The snow is up over the window, and that's why it's so dark. It may be up over the top of the tree, and we may have been asleep here for a week, for all we know." Then they all gathered around to look at the snow, and went to the window and got some more, and tried to tell whether it was day or night, and Mr. Crow and Mr. 'Coon and Mr. 'Possum ran up-stairs to their rooms, and called back that it was day, for the snow hadn't come quite up to the tops of their windows. And it _was_ day, sure enough, and quite late in the afternoon at that, but they couldn't tell just what day it was, or whether they had slept one night, or two nights, or even longer. Well, of course the first thing was to get something to eat and a big fire going, and even Mr. 'Possum scrambled around and helped carry wood, so he could get warm quicker. They still had a good deal to eat in the Hollow Tree, and they were not much worried. Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon remembered another time they were snowed in, when Mr. Crow had fed them on Johnnie cake and gravy, and they thought that if everything else gave out it would be great fun to live like that again. When they had finished eating breakfast, or dinner, or whatever it was, for it was nearer supper-time than anything else, they began to think of things to do to amuse themselves, and they first thought they'd have some more stories, like Mr. Rabbit's. But Mr. Rabbit, who is quite literary, and a good poet, said it would be better to make it a kind of a club, and each have a poem, or a story, or a song; or if anybody couldn't do any of those he must dance a jig. [Illustration: GOT AROUND THE TABLE AND BEGAN TO WORK] Then they all remembered a poetry club that Mr. Rabbit had got up once and how nice it was, and they all said that was just the thing, and they got around the table and began to work away at whatever they were going to do for the "Snowed-In" Literary Club. Mr. Rabbit wasn't very long at his piece, and pretty soon he jumped up and said he was through, and Mr. 'Possum said that if that was so, he might go down and bring up some wood and warm up the brains of the rest of them. So Mr. Rabbit stirred up the fire, and sat down and looked into it, and read over his poem to himself and changed a word here and there, and thought how nice it was; and by-and-by Mr. Dog said he was through, and Mr. Robin said he was through, too. Then Mr. Rabbit said he thought that would be more than enough for one evening anyway, and that the others might finish their pieces to-morrow and have them ready for the next evening. So then they all gathered around the fire again, and everybody said that as Mr. Rabbit had thought of the club first he must be the first to read his piece. Mr. Rabbit said he was sure it would be more modest for some one else to read first, but that he was willing to start things going if they wanted him to. Then he stood up, and turned a little to the light, and took a nice position, and read his poem, which was called SNOWED IN _By J. Rabbit_ Oh, the snow lies white in the woods to-night-- The snow lies soft and deep; And under the snow, I know, oh, ho! The flowers of the summer sleep. The flowers of the summer sleep, I know, Snowed in like you and me-- Under the sheltering leaves, oh, ho, As snug and as warm as we-- As snug and as warm from the winter storm As we of the Hollow Tree. Snowed in are we in the Hollow Tree, And as snug and as warm as they we be-- Snowed in, snowed in, Are we, are we, And as snug as can be in the Hollow Tree, The wonderful Hollow Tree. Oh, the snow lies cold on wood and wold, But never a bit comes in, As we smoke and eat, and warm our feet, And sit by the fire and spin: And what care we for the winter gales, And what care we for the snow-- As we sit by the fire and spin our tales And think of the things we know? As we spin our tales in the winter gales And wait for the snow to go? Oh, the winds blow high and the winds blow low, But what care we for the wind and snow, Spinning our tales of the long ago As snug as snug can be? For never a bit comes in, comes in, As we sit by the fire and spin, and spin The tales we know, of the long ago, In the wonderful Hollow Tree. Mr. Rabbit sat down then, and of course everybody spoke up as soon as they could get their breath and said how nice it was, and how Mr. Rabbit always expressed himself better in poetry than anybody else could in prose, and how the words and rhymes just seemed to flow along as if he were reeling it off of a spinning-wheel and could keep it up all day. And Mr. Rabbit smiled and said he supposed it came natural, and that sometimes it was harder to stop than it was to start, and that he _could_ keep it up all day as easy as not. Then Mr. 'Possum said he'd been afraid that was what _would_ happen, and that if Mr. Rabbit hadn't stopped pretty soon that he--Mr. 'Possum, of course--would have been so tangled up in his mind that somebody would have had to come and undo the knot. [Illustration: MR. 'POSSUM WANTED TO KNOW WHAT MR. RABBIT MEANT BY SPINNING THEIR TAILS] Then he said he wanted to ask some questions. He said he wanted to know what "wold" meant, and also what Mr. Rabbit meant by spinning their tails. He said he hadn't noticed that any of them were spinning their tails, and that he couldn't do it if he tried. He said that he could curl his tail and hang from a limb or a peg by it, and he had found it a good way to go to sleep when things were on his mind, and that he generally had better dreams when he slept that way. He said that of course Mr. Rabbit's poem had been about tails of the long ago, and he supposed that he meant the ones which his family had lost about three hundred years ago, according to Mr. Turtle, but that he didn't believe they ever could spin them much, or that Mr. Rabbit could spin what he had left. Mr. 'Possum was going on to say a good deal more on the subject, but Mr. Rabbit interrupted him. He said he didn't suppose there was anybody else in the world whose food seemed to do him so little good as Mr. 'Possum's, and that very likely it was owing to the habit he had of sleeping with his head hanging down in that foolish way. He said he had never heard of anybody who ate so much and knew so little. Of course, he said, everybody might not know what "wold" meant, as it wasn't used much except by poets who used the best words, but that it meant some kind of a field, and it was better for winter use, as it rhymed with cold and was nearly always used that way. As for Mr. 'Possum's other remark, he said he couldn't imagine how anybody would suppose that the tales he meant were those other tails which were made to wave or wag or flirt or hang from limbs by, instead of being stories to be told or written, just as the Deep Woods People were telling and writing them now. He said there was an old expression about having a peg to hang a tale on, and that it was most likely gotten up by one of Mr. 'Possum's ancestors or somebody who knew as little about such things as Mr. 'Possum, and that another old expression which said "Thereby hangs a tale" was just like it, because the kind of tales he meant didn't hang, but were always told or written, while the other kind always did hang, and were never told or written, but were only sometimes told or written about, and it made him feel sad, he said, to have to explain his poem in that simple way. Then Mr. 'Possum said that he was sorry Mr. Rabbit felt that way, because he didn't feel at all that way himself, and had only been trying to discuss Mr. Rabbit's nice poem. He said that of course Mr. Rabbit couldn't be expected to know much about tails, never having had a real one himself, and would be likely to get mixed up when he tried to write on the subject. He said he wouldn't mention such things again, and that he was sorry and hoped that Mr. Rabbit would forgive him. And Mr. Rabbit said that he was sorry, too--sorry for Mr. 'Possum--and that he thought whoever was ready had better read the next piece. [Illustration: MR. DOG SAID HE HAD MADE A FEW SKETCHES] Then Mr. Dog said that he supposed that he was as ready as he'd ever be, and that he'd like to read his and get it off his mind, so he wouldn't be so nervous and could enjoy listening to the others. He wasn't used to such things, he said, and couldn't be original like Mr. Rabbit, but he knew a story that was told among the fowls in Mr. Man's barnyard, and that he had tried to write it in a simple way that even Mr. 'Possum would understand. His story was about a duck--a young and foolish duck--who got into trouble, and Mr. Dog said he had made a few sketches to go with it, and that they could be handed around while he was reading. Now he would begin, he said, and the name of his story was ERASTUS, THE ROBBER DUCK _By Mr. Dog, with Sketches_ Once upon a time there was a foolish young duck named Erastus (called 'Rastus, for short). He was an only child, and lived with his mother in a small house on the bank of a pond at the foot of the farm-yard. Erastus thought himself a brave duck; he would chase his shadow, and was not afraid of quite a large worm. As he grew older he did not tell his mother everything. Once he slipped away, and went swimming alone. Then a worm larger than any he had ever seen came up out of the water, and would have swallowed Erastus if he had not reached the shore just in time, and gone screaming to his mother. His mother said the great worm was a water-snake, and she told Erastus snake-stories which gave him bad dreams. Erastus grew quite fast, and soon thought he was nearly grown up. Once he tried to smoke with some other young ducks behind the barn. It made Erastus sick, and his mother found it out. She gave Erastus some unpleasant medicine, and made him stay in bed a week. Erastus decided that he would run away. While his mother was taking her morning bath he packed his things in a little valise she had given him for Christmas. Then he slipped out the back door and made for the woods as fast as he could go. He had made up his mind to be a robber, and make a great deal of money by taking it away from other people. He had begun by taking a small toy pistol which belonged to Mr. Man's little boy. He wore it at his side. His mother had read to him about robbers. Erastus also had on his nice new coat and pretty vest. He did not rob anybody that day. There was nothing in the woods but trees and vines. Erastus tripped over the vines and hurt himself, and lost the toy pistol. Then it came night, and he was very lonesome. For the first time in his life Erastus missed his mother. There was a nice full moon, but Erastus did not care for it. Some of the black shadows about him looked as if they might be live things. By-and-by he heard a noise near him. Erastus the Robber Duck started to run; but he was lost, and did not know which way to go. All at once he was face to face with some large animal. It wore a long cape and a mask. It also carried a real pistol which it pointed at Erastus and told him to hold up his wings. Erastus the Robber Duck held up his wings as high as possible, and tried to get them higher. It did not seem to Erastus that he could hold them up high enough. His mother had read to him about robbers. Then the robber took all the things that Erastus had in his pockets. He took his new knife and his little watch; also the nice bag which his mother had given him for Christmas. Erastus kept his wings up a good while after the robber had gone. He was afraid the robber had not gone far enough. When he put them down they were cramped and sore. Then he heard something again, and thought it was the robber coming back after his clothes. Erastus fled with great speed, taking off his garments as he ran. At last he reached the edge of the wood, not far from where he lived. It was just morning, and his mother saw him coming. She looked sad, and embraced him. It was the first time Erastus had been out all night. Erastus was not allowed to go swimming or even to leave the yard for a long time. Whenever he remembered that night in the woods he shivered, and his mother thought he had a chill. Then she would put him to bed and give him some of the unpleasant medicine. Erastus did not tell his mother _all_ that had happened that night for a good while. He was ashamed to do so. But one day when he seemed quite sick and his mother was frightened, he broke down and told her all about it. Then his mother forgave him, and he got well right away. After that Erastus behaved, and grew to be the best and largest duck in Mr. Man's farm-yard. * * * * * While Mr. Dog had been reading his story the Hollow Tree People--the 'Coon and the 'Possum and the Old Black Crow--had been leaning forward and almost holding their breath, and Mr. Dog felt a good deal flattered when he noticed how interested they were. When he sat down he saw that Mr. 'Possum's mouth was open and his tongue fairly hanging out with being so excited. [Illustration: MR. 'POSSUM SAID IT MIGHT BE A GOOD ENOUGH STORY, BUT IT COULDN'T BE TRUE] Then before any of the others could say a word, Mr. 'Possum said that it might be a good enough story, but that it couldn't be true. He said that he wasn't a judge of stories, but that he was a judge of ducks--young ducks, or old either--and that no young duck could pass the night in the Big Deep Woods and get home at sunrise or any other time, unless all the other animals were snowed in or locked up in a menagerie, and that the animal that had met Erastus might have robbed him, of course, but he would have eaten him first, and then carried off what was left, unless, of course, that robber was a rabbit, and he said that he didn't believe any rabbit would have spunk enough to be in that business. Mr. Rabbit was about to say something just then, but Mr. Crow and Mr. 'Coon both interrupted and said they thought Mr. 'Possum was right for once, except about Mr. Rabbit, who was plenty brave enough, but too much of a gentleman to be out robbing people at night when he could be at home in bed asleep. Then Mr. Dog said: "I don't know whether the story is true or not. I wrote it down as I heard it among Mr. Man's fowls, and I know the duck that they still call Erastus, and he's the finest, fattest--" But Mr. Dog didn't get any further. For the Hollow Tree People broke in and said, all together: "Oh, take us to see him, Mr. Dog! Or perhaps you could bring him to see us. Invite him to spend an evening with us in the Hollow Tree. Tell him we will have him for dinner and invite our friends. Oh, do, Mr. Dog!" But Mr. Dog knew what they meant by having him for dinner, and he said he guessed Mr. Man would not be willing to have Erastus go out on an invitation like that, and that if Erastus came, Mr. Man might take a notion to visit the Hollow Tree himself. Then the Hollow Tree People all said, "Oh, never mind about Erastus! He's probably old and disagreeable anyway. We don't think we would care for him. But it was a nice story--very nice, indeed." And pretty soon Mr. Dog said he'd been thinking about the robber animal, too, and had made up his mind that it might have been one of Mr. Cat's family--for Mr. Man's little boy and girl had a book with a nice poem in it about a robber cat, and a robber dog, too, though he didn't think that the dog could have been any of _his_ family. Mr. Cat, he said, would not be likely to care for Erastus, feathers and all, that way, and no doubt it really was Mr. Cat who robbed him. Mr. Dog said that he had once heard of a Mr. Cat who wanted to be king--perhaps after Mr. Lion had gone out of the king business, and that there was an old poem about it that Mr. Dog's mother used to sing to him, but he didn't think it had ever been put into a book. He said there were a good many things in it he didn't suppose the Hollow Tree People would understand because it was about a different kind of a country--where his mother had been born--but that if they really would like to hear it he would try to remember it for them, as it would be something different from anything they had been used to. Then the Hollow Tree People and their friends all said how glad they would be to hear it, for they always liked to hear about new things and new parts of the country; so Mr. Dog said that if some of the others would read or sing or dance their jigs first, perhaps it would come to him and he would sing it for them by and by. Then Mr. Robin spoke up and said that he thought Mr. Dog's story had a good moral in it, and he said that _his_ story (Mr. Robin's, of course) was that kind of a story, too. Perhaps he'd better tell it now, he said, while their minds were running that way, though as for Mr. 'Possum's mind it seemed to be more on how good Erastus might be cooked than how good he had become in his behavior. He was sorry, he said, that his story didn't have any ducks in it, young or old, but that perhaps Mr. 'Possum and the others would be willing to wait for the nice pair of cooked ones now hanging in Mr. Crow's pantry, to be served at the end of the literary exercises. But Mr. 'Possum said "No," he wasn't willing to wait any longer--that Mr. Dog's story and the mention of those nice cooked fowls was more than he could bear, and that if it was all the same to Mr. Robin and the others he voted to have supper first, and then he'd be better able to stand a strictly moral story on a full stomach. Mr. Crow and Mr. 'Coon said that was a good idea, and Mr. Rabbit said he thought they'd better postpone Mr. Robin's story until the next evening, as Mr. 'Possum had taken up so much time with his arguments that he must be hungrier than usual, and if he put in as much more time eating, it would be morning before they were ready to go on with the literary programme. Then they all looked at the clock and saw that it really was getting late, though that was the only way they could tell, for the snow covered all the windows and made no difference between day and night in the Hollow Tree. THE "SNOWED-IN" LITERARY CLUB--Part II THE "SNOWED-IN" LITERARY CLUB PART II MR. RABBIT STARTS SOME NEW AMUSEMENTS It was still dark in the Hollow Tree when the Deep Woods People woke up next morning, but they knew what was the matter now, and could tell by the clock and the fire that it was day outside, even before Mr. 'Possum ran up to his room and looked out the window and came back shivering, because he said the snow was blowing and drifting and some had drifted in around his windows and made his room as cold as all outdoors. He said he was willing to stay by the fire while this spell lasted, and take such exercise as he needed by moving his chair around to the table when he wanted to eat. Mr. 'Coon said that Mr. 'Possum might exercise himself on a little wood for the cook-stove in Mr. Crow's kitchen if he wanted any breakfast, and that if this spell kept up long enough, they wouldn't have anything left but exercise to keep them alive. So Mr. 'Possum went down-stairs after an armful of stove-wood, and he stayed a good while, though they didn't notice it at the time. Then they all helped with the breakfast, and after breakfast they pushed back all the things and played Blind Man's Buff, for Mr. Rabbit said that even if moving his chair from the fire to the table and back again was enough exercise for Mr. 'Possum, it wasn't enough for _him_, and the others said so, too. [Illustration: SO THEN MR. RABBIT SAID THEY MUST CHOOSE WHO WOULD BE "IT"] So then Mr. Rabbit said they must choose who would be It first, and they all stood in a row and Mr. Rabbit said: "Hi, ho, hickory dee One for you and one for me; One for the ones you try to find, And one for the one that wears the blind," which was a rigmarole Mr. Rabbit had made up himself to use in games where somebody had to be "It," and Mr. Rabbit said it around and around the circle on the different ones--one word for each one--until he came to the word blind and that was Mr. 'Possum, who had to put on the handkerchief and do more exercising than any of them, until he caught Mr. Turtle, who had to be "It" quite often, because he couldn't get out of the way as well as the others. [Illustration: MR. 'POSSUM HAD TO PUT ON THE HANDKERCHIEF AND DO MORE EXERCISING THAN ANY OF THEM] And Mr. 'Possum was "It" a good deal, too, and Mr. 'Coon, and all the rest, though Mr. Robin was "It" less than anybody, because he was so little and spry that he could get out of the way. Then when they were tired of "Blind Man's Bluff" they played "Pussy Wants a Corner" and "Forfeits," and Mr. 'Possum had to make a speech to redeem his forfeit, and he began: "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN" (though there were no ladies present)--"I am pleased to see you all here this evening" (though it wasn't evening) "looking so well dressed and well fed. It is better to be well fed than well dressed. It is better to be well dressed than not dressed at all. It is better to be not dressed at all than not fed at all. Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you for your kind attention and applause"--though they hadn't applauded yet, but they did, right away, and said it was a good speech, and Mr. Crow said it reminded him that it was about dinner-time, and that he would need some more wood. So Mr. 'Possum got right up to get the stove-wood again, which everybody thought was very good of Mr. 'Possum, who wasn't usually so spry and willing. Then in the afternoon they had games again, but nice quiet games, for they were all glad to sit down, and they played "Button! Button! Who's Got the Button?" and nobody could tell when Mr. 'Possum had the button, for his face didn't show it, because he was nearly always looking straight into the fire, and seemed to be thinking about something away off. And when the fire got low, he always jumped up and offered to go down into the store-room after the wood, and they all said how willing and spry Mr. 'Possum was getting all at once, and when he stayed a good while down-stairs they didn't think anything about it--not at the time--or if they did they only thought he was picking out the best pieces to burn. They played "Drop the Handkerchief", too, and when they got through Mr. Rabbit performed some tricks with the handkerchief and the button that made even Mr. 'Possum pay attention because they were so wonderful. There was one trick especially that Mr. Rabbit did a great many times because they liked it so much, and were so anxious to guess how it was done. Mr. Rabbit told them it was a trick that had come down to him from his thirty-second great-grandfather, and must never be told to any one. [Illustration: WOULD FIND IT ON THE MANTEL-SHELF OR PERHAPS ON MR. CROW'S BALD HEAD] It was a trick where he laid the button in the centre of the handkerchief and then folded the corners down on it, and pressed them down each time so that they could see that the button was still there, and he would let them press on it, too, to prove it, and then when he would lift up the handkerchief by the two corners nearest him there would be no button at all, and he would find it on the mantel-shelf or perhaps on Mr. Crow's bald head, or in Mr. 'Possum's pocket, or some place like that. But one time, when Mr. Rabbit had done it over and over, and maybe had grown a little careless, he lifted the handkerchief by the corners nearest him, and there was the button sticking fast, right in the centre of the handkerchief, for it had a little beeswax on it, to make it stick to one of the corners next to Mr. Rabbit, and by some mistake Mr. Rabbit had turned the button upside down! Then they all laughed, and all began to try it for themselves, and Mr. Rabbit laughed too, though perhaps he didn't feel much like it, and told them that they had learned one of the greatest secrets in his family, and that he would now tell them the adage that went with it if they would promise never to tell either the secret or the adage, and they all promised, and Mr. Rabbit told them the adage, which was: "When beeswax grows on the button-tree, No one knows what the weather'll be." "That," said Mr. Rabbit, "is a very old adage. I don't know what it means exactly, but I'm sure it means something, because old adages always do mean something, though often nobody can find out just what it is, and the less they seem to mean the better they are, as adages. There are a great many old adages in our family, and they have often got my ancestors out of trouble. When we didn't have an old one to fit the trouble we made a new one, and by-and-by it got old too, and useful in different ways, because by that time it didn't seem to mean anything special, and could be used almost anywhere." Then the Deep Woods People all said there was never anybody who knew so much and could do so many things as Mr. Jack Rabbit, and how proud they all were to have him in their midst, and Mr. Rabbit showed them how to do all the tricks he knew, and they all practised them and tried them on each other until Mr. Crow said he must look after the supper, and Mr. 'Possum ran right off after an armful of stove-wood, and everybody helped with everything there was to do, for they were having such a good time and were so hungry. And after supper they all sat around the fire again and smoked a little before anybody said anything, until by-and-by Mr. Rabbit said that they would go on now with the literary club, and that Mr. Robin might read the story he had mentioned the night before. So Mr. Robin got up, and stood on a chair, and made a nice bow. He said it was not really his own story he had written, but one that his grandmother used to tell him sometimes, though he didn't think it had ever been put into a book. Then Mr. Rabbit spoke up and said that that didn't matter, that of course everybody couldn't be original, and that the story itself was the main thing and the way you told it. He said if Mr. Robin would go right on with the story now it would save time. So then they all knocked the ashes out of their pipes--all except Mr. Robin, who began right off to read his story: THE DISCONTENTED FOX THE DISCONTENTED FOX MR. ROBIN TELLS HOW A FOX LEARNED A GOOD LESSON BY TAKING A LONG JOURNEY Once upon a time there was a Fox who lived at the foot of a hill and had a _nice garden_. One morning when he began to hoe in it he got tired, and the sun was _very hot_. Then the Fox didn't like to hoe any more, and made up his mind that it wasn't very pleasant to have a garden, anyway. So then he started out to travel and find _pleasant things_. He put on his best clothes, and the first house he came to belonged to a Rabbit who kept bees. And the Rabbit showed the Fox his bees and how to take out the honey. And the Fox said, "What _pleasant work_!" and wanted to take out honey too. But when he did there was a bee on the honey, and it stung the Fox on the nose. And that hurt the Fox, and his nose began to swell up, and he said: "This is not pleasant work _at all_!" and of course it wasn't--not for _him_--though the Rabbit seemed to enjoy it _more than ever_. So the Fox travelled on, and the next house he came to belonged to a Crow who made pies. And the Fox looked at him awhile and said, "What _pleasant work_!" And the Crow let the Fox help him, and when the Fox went to take a pie out of the oven he burnt his fingers _quite badly_. Then he said, "No, it is _not_ pleasant work--not for _me_!" and that was true, though the Crow seemed to enjoy it _more than ever_. So the Fox went on again, and the next house he came to belonged to a 'Coon who milked cows. And the Fox watched him milk, and pretty soon he said: "What pleasant work that _is_! Let _me_ milk." So the 'Coon let the Fox milk, and the Cow put her foot in the milk-pail and upset it _all over_ the Fox's nice _new clothes_. And the Fox was mad, and said: "This work is not in the _least_ pleasant!" and he _hurried away_, though the 'Coon seemed to enjoy it _more than ever_. And the next house the Fox came to belonged to a Cat who played the fiddle. And the Fox listened awhile and said: "What pleasant work that _must be_!" and he borrowed the Cat's fiddle. But when he started down the road playing, a Man ran around the corner and shot a loud gun at him, and that was not pleasant, _either_, though the Cat seemed to enjoy it _more than ever_. So the Fox kept on travelling and _doing_ things that he thought would be _pleasant_, but that did not turn out to _be_ pleasant--not for _him_--until by-and-by he had travelled _clear around the world_ and had come up on the other side, _back_ to his _own garden_ again. And his garden was just the same as he had left it, only the things had grown bigger, and there were _some weeds_. And the Fox jumped over the fence and commenced to _hoe_ the _weeds_, and pretty soon he said, "Why, this is _pleasant_!" Then he hoed some more, and said, "Why, what pleasant work _this is_!" So he kept on hoeing and finding it pleasant until by-and-by the weeds were _all gone_, and the _Rabbit_ and the _Crow_ and the _Cat_ and the _'Coon_ came and traded him honey and pies and milk and music for vegetables, because he had the best garden in the world. And he _has yet_! * * * * * When Mr. Robin got through and sat down, Mr. Squirrel spoke up and said it was a good story because it had a moral lesson in it and taught folks to like the things they knew best how to do, and Mr. 'Possum said yes, that might be so, but that the story couldn't be true, because none of those animals would have enjoyed seeing that Fox leave them, but would have persuaded him to stay and help them, and would have taught him to do most of the work. Then Mr. Robin spoke up and said that Mr. 'Possum thought everybody was like himself, and that anyway Mr. 'Possum didn't need the lesson in that story, for he already liked to do the things he could do best, which were to eat and sleep and let other people do the work, though of course he had been very good about getting the wood, lately, which certainly was unusual. Then Mr. 'Possum said he didn't see why Mr. Robin should speak in that cross way when he had only meant to be kind and show him the mistake in his story, so he could fix it right. And Mr. Rabbit said that as Mr. 'Possum seemed to know so much how stories and poems ought to be written, perhaps he'd show now what he could do in that line himself. Mr. 'Possum said he hadn't written anything because it was too much trouble, but that he would tell them a story if they would like to hear it--something that had really happened, because he had been there, and was old enough to remember. But before he began Mr. Robin said that as they had not cared much about his story he would like to recite a few lines he had thought of, which would perhaps explain how he felt, and all the animals said, "Of course, go right on," and Mr. Robin bowed and recited a little poem he had made, called ONLY ME _By C. Robin_ How came a little bird like me A place in this fine group to win? My mind is small--it has to be-- The little place I keep it in. How came a little bird like me To be here in the Hollow Tree? When all the others know so much, And are so strong and gifted too, How can I dare to speak of such As I can know, and think, and do? How can a little bird like me Belong here in the Hollow Tree? [Illustration: MR. POSSUM SAID HE HADN'T MEANT ANYTHING AT ALL BY WHAT HE HAD SAID ABOUT THE STORY] Well, when Mr. Robin finished that, all the others spoke right up and said that Mr. Robin must never write anything so sad as that again. They said his story was just as good as it could be, and that Mr. Robin was one of the smartest ones there; and Mr. 'Possum burst into tears, and said that he hadn't meant anything at all by what he had said about the story, and that some time, when they were all alone, Mr. Robin must tell it to him again, and he would try to have sense enough to understand it. Then he ran over to Mr. Robin, and was going to embrace him and weep on his shoulder, and would very likely have mashed him if Mr. Turtle hadn't dragged him back to his seat and told him that he had done damage enough to people's feelings without killing anybody, and the best thing he could do now would be to go on with a story of his own if he had any. But Mr. 'Possum said he was too sleepy now, so Mr. Dog sang the poem which he had promised the evening before because, he said, singing would be a nice thing to go to sleep on. Mr. Dog's song was called THE CAT WHO WOULD BE KING There was cat who kept a store, With other cats for customers. His milk and mice All packed in ice His catnip all in canisters. [Illustration: AND SO THIS CAT GREW RICH AND FAT] Fresh milk he furnished every day-- Two times a day and sometimes three-- And so this cat Grew rich and fat And proud as any cat could be. But though so fat and rich he grew He was not satisfied at all-- At last quoth he, "A king I'll be Of other cats both great and small." [Illustration] Then hied he to the tinner cat, Who made for him a tinsel crown, And on the street, A king complete, He soon went marching up and down. [Illustration] Now, many cats came out to see, And some were filled with awe at him; While some, alack, Behind his back Did laugh and point a paw at him. Mice, milk, and catnip did he scorn; He went to business less and less-- And everywhere He wore an air Of arrogance and haughtiness. [Illustration: HIS CLERKS] His clerks ate catnip all day long-- They spent much time in idle play; They left the mice From off the ice-- They trusted cats who could not pay. While happy in his tin-shop crown Each day the king went marching out, Elate because He thought he was The kind of king you read about. [Illustration: A SOLEMN LOOK WAS IN HIS FACE] But lo, one day, he strolled too far, And in a dim and dismal place A cat he met, Quite small, and yet A solemn look was in his face. One fiery eye this feline wore-- A waif he was of low degrees-- No gaudy dress Did he possess, Nor yet a handsome cat was he. But lo, he smote that spurious king And stripped him of his tinsel crown, Then like the wind Full close behind He chased His Highness into town. With cheers his subjects saw him come. He did not pause--he did not stop, But straight ahead He wildly fled Till he was safe within his shop. He caught his breath and gazed about-- A sorry sight did he behold: No catnip there Or watchful care-- No mice and milk and joy of old. [Illustration: QUOTH HE, "MY PRIDE IS SATISFIED; THIS KINGDOM BUSINESS DOES NOT PAY"] He heaved a sigh and dropped a tear-- He sent those idle clerks away-- Quoth he, "My pride Is satisfied; This kingdom business does not pay." With care once more he runs his store, His catnip all in canisters-- His milk and mice All packed in ice, And humbly serves his customers. MR. 'POSSUM'S GREAT STORY MR. 'POSSUM'S GREAT STORY MR. 'POSSUM TELLS THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF THE 'POSSUM FAMILY, TO THE SURPRISE OF HIS FRIENDS "Now this," said the Story Teller, "is the story that Mr. Possum told the Snowed-In Literary Club in the Hollow Tree. It must be a true story, because Mr. 'Possum said so, and, besides, anybody that knows Mr. 'Possum would know that he could never in the world have made it up out of his head." The Little Lady doesn't quite like that. "But Mr. 'Possum is smart," she says. "He knows ever so much." "Oh yes, of course, and that's why he never _has_ to make up things. He just tells what he knows, and this time he told "HOW UNCLE SILAS AND AUNT MELISSY MOVED "You may remember," he said, "my telling you once about Uncle Silas and Aunt Melissy Lovejoy, who lived in a nice place just beyond the Wide Paw-paw Hollows, and how Uncle Silas once visited Cousin Glenwood in town and came home all dressed up, leading a game chicken, and with a bag of shinny-sticks, and a young man to wait on him; and how Aunt Melissy--instead of being pleased, as Uncle Silas thought she would be--got mad when she saw him, and made him and the young man take off all their nice clothes and go to work in the garden, and kept them at it with that bag of shinny-sticks until fall.[2] "Well, this story is about them, too. I went to live with them soon after that, because I lost both of my parents one night when Mr. Man was hunting in the Black Bottoms for something to put in a pan with some sweet potatoes he had raised that year, and I suppose I would have been used with sweet potatoes too if I hadn't come away from there pretty lively instead of trying our old playing-dead trick on Mr. Man and his friends. "I thought right away that Mr. Man might know the trick, so I didn't wait to try it myself, but took out for the Wide Paw-paw Hollows, to visit Uncle Silas Lovejoy, who was an uncle on my mother's side, and Aunt Melissy and my little cousins; and they all seemed glad to see me, especially my little cousins, until they found they had to give me some of their things and most of their food, because I was young and growing, besides being quite sad about my folks, and so, of course, had to eat a good deal to keep well and from taking my loss too hard. "But by-and-by Uncle Lovejoy said that he didn't believe that he and the hired man--who was the same one he had brought home to wait on him when he came from town--to be his valet, he said--though he got to be a hired man right after Aunt Melissy met him and got hold of the shinny-sticks--Aunt Melissy being a spry, stirring person who liked to see people busy. I remember how she used to keep me and my little cousins busy until sometimes I wished I had stayed with my folks and put up with the sweet potatoes and let Uncle Silas and his family alone." Mr. 'Possum stopped to light his pipe, and Mr. Rabbit said that he supposed, of course, Mr. 'Possum knew his story and how to tell it, but that if he ever intended to finish what Uncle Lovejoy had said about himself and the hired man he wished he'd get at it pretty soon. Mr. 'Possum said of course he meant to, as soon as he could get his breath, and think a minute. "Well, then," he said, "Uncle Silas told Aunt Melissy that he didn't believe he and the hired man could raise and catch enough for the family since I had come to stay with them, and he thought they had better move farther west to a place where the land was better and where Mr. Man's chickens were not kept up in such close, unhealthy places, but were allowed to roost out in the open air, on the fences and in the trees. He said he didn't think their house was quite stylish enough either, which he knew would strike Aunt Melissy, who was a Glenwood, and primpy, and fond of the best things. "So then we began to pack up right away, and Uncle Silas and Aunt Melissy quarrelled a good deal about what was worth taking and what wasn't, and they took turns scolding the hired man about a good many things he didn't do and almost all of the things he did do, and my little cousins and I had a fine time running through the empty rooms and playing with things we had never seen before, but we had to keep out of Aunt Melissy's reach if we wanted to enjoy it much. [Illustration: AUNT MELISSY HAD ARRANGED A BUNDLE FOR UNCLE SILAS, AND SHE HAD FIXED UP THE HIRED MAN TOO] "Well, by-and-by we were all packed up and ready to start. We had everything in bundles or tied together, and Aunt Melissy had arranged a big bundle for Uncle Silas to carry, and several things to tie and hang about on his person in different places, and she had fixed up the hired man too, besides some bundles for me and my little cousins. [Illustration: DIDN'T LOOK AS IF SHE BELONGED TO THE REST OF OUR CROWD] "Aunt Melissy said she would take charge of the lunch-basket and lead the way, and she was all dressed up and carried an umbrella, and didn't look much as if she belonged to the rest of our crowd. "It was pretty early when we started, for it was getting dangerous to camp out in that section, and we wanted to get as far as we could the first day, though we didn't any of us have any idea then how long a trip we _would_ make that day, nor of the way we were going to make it. Nobody could guess a guess like that, even if he was the best guesser in the world and made his living that way." Mr. 'Possum stopped to light his pipe again, and said that if anybody wanted a chance to guess how far they went that first day and how they travelled, they could guess now. But the Hollow Tree People said they didn't want to guess, and they did want Mr. 'Possum to go ahead and tell them about it. "Well," said Mr. 'Possum, "we travelled fifty miles that first day, and we travelled it in less than two hours." "Fifty miles in two hours!" said all the Hollow Tree People. And Jack Rabbit said: "Why, a menagerie like that couldn't travel fifty miles in two years!" "But we did, though," said Mr. 'Possum; "we travelled it in a balloon." "In a balloon!" "Well, not exactly in a balloon, but _with_ a balloon. It happened just as I'm going to tell you. "We went along pretty well until we got to the Wide Grass Lands, though Aunt Melissy scolded Uncle Silas a good deal because he got behind and didn't stand up in a nice stylish way with all the things he had to carry, and she used her umbrella once on the hired man because he dropped the clock. "When we got out to the Wide Grass Lands there was a high east wind blowing, getting ready for a storm, and when we got on top of a little grassy hill close to the Wide Blue Water it blew Uncle Silas and the hired man so they could hardly stand up, and it turned Aunt Melissy's umbrella wrong side out, which made her mad, and she said that it was Uncle Silas's fault and mine, and that she had never wanted to move anyway. "But just then one of my little cousins looked up in the sky and said, 'Oh, look at that funny bird!' and we all looked up, and there was a great big long bag of a thing coming right toward us, not very high up, and Uncle Silas spoke up and said 'That's a balloon,' for Uncle Silas had seen one in town when he was there visiting Cousin Glenwood, and the hired man, too. Then while we were all standing there watching it, we saw that there was a long rope that hung from the balloon most to the ground, and that it had something tied to the end of it (a big iron thing with a lot of hooks on it), and that it was swooping down straight toward us. "Uncle Silas called out as loud as he could, 'That's the anchor! Look out!' but it was too late to look out, for it was coming as fast as the wind blew the balloon, and Uncle Silas and the hired man being loaded with the things couldn't move very quick, and the rest of us were too scared to know which way to jump, and down came that thing right among us, and I saw it catch among Uncle Silas's furniture and the hired man's, and I heard Uncle Silas say, 'Grab hold, all of you' and we all did, some one way and some another, and away we went. "Well, it was certainly very curious how we all were lucky enough to get hold of that anchor, with all our bundles and things; but of course we could do it better than if we had not been given those nice useful tails which belong to our family. I had hold that way, and some of the others did, too. Uncle Silas didn't need to hold on at all, for some of the furniture was tied to him, and he just sat back in a chair that was hung on behind and took it easy, though he did drop some of his things when he first got aboard, and Aunt Melissy scolded him for that as soon as she caught her breath and got over being frightened and was sitting up on her part of the anchor enjoying the scenery. [Illustration: THE BALLOON WENT OVER THE WIDE BLUE WATER JUST AFTER IT GOT OUR FAMILY] "I never had such a trip as that before, and never expect to have one again. The balloon went over the Wide Blue Water just after it got our family, and we were all afraid we would be let down in it and drowned; but the people who were in the balloon threw out something heavy which we thought at first they were throwing at us, but it must have been something to make the balloon go up; for we did go up until Aunt Melissy said if we'd just get a little nearer one of those clouds she'd step out on it and live there, as she'd always wanted to do since she was a child. "Then we all sat up and held on tight, above and below, and said what a nice day it was to travel, and that we'd always travel that way hereafter; and Uncle Silas and the hired man unhooked their furniture, so they could land easier when the time came, and Aunt Melissy passed around the lunch, and we looked down and saw the water and the land again and a lot of houses and trees, and Aunt Melissy said that nobody could ever make her believe the world was that big if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes. "And Uncle Silas and the hired man said that of course this was going pretty fast, but that they had travelled a good deal faster sometimes when they were in town with Cousin Glenwood, and pretty soon he showed us the town where Cousin Glenwood lived, and he and the hired man tried to point out the house to us, but they couldn't agree about which it was because the houses didn't look the same from up there in the air as they did from down on the ground. "I know I shall never forget that trip. We saw ever so many different Mr. Men and Mr. Dogs, and animals of every kind, and houses that had chimneys taller than any tree, and a good many things that even Uncle Silas did not know about. Then by-and-by we came to some woods again--the biggest kind of Big Deep Woods--and we saw that we were getting close to the tree-tops, and we were all afraid we would get hit by the branches and maybe knocked off with our things. "And pretty soon, sure enough, that anchor did drop right down among the trees, and such a clapping and scratching as we did get! "We shut our eyes and held on, and some of our furniture was brushed off of Uncle Silas and the hired man, and Aunt Melissy lost her umbrella, and I lost a toy chicken, which I could never find again. Then all at once there was a big sudden jerk that jarred Uncle Silas loose, and made Aunt Melissy holler that she was killed, and knocked the breath out of the rest of us for a few minutes. "But we were all there, and the anchor was fast on the limb of a big tree--a tree almost as big as the Hollow Tree, and hollow, just like it, with a nice handy place to go in. "So when we got our senses back we picked up all our things that we could find, and moved into the new place, and Aunt Melissy looked at the clock, which was still running, and it was just a little over two hours since we started. "Then pretty soon we heard Mr. Man and his friends who had been up in the balloon coming, and we stayed close inside till they had taken the anchor and everything away, and after that, when it was getting dark, Uncle Silas and the hired man went out and found, not very far off, where there were some nice chickens that roosted in handy places, and brought home two or three, and Aunt Melissy set up the stove and cooked up a good supper, and we all sat around the kitchen fire, and the storm that the east wind had been blowing up came along sure enough and it rained all night, but we were snug and dry, and went to sleep mostly in beds made down on the floor, and lay there listening to the rain and thinking what a nice journey we'd had and what a good new home we'd found. "And it _was_ a good place, for I lived there till I grew up, and if I'm not mistaken some of Uncle Silas's and Aunt Melissy's children live there still. I haven't heard from any of them for a long time, but I am thinking of going on a visit over that way in the spring, and if that balloon is still running I'm going to travel with it. "And that," said Mr. 'Possum, "is a true story--all true, every word, for I was there." Nobody said anything for a minute or two after Mr. 'Possum had finished his story--nobody _could_ say anything. Then Mr. Rabbit coughed a little and remarked that he was glad that Mr. 'Possum said that the story was true, for no one would ever have suspected it. He said if Mr. 'Possum hadn't said it was true he would have thought it was one of those pleasant dreams that Mr. 'Possum had when he slept hanging to a peg head down. [Illustration: MR. TURTLE SAID THAT WHAT MR. 'POSSUM HAD TOLD THEM WAS TRUE] But Mr. Turtle, who had been sitting with his eyes shut and looking as if he were asleep, knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and said that what Mr. 'Possum had told them was true--at least, _some_ of it was true; for he himself had been sitting in the door of his house on the shore of the Wide Blue Water when the balloon passed over, and he had seen Uncle Silas Lovejoy's family sitting up there anchored and comfortable; and he had picked up a chair that Uncle Silas had dropped, and he had it in his house to this day, it being a good strong chair and better than any that was made nowadays. Well, of course after that nobody said anything about Mr. 'Possum's story not being true, for they remembered how old and wise Mr. Turtle was and could always prove things, and they all talked about it a great deal, and asked Mr. 'Possum a good many questions. They said how nice it was to know somebody who had had an adventure like that, and Mr. Rabbit changed his seat so he could be next to Mr. 'Possum, because he said he wanted to write it all down to keep. And Mr. 'Possum said he never would forget how good those chickens tasted that first night in the new home, and that Mr. Rabbit mustn't forget to put them in. Then they all remembered that they were hungry now, and Mr. Crow and Mr. Squirrel and Mr. Robin hustled around to get a bite to eat before bedtime, and Mr. 'Possum hurried down to bring up the stove-wood, and was gone quite awhile, though nobody spoke of it--not then--even if they did wonder about it a little--and after supper they all sat around the fire again and smoked and dropped off to sleep while the clock ticked and the blaze flickered about and made queer shadows on the wall of the Hollow Tree. FOOTNOTES: [2] _Hollow Tree and Deep Woods Book_. THE BARK OF OLD HUNGRY-WOLF THE BARK OF OLD HUNGRY-WOLF HOW THE HOLLOW TREE PEOPLE HAVE A MOST UNWELCOME VISITOR, AND WHAT BECOMES OF HIM "What made Mr. 'Possum so anxious to get the wood, and what made him stay down-stairs so long when he went after it?" asks the Little Lady next evening, when the Story Teller is lighting his pipe and getting ready to remember the history of the Hollow Tree. "We're coming to that. You may be sure there was some reason for it, for Mr. 'Possum doesn't hurry after wood or stay long in a cold place if he can help it, unless he has something on his mind. Perhaps some of the Deep Woods People thought of that too, but if they did they didn't say anything--not at the time. I suppose they thought it didn't matter much, anyhow, if they got the wood." So they went right on having a good time, keeping up a nice fire, and eating up whatever they had; for they thought the big snow couldn't last as long as their wood and their things to eat, and every day they went up to look out of the up-stairs windows to see how much had melted, and every day they found it just about the same, only maybe a little crustier on top, and the weather stayed _very cold_. But they didn't mind it so long as they were warm and not hungry, and they played games, and recited their pieces, and sang, and danced, and said they had never had such a good time in all their lives. [Illustration: ONE DAY MR. CROW FOUND HE WAS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE BARREL OF EVERYTHING] But one day when Mr. Crow went down into the store-room for supplies he found that he was at the bottom of the barrel of everything they had, and he came up looking pretty sober, though he didn't say anything about it--not then, for he knew there were plenty of bones and odds and ends he could scrape up, and he had a little flour and some meal in his pantry; so he could make soup and gravy and johnny-cake and hash, which he did right away, and they all said how fine such things were for a change, and told Mr. Crow to go right on making them as long as he wanted to, even if the snow stayed on till spring. And Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon said it was like old times, and that Mr. Crow was probably the very best provider in the Big Deep Woods. Mr. Crow smiled, too, but he didn't feel like it much, for he knew that even johnny-cake and gravy wouldn't last forever, and that unless the snow went away pretty soon they would all be hungry and cold, for the wood was getting low, too. And one morning, when Mr. Crow went to his meal-sack and his flour-bag and his pile of odds and ends there was just barely enough for breakfast, and hardly that. And Mr. Crow didn't like to tell them about it, for he knew they all thought he could keep right on making johnny-cake and gravy forever, because they didn't have to stop to think where things came from, as he did, and he was afraid they would blame him when there was nothing more left. So the Old Black Crow tried to step around lively and look pleasant, to keep anybody from noticing, because he thought it might turn warm that day and melt the snow; and when breakfast was ready he put on what there was and said he hadn't cooked very much because he had heard that light breakfasts were better for people who stayed in the house a good deal, and as for himself, he said he guessed he wouldn't eat any breakfast that morning at all. Then while the others were eating he crept down-stairs and looked at the empty boxes and barrels and the few sticks of wood that were left, and he knew that if that snow didn't melt off right away they were going to have a _very hard time_. Then he came back up in the big living-room and went on up-stairs to his own room, to look out the window to see if it wasn't going to be a warm, melting day. But Mr. Crow came back pretty soon. He came back in a hurry, too, and he slammed his door and locked it, and then let go of everything and just slid down-stairs. Then the Deep Woods People jumped up quick from the table and ran to him, for they thought he was having a fit of some kind, and they still thought so when they looked into his face: for Mr. Crow's eyes were rolled up and his bill was pale, and when he tried to speak he couldn't. And Mr. Rabbit said it was because Mr. Crow had done without his breakfast, and he ran to get something from the table; but Mr. Crow couldn't eat, and then they saw that some of the feathers on top of his head were turning gray, and they knew he had seen some awful thing just that little moment he was in his room. So then they all looked at one another and wondered what it was, and they were glad Mr. Crow had locked the door. Then they carried him over to the fire, and pretty soon he got so he could whisper a little, and when they knew what he was saying they understood why he was so scared and why he had locked the door; for the words that Mr. Crow kept whispering over and over were: "Old Hungry-Wolf! Old Hungry-Wolf! Old Hungry-Wolf!" All the Deep Woods People know what that means. They know that when Old Hungry-Wolf comes, or even when you hear him bark, it means that there is no food left in the Big Deep Woods for anybody, and that nobody can tell how long it will be before there _will_ be food again. And all the Deep Woods People stood still and held their breath and listened for the bark of Old Hungry-Wolf, because they knew Mr. Crow had seen his face looking in the window. And they all thought they heard it, except Mr. 'Possum, who said he didn't believe it was Old Hungry-Wolf at all that Mr. Crow had seen, but only Mr. Gray Wolf himself, who had perhaps slipped out and travelled over the snow to see if they were all at home and comfortable. But Mr. Crow said: "No, no; it was Old Hungry-Wolf! He was big and black, and I saw his great fiery eyes!" Then Mr. 'Possum looked very brave, and said he would see if Old Hungry-Wolf was looking into his window too, and he went right up, and soon came back and said there wasn't any big black face at his window, and he thought that Mr. Crow's empty stomach had made him imagine things. So then Mr. 'Coon said that he would go up to _his_ room if the others would like to come along, and they could see for themselves whether Old Hungry-Wolf was trying to get in or not. [Illustration: THEN MR. 'COON SLAMMED HIS DOOR] Then they all went very quietly up Mr. 'Coon's stair (all except Mr. 'Possum, who stayed with Mr. Crow), and they opened Mr. 'Coon's door and took one look inside, and then Mr. 'Coon he slammed _his_ door shut, and locked it, and they all let go of everything and came sliding down in a heap, for they had seen the great fiery eyes and black face of Old Hungry-Wolf glaring in at Mr. 'Coon's window. So they all huddled around the fire and lit their pipes--for they still had some tobacco--and smoked, but didn't say anything, until by-and-by Mr. Crow told them that there wasn't another bite to eat in the house and very little wood, and that that was the reason why Old Hungry-Wolf had come. And they talked about it in whispers--whether they ought to exercise any more, because though exercise would help them to keep warm and save wood, it would make them hungrier. And some of them said they thought they would try to go to sleep like Mr. Bear, who slept all winter and never knew that he was hungry until spring. So they kept talking, and now and then they would stop and listen, and they all said they could hear the bark of Old Hungry-Wolf--all except Mr. 'Possum, which was strange, because Mr. 'Possum is fond of good things and would be apt to be the very first to hear Old Hungry's bark. [Illustration: Mr. 'POSSUM SAID NOT TO MOVE, THAT HE WOULD GO AFTER A PIECE OF WOOD] And when the fire got very low and it was getting cold, Mr. 'Possum said for them not to move; that he would go down after a piece of wood, and he would attend to the fire as long as the wood lasted, and try to make it last as long as possible. And every time the fire got very low Mr. 'Possum would bring a piece of wood, and sometimes he stayed a good while (just for one piece of wood), but they still didn't think much about it--not then. What they did think about was how hungry they were, and Mr. Crow said he knew he could eat as much as the old ancestor of his that was told about in a book which he had once borrowed from Mr. Man's little boy who had left it out in the yard at dinner-time. Then they all begged Mr. Crow to get the book and read it to them, and perhaps they could imagine they were not so hungry. So Mr. Crow brought the book and read them the poem about THE RAVENOUS RAVEN [Illustration: HE WOULD SMOKE IN THE SUN WHEN THE MORNINGS WERE FAIR] Oh, there was an old raven as black as could be, And a wonderful sort of a raven was he; For his house he kept tidy, his yard he kept neat, And he cooked the most marvellous dainties to eat. He could roast, he could toast, he could bake, he could fry, He could stir up a cake in the wink of an eye, He could boil, he could broil, he could grill, he could stew Oh, there wasn't a thing that this bird couldn't do. He would smoke in the sun when the mornings were fair, And his plans for new puddings and pies would prepare; But, alas! like the famous Jim Crow with his shelf, He was greedy, and ate all his dainties himself. [Illustration: WITH A LOOK AND A SIGH THEY WOULD STAND AND BEHOLD] It was true he was proud of the things he could cook, And would call in his neighbors sometimes for a look, Or a taste, it may be, when his pastry was fine; But he'd never been known to invite them to dine. With a look and a sigh they could stand and behold All the puddings so brown and the sauces of gold; With a taste and a growl they'd reluctantly go Praying vengeance to fall on that greedy old crow. [Illustration: THE TASTIEST PASTRY THAT EVER WAS KNOWN] Now, one morning near Christmas when holly grows green, And the best of good things in the markets are seen, He went out for a smoke in the crisp morning air, And to think of some holiday dish to prepare. Mr. Rabbit had spices to sell at his store, Mr. Reynard had tender young chicks by the score, And the old raven thought, as he stood there alone, Of the tastiest pastry that ever was known. Then away to the market he hurried full soon, Dropping in for a chat with the 'possum and 'coon Just to tell them his plans, which they heard with delight, And to ask them to call for a moment that night For a look and a taste of his pastry so fine, And he hinted he might even ask them to dine. Then he hurried away, and the rest of the day Messrs. 'Possum and 'Coon were expectant and gay. [Illustration: THEN TO STIR AND TO BAKE HE BEGAN RIGHT AWAY] Oh, he hurried away and to market he went, And his money for spices and poultry he spent, While behind in the market were many, he knew, Who would talk of the marvellous things he would do; So with joy in his heart and with twinkling eye He returned to his home his new project to try, Then to stir and to bake he began right away, And his dish was complete at the end of the day. Aye, the marvel was done--'twas a rich golden hue, And its smell was delicious--the old raven knew That he never had made such a pastry before, And a look of deep trouble his countenance wore; "For," thought he, "I am certain the' possum and 'coon That I talked with to-day will be coming here soon, And expect me to ask them to dine, when, you see, There is just a good feast in this dainty for me." Now, behold, he'd scarce uttered his thoughts when he heard At the casement a tapping--this greedy old bird-- And the latch was uplifted, and gayly strode in Both the 'coon and the 'possum with faces agrin. They were barbered and brushed and arrayed in their best, In the holiday fashion their figures were dressed, While a look in each face, to the raven at least, Said, "We've come here to-night, sir, prepared for a feast." And the raven he smiled as he said, "Howdy-do?" For he'd thought of a plan to get rid of the two; And quoth he, "My dear friends, I am sorry to say That the wonderful pastry I mentioned to-day When it came to be baked was a failure complete, Disappointing to taste and disturbing to eat. I am sorry, dear friends, for I thought 'twould be fine; I am sorry I cannot invite you to dine." And the 'coon and the 'possum were both sorry, too, And suspicious, somewhat, for the raven they knew. They declared 'twas too bad all that pudding to waste, And they begged him to give them at least just a taste, But he firmly refused and at last they departed, While the greedy old crow for the dining-room started, And the pie so delicious he piled on his plate, And he ate, and he ate, and he ate, and he ate! [Illustration: THE GREEDY OLD RAVEN, BUT GREEDY NO MORE] Well, next morn when the 'possum and 'coon passed along They could see at the raven's that something was wrong, For no blue curling smoke from the chimney-top came; So they opened his door and they called out his name, And they entered inside, and behold! on the floor Was the greedy old raven, but greedy no more: For his heart it was still--not a flutter was there-- And his toes were turned up and the table was bare; Now his epitaph tells to the whole country-side How he ate, and he ate, and he ate till he died. When Mr. Crow finished, Mr. Rabbit said it was certainly an interesting poem, and if he just had a chance now to eat till he died he'd take it, and Mr. 'Coon said he'd give anything to know how that pie had tasted, and he didn't see how any _one_ pie could be big enough to kill anybody that felt as hungry as _he_ did now. And Mr. 'Possum didn't say much of anything, but only seemed drowsy and peaceful-like, which was curious for _him_ as things were. Well, all that day, and the next day, and the next, there wasn't anything to eat, and they sat as close as they could around the little fire and wished they'd saved some of the big logs and some of the food, too, that they had used up so fast when they thought the big snow would go away. And the bark of Old Hungry-Wolf got louder and louder, and he began to gnaw, too, and they all heard it, day and night--all except Mr. 'Possum, who said he didn't know why, but that for some reason he couldn't hear a sound like that at all, which was _very_ strange, indeed. But there was something else about Mr. 'Possum that was strange. He didn't get any thinner. All the others began to show the change right away, but Mr. 'Possum still looked the same, and still kept cheerful, and stepped around as lively as ever, and that was _very strange_. By-and-by, when Mr. 'Possum had gone down-stairs for some barrel staves to burn, for the wood was all gone, Mr. Rabbit spoke of it, and said he couldn't understand it; and then Mr. 'Coon, who had been thinking about it too, said he wondered why it sometimes took Mr. 'Possum so long to get a little bit of wood. Then they all remembered how Mr. Possum had stayed so long down-stairs whenever he went, even before Old Hungry-Wolf came to the Hollow Tree, and they couldn't understand it _at all_. And just then Mr. 'Possum came up with two little barrel staves which he had been a long time getting, and they all turned and looked at him very closely, which was a thing they had never done until that time. And before Mr. 'Possum noticed it, they saw him chew--a kind of last, finishing chew--and then give a little swallow--a sort of last, finishing swallow--and just then he noticed them watching him, and he stopped right in his tracks and dropped the two little barrel staves and looked very scared and guilty, which was strange, when he had always been so willing about the wood. [Illustration: LOOKED STRAIGHT AT MR. 'POSSUM AND SAID, "WHAT WAS THAT YOU WERE CHEWING JUST NOW?"] Then they all got up out of their chairs and looked straight at Mr. 'Possum, and said: "What was that you were chewing just now?" And Mr. 'Possum couldn't say a word. Then they all said: "What was that you were swallowing just now?" And Mr. 'Possum couldn't say a word. Then they all said: "Why do you always stay so long when you go for wood?" And Mr. 'Possum couldn't say a word. Then they all said: "Why is it that you don't get thin, like the rest of us?" And Mr. 'Possum couldn't say a word. Then they all said: "Why is it you never hear the bark of Old Hungry-Wolf?" And Mr. 'Possum said, very weakly: "I did think I heard it a little while ago." Then they all said: "And was that why you went down after wood?" And once more Mr. 'Possum couldn't say a word. Then they all said: "What have you got _down there_ to eat? And _where_ do you keep it?" Then Mr. 'Possum seemed to think of something, and picked up the two little barrel staves and brought them over to the fire and put them on, and looked very friendly, and sat down and lit his pipe and smoked a minute, and said that climbing the stairs had overcome him a little, and that he wasn't feeling very well, but if they'd let him breathe a minute he'd tell them all about it, and how he had been preparing a nice surprise for them, for just such a time as this; but when he saw they had found out something, it all came on him so sudden that, what with climbing the stairs and all, he couldn't quite gather himself, but that he was all right now, and the surprise was ready. "Of course you know," Mr. 'Possum said, "that I have travelled a good deal, and have seen a good many kinds of things happen, and know about what to expect. And when I saw how fast we were using up the food, and how deep the snow was, I knew we might expect a famine that even Mr. Crow's johnny-cake and gravy wouldn't last through; and Mr. Crow mentioned something of the kind once himself, though he seemed to forget it right away again, for he went on giving us just as much as ever. But I didn't forget about it, and right away I began laying aside in a quiet place some of the things that would keep pretty well, and that we would be glad to have when Old Hungry-Wolf should really come along and we had learned to live on lighter meals and could make things last." Mr. 'Possum was going right on, but Mr. 'Coon interrupted him, and said that Mr. 'Possum could call it living on lighter meals if he wanted to but that he hadn't eaten any meal at all for three days, and that if Mr. 'Possum had put away anything for a hungry time he wished he'd get it out right now, without any more explaining, for it was food that he wanted and not explanations, and all the others said so too. Then Mr. 'Possum said he was just coming to that, but he only wished to say a few words about it because they had seemed to think that he was doing something that he shouldn't, when he was really trying to save them from Old Hungry-Wolf, and he said he had kept his surprise as long as he could, so it would last longer, and that he had been pretending not to hear Old Hungry's bark just to keep their spirits up, and he supposed one of the reasons why he hadn't got any thinner was because he hadn't been so worried, and had kept happy in the nice surprise he had all the time, just saving it for when they would begin to need it most. As to what he had been chewing and swallowing when he came up-stairs, Mr. 'Possum said that he had been taking just the least little taste of some of the things to see if they were keeping well--some nice cooked chickens, for instance, from a lot that Mr. Crow had on hand and didn't remember about, and a young turkey or two, and a few ducks, and a bushel or so of apples, and a half a barrel of doughnuts, and-- But Mr. 'Possum didn't get any further, for all the Deep Woods People made a wild scramble for the stairs, with Mr. 'Possum after them, and when they got down in the store-room he took them behind one of the big roots of the Hollow Tree, and there was a passageway that none of them had ever suspected, and Mr. 'Possum lit a candle and led them through it and out into a sort of cave, and there, sure enough, were all the things he had told them about and some mince-pies besides. And there was even some wood, for Mr. 'Possum had worked hard to lay away a supply of things for a long snowed-in time. Then all the Hollow Tree People sat right down there and had some of the things, and by-and-by they carried some more up-stairs, and some wood, too, and built up a fine big fire, and lit their pipes and smoked, and forgot everything unpleasant in the world. And they all said how smart and good Mr. 'Possum was to save all that food for the very time when they would need it most, when all the rest of them had been just eating it up as fast as possible and would have been now without a thing in the world except for Mr. 'Possum. Then Mr. 'Possum asked them if they could hear Old Hungry-Wolf any more, and they listened but they couldn't hear a sound, and then they went up into Mr. Crow's room, and into Mr. Coon's room, and into Mr. 'Possum's room, and they couldn't see a thing of him anywhere, though it was just the time of day to see him, for it was late in the evening--the time Old Hungry-Wolf is most likely to look in the window. And that night it turned warm, and the big snow began to thaw; and it thawed, and it thawed, and all the brooks and rivers came up, and even the Wide Blue Water rose so that the Deep Woods Company had to stay a little longer in the Hollow Tree, even when all the snow was nearly gone. Mr. Rabbit was pretty anxious to get home, and started out one afternoon with Mr. Turtle along, because Mr. Turtle is a good swimmer. But there was too much water to cross and they came back again just at sunset, and Mr. Crow let them in,[3] so they had to wait several days longer. But Mr. 'Possum's food lasted, and by the time it was gone they could get plenty more; and when they all went away and left the three Hollow Tree People together again, they were very happy because they had had such a good time; and the 'Coon and 'Possum and the Old Black Crow were as good friends as ever, though the gray feathers on the top of Mr. Crow's head never did turn quite black again, and some of the Deep Woods People call him Silver-Top to this day. The Little Lady looks anxiously at the Story Teller. "Did Old Hungry-Wolf ever get inside of the Hollow Tree?" she asks. "No, he never did get inside; they only saw him through the window, and heard him bark." "And why couldn't Mr. 'Possum ever hear him sometimes?" "Well, you see, Old Hungry isn't a real wolf, but only a shadow wolf--the shadow of famine. He only looks in when people dread famine, and he only barks and gnaws when they feel it. A famine, you know, is when one is very hungry and there is nothing to eat. I don't think Mr. 'Possum was very hungry, and he had all those nice things laid away, so he would not care much about that old shadow wolf, which is only another name for hunger." The Little Lady clings very close to the Story Teller. "Will we ever see Old Hungry-Wolf and hear his bark?" The Story Teller sits up quite straight, and gathers the Little Lady tight. "Good gracious, no!" he says. "He moved out of our part of the country before you were born, and we'll take good care that he doesn't come back any more." "I'm glad," says the Little Lady. "You can sing now--you know--the 'Hollow Tree Song.'" FOOTNOTES: [3] See picture on cover. AN EARLY SPRING CALL ON MR. BEAR AN EARLY SPRING CALL ON ON MR. BEAR MR. 'POSSUM'S CURIOUS DREAM AND WHAT CAME OF IT "What did they do then?" asks the Little Lady. "What did the Deep Woods People all do after they got through being snowed in?" "Well, let's see. It got to be spring then pretty soon--early spring--of course, and Mr. Jack Rabbit went to writing poetry and making garden; Mr. Robin went to meet Mrs. Robin, who had been spending the winter down South; Mr. Squirrel, who is quite young, went to call on a very nice young Miss Squirrel over toward the Big West Hills; Mr. Dog had to help Mr. Man a good deal with the spring work; Mr. Turtle got out all his fishing-things and looked them over, and the Hollow Tree People had a general straightening up after company. They had a big house-cleaning, of course, with most of their things out on the line, and Mr. 'Possum said that he'd just about as soon be snowed-in for good as to have to beat carpets and carry furniture up and down stairs all the rest of his life." But they got through at last, and everything was nice when they were settled, only there wasn't a great deal to be had to eat, because it had been such a long, cold winter that things were pretty scarce and hard to get. One morning Mr. 'Possum said he had had a dream the night before, and he wished it would come true. He said he had dreamed that they were all invited by Mr. Bear to help him eat the spring breakfast which he takes after his long winter nap, and that Mr. Bear had about the best breakfast he ever sat down to. He said he had eaten it clear through, from turkey to mince-pie, only he didn't get the mince-pie because Mr. Bear had asked him if he'd have it hot or cold, and just as he made up his mind to have some of both he woke up and didn't get either. Then Mr. 'Coon said he wished he could have a dream like that; that he'd take whatever came along and try to sleep through it, and Mr. Crow thought a little while and said that sometimes dreams came true, especially if you helped them a little. He said he hadn't heard anything of Mr. Bear this spring, and it was quite likely he had been taking a longer nap than usual. It might be a good plan, he thought, to drop over that way and just look in in passing, because if Mr. Bear should be sitting down to breakfast he would be pretty apt to ask them to sit up and have a bite while they told him the winter news. Then Mr. 'Possum said that he didn't believe anybody in the world but Mr. Crow would have thought of that, and that hereafter he was going to tell him every dream he had. They ought to start right away, he said, because if they should get there just as Mr. Bear was clearing off the table it would be a good deal worse than not getting the mince-pie in his dream. So they hurried up and put on their best clothes and started for Mr. Bear's place, which is over toward the Edge of the World, only farther down, in a fine big cave which is fixed up as nice as a house and nicer. But when they got pretty close to it they didn't go so fast and straight, but just sauntered along as if they were only out for a little walk and happened to go in that direction, for they thought Mr. Bear might be awake and standing in his door. They met Mr. Rabbit about that time and invited him to go along, but Mr. Rabbit said his friendship with Mr. Bear was a rather distant one, and that he mostly talked to him from across the river or from a hill that had a good clear running space on the other slope. He said Mr. Bear's taste was good, for he was fond of his family, but that the fondness had been all on Mr. Bear's side. [Illustration: THEY WENT ALONG, SAYING WHAT A NICE MAN THEY THOUGHT MR. BEAR WAS] So the Hollow Tree People went along, saying what a nice man they thought Mr. Bear was, and saying it quite loud, and looking every which way, because Mr. Bear might be out for a walk too. But they didn't see him anywhere, and by-and-by they got right to the door of his cave and knocked a little, and nobody came. Then they listened, but couldn't hear anything at first, until Mr. 'Coon, who has very sharp ears, said that he was sure he heard Mr. Bear breathing and that he must be still asleep. Then the others thought they heard it, too, and pretty soon they were sure they heard it, and Mr. 'Possum said it was too bad to let Mr. Bear oversleep himself this fine weather, and that they ought to go in and let him know how late it was. [Illustration: SLEEP RIGHT WHERE HE WAS] So then they pushed open the door and went tiptoeing in to where Mr. Bear was. They thought, of course, he would be in bed, but he wasn't. He was sitting up in a big arm-chair in his dressing-gown, with his feet up on a low stool, before a fire that had gone out some time in December, with a little table by him that had a candle on it which had burned down about the time the fire went out. His pipe had gone out too, and they knew that Mr. Bear had been smoking, and must have been very tired and gone to sleep right where he was, and hadn't moved all winter long. It wasn't very cheerful in there, so Mr. 'Possum said maybe they'd better stir up a little fire to take the chill off before they woke Mr. Bear, and Mr. 'Coon found a fresh candle and lighted it, and Mr. Crow put the room to rights a little, and wound up the clock, and set it, and started it going. Then when the fire got nice and bright they stood around and looked at Mr. Bear, and each one said it was a good time now to wake him up, but nobody just wanted to do it, because Mr. Bear isn't always good-natured, and nobody could tell what might happen if he should wake up cross and hungry, and he'd be likely to do that if his nap was broken too suddenly. Mr. Possum said that Mr. Crow was the one to do it, as he had first thought of this trip, and Mr. Crow said that it was Mr. 'Possum's place, because it had been in his dream. Then they both said that as Mr. 'Coon hadn't done anything at all so far, he might do that. Mr. 'Coon said that he'd do it quick enough, only he'd been listening to the way Mr. Bear breathed, and he was pretty sure he wouldn't be ready to wake up for a week yet, and it would be too bad to wake him now when he might not have been resting well during the first month or so of his nap and was making it up now. He said they could look around a little and see if Mr. Bear's things were keeping well, and perhaps brush up his pantry so it would be nice and clean when he did wake. Then Mr. Crow said he'd always wanted to see Mr. Bear's pantry, for he'd heard it was such a good place to keep things, and perhaps he could get some ideas for the Hollow Tree; and Mr. 'Possum said that Mr. Bear had the name of having a bigger pantry and more things in it than all the rest of the Deep Woods People put together. So they left Mr. Bear all nice and comfortable, sleeping there by the fire, and lit another candle and went over to his pantry, which was at the other side of the room, and opened the door and looked in. Well, they couldn't say a word at first, but only just looked at one another and at all the things they saw in that pantry. First, on the top shelf there was a row of pies, clear around. Then on the next shelf there was a row of cakes--first a fruit-cake, then a jelly-cake, then another fruit-cake and then another jelly-cake, and the cakes went all the way around, too, and some of them had frosting on them, and you could see the raisins in the fruit-cake and pieces of citron. Then on the next shelf there was a row of nice cooked partridges, all the way around, close together. And on the shelf below was a row of meat-pies made of chicken and turkey and young lamb, and on the shelf below that there was a row of nice canned berries, and on the floor, all the way around, there were jars of honey--nice comb honey that Mr. Bear had gathered in November from bee-trees. Mr. Crow spoke first. "Well, I never," he said, "never in all my life, saw anything like it!" And Mr. 'Coon and Mr. 'Possum both said: "He can't do it--a breakfast like that is too much for _any_ bear!" Then Mr. Crow said: "He oughtn't to be _allowed_ to do it. Mr. Bear is too nice a man to lose." And Mr. 'Possum said: "He _mustn't_ be allowed to do it--we'll help him." "Where do you suppose he begins? said Mr. 'Coon. "At the top, very likely," said Mr. Crow. "He's got it arranged in courses." "I don't care where he begins," said Mr. 'Possum; "I'm going to begin somewhere, now, and I think I will begin on a meat-pie." And Mr. Crow said he thought he'd begin on a nice partridge, and Mr. 'Coon said he believed he'd try a mince-pie or two first, as a kind of a lining, and then fill in with the solid things afterward. So then Mr. 'Possum took down his meat-pie, and said he hoped this wasn't a dream, and Mr. Crow took down a nice brown partridge, and Mr. 'Coon stood up on a chair and slipped a mince-pie out of a pan on the top shelf, and everything would have been all right, only he lost his balance a little and let the pie fall. It made quite a smack when it struck the floor, and Mr. 'Possum jumped and let his pie fall, too, and that made a good deal more of a noise, because it was large and in a tin pan. Then Mr. Crow blew out the light quick, and they all stood perfectly still and listened, for it seemed to them a noise like that would wake the dead, much more Mr. Bear, and they thought he would be right up and in there after them. But Mr. Bear was too sound asleep for that. They heard him give a little cough and a kind of a grunt mixed with a sleepy word or two, and when they peeked out through the door, which was open just a little ways, they saw him moving about in his chair, trying first one side and then the other, as if he wanted to settle down and go to sleep again, which he didn't do, but kept right on grunting and sniffing and mumbling and trying new positions. Then, of course, the Hollow Tree People were scared, for they knew pretty well he was going to wake up. There wasn't any way to get out of Mr. Bear's pantry except by the door, and you had to go right by Mr. Bear's chair to get out of the cave. So they just stood there, holding their breath and trembling, and Mr. 'Possum wished now it _was_ a dream, and that he could wake up right away before the nightmare began. Well, Mr. Bear he turned this way and that way, and once or twice seemed about to settle down and sleep again; but just as they thought he really had done it, he sat up pretty straight and looked all around. Then the Hollow Tree People thought their time had come, and they wanted to make a jump, and run for the door, only they were afraid to try it. Mr. Bear yawned a long yawn, and stretched himself, and rubbed his eyes open, and looked over at the fire and down at the candle on the table and up at the clock on the mantel. The 'Coon and 'Possum and the Old Black Crow thought, of course, he'd know somebody had been there by all those things being set going, and they expected him to roar out something terrible and start for the pantry first thing. But Mr. Bear didn't seem to understand it at all, or to suppose that anything was wrong, and from what he mumbled to himself they saw right away that he thought he'd been asleep only a little while instead of all winter. "Humph!" they heard him growl, "I must have gone to sleep, and was dreaming it's time to wake up. I didn't sleep long, though, by the way the fire and the candle look, besides it's only a quarter of ten, and I remember winding the clock at half after eight. Funny I feel so hungry, after eating a big supper only two hours ago. Must be the reason I dreamed it was spring. Humph! guess I'll just eat a piece of pie and go to bed." So Mr. Bear got up and held on to his chair to steady himself, and yawned some more and rubbed his eyes, for he was only about half awake yet, and pretty soon he picked up his candle and started for the pantry. Then the Hollow Tree People felt as if they were going to die. They didn't dare to breathe or make the least bit of noise, and just huddled back in a corner close to the wall, and Mr. 'Possum all at once felt as if he must sneeze right away, and Mr. 'Coon would have given anything to be able to scratch his back, and Mr. Crow thought if he could only cough once more and clear his throat he wouldn't care whether he had anything to eat, ever again. And Mr. Bear he came shuffling along toward the pantry with his candle all tipped to one side, still rubbing his eyes and trying to wake up, and everything was just as still as still--all except a little scratchy sound his claws made dragging along the floor, though that wasn't a nice sound for the Hollow Tree People to hear. And when he came to the pantry door Mr. Bear pushed it open quite wide and was coming straight in, only just then he caught his toe a little on the door-sill and _stumbled_ in, and that was too much for Mr. 'Possum, who turned loose a sneeze that shook the world. Then Mr. Crow and Mr. 'Coon made a dive under Mr. Bear's legs, and Mr. 'Possum did too, and down came Mr. Bear and down came his candle, and the candle went out, but not any quicker than the Hollow Tree People, who broke for the cave door and slammed it behind them, and struck out for the bushes as if they thought they'd never live to get there. But when they got into some thick hazel brush they stopped a minute to breathe, and then they all heard Mr. Bear calling "Help! Help!" as loud as he could, and when they listened they heard him mention something about an earthquake and that the world was coming to an end. [Illustration: MR. COON SCRATCHED HIS BACK AGAINST A LITTLE BUSH] Then Mr. 'Possum said that from the sound of Mr. Bear's voice he seemed to be unhappy about something, and that it was too bad for them to just pass right by without asking what was the trouble, especially if Mr. Bear, who had always been so friendly, should ever hear of it. So then they straightened their collars and ties and knocked the dust off a little, and Mr. 'Coon scratched his back against a little bush and Mr. Crow cleared his throat, and they stepped out of the hazel patch and went up to Mr. Bear's door and pushed it open a little and called out: "Oh, Mr. Bear, do you need any help?" "Oh yes," groaned Mr. Bear, "come quick! I've been struck by an earthquake and nearly killed, and everything I've got must be ruined. Bring a light and look at my pantry! "So then Mr. 'Coon ran with a splinter from Mr. Bear's fire and lit the candle, and Mr. Bear got up, rubbing himself and taking on, and began looking at his pantry shelves, which made him better right away. "Oh," he said, "how lucky the damage is so small! Only two pies and a partridge knocked down, and they are not much hurt. I thought everything was lost, and my nerves are all upset when I was getting ready for my winter sleep. How glad I am you happened to be passing. Stay with me, and we will eat to quiet our nerves." Then the Hollow Tree People said that the earthquake had made them nervous too, and that perhaps a little food would be good for all of them; so they flew around just as if they were at home, and brought Mr. Bear's table right into the pantry, and some chairs, and set out the very best things and told Mr. Bear to sit right up to the table and help himself, and then all the others sat up, too, and they ate everything clear through, from meat-pie in mince-pie, just as if Mr. 'Possum's dream had really come true. And Mr. Bear said he didn't understand how he could have such a good appetite when he had such a big supper only two hours ago, and he said that there must have been two earthquakes, because a noise of some kind had roused him from a little nap he had been taking in his chair, but that the real earthquake hadn't happened until he got to the pantry door, where he stumbled a little, which seemed to touch it off. He said he hoped he'd never live to go through with a thing like that again. Then the Hollow Tree People said they had heard both of the shocks, and that the last one was a good deal the worst, and that of course such a thing would sound a good deal louder in a cave anyway. And by-and-by, when they were all through eating, they went in by the fire and sat down and smoked, and Mr. Bear said he didn't feel as sleepy as he thought he should because he was still upset a good deal by the shock, but that he guessed he would just crawl into bed while they were there, as it seemed nice to have company. So he did, and by-and-by he dropped off to sleep again, and the Hollow Tree People borrowed a few things, and went out softly and shut the door behind them. They stopped at Mr. Rabbit's house on the way home, and told him they had enjoyed a nice breakfast with Mr. Bear, and how Mr. Bear had sent a partridge and a pie and a little pot of honey to Mr. Rabbit because of his fondness for the family. Then Mr. Rabbit felt quite pleased, because it was too early for spring vegetables and hard to get good things for the table. "And did Mr. Bear sleep all summer?" asks the Little Lady. "No, he woke up again pretty soon, for he had finished his nap, and of course the next time when he looked around he found his fire out and the candle burned down and the clock stopped, so he got up and went outside, and saw it was spring and that he had slept a good deal longer than usual. But when he went to eat his spring breakfast he couldn't understand why he wasn't very hungry, and thought it must be because he'd eaten two such big suppers. "But why didn't the Hollow Tree People tell him it was spring and not let him go to bed again?" Well, I s'pose they thought it wouldn't be very polite to tell Mr. Bear how he'd been fooled, and, besides, he needed a nice nap again after the earthquake--anyhow, he thought it was an earthquake, and was a good deal upset. [Illustration: MR. RABBIT THANKED HIM FROM ACROSS THE RIVER] And it was a long time before he found out what _had really_ happened, and he never would have known, if Mr. Rabbit hadn't seen him fishing one day and thanked him from across the river for the nice breakfast he had sent him by the Hollow Tree People. That set Mr. Bear to thinking, and he asked Mr. Rabbit a few questions about things in general and earthquakes in particular, and the more he found out and thought about it the more he began to guess just how it was, and by-and-by when he did find out all about it, he didn't care any more, and really thought it quite a good joke on himself for falling asleep in his chair and sleeping there all winter long. MR. CROW'S GARDEN MR. CROW'S GARDEN THE HOLLOW TREE PEOPLE LEARN HOW TO RAISE FINE VEGETABLES One morning, right after breakfast in the Hollow Tree, Mr. Crow said he'd been thinking of something ever since he woke up, and if the 'Coon and the 'Possum thought it was a good plan he believed he'd do it. He said of course they knew how good Mr. Rabbit's garden always was, and how he nearly lived out of it during the summer, Mr. Rabbit being a good deal of a vegetarian; by which he meant that he liked vegetables better than anything, while the Hollow Tree People, Mr. Crow said, were a little different in their tastes, though he didn't know just what the name for them was. He said he thought they might be humanitarians, because they liked the things that Mr. Man and other human beings liked, but that he wasn't sure whether that was the right name or not. Then Mr. 'Possum said for him to never mind about the word, but to go on and talk about his plan if it had anything to do with something to eat, for he was getting pretty tired of living on little picked-up things such as they had been having this hard spring, and Mr. 'Coon said so too. So then Mr. Crow said: "Well, I've been planning to have a garden this spring like Mr. Rabbit's." "Humph!" said Mr. 'Possum, "I thought you were going to start a chicken farm." But Mr. Crow said "No," that the Big Deep Woods didn't seem a healthy place for chickens, and that they could pick up a chicken here and there by-and-by, and then if they had nice green pease to go with it, or some green corn, or even a tender salad, it would help out, especially when they had company like Mr. Robin, or Mr. Squirrel, or Mr. Rabbit, who cared for such things. So then the 'Coon and the 'Possum both said that to have green pease and corn was a very good idea, especially when such things were mixed with young chickens with plenty of dressing and gravy, and that as this was a pleasant morning they might walk over and call on Jack Rabbit so that the Old Black Crow could find out about planting things. Mr. 'Possum said that his uncle Silas Lovejoy always had a garden, and he had worked it a good deal when he was young, but that he had forgotten just how things should be planted, though he knew the moon had something to do with it, and if you didn't get the time right the things that ought to grow up would grow down and the down things would all grow up, so that you'd have to dig your pease and pick your potatoes when the other way was the fashion and thought to be better in this climate. So then the Hollow Tree People put on their things and went out into the nice April sunshine and walked over to Jack Rabbit's house, saying how pleasant it was to take a little walk this way when everything was getting green, and they passed by where Mr. and Mrs. Robin were building a new nest, and they looked in on a cozy little hollow tree where Mr. Squirrel, who had just brought home a young wife from over by the Big West Hills, had set up housekeeping with everything new except the old-fashioned feather-bed and home-made spread which Miss Squirrel had been given by her folks. They looked through Mr. Squirrel's house and said how snug it was, and that perhaps it would be better not to try to furnish it too much at once, as it was nice just to get things as one was able, instead of doing everything at the start. When they got to Mr. Rabbit's house he was weaving a rag carpet for his front room, and they all stood behind him and watched him weave, and by-and-by Mr. 'Coon wanted to try it, but he didn't know how to run the treadle exactly, and got some of the strands too loose and some too tight, so he gave it up, and they all went out to look at Mr. Rabbit's garden. Well, Mr. Rabbit did have a nice garden. It was all laid out in rows, and was straight and trim, and there wasn't a weed anywhere. He had things up, too--pease and lettuce and radishes--and he had some tomato-plants growing in a box in the house, because it was too early to put them out. Mr. Rabbit said that a good many people bought their plants, but that he always liked to raise his own from seed, because then he knew just what they were and what to expect. He told them how to plant the different things and about the moon, and said there was an old adage in his family that if you remembered it you'd always plant at the right time. The adage, he said, was: "Pease and beans in the light of the moon-- Both in the pot before it's June." And of course you only had to change "light" to "dark" and use it for turnips and potatoes and such things, though really it was sometimes later than June, but June was near enough, and rhymed with "moon" better than July and August. He said he would give Mr. Crow all the seeds he wanted, and that when he was ready to put out tomatoes he would let him have plenty of plants too. Then Mr. 'Coon said it would be nice to have a few flower seeds, and they all looked at Mr. 'Coon because they knew he had once been in love, and they thought by his wanting flowers that he might be going to get that way again. But Mr. Rabbit said he was fond of flowers, too, especially the old-fashioned kind, and he picked out some for Mr. 'Coon; and then he went to weaving again, and the Hollow Tree People watched him awhile, and he pointed out pieces of different clothes he had had that he was weaving into his carpet, and they all thought how nice it was to use up one's old things that way. Then by-and-by the Hollow Tree People went back home, and they began their garden right away. It was just the kind of a day to make garden and they all felt like it, so they spaded and hoed and raked, and didn't find it very easy because the place had never been used for a garden before, and there were some roots and stones; and pretty soon Mr. 'Possum said that Mr. Crow and Mr. 'Coon might go on with the digging and he would plant the seeds, as he had been used to such work when he lived with his uncle Silas as a boy. [Illustration: ONE SAID IT WAS ONE WAY AND THE OTHER THE OTHER WAY] So then he took the seeds, but he couldn't remember Mr. Rabbit's adages which told whether beets and carrots and such things as grow below the ground had to be planted in the dark of the moon or the light of the moon, and it was the same about beans and pease and the things that grow above the ground; and when he spoke to Mr. Crow and Mr. 'Coon about it, one said it was one way and the other the other way, and then Mr. 'Possum said he wasn't planting the things in the moon anyhow, and he thought Mr. Rabbit had made the adages to suit the day he was going to plant and that they would work either way. So then Mr. 'Possum planted everything there was, and showed Mr. 'Coon how to plant his flower seeds; and when they were all done they stood off and admired their nice garden, and said it was just about as nice as Jack Rabbit's, and maybe nicer in some ways, because it had trees around it and was a pleasant place to work. Well, after that they got up every morning and went out to look at their garden, to see if any of the things were coming up; and pretty soon they found a good _many_ things coming up, but they were not in hills and rows, and Mr. 'Possum said they were weeds, because he remembered that Uncle Silas's weeds had always looked like those, and how he and his little cousins had had to hoe them. So then they got their hoes and hoed every morning, and by-and-by they had to hoe some during the day too, to keep up with the weeds, and the sun was pretty hot, and Mr. 'Possum did most of his hoeing over by the trees where it wasn't so sunny, and said that hereafter he thought it would be a good plan to plant all their garden in the shade. And every day they kept looking for the seeds to come up, and by-and-by a few did come up, and then they were quite proud, and went over and told Jack Rabbit about it, and Mr. Rabbit came over to give them some advice, and said he thought their garden looked pretty well for being its first year and put in late, though it looked to him, he said, as if some of it had been planted the wrong time of the moon, and he didn't think so much shade was very good for most things. But Mr. 'Possum said he'd rather have more shade and less things, and he thought next year he'd let his part of the garden out on shares. Well, it got hotter and hotter, and the weeds grew more and more, and the Hollow Tree People had to work and hoe and pull nearly all day in the sun to keep up with them, and they would have given it up pretty soon, only they wanted to show Jack Rabbit that they could have a garden too, and by-and-by, when their things got big enough to eat, they were so proud that they invited Mr. Rabbit to come over for dinner, and they sent word to Mr. Turtle, too, because he likes good things and lives alone, not being a family man like Mr. Robin and Mr. Squirrel. Now of course the Hollow Tree People knew that they had no such fine things in their garden as Jack Rabbit had in his, and they said they couldn't expect to, but they'd try to have other things to make up; and Mr. Crow was cooking for two whole days getting his chicken-pies and his puddings and such things ready for that dinner. And then when the morning came for it he was out long before sun-up to pick the things in the garden while they were nice and fresh, with the dew on them. But when Mr. Crow looked over his garden he felt pretty bad, for, after all, the new potatoes were little and tough, and the pease were small and dry, and the beans were thin and stringy, and the salad was pretty puny and tasteless, and the corn was just nubbins, because it didn't grow in a very good place and maybe hadn't been planted or tended very well. So Mr. Crow walked up and down the rows and thought a good deal, and finally decided that he'd just take a walk over toward Jack Rabbit's garden to see if Mr. Rabbit's things were really so much better after all. It was just about sunrise, and Mr. Crow knew Jack Rabbit didn't get up so soon, and he made up his mind he wouldn't wake him when he got there, but would just take a look over his nice garden and come away again. So when he got to Mr. Rabbit's back fence he climbed through a crack, and sat down in the weeds to rest a little and to look around, and he saw that Mr. Rabbit's house was just as still and closed up as could be, and no signs of Jack Rabbit anywhere. So then Mr. Crow stepped out into the corn patch and looked along at the rows of fine roasting ears, which made him feel sad because of those little nubbins in his own garden, and then he saw the fine fat pease and beans and salads in Jack Rabbit's garden, and it seemed to him that Mr. Rabbit could never in the world use up all those things himself. [Illustration: MR. CROW DECIDED TO THIN OUT A FEW OF JACK RABBIT'S THINGS] Then Mr. Crow decided that he would thin out a few of Jack Rabbit's things, which seemed to be too thick anyway to do well. It would be too bad to disturb Mr. Rabbit to tell him about it, and Mr. Crow didn't have time to wait for him to get up if he was going to get his dinner ready on time. So Mr. Crow picked some large ears of corn and some of Mr. Rabbit's best pease and beans and salads, and filled his apron with all he could carry, and climbed through the back fence again, and took out for home without wasting any more time. And when he got there Mr. 'Coon and Mr. 'Possum were just getting up, and he didn't bother to tell them about borrowing from Mr. Rabbit's garden, but set out some breakfast, and as soon as it was over pitched in to get ready for company. Mr. 'Coon and Mr. 'Possum flew around, too, to make the room look nice, and by-and-by everything was ready, and the table was set, and the Hollow Tree People were all dressed up and looking out the window. Then pretty soon they saw Mr. Turtle coming through the timber, and just then Jack Rabbit came in sight from the other direction. Mr. Turtle had brought a basket of mussels, which always are nice with a big dinner, like oysters, and Mr. Rabbit said he would have brought some things out of his garden, only he knew the Hollow Tree People had a garden, too, this year, and would want to show what they could do in that line themselves. He said he certainly must take a look at their garden because he had heard a good deal about it from Mr. Robin. Then Mr. Crow felt a little chilly, for he happened to think that if Mr. Rabbit went out into their garden and then saw the fine things which were going to be on the table he'd wonder where they came from. So he said right away that dinner was all ready, and they'd better sit down while things were hot and fresh. Then they all sat down, and first had the mussels which Mr. Turtle had brought, and there were some fine sliced tomatoes with them, and Mr. Rabbit said he hadn't supposed that such fine big tomatoes as those could come out of a new garden that had been planted late, and that he certainly must see the vines they came off of before he went home, because they were just as big as his tomatoes, if not bigger, and he wanted to see just how they could do so well. And Mr. Crow felt _real_ chilly, and Mr. 'Coon and Mr. 'Possum both said they hadn't supposed their tomatoes were so big and ripe, though they hadn't looked at them since yesterday. But Mr. Rabbit said that a good many things could happen over night, and Mr. Crow changed the subject as quick as he could, and said that things always looked bigger and better on the table than they did in the garden, but that he'd picked all the real big, ripe tomatoes and he didn't think there'd be any more. Then after the mussels they had the chicken-pie, and when Mr. Rabbit saw the vegetables that Mr. Crow served with it he looked at them and said: "My, what fine pease and beans, and what splendid corn! I am sure your vegetables are as good as anything in my garden, if not better. I certainly _must see_ just the spot where they grew. I would never have believed you could have done it, never, if I hadn't seen them right here on your table with my own eyes." Then Mr. Turtle said they were the finest he ever tasted, and Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon both said they wouldn't have believed it themselves yesterday, and it was wonderful how much everything had grown over night. Then the Old Black Crow choked a little and coughed, and said he didn't seem to relish his food, and pretty soon he said that of course their garden _had_ done _pretty_ well, but that it was about through now, as these were things he had been saving for this dinner, and he had gathered all the biggest and best of them this morning before Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon were up. When Mr. Crow said that, Jack Rabbit looked the other way and made a very queer face, and you might have thought he was trying to keep from laughing if you had seen him, but maybe he was only trying to keep from coughing, for pretty soon he did cough a little and said that the early morning was the proper time to gather vegetables; that one could always pick out the best things then, and do it quietly before folks were up. Then Mr. Crow felt a cold, shaky chill that went all the way up and down, and he was afraid to look up, though of course he didn't believe Mr. Rabbit knew anything about what he had done, only he was afraid that he would look so guilty that everybody would see it. He said that his head was a little dizzy with being over the hot stove so much, and he hoped they wouldn't think of going out until the cool of the evening, as the sun would be too much for him, and of course he wanted to be with them. [Illustration: BRING ON THE SALAD] Poor Mr. Crow was almost afraid to bring on the salad, but he was just as afraid not to. Only he did wish he had picked out Mr. Rabbit's smallest bunches instead of his biggest ones, for he knew there were no such other salads anywhere as those very ones he had borrowed from Mr. Rabbit's garden. But he put it off as long as he could, and by-and-by Jack Rabbit said that there was one thing he was sure the Hollow Tree couldn't beat him on, and that was salad. He said he had never had such fine heads as he had this year, and that there were a few heads especially that he had been saving to show his friends. Then the 'Coon and 'Possum said "No," their salads were not very much, unless they had grown a great deal over night, like the other things--and when Mr. Crow got up to bring them he walked wobbly, and everybody said it was too bad that Mr. Crow _would_ always go to so much trouble for company. Well, when he came in with that bowl of salad and set it down, Mr. Turtle and Jack Rabbit said, "Did you ever in your life!" But Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon just sat and looked at it, for they thought it couldn't be true. Then pretty soon Mr. Rabbit said that he would take back everything he had told them about his salad, and that he was coming over to take some lessons from the Hollow Tree People, and especially from Mr. Crow, on how to raise vegetables. He said that there were a good many ways to raise vegetables--some raised them in a garden; some raised them in a hothouse; some raised them in the market; but that Mr. Crow's way was the best way there was, and he was coming over to learn it. He said they must finish their dinner before dark, for he certainly must _see_ just where _all_ Mr. Crow's wonderful things came from. Then Mr. Crow felt the gray spot on his head getting a good deal grayer, and he dropped his knife and fork, and swallowed two or three times, and tried to smile, though it was a sickly smile. He said that Mr. Rabbit was very kind, but that Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon had done a good deal of the work, too. But Jack Rabbit said "No," that nobody but an industrious person like Mr. Crow could have raised _those_ vegetables--a person who got up early, he said, and was used to taking a little trouble to get the best things. Then Mr. Crow went after the dessert, and was glad enough that there were no more vegetables to come, especially of that kind. And Mr. Rabbit seemed to forget about looking at the garden until they were all through, and then he said that before they went outside he would read a little poem he had composed that morning lying in bed and looking at the sunrise across his own garden. He said he called it: ME AND MY GARDEN Oh, it's nice to have a garden On which to put my labors. It's nice to have a garden Especially for my neighbors. I like to see it growing When skies are blue above me; I like to see it gathered By those who really love me. I like to think in winter Of pleasant summer labors; Oh, it's nice to have a garden Especially for my neighbors. Everybody said that was a nice poem and sounded just like Mr. Rabbit, who was always so free-hearted--all except Mr. Crow, who tried to say it was nice, and couldn't. Then Mr. Rabbit said they'd better go out now to see the Hollow Tree garden, but Mr. Crow said really he couldn't stand it yet, and they could see by his looks that he was feeling pretty sick, and Mr. Turtle said it was too bad to think of taking Mr. Crow out in the sun when he had worked so hard. So then they all sat around and smoked and told stories, and whenever they stopped Mr. Crow thought of something else to do and seemed to get better toward night, and got a great deal better when it got dark, and Mr. Jack Rabbit said all at once that now it was too late to see the Hollow Tree garden, and that he was so sorry, for he knew he could have learned something if he could just have one look at it, for nobody could see those vegetables and that garden without learning a great deal. [Illustration: JACK RABBIT CAPERED AND LAUGHED ALL THE WAY HOME] Then he said he must go, and Mr. Turtle said he guessed _he_ must go too, so they both set out for home, and when Jack Rabbit got out of sight of the Hollow Tree and into a little open moonlight place, he just laid down on the ground and rolled over and laughed and kicked his feet, and sat up and rocked and looked at the moon and laughed; and he capered and laughed all the way home at the good joke he had all to himself on Mr. Crow. For Mr. Rabbit had been lying awake in bed that morning when Mr. Crow was in his garden, and he had seen Mr. Crow _all_ the time. WHEN JACK RABBIT WAS A LITTLE BOY WHEN JACK RABBIT WAS A LITTLE BOY A STORY OF A VERY LONG TIME AGO The Little Lady skips first on one foot and then on the other foot, around and around, until pretty soon she tumbles backward into _twelve flower-pots_. That, of course, makes a great damage, and though the Little Lady herself isn't hurt to speak of, she is frightened very much and has to be comforted by everybody, including the Story Teller, who comes last, and finishes up by telling about something that happened to Jack Rabbit when _he_ was little. Once upon a time, it begins, when Mr. Jack Rabbit was quite small, his mother left him all alone one afternoon while she went across the Wide Grass Lands to visit an old aunt of hers and take her some of the nice blackberries she had been putting up that morning. Mrs. Rabbit had been very busy all the forenoon, and little Jack had been watching her and making believe he was putting up berries too. And when Mrs. Rabbit got through she had cleaned her stove and polished it as nice as could be; then she gave little Jack Rabbit his dinner, with some of the berries that were left over, and afterward she washed his face and hands and found his blocks for him to play with, besides a new stick of red sealing-wax--the kind she used to seal her cans with; for they did not have patent screw-top cans in those days, but always sealed the covers on with red sealing-wax. [Illustration: TOOK HER PARASOL AND HER RETICULE AND A CAN OF BERRIES, AND STARTED] Then Mrs. Rabbit told little Jack that he could play with his blocks, and build houses, with the red stick for a chimney, and to be a good boy until she came home. So little Jack Rabbit promised, and Mrs. Rabbit kissed him twice and took her parasol and her reticule and a can of berries, and started. Little Jack would have gone with her, only it was too far. Well, after she had left, little Jack played with his blocks and built houses and set the stick of sealing-wax up for a brick chimney, and by-and-by he played he was canning fruit, and he wished he could have a little stove and little cans and a little stick of sealing-wax, so he could really do it all just as she did. Then little Jack Rabbit looked at the nice polished stove and wondered how it would be to use that, and to build a little fire in it--just a _little_ fire--which would make everything seem a good deal more real, he thought, than his make-believe stove of blocks. And pretty soon little Jack opened the stove door and looked in, and when he stirred the ashes there were still a few live coals there, and when he put in some shavings they blazed up, and when he put in some pieces of old shingles and things they blazed up too, and when he put in some of Mrs. Rabbit's nice dry wood the stove got _quite hot_! Then little Jack Rabbit became somewhat frightened, for he had only meant to make a very small fire, and he thought this might turn into a big fire. Also, he remembered some things his mother had told him about playing with fire and about _never going near a hot stove_. He thought he'd better open the stove door a little to see if the fire was getting too big, but he was afraid to touch it with his fingers for fear of burning them. He had seen his mother use a stick or something to open the stove door when it was hot, so he picked up the first thing that came handy, which was the stick of sealing-wax. But when he touched it to the hot door the red stick sputtered a little and left a bright red spot on the stove door. Then little Jack forgot all about putting up blackberries, admiring that beautiful red spot on the shiny black stove, and thinking how nice it would be to make some more like it, which he thought would improve the looks of the stove a great deal. [Illustration: AND HE MADE SOME STRIPES, TOO--MOSTLY ON TOP OF THE STOVE] So then he touched it again in another place and made another spot, and in another place and made another spot, and in a lot of places and made a lot of spots, and he made some stripes, too--mostly on top of the stove, which was nice and smooth to mark on, though he made _some_ on the pipe. You would hardly have known it was the same stove when he got all through, and little Jack thought how beautiful it was and how pleased his mother would be when she got home and _saw_ it. But then right away he happened to think that perhaps she might not be so pleased after all, and the more he thought about it the more sure he was that she wouldn't like her nice red-striped and spotted stove as well as a black one; and, besides, she had told him _never_ to play with fire. [Illustration: LITTLE JACK KNEW PERFECTLY WELL THAT SHE WASN'T AT ALL PLEASED] And just at that moment Mrs. Rabbit herself stepped in the door! And when she looked at her red-spotted and striped stove and then at little Jack Rabbit, little Jack knew perfectly well without her saying a single word that she wasn't _at all pleased_. So he began to cry very loud, and started to run, and tripped over his blocks and fell against a little stand-table that had Mrs. Rabbit's work-basket on it (for Mrs. Rabbit always knit or sewed while she was cooking anything), and all the spools and buttons and knitting-work went tumbling, with little Jack Rabbit right among them, holloing, "Oh, I'm killed! I'm killed!"--just sprawling there on the floor, afraid to get up, and expecting every minute his mother would do something awful. But Mrs. Rabbit just stood and looked at him over her spectacles and then at her red-spotted and striped stove, and pretty soon she said: "Well, this is a lovely mess to come home to!" Which of course made little Jack take on a good deal worse and keep on bawling out that he was killed, until Mrs. Rabbit told him that he was making a good deal of noise for a _dead_ man, and that if he'd get up and pick up all the things he'd upset maybe he'd come to life again. Then little Jack Rabbit got up and ran to his mother and cried against her best dress and got some tears on it, and Mrs. Rabbit sat down in her rocker and looked at her stove and rocked him until he felt better. And by-and-by she changed her dress and went to cleaning her stove while little Jack picked up all the things--all the spools and buttons and needles and knitting-work--every single thing. [Illustration: PROMISED NEVER TO DISOBEY HIS MOTHER AGAIN] And after supper, when he said his prayers and went to bed, he promised never to disobey his mother again. A HOLLOW TREE PICNIC A HOLLOW TREE PICNIC THE LITTLE LADY AND THE STORY TELLER, AND THEIR FRIENDS Not far from the House of Low Ceilings, which stands on the borders of the Big Deep Woods, there is a still smaller house, where, in summertime, the Story Teller goes to make up things and write them down. And one warm day he is writing away and not noticing what time it is when he thinks he hears somebody step in the door. So then he looks around, and he sees a little straw hat and a little round red face under it, and then he sees a basket, and right away he knows it is the Little Lady. And the Little Lady says: "I've brought the picnic--did you know it?" "Why, no!" the Story Teller says, looking surprised. "Is it time?" "Yes, and I've got huckleberries and cream, and some hot biscuits." "Good gracious! Let's see!" So then the Story Teller looks, and, sure enough, there they are, and more things, too; and pretty soon the Little Lady and he go down to a very quiet place under some hemlock-trees by a big rock where there is a clear brook and a spring close by, and they sit down, and the Little Lady spreads the picnic all out--and there is ham too, and bread-and-butter, and doughnuts and they are so hungry that they eat everything, and both dip into one bowl when they get to huckleberries and cream. Then the Little Lady says: "Now tell me about the Hollow Tree People; they have picnics, too." "Sure enough, they do. And I think I'll have to tell you about their very last picnic and what happened." Well, once upon a time Mr. 'Possum said that he was getting tired of sitting down to a table every meal in a close room with the smell of cooking coming in, and if Mr. Crow would cook up a few things that would taste good cold he'd pack the basket (that is, Mr. 'Possum would) and Mr. 'Coon could carry it, and they'd go out somewhere and eat their dinner in a nice place under the trees. Mr. 'Coon said he knew a pleasant place to go, and Mr. Crow said he'd cook one of Mr. Man's chickens, which Mr. 'Possum had brought home the night before, though it would take time, he said, because it was pretty old--Mr. 'Possum having picked it out in the dark in a hurry. [Illustration: AND HE TASTED OF THAT A LITTLE, TOO] So then they all flew around and put away things, and Mr. Crow got the chicken on while Mr. 'Coon sliced the bread and Mr. 'Possum cut the cake, which they had been saving for Sunday, and he picked out a pie too, and a nice book to read which Mr. Crow had found lying in Mr. Man's yard while the folks were at dinner. Then he packed the basket all neat and nice, and ate a little piece of the cake when Mr. 'Coon had stepped out to see how the chicken was coming along, and when the chicken was ready he cut it all up nicely, and he tasted of that a little, too, while Mr. Crow was getting on his best picnic things to go. And pretty soon they all started out, and it was so bright and sunny that Mr. 'Possum began to sing a little, and Mr. 'Coon told him not to make a noise like that or they'd have company--Mr. Dog or Mr. Fox or somebody--when there was only just enough chicken for themselves, which made Mr. 'Possum stop right away. And before long they came to a very quiet place under some thick hemlock-trees behind a stone wall and close to a brook of clear water. That was the place Mr. 'Coon had thought of, and they sat down there and spread out all the things on some moss, and everything looked so nice that Mr. 'Possum said they ought to come here every day and eat dinner as long as the hot weather lasted. Then they were all so hungry that they began on the chicken right away, and Mr. 'Possum said that maybe he _might_ have picked out a tenderer one, but that he didn't think he could have found a bigger one, or one that would have lasted longer, and that, after all, size and lasting were what one needed for a picnic. [Illustration: MR. POSSUM LEANED HIS BACK AGAINST A TREE AND READ HIMSELF TO SLEEP] So they ate first one thing and then another, and Mr. 'Coon asked if they remembered the time Mr. Dog had come to one of their picnics before they were friends with him, when he'd really been invited to stay away; and they all laughed when they thought how Mr. Rabbit had excused himself, and the others, too, one after another, until Mr. Dog had the picnic mostly to himself. And by-and-by the Hollow Tree People lit their pipes and smoked, and Mr. 'Possum leaned his back against a tree and read himself to sleep, and dreamed, and had a kind of a nightmare about that other picnic, and talked in his sleep about it, which made Mr. 'Coon think of something to do. So then Mr. 'Coon got some long grass and made a strong band of it and very carefully tied Mr. 'Possum to the tree, and just as Mr. 'Possum began to have his dream again and was saying "Oh! Oh! here comes Mr. Dog!" Mr. 'Coon gave three loud barks right in Mr. 'Possum's ear, and Mr. Crow said "Wake up! Wake up, Mr. 'Possum! Here he comes!" And Mr. 'Possum did wake up, and jumped and jerked at that band, and holloed out as loud as he could: "Oh, please let me go, Mr. Dog! Oh, please let me go, Mr. Dog!" for he thought it was Mr. Dog that had him, and he forgot all about them being friends. But just then he happened to see Mr. Crow and Mr. 'Coon rolling on the ground and laughing, and he looked down to see what had him and found he was tied to a tree, and he knew that they had played a joke on him. That made him pretty mad at first, and he said if he ever got loose he'd pay them back for their smartness. [Illustration: SO MR. 'POSSUM PROMISED, AND MR. 'COON UNTIED HIM] Then Mr. 'Coon told him he most likely never would get loose if he didn't promise not to do anything, so Mr. 'Possum promised, and Mr. Coon untied him. Mr. 'Possum said he guessed the chicken must have been pretty hard to digest, and he knew it was pretty salty, for he was dying for a good cold drink. Then Mr. 'Coon said he knew where there was a spring over beyond the wall that had colder water than the brook, and he'd show them the way to it. So they climbed over the wall and slipped through the bushes to the spring, and all took a nice cold drink, and just as they raised their heads from drinking they heard somebody say something. And they all kept perfectly still and listened, and they heard it again, just beyond some bushes. [Illustration: "AND WHAT DO YOU THINK THEY SAW?"] So then they crept softly in among the green leaves and branches and looked through, and what do you think they saw? The Story Teller turns to the Little Lady, who seems a good deal excited. "Why, why, what did they see?" she says. "Tell me, quick!" "Why," the Story Teller goes on, "they saw the Little Lady and the Story Teller having a picnic too, with all the nice things spread out by a rock, under the hemlock-trees." "Oh," gasps the Little Lady, "did they really see us? and are they there now?" "They might be," says the Story Teller. "The Hollow Tree People slip around very softly. Anyway, they were there then, and it was the first time they had ever seen the Little Lady and the Story Teller so close. And they watched them until they were all through with their picnic and had gathered up their things. Then the 'Coon and the 'Possum and Old Black Crow slipped away again, and crept over the wall and gathered up their own things and set out for home very happy." The Little Lady grasps the Story Teller's hand. "Let's go and see their picnic place!" she says. "They may be there now." So the Little Lady and the Story Teller go softly down to the spring and get a drink; then they creep across to the mossy stone wall and peer over, and there, sure enough, is a green mossy place in the shade, the very place to spread a picnic; and the Little Lady jumps and says "Oh!" for she sees something brown whisk into the bushes. Anyhow, she knows the Hollow Tree People have been there, for there is a little piece of paper on the moss which they must have used to wrap up something, and she thinks they most likely heard her coming and are just gone. So the Story Teller lifts her over the wall, and they sit down on the green moss of the Hollow Tree picnic place, and she leans up against him and listens to the singing of the brook, and the Story Teller sings softly too, until by-and-by the Little Lady is asleep. And it may be, as they sit there and drowse and dream, that the Hollow Tree People creep up close and watch them. Who knows? [Illustration] 
41074	----	generously made available by The Internet Archive.) Ruins and Old Trees. [Illustration: THE QUEEN'S OAK] RUINS AND OLD TREES ASSOCIATED WITH REMARKABLE EVENTS IN ENGLISH HISTORY LONDON: HARVEY AND DARTON, GRACECHURCH STREET. RUINS AND OLD TREES, ASSOCIATED WITH MEMORABLE EVENTS IN ENGLISH HISTORY. BY MARY ROBERTS, AUTHOR OF "THE PROGRESS OF CREATION, CONSIDERED WITH REFERENCE TO THE PRESENT CONDITION OF THE EARTH," "CONCHOLOGIST'S COMPANION," &c. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS FROM DESIGNS BY GILBERT, ENGRAVED BY FOLKARD. LONDON: JOSEPH RICKERBY, PRINTER, SHERBOURN-LANE. The Oak of Chatsworth, PLANTED BY HER MAJESTY WHEN PRINCESS VICTORIA. Wave on, ye old memorial trees, In the wintry wind and the summer breeze: Beacons ye are of days gone by, Of grief and crime, of the tear and sigh. Ah! may they never come again, In hut or hall, on hill or plain! But a young tree is growing, Where clear streams are flowing; Its roots are deep in the mother earth, In the parent soil that gave it birth, And its noble boughs are waving high, Meeting the breeze or the summer wind's sigh; While quivering lights and shadows play On the flowery sod beneath; And flocks lie down in the heat of day, 'Mid the fragrant thyme and heath. Old trees have fallen down, From the sites where they stood of yore, And now in tower or town Their names are heard no more. When they stood in their days of pride, The Saxon wore his crown, And oft through the forest wide The Norman wound his horn; But thou in thy beauty's sheen, Young tree, art rising high, Thy waving boughs are seen, Against the clear blue sky. No dibbling foot of sportive fawn, In silent glen or glade, No squirrel bounding o'er the lawn Thy tender cradle made: But the poet's eye back glancing, Can sing of thy natal day, When the streamlets in light seem'd dancing, And the woods did their homage pay. A maiden placed thee, forest tree, Where thou art standing now, No care depress'd her thoughts of glee, No crown was on her brow; But she stood, a lov'd and loving one, By her noble mother's side, And while that gentle deed was done, Hearts turn'd to her with pride. The old memorial trees, That rise on rock or glen, Dark years of human sorrow Are chronicled on them; But Chatsworth's young oak springing, May spread her branches fair, When nought of sin or sadness Shall vex the earth or air. The crowns which God hath given, Shall press not then as now; No sceptre shall be riven, No care shall cloud the brow. Victoria! shielded by His power, Be thine to triumph in that hour, Queen of the sea-girt isle! Not then, As now, the Queen of suffering men, But reigning still, beloved and glorious, O'er sin, and grief, and death victorious. CONTENTS. Melksham Court. Ancient Forest--Huts of the Britons on its margin. Roman Settlements in the vale country--Destruction of the Danes--Gradual diminishing of the Forest--Pageant in the days of Richard II. in honour of his marriage with Anne of Luxemburg--Journey of the young Queen--Dangers attendant on the way--Arrival in London--Margaret of Silesia, a confidential friend and first-cousin of the Queen, accompanies her--Death of the Queen--Marriage of Margaret; afterwards that of her Daughter to Sir William Tyndale--Anecdote of Piastus, her immediate ancestor, and his elevation to the throne of Poland--A descendant of Margaret of Silesia concealed for three days and nights in the Yew-tree of Stinchcombe Wood--The Burning of his Mansion in the Valley--Reference to William Tyndale, the Apostle of the English Reformation, descended from Margaret--Beautiful Scenery around the remains of the old Forest, which now bears the name of Stinchcombe Wood--A dilapidated Court-House in the Valley, where the Tyndale family once resided--Its present condition and past greatness.--_Page 1._ Ruins of Bradgate Palace. Scenery before and around the Ruin--Beautiful group of Chesnut-trees growing there in the days of Edward I.--Clear Stream of Water, beside which Lady Jane used to walk--Ruins of the little Mill mentioned by Leland--Vale of Newtown, Hill and Ruin--Sketch of Bradgate Palace--Lady Jane's Tower--Concluding Observations--Poetry.--_Page 21._ Oak of Chertsey. Glendour's Oak. Battle between Henry IV. and Hotspur--Fall of Hotspur--Battle witnessed by Owen Glendour from the topmost branches of the Tree--Return to his Castle in the Vale of Glyndwrdwey--Mode of Warfare--Remarks respecting him--Dread entertained by the English of his possessing supernatural Powers--Anecdote of his early Life--Beautiful Scenery of Bethgellert--The bard Rhys-Cock--Stone on which he used to sit--Building of a Church by Henry IV. in commemoration of the Battle in which Hotspur fell--Present condition of the Church, and of Glendour's Oak.--_Page 31._ Yew Trees of Skelldale. Historical notice of the Monks of St. Mary's at York, who took shelter beneath seven Yew-trees--Their sanctity and mode of life--Conjectures respecting the state of Britain, when the fraternal Yew-trees first arose from the earth--Hardships endured by the recluses--The charity of their Abbot to a stranger--Splendid Abbey of the Fountain.--_Page 43._ Oak of Howel Sele. The blasted Oak. Contrast between the bleached and skeleton-looking Tree, and the lawns and thickets by which it is surrounded--History of Howel Sele--His Fight with his cousin Owen Glendour--His Death, and the inhuming of him within an hollow Oak--Search made for the Chieftain by his Vassals--Weary watchings of his Widow--Arrival of Madoc, after many years, at the Castle of the murdered Chieftain--Telling of Glendour's Death, and how he had charged him to make known where the body of Howel Sele was concealed--Working of the Vassals by torch-light, and the discovery of his Bones.--_Page 51._ Queen Mary's Tower. Winfield Castle--Peverel's Tower--Apartment and Tower of Mary, Queen of Scots--Ruins, when best seen--Heavy Storm during the Night--Aspect of Nature in the Morning--Old Tree within sight of Apartments occupied by Queen Mary--Beautiful Ash growing before her window.--_Page 57._ Chesnut of Tortworth. Celebrated as a large Tree in the days of King John--Chesnut-tree preferred among all others by Salvator Rosa--Notice of Penda, of his son, Wolfere, and Eva--Wolfere, Governor of Mercia--Benefactor of the City of Gloucester--Caer Glou, or the Bright City--Persecutions of the Christians by Penda--Piety of Eva, who became, on the death of her husband, Abbess of the Nunnery of St. Peter's--Baptism of Penda.--_Page 61._ Oak of Ellerslie. Wallace's Oak. Observations on the aged Tree--Place of its Growth--Sports and sorrows of Childhood--Assembling of the Village Children, with young Wallace, under the shade of the Oak of Ellerslie--Claim of Edward to the fealty of Scotland on the Death of the young Queen--Advance of his Armies--Contemporary Events--Wallace, when grown to manhood, takes up arms against the English--Joined by his young Companions--Concealed with many of his Officers, in an hollow of the Oak of Ellerslie, beneath which they had played in Childhood--Escape to the old Oak of Torwood, which becomes his head-quarters--Scenery on the banks of the Carron--Conversation with Bruce--Captivity and Death of Wallace--Veneration in which his Memory is held by the young People of Ellerslie--Memorial Spots associated with his Name.--_Page 69._ The Nut-Tree of Rosamond's Grave. Rebuke of St. Hugh, Bishop of Lincoln, to the Sisters of Godstow Nunnery--Removal of Rosamond's Hearse from before the Altar--Her Burial in the Churchyard--Belief of the Nuns respecting her private Marriage with the King--Sketch of her Life--Interview with the Queen, and retirement from her bower at Woodstock to Godstow Nunnery--Her Death--Visit to her Tomb. Castle near old Sarum, the Residence of the Earl of Salisbury surrounded with Downs--Place of Tournament--Funeral of the Earl, and the mysterious Disappearance of his Daughter, Ela--Riding forth of Knights in search--Conjecture respecting her Disappearance--Ela's three Uncles--Monastry of Bradenstoke--Adventures of an English Knight, William Talbot, in quest of the young Heiress--His Wanderings in Normandy for the space of two years--Discovery of the Lady Ela, when gathering Shells on the Sea-coast--Poetry--Her Return to England, and Marriage with William Longespé--Attachment of William Longespé to his Brother, King John, the Companion of his Wanderings, a Friend who never Deserted him--Wretched Condition of the Country--Founding by William Longespé of the beautiful Cathedral of Salisbury--Going abroad of the Earl, with his Royal Nephew, Richard--Disasters by Land and Sea--Narrow Escape from an Abbey in the Isle of Rhé--Proposals of Marriage to the Lady Ela by Reimund de Burgh, during the absence of her Husband--Her scornful Reply--Complaint to King Henry by the Earl on his Return--Apology--Illness and Death of the Earl--His Funeral--Lady Ela permitted to remain in free Widowhood--Her Seal and Exercise of the Office of Sheriff of Wiltshire--Founding of Lacock Nunnery, and the Priory of Hinton--Ela's Retirement from the stately Castle, in which her young Days had passed to the Society of the Nuns of Lacock--Visit to the plain Marble Stone that covers the Remains of Lady Ela--Closing Observations.--_Page 91._ Remains of Dunmow Priory. Old Church of Dunmow, by whom erected--Tomb of Sir Walter Bohun, by whom injured--Tomb of the Lady Marian, the wife of Robinhood--Conjecture respecting the sparing of her Effigy during the Civil Wars--Early History of Lady Marian--Tournament--Burning of her Father's Castle--Escape to the Forest--Single Combat with Prince John--Restoration of Robinhood, the Earl of Huntingdon, to his estates and honours--Death of Robinhood--Retiring of his Widow to the Priory of Dunmow--Sending of Sir Robert de Medeive, with a poisoned Bracelet, by King John, to the lady--Her Death--Poetry.--_Page 119._ Gospel-Beech. Divisions of Great Britain by the Romans--Names given by the Saxons--Minor Changes and final Partition by command of Alfred--Origin of marking the respective Boundaries--Gospel-Tree near an ancient Saxon Town--Going round of the Parishioners--Contrast between the aged Tree and the young Flowers that spring beside it--Concluding Observations.--_Page 129._ Clipstone Palace and the Parliament Oak. Condition of the ruined Palace--Hiding-place for solitary birds--The owl, jackdaw, and crow--Once a place of great note--Its style of building--How guarded--By whom inhabited--Withdrawing of King John from Clipstone Palace to London--Its lonely appearance when thus deserted--Rumours respecting an Interdict--Miserable state of the Country--No Burials allowed in Churches, nor Marriages within the walls--Bells and Images taken down and laid upon the ground--A Wedding Party--Appearance of Clipstone Palace when King Edward I. succeeds to the Throne--Improved condition of the Country--Notice of the lesser Barons and Burgesses--Style of Building much improved--Wise Policy of Edward--Notice of a fine young Oak growing in Clipstone Park--Parties made beneath its shade in the days of John--Again in those of Edward--Grave Company sitting there--Why convened.--_Page 135._ Ruined Villages in the New Forest. Desolating of the New Forest--Distress of the Inhabitants--War declared with France--Departure of the King for Normandy--Wretched condition of Maine--Burning of Nantes--Illness of William--Bequests to his two Sons--Their unnatural Conduct--His Death--Poetry--Neglect of his Remains--Interruption to his Funeral--Hunting Party, convened by William Rufus, in Malwood-Keep--Arrival of a Monk with ill tidings from Gloucester--Accidental Death of the King--His remains found by a Charcoal-burner, and carried to Winchester--Interment.--_Page 151._ Old Trees in Hyde Park. Ancient condition of the Country--First emerging of one of the old Trees from its Acorn cradle--Conjectures as to the People who inhabited Britain at the time--Stages of vegetation in all Trees alike--Contrast between the small beginning, and the grandeur of a full-grown Tree--Notice of the Forest that covered the greatest part of Middlesex--Settlement of Llyn-Din, or the Town on the Lake, called Londinium by the Romans--Draining of the Marshes, and cutting down of the Forest, embanking of the River and surrounding the City with a Wall--Gradual progress of Civilization--Increase of the City--Falling to decay of the old Roman Road that passed through a portion of Hyde-Park--Contrast between the Past and Present.--_Page 173._ Hatfield Oak. Poetry.--_Page 187._ Beech of the Frith Common. No sad associations with the young Beech of the Frith Common--Its dignity and proportions--Majesty and luxuriance of Forest-trees--Aggregate effect produced by Woodland Scenery--The Tree which stands alone can best be understood--Poetry.--_Page 195._ Oak of Salcey. The Roots of aged Trees--Sketch of the Oak of Salcey, at different hours of the day and night--Solemn Aspect of the old Oak when seen dimly in the clear nights of the summer solstice--Loneliness of its place of growth--Songs of early Birds--Silent at Noon-day--Sounds heard at Eventide--Conjectures respecting the old Tree.--_Page 207._ Old Trees in Welbeck Park. Beauty of Woodland Scenery, superior to all others--Purity and freshness of the Breezes that sport over wild thyme and short herbage--The Duke's Walking-stick, and the Seven Sisters--Trees in Welbeck Park.--_Page 213._ The Queen's Oak. Tradition respecting the Queen's Oak--Sketch of the surrounding Scenery--Inhabitants of Grafton Castle--Marriage of Elizabeth Woodville to John Gray--Abbey of St. Alban's--Battle fought beside its walls--John Gray wounded--Visit of Henry VI. to the dying Youth--Confiscation of his Estates--Return of Elizabeth to her Father's house--Hunting Visit of Edward IV. to Whitlebury Chase--Elizabeth intercedes for the restoration of her Husband's Estates--Frequent meeting of Elizabeth and Edward beneath the old Oak--Poetry--Marriage at Grafton--Scene in the old Palace of Reading--Dress of the Queen--Fêtes and Tournaments--Coronation of Elizabeth--Count James, of St. Pol, invited to attend--Meeting of Cicely of York and the Duchess of Bedford, beside the cradle of their Grandchild--Flight of Edward--Retirement of his Queen to Sanctuary--Birth of a Prince--Return of the King, with the Lord Grauthuse--Great Entertainments--Betrothing of the young Duke of York with Anne Mowbray, infant heiress of the Duchy of Norfolk, in St. Stephen's Chapel--Scene in the Sanctuary of Westminster--Desolate condition of Elizabeth--Her Conversation with Archbishop Rotherham--Sophistry of Richard III.--Visit from the Archbishop of Canterbury to the Queen--Her unwillingness to part with her Son--Fearful Tragedies succeed--Aged Woman in the Abbey of Bermondsey--Her venerable appearance, beautiful in its decrepitude--Tolling of the Convent Bell--A small Boat with the Queen Dowager's Coffin on board, seen on the River--The Queen's Daughters accompany it to St. George's Chapel--A few old Men, meanly dressed, light on the Funeral--Closing Observations.--_Page 217._ [Illustration: MELKSHAM COURT] Melksham Court. "I stood in the ruined hall where my ancestors once dwelt. I asked for the noble owners. Where are they?--and the echo replied, Where are they?" In the midst of the lone forest which shadowed in ancient times a large portion of the country of the Dobuni,[1] and which extended over hill and dale, far as the distant mountains of the Silures,[2] and on either side the river that waters this part of Britain, stood a solitary yew. On the verge of the forest, and in places cleared of timber for the purpose, rose the conically-shaped huts of the natives; the dwelling of the chieftain was somewhat larger than the rest, and around it stood the wattled cabins of his dependents. Their arts were few and simple, and their habits those of men who were scarcely advanced beyond a savage state: corn was occasionally cultivated, but in general they lived by hunting, or fed upon the flocks which they pastured in the open country. Years passed on, and while the aspect of nature remained the same, all else was changed. This part of Britain bore no longer the appellation of Dobuni; a term derived from the British word Duffen, because the inhabitants frequently resided in places which lay low, and were sunk under hills. It formed a considerable portion of Britannia Superior, and along the side of its beautifully wooded hills, and on its thickly peopled plains, palaces and forums, extensive military roads, aqueducts and schools were rapidly erected. The rattling of heavy-laden cars, and the loud sound of the woodman's axe, with the crash of stately trees, made way for these improvements. In the course of a few short years, the country of the Dobuni lost its wild and forest-like appearance, and far as the eye could reach, the wide-spread landscape presented objects of fertility and beauty. The ancient forest was also curtailed of its grandeur and extent; and the plain country, whose rank luxuriant vegetation concealed marshes, on which it was rarely safe to tread, except in seasons of great drought, was cleared, and thrown open to the sun, and being quickly drained, was covered with towns and villages; corn-fields and meadows succeeded to a growth of underwood, and sheep and oxen grazed where the wolf had been. Sounds too, which of all others awaken images of security and peace--the bleating of sheep along the hills, and the lowing of oxen in the valleys, were heard, instead of the piercing cries of those wild creatures, when ranging in quest of prey. Meanwhile the ample river, whose capricious windings could only be distinguished from the highest hills, was disclosed to view, by the clearing away of tangled bushes, and the cutting down of the huge trees that encroached upon, or shaded its bright waters. The small skin-boats of the natives, and the stately galleys of the Romans, glided along its surface, and commodities of various kinds were brought from one part of the country to the other. But the day arrived when the galley was rarely seen upon the river. When the skin-boats of the natives ceased to spread abundance along its shores; when many large and fair dwellings were deserted; and when the rolling of chariots, filled with patrician families, whose villas had been erected in some of the most beautiful parts of the country, were no longer heard on the great military road that led from the city of Corinium. Instead of these, bands of armed men spread over the land, for the Roman legions were withdrawn, to save the capital from spoliation, and nothing remained for the unhappy Britons but servitude or death. The Saxons came, for such were the strangers called: their looks were bland, and their flowing vestments, adorned with borders of many colours, betokened some degree of civilization; but war was in their hearts, and soon, where cities had stood, and peaceful homesteads met the view, all was silence and desolation. No curling smoke was seen among the trees, the watch-dog's bark had ceased, there were no flocks for him to guard, and only blackened ruins told of what had been. Gradually, however, a better state of things arose; the Saxons contrasted their past condition, their rude huts on the far off shore, their precarious mode of life, with the elegances, and the perfection in the arts and sciences which they observed in the homes which they had won. They learned to adopt the habits and the manners of the Romanized Britons, and to repair the desolations which they had wrought. Kingdoms were established, and though war occasionally prevailed among the chieftains, there were many who appreciated the blessings, and the security of peace. Next came the Danes, men of stern countenances and ruddy hair. War-chiefs, accustomed to a life of rapine--they knew no pity; and what the Saxon would have spared, when first he trod the shores of Britain, they ruthlessly overthrew. The forest and vale country around the solitary yew, was grievously infested with them. They took shelter in the hollows with which this part of England abounded, and it was difficult to dispossess them. Those hollows or little glens were so deep and narrow, that the rays of the sun frequently did not enliven them for months together; yet still some of the most accessible were brought into cultivation, and rewarded the industrious husbandman with plentiful crops of corn and grass. Others remained in their native wildness, and wild indeed they were. Shallow streams ran through them, and by means of these they could alone be visited: he who sought to explore their secret recesses must force his way beside the channel of the stream; now stepping from stone to stone amid the water's splash; now clinging to the branches of the trees which drooped on either side. But whether wild or cultivated, there the Danes settled themselves, till they were driven out in the days of Alfred. Alfred established his throne in righteousness, and the country became respectable and happy. Still the tree grew on, and lifted up its head above the boughs of less stately trees, for the yew does not attain to its highest elevation, or rest in the grandeur of its maturity, till five hundred years have passed away, and when the period arrived, concerning which I shall have to speak, the tree was only in its prime. The forest had encroached upon the precincts of the fields and meadows, during those disastrous times when the ground was trod by hostile steps, as if it sought to recover its ancient rights; but this might not be, and when peace was restored, the sound of the woodman's axe was heard again, and the usurping trees fell beneath its stroke. Then, also, many of those whose ample branches had long sheltered the margin of the cleared land, were cut down, to make room for wider clearings; and by degrees the noble yew, which had been in the depth of the dark forest, stood but a little distance from the verge of the common, up which the road led, and which being kept free from trees was reserved for the pasturing of sheep. It was covered with short grass and tufts of wild thyme, round which the bees came humming; and gay flowers, such as the bee-orchis, and the yellow cistus, the pink-eyed pimpernell, and yellow rocket, grew profusely beside the pathway. From the summit of the hill extended a noble panoramic view of hill and dale. Downward, and far as the eye could reach, a precipitous descent toward the vale country was covered with the trees of the old forest, which had gradually been curtailed of its extent; towns and villages varied the plain, through which the river flowed, and the strong castles of Dursley and Berkeley, of Beverstone and Brimpsfield, with their ample hunting-grounds, and the crowding dwellings of those who lived near, were seen at intervals. Generations came and went, and successive monarchs filled the English throne, till the time of Harold, when on the battle-field of Hastings his noble patrimony passed into the hands of the proud Norman. Great changes then took place; strong castles were erected on the site of ancient Saxon fortresses, and while seed-time and harvest did their work, and gradually advanced and retreated, so gradually did the country emerge from out the darkness of past ages, and attain an eminence among the nations of the earth. But as night succeeds to day, and clouds obscure the cheerful light of the bright sun, so did war succeed to peace, and ruthless men made sorrowful the homes of England. When Stephen and the empress battled for pre-eminence, fell sounds broke up the quiet of the valleys, and fugitives often sought to hide themselves in the still close covert of the forest. A gay pageant passed one day within sight of the noble yew. Men carrying branches of the beech, and damsels with flowers in their hands, wound up the road; and with them came a train of oxen, dragging a large tree, which had been cut from out the forest. The tree was wreathed with flowers; the horns of the oxen too were tastefully adorned, and when they reached the summit of the hill, the tree was set up, round which the light-hearted party danced right merrily. All this was done in honour of king Richard's marriage. He had sought the sister of the Emperor Wenceslaus, fair Anne of Luxemburg; and when, at length, the final arrangements were adjusted, she left the palace of her brother, attended by the Duke of Saxony, and a great number of knights and damsels, with men-at-arms, and a goodly company, all well appointed to do her honour. They journeyed through Brabant to Brussels, where the Duke and Duchess received the young queen with great respect, and caused her attendants to be honourably entertained, for the Duke was her uncle, and he rejoiced much in the prospects of his niece. Anne expected merely to have spent a few pleasant days in the society of the Duke and Duchess, but, when about to leave them, intelligence was brought that twelve large Norman vessels, well equipped, and filled with armed men, were cruising in the sea between Calais and Holland, and that, under the pretence of seizing all who fell into their hands, they were really waiting for the coming of the lady, whom the king of France was desirous of getting into his possession, that he might frustrate the intended alliance between the English and Germans. The young queen was exceedingly alarmed at such unexpected intelligence. She remained in consequence with her uncle and aunt, till the Lords de Roasselaus and de Bousquehoir, having been deputed by the Duke to negotiate with the King of France, obtained passports for the safe conveyance of Anne and her attendants through his dominions, as far as Calais, as also for the remanding of the Normans into port. The young queen then set forwards, after taking leave of her august relations and the ladies of the court, who witnessed her departure with much regret. The Duke added to her train five hundred spears, and, as she passed through Ghent and Bruges, the citizens received her with the utmost honour. Thus she journeyed on, till being arrived at Gravelines, the earls of Salisbury and Devonshire approached to do her homage, with five hundred spears, and as many archers. They conducted her to Calais, and, having safely confided her to the care of the English barons, who were appointed to that honour by the king, they returned homeward. Great was the joy of the Londoners, when the train, having passed over the sea to Dover, came within sight of the city gates. Ladies of the highest rank were assembled to receive their queen, all in their best attire, and with them came the great authorities both of the court and city. The gates were then thrown open with much solemnity, and Anne of Luxemburg having been conducted with chivalrous magnificence to the Palace of Westminster, the ceremony of her marriage was completed on the twentieth day after Christmas. Christmas was well kept that year both in town and country; but when the trees burst forth into leaf and beauty, and the contented note of the solitary cuckoo, was heard in the still forest, the country people thought that they would rejoice again, and this occasioned the May-pole to be set up. They did not gather any branches from the yew, for the yew is a funereal tree, used to deck the grave of him who has nought to do with the cheerful scenes of busy life. With the noble train who entered London came Margaret of Silesia, daughter of the Duke of Theise, and niece to the King of Bohemia, as the confidential friend, and first-cousin of the queen. This lady was received with great distinction, and apartments were assigned her in the palace, not only on account of her youth, but that she might enjoy a frequent intercourse with the friend who was most dear to her. But these halcyon days were not of long continuance. The queen died at Shene in Surry, and so bitterly did the king bewail her loss, that he denounced a malediction on the scene of her last illness, and commanded, in the wildness of his grief, that not one stone should be left upon another of the palace where she died. Margaret felt the death of the queen severely; she loved her cousin with a sister's love, and the circumstance of their having left their native land together, and their being to each other what none else could be in a foreign country, had formed between them a bond of no common interest. The queen deceased without children; but Margaret having married a gentleman of the ducal family of Norfolk, knight of the garter and standard-bearer of England, their only child and heiress, Alana, became the wife of Sir William Tyndale, who was equally respectable in point of antiquity and alliances. His family possessed the valuable domain and title of Tyndale in Northumberland, so called from the south Tyne, which, rising in the mountains and moors of Cumberland, waters that dale, and having joined the north Tyne near Hexham, falls into the German ocean at Tynmouth. Their baronial residence rose proudly on an eminence which commanded the southern banks of the river. It consisted of a spacious antique quadrangle; the roof and walls being of immense strength and thickness, extended in the form of the letter H; the whole was defended by a fosse, and surmounted with four principal towers, in the position of north and south. "That castle rose upon the steep, of the green vale of Tyne; While far below, as low they creep, From pool to eddy dark and deep, Where alders bend and willows weep, You hear her streams repine." The ancestral history of Margaret of Silesia, with that of her distinguished husband, was of no ordinary kind. Her paternal ancestors had filled for ten generations the throne of Poland, and on her mother's side she represented Winceslaus the Good, nearly the last of the ancient kings of Bohemia, as also the imperial houses of Luxemburg and Austria. Among the distinguished crowd of those who figured greatly in by-gone days, Piastus is the one, concerning whom I would briefly speak. His character, seen only through the twilight of remote antiquity, is necessarily involved in great obscurity, but light enough remains to discover the moral grandeur of its proportions, as well as to justify the curiosity of his descendants. Ancient Polish chronicles relate concerning him, that after the tragical catastrophe of Popiel II., when a dreadful famine added to the calamities of the country, and people fell dead in the streets of Cruswitz, that two angels, in the disguise of pilgrims knocked at the door of a private citizen, named Piastus, and asked for relief. The citizen had only a single cask, which contained some nutritive beverage of the country, remaining in his house, but he would not refuse to help them, and he invited the strangers to partake. Charmed with his benevolence, they promised him the vacant throne, at the same time directing him to open his doors and draw for the relief of the famished population. He did so, and found his cask inexhaustible. The assembled crowds, in their transports, shouted, A miracle! and with one consent elevated their benefactor to the sovereignty of Poland. From this period the history, both of prince and people, became the subject of authentic narrative. Piastus, like another Numa, retained in his elevation the virtues attributed to him in his private life. The Polish nobles, although accustomed to sanguinary catastrophes, felt their fierceness subside beneath the sway of a monarch who reigned only to make his people happy. He died at an advanced age, beloved, revered, and almost adored by his subjects; and, after the lapse of nearly a thousand years, the name of Piastus is yet repeated with affectionate veneration. Such is the brief biographical memoranda, which it is possible to rescue from oblivion, concerning the remote ancestry of Margaret of Silesia. She came with great pomp and splendour to the shores of England, and curious has it been to see, while the stream of time flowed on, how some of the noble of the earth, her immediate descendants, were upborn upon its billows; how, in one case, knights and squires represented an elder branch, sober citizens a younger, and how, in a third, the lordly line sunk suddenly beneath the billows. When the battle of Touton, in the year 1460, made it unsafe for those who adhered to the house of Lancaster to remain in public, the immediate descendant of Margaret, in that branch which is associated with the aged yew, withdrew from his paternal estate and settled in Gloucestershire, where he assumed the name of Hitchen. He married Alicia, daughter and sole heiress of Hunt of Hunt's Court, in Nibley, by whom he acquired that estate, and became the grandfather of William Tyndale, who is justly termed the apostle of the English Reformation. As the gathering mists of a hot summer evening, when the sun is set, and dew begins to fall, veil the bold and prominent landscape, so the obscurity of time has settled on the Tyndale family. The outlines yet remain: the establishment of Hugh Tyndale in Gloucestershire, during the troubles of York and Lancaster, his marriage with Alicia, and the birth of his three grandsons, John, William, and Thomas, are events well known; but whether Tyndale suffered a long imprisonment in the castle of Vilvorde, near Louvain in Flanders, during the lifetime of his parents; whether days of sorrow and nights of weariness befell them on his account; or whether they were first laid to rest in Nibley churchyard, near which their mansion stood, is entirely unknown. Be this as it may, his brother Thomas had much to suffer on his account. He was abjured for receiving letters, and for remitting him five marks during his residence in Flanders. Time went on, and religious animosities gradually subsided; a descendant of Hugh Tyndale purchased Melksham Court in Stinchcombe, on the verge of all that remained of the once great forest. It was a beautiful spot, embosomed in trees, and moated according to the olden fashion, with its terrace-walks and parterres. There his descendants continued to reside, and their days seem to have passed tranquilly, till the stormy reign of Charles I. The valleys of Gloucestershire lying remote from the metropolis, and being in many respects almost inaccessible, from the steepness of the hills, having also no great public road near at hand, nor the sea within reach, had been often spared from much suffering in very disastrous times; it was otherwise at the present day. The forest, one of their great bulwarks, had been curtailed during successive generations, and much of the moor country having been brought into cultivation, towns and villages were built, and roads were made from place to place. This opened a communication with the thickly peopled parts of Gloucestershire, with such counties also as lay contiguous: the quiet of the valleys was therefore broken up, and the cities of Gloucester and of Worcester, having taken active parts in the stirring incidents of the time, bands of armed men overspread the country. Thomas Tyndale, the fifth in descent from the purchaser of Melksham Court, was then residing on his patrimonial estate: he married a lady on her mother's side, of the knightly family of Poyntz of Iron Acton; but whether--for the mists of time have settled again on the domestic incidents of the family--whether his lady was deceased, or whether he had sent her with their young son and four daughters to a place of greater security, cannot be ascertained. Certain it is, that seeing a band of armed men advancing to the house, he fled for shelter into the forest which skirted his domain. The forest could afford but little aid in his distress. It was otherwise when its crowding trees extended further than the eye could reach, now sinking into the deep, deep glens, whose circling banks, if such they might be termed, rose far above its topmost boughs; now ascending those high banks, and spreading over the vale country, sinking and rising with the undulations of hill and dale, and, when the wind howled among the branches, appearing like the tossing waves of a restless sea. This had been; but cultivation trenched upon the good green wood; spaces were even cleared, and its tall trees, for all the underwood was gone, afforded a ready access to whoever liked to invade its beautiful recesses. One hope for safety remained to the fugitive, and one only. The yew-tree stood in all its beauty and luxuriance, near to the summit of Stinchcombe wood, for such the old forest was now called, and thither he fled for shelter. He was seen to leave the house by a band of soldiers, and they hastened in pursuit of him. They thought that he would make for the nearest glen, or else that he would seek to hide himself in some sheltered nook among the trees. Heaven, in its mercy, prevented them from searching the old tree, whose intermingling branches formed a close and impervious shelter. Yet they passed, and repassed, beneath the shade, and their words were hard to bear. They vowed to have no pity on him, nor on his children, nor on anything that he possessed; and they said, "that if they could discover him in his retreat, they would hew him small as herbs for a porridge-pot." Being foiled in their search, they wreacked their vengeance on his mansion, and during his dolorous sojourn of three days and nights in the tree, he saw the burning of his once happy home, and heard at intervals the voices of his pursuers, as they sought for him again, among the glens, and through the secret passes of the wood. We know not how, nor when the family were reunited; nor can I speak concerning the joys and thankfulness with which they met, for the mists of time rest on this also. The yew-tree is still standing; around it are the remains of the old forest, and beside it the wild common, with its thyme and flowers among the grass. All else has changed since the days when the noble ancestor of him who fled for refuge to the ample branches of the yew, first landed on the English coast. Neither is the surrounding country such as it was, in the days of Richard. The castles of Beverstone, of Brimsfield, and Dursley, whose turrets were seen in ancient times from the summits of the hill, are fallen to decay, and instead of these, modern dwellings, with parks and gardens, farms and cottages, overspread the country. The cheerful farm-house, with its lofty rookery, and wide arable, or ploughed fields, with low fences or gray stone walls, are prominent features in the southern portion of the landscape; as also well-timbered villages, occasional heaths, and tufted woods, or rather groves. At the end of summer, the strong colours of the yellow wheat and glaring poppy are finely contrasted with the dark hue of the woods; that hue which becomes deeper and more sombre, till the night-dews have done their work, and the autumnal winds begin to blow, and the dark green leaves are suddenly invested with a splendid variety of tints, from bright yellow to the deepest orpiment. On the verge of the old forest extend rural villages and fertile meadows, high-aspiring elms, shallow brooks, and wooden bridges, crowding cottages and green lanes, with here and there a church-spire, or gray tower rising among the trees. Gentle swells and hollows, where sheep pasture on the green sward, are seen in another portion of the landscape, with apple-orchards and small enclosures; but along the banks of the Severn the country assumes a different aspect. Its general characteristics are breaks of lawn and thicket, with groves and stunted pollards, all footed and entangled with briars and creeping plants. A dilapidated court-house, overrun with ivy, and near it an aged church, may be seen by him who knows their locality, from the summit of Stinchcombe hill. The church is the waymark, for the walls of the old court are low, and it is only when the wind favours the sight of them, by causing the branches of near trees to bend beneath its sway, that even the church-tower can be discerned among the young green foliage of the spring. The gardens of the once stately mansion are gone to decay, or else, being overgrown with grass, are fed upon by cattle; the windows were broken by the fierceness of the flames when it was set on fire; and though strong walls, still standing, tell of what has been, not a trace remains of the great oriel window, and the roof has long been gone. He who wishes to trace the former extent of the building may just discover the foundations in some parts; but in others, not even a few scattered stones, sunk deep in the untrodden grass, would reveal that a mansion had stood there. Yet Nibley Court once occupied that spot; there a happy family dwelt, and busy scenes went on--the sports of childhood, and the daily incidents of domestic life. There my ancestors resided. But all are gone, and scarcely-discovered ruins, which, as regard all grandeur of appearance, might have belonged to a barn or an out-house, alone remain. The yew-tree still lives, but that also betokens the lapse of time. Its once ample boughs are few; they yield no shelter now; the blue sky may be seen through them; the stem also teaches that ages have passed away, since it bore up a noble canopy of mingled boughs. A rabbit from the warren on the common might run up the scarred trunk, but it could not find a hiding-place among the scattered branches. [Illustration: BRADGATE PALACE] Bradgate Palace. "This was thy home then, gentle Jane, This thy green solitude;--and here At evening, from thy gleaming pane, Thine eye oft watch'd the dappled deer, While the soft sun was in its wane, Browsing beneath the brooklet clear; The brook runs still, the sun sets now, The trees wave still; but where art thou?" A rocky bank, with scattered sheep, are objects on which the mind loves to rest. Such is the back-ground of Bradgate ruin, the birth-place of the beautiful Jane Grey, the illustrious and ill-fated scion of the house of Suffolk, concerning whom it was related by one who had seen and loved her, that even in her eighteenth year she had the innocence of childhood, the beauty of youth, the solidity of middle, and the gravity of old age; the life of a saint, and yet the death of a malefactor. On that rocky bank she had often gazed, for though man passes from his inheritance, and noble dwellings crumble to the dust, nature changes not. Rude eminences extend further back, on which the wild rose and sweet-briar have long fixed themselves, with bramble-bushes, ferns, and fox-glove; they are skirted by low and romantic dingles, where sheep pasture, and butterflies sport from one flower to another. He who approaches the old ruin, from the little village of Cropston, can hardly picture to himself that time has done its work in laying low the ancient palace of the Greys. On the left, stands that noble group of chesnut-trees, under the shade of which little Jane used to play; on the right extends a slate coppice, intermingled with moss and flowers, in beautiful contrast with the deep shade of the old chesnuts, the roots of which are laved by the clear trout-stream, on which stood a corn-mill in Leland's days;--"that faire and plentiful springe of water, brought by master Brok, as a man would judge, agayne the hille, thorough the lodge, and thereby it dryveth the mylee." The mill came into decay when the mansion was deserted, and no one went thither for the grinding of his corn; some of the large stones fell into the stream, and interrupted for a short space the rapid flowing of the water, and among them grow the water-dock and bulrush, with large river-weeds and trailing plants. Again it hurries on, dancing from amid the roots and broken masses of huge stones, clear and sparkling, and fringed with ferns and flowers, the delight of Jane, when she used to watch beside it with Elmer, that "deare friend and schoolmaster, who taught her so gently and yet so pleasantly, that she thought the time as nothing, while she was with him." This streamlet laves in its course the once hospitable mansion of the Greys, and passes from thence into the fertile meadows of Smithland. Beautiful too is the vale of Newtown, lonely yet romantic, the favourite resort of all who delight in the sylvan solitudes of nature--where, as legends tell, Jane used to walk--with its hill and tower in the distance, the nearest neighbours of Bradgate Palace, now, like that, all roofless and deserted. What a contrast, in its loneliness, to the busy tide of care, ever rolling on, in the ancestral halls, the towns and villages, that vary the mighty landscape, which extends before the elevated solitude, with its aged ruin! That ruin was dwelt in once, not by the owl and bat, its sole tenants now, but by living men and women, who held pleasant intercourse with the inhabitants of Bradgate Palace; with dwellers too, in places, the sites of which, grass has long grown over, or which the antiquary can hardly trace. Woods and fields and streamlets are seen from the same high hill; wide commons and quiet valleys, with dells and dingles; and above them extends the glorious dome of heaven, where light summer-clouds are speeding, and the bright sun looks down on the lovely scene beneath. Back to my old ruin--for high hills, and far off scenes, are not the objects of my search. Back to my old ruin, which stands alone in its desolation, while all around is verdurous and joyful. Full shining on it, are the warm beams of a summer sun, and soft breezes shake the tufts of ferns and wallflowers that spring from out the crannies, the rents of ruin, which time has made in the old walls. Butterflies shut and open their gorgeous wings on the golden disk of that bright flower, which loves to fling its friendly mantle over fallen greatness, and now carpets with luxuriant vegetation the broken pavement, through the interstices of which its broad leaves rise up. Birds are singing on the trees, and bees come humming to gather pollen from the flowers of the noble chesnuts that droop in all their beauty and luxuriance over the old ruins. Those who have long ceased from among the living used to gaze on them, and gather their beautiful tufts of pyramidical white flowers with which to adorn the open spaces in the oriel window. They grew here far back as the reign of Edward, when the great park of Bradgate, with its circumference of seven miles, came into the possession of the Earl of Ferrars, for the chesnut is a tree of long duration, and the stately group is beginning to decline. Little now remains of the once princely mansion, the palace, large and fair and beautiful, as wrote the historian Fuller. The walls are low and roofless, broken and dismantled, and scarcely is it possible to point out the different apartments that once resounded with cheerful voices. All is still and lonely now; the tilt-yard is nearly perfect, but none are playing there; the garden-walls, with their broad terrace-walks, remain entire, but none are walking there; gray and yellow lichens, with tufts of moss, dot over the old stones, and so wild and high has grown the grass, that it looks as if no one had trodden there for ages. A noble pleasure-ground formerly extended round the mansion, and beyond it was the spacious park, where the duke and duchess, the parents of Lady Jane, with all the household, gentlemen and gentlewomen, used to hunt. Traces of walks and alleys, and broad spaces for exercise or pleasure are still visible, though generations have passed away since the members of the house of Groby sauntered among them, and the place has much the appearance of a wilderness; yet the aspect is not that of total wildness, of a spot where the hand of man has never been; indications everywhere present themselves, that where the nettle, and the dandelion, with its golden petals and sphere of down, reign undisturbed, the rose and lily once grew luxuriantly. The house too, how desolate and changed! The earls of Leicester, of Hinton, and of Ferrars presided here; then came Sir Edward Grey, Lord Ferrars of Groby, and then the Earl of Huntingdon. Here also resided the Marquis of Dorset, the son-in-law of him who wedded the Dowager Queen of France, Charles Brandon, "cloths of gold and freize," as sung the courtly poet, when contrasting his own condition with that of the widowed queen. "Cloth of freize, be not too bold, Though thou art matched with cloth of gold; Cloth of gold, do not despise, Though thou art matched with cloth of frieze." Tradition points through the dim vista of long ages to a broken tower, as the one where Lady Jane resided, and which bears her name. Beside it is a chapel, wherein are effigies of Lord Grey of Groby, and the Lady Grey, his wife. The chapel is carefully preserved, but all else are in ruins:--the tower, the great hall, the state apartment, the refectory, the tennis-court, nothing remains of them but lichen-tinted walls, or ruins black with smoke. Here then, amid lone ruins and green trees, beside the streamlet's rush and the old grove of chesnuts, where the lavrock and the titlark, the goldfinch and the thrush are singing, with no companions but rejoicing birds and flowers, let me recall the mournful realities of bygone days. "Here, in departed days, the gentle maid, The lovely and the good, with infant glee, Along the margin of the streamlet play'd, Or gathered wild flowers 'neath each mossy tree; And little recked what cares were her's to be, While listening to the skylark's soaring lay, Or merry grasshopper that carolled free, In verdant haunts, throughout the livelong day, That beauteous child, as blithe, as sorrowless as they. "And here, where sighs the summer breeze among These echoing halls, deserted now and bare, Oft o'er some tome of ancient lore she hung,-- No student ever since so wondrous fair! Or lifted up her soul to God in prayer, And pondered on his verse, of price untold, Radiant with wisdom's gems beyond compare, Richer than richest mines of purest gold,-- The star that guides our steps safe to the Saviour's fold. "To fancy's wizard gaze, fleet o'er yon height, Hunters and hounds tumultuous sweep along; And many a lovely dame and youthful knight Gaily commingle with the stalwarth throng Of valiant nobles, famed in olden song; But not amid them, as they rapid ride, Is that meek damsel--trained by grievous wrong Of haughty parents to abase her pride, Ere yet her lot it was to be more sternly tried. "Here from her casement, as she cast a look, Oft might she mourn their reckless sport to scan; And well rejoice to find, in classic book, Solace,--withdrawn from all that pleasure can Impart to rude and riot-loving man: Aye, and when at the banquet, revels ran To loud extreme, she here was wont to haste, And marvel at Creation's mighty plan; Or with old bards and sages pleasure taste, Unknown to Folly's crowd, whose days all run to waste. "And thus it was--the child of solitude, She grew apart, beneath that Father's eye Who careth for the wild-birds' nestling brood, And decks the flow'ret with its varied dye; Nor, in His presence, had she cause to sigh For the vain pageants of delusive mirth; Trained to uplift her soul, in musing high, From this dark vale of wretchedness and dearth, Aloft, above the stars, where angels have their birth. "Well had she need! a scaffold was the path To that abode her soul had often sought; Scarce crowned before the stormiest clouds of wrath Rolled o'er her head, with scathing ruin fraught. Alas, for human greatness! it is nought! And nought she found it, save a deadly snare. Enchantment, by the evil genii wrought, Whose diadems conceal the brow of care; Whose tissued robes display a lustre false, as fair. "Beautiful martyr! widowed by the hand That reft thee of thy life, ere yet 'twas thine; Thy grave to find beneath a guilty land, Thou hast no need of gilded niche or shrine! Fond recollections round thy memory twine-- A sacred halo circles thy brief years; 'Tis thine, redeemed from sin and death, to shine Eternally above this world of fears: Where Christ himself, thy King, hath wiped away all tears. "Farewell, thou mouldering relic of the past! An hour unmeetly was not spent with thee: Events as rapid as the autumn's blast Have hurried onward, since 'twas thine to see The fairest flower of England pensively Expand and blossom 'neath thy rugged shade; And here thou stand'st, while circling seasons flee, A monumental pile of that sweet maid, Whom men of cruel hands within the charnel laid." _The Author of the Visions of Solitude._ [Illustration] [Illustration: GLENDOUR'S OAK] Glendour's Oak. "Survivor sole, and hardly such, of all That once lived here, thy brethren: A shatter'd veteran, hollow trunk'd, And with excoriate forks deformed-- Relic of ages." Such is the Oak of Chertsey, that celebrated tree, over which the storms of many centuries have passed. The sunny bank on which it grows is covered with primroses and cowslips, and among them the little pimpernel and violet lift up their modest heads. Tufts of eyebright, with cuckoo-flowers and sweet woodroof, grow also, beside the hollies and stunted hawthorns, which are seen upon the common; their fragrant flowers and green leaves present a striking contrast to the time-worn tree; the one tells of other days, of ages that have passed since its stately stem arose in all the grandeur of sylvan majesty; the other, in their freshness and their loveliness, breathe only of youth and beauty. The view is somewhat confined, but the eye that likes to rest on a quiet home-scene finds much in it to admire. An ample river winds through green meadows, with trees on either side, and, in the distance, is a church with its solitary turret, and rude porch of the olden time. The gentle murmur of a stream is heard at intervals, and the sighing of the wind among the branches of the aged oak; on high the lark lifts up his song of joy, and the warbling of birds breaks upon the stillness of the place; that of the chaffinch and the throstle, the goldfinch and the linnet, and the sweet full tone of the contented blackbird. They much affect this spot, it is so lone, yet cheerful. Time was when the site of the old tree resounded with the clang of arms, and rueful sights were seen from its topmost boughs, for the Oak of Chertsey was then in its prime; the now rough and quarried bark was smooth and glossy, and its ample branches sheltered an extensive space, where sheep could lie down at noon. A dreadful battle was fought between Henry IV. and Hotspur a short way off, and scarcely had any battle occurred in those ages of which the shock was more terrible. Furious and repeated vollies of "arrowy sleet," discharged from the strong bows of Hotspur's archers, did great execution in the royal army; they were showered from a rising ground covered with green sward, on which the shepherds loved to pasture their flocks, and where the village children used to gather cowslips and yellow-cups. But the flocks had been driven off, and the frightened children were in their homes; the rising ground was no place for them. The arrows that were thus furiously discharged did their work, and many fell; the king's bowmen were not wanting in return, and the battle raged with great fury. Henry was in the thickest of the fight, and his gallant son, who afterwards carried misery and desolation throughout the fields of France, signalized himself that day. Percy, too, supported the fame which he had earned in many a hard-fought battle, and Douglas, his ancient enemy, though now his friend, still appeared his rival, amid the horror and confusion of the scene. He raged through the field in search of the king, and as Henry, either to elude the vigilance of the enemy, or to encourage his own men by the belief of his presence everywhere, had accoutred several captains in the royal garb, the sword of Douglas rendered this honour fatal to many. At length the standard of the king, fluttering high in air, recalled Douglas to the spot, and little heeding the flight of arrows, which rattled on his armour like hail, nor yet the chosen band who were appointed to guard the banner, he and his associate Hotspur pierced their way thither. Henry was thrice unhorsed, and would have been either taken or slain, had not his men kept back, with desperate valour, the furious onset of the assailants, while the Earl of March forced him from the scene of danger. Yet still they sought him, and having beaten down his banner, and slain its bearer, with many of the faithful band appointed to guard the royal flag, victory began to swerve in favour of the rebel army. But in one moment a loud voice sounded far and wide over the dreadful scene. It proclaimed, "Hotspur is dead," and with this thrilling cry ended the conflict of the day. Douglas, was taken prisoner, and there fell, on either side, near two thousand three hundred gentlemen, beside six thousand private men. Owen Glendour heard the shout which proclaimed that his friend had fallen, for he witnessed the battle from the top of the lofty oak. He had marched with a large army to within a mile of Shrewsbury, and if the king had not proceeded thither with great haste, he would have joined his friend Hotspur. A broad and rapid river lay in front, and he pressed on to cross, if possible, before the beaming helmets, which he saw advancing rapidly over the plain country, could reach the town. But a heavy rain had fallen, and the water was exceedingly high; the ford at Shelton was, in consequence, impassable, and the bridge at Shrewsbury was strongly guarded. Owen Glendour therefore halted. He saw with grief the forces of Hotspur drawn up in order of battle immediately before him, for he knew that he could lend no assistance, and, when the next morning dawned, the armies had joined fight. Owen Glendour then climbed the large oak; of which the topmost branches afforded a full view of the battle-field and the surrounding country. He saw from thence the furious onset, and heard the shock of battle; horses and men contending, and the dreadful shouts which, reverberating from the hollows of the hills, sounded like distant thunder; he heard, too, the one loud voice which told that his friend had fallen. Owen Glendour returned to his castle in the Vale of Glyndwrdwey: it was situated amid the wildest and the sternest scenery, beside the torrent's roar, and surrounded with all the magnificence of rock and fell. There did he soon assemble to his standard those ardent spirits who preferred death to slavery, and who vowed that the blue hills and the pleasant valleys of their fathers' land should never be subjected to the yoke of a usurper. Daring adventures, and strange escapes by flood and field, marked his onward course. The English regarded him with superstitious dread; the Welch looked to him as one possessed of more than mortal power; and thus during fifteen years did he resist the aggressions of a monarch, whose prowess had long been known, the efforts too of a chivalrous nobility, and a martial people. Yet Glendour was not designed by nature for a life of daring hardihood and of murderous intent. He was amiable and beloved in private life, and, his parents having designed him for the bar, he was qualifying himself as an able lawyer, when intelligence was brought that Henry IV. had granted a large portion of his paternal acres to Lord Grey of Rhuthin, that treacherous nobleman who had long sought to prejudice the king against him. Owen Glendour closed the book that lay before him; he declared that a descendant of the Princes of Powys was not to be so treated; and having drawn his sword from out the scabbard, he sheathed it not again while life remained. A fierce battle, on the banks of the Evyrnwy, made Lord Grey his prisoner, and the payment of a thousand marks, with the marriage of his daughter to that nobleman, alone obtained for him his liberty. It was noted that disasters of various kinds attended the expeditions of King Henry into Wales. The natives of the country attributed them to the magic powers of Owen Glendour, whom they believed able to control the elements, and who, when his men grew faint and weary, and he himself wished for a short respite from the toils of war, could pour upon the bands of Henry the fury of the northern storm. It was said that he could loose the secret springs of the wild cataract, and cause it to send forth such a flood of water, that the moors and valleys, through which the invader had to pass, would seem like an inland sea. Some believed that he could even summon the loud thunders from their secret cell, and cause the forked lightning to strike terror into the stoutest heart; that in one moment he could not only bring to his assistance a wild storm from off the hills, but that, when the beautiful glens and woods appeared in all their loveliness and repose, and every hill was lighted up with a glorious sunbeam, he could suddenly obscure them with the darkest shades of night. Thus men thought; they saw not, in the strange and terrible calamities which continually opposed the progress of King Henry, a continuation of events which had attended him since the death of Richard. Richard had been the friend and benefactor of Glendour; he had fought for him while living, and now that he was gone, he sought not only to revenge his death, but to preserve his native land from the usurpations of a foreign yoke. He performed, in consequence, such feats of valour, bore up beneath the pressure of such heavy trials, and devised such masterly schemes to circumvent the devices of the enemy, as his countrymen believed could neither be planned nor achieved by mortal mind or arm. They knew not the strength and the enthusiasm which injury and oppression will produce in either. Excited, therefore, to the highest pitch of feeling, Owen inspired his men with much of his own energy: aided by them, he foiled the power of the wary and martial Henry, and drove him ignominiously from the field. At the head of his choicest armies, the English king had often to retreat before a handful of men, whose chief had been unused to a military life; and though Glendour and his adherents were reduced at times to take shelter in caves and fastnesses, known only to themselves, they emerged again, and fell with terrible fury on the English, in moments, too, when they thought themselves most secure from their aggressions. Had Glendour lived in peaceful times, he would have been a poet of no ordinary rank. The bard Rhys Coch, was his cotemporary and chosen associate in his days of woes and wanderings. A stone still remains near Bethgellert, where the bard used to sit and pour forth the melody of his harp to his own inspiring lays. There, tradition says, Glendour would sit beside him in that beloved retreat, where around them was all the stern majesty of nature, in her darkest, her loneliest, her loveliest moods. The rapid Gwinan prattled near them over her rocky bed, laving on one side green meadows, filled with cowslips and cuckoo-flowers, where cattle feed, and skirted with groves of oak, and ash, and birch; on the other, its bright waters race beside a wild and heathy tract of moorland, which slopes upward to the very base of Snowdon, that king of mountains, whose awful brow is often hidden in the clouds. The bard, too, had suffered much, and had fled from cave to cave, and from hill to hill, pursued by the English forces, who sought to still those bold and pathetic strains--those deep laments, which aroused his countrymen to fresh deeds of valour against their oppressors. His enemies were not permitted to accomplish their designs. He continually eluded their pursuit, and died at length in peace, amid his beloved haunts of Bethgellert. Here then stands the ancient tree, though reft of its former greatness. More than four hundred years have elapsed since Owen Glendour climbed its lofty trunk, and surveyed the battle-field of Tewksbury; since his bannered hosts were stationed round, and he heard the shout which told him that his friend had fallen. From this tree, also, might be heard, in ancient times, the sound of the workman's hammer, for King Henry appointed that a chapel should be built, and two priests placed within it, to pray both morning and evening for the souls of those who had been slain. Rapidly the chapel rose, for men thought that they did good service to their Maker when they wrought in such holy work; and the chapel, being enlarged in after years, became a handsome parish church. The condition of the time-worn tree, and of the church are somewhat similar. The tree is grown so hollow that it seems to stand on little more than a circle of bark, yet life still lingers, green leaves appear in the spring season, and acorns are gathered from its branches in the autumn. Great part of the once stately building has likewise fallen to decay; ivy grows luxuriantly over the broken walls, and sparrows build their nests among the matted branches; but Divine worship is to this day still carried on in the part that remains entire. The country people and neighbouring gentry meet there; they bear the name of Englishmen, though blending in themselves varied and dissimilar races--the ancient Briton and the Roman, the Dane, the Saxon, and the Norman. But how widely different in their habits and their manners from those who assisted in building the ancient chapel, and those who assembled within its walls when the chapel was completed! [Illustration: Yew-Trees of Skelldale.] The Yew-Trees of Skelldale. "Worthy indeed of note Are those fraternal yews of lone Skelldale, Joined in one solemn and capacious grove; Huge trunks! and each particular trunk a growth Of intertwisted fibres serpentine, Nor uninformed with phantasy, and looks That threaten the profane; a pillared shade, Upon whose grassless floor of red-brown hue, By sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged Perennially, beneath whose sable roof Of boughs, as if for festal purpose decked With unrejoicing berries, ghostly shapes May meet at noon-tide: Fear and trembling hope, Silence and foresight--death the skeleton, And time the shadow--there to celebrate, As in a natural temple, scatter'd o'er With altars undisturb'd of mossy stone, United worship; or in mute repose To lie and listen to the mountain stream." WORDSWORTH. The busy hum of men has long ceased from the spot where stand the fraternal yew-trees. Ages have passed away since the illuminator sat intent on his pleasant labours in the ruin hard by--since he put aside his liquid gold and Tyrian purple, and laid him down to rest in the burying-place beside the abbey. The copier of manuscripts closed his book there, more than five hundred years ago; he, too, is gone, and with him all those who lived while he was living. The abbot, who presided in regal state; the brotherhood, in their cowls and gowns; learned men, who studied in their quiet cells, and the busy comers and goers, who worked either in the abbey-fields, or performed such menial labours as the condition of the place required--not a trace of them remains: even the stately monastery is in ruins, but the yew-trees still cast the shadow of their noble branches on the grassless floor of red-brown hue. Their history is inseparably connected with that of the ruined abbey, for they stood in their present site, and afforded a shelter to its founders, long before one stone was laid upon another of the stately building. Those who passed in the days of the Saxon king, Ethelbald, through the Wolds of Yorkshire, near Skelldale, in their way to Ripon, might see a company of men assembled in a wild and romantic spot, watered by a rivulet, and surrounded with rocks and woods. These men were monks, who, desiring to imitate the extraordinary sanctity of the Cistercian abbey of Rieval, had withdrawn from their own monastery of St Mary's at York, and being sanctioned in their preference by the archbishop, they retired to this desolate and uncultivated spot. They had no house to shelter them, nor certainty of provisions to subsist on; but, in the depth of the lone valley, stood an aged elm, among the ample branches of which they erected a straw roof, and this was their only shelter for some time. But at length the rain fell fast, and the wind rose high, and they were constrained to quit the shelter of the elm for that of seven stately yew-trees, which grew on the south side of the valley, where a splendid abbey afterwards arose. These trees were of extraordinary size, for the trunk of one of them measured twenty-six feet in circumference, at the height of three feet above the root. Neither history nor tradition have preserved the knowledge of that period when they first arose from out the ground. Ages may have passed since, and countries rose and waned. The yew-trees of Skelldale may have continued growing even from the brilliant periods of Thebes and Memphis, when Phoenician barks traded to the Isle of Tin, and all around them was one wild impenetrable forest. But the yew-trees were now in their prime, and beneath them the monks took shelter by night and by day, from the rain and snow, and the cold east wind, that swept moaning through the valley. Thus they lived, drinking at the stream when thirsty, and allaying their hunger with the bread which their archbishop sent them from time to time. When the snow melted from the branches of the sheltering trees, and the cold east wind was still--when the delicate yellow blossoms of the yew varied its dark funereal branches, and bees came humming to gather in the pollen, they cleared a small spot of ground to serve them as a garden, and built a wooden chapel. Thus they passed the first winter, and their piety was noised abroad. Many repaired to them from distant parts, some for instruction, others to join the fraternity; and as their numbers increased, their privations increased also. They were often reduced to the necessity of eating the leaves of trees and wild herbs; but their fortitude did not fail them, and one day when their stock of provisions consisted of merely two loaves and a half, a passing stranger asked for a morsel of bread. "Give him a loaf," said the abbot; "the Lord will provide." The hope thus piously expressed, was soon fulfilled, and a cart piled with bread was seen coming down the rocky pathway, a present from Eustace Fitz-John, owner of the neighbouring castle of Knaresborough. Time passed on, and none who witnessed the privations which the monks of Skelldale endured, could have pictured to themselves the future greatness of their monastery. Meanwhile, the garden flourished, and fields were added to those which they began to cultivate, till at length, wrote one of the secluses, "We have bread and cheese, butter and ale, and in time we shall have beef and mutton." He lamented that the soil was too poor for the growth of vines; but he added, "that the garden was well supplied with pot-herbs." Of these he gave no particular description, but we may presume that they consisted of colewort and onions, of peas and beans, of spinach, and radishes with a vegetable called feret, most probably carrot, or perhaps beet, and a variety of sweet-herbs, for such were in use among the Saxons. At length the privations of the monks of Skelldale ceased, as also the necessity for labour. Hugh, Dean of York, bequeathed to them his wealth, and benefactions having poured in successively, from different quarters, the abbey became exceedingly rich in land and cattle, with plate and costly vestments. A wild and beautiful spot was also bestowed on Fountains Abbey by the Percy family; this was Walham Cove, situated among the hilly and mountainous tracts of the West-Riding of Yorkshire. It was included in lands belonging to the manor of Walham, and possessed a valuable right of fishing in the ample stream that flowed from out an immense and perpendicular crag of limestone, more than three hundred feet in height, that stretched across the valley like a magnificent screen. Thither the monks of Fountains Abbey used to repair; thither, too, many of those recluses, who wearied with fights and forage in foreign lands, sought for rest within the abbey walls, loved to muse and moralize upon the passing waters. But they learned not wisdom from them, nor read in things inanimate, lessons that might have taught them to retain the habits of their predecessors. Most of those devoted men, who had sought to worship their Creator in privacy and stillness, were laid down to rest. They had laboured with their hands while living, and thankfully saw the blessings which they sought, spring from out the earth they cultivated; those who filled their places were not actuated by the same necessity, and hence the passer-by no longer beheld a humble cloister, with its garden and low fence, but instead of this a stately building, the Abbey of the Fountain, as it was called in reference to the stream that flowed beside it, fresh and untroubled as when the monks of St. Mary's first sought the precincts of the dale. There were many in after years who desired that their mortal remains might be deposited beneath the abbey walls, and for this purpose they devised large sums of money:--some who had been in the deathful career of storm and siege, and those, the flowers of chivalry, who had won the prize at tilts and tournaments; when armed knight met knight, and high-born ladies gazed on and awarded the victor's meed. Rest they had not found on earth, amid the stunning tide of crime and human care, and they wished that bells might toll for them, and prayers be said for them, beside the rushing waters of the Skill. The mental eye, back glancing, through the vista of long ages, sees at intervals successive funerals slowly proceeding through the abbey gates. Warriors of the noble house of Percy borne there. Lord Rieland, one of the twenty guardians of the Magna Charta, he who sustained the shock of arms and cheered on his vassals in the Barons' wars. He too, Lord Henry de Percy, another member of that ancient race, who followed in after years the banner of King Edward into Scotland, was borne by his tall yeomen to that still and narrow bed which receives alike the prince and peasant. Others also followed, great in their day, and filled while living with busy schemes, but of whom, as years were added, scarcely a trace remained.--Where knees bent in prayer, and the white-robed priest chanted the high requiem, a broken stone figure, recumbent on a lichen-dotted stone, points out a warrior's resting-place; and perchance a mound thrown up, with broken slabs of richly-sculptured marble, indicate that some one who had figured greatly in past ages lay there; again, a broken crosier, or a pilgrim's staff, tell of years spent in wanderings, and in prayer. [Illustration] [Illustration: HOWE SELE'S OAK] Howel Sele's Oak. "I mark'd a broad and blasted oak, Scorched by the lightning's livid glare, Hollow its stem from branch to branch, And all its shrivell'd arms were bare. E'en to this day, the peasant still, With cautious fear, avoids the ground; In each wild branch a spectre sees, And trembles at each rising sound." How beautiful is this wild spot, with its accompaniments of lawn and thicket, with its clear stream, now prattling over a rocky bed, and now dancing in playful eddies beside the tufts of grass and yellow flowers, that skirt the margin of the water! Innumerable boughs shut out the distant prospect, and neither a church-spire, nor curling smoke, ascending from some lone cottage, betoken the abode of men. In the midst of this fair spot stands a "caverned, huge, and thunder-blasted oak;" its dry branches are white with age, the bark has long since fallen from them, and most impressive is the contrast which it presents to the lightness and the freshness of the young green trees among which it stands, as among them, though not of them. Beyond their verdurous circle are a variety of romantic dingles, covered with blackberry-bushes, with moss, and ivy. Gigantic trees fling the shadow of their noble branches over the green sward, and the spaces between them are filled, here, and there, with an exuberant growth of underwood. The music of almost every feathered songster that frequents the woods of England is heard in this wild spot; but except the buzzing of flies that rise in crowds from the copses, and the pleasant rippling of the stream, no other sound meets the ear. The old tree with its bleached and skeleton arms has a fearful name, and stout of heart must the man be who would pass within sight of it when the sun is set behind the hill, and the trees cast their lengthened shadows on the grass. It is called the 'haunted oak,' the 'spirit's blasted tree,' or the 'hobgoblin's hollow tree,' and dismal is the tale to which the name refers. Howel Sele, whose sad history is associated with this blasted oak, was lord of the wide domain which extends around it for many miles. We know not whether his heart was secretly inclined to espouse the faction of Henry IV., or whether he loved a life of ease, and preferred to dwell in his castle-hall, hoping that the storm which threatened to overwhelm his country might pass away. Certain it is that Owen Glendour thought not well of him, and perhaps with reason. He came not forth to assist in delivering his country from the aggressions of a foreign enemy; some even said that he had been induced to desert her cause, and that he only waited for an opportunity to avow himself. Others, whispered, that he looked with a jealous eye on the generous Glendour; and that he feared not to speak of him as the sole leader of a desperate faction, who, if deprived of their head, had no other hope. Glendour knew that such evil rumours were abroad, and it seemed as if he wished to set his kinsman at defiance; for having taken with him his chosen companion Madog, he set forth to drive the red deer from the forest brake, in the domains of the unbending lord of Nannau. But the lord of Nannau could not brook that his red deer should be thus vexed and driven, and when one of these noble animals crossed his path, closely pursued by the fiery Glendour with hound and horn, he rushed from the forest and summoned his cousin to single combat. It was a fatal one for Howel; he fell on the green sward, in the very place where all is now so verdurous and joyful, and his corpse was dragged by his enraged kinsman beneath the tree, whose bare and sapless branches and high top, bald with dry antiquity, whose gnarled and rugged trunk, and large projecting roots are almost fearful in their decay. The tree was hollow at that time, and the companion of Glendour having, with his assistance, lifted the corpse of the unhappy chieftain from off the ground, dropped it within the oak. This was a ruthless deed, but the natural gentleness of Owen Glendour had been perverted by the scenes in which he mingled, and by the oppression that was exercised towards him. He saw only, in the husband and the father who had fallen by his hand, one, who, if he favoured not the cause of the usurper, was yet indifferent to the welfare of his country. He, therefore, sought not for him Christian burial, in consecrated ground. Glendour could no longer tarry in the domains of the murdered chieftain, for he knew how greatly Howel was beloved, and that when the hour of his return was passed, every glen and forest-path would be sought for him. Calling to his companion, he hastened back to his stronghold, Glyndwrdry, where, amid rocks and waterfalls, and the howling of fierce winds, he passed a few more unquiet years. The wretched day which caused him to become a murderer, and deprived Nannau of her lord, was one of anxiety and grief. Far and wide did his vassals haste, now down the glen, now in the depth of the still forest, now scouring over the wide moor, and now making every rock resound with his name. But in vain did they hurry along the forest paths, or dash amid the torrent's roar, or scour over the wide moor, echo alone answered to their loud shouts. In vain did the sorrowing wife of Howel look out through the gloom of evening, and listen for his footsteps; and when the moon shone bright, and louder sounded the wild torrent, and the whoop of the owl was heard, did she pace her lonely chamber and strain her sight through the gathered mist, to see if he was coming. The next day, and the next, did the vassals of Nannau renew their search. Again every glen was visited, and every forest-walk was traced and retraced; the base, too, of every hill was carefully examined, lest the chieftain should have fallen from some height, which the creeping bramble and thickly-tangled underwood had concealed. But no trace of Howel was discovered. Thus one year succeeded to another, and no tidings of the chieftain were received, till at length an armed horseman was seen to urge his weary steed up the hill that leads to Nannau, from the neighbouring town of Dolgelly. The rain fell fast, and the wind blew a perfect hurricane, but he seemed not to heed either the one or the other, or to spare the horse on which he rode. The vassals hastened to the castle-gate, and the lady looked anxiously from the window. Perhaps a faint hope flashed across her mind that the Lord of Nannau was returning. But it was not him, although the stranger brought tidings where he might be found. He told the lady that the enemy of her house was dead; that he in dying, had conjured him to bring to her ear tidings of her husband, and to make known the dreadful mystery of his sudden disappearance. He then told his tale; for it was Madoc, who came thus late, and he referred to the blasted oak in confirmation of the truth. The vassals of Nannau hurried thither, and with them went Madoc, but he could not bear to see the bringing forth of him, whom he had helped to sepulchre within its trunk; he shrunk from witnessing the awful sight that was about to be revealed, and plunging into the forest was soon on the road to Dolgelly. The evening was far advanced when Madoc reached the castle, and now the night had closed in. The vassals worked by torch-light, for such was the lady's command, and their own eagerness confirmed it. Their strokes fell heavy on the trunk of the tree, which sounded hollow, and somewhat of a rattling was heard within, as if of iron and of bones. Some feared to continue, and truly it was solemn work, for the night was dark, and the wind exceeding loud, and the tree stood forth in its sepulchral whiteness, with its long skeleton-looking and bleached arms, which the lightning had riven. A few strokes more, and the horrid mystery' was revealed. There stood the skeleton of Howell; his right hand grasped a rusty sword, and those who saw it, well remembered that it had often been wielded by their chieftain. [Illustration: QUEEN MARY'S TOWER.] Queen Mary's Tower. Oh! 'tis a strange unearthly sound, When loud the raging wind rides round This ruined home of other days; The warrior's boast, the minstrel's praise! For now the stately pile is low, And rank the grass and nettles grow, Where princes sat in regal state, And bold retainers past the gate.-- The strong old gate, all broken now, Twin'd with the ivy's matted bough.--M. R. Such is Winfield castle; and its noble oak, the old oak which bears its name, stands within sight of the long suite of rooms where Mary Stuart passed nine years of her sad captivity; for even nine years, however passed, teaches many a heavy lesson. Much of grief and sorrow, and those strange reverses which only the great may feel in all their fulness and their bitterness, had been comprised in the short life of this unhappy princess, once the Queen of France, then of Scotland, but at length a prisoner, when she passed beneath the portcullis of Winfield castle. Other tales of sorrow and endurance, but none more pitiable, were connected with this old castle: its early history is lost in the uncertainty of ages; no one knows who built it, or why it stands in this wild spot, whether its origin be Saxon or Danish; except that its first and oldest name was given in commemoration of some forgotten victory. Peverel of the Peak, erected the high tower, with a portion of the walls, and successive chieftains added to the structure, till at length the castle came to be much spoken of for its size and strength. Peverel's tower still remains, with a part of the old building, but that portion of it which more than any other awakens images of bygone days, are the rooms of state, with a small tower on the wall, where the captive queen resided; tradition says that she used to spend much of her time in summer on the roof of the tower, watching for signals from Leonard Dacre, who made many attempts to procure her liberation, either by force or stratagem. But the vigilance of the Earl of Shrewsbury was not readily eluded; and for nine long years did Mary inhabit this stern fortress, and watch from her high tower for succour that never came. Ruins are best seen in wintry weather, when storms and thunder are abroad, and the woods are bare of leaves. Such was the fourteenth of October, when some years back, the narrator, saw for the first time, that dilapidated portion of Winfield castle. The rain had been exceeding heavy in the night, and the wind blew a perfect hurricane, making the tall trees groan and sway, beneath its fury, and driving the autumn leaves in shoals upon the ground. But the rain had ceased, and the loud wind was still, except when it came in gusts, moaning over the wide heath, and around the ancient castle, with that wailing sound which is heard only in places where men have dwelt, as if singing the wild requiem of departed greatness. The skirt of the heavy storm-cloud was seen retreating in the west, with its grey windy banners; while, on high, rolling masses of dark clouds were following swiftly, as if they feared to be left behind. Now they were no more seen; clouds, of a still somewhat stormy character, succeeded them, hurrying across the heavens, and changing as they passed, at one moment dark and threatening, at another light and fleecy; while at intervals the blue sky appeared, and the sun broke forth gloriously, causing the earth to look as if it smiled from some internal consciousness of delight. The view from the old tree accorded well with the stormy aspect of the heavens on that day. Full in front rises the stately keep, with its broken battlements and rusted portcullis, its strong iron-bossed oaken door, rusted also on its hinges, brown and broken, with large spaces, showing the desolate and grass-grown area within. To the right of the keep extends a high wall, flanked with a round tower, and then a long sweep of wall, without windows, separated by a strong jutting out from another wall, wherein are the state apartments which Mary occupied. Here stands the tower which bears her name, and from amid a mass of ruins at the base springs up a beautiful ash, which rises to the highest story, and waves before her window. Well might that tree be called Mary's Ash, for the ash is the Venus of the forest, the most graceful of all trees, and she was the loveliest of her kind. It seems to grow there, a living thing, where all else tells of death and ruin; a beautiful and appropriate memorial of one who was the fairest among women, in the days of her sojourning. Unlike the oak of Winfield, which stands in its strength, rugged and embossed, with upheaved roots and strong boughs, fitted to resist the storms of ages; standing, perhaps, when Peverel of the Peak, leaving his stronghold on the summit of the castle-rock, raised here his tower in a fairer spot, deep forested, with green fields, and ample hunting grounds. When, too, successive chieftains enlarged the bold structure, and presided with all the pomp and splendour of feudal magnificence. But the ash had no root within the soil when Mary lived here,--when the Earl of Shrewsbury, his stately dame, her maidens, and his men-at-arms, inhabited the castle. The ash sprung up since Mary went away, and now its leafless branches wave before the window where she used to watch and weep. [Illustration: The Chesnut of TORTWORTH] The Chesnut of Tortworth. When Eva, the gentle one, came, And sat down in my ample shade; And with her was that noble Thane, The lov'd one of the Saxon maid; I call'd to the rustling breeze, That my boughs might their homage pay; While the joyous birds sang from the trees, And the soaring lark warbled his lay.--M. R. The great Chesnut of Tortworth stood where now it stands, far back as the reign of John, at which period it bore the name that still distinguishes it among trees of the same species. It was then in all its grandeur and luxuriance, and its noble branches cast a deep and lengthened shade upon the waste beneath, for grass and flowers do not readily vegetate under the shadow of the chesnut. But the deer of the forest resorted thither to feed on the nuts, when shaken from the boughs by autumn winds; thither, also, troops of wild hogs, which the Saxons used to pasture in the woods, would gather beside the tree, and listen for the dropping of the kernels that fell in their ripeness to the ground. Had Salvator Rosa been living when the great chesnut was in its prime, he would have braved the dangers both of land and sea to have studied its magnificent proportions, for this is the tree which graces all his landscapes; it flourished in the mountains of Calabria, where he painted, and there he observed it in all its forms, breaking and disposing of it, in a variety of beautiful shapes, as the exigences of his compositions required. But Salvator Rosa was not then living, nor, perhaps, his ancestors for many generations; neither was the art of painting developed in England; that beautiful art, which transmits to canvas the glow of an evening sky, and the effects of foliage when shaken by the wind; which embodies, within the space of a few inches, an extent of many miles, with mingled wood and flood, bold headlands and mountains fading in the distance, or crowded cities, with their palaces and schools. Even the Bayeux tapestry, which chronicled, in after years, events connected with civil history and domestic misery, presented merely an ungraceful portraiture of passing events. The tree had attained nearly to its altitude at that period of England's sorrows, when the fierce Penda carried war and desolation through some of her fairest provinces. At this time, also, his son, being appointed Governor of Mercia, resided with his wife, Eva, at Glocester, in the centre of his dominions, where many persecuted persons, who fled from the sword of Penda, were secretly protected and relieved, for Eva was a Christian, and her husband inclined to her faith. Gloucester, where they held their court, was a place of great antiquity. It was one of the twenty-eight cities which the Britons erected, previous to their conquest by the Romans, and was called Caer-Glou, or Caer-Gloyw, which signified, in their language, the bright or splendid town, from its situation on an eminence at the termination of the flat and marshy part of the kingdom of Mercia, and being well watered with an ample river. Wolfere presided over the dominions which his father confided to his care, with equal wisdom and consideration; but within the range of the highest window of his palace, grievous sights were witnessed at one time, by those who had the hardihood to look for them. A dreadful battle was fought in the neighbourhood of Corinium, at about twelve miles distant, between the fierce king, for whom Wolfere ruled, and the King of Wessex. Corinium was much fallen from its ancient grandeur: it had been, in former times, the seat of arts and elegance; Roman generals lived there, and there Constantine occasionally resided; but war and time had greatly changed its once royal aspect, though still a considerable city, and having within its precincts a store of goods and cattle. Penda desired to possess them, and the hard victory which he gained before the walls gave the inhabitants an earnest of the calamities that awaited them. The consequences of this great victory were severely felt in the kingdom of Wessex, and again, throughout the wide expanse of the Cotswold Hills, and among the beautiful vales of Mercia, were acted those scenes of misery, which the youths of that day had shuddered to hear beside the blazing hearth-stone, when narrated in the winter tales of their grandfathers. The victory which Penda had gained, within sight of his son's palace at Gloucester, was succeeded by the fall of the brave Oswold, near Oswestry, in Shropshire. The kingdom of Bernicia was added by his death to the already extensive dominions of the conqueror, and with the increase of his territories, increased also the sufferings of the Christians, whom he persecuted with unwearied malignity. Penda was born a pagan, and as such he passed the period of his youth and middle age. According to the custom of his country, he worshipped images of wood and stone, and joined devoutly in all the unhallowed rites which had been established by his Saxon ancestors; like them he believed that demons of good or ill presided over the fields and groves, and he sought to obtain the favour of the one, and to conciliate the other, by such observances and propitiations as the priesthood had enjoined. To them he was devoutly attached, and his temper being naturally inclined to seriousness, somewhat too, unyielding, with a strong bias to religion, he sought to extirpate the Christian faith, which had been represented to him as tending equally to overthrow the altars of his ruthless deities, with the throne itself. But the Saviour, whose disciples he thus ignorantly persecuted, refused not, on his behalf, the prayers of one who ceased not to supplicate that he might become a sharer in the hopes and blessings of which she knew the value. This was Eva, who has been already mentioned as the wife of his son, Wolfere, the governor of Mercia. Men of the present generation, those even who live where she once lived, have heard little concerning her. Historians speak rather of crimes and sorrows; they chronicle what the great adversary of mankind has achieved to make nations miserable; the life spent in quiet duty, the lifting up of the heart in secret prayer, are no themes for them. But the memorial of Eva is in heaven, her record is on high, and there is reason to believe that she was allowed to witness the softening of that rugged temper, which had occasioned such a variety of wretchedness--to hear, also, that Penda allowed the preaching of Christianity in his dominions nearly two years before his death. It was even said that he was baptized by Bishop Aiden, with Sigebert, King of the East-Angles. Eva died in good old age, after presiding for more than thirty years over the nunnery of St Peter's, at Gloucester. She retired thither on the death of her husband, and greatly benefited the abbey to which it was attached, by causing the revenues to be increased, and by obtaining the confirmation of former donations. With her terminated the office of lady Abbess, during the cruel war which succeeded, between Egbert and the King of Mercia, when the nuns were forced to depart, and the abbey became desolate. The roof which had sheltered the remains of former Abbesses, of Eilburg, who governed the nunnery, both religiously and prudently, for more than half a century, and of Kyneburg, the widow of Elred, King of Northumberland, was thrown open to the winds of heaven, and nothing remained of its former splendour but walls black with smoke, and a few broken effigies. Neither Wolfere, nor his wife Eva, anticipated that such would be the fate of the noble abbey which the piety of former kings had founded, and which the governor of Mercia sought to enlarge and beautify, because Eva loved to worship there. The future is in mercy veiled from the eyes of men; they could not bear to contemplate events that are often close at hand, for though strength is promised for the day of sorrow, it is not given before that sorrow comes. Eva went, as she was wont, on every holy day, to offer prayers, and to present her gifts within the hallowed walls of St Peter's Abbey, and Wolfere continued to embellish the noble city that was confided to his care, by causing many spacious buildings to be erected both for ornament and use. The city had suffered greatly in former wars, and he not only rebuilt such portions of the walls as had been broken down, but so enlarged and adorned it, that it was soon spoken of as one of the finest cities in the Heptarchy. Great hospitality was also exercised at his court, and many found a shelter there, whose homes had been destroyed in the rage of civil discord. The presidency of Wolfere, therefore, over the kingdom of Mercia; the noble acts which he achieved in beautifying and enlarging the city of Caer-Glou, and the quiet, unassuming labours of his wife, Eva, were cotemporary with the Chesnut of Tortworth when it first attained its high standing among forest-trees. It may be, that the venerable ruin, whose decaying trunk is still surmounted by a few verdant branches, was looked upon in its day of pride, by Wolfere and Eva. Tortworth was mentioned, in the time of John, as an ancient place, and the tree of which we speak was called the Great Chesnut. It grew within the garden-wall of the old mansion, and we have no reason to believe that the site on which it stood, had been recently reclaimed from the forest. [Illustration: WALLACE'S OAK] Wallace's Oak. The old Memorial tree is down; But its stirring legend still lives on: A tale of grief and withering woe, Of tears that ceased long ago.--M. R. The noble Oak of Ellerslie sheltered the birth-place of Wallace. Centuries have passed since then, and now it stands in the centre of a small common, time-worn and reft of all its greatness, a magnificent ruin; although, within the memory of man, its ample branches extended over a Scotch acre of ground. Wallace, and the children of the village, used to play beneath its shelter: they would gather acorns for cups and balls, and rest on the green sward when they were hot and weary. A poet, perhaps, would tell you that the patriarchal tree loved to look down on the young "wee things," whose remotest ancestors--precursors, it may be, of a thousand generations, to the period concerning which we speak--had dwelt beside it; that it liked to screen them from the noonday heat; and that, when a sudden shower, driving furiously from off the hills, made the fondlings haste beneath its branches, it kept off the heavy rain-drops that they might not harm the merry crowd. Certain it is that the village children liked best to play beneath the shade of the old oak, and that their parents knew where to seek for the young truants, when they had wandered from school or home. We can all enter into the feelings of children, for we have been children ourselves; we can remember how the primrose and the cowslip, although the gathering of them often gained for us both colds and chidings; the nest of the hedge-sparrow, or the coming forth of the white thorn, were things of vast importance; what delight the finding of them imparted, and how every new object powerfully excited the young mind, because they had all, and each, the charm of novelty. We know, also, that as months and years pass on, somewhat of care begins to steal across all this joyousness, as the shadow of a passing cloud obscures a sunny landscape; that the cares of every day occurrence--the difficulty of finding bread for a large young family--the father's weariness after a day of labour, and the anxious feelings of the mother, are soon shared in by children. They feel more than any one imagines who does not vividly remember what his or her feelings have been in very early life, although the feelings were not, perhaps, depressed by circumstances of equal trial. Time goes on, and it is not only home sorrows that engross the mind; if the days in which they live, are stormy, and men speak of their country's wrongs, the striplings aspire to aid in seeking redress; and the ardour by which their fathers are excited, is reflected in them with double vividness. Thus it was at the period when Wallace lived. The thoughts of all were much engrossed by the terrible condition of the country, and the once playful children, who used to assemble beneath the Oak of Ellerslie, now grown up to boyhood, heard from their fathers that the English army was advancing with all speed towards the border land. Edward led them on, but he had no right to the crown of Scotland. Alexander III., who had filled till lately the now vacant throne, and who had espoused the sister of Edward, most probably inherited, after a period of eight hundred years, and through a succession of males, the sceptre of all the Scottish princes; of those, who, although the country had been continually exposed to such factions and convulsions as are incident to all barbarous, and to many civilized nations, had governed her rocks and fastnesses, from a period whose commencement is lost in the obscurity of ages. But the king was dead; he had fallen from his horse at Kinghorn, and the maid of Norway, as she was termed, daughter of Eric, her king, and his own fair daughter Margaret, was the only representative of the Scottish dynasty. Alexander had wisely caused her to be recognized by the states of Scotland, as the lawful heir of the kingdom, and though an infant and a foreigner, she was immediately received as such. Margaret was accordingly proclaimed queen, and the dispositions which had been made against the event of Alexander's death appeared so just and prudent, that no disorders, as might naturally be apprehended, ensued in the kingdom. Five guardians, the Bishops of St. Andrew's and Glasgow, the Earls of Fife and Bucan, and James Steward, were appointed to take charge of the young princess. These men, who were distinguished for their talents and integrity, entered peaceably upon the administration, and the infant queen, under the protection of Edward, her great uncle, and Eric her father, set forth on her voyage towards Scotland. But either the fatigue attendant on an expedition by sea, or else, in her young mind, grief at leaving the companions of her childhood, affected her health; she suddenly became ill, and died on the passage. There were sad hearts in Scotland, when the heavy tidings reached her of the young queen's death; and when it was heard by those who met at evening around the oak of Ellerslie, they looked anxiously one upon the other, for they knew not what to say; it seemed to them that all hope for the weal of Scotland was about to be extinguished. They knew that Edward was both powerful and crafty; that having lately, by force of arms, brought Wales under subjection, he had designed, by the marriage of Margaret with his eldest son, to unite the whole island under one monarchy. With this view he had dispatched an embassy to the states of Scotland, when the late king died, and the proposal being favourable to the happiness and security of the kingdom, it was readily assented to. It was even agreed by the five guardians, that their young sovereign should be educated at the English court, while they at the same time, stipulated that Scotland should enjoy her ancient liberties and customs, and that in case the prince and Margaret should die without children, the crown of Scotland should revert to the next heir. The projected marriage promised well, but the sudden death of the young princess left only a dismal prospect for the kingdom. No breaking-out among the people immediately ensued, for the regency was sufficiently powerful to keep the crown from sudden spoliation. It was otherwise in the course of a short time, for several pretenders laid claim to the vacant throne. The posterity of William, King of Scotland, the prince who was taken prisoner by Henry II., being extinct on the death of Margaret, the crown devolved by natural right to the representatives of David, Earl of Huntingdon, brother to William, whose male line being also extinct, left the succession open to the descendants of his daughters. John Baliol represented his maternal ancestor Margaret, one of the three daughters of the Earl of Huntingdon, married to Alan, Lord of Galloway; Robert Bruce of Annandale, his mother Isabella; and John Hastings, the lady Adama, who espoused Henry Lord Hastings. This last pretended that the kingdom of Scotland, like other inheritances, was divisible among the three co-heiresses of the Earl of Huntingdon, and that he, in right of his mother, was entitled to a third. Baliol and Bruce spurned at the thought of dismembering the country, while each asserted the superiority of his own claim. Baliol was sprung from the elder branch, Bruce was one degree nearer the common stock; if the principle of representation was regarded, the former had the better claim; if consanguinity was considered, the latter was entitled to the preference. The sentiments of men were divided, all the nobility took part with one or other of the claimants, and the people implicitly followed their leaders. The different claimants themselves had great power and numerous retainers in Scotland, and each thought himself secure of gaining the Scottish throne. The danger which threatened the country was therefore iminent. The most thoughtless saw that a furious civil war would infallibly occur, unless some plan could be devised for adverting so terrible a calamity; and men, high in power, of all parties, and themselves secretly inclining either to Baliol, or Bruce, or Hastings, resolved, if possible, to lay aside their mutual differences, and to agree upon some measure for preserving the public peace. Many and lengthened were the discussions which they held. The best and most obvious method of averting the threatened calamity, was to prevail upon two of the contending parties to lay aside their mutual claims. But this they would not do; each saw, or fancied that he saw, the crown of Scotland within his grasp, and he cared not if it was gained at the cost of a civil war. Another expedient then occurred to those who sat in council for the public good. This was the submitting of the question to the judgment of King Edward. For such a measure they had many precedents. The English king and his barons, in the preceding reign, had endeavoured to settle their differences by a reference to the King of France, and the integrity of that monarch had prevented any of the bad effects which might otherwise have ensued. The kings of France and Arragon, and afterwards other princes, had appealed in like manner to Edward's arbitration, and he had acquitted himself with honour in his decisions. The parliament of Scotland, therefore, wishing if possible to prevent the misery attendant on civil discord, and allured by the great reputation of the English monarch, as well as by the amicable correspondence which had existed between the kingdoms, agreed in making a reference to Edward. Men of probity were chosen as deputies, and among these, Frazer, Bishop of St. Andrews, left his quiet home on the plains of Fife, at a short distance from the German ocean, to undertake a long and perilous expedition to the English court. They remembered that her monarch would have stood in the relationship of a father to their young queen, they had heard much concerning his integrity and honour, and how he had kept peace in France and Arragon, and they flattered themselves that he would now interfere in the affairs of a sister kingdom, with such authority as none of the competitors would dare to withstand. Hope revived in Scotland, and many fondly trusted that the heavy cloud which had begun to settle on her mountains, and threatened to deluge her plains with wretchedness, would yet pass away. Men often possess a high character for virtue, because they have no temptation to act wrong. In the case of France and Arragon, the remoteness of the states, the great power of their respective princes, and the little interest which Edward had on either side, induced him to acquit himself with strict impartiality in his decisions. It was not so in the present case, and the temptation was too strong for the English monarch to resist. He secretly purposed to lay hold of the present favourable opportunity, and if not to create, at least to revive, his claim of a feudal supremacy over Scotland; a claim which had hitherto lain in the deepest obscurity, and which, if it had ever been an object of attention, or had been so much as suspected, would have prevented the Scottish barons from choosing him as umpire. Passing by the archives of the empire, which, had his claim been real, must have afforded numerous records of homage done by the Scottish princes, he caused the monasteries to be ransacked for old chronicles and histories of bygone days, and from these every passage was transcribed which seemed to favour his pretensions. The amount of all such transcripts, when taken collectively, merely went to show that the Scots had occasionally been defeated by the English, and had concluded peace on disadvantageous terms. It was proved, indeed, that when the King of Scotland, William, was taken prisoner at the battle of Alnwic, he was constrained, for the recovery of his liberty, to swear fealty to the victor. But even this faint claim to feudal superiority on one side, of submission on the other, was done away by Richard II. That monarch being desirous to conciliate the friendship of the Scottish king, before his departure for the Holy Land, renounced the homage, which he said, in express terms, had been extorted by his father. The commissioners soon perceived with dismay, that all which they could urge against the pretensions of the English monarch, were utterly unavailing. They heard, too, that a royal commission had been issued for the fitting out of a great armament, and intelligence quickly followed that the army was on its march to Scotland. Edward and his men-at-arms, reached Norham Castle, on the southern banks of the Tweed, where he insiduously invited the Scottish parliament, and all the competitors to attend him, in order to determine the cause which had been referred to his arbitration. They came, but not on equal terms, for the English king brought with him a large body of warlike men, ready to do his bidding; while the parliament found themselves betrayed into a situation in which it was impossible to make any stand, for the liberty and independence of their country. One anxious year for Scotland passed on, while Edward pretended, impartially, to examine the claims of the various competitors, for nine others had now started. Having thus gained time for the furtherance of his ambitious view, he pronounced sentence in favour of Baliol. Baliol was, therefore, placed on the throne of Scotland, with the shadow merely of royal authority, for many and humiliating were the concessions which Edward required of the seeming king. They were such as even his mild and yielding disposition could not brook, and at length, taking advantage of a favourable juncture, he resolved to make a desperate effort for the restoration of his rights. Rumours were soon afloat that an English army was rapidly advancing, and scarcely was the intelligence received, than it was also heard that some of the most powerful among the Scottish nobles, with Robert Bruce, the father and the son, and the Earls of March and Angus, foreseeing the ruin of their country from the concurrence of intestine divisions, and a foreign invasion, had submitted to the English king. Other rumours followed, fraught with distress for Scotland. Some related that the English troops had actually crossed the Tweed without opposition, at Coldstream; others that Baliol, having procured for himself, and for his nation, Pope Celestine's dispensation from former oaths, renounced the homage which he had done to England, and was already at the head of a great army. Some spoke what they believed, others as they wished; but there was little ground for exultation as respected the movements of the Scotch king. Instead of bringing into the field any effective force, with which to oppose the encroachments of the English, he was constrained to hear of their continual successes. The castle of Roxborough was taken; Edinburgh and Stirling opened their gates to the enemy. All the southern portions of the country were readily subdued, and Edward, still better to reduce the northern, whose rocks and fastnesses afforded some security, sent for a strong reinforcement of Welch and Irish. These men, being accustomed to a desultory kind of warfare, were best fitted to pursue the fugitive Scots into the recesses of their glens and mountains. The quiet valleys and the upland solitudes, which had been untrodden by stranger steps for ages, were visited in consequence, and hostile men sat down beneath the shade of the old Oak of Ellerslie. The spirit of the nation was broken at this period. Edward marched northward to Aberdeen and Elgin, without meeting an enemy. No Scotchman approached, but to pay him homage. Even the bold chieftains, ever refractory to their own princes, and averse to the restraint of laws, endeavoured to prevent the devastation of their mountain homes, by giving the usurper early proofs of obedience. The bards alone stood firm; they sung to the music of their harps the high and moving strains which, in ancient days, had roused those who heard them to a pitch of the wildest enthusiasm. Scotland being thus reduced to a state of seeming dependence, the English forces generally repassed the Tweed, although strong garrisons remained in every castle of importance. They had carried with them that ancient stone, on which, from the remotest period either of history or of tradition, the Kings of Scotland received the rite of inauguration. They believed, on the faith of an ancient prophecy, that wherever this stone was placed, their nation should always govern; it was also treasured up in the minds of men, among their fondest traditions, that the day would come when one of Scottish birth should rule over England. Scone was no longer permitted to retain the true palladium of their monarchy; it was proudly carried off, and placed in the palace of Westminster. There was seeming tranquillity throughout Scotland on the day of its removal from the ancient church at Scone, but the hearts of all who saw it pass, or who heard of its removal, burned within them. The deed was spoken of throughout all Scotland. Men heard of it in the remotest parts; the chieftain in his castle-hall, the peasant in his highland hut; they were constrained to smother the indignation that glowed within them, yet they secretly awaited a favourable opportunity to assert the independence of their country. Baliol, too, was carried, a prisoner, to London; his great seal was broken, and when, after the lapse of two years' confinement in the Tower, he was restored to liberty, it was with the harsh condition that he should submit to a voluntary banishment in France. Thither, accordingly, he retired, and died in a private station. Scotland, meanwhile, was in a deplorable condition. Her king was powerless, and the administration of the country was in the hands of rapacious men--of Ormesby, who had been appointed justiciary by Edward; and Cressingham the treasurer. The latter had no other object than to amass money by rapine and injustice; the former was notorious for the rigour and severity of his temper: and both, treating the Scots as a conquered people, made them sensible too early of the grievous servitude into which they had fallen. William Wallace was now grown to man's estate. His young companions had grown up also, and the group of merry children, that had played under the old Oak of Ellerslie, were now thoughtful men and women; for the troubles of the days in which they lived, made even the young grow thoughtful. The old men wished that they could wield their good weapons as in days of yore, for then, they said, stout-hearts that beat beneath the highland tartan, would not have tamely yielded to become the vassals of proud England. Their country had once held, they said, a station among the kingdoms of the earth, but now she was fallen and degraded; their king was taken from them, and mercenary men oppressed the people with heavy taxes. Thus spoke the old men of Ellerslie, and such were the thoughts of thousands throughout the land. Wallace and his young companions, actuated by that enthusiasm which the oft-told tale of ancient valour and present degradation, was calculated to inspire; excited also by the conversation of strangers from the north, and stimulated by the present favourable aspect of affairs, (for the English troops were mostly withdrawn to their own country,) resolved to attempt the desperate enterprise of delivering their native land from the dominion of foreigners. Wallace was well-fitted for the purpose. He was a man of gigantic strength, his nerves were braced by a youth of hardihood and exercise; he possessed likewise ability to bear fatigue, and the utmost severity of weather. Nor were his mental characteristics less remarkable. He was endowed with heroic courage, with disinterested magnanimity, and incredible patience. The ill conduct of an English officer had provoked him beyond endurance, and finding himself obnoxious to the severity of the administration, he fled into the woods which surrounded his once happy home, and invited to his banner all those whom their crimes, or misfortunes, or avowed hatred to the English, had reduced to a like necessity. Beginning with small attempts, in which he was uniformly successful, Wallace gradually proceeded to momentous enterprises. He was enabled by his knowledge of the country to ensure a safe retreat whenever it was needful to hide himself among the morasses and the mountains; and it was said, that he once concealed himself, with three hundred of his men, among the branches of the aged oak, beneath which he had played in childhood. But Ellerslie was not long a place for him, though he still loved to linger in its beautiful retreats. They were too well known to those who sought to take his life, for the village in which his parents lived, lay not far distant from one of the strong castles, in which the English had a garrison. He went, therefore, to Torwood, in the county of Stirling, and made the giant oak which stood there his head-quarters. It was believed to be the largest tree that ever grew in Scotland. Centuries were chronicled on its venerable trunk, and tradition traced it to the era of the Druids. The remains of a circle of unhewn stone were seen within its precincts, and near it was an ancient causeway. Wallace often slept in its hollow trunk during his protracted struggles against the tyranny of Edward, with many of his officers, for the cavity afforded an ample space. The old Oak of Torwood was to him a favourite haunt; perhaps it was associated in his mind with the one he had left at Ellerslie: but other, and far-off scenes, were often the theatre of his most heroic actions, when, having ensured a retreat from the close pursuit of the enemy, he collected his dispersed associates, and unexpectedly appearing in another quarter, surprised and routed the unwary English. Such actions soon gained for him the applause and admiration of his countrymen. They seemed to vindicate the nation from the ignominy into which it had fallen, by its tame submission to a foreign yoke; and although no man of rank ventured as yet to join his party, he was universally spoken of, by all who desired the independence of their country, as one who promised to realise their most ardent wishes. Cambuskenneth, on the opposite banks of the impetuous Forth, became the theatre of a decisive victory, which seemed about to deliver Scotland from the oppression of a foreign yoke. Wallace, at this time, stood alone with a band of faithful men, who adhered to him in all his struggles and vicissitudes. Earl Warrenne, whom the king had originally appointed Governor of Scotland, on the abdication of Baliol, which office he had relinquished conditionally, from ill health, had crossed the border-land with an army of forty thousand men; he now sought by the celerity of his armament, and his march, to compensate for his past negligence in the appointment of Cressingham and Ormsby. Advancing with incredible rapidity, he suddenly entered Annandale, and came up with the Scots at Ervine, before their forces were collected, and before they had put themselves in a posture of defence. Many of the nobles being thus unexpectedly placed in a great dilemma, thought to save their estates by submitting to Earl Warrenne. But Wallace, nothing daunted, awaited his further progress on the banks of the Forth. Victory declared in his favour, and the wreck of the invading army, being driven from the field, made its escape to England. Had Wallace been permitted to retain the dignity of regent or guardian of the kingdom, under the captive Baliol, all might yet have been well with Scotland. The elevation of the patriot chief, though purchased by so great merit, and such eminent services, was not, however, agreeable to the nobility; they could not brook that a private gentleman should be raised above them by his rank, still less by his wisdom and reputation. Wallace himself, sensible of their jealousies, and fearing for the safety of his country, resigned his authority, and retained only the command over that small troop, many of whom had been his companions in their boyhood days, whose parents had dwelt with his, beside the Oak of Ellerslie, and who refused to follow the standard of any other leader. Nobly, therefore, did he consent to serve under the Steward of Scotland, and Cummin of Badenoch, into whose hands the great chieftains had devolved the guardianship of their country. Meanwhile another army crossed the Forth, and the two commanders proposed to await its coming up on the banks of Falkirk river. Wallace was also there with his chosen band. In this battle the Scots were worsted, and it seemed to those who heard of it, that the ruin of Scotland was inevitable. Wallace, although he continually exposed himself in the hottest of the fray, was enabled by his military skill and great presence of mind, to keep his men together. Retiring behind the Carron, he marched along the banks of the river, which protected him from the enemy. The country on either side was wild and picturesque; the yellow gorse was in blossom, and the continuous flowers of the heath seemed to shed a purple light upon the mountains. It was then in all its beauty, for even the sternest scenes are beautiful when decked in their summer glory, when gay flowers grow upon the rocks, and birds and butterflies sport among them. The heavens above were clear, and the shadows of flying clouds seemed to set the plain country in motion; where the grass grew wild and high, it looked as if innumerable pigmies were passing swiftly beneath the blades, and causing them to rock to and fro with their rapid movement. But not a sound was heard, except the heavy tread of weary men, and the murmur of the river over its pebbly bed. Young Bruce, who had given many proofs of aspiring genius, and who had served hitherto in the English army, appeared on the opposite bank of the river. While standing there, and thinking, perhaps, as men are apt to think, when the loveliness of creation is presented in striking contrast to scenes of ruin and desolation, he observed the Scottish chief, who was distinguished as well by his majestic port, as by the intrepid activity of his behaviour. Calling out to him, he demanded a short conference, and having represented to Wallace the fruitless and ruinous enterprise in which he was engaged, he endeavoured to bend his ardent spirit to submission. He represented the almost hopeless condition of the country, the prevailing factions among the people, and the jealousy of the chiefs. He spoke concerning the wisdom and martial character of Edward, and how impossible it was that a weak state, deprived of its head, could long maintain such an unequal warfare. He told him, that if the love of his country was his motive for persevering, his obstinacy tended to prolong her woes; if he carried his views to personal aggrandisement and ambition, he might remember from past experience, that the proud nobles who constituted the aristocracy of Scotland, had already refused to submit to personal merit, although the elevation to which that merit attained had been won by the greatest privations, and by the consummate skill which had gained for them the hard-earned victory of Cambuskenneth. Wallace was not slow to answer. He told young Bruce, that if he had acted as the champion of his country, it was solely because no leader had arisen, beneath whose banner he could lead on his faithful men. Why was not Bruce himself that leader? He had noble birth, and strength; he was in the vigour of his days, and yet, although uniting personal merit to dignity of family, he had been induced to desert the post which Heaven had assigned him. He told him that the Scots, possessed of such a head, would gladly assemble to his standard; that the proud nobles would submit to him, because he was of more exalted birth than any of them, being himself of royal descent; and that even now, though many brave, and some greatly distinguished men, had fallen on the battle-field at no great distance, and it seemed as if all hope as respects the future weal of Scotland was about to be extinguished; yet, if the noble youth to whom he spoke would but arouse himself, he might oppose successfully the power and abilities of Edward. Wallace urged him further to consider, that the Most High rarely offered a more glorious prize before the view either of virtue or ambition, than the acquisition of a crown, with the defence of national independence. That for his own part, while life remained, he should regard neither his own ease, nor yet the hardships to which he was exposed; that Scotland was dearer to him than the closest ties that entwine themselves around a brave man's heart, and that he was determined, as far as in him lay, to prolong, not her misery, but her independence, and to save her if possible from receiving the chains of a haughty victor. Bruce felt that what he said was true. From that moment he repented of his engagement with Edward, and opening his eyes to the honourable path, which the noble-minded Wallace had pointed out to him, he secretly determined to embrace the cause, however desperate, of his oppressed country. Armies met again; other battles followed, and for two miserable years did the Scots and English fight hand to hand for the liberty or subjugation of Scotland. Edward at length triumphed, and Wallace became his prisoner. The boy of Ellerslie, he, who in after life thought only to preserve his country from spoliation; who was determined, amid the general defection, the abrogation of laws and customs, and the razing of all monuments of antiquity, still to maintain her independence, was betrayed into Edward's hands, by a false friend, whom he had made acquainted with the place of his retreat. He was carried in chains to London, to be tried as a rebel and a traitor, though he had never made submission, nor sworn fealty to England, and to be executed on Tower Hill. The old Oak of Ellerslie is still standing, and young children play beneath its shade; the birds fly in and out, and around it the life and business of husbandry proceeds, as if neither grief nor death, had ever visited the beautiful hills and dales that lie around. More than five centuries have passed away since young Wallace played with his companions beside the tree, and a few short years, subtracted from that period, since he took shelter with many of his playmates, when grown up to manhood, among its ample branches. But though long since barbarously executed, and though his bones might not be laid to rest in the land which he sought to save, he is not forgotten in the hallowed spot--the birth-place of his parents--which he loved above all others. The children of the village are still taught to lisp his name, and are carried to hear of him beneath his own old tree. All his favourite haunts by glen or burn, or up the mountain-side, are fondly traced by the young men and maidens when their work is done. Here, they say, he used to sit and listen to the strain of the pibroch, and from off the margin of the little stream he gathered flowers in his days of childhood. Yonder are the mountains, through the secret passes of which he used to conduct his small company of valiant men, when the storm of war gathered dense and dark, and from which he rushed like a mountain-torrent on the enemies of his country. Close at hand, say they, and extending even to the verge of the common on which stands the village of Ellerslie, are a few trees of the ancient wood, which often served for a hiding-place during his rapid alternations of advance and of retreat, and when in the small beginnings, which suited best with his youth--with the youth, too, of his companions--he gave good earnest of what his single arm might have effected, if secret jealousies and discordant counsels had not undermined his best concerted plans. [Illustration: THE NUT TREE OR ROSAMOND'S GRAVE.] Oh many a one that weeps alone, And whom the stern world brushes by, Has friends whom kings might proudly own, Though all unseen by mortal eye.--M. R. "Away with that unseemly object!" said the stern St. Hugh, bishop of Lincoln, to the sisters of Godstow Nunnery, when he came in the course of visitation to their quiet dwelling among the rich meadows of Evenlod. "Away with that unseemly object! the hearse of one who was a Magdalen, is not a fitting spectacle for a quire of nuns to contemplate, nor is the front of the holy altar a proper place for such an exhibition." The sisters dared not refuse, and the coffin which contained the remains of Fair Rosamond was removed to the church-yard. But they said among themselves, that the stern bishop needed not to have thus harshly judged, for Rosamond had lived among them for many years, in the utmost innocence and seclusion. They knew too, for so tradition tells, though the truth could not then be safely spoken, that poor Rosamond did not deserve the harsh aspersions of St. Hugh. It was believed that King Henry had married her in early life, but secretly, and without such witnesses as might avail, to have her constituted queen of England. Henry himself, when driven nearly to distraction by the rebellion of his acknowledged sons, spoke unadvisedly certain words, that confirmed the belief of the simple-hearted nuns. He said to one of the sons of Rosamond, who met him at the head of an armed company, "Thou art my legitimate son; the rest have no claim on me."[3] Rosamond was told, most probably by the queen herself, of King Henry's conduct, for the queen, having seen him walking one day in the pleasure-grounds at Woodstock, with the end of a ball of silk attached to his spurs, and wondering greatly at the circumstance, resolved to follow him. She took up the ball, and when he went away, she followed warily, the silk meanwhile unwinding, till at length he suddenly disappeared in a thicket belonging to the celebrated labyrinth of Woodstock. The queen went no further, and kept the matter to herself. She, however, took advantage of his absence on a distant journey, and having threaded the mazes of the labyrinth, she began searching the thicket into which the king had disappeared. Finding a low door carefully concealed, the queen caused it to be forced open, and passing on with a beating heart, through a long, winding, subterraneous passage, she emerged again into the open air, and following on a little further, she discovered a lodge, situated in the most retired part of the forest. Beautiful trees grew round, with a spacious garden, and a bower, in which a young lady was seen busily engaged in embroidery. This isolated fact records merely the circumstance which led to the finding of Fair Rosamond by Queen Eleanor; it speaks, not of the bitter misery of the one, nor the distress occasioned to the other, nor, most probably, the making known by Rosamond, in the first moment of her dismay, that she believed herself the wife of the man who had entailed such wretchedness upon her. But whatever might have passed at that interview, its result was, the retiring of Fair Rosamond from her secret bower to the nunnery of Godstow, where she passed twenty years of her weary life, and died when she was forty years of age, in "the high odour of sanctity." Her grave remained unclosed, according to the fashion of the times, but a sort of temporary covering, somewhat resembling a tent, was raised immediately above it. The coffin and the tent were both before the altar, and over them was spread a pall of fair white silk, with tapers burning round, and richly emblazoned banners waving over. Thus lying in state, it awaited the erection of a costly monument, till St. Hugh commanded its expulsion. But the nuns remembered their poor sister, whom they had laid to rest in that open grave; and when the bishop died, they gathered her bones from out the place of their interment into a bag, which they inclosed in a leather case, and tenderly deposited before the altar. The altar has long since been broken, and the place wherein the memorial tent, with its pall of fair white silk, was stationed, is roofless now. Instead of tapers burning round, and emblazoned banners waving over, springs up a solitary nut-tree--the Nut-tree of Rosamond's grave. It bears a profusion of nuts, but without kernels, empty as the deceptive pleasures of this world's pageants.[4] And silent too, sad, vacant, and unpeopled, is the mound on which once stood the castle of William Longespé, poor Rosamond's eldest son. It was a drear and treeless elevation, rising over the wide extent of downs, that were seen spreading far as the eye could reach; yet there were glad hearts within, young children and cheerful voices, the lady Ela and William Longespé, with their visitors and dependants, and those who came and went, making that stately castle to seem a royal residence. William Longespé was distinguished for his chivalry and feats of arms, the lady Ela for her mild and benignant virtues. They had married in early life, and her estates and honours, according to the customs of the feudal ages, had served to enoble a brave and deserving youth, who had no other patrimony than his sword. Ela was born among the beautiful shades of Amesbury, whither her mother had retired before her birth. It was called the ladies' bower, and was appended to the castle of Salisbury, as that of Woodstock to Oxford castle, and there her young days passed among trees and flowers, till, as years passed on, she became the delight and ornament of her father's court. Earl William stood high in favour with King Richard. He carried the dove-surmounted verge, or rod, before that monarch at his coronation; and to him was confided the responsible office of keeping the king's charter, for licensing tournaments throughout the country.[5] His titular castle frowned over the stern ramparts of Sarisbyrig, where no stream was heard to murmur, nor the song of birds came remotely on the ear, except the joyous warble of the soaring lark, or the simple unvaried note of the whinchat, seeking its insect food among the thyme hills. But instead of woods and streams, the castle was surrounded with extensive downs, covered with short herbage, and in the space where two valleys obliquely intersected each other, was one of the five fields, or steads, for the holding of feats of arms. The field was full in view of the majestic fortress of old Sarum, and although it seemed as a dip, or rather hollow in the elevated downs, it afforded ample space for the combatants and spectators, and those who stood on the highest point of what--had seats been cut in the broad slope--might have been termed an amphitheatre, looked down on the rich and smiling banks of the Avon and the Nadder, with the venerable towers of Wilton Abbey.[6] Here then, were often witnessed the proudest exhibitions of chivalric enterprise, and often did the little Ela gaze with awe and wonder from the windows of her father's castle, on knight and banners, and all the pomp and pageantry of those heroic games. Scarcely, however, had Ela attained her eighth year, when the Earl of Salisbury having died, after a short illness, she became the orphan heiress of his princely patrimony, and an exile; for scarcely had the banners, and the scutcheons, and the mutes passed by, and all the pomp of death went after him to his last resting-place, than the little Ela suddenly disappeared, and was nowhere to be found. Some said that her mother sought her sorrowing; others, that she gave but little heed, and that while knights and servants rode the country over, asking questions of all they met, and exploring every brake and hollow on the ample downs; returning ever and anon, either with some hope of finding the lost child, or else to consult with her lady mother concerning the next course to pursue; she alone seemed as if indifferent to the matter. The countess had large possessions in Normandy or Champaign, and it was at length conjectured that the orphan had been sent to her relations, lest King Richard should avail himself of his feudal right, to marry her according to his will. But such was not the case, though true in part, as respected her distant home. Ela had three uncles, of whom the eldest was next heir to the great possessions of the deceased earl. No historic light gleams on the biography of these kinsmen, excepting that being younger brothers, without patrimony, and unmarried, they retired into the monastery of Bradenstoke.[7] Yet tradition tells, that when the elder brother heard of Ela's fatherless condition, he threw aside his cowl, and assumed the cuirass. It might have been, that often in the silence and the solitude of that old abbey, when passing its dimly-lighted cloisters, dark thoughts had worked within him; that scowling on his books and beads, he had contrasted his condition as a poor and obscure monk, with the grandeur and the vast possessions of the earldom of Salisbury. The pope absolved him from vows of poverty, for thus it is recorded in the traditions of the place, and forth he came, a claimant to the honours and the wealth of that illustrious house. Tradition lingers among old walls and deserted hearths; there may be nothing for history to glean, but her lowlier sister loves to keep alive the feeble glimmering of her lone lamp, in places from whence all other light is gone. Rightly, therefore, did the anxious and affectionate mother of young Ela seek to remove her daughter from the reach of one whose ambitious and turbulent disposition might have prompted him to crime. But the days in which she lived were those of stirring incidents. A train of gallant troubadours gave life and animation to the court of lion-hearted Richard, and the mysterious disappearance of the orphan heiress was with them a theme of frequent conjecture and resolve. An English knight, of the name of William Talbot, inspired, it would seem, by the romantic adventures of the minstrel Blondel, resolved to find out the place of her concealment. He went forth attired as a pilgrim, with his staff and cockle-shell, and having landed on the coast of Normandy, he wandered to and fro, for the space of two years,[8] as if in quest of the shrine at which he sought to pay his vows. There were shrines in the depth of solitary forests, and to such he bent his way, others in populous towns, and before them he would duly kneel, asking questions of those he met, and warily seeking to discover where the lost one was concealed. At length, so the poet tells, he saw a maiden, whose English accent and fair hair denoted her foreign birth, come forth with her companions from a castle on the coast. Talbot concealed himself behind a rock, and listened while the maiden, who was gathering shells from off the sand, spoke of the far country whence she came. It seemed to him that she gazed wistfully over the wide sea, and when the dew began to fall, and the bell tolled out from the grey turret, she looked back from beneath the postern, as if to catch a last glimpse of the dim waters. Laying aside his pilgrim dress, he assumed that of a wandering troubadour, and gained admittance to the inmates of the castle. He recounted the deeds of former times, concerning the perils of King Richard, and how the minstrel Blondel, wandering through storm and sunshine, had found the prison of his master. He repeated the wild strain which Blondel had sung before the old fortress, and the answering melody that responded from within; and thus in sentiment, if not in words, for the thoughts are those of the minstrel Peter d'Auvergne, the gallant Talbot made known his errand to the orphan daughter.[9] Haste, haste thee, haste, my faithful bird, O'er the tumbling and tossing sea, Breathe to my love the sighs you have heard, And her answer respond to me. O, the fond bird flew from the green hill's side, Where blossoming roses blow, She spread her wing o'er the ocean wide, While the blue waves danced below. And the strains which she sang to the evening star, As it rose o'er the darkling hill, She pour'd forth again to the lov'd one afar, By the gush of the flowing rill. The lady heard in her lonely bower, As she gazed on the wandering moon; When her pale beams brightened the old grey tower, Riding now in her highest noon. Ah! thou dost not heed my plaintive strain, For thus the fair bird sang; I have flown in my haste o'er the stormy main, From groves where my music rang. Where my music rang, when the glow-worm's light Glimmer'd oft in the darkling glen, And no sounds were heard 'mid the stilly night, From the homes, or the haunts of men. Save from one, who fear'd not the dew nor the damp, Who told me his true love tale, As he linger'd alone, by the glow-worm's lamp, In the depth of the hawthorn dale. Methinks e'en now, o'er the dewy grass, All alone on the moonlit plain, Will his constant step, 'mid the dim light pass, To list for my answering strain. And that answering strain the young knight heard, As he stole from his castle hall, For the lady breathed low to the faithful bird, Words of love from her distant thrall. Thus sung the troubadour, and the maiden longed to see again the wide downs on which her young eyes had gazed, for she knew not the thraldom that awaited a rich heiress in those days of feudal tyranny. The book of Lacock is silent with regard to the means by which the troubadour contrived to bear her off, concerning her perils by sea or land, or her joyous meeting with her widowed mother. The book tells merely, that King Richard bestowed her hand on his brother Longespé, and with it the vast possessions and the title of the Earl of Salisbury. Longespé was then a youth, just rising into manhood,[10] and happy was it for the orphan heiress that King Richard gave her to one whom she could love. For it happened not unfrequently that great heiresses were married to stern men, either that their lands might enrich the younger sons of royalty, or else to repay services that had been rendered the crown. It is generally conjectured, that Richard designed the Lady Ela for his brother from the period of his father's death, when the hostile conduct of her uncle occasioned the young child to be sent away. His faithful Talbot sought and found her, most probably by the desire of the king, for he was loyal and experienced, and in none of the minstrel knights whom he admitted as companions to the festive board, did King Richard more unreservedly confide. He was proud, also, to be numbered among the devoted friends of the youthful Longespé, and in after years his name occurs among the witnesses to several charters given by the earl.[11] Whether, therefore, he was a friend of Longespé from his days of boyhood, or whether he had earned that friendship by his services in recovering the lovely Ela, certain it is, that neither his friendship nor his services were forgotten, and that when Longespé obtained the honours and possessions of the house of Salisbury, Talbot became an inmate of his castle.[12] Ela returned to her father's hall, to the old castle of Sarum, from which she had looked in her childhood on the feats of arms that were exhibited in the tournament arena. But those days had passed, for King John, who now filled the throne, cared little for jousts or minstrelsy. His thoughts brooded in sullen mood on the discontents that were abroad, and on the distracted condition of the country. Meanwhile the chivalrous and devoted Longespé accompanied King John, who went from place to place like the wild Arab, staying nowhere, ever restless and inconstant. The Lady Ela occasionally accompanied her husband in his expeditions, but she preferred the order and dignity of her own well-regulated household to the migrations of the court. The earl, too, was often weary of his mode of life, but his affection to his brother made him willing to relinquish his home comforts, and if the king was ever sincerely attached to any human being, it was to the gallant Longespé. There is little doubt but that his affection for the earl induced him to erect a tomb to the memory of his unhappy mother, whose remains had been removed from the place of their interment; it was tastefully embossed with fine brass, and had an inscription around the edge.[13] When the differences that existed between the monarch and his barons arose to a fearful height, and the month of June witnessed the proud triumph of the rebel chiefs, and the acquisition of Magna Charta, on the field of Runnimede, the brother stood unshaken in his fidelity. Many had transferred their allegiance from the king to the prevailing party, and John was reduced by an imperious necessity to a reluctant and insincere concession; but the banners of the Earl of Salisbury[14] floated in the camp of his royal kinsman, together with those of the Earls of Pembroke, Arundel, and Warren. The country was quiet for a season, but at length disturbances broke out again. It was no longer safe to venture unattended, by an armed force, beyond the precincts of the castle, and the "most dear friend and brother" of the wayward monarch, shared in the disasters of his reign. At one time a prisoner,[15] at another deputed to place garrisons in the castles of Windsor, Hertford, and Berkhampstead, and to cut off supplies from the city of London, where the insurgents had fixed themselves. At length, hardened by the scenes of misery to which he had been accustomed, his kindlier feelings seemed to be totally obscured. Marching at the head of troops, with the fierce Falcasius de Breant, the earl imbibed his spirit, and shared in his enormities. Before them was often a smiling and well-peopled country, behind them a desolate wilderness,[16] and while the earl and Falcasius were thus mercilessly occupied, the king's arms spread equal desolation in other parts, till at length the castles of Mountsorrel, in Leicestershire, and that of Robert de Ros, in Yorkshire, alone remained to the insurgent barons. To this succeeded the coming over of the French king, in order to assist the barons, the seeming defection of the earl, the death of John, and the coronation of young Henry. The country was again at peace, and Longespé returned to his home and family. With the passing away of battle scenes, seemed to have passed also the fierce spirit of the earl. We hear of him as a kind husband and indulgent father, as a bounteous master, and one who loved to promote good works. The gentle influence of Lady Ela apparently recalled him to the mood of better days, as the associating with De Breant had urged him to deeds of rapine and injustice. The beautiful cathedral of Salisbury was founded by him, and thither came, at his request, the bishop of the diocese, with a few earls and barons, and a vast concourse of people from all parts, on the day appointed for laying the first stone. Divine service having been performed in the ancient edifice, the bishop put off his shoes, and walked in procession with his clergy to the site of the new foundation, singing the litany as they went. The bishop then addressed the people, and taking a stone in his hand, he placed it in the name of Pope Honorius, and afterwards another, for the Archbishop of Canterbury. The fourth was laid by the Earl of Salisbury, the fifth by the Countess Ela, "a truly praise-worthy woman," as wrote William de Wanda, afterwards Dean of Sarum, "because she was filled with the fear of the Lord." Other stones were added by a few noblemen, archdeacons, and canons of the church of Sarum, amidst the acclamations of the assembled multitude, many of whom wept for joy, and gladly contributed according to their ability. A negociation was then pending with the Welch at Tewkesbury, or the company would have been much larger, but most of the nobility who passed that way on their return, requested leave to add each a stone, and some bound themselves to make contributions for the next seven years.[17] To this succeeded the stern and stirring incidents of war, for King Henry's brother, having recently received the honour of knighthood, with the earldoms of Cornwall and Poictou, it was resolved that he should commence his military career on the plains of Gascony, under the guidance of his uncle, the Earl of Salisbury, and Philip de Albeney.[18] Forth, then, they went, with sixty knights and their attendants, and an army of French and English, and again were homes despoiled, and castles set on fire, and fields and vineyards trodden down by hostile steps, till, having achieved the purpose of their predatory warfare, the earl and his companions embarked for England. But the nights were dark, and October winds, gathering strength and fierceness from the early setting in of a long winter, tost their unwieldy ships like cockle-shells on the face of the deep waters. The chieftains despaired of life, as did the bravest of the seamen, and the earl resolved to throw overboard whatever he possessed, either of rings, or gold, or silver, rich vestments, or scutcheoned banners, that as he had entered life unprovided with them, so he might pass in like manner to his eternal home. But a waxen light, of large size and brilliancy, was seen by all on board, suddenly appearing on the summit of the mast, and near it stood a female of surpassing beauty, who preserved that warning light, shining in the midnight darkness, from being extinguished by the wind or rain. Seeing this, the mariners took courage, and when the day began to dawn, the violence of the storm abated, a fresh gale sprung up, and urged the ship onward to the isle of Rhé, about three miles distant from Rochelle. As they neared the coast, an old abbey came in sight, and thither the earl sent messengers on landing, requesting favour and protection, and that he might remain concealed from his enemies till a fair wind should admit of his returning home. To this the abbot gave consent, and received both the earl and his companions with kindness and hospitality. But the island was in charge of Savaric de Maloleone, who served the French king, and kept watch over the adjoining coast, and great peril would have accrued to Earl William, had not two of Maloleone's retainers gone secretly to the abbey and warned him to remain no longer, telling him, that unless he left the island before the following morning, he would be captured by their comrades, who guarded the island and the straits. Upon this the earl, after presenting them with twenty pounds sterling, hastened to the shore, from which the whole company embarked on a raging sea. They trusted, as the distance was but short, that they should speedily gain the English coast, but in this they were mistaken, and, for three long wintry months, did those ill-fated men struggle with the raging elements, before they arrived within sight of land.[19] Meanwhile, the Lady Ela hoped from day to day that the earl might yet return, but, still as weeks past on, and the storms of winter gathered strength, she began to fear that his ships had been lost at sea. There were also other wives and mothers, who suffered as intensely as the countess, for among the knights and soldiers that accompanied him on his perilous undertaking, many had families at home, who looked wistfully for their return. But the Lady Ela had trials that especially attended her high rank and large possessions, for although a matron, whose age and dignity might have commanded more respect, she became an object of pursuit to the fortune-hunters of the court. Hubert de Burgh, who stood high in favour with Henry III., sought for his nephew the hand of the widowed countess, and the youth, entering with a kindred spirit into the interested views of his ambitious kinsman, prepared for the undertaking. De Burgh had been twice at Salisbury in attendance on the king during the earl's perilous voyage,[20] and it is therefore not surprising that the future disposal of the honours and broad lands of the Lady Ela should have become an object of his speculations. Henry III. was said to be much afflicted by the supposed death of the earl, but when De Burgh petitioned that he would permit his inheritance to pass with the Lady Ela into his own family, the king readily gave leave, on condition that the countess could be induced to consent. The justiciary, for such was the office of De Burgh, accordingly dispatched his nephew, on a courser richly caparisoned, with knights and squires sumptuously arrayed, that he might present himself in a distinguished manner before the countess. But the lady scorned his suit; she heeded neither his flattering speeches nor large promises, and she told him, with becoming dignity, that messengers had arrived from her absent husband, bringing the welcome news that he was both safe and well. She added, further, that if indeed the earl was dead, she would in no wise receive the nephew of the Justiciary De Burgh as a second husband. "Therefore," said she, "you may seek a marriage elsewhere, because you find that you have come hither in vain." On hearing this, Reimund de Burgh became exceedingly crest-fallen, and, having remounted his gaily trapped courser, he hurried from the castle with his train.[21] The earl returned to his home on the fourth of the ides of January, and went the following day to see the king, who was then ill at Marlborough. He made a heavy complaint to his royal nephew, that base men had been allowed to insult his countess with proffers unworthy of her. He had been abroad, he said, and suffered much in the king's service, and it seemed hard that advantage should be taken of his protracted absence by the Justiciary de Burgh, to send a certain low-bred man, who was not even a knight, into the presence of his wife, with the intention of constraining her to an unlawful marriage, had she not most nobly repelled him. He added, moreover, that unless the king caused full reparation to be made by the justiciary, for so great an outrage, he would himself seek redress, though it should involve a serious disturbance of the country. The king, who was greatly rejoiced to see his uncle, well knowing that he was both powerful and valorous, did not attempt to excuse himself, and the Justiciary de Burg being present at the interview, wisely resolved to atone for his misconduct, by confessing that the fault rested with him. He besought the earl to pass the matter over, and to accept, as a proof of his forgiveness, some fine horses, and other costly gifts. He next invited the earl to dine with him, who went accordingly on the day appointed, but being taken ill immediately after dinner, he was obliged to return home. Rumours went abroad that poison had been administered, but the character of De Burgh does not warrant any suspicion of the kind.[22] The hardships which the earl sustained while abroad, with his subsequent agitation, occasioned by the insult offered to his countess, were sufficient to account for his sudden illness. Finding himself dying, he sent for the Bishop of Salisbury, that he might receive in the confession and viaticum, such blessings as were needful to one in his condition. The bishop came immediately, and, when he entered the apartment, bearing with him the sacred elements, the earl sprung from his bed, and hastily tying a rough noose about his neck, he threw himself weeping upon the floor. He was, he said, a traitor to the Most High, and could not rise till he had confessed his past sins, and received the communion of the life-giving sacrament, that he might testify himself to be the servant of his Creator. He afterwards continued for some days in prayer, and such acts of penitence as his faith enjoined, and he then peaceably yielded up his soul to his Redeemer;[23] to Him "who willeth not the death of a sinner, but rather that he should turn from his wickedness and live." The earl died on the seventh of March, 1226, and his corpse, according to the fashion of the age, was immediately removed to the cathedral of New Sarum. The day was stormy, and loud gusts of wind, accompanied with heavy rain, swept over the open downs, but still the funeral train went on, with its long, long line of torches, for it might not be that the corpse of one who had been so great on earth, should remain from out the sacred walls of the cathedral which he had founded. It was about a mile from the castle to the church, and a multitude of people followed; some were loud in their lamentations, others wept silently as they went; for the earl had been a kind master, and it seemed hard that he should so soon be taken from them, who had but just returned to his home. They remembered, too, that only eight weeks before, and at the same hour of the day, he had passed through the wide portals of the magnificent cathedral to offer praises and thanksgivings for his preservation and safe return; that on the very spot where he was then received in procession by the clergy, with great demonstrations of joy,[24] the same company was coming forth to meet him, who was now being borne a corpse before them; for the bier was met at the western door by the bishop and the neighbouring chieftains, with the cathedral clergy, choristers, and precentor, chanting in Latin as they passed up the nave, the same funeral service which is now chanted in English, on occasions of public funerals within the walls of cathedrals. His martial figure of grey marble still reposes on his tomb, sleeping, as it were, from century to century with his sword and shield. The features of this son, and brother, and uncle of kings, are only partially exposed, through a small aperture in the hood of mail, which covers his mouth and chin, the eyebrows betoken somewhat of a lofty and impetuous feeling, but the eyes seem gentle and intelligent.[25] The day of death is light, in comparison of its bitterness, with that of the interment. In the former case, the spirit indeed has passed away, yet the form remains. The wife, or child, or parent can sit beside the couch, and gaze on the still unchanged features. But when the grave has once closed upon the loved one, what words can tell the utter desolation that presses on the heart! Thus felt the Lady Ela, when the last words of the solemn service ceased, when the sound of footsteps neared to the grave's edge, and somewhat heavy seemed to be letting down into the darkness and the depth,--when her half-averted eye looked for the last time on the narrow coffin, resting now within the grave, but soon to be concealed for ever. Lady Ela heeded not the words of comfort which the pale priest spoke, nor yet the solemn chanting that burst forth again, as if to bear her spirit up with holy hopes from out the wretchedness of her sad lot. But the Lord, in whom she trusted, did not forsake her, and when she returned to her home, it was with a firm resolve to devote herself to the service of her Maker, by cherishing the memory of her husband, and taking care of her large family. It was happy for the Lady Ela that she was suffered to remain in free widowhood; that even the powerful Justiciary de Burgh and his aspiring nephew dared not molest her. This was an especial favour, and as such the countess ever regarded it, for ladies of large estates were rarely permitted to continue single; their lands and dignities passed by right of inheritance to persons whom they were often constrained to marry.[26] Thus, at the same period of English history, the rich heiress of Albemarle conferred the title of earl successively on her three husbands, William Mandeville, William de Fortibus, and Baldwin de Betun. The countess, therefore, being priviliged to continue in a widowed state, exercised the office of Sheriff of Wiltshire, and that of Castellan of Old Sarum, even when her son became of age, and claimed, by his mother's wish, the investiture of the earldom; the king his cousin refused it, not in displeasure, but according to the principles of feudal law; and hence it happened, that in consequence of the Lady Ela's protracted life, the earldom of Salisbury continued dormant, and as she survived both her son and grandson, it was never renewed in the house of Longespé. The great seal with which the countess ratified the many legal instruments that were required in the administration of her feudal rights is still extant. We may not perhaps regard it as presenting a portrait of the Countess Ela, like the effigy of her husband in Salisbury cathedral, but it affords, no doubt, a faithful resemblance of her noble and dignified bearing, and of her graceful, though simple costume. Her right hand is on her breast, her left supports a hawk, the usual symbol of nobility, her head is covered with a singularly small cap, possibly, the precursor of the more recent coronet; her long hair flows negligently upon her neck, and on either side the royal lions of Salisbury appear to gaze on her, like the lions of Spenser's "Fairy Queen," on the desolate lady Una.[27] Seven years had now elapsed from the time of the earl's death, during which the countess sedulously fulfilled the duties of her high condition. Her eldest son, who was then a minor, married the rich heiress of two baronies, the daughter of Richard de Camville, and the Lady Eustachia.[28] Richard, Stephen, and Nicholas were gone forth into the world, and her daughters Isabella, Petronilla, Ela, and Sola being either married or of age, the countess thought herself at liberty to relinquish the arduous duties in which she had hitherto been engaged, and to devote herself to a secluded life. Yielding, therefore, to the natural desire of withdrawing from the busy world, she proceeded to undertake a task that was calculated as much for a season to add to her employments, as it afterwards contributed to her repose. River scenery has ever been a passion with me. I can gaze unwearied on the tranquil flowing of deep, clear waters, now shaded with old trees, that droop their branches to the water's edge, and now by rock and underwood, where roses and wild honeysuckles, harebells, and primroses mingle their beauty and their fragrance. Such is the tranquil Avon, passing in gloom and depth, dark, silent, and unruffled, among rocks and trees; or murmuring in its onward course, with that calm sound of moving waters which seems to tell of peace and solitude. It is flowing now, through a spacious and level meadow, with tall elms, and cattle feeding on its margin, and in the distance, high spiral chimneys appear at intervals among the trees. They belong to the ancient nunnery of Lacock, which the Lady Ela founded; not standing as many stand, with smokeless chimneys, lone and tenantless, over which the creeping ivy and wild wall-flower seek to hide the rents of ruin, but dwelt in still; a place where the living may think of those who are resting in the cells beneath, who have neither heard the winds of winter, nor felt the cheering sunbeams for more than six hundred years. This spacious and level meadow, with its tall elms and cattle, was once a glade; this bright river, now journeying in shade and sunshine along peopled districts, flowed once in silence and in loneliness through the ancient forests of Chippenham and Melksham. Yonder, and at a distance over the wide wood, rises the high and lonely arch of Malmesbury Abbey, the "august, but melancholy mother," as the poet Bowles has well observed, with a poet's feeling, of many a cell or monastery beside the Avon. Battlements and buttresses, seen far off in the bright sunshine, point out the remains of Bradenstoke Abbey, rising among old trees, and seeming to overlook the river as it winds through the vale and pastures of Somerford and Christian Malford. Scarcely a vestige remains of Stanley priory; its walls are low and roofless, but the bright blue "forget-me-not," nestling itself among ferns and foxgloves in the fissures of the walls, seems to call upon the passenger to remember that men once thought, and felt, and suffered, where all now is silent and deserted--an emblem-flower, a living motto, inscribed on the wrecks of ruin. But Lacock Abbey, standing on the verge of the spacious and level meadow, is still inhabited, and its cloisters are fresh, as if they were just completed, although the arches are hung with ivy. More than six centuries have passed since the Countess of Salisbury came, in the year 1232, accompanied by such persons as she loved to consort with, to this remote part of her hereditary domain. The woods around were bursting into leaf, and the "one word spoken" of the contented cuckoo was heard at intervals. It was early in the month of April,[29] and as yet the winds were chill, but April was in unison with her past life, one of storm and sunshine, and now about to close, as respected this world's turmoils, amid the beautiful scenes of woodland and of river. Two monasteries were founded by the countess on that memorable day; Lacock, which she designed for her own abode, in which holy canonesses might dwell, continually and devoutly serving the Most High; the other, the priory of Henton, of the Carthusian order.[30] It was believed that the countess in thus founding these religious establishments, desired to perform the vows of her husband, which he made during his great perils, when returning from Gascony to England. A few years more, and the bright sun which beamed on the day of the foundation of Lacock nunnery, looked down on a dark marble stone, which men placed, with heavy hearts, over the remains of its noble foundress. "As I stood, in a moody day of the declining year," wrote one,[31] who has recorded with deep feeling the long-forgotten history of the Lady Ela, "and thought of her youthful romantic history, a gleam of pale sunshine struggled through the dark drapery of ivy, and fell upon the spot. At the same moment a wintry bird, which had taken shelter among the branches, piped one small note; no other sound was heard amid the profound silence of the place, and as the short note ceased, the gleam faded also." [Illustration: Dunmow Priory.] Dunmow Priory. The old tree, the old tree, Has fallen long ago; But I shall tell of thee, old tree, As if thou wert standing now. How thy ample branches spread, In the days of ruthless John; How they waved o'er the silent dead, When the last dread deed was done.--M. R. Dancing lights and shadows are playing on the tomb of Lady Marian.[32] They are cast by the old tree whose waving branches, seen through the lofty window, with its tracery and mullions, grey and time-worn, recall to my mind the day in which it stood with its brotherhood beside the little church of Dunmow, when bold Robinhood, the outlawed Earl of Huntingdon, passed and repassed with his lady and their archers through the green recesses of Sherwood forest. The contiguous priory was standing then, but this memorial of the olden time, the present church of Dunmow, formed merely the south aisle of a magnificent collegiate church, and of a religious house founded many years before the days of Robinhood, by the sister of Raef Baynard, who held the manor in the time of Domesday survey. Far and near extended a wild forest with its glens and dingles, but farmhouses are standing now where the wolf used to range, and a public road passes within sight of the ancient building, from which it is divided by a corn-field, and burying-ground, with head-stones worn and lichen-dotted, and crumbling from long exposure to the weather. How still and solemn is this place! Here knees have bent in prayer for successive generations, and here successive generations have been laid to rest; the poor beside the church--a few of noble birth within the walls. Sir Walter Bohun is one of these. His plate armour and leathern shirt indicate that his days were passed in warlike deeds, and beside him rests his lady, dame Matilda, who wears the insignia of her courtly rank; her tiara and lace, her earrings and her necklace. Their heads repose on cushions, and their hands are raised in the attitude of prayer. The effigies of both have suffered; the legs of Sir Walter are broken at the knees, and the delicate fret-work of the lace which adorns his lady has been rudely handled. Other steps than those which used to tread softly, as befits a house of prayer, were heard here when this deed was done. Men, with peaked beards and round hats, halted beneath the Oak of Dunmow, and they thought they did good service to their Maker when they despoiled the old effigies; they, too, have passed from among the living, and though their sojourn occasioned great distress and terror in the neighbourhood, no trace of them remains at Dunmow, excepting in the mischief which they did. Sir James Hallet rests here also, and a few mural monuments remain upon the walls, but the one tomb, which of all others is most dear, upon which the quivering lights and shadows play, and sunbeams shed a softened radiance, is that of the Lady Marian. Shielded by a beautiful screen of dark old oak, coeval with the building, and which separates the nave from the chancel; it stands forth in bold relief, a relic of the olden time, which the convulsions of ages--foreign wars and civil feuds, have yet spared. The head is covered with a woollen coif, the neck encircled with a collar, and a string of pendants falls upon an embroidered cape; a rich girdle and long robe, with sleeves close to the wrists, and hands covered with rings further indicate her rank. Angels were stationed beside the head, and a dog crouched on either side her feet. But rough hands marred this tomb also, the angels, who seemed to watch over the sleeping effigy, were rudely broken, though the effigy itself was spared. Perhaps the lady who lay within the tomb was associated with the fondest recollections of the rebel leader. It may be, that he had gathered nuts amid the open spaces of the forest where she dwelt; before years of crime and peril had hardened his young heart, or, perhaps, when sick and restless upon his bed, his mother might have told him concerning the Lady Marian's woes and wanderings; how she fled from her father's castle, when that castle was in flames, and how bold Robinhood and Little John shielded her from harm. More than six hundred years have passed away since a company of monks from the adjacent priory brought hither the corpse of Lady Marian to inter it within the church; since the boughs of the old tree, waving in the cold night air, cast their uncertain shadows on the long train of veiled nuns, as they entered by torch-light the low arched door-way of the church. Marian had passed her young days in Baynard castle, on the borders of Sherwood Forest. Her father, Richard Fitz Walter, gave a tournament when his daughter attained her eighteenth year; knights and squires assembled from all parts; ladies came attired in robes of costly silk; and during three whole days, jousts and sports continued without intermission; but on the fourth, a stranger, clad in burnished mail, entered the lists and vanquished the bravest of his competitors. No one knew whence he came, but his gallant bearing and handsome countenance, won the heart of the young queen of that high festival, and she trembled when she hung the golden chain around his neck. It was said, too, by those who looked on, that the mysterious victor was observed to turn pale; but he departed as he entered, suddenly and in haste, and the tramp of his stately steed was heard afar in the still forest. Prince John was at the banquet, yet he liked not the noble owner of the castle; he had no thoughts in common with those of a true and loyal knight, and having been reproved for some evil expressions he went away in anger, and vowed revenge. A few short months and the brother of Fitz Walter departed for the Holy Land, taking with him a considerable number of his brother's men-at-arms, when John, watching his opportunity, led on an armed band against the castle, and slew its owner. Marian fled to the green forest, where she wandered all the day, and concealed herself at night among the underwood. The next day, she met the stranger knight, whom she had crowned a short time before, when Baynard castle was in all its pride, and her father presided there. His burnished coat of mail was laid aside, and a simple suit of Lincoln green betokened his mode of life. Soothly did he greet the lady, and told her not to fear, for though he was Robinhood, the outlawed Earl of Huntingdon, at the mention of whose name stern warriors trembled in their halls, and ecclesiastics turned pale, his good men should shield her well. Lady Marian laid aside her whimple and her veil, and the better to conceal herself, put on a light kind of armour, such as young men wore on days of festival, for she had not strength to bear the heavy casque and buckler. In this garb she encountered King John, who called upon her to surrender; but he who stood before her was the murderer of her father, and what will not the recollection of such a deed produce in even the gentlest bosom; in one, too, who, perhaps, had not been taught the blessed precept which teaches to forgive. "Yield," said the prince, for he knew not the damsel in her strange attire; he thought, most probably, that the youth before him was in the service of the outlaw, and that his command would be sufficient to enforce obedience. The stranger was not thus to be subdued, and so firmly did she maintain her assumed character, that the prince was obliged to withdraw. John heard that his antagonist was no other than the young flower of Baynard castle, Marian, whose father he had slain, and he resolved to be avenged on her also. Maid Marian became the wife of Robinhood, and when King Richard restored to him his earldom and estates, she presided in his baronial hall with equal courtesy and magnificence. John succeeded to the throne on his brother's death, and then the vengeance which had long brooded in his sullen breast fell heavy on the earl; he was again outlawed, and for many long and weary years did his fair young wife follow his fortunes. Time, and the hardships which he endured, had at length weakened the strength of the bold outlaw. He tried his shafts one morning, and finding that they neither flew so far, nor so fast as his strong arm was wont to send them, he resolved to repair to Kirkley nunnery, where his cousin presided as prioress. He had heard much of her skill in medicine, and hoped that she might stay the fever that raged in his veins. "Thrice welcome, cousin Robert," she said, but treachery was in her heart, for she bore no good-will to him who plundered both the church and churchmen. Robert passed through the strong oaken door, but he returned not again, save as a corpse borne by his tall bowmen wearily along, to bury beneath some fine trees near Kirkley. At this sad period of her life the countess took refuge in Dunmow Priory. It stood in a wild and secluded spot on the borders of Sherwood Forest; that great forest to which she had fled for refuge in her young days, and where her married life had passed. John heard that she was there, and he rejoiced in the thought of vengeance, for he remembered their rencounter in years gone by, and how she had worsted him on that memorable day. Summoning, therefore, a gallant knight, Robert de Medeive, common ancestor of the present Earl Manvers, and of one, to whom we owe this biographic memoranda of the Lady Marian, he bade him go with all speed to the Priory of Dunmow, and present to the Countess of Huntingdon a valuable bracelet, as a token of amity and reconciliation. Years chequered with much of sorrow had passed since the fall of Baynard castle; since the encounter of Marian and the prince in Sherwood Forest; perhaps she had learned in her cell, the blessedness and the duty of forgiveness. Walter had heard concerning the noble lady who thus cordially received him as an herald from the king--of the sufferings of her young days, and how the brave Earl Huntingdon had given her a home when her own fair patrimony was in the hands of strangers. Her bloom, indeed, had faded, together with the sprightliness which rendered her the darling of her father's house; but her noble bearing and matron beauty which time still spared, caused the rough warrior to gaze on her with mingled love and admiration. But he wished not to be thus entangled, and, therefore, bidding her adieu, he hastened on his way. The way was long and lonely, now over a wide common; now through the depth of a dark forest, beside a rapid streamlet, or through a valley where high trees drooped on either side, in all the majesty and luxuriance of uncultivated nature. The knight looked not on these, however beautiful; he cared not for the grandeur or sublimity of the mighty landscape, which extended at times before him, or the sylvan beauty of woodland scenery; he thought only of the high-minded dame to whom he had borne the pledge of amity; till at length her image rose before him with an intensity of feeling that caused him to turn his horse's head, and to retrace the way which he had come. The day had closed in before he reached the priory, but the light of many tapers streamed through the windows of the adjoining church on the weary knight, and the dirge of death sounded solemnly through the stillness of the forest. The priory seemed deserted; there was no one to answer his impatient questions; all were either within the church or around the door, and thither he too hastened with trembling steps, for his heart sunk within him. The chancel was lighted up, and before the curiously carved screen of dark old oak lay the corpse of the Lady Marian; it was covered with flowers according to the fashion of the age, for as yet this custom of the olden time was not laid aside. The bracelet was on her wrist; its fiery poison had dried her life's blood, and cankered the flesh it touched. Her face was ghastly pale, but a heavenly smile irradiated her fine countenance; it told that all within was peace--that even the last dire deed had not disturbed her thought of heaven. The veiled nuns stood around--their loud sobs were heard, even the officiating priests and brothers wept bitterly; and the "dies iræ" died away on their quivering lips as the warrior entered. He flung himself upon the bier, and uttered, in the wildness of his anguish, a thousand maledictions on his wretched head. It was long before he could be removed, and then he returned neither to the camp nor court. He relinquished his mail and helmet for the cowl and gown, and became a faithful brother of the order of St. Augustine. Peace be with thee, noble lady; a quiet waiting in the place of rest, whither thy spirit is departed, for the summons of thy Lord. This earth has changed greatly since thy young feet trod the precincts of Sherwood Forest; the contiguous priory has fallen down, thy father's castle is still in ruins; all thy companions in the hall and cloister have passed from the earth; and here, within this venerable relic of the olden time, in the midst of a field of corn, reposes thy mortal frame. Lady Marian--Peace be with thee. Rest in hope, till the hour of His coming, who shall awake all those who sleep in him, and when, to borrow the beautiful language of inspiration, the groaning creation "shall be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God."[33] "When the Holy One, the Glorious One, returns in might and power, And the long-oppressed world emerges, from out her darksome hour; Her darksome hour of grief, and death, and bitter pain, When the Holy One, the Blessed One, returns to earth again. Where the hosts of Satan trod, bright angels shall descend, And loved ones, and vanished ones, their steps shall hither wend. They come from the silent land, where they have waited long, And sweet as mortals never heard shall be their choral song. We too shall sing with them, for the curse shall pass away, And earth look brighter far than on her natal day, When the Lord for whom we waited in glory comes to reign, And many whom we dearly loved do follow in his train."--M. R. [Illustration] [Illustration: THE GOSPEL TREE.] The Gospel-Tree. Lone, beside the forest rill, Stands an old tree reft and broken; 'Neath its scant boughs waving still, Words of faith and hope were spoken, In time of dearth and bitter woe, At least six hundred years ago.--M. R. Britain was anciently divided into a variety of states, which bore the names of those who dwelt in them, or else had reference to some peculiarity of situation or of climate. When the Romans gained the ascendancy, they put aside the way-marks of the olden times, and divided their new territories into Britannia Barbara, Prima, and Secunda, with such lesser partitions as pleased them best. Then came the Saxons. They, too, made changes, and he who returned after some years' absence to the shores of Britain, sought in vain for the places which he remembered in early life, and with which the dearest associations were connected. The plains and rivers, the hills and valleys, still remained, and above them extended the blue heavens, for men could not dry up the fountain of the one, nor vary the aspect of the other, nor cause the glorious moon and planets to forsake their prescribed bounds. All else was changed. Most of the towns and villages had new names given them, and from out the chaos of war and time arose the seven kingdoms of the Saxon Heptarchy. Minor changes followed, and when Alfred united the whole country under his paternal sway, he projected a final division of the kingdom into counties, with well-defined boundaries and names. The counties were again divided into parishes, and then commenced the annual festival of marking the respective boundaries. This was done by the inhabitants, who went round them every year, and stopped at certain spots, where different ceremonies were performed, in order that the localities might be impressed on the memory of the young, as they were attested by the recollections of the old. Rogation week, or one of the three days before Holy Thursday, the feast of our Lord's ascension, was selected for the purpose, at which time the minister of the parish, accompanied by his churchwardens and chief parishioners, went round the boundaries, and stopped at remarkable spots and trees, where he recited passages in the gospels, and implored the blessing of the Most High on the fruits of the earth, beseeching Him to preserve the rights and properties of the inhabitants, and to keep them in safety. Many a memorial-tree, thus honoured, carried down the recollection of bygone days to the men of other generations; and among these the gospel-beech, which stood at a short distance from an ancient Saxon town, among the beautiful beech woods of Gloucestershire, recalled to mind that ages must have passed since that failing tree, shadowed with its ample foliage the earth beneath. Now time-worn and riven, hollow, too, yet throwing out green leaves in the spring, it marked one of the extremities of the parish, in its retired coppice on the rugged side of a wild common, while beside it a stream gushed forth, and went leaping and sparkling into the vale below. A variety of flowers grew round the well-head of the stream, the primrose and the snowdrop, the yellow daffodil and violet, all young, and fresh, and lovely, as if in mockery of the time-worn tree. There stood the parishioners, in their doublets, with heads uncovered, while the priest recited a few appropriate sentences from that holy book in which he loved to instruct them. Playful children, too, were there, young men and maidens, for on such occasions most of the parishioners trooped forth, some because they loved their pastor, and were glad to hear the sacred words that proceeded from his lips; others because the walk was pleasant, and to gather the early flowers of the year. This custom, itself of great antiquity, was conjectured to be derived from the Pagan feast of Terminalia, the fabled guardian of fields and landmarks, and the promoter of good fellowship among men. It was adopted by the Christians during a period of calamity and death, and now a gospel-tree or stone, stands as a memorial in almost every parish. The site was duly visited from year to year, and the doing so was attended with circumstances of peculiar interest. He who had traced the boundaries of his parish with manly step, and who with unwrinkled brow, erect and firm, read the sentences that breathed of confidence and truth, changed with the changing years. When a few years had passed by, it became toil and weariness to him to trace the same rounds. Those who as playful boys, intent on sport, had been thrust into the stream that marked in one place the boundary of the parish, or dragged in another through a coppice, or driven up a tree as if in anger, to make them remember the boundaries, were now grave and thoughtful men, with young striplings beside them. A few years more, and not one of the grown-up people are left. The gospel-tree may remain, but of those who stood as boys or aged men, as young maidens or grave matrons, beneath its shade, some will be laid down in the narrow house, and others will not even present a trace of what they were. Another minister will fill the office of his predecessor, and even the younger children will be grown up to manhood. He who then passes through the village may see old and wrinkled persons looking from their cottage windows, or seated on the green to bless the procession. Those aged persons are strangely altered from what, they were. Who may recognise in them, the young men and maidens, who now with joyous hearts and unwearied steps, are pressing round the boundaries! Thus might have thought and felt the men and women who first stood beside the gospel-tree when the experience of a few short years gave them some little insight into the changes of human life. When not a trace of that company remained, others stood in the same place, and many thought the same among succeeding generations; content to suffer, and to see the breaking asunder of every earthly tie, of all that renders life desirable, while yet the sacred volume declares to those who read and understand, that the present state of human wretchedness is not designed to last for ever. [Illustration] [Illustration: CLIPSTONE PALACE] Ruins of Clipstone Palace. Where have ye gone, ye statesmen great, That have left your home so desolate? Where have ye vanished, king and peer, And left what ye liv'd for, lying here? Sin can follow where gold may not, Pictures and books the damp may rot; And creepers may hang frail lines of flowers Down the crevices of ancient towers: But what hath passed from the soul of mortal, Be it thought or word of pride, Hath gone with him through the dim, low portal, And waiteth by his side.--F. W. FABER. Little now remains of the old palace where King John and Edward I. resided. Creeping ivy covers the once strong walls, and large elder bushes springing from out the rents which time has made, afford a shelter to such birds as like to build their nests in solitary places. The goatsucker is one of these; you may hear her mournful voice at night, as if she bewailed and lamented the downfall of the once stately building; the gray owl is also there; the jackdaw and carrion-crow; they are never seen beside the cottage door, or in cheerful apple-orchards, covered with blossoms, where the goldfinch and linnet, the joyous throstle and the bullfinch, love to nestle. All is lonely here, the long grass which grows wild and high, around and within the ruin, is rarely trodden on, and so damp and chill is the feeling of the place, that the sheep and cattle that graze upon the common rarely seek it, unless in the hottest summer-day, when they cannot find shelter elsewhere. Yet this lone and melancholy spot was not always thus deserted: the broken-down walls encircled a spacious area, within which was all the life and business, the gladness and festivity of a palace; there was the great hall and the refectory, the chapel, where prayer was duly offered, the rooms of state, and apartments of various descriptions. Men-at-arms guarded the strong gate by night and by day, and when its ample doors were opened by the king's command, a troop of horse might freely pass, and large companies did come and go, for great hospitality was occasionally exercised in Clipstone palace. Fancy, that nimble fairy, who calls up the images of bygone days, who causes men to live again, and re-people the fair scenes in which they once rejoiced or suffered; who builds up the ruined wall, and removes the unsightly branches which keep off the pleasant sunbeams, bids the stately palace of Clipstone to stand forth in all its majesty. Touched by her wand, the mists of ages have rolled away, and surely a more goodly building rarely meets the eye. The walls are thick, and the embattled parapets present a range of towers, each of which are firmly guarded. The knight or palmer, he who comes in peace or war, has to pass over a strong drawbridge, and through the barbican or watch-tower by which the castle is further strengthened. He sees over his head a portcullis armed with iron spikes like a harrow, and as he passes through the long stone passage, he hears the heavy tread of the guard going their rounds along the high wall, by which the entrance is flanked on either side. The deep moat with its heavy and sluggish waters, the inner and outer ballia, the guard and the portcullis, all and each betoken that the country is in an unsettled state; but within the area on which the castle stands all is bustle and animation, its ample space contains barracks and residences for the workmen attached to the palace, together with a well and chapel, and in the centre stands the keep, where the king presides, and where his great officers have their abode. A terrace walk extends around the keep, and appended to it is a straight bowling-green, where amusements of various kinds are going on. The old castle looks gloomy to him who passes by; it stands an isolated object, stern and lonely, as if nothing within or around it, held communion with any living thing. But such is not the case, for the monarch holds his court here; King John, who has lately come to the throne, and with him is that kind and gentle lady, his fair queen, who tries to soften the rugged temper of her husband. Lords of high degree are invited guests; with them are a large company of knights and squires, and while tilts and tournaments are going on within the walls, the retainers of the castle are seen coming with provisions, or else driving both sheep and cattle, for the demand for them is great. Alms are duly given by the express desire of the queen, and those who seek for shelter are hospitably entertained. In winter, the banquet room is lighted up with large torches, and a band of minstrels make the castle resound with their songs and roundelays. You may hear occasionally the trampling of horses, even when the company are set at table, and see a number of young gallants, of knights, too, and minstrels, coming through the great stone entrance, mounted on steeds richly caparisoned, and clad in fantastic vestments of green and gold, with high caps and ribands. Thus accoutred, they ride round the hall, and pay their respects to the assembled guests with such speeches as best please them. But, torches are not needed now, for summer is at its height. Some converse in the great halls, others mount to the top of the high keep, where they amuse themselves with observing the comers and goers from the castle, and in watching whether any knights or ladies, mounted on their palfreys, are coming from afar; others go forth to hunt over the wild moor, or to chase the deer in his forest haunts. Others, again, amuse themselves with tennis, or foot-ball, or in feats of arms. Knights and squires are seen going to and fro, conversing on foreign news, or on the valorous achievements of those with whom they are acquainted. The queen thinks well of such proceedings, and she endeavours to promote the kindly intercourse that subsists within the walls. But now they are put aside. The king is weary of them. The jest and laugh, the discoursing of the old, and the amusements of the young, suit not with his turn of mind or the sad condition of the country. He has other thoughts than those of gladness and festivity, and growing weary of the hospitable life which he is constrained to lead at Clipstone palace, he has suddenly withdrawn from thence and gone to London. Clipstone looks lonely now. The minstrel's harp is silent, neither knights nor ladies ride forth over the wild moor, and rarely does any one seek for hospitality within the walls. A few men-at-arms guard the place, and you may hear the baying of the watch-dogs at eveningtide; but this is rather from impatience than necessity, for they miss the riders who used to pat their shaggy heads, and speak to them as they passed. Sad rumours are afloat, but the place is so remote that no one knows what to believe. Some say that a civil war has broken out; others that the country is laid under an interdict, that the church doors are to be closed, and that no one is to be interred in consecrated ground. A church may be seen among the trees, beside the stream where it forms a small cascade that falls with a pleasant murmur into the vale below. It is a church of the olden time, with its primitive-looking porch, and creeping vine. Prayers have been offered there ever since the days of Alfred, and beside it the villagers have been laid to rest for successive generations: a few bells call the people to their matins and vespers, and some images stand within the walls of the edifice. Prayers may not be offered now, for the good old priest has received orders to close the doors, and to take down the bells. It is sad to see the few images that have long recalled to recollection the holy lives of those whose memory they are designed to perpetuate, lying with the ancient cross upon the ground, and, as if the air itself is polluted, and may pollute them by its contact, the priest and his attendants carefully cover them, even from their own approach and veneration. The bells, too, which used to ring out, that all might hear and make ready for the house of prayer, are taken down and placed beside the grey tower from whence they had long sounded in seasons of gladness or sorrow. No one hears the passing bell that was wont to call the neighbours to intercede for him who lay weak and sinking upon his bed. The living partake of no religious rite, except baptism to new-born infants and the communion to the dying; the dead may not lay in consecrated ground, neither are words of peace, nor any hallowed ceremony spoken or performed at their obsequies. Graves are opened beside the public road, on some wild common, or lone forest; those who dig them seem filled with more than usual sadness, for they have not yet learned to think that it is a matter of indifference where their friends are buried. Strange it is, that in these fearful times any should think of marrying. Yet such there are, and now a bridal company is seen passing up the narrow pathway that leads to the small church. The sun shines as brightly as if all on earth were happy; the trees wave in the soft summer wind, and the butterflies and bees flit from one flower to another, or rest on the tufts of wild thyme that skirt the path. But the old people look exceeding sorrowful, and there are no smiles on the faces of the young. They stop at the entrance of the churchyard, at the old stile with its thatched roof, where part of the ceremony is wont to be performed, and the bride and bridegroom stand there, as if they almost feared to go on. The sod which used to be kept so nicely that a weed might not lift up its head unbidden, has grown long and rank. It overtops the graves; and the thistle, and that unsightly weed the great cow-parsnip, with its sickly-looking flower, has sprung up in rank luxuriance. The bells are placed beside the church, and near them the images, and the one old cross are lying on the ground, covered up in a manner which cause them to look like corpses waiting for interment. In a moment the old church and its venerable yew--the sad bridal company--the bells and images are gone. A new scene presents itself, for more than eighty years have passed since these things were done, and the aspect of everything is changed. Clipstone Palace does not look gloomy now. Alterations have been made, though it is difficult to say how or where. There is the keep and the bastion, the wall and moat, but the place looks lighter, the men-at-arms are not so heavily loaded with armour, and the knights and ladies wear a lighter and a gayer dress. Their palfreys are elegantly caparisoned, and they go forth with hawks upon their wrists, and hounds running by their sides, with only a few attendants. The dwellings of the poorer classes are more comfortable than in the days of John, and they have around them small enclosures, in which grow pot-herbs, and fragrant flowers. The country, too, is cultivated in many parts, and all look peaceful and contented. He who surveys the landscape from an eminence, will observe that houses have been built, which, although not rising to the dignity of castles, have much of the ancient baronial style, being strongly moated, and having the entrance guarded with a portcullis. They consist of a quadrangle, with a large area in the centre, into which both sheep and oxen are often driven for greater security by night. The fields around are in general well attended to, and large gardens, stocked with fruit and vegetables, supply not only the wants of the respective families, but also provides abundance of such medicinal herbs, as is convenient to have within reach. This style of building evinces a considerable improvement in society, for during the insecure condition of the country, when Clipstone Palace was last brought into view, every baronial residence was strongly fortified, and scarcely any intermediate gradations existed between the vassal and his lord, except in commercial cities. Men had consequently little inclination to cultivate the arts of peace. The knight or squire who rode forth fully caparisoned, and armed cap-à-pie, turned not aside his charger into the recesses of the forest to gather such beautiful flowers as might grow therein, when there was danger in his path; the serf, who toiled hard to sustain his wife and children, had neither time nor inclination to seek out, or to plant around his cabin either the wild rose or the honeysuckle. The wild rose grew, as now it grows, fragrant and beautiful; the honeysuckle, too, and wild flowers of all scents and hues sprung beside the common, or skirted the thorny brake; but the outlaw often lurked among them, and it was death to him who sought, unarmed or alone, the beautiful solitude of nature. But now that the country is at peace, and the towns and cities contain a class of persons who grow rich by commerce, and who frequently obtain in their intercourse with foreign nations, curious specimens both of art and nature, men begin to lay aside that dread of their fellow-men which has hitherto caused them to think most of their personal safety, and to direct their attention towards improving their own condition. The dwellings which arose in consequence throughout the country, and give the traveller a feeling of security as he passes beside their gardens, or through the pathways which lead across the fields, are inhabited by a class of men who had no political existence in the days of John. These are the lesser barons. They originated with the partition of the great estates which had been given by the Norman conqueror to his immediate followers, and which anciently conferred power on individual families. Many of these had escheated to the crown when the heads of them, having taken part in civil broils, either fell in battle or fled into foreign lands. The king then generally parcelled such estates among his courtiers according to their merits; others were divided, either to make provisions for younger children, or partitioned among coheirs, and hence originated a number of small estates, which required economy in the management, and caused the proprietor to remain much at home, where he occupied himself in cultivating his paternal or appropriated acres, and in attending to his cattle. It is the wise policy of Edward, who resides much at Clipstone Palace during the pleasant months of summer, to encourage and protect the lower orders of society. He is not ignorant concerning the transactions of other days; though a long interval has elapsed since the crown was overawed by the turbulent barons in the days of John; since that stern and vindictive monarch sat sullenly brooding over his sad condition, and devising schemes for aggrandisement or revenge in the same apartment which King Edward enlivens with his presence; from the embattled parapets of which he can survey the smiling and well-peopled landscape. A fine young oak grew on the west side of Clipstone Palace in the days of John; it was noticed at that time for its girth and height, and was much admired by many who resided within the park. Parties were assembled occasionally beneath its shade, and the minstrel would wake up his harp in a fine summer evening. Those who loved his lays gathered around him, and while they listened to the deep music that he poured forth, and to the thrilling strains by which it was accompanied, the sun often set below the horizon, and his beams shed a purple light on the rising ground, while the plain country and the woods were covered with the mists of evening. Had the tree a voice, or could its leaves form words when shaken by the wind, how much of ancient history--how many tales of loves and woes--of human suffering and human joys, would be unfolded! The tree looks not now as it did then; somewhat of its grace has passed away, but there is more of majesty; the branches are exceeding ample, and the stem is beginning to be slightly furrowed. Knights and ladies still sit beneath its shade, as in the days of John, and the minstrel's harp is awakened at their bidding, while the same bright sun is setting in his glory behind the hills, on which the inmates of the palace looked in bygone days. The same hopes and joys--the same ties of family and of kindred, were among them as among those of the present day. Modified, indeed, by the times in which they lived--by the hopes or the misgivings of that eventful period, but still the same in all their bearings, on the weal or woe of knight or lady, sire or son. Now there is another company sitting there; men of grave countenances and full age. Their plaited ruffs and satin doublets, their high-crowned hats and plumes, though reverently laid aside, the richness of their vestments and, above all, their dignified demeanour, show that they are of high degree. Some have broad and ample foreheads, furrowed with deep thought; others seem worn with care; some again appear to have sustained the shock of many battles, and among them are a few with staffs and crosiers, whose countenances denote a life of prayer and abstraction. This goodly company are the counsellors of the king, together with the greater and lesser barons and knights, assembled at his bidding: they hold a parliament beneath the noble tree, for such is the royal pleasure. The king presides in state among them, and right and left, and immediately before him, seats are placed for those whose rank entitles them to the pre-eminence, while the burgesses sit apart. They are deliberating on matters of great importance; on the affairs, perhaps, of Scotland; for the young Queen Margaret is dead, and the king is devising schemes for obtaining possession of the country. It is a solemn sight to see men thus deliberating, as if eternity depended on their decision, while the very tree beneath which they meet, and the adjacent palace, might teach that human life is even as a vapour. Gradually as the mist of ages were dispersed, so gradually do they return. They gather over the assembly, and cover, as with a light transparent mantle, the palace with its embattled parapets, and men-at-arms, the moat, and drawbridge. Fainter and fainter grows the scene; the king may yet dimly be discerned, and one among the rest seems speaking with great earnestness; now the strained eye discerns them no longer. All and each are concealed from the view. Where stood the noble oak, and those who were assembled beneath its branches, a solitary spot of ground, with an aged, riven, and time-worn tree, alone appears: in the place of a stately palace, broken ruins meet the eye, and a few straggling sheep graze beside them. [Illustration] [Illustration: William Rufus and the Monk of Gloucester.] Ruined Villages in the New Forest. "The fire from off the hearth hath fled, The smoke in air has vanished. The last, long, lingering look is given; The stifled sigh, and the parting groan, And the sufferers on their way are gone." The memorial-tree, from which the arrow of Sir Walter Tyrrel glanced, and beside which the king lay extended on the ground, is now exceeding old, and scarcely a trace remains of its former greatness. It stood in this wild spot, when the stern decree went forth, which enjoined that throughout the whole extent of the south-western part of Hampshire, measuring thirty miles from Salisbury to the sea, and in circumference at least ninety miles, all trace of human habitation should be swept away. William might have indulged his passion for the chase in the many parks and forests which Anglo-Saxon monarchs had reserved for the purpose, but he preferred rather to have a vast hunting-ground for his "superfluous and insatiate pleasure" in the immediate neighbourhood of Winchester, his favourite place of residence. The wide expanse that was thus doomed to inevitable desolation was called Ytene or Ytchtene; it comprised numerous villages and homesteads, churches, and ancestral halls, where Saxon families of rank resided, and where an industrious population followed the daily routine of pasturage and husbandry.[34] A large proportion had been consequently brought into cultivation; yet sufficient still remained to afford a harbour for numerous wild animals. This part comprised many sylvan spots of great beauty, with tracts of common land, covered with the golden blossomed gorse, and tufts of ferns, or else with short herbage, intermingled with wild thyme. Noble groups of forest-trees were seen at intervals, with clear running streams, and masses of huge stones which projected from among the grass. The sun rose on the morning of the fatal day in cloudless beauty, and fresh breezes tempered the heat, which, at harvest-time is often great; the people were already in the fields, and the creaking of heavy-laden waggons was heard at intervals, with the sweeping sound of the rapid sickle. In a moment the scene was changed. Bands of Norman soldiers rushed in and drove all before them. They trod down the standing corn, and commanded the terrified inhabitants of hall and hut, to depart in haste. More than one hundred manors, villages, and hamlets were depopulated, even the churches were thrown down--those venerated places, where the voice of prayer and thanksgiving had been heard for generations; where the young bride pledged her vows, and where words of peace were spoken to cheer the hearts of those who laid their friends to rest beside the walls. He who passed the next day over the wide waste, saw only ruins black with smoke, trampled fields, and dismantled churches. Here and there broken implements of husbandry met the view, and beside them, not unfrequently, the corpse of him who had dared to resist the harsh mandate of the Conqueror. Females, too, had fallen to the earth in their terror and distress, and young children were in their death-sleep, among the tufts of flowers where they had sported the day before. Many stately buildings were pulled down at once; others, having their roofs thrown open, were left to be destroyed by the weather, and hence it not seldom happened that a stranger, in passing through a meadow into one of those shady coverts, which still varied the aspect of the country, forgetting, in the freshness and the loveliness of all around him, the terrible undoings of previous days, might see through the undulating branches of the trees, the walls or roofs of houses, which looked as if they had escaped the general ruin. They stood, apparently, in the midst of cultivated fields, occasionally by the road side, and their pointed roofs were covered with the vine or honeysuckle. On a nearer approach the illusion vanished, not a sound disturbed the silence of the place; the houses which looked so inviting when seen at a short distance, showed that the hand of ruin had done its work. The doors were broken open, the windows dashed in, the roofs were open to the winds of heaven, and the little gardens overrun with weeds. Large rents appeared in the walls, which were generally made of wood, neatly plastered, and he who looked through the breaches saw that tufts of rank grass, had grown up in the spaces between the stones, with which the floors were occasionally paved. The ruins of an antique abbey were often close at hand, with its richly painted windows, broken through and through; or, perhaps, the shattered walls of some hospitable dwelling, in which a Saxon thane had resided. The open space before the house, where, in summer weather, the family used to assemble, where the harp was heard, and the young people amused themselves with sports of various kinds, was overrun with weeds. There was no print of footsteps on the grass, no trace that the place had recently been inhabited; those who once lived there had found another home; perhaps the low and silent one which alone remains for the houseless and the miserable. It was said of the proud Norman, that he loved wild beasts as if he had been their father. He enacted laws for their preservation, which tended to render him extremely unpopular, and while the slaying of a man might be atoned for by a moderate compensation, it was decreed, that whoever should kill a stag or deer, a wild boar, or even a hare, should be punished with total blindness.[35] Even the Norman chiefs, who were in general great lovers of the chase, were prohibited from keeping sporting dogs on their own estates unless they subjected the poor animals to such a mutilation of their fore-paws as rendered them unfit for hunting. This enactment pressed hard upon the Norman and English barons, for many of them depended chiefly for subsistence on their bows and nets. Where the labour of man has ceased, vegetation soon asserts her empire, and fields, when left to themselves, become, according to their soil, either wild or stony, or else covered with a dense growth of underwood, and tall trees. Such was the case over the wide expanse which had been rendered desolate; the spaces of common ground, with golden blossomed gorse and wild thyme, continued such as they had been, but trees grew thick and fast, the beautiful groves became woods in the course of a short time, and the once cultivated country was rapidly absorbed in the wilderness portions of Ytchtene. A vast forest darkened the land, and all trace of ruined homes and dismantled churches disappeared in many parts, while in others, either the line of erections might be traced by the elevation of the soil, or else large blocks of stone, and here and there a broken arch, or doorway, long pointed out the site of a church or castle. Names, too, are even now retained, with the recollection of their own sad histories. Church-place and Church-moore seems to mark the solitary spots as the sites of ancient buildings, where the Anglo-Saxons worshipped and dwelt in peace, before the stern decree of the unrelenting conqueror razed the sacred edifices. Thompson's Castle recalls to mind, the cheerfulness and hospitality that presided in an ancestral hall, while the termination of _ham_ and _ton_, annexed to many of the woodlands, may be taken as an evidence that where innumerable boughs are waving, a thronging population once inhabited. The memorial-tree, which now stands lone and seamed, was then a sapling, for such we may conjecture to have been the case, according to the well-known longevity of forest-trees. Three events of great interest are associated with it--the making desolate a wide extent of country; the death of the proud Norman, by whose command the work of ruin was achieved; and the untimely end of his successor. Had the history of William I. been written with reference to his private actions, it might be noticed that a tissue of domestic sorrows succeeded to the laying desolate of Ytchtene. His wife Matilda died a few years after, and his fair daughter Gundreda, the cherished one in her father's house, was cut off in the flower of her youth. He saw with grief the jealousy that subsisted between his sons William and Henry, and during the time that Duke Robert, his first-born, continued an exile and a fugitive, Richard, his second son, was gored to death by a stag, as he was hunting over the wide expanse which his father had depopulated. Men spoke of the sad event as a just punishment on him who had respected neither the lives nor feelings of those who once had dwelt there. Some said, this is but one; we shall see others of his family to whom the forest will prove fatal, and they spoke true. War was declared with France, and a gathering of the bandit chiefs who had accompanied the king from Normandy, with their sons, and all who held of him a fief, was convened at Sarum. Thither, accordingly, they came, barons and men-at-arms, abbots and their vassals, to the number of six thousand, all bound to do service to the king, and having oaths of homage and allegiance tended to them in the place of their assembling, that both those who went, and such as remained behind, might afresh remember to do his bidding. Sarum was well suited for the purpose, both on account of its accommodations, and the fine downs by which it was surrounded. It was anciently a place of considerable note, at first a Roman station, afterwards the residence of the Emperor Severus. When the assembly which had met at Sarum was dissolved, the king returned to London, whence he shortly afterwards departed for the continent, taking with him his two sons, and a "mighty mass of money," as wrote one who lived at the time, "piled together for some great attempt," and followed by the execrations of his Saxon subjects. The object of the expedition was expressly to take possession of the city of Mantes, with a rich territory situated between the Epte and the Oise. It is needless to speak of the negociations with which the French king endeavoured to amuse his rival, while he secretly authorized his barons to make excursions on the frontiers of Normandy; or of the deadly hatred which induced William to delay his attack on Maine till the approach of autumn made his vengeance more dreadful to the country. The corn was nearly ready for the sickle, and the grapes hung in ripening clusters on the vines, when the fierce king ordered his men to advance on the devoted territory; when in the bitterness of his spirit he marched his cavalry through the corn-fields, and caused his soldiers to tear up the vines and cut down the pleasant trees. Mantes could offer but a weak resistance, and the town was set on fire. This was the last scene of the tragedy in which the Norman conqueror had acted a conspicuous part; which commenced on the battle-field of Hastings, and ended in the monastery of St. Gervas. Riding beside the ruined town, to view the misery which he had wrought, his horse trod on some hot cinders; the frightened creature plunged violently, and the king being unable to retain his seat, fell to the ground. The injury which he sustained caused him to be carried in a litter to a religious house, in the neighbourhood of Rouen, where his army was encamped, for he could not bear, he said, the noise of the great city. It was told by those who were present at the time, that although he at first preserved much apparent dignity, and conversed calmly on the events of his past life, and concerning the vanity of human greatness; when death drew near, the case was otherwise. He then spoke and felt as a dying man, who was shortly to appear before the tribunal of his Maker, there to render an account of all the deeds which he had done, of all the gifts committed to his care, of his riches and his power. His hard heart softened then, and he bitterly bewailed the cruelties which he had committed. He thought of the fair city which he had ordered to be set in flames, and though he could not bring to life the many who had fallen in the dreadful day of its undoing, nor soothe the mental anguish which that day had caused, he sent a messenger in haste with a large sum for the rebuilding of the monasteries and churches. The noble patrimony which he had wrested from ill-fated Harold, was considered with other thoughts than those with which he left the shores of England. A large sum was also remitted to the religious houses, that he might obtain remission for the robberies which he had committed there. Some who waited beside his couch suggested that whoever sought for mercy at the hand of the Most High, must show mercy to his fellow-men, and they entreated him to remember the unhappy persons who had pined for many years in their lone prison-houses, shut out from all the privileges of social life. The fierce king felt that it was easier to give money for rebuilding churches than pardon to an enemy; and it was not till he apprehended his last hour to be close at hand, that he gave orders for releasing the state-prisoners. The Earls of Moriar, of Beron, and Ulnot, the brother of Harold, were accordingly set at liberty; and the Norman, Roger Fitz Osborn, formerly Earl of Hereford, with Odo, the turbulent Bishop of Bayeux, also received permission to leave their respective prisons, although the king remarked with reference to the latter, that by so doing he was letting loose a firebrand, that might desolate both England and Normandy. One morning early, the chief prelates and barons received a summons to assemble with all haste in the chamber of the king, who finding his end approach, desired to finish the settlement of his affairs. They came accordingly, though the day had not yet dawned, and found with him his two sons, Henry and William, who waited impatiently for the declaration of his will. "I bequeath the duchy of Normandy," said he, "to my eldest son Robert. As to the crown of England, I bequeath it to no one, for I did not receive it, like the duchy of Normandy, from my father, but acquired it by conquest, and the shedding of blood, with mine own sword. The succession of that kingdom, I therefore, leave to the decision of the Almighty. My own most fervent wish is, that my son William, who has ever been dutiful to me in all things, may obtain and prosper in it." "And what do you give me, O my father?" impatiently cried Prince Henry, who had not been mentioned. "Five thousand pounds weight of silver out of my treasury," was his answer. "But what can I do with five thousand pounds of silver, if I have neither lands nor a home?" "Be patient," rejoined the king, "and have trust in the Lord; suffer thy elder brothers to precede thee--thy time will come after theirs." On hearing this, Prince Henry hurried off to secure the silver, which he weighed with great care, and then provided himself with a strong coffer, having locks and iron bindings to keep his treasure safe. William, also, staid no longer by the bed-side of his dying parent; he called for his attendants, and hastened to the coast, that he might pass over without delay to take possession of his crown. He, whose sword had made many childless, was thus deserted in his hour of greatest need by his unnatural sons. The sun had scarcely risen over the plains of Rouen, and scarcely had his beams lighted the lofty pinnacles of the church and abbey, when the conqueror was roused from his stupor by the sound of the church bell. Eagerly inquiring what the sound meant, he was answered that they were tolling the hour of prime, in the church of St. Mary. On hearing this, he seemed to revive for a few moments, and then suddenly lifting up his hands, he cried aloud, "I recommend my soul to my Lady Mary, the holy mother of our Lord!" having thus said, he sunk back and expired. What busy meddling thoughts had power To haunt him e'er that solemn hour, What broken thoughts of by-gone days, Visions of youth, and welcome lays, Lays, that the harp could soothly sound, When merry steps went pranking round. And then his father's castle hall, And sooth and bland the cheerful call, Of voices lov'd in distant clime, Were seen and heard at that sad time; Lov'd forms did round his pillow bend, And gentle hands his bidding tend, The wife and mother by his side, In bloom of youth and beauty's pride, His own dear child, Gundreda fair, With gentle step and smile was there; But soon the fitful dream was gone, The dying man was all alone, Save that stern men were waiting round, With cowl and casque, and helm unbound.--M. R. His last sigh was a signal for a general flight and scramble. The knights buckled on their spurs, the priests and doctors, who had passed the night by his bed-side, made no delay in leaving their wearisome occupation. "To horse! to horse!" resounded through the monastery, and each one galloped off to his own home, in order to secure his interests or his property. A few of the king's servants, and some vassals of minor rank staid behind, but not to do honour to the poor remains of him who had been their king. They spoke loudly and trod heavily, where but a short time before men would scarcely have dared to whisper; where the noiseless step and hushed sound, told the rank and sufferings of him, whom now the voice of seven thunders would not wake. They proceeded without remorse to rifle the apartment both of arms and silver vessels; they even took away the linen and royal vestments, and having hastily packed them in bundles, each man threw the one, which he secured, upon his steed, and galloped away like the rest. From six till nine the corpse of the mighty conqueror lay on the bare boards, with scarcely a sheet to cover him. One son was gone, the other was looking to his pelf, his officers and men-at-arms, priests and doctors had deserted him; the queen, who would have watched beside his dying couch, and soothed his restless pillow, who clearly loved him whilst living, and would not have forsaken him when dead, was herself in the still grave. His favourite and youngest daughter, had likewise been laid to rest, and Eleanor, Margaret, Alela, Constance, and Cecilia were far distant. Here, then, lay the corpse of William in the dismantled apartment, while the men of Rouen, who were thrown into the greatest consternation by the event of the king's death, hurried about the streets, asking news of one another, or advice concerning the present emergency, or else busied themselves in hiding such things as were most valuable. At length the monks and clergy recollected the condition of the deceased monarch, and forming a procession, they went with a crucifix and lighted tapers to pray over the dishonoured body. The Archbishop of Rouen wished that the interment should take place at Caen, in preference to his own city, it being thought most proper that the church of St. Stephen, which the king had built, and royally endowed, should be honoured with his sepulchre. But there was no one to give orders concerning the obsequies of him who had been so great on earth; his sons and brothers, every relation, and all the chiefs who had shared his favours were away. Not one was found even to make inquiry respecting the interment, excepting a poor knight who lived in the neighbourhood, and who charged himself with the trouble and expense of the funeral, "out of his natural good nature, and love of the Most High." Arrangements were made accordingly, and the corpse being carried by water to Caen, was received by the abbots and monks of St. Stephen, while the inhabitants of the city, having formed a procession, headed by the neighbouring ecclesiastics, proceeded towards the abbey. Suddenly a fire broke out, and each one, whether priest or layman, running to his home or monastery to prevent the spreading of the flames, the brothers of St. Stephen alone remained with the bier. Onward, then, they went, and there was somewhat of funereal solemnity in the last sad act, for mitred abbots in their robes, with bishops and ecclesiastics in their gowns and cowls, stood within the abbey walls, in order to receive the corpse. Mass was then performed, the Bishop of Evreux pronounced a panegyric on him who had borne the name of Conqueror while living, and who had done great deeds among his fellow-men, and the bier on which lay the body of the king, attired in royal robes, and being in no respect concealed from the view, was about to be lowered into the grave, when a stern voice forbade the interment. "Bishop," it said, "the man whom you have praised was a robber. The very ground on which we are standing is mine; and this is the site of my father's house. He took it from me by violence to build this church upon its ruins. I reclaim it as my right, and in the name of the Most High I forbid you to bury him there, or to cover him with my glebe." The man who spoke thus boldly, was Asseline Fitz-Arthur. He had vainly sought for justice from the king while living, and he loudly proclaimed the fact of his injustice and oppression, before his face, when dead. It seemed fearful to the bystanders, that the funeral should thus be strangely hindered; that as at first no one had cared to bury him, whose pale, shrunk countenance and lifeless form was still upheld above the grave; when some at length were gathered, who thought to do him honour, the most were hurried off by an alarm of fire, and that at the very moment of his interment, even the solemn act could not proceed in peace. Many who were present well remembered the pulling down of Fitz-Arthur's house, and the distress which it occasioned, and the bishop being assured of the fact, gave his son, sixty shillings for the grave alone, and engaged to procure the full value of his land. One moment more, and the corpse remained among living men; another, and it disappeared in the darkness of the tomb, and the remainder of the ceremony being hurried over, the assembly broke up in haste. "The red king lies in Malwood Keep. To drive the deer o'er lawn and steep, He's bound him with the morn; His steeds are swift, his hounds are good, The like in covert or high wood, Were never cheered with horn."--W. STEWART ROSE. Barons and men-at-arms were assembled in Malwood-Keep, at the invitation of William Rufus, who proposed to hold a chase, and to follow the red-deer over the wide hunting-grounds, where once stood the pleasant homes, which his father had rendered desolate. Prince Henry was there also, and he who passed at nightfall might have heard loud shouts of revelry resounding from the castle, while the bright light which streamed from the windows, gave a strange effect to the giant shadows, which the tall trees of the dark forest cast on the greensward. A loud cry was heard that night which awakened all who slept, and caused them to start in terror from their beds; it came from the king's chamber, whose voice resounding through the castle, loudly invoked the blessed Virgin, and called in great fear for lights to be brought immediately. He told those who hastened to his assistance that he had seen a hideous vision, and he enjoined them to pass the night at his bed-side, and to divert him with pleasant converse, lest being left alone, the vision should appear again. At length the morning began to dawn, and the forest which had looked so gloomy at nightfall was gloriously lighted up with the bright beams of an August sun; no strange mysterious-looking shadows caused the passer-by to feel afraid; but instead of these, waving branches gently rustled in the morning breeze, and the cheerful songs of early birds resounded from the thickets. William began to prepare for the chase, and while he was thus employed, an artizan brought him six new arrows. He praised their workmanship, and putting aside four for himself, he gave the other two to Sir Walter Tyrrel, or, as he was often called, Sir Walter de Poix, from his estates in France, saying, as he presented them, "Good weapons are due to him, who knows how to make a right use of them." The breakfast-tables were plentifully supplied, and those who sat around them, talked of the expected pleasures of the chase, while the red king ate and drank even more than he was wont. Perhaps the fearful vision of the night still troubled him, and he sought to put aside the recollection; for it was observed that his spirits rose at length to the highest pitch. Malwood-Keep resounded with merriment as it had done the night before, and the horses were seen standing ready saddled, with hounds in leashes, and grooms and huntsmen preparing for the chase. Many of the younger barons were already mounted, and their horses were curvetting on the grass, as though they partook of the impatience of their riders, while every now and then the blast of the hunter's horn, in the hand of some young squire, gave notice to those within, that the sun was already high. All was gaiety and animation, and boisterous mirth within and around Malwood-Keep, when a stranger was seen approaching through the forest, grave, and yet in haste. He spoke as one who had business of moment to communicate, and which admitted of no delay, but his look and voice sufficed to check the eagerness of those who sought to know whence, and why, he came. He told the king, when admitted to his presence, that he had travelled both far and fast; that the Norman abbot of St. Peter's at Gloucester had sent to inform his majesty how greatly he was troubled on his account, for that one of his monks had dreamed a dream which foreboded a sudden and awful death to him.--"To horse!" hastily exclaimed the king, "Walter de Poix, do you think that I am one of those fools who give up their pleasure, or their business, for such matters? the man is a true monk, he dreameth for the sake of money; give him an hundred pence, and bid him dream of better fortune to our person." Forth went the hunting train, and while some rode one way, some another, according to the manner adopted in the chase, Sir Walter de Tyrrel, the king's especial favourite, remained with him, and their dogs hunted together. They had good sport, and none thought of returning, although the sun was sinking in the west and the shadows of the forest-trees began to lengthen on the grass, at which time an hart came bounding by, between the king and his companion, who stood concealed in a thicket. The king drew his bow, but the string broke, and the arrow took no effect; the hart being startled at the sound, paused in his speed, and looked on all sides, as if doubtful which way to turn. The king, meanwhile gazing steadfastly at the creature, raised his bridle-hand above his eyes, that he might shade them from the glare of the sun, which now shone almost horizontally through the forest, and being unprovided with a second bow, he called out "Shoot Walter, shoot away!"[36] Tyrrel drew his bow, but the arrow went not forth in a straight line, it glanced against a tree, and struck the king in its side-course against his breast, which was left exposed by the raised arm. The fork-head pierced his heart, and in an instant he expired. No words were spoken, no prayer passed his lips; one dismal groan alone was heard, and the red king lay extended on the grass.[37] Sir Walter flew to his side, but he saw that his master was beyond all human aid, and mounting his horse he hastened to the sea-coast, from whence he embarked for Normandy. He was heard of soon after, as having fled into the dominions of the French king, and the next account of him was, that he had gone to the Holy Land. Popular superstition had long darkened the New Forest with awful spectres; it was even said that words were heard in its deepest solitudes, of awful import, denouncing vengeance on the Norman and his evil counsellors. This was not strange, for men could still remember the driving out of the unoffending population; the traces of their dwellings might be seen at intervals, and many a broken cross denoted where a church had stood. The human mind naturally recoils from scenes of horror, and few were bold enough to visit even the outskirts of the forest, at nightfall, and alone. A son of Duke Robert was killed while hunting in the forest by a random arrow, and now again the blood of the Conqueror was poured on the site of an Anglo-Saxon church, which the father of him who lay extended on the earth had pulled down.[38] Rufus had left the bed-side of his dying parent while life still lingered, intent only on obtaining the English crown; he even left the care of his interment to the hands of strangers, for it does not seem that he at all concerned himself about the matter. Now then was he also left alone, in the depth of the still forest. Walter Tyrrel, intent only on effecting his escape, or else bewildered by the suddenness of the calamity, did not seek for any one to assist in burying him; his companions in the chase were eagerly following their amusement, and chanced not to pass where he was lying. At length the royal corpse was discovered by a poor charcoal-burner, who put it, still bleeding, into his cart, and drove off to Winchester. The intelligence soon spread, and Henry hastened to seize the treasures that belonged to the crown, while the knights, who had reassembled at Malwood-Keep, thought only how the accident might affect themselves; no one caring to show respect to the remains of the unhappy monarch, with whom they had banquetted the evening before. It was afterwards observed by many, that as the corpse of the Conqueror lay extended on a board, with scarcely a vestment to cover him, so, by a remarkable coincidence, the body of his unnatural son, unwashed, without even a mantle, and hideous to look upon, remained in the cart of the charcoal-burner till the next day, when it was conveyed in the same condition to the cathedral church of Winchester. There, however, some faint show of respect was paid to what had been a king: it was interred in the centre of the choir, where, as wrote the chronicler of this sad history, many persons looked on, but few grieved. It was even said by some, that the fall of a high tower which covered his tomb with ruins, showed the just displeasure of Heaven against one, who having deserted his dying parent, sought not to repair the evils which he had done, who neither acting justly, nor living righteously, was undeserving of Christian burial. [Illustration] [Illustration] The Old Trees in Hyde Park. "What are the boasted palaces of man, Imperial city or triumphal arch, To the strong oak, that gathers strength from time To grapple with the storm? Time watch'd The blossom on the parent bough. Time saw The acorn loosen from the spray. Time pass'd, While springing from its swad'ling shell, yon oak, The cloud-crowned monarch of the woods, up sprang A royal hero from his nurse's arms. Time gave it seasons, and time gave it years, Ages bestow'd, and centuries grudg'd not; Time knew the sapling when gay summer's breath Shook to the roots the infant oak, which after Tempests moved not. Time hollow'd in its trunk A tomb for centuries; and buried there The epochs of the rise and fall of states, The fading generations of the world, The memory of man." Hyde Park was covered in ancient times with a dense growth of tall trees and underwood, which extending from sea to sea, shaded a large portion of the states of the Iceni and Trinobantes, the Cantii and the Regni. But the aspect of external nature has changed since; instead of noble trees and all the varied undulations of innumerable boughs, now gently waving in the breeze of summer, and now furiously wrought upon by the northern blast, great London has arisen where all was wood and swamp, and on the space which still retains somewhat of the character that once it bore, are all the accompaniments of a modern park. Clumps of trees, arranged by the hand of taste, flowering shrubs, and beautifully tufted groves, delight the eye with their beauty or their fragrance; walks and carriage-drives, lead among them, and through that portion, which bears especially the name of park, winds a gentle river, which reflects on its mirror-like waters, green sloping banks, where cattle graze. An aged tree grows on the right hand of the road, beside the river, with its trunk devoid of bark, and cracked in all directions, the effect of long exposure to the weather. Its bare and skeleton-looking branches are also without bark, and beside it stands another tree, the twin brother of its desolation. These trees are very aged, for the oldest inhabitant in the neighbourhood remembers to have seen them in the same condition when he climbed their trunks, a playful boy in search of the owl's nest; but she was too wary to confide her young to so poor a shelter. Those who, in their haste, wish to accomplish the designs which they have projected with too precipitate haste, may derive a moral lesson from these once noble trees. Each was once enfolded within an auburn nut, a cup and ball that babes might play with, and which the joyous squirrel, when seeking her food, might have carried off with ease; and nibbled in a moment all the delicate ramifications, and the embryo vastness of the future tree. Autumnal rains mellowed the ground on which the acorns were deposited, we know not whether by the hand of man, or whether, dropping from a bough before the forest had disappeared from the moor, some skipping deer, dibbling the soft earth with his pointed hoof, prepared a receptacle in which the acorns might rest secure, till the return of spring. Here then lay the auburn nuts. Leaves reft by the winds of Autumn fell thick and fast upon the earth, and over them the snow formed a light covering; and though the wind howled in its fury, and the heavy storm raged through the forest, the acorns remained safe till the winds ceased their contention, and the storm-clouds passed by. Then did the acorns open by virtue of that secret and mighty power which re-clothes the forest-boughs with leaves, and causes the herbless soil, to be covered with grass and flowers. Two small lobes first uprose from out the soil, formed with the exactest symmetry, and being in themselves both thick and well furnished with pores, they served not only to shield the small buds that lay between them, but to yield abundant moisture for the support of their nascent life. Presently a young leaf emerged from the bud, then the leaf was pushed upwards by the supporting stem, till at length other small leaves appeared, and the character of a tree was gradually assumed. Meanwhile the tender scions were watered with early dews, and warmed by a bright sun; the rain fell on them, and the internal heat which had preserved life within the acorns, while they lay embedded in the cold earth, did its work, and the trees advanced in their growth. What people inhabited Britain when these things were being done? Were they the natives of the island, or were they Romans, Danes, or Saxons, Picts or Scots? Did the rude dwellings of our remotest ancestors skirt the margin of the forest on the plain country? did their woad-dyed chieftains walk beneath the parent trees; or the Druid cut with his golden knife, the hallowed misletoe from their branches? Were the gentle undulations of hill and dale varied with palaces and forums? did the Roman dwell among them, or were they trod upon by the ruthless Dane, or the proud Norman, when the trees attained to their maturity? No spirit dwells within their trunks, as the poets feigned concerning their brethren of Dodona; no voice answers to the question. The sighing of the wind alone is heard among their sapless branches. Thus much we know, that in all forest-trees the stages of vegetation are alike. But century after century must have rolled on, till the giant bulk of the noble trees were fully developed, till their stately columns, upheld an ample canopy of spreading boughs, beneath which the flocks that grazed in the open spaces of the forest might find a shelter from the storm. Time was, when the settling of a fly upon the saplings could shake them to the root, but at this period of their history, a tempest would not disturb them. The busiest thoughts might find an ample field to range in, when comparing the small beginnings, with the matchless grandeur of these once noble trees. How, at their prime age, the smooth bark, by which they were enveloped, contained within their girth, wood sufficient to plank the deck and sides of a large vessel; how their tortuous arms would have yielded many a load of timber, which, if drawn by oxen, might have wearied the ponderous creatures, long before they reached the place of destination, at even a short distance. But, in those ages, oaks were not hewn down as they now are. Still the trees grew on, till their moss-cushioned roots upheaved above the earth, and their smooth trunks, becoming rugged, were embossed with globose wens. Then decay began her noiseless work; one atom, and then another, were silently disjointed from the rest, till at length a labour was achieved in the breaking down of these firm trees, which, had it been done by the hand of man, would have made the wide forest ring. Nothing now remains of the once gigantic trees, not even the semblance of their ancient selves--nothing but shapeless trunks, heavy ponderous masses, with here and there a strip of rugged bark, in the interstices of which, tufts of moss and pendent ferns have struck their roots. There is nothing either in the trunks or branches to tempt the woodman's hatchet, and therefore, the old trees still remain. Their roots are firmly interlaced in the earth, they clasp the blocks of stone that lie buried beneath the soil, with their stout spurs and knotted fangs, while here and there a projecting mass rises above the scanty herbage, dotted over with the yellow lichen and little nailwort which grows on dry walls and rocks. Crooked into every imaginable shape, they still hold their stems erect, memorials of past ages, revealers of what time has done;--yea, perhaps, also what the hand of man has achieved, though the old trees stand not, as many others, chroniclers connected with some of those memorable events, which give a date to history, and are waymarks, which identify the noiseless steps of time. The winds of many winters have reft off the giant branches which long since afforded a shelter from the blast; rovers of the forest--men, perhaps, with bow and shaft, have burnt them. Some have left, in breaking, a bleached and splintered stump, but concerning others there is no trace even of the branch on which they grew; rough bark has grown most probably over it, and moss and tufted lichens have taken root in the interstices. Still, life lingers in the worn-out trees, and proofs are not wanting, that its secret and mighty power is yet working, though death preponderates. The passer-by sees with astonishment, young green leaves in the interstices of the quarried bark; he sees them, but can hardly believe that the shapeless thing which stands before him has life hidden where all seems to denote death; that her sweet force is equally available in the furrowed oak, as among the young green trees of the neighbouring coppice, which sprung, it may be, from out the earth, a thousand years later, in the lapse of time. The old trees are well qualified by age, to teach lessons of wisdom to hoary men. Had they a voice, they could discourse much concerning the mutability of things below; how nations have risen and waned, while they advanced to maturity, and of the gradual emerging of a mighty people from the darkness of past ages, to the highest pitch of intellectual culture. But this may not be, for the gifts of speech and reason, of voice and memory, are not for these ancient tenants of the soil. Leaning against their mossy trunks, with no prompter, and no hearer, except the time-worn trees and the calm still scene around me, let me be myself the oracle, and discourse to mine own ear, concerning the mutations of past ages. Here, then, in bye-gone days, stood one vast forest, with its dells and dingles, its clear prattling streams, and ceaseless murmur of wind among the branches. We know not that men dwelt within its precincts, or that the natives of the country, our remotest ancestors, built their wattled dwellings, or fed their flocks in the open spaces; most probably not, for the wild animals that ranged here were dangerous to contend with. Years went on, and men clad in skins, and dyed blue with woad, came from the shores of Gaul. They established themselves in the plain country which is bounded by the British Channel, and formed at length a considerable settlement beside the river that waters this part of Britain. They also threw up bulwarks, and added to the natural strength of the place by forming ramparts and sinking fosses. The settlement was called Llyn-din, or the town on the lake, Llyn being the British term for a broad expanse of water or lake. It was appropriately given, for the low grounds on the Surrey side of the river were often overflowed, as also those that extend from Wapping marsh to the Isle of Dogs, and still further, for many miles along the Essex coast. At length, strangers from another country settled there. They saw that the land was good, and that the trees which crowded around the settlement, and shadowed on either side the current of the river, might be cleared away. They were men who soon carried into execution the schemes which they devised, and having enlarged the place, and raised within it noble buildings, for beauty and security, they gave it the name of Londinium. A fort was built, and ships came from a distance, bringing with them the productions of other climes. Then began the trees of the great forest to fall beneath the axe of the woodcutter, and the marshy places were brought into cultivation. Londinium rapidly advanced to the dignity of a military station; it even became the capital of one of the great provinces, into which the Romans divided Britain. A spirit of enterprise had ever characterised the polished people who now gained an ascendency; not only were the marshy places in the forest drained for the purpose of feeding cattle, but the low-ground which lay along the river, and which, in rainy seasons, presented an unsightly aspect, was recovered from the waters. Embankments were thrown up on either side to prevent the encroachments of the tide. They commenced in what are now St. George's Fields, and continued along the adjoining and equally shallow marshes, till they terminated in the grand sea-wall of the deep fens of Essex. Thus, in comparatively a short period, those vast tracts of land which presented, during winter, only a dreary expanse of troubled waters; in the summer, small stagnant pools, with a dry crust of mud, and here and there tufts of rushes, or rank grass, were covered with splendid villas, and a thronging population. The giant work of embanking the river was succeeded by making one of those great military roads which opened a communication from one end of the island to the other. This was the old Watling or Gathelin Street: it led from London to Dover, and was much travelled on by those who were going to embark for the Imperial city. The making of the road broke up the quiet of the forest, through an extent of which it had to pass; nothing was heard but the crashing of noble trees, and the rattling of cars, heavily laden with stone and lime; it was carried within sight of the old trees, and, having crossed what is now the Oxford road, at Cumberland-gate, it ran to the west of Westminster, over the river Thames, and onward into Kent. This was its broad outline, and the country through which it lay had been reclaimed either from the forest or the river. It was exceedingly frequented, and carriages of all descriptions continually passed and repassed, either in going to, or else returning from the city. Londinium was next surrounded with a wall, and a considerable extent of forest-land was cleared for the purpose of being enclosed within its ample range. It was said that the mother of Constantine, who liked much to reside in the rising city, greatly favoured this great work, and that she urged her son to promote the grandeur and security of the place. The wall encompassed the city from right to left. It began at the fort, which occupied a portion of what is now the Tower, and made a circuit of nearly two miles, and one furlong. Another wall, strongly defended with towers and bastions, extended along the banks of the river, to the distance of one mile, and one hundred and twenty yards. The height of the wall was twenty two feet, that of the towers forty feet, and the space of ground enclosed within the circumference of both walls, was computed at three hundred and eighty acres. Thus stood Londinium. Patricians and military officers, merchants and artificers, resorted thither from all parts, and there Constantine held his court, with the splendour of Imperial Rome. A few more years, and the power of the Romans began to wane, and with it waned also, the prosperity of the sea-girt isle. Stranger barks came from the shores of Saxony, and in them armed men of fierce countenances, who knew little of the arts of civilized life. What they saw, they conquered, and the noble city with its palaces and forums, its schools, of eloquence, and temples for Pagan worship, fell into their hands. Then might be seen from the old trees the red glare of the burning city; but it was again rebuilt, and though, in after years, the Danes sorely oppressed its inhabitants, it resumed its high standing as the metropolis of Britain; the seat of arts and commerce; kings reigned within its walls, and merchants came from all parts of the known world, bringing with them the productions of other countries, and exciting a spirit of enquiry and enterprise, throughout all classes of society. The old trees remained as they were, and London, for so the city was called at length, increased in might and power; the swarming population could no longer be contained within its walls, and the walls were broken down in consequence. Villages were built in places where, but a few years before, was a dense growth of underwood, with high trees that cast their lengthened shadows on the ground. Gradually the city enlarged her bounds, and those groups of houses which had been called villages, and which stood in the midst of pleasant fields, well-watered and reclaimed from the forest, were reached by lines of streets, and so encroaching were they, that it was thought advisable to retain some portion of the ancient forest as a royal park, both for exercise and ornament. If the trees of the forest could have spoken, they would have rejoiced at this, but none more than the old trees, my own memorial trees, these relics of past ages; though now beginning to decay, long tufts of lichens having struck their roots into the rough bark, and many of their noblest branches having been long since broken by fierce winds, or rovers of the forest. They nearly stood alone, for very few remained of those which had grown here, when all around was one wide forest, one intermingling of shadowing boughs from sea to sea, or spaces of waste land, untilled and tenantless. The old Roman road, which had been raised with so much cost and care, soon fell to decay; its materials were carried off, and the green sward rapidly extended over that portion of it which passed through Hyde Park and St. James's Park. Those who like to tread where the Romans trod, may yet walk on a small portion of their ancient route, in the public road leading to Westminster Abbey, on the side nearest the turnpike. The retaining part of the old forest was a desirable measure, for the advance of London towards this quarter, was alone restrained by the prescribed boundaries; and now the windows of her crowding houses look upon the trees and grass, and the ceaseless hum of human voices, which she sends forth from all her hundred gates, is heard continually, with the mingled sound of rolling carriages, of heavy waggons, and the trampling of horses' feet. Magnificent equipages drive along the smoothly gravelled roads, with which the modern park that extends around the old tree is intersected. Riders on steeds, such as the ancient Britons saw not, and even the polished Romans could hardly have imagined, pass and repass among the trees, and gaily attired pedestrians walk beneath their shade. Strange contrast to what has been! The mental eye, back glancing through the vista of long ages, still loves to dwell on the loneliness and the grandeur, on the gloom and depth of the wide forest: it mourns over the ages and the generations that have passed away, since the memorial trees emerged from their cradle in the earth. Some hand might inscribe on their rough bark that all is vanity, that the glorious earth was not designed to be thus made a charnel-house; but, among those who pass the aged trees, few would stop their progress, or their discourse, to read the inscription; and, among those who read, fewer, perhaps, would desire that it should be otherwise. [Illustration: Hatfield Oak.] Hatfield Oak. [Queen Elizabeth is said to have been seated beneath the shade of Hatfield Oak when she received intelligence of the death of her sister Mary.] How dim and indistinct the silent scene! O'er groves and valleys sleeping mists are spread, Like a soft silvery mantle; while the stream, Scarce heard to flow, steals on its pebbly bed; Nor e'en a ripple wakes the silence round, As if it flowed, perchance, through some enchanted ground. But O, the gorgeous tint, the dazzling glow In the clear west; for scarce the sun is gone! That glowing tint doth yet a radiance throw On the hill-top, while, aye, each old grey stone Glitters like diamonds 'mid the mountain heath, While fades, in deep'ning gloom, the sleeping vale beneath. One lonely spot, which oft, in solemn mood, Men have gazed on in ages long gone by, Where stands that relic of the good green wood, The aged oak, prompting a tear or sigh; That lonely spot gleams o'er the misty scene, Catching the splendour of the dazzling sheen. And, aye, the lichens that have fixed deep Their tiny roots within the furrowed bough; And one small flower, which still her vigils keep, The blue forget-me-not, are glowing now, In characters, methinks, of living flame, Seeming to print the old oak's massy frame. It looks as if a bright and sudden beam, Within that oak, broke forth with fervid ray, Tinting its old boughs with a golden gleam, Bright as the deep glow of the parting day; Tempting the passer-by to linger still, Amid the deep'ning gloom that broods o'er dale and hill. Ah! linger still, nor fear the chill night-wind; It comes not yet, for scarce the sun is gone! Each living emblem, speaking to the mind, May counsel well, and cheer, if reft and lone, Thy sad thoughts, earthward bend, giving but little heed To signs of mercy near, waiting each hour of need. Men may learn from them, be it joy or pain, That bids the heart its wonted calm forego, Sunbeams, or showers, loud wind, or driving rain, The morning hoar frost, or the dazzling snow, The small bird, journeying through the pathless skies, May win dull thought, from earthly care to rise. It might be, that in such a glowing hour, When shone the old oak, as with living flame, While anxious thoughts within her breast had power, Forth from yon aged hall[39] a lady came To meet the freshness of the evening breeze, Viewless, yet rustling still among the trees. Oh! there were hearts within that stately hall, Though ruined now, that beat with high alarm, And champing steeds, and warders waiting all To guard, if need might be, from gathering harm, And cautious looks, and voices speaking low, As if they feared an hour of coming woe. Yes, life or death, eternity or time, Waited the passing of that anxious day; A throne, a prison, much perchance of crime, Should statesmen battle, each in stern array; Should death steal onward through a palace gate, Warning his victim from her hall of state. The mind back glancing through long ages past, E'en to the changes in that fitful scene, Calls forth from out the dim, the lone, the vast, One act to gaze on, noting what hath been In dreamy life; though all we now descry Seems as a mournful vision sweeping by. Look then on her, for whom no evening gleam, Nor soft wind rustling in the young green trees, Can soothe the wasting grief--the fever'd dream-- The wandering thought, finding but little ease; For each fond hope from the sad heart is flown, Like leaves by autumn winds, all sear'd and gone. Her hall is lonely now, her throne of state Strangers may gaze at; one lone couch of pain Holdeth her now, and pale care seems to wait Beside that couch, despite the weeping train Who vainly seek, with fond officious zeal, To soothe the rankling grief they may not heal. Through the dim oriel streams that sunny glow Which tints the old oak with its parting beam And one last flush gleams on the cold, damp brow Whence life is ebbing, like a fitful dream,-- Too soon for those whom anxious boding fill, Her weeping train of ladies, watching still. Why watch ye now? Seven thunders would not wake That dreaded one--her load of life laid down. Her sleep is sound. Her stern heart may not ache, Nor throb the brow that wore a joyless crown; An instant past a queen. For love or hate, She cares not now; waiting at mercy's gate. Hark to swift footsteps on the dewy grass, 'Mid the dim twilight, for the flush is gone That lit yon death-couch. Hasting on they pass To hail, as queen, the lone and captive one. Captive, and yet a queen! one moment more Shall give to her the crown that anxious Mary wore. [Illustration: The Beech of the Frith Common.] The Beech of the Frith Common. "Thrice fifty summers have I stood In beauteous, leafy solitude, Since childhood in my rustling bower First spent its sweet and sportive hour, Since youthful lovers in my shade Their vows of truth and honour paid; And on my trunk's smooth, glossy frame Carv'd many a long-forgotten name: Oh! by the vows of gentle sound, First breath'd upon this sacred ground; By all that truth hath whisper'd here, Or beauty heard with willing ear, As love's own altar honour me, Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree."--ROGERS. Let him who loves to mark the changes of the seasons, and to watch the alternations which spring and summer, autumn and winter, produce in the vegetable kingdom, stand beside one of those magnificent columns which spring from out the parent earth, and bear on high a canopy of branches. Let him choose that season when the leaves are just beginning to expand, when the swelling buds assume a reddish tint, and here and there a young green leaf has unfolded, in all its freshness and its beauty, as yet unsoiled by a passing atom, or unbeaten by a single rain-drop. The clouds, how beautiful they look, and the deep blue sky above them! for both are clearly seen through the ramified branches; the first, when driven swiftly by soft breezes from the west; the other, in all its grandeur and extent, as when the morning stars rejoiced together, and it first appeared like a glorious pavilion based on the distant hills. Such is the Beech of the Frith Common. It stands alone in the centre of a beautiful common, covered with wild flowers and short herbage, and the fragrant thyme, among which the industrious bee loves to nestle, and to gather in her harvests. The nest of the skylark is among the juniper-bushes that skirt the margin of the common; its joyous tenant is up in air, warbling and rejoicing, and making his high home resound with melody. And well may he rejoice, for he has no sadness to damp his song, no earth-born cares to bring him down. But if we seek for one, albeit assigned to earth, and being unable to soar into mid air, yet thankful and making the best of her humble lot, list to the contented cuckoo; she bids the valley ring with her note, it is unvaried, and some people would fain say that it is wearisome;--no such thing, it is the very voice of spring, telling of sweet flowers and lengthening days, of soft May showers, and of the coming of wandering birds from far-off shores, to make glad the fields of Britain. The Beech of the Frith Common has no voice with which to swell the chorus that has just begun, and which increases daily, as first one musician and then another, comes in aid. But this noble tree is to the eye what music is to the ear. Look at the stately stem, how smooth and glossy; time has not yet furrowed it, nor has the pendent lichen and gray moss rooted themselves in its rough fissures. No records of human crime, nor human care are chronicled upon its bark, no ruin stands near on which the woes of ages have gathered and brood heavy; no associations connected with the beautiful tree, of midnight murders and broken hearts, the tears of orphans and the prayers of oppressed ones, for patience or for redress. Neither is there any trace upon the common, that a circle of unhewn stones ever stood within its precincts, where unhallowed rites were practised, and midnight incantations uttered; nor even that the grave of Briton or of Gaul, of Roman or of Saxon, were made there, for the turf is smooth as velvet. Stately stands the tree, the tree beloved of all. The oak is a majestic tree, the chesnut one of the most umbrageous of forest trees, the elm rises like a pyramid of verdure, the ash has its drooping branches, the maple is celebrated for its light and quivering foliage, but the beech is the poets' tree, the lovers' tree. Have you not heard that young men often haunt the forest, and disfigure the even and silvery bark of beech-trees, by making them the depositors of the names of their beloved ones? "The bark," say they, "conveys a happy emblem," and while thus employed they please themselves with thinking, that as the letters of the name increase, so will their love. Here then stands the beech-tree, in all its dignity and fair proportions, its firm trunk based in the earth, but with no knarled roots upheaving the soil around, and making it unsightly. When the celebrated Smeaton pondered within himself concerning the possibility of constructing a building on the Eddystone rock, which might resist the tremendous violence of contending seas, which had swept away the previous erections of Winstanley and Rudyerd, and left not a stone remaining; seas which dash at least two hundred feet above the rock, and the sound of whose deafening surges resemble the continuous roar of thunder, his thoughts involuntarily turned towards the oak. He considered its large swelling base, which becomes reduced to one third, occasionally to one half of its original dimensions, by a gradual and upward tapering of the living shaft, and it appeared to him that a building might be erected on the model of the oak, that would be fully able to resist the action of external violence. Thus thinking, he projected the light-house of Eddystone, which soon proved, amid the tremendous fury of contending elements, that he had not erred in taking nature for his guide. A beech or elm might have suggested the same thought, for in the trunk of every forest-tree the material is so disposed that the greater portion pertains to the base of the column; that part, especially, which rises from the root is thickest, and why is this? not only because a tapering column is far more beautiful than one of equal girth, but because the disturbing force at the top, acts more powerfully on the lower sections, than on the higher. It is needful that the base of the column should be strengthened, and it is equally unnecessary that the top should be of the same thickness as the base. Two purposes are consequently answered. The tree is rendered stronger and more elegant, and a certain portion of material is given to one part, without weakening the other. A tree is, therefore, equally adapted by its construction to resist the fury of the tempest, of that unseen, yet mighty force which comes against it, when the fierce northern blast howls through the forest; as also the load of snow which often presses heavily upon its topmost branches. There is not throughout the vegetable kingdom a more glorious object than a tree, with its smooth and tapering trunk, and its canopy of mingling boughs. Who can estimate correctly the majesty with which it is invested, or the grace and grandeur of its proportions, and its bulk? The finest trees often grow on mountainous heights, harmonizing with the illimitable expanse of heaven, or surrounded with the wildest extent of forest scenery. Their intrinsic bulk is therefore lessened to the eye, and it is not till they are singled from the surrounding landscape, and subjected to a rule and measure, that an opinion can be formed with respect to their vast size and height. Even then, the certainty often fails to impress the mind, for figures convey but an imperfect conception of length and breadth, of height and girth. Some more familiar illustrations are wanting to prove that many a majestic tree, which is admired among its sylvan brethren, as the proudest ornament of a park or forest, is in reality an enormous mass, which the passer-by would gaze at with awe and admiration, if seen beside the dwellings and the palaces of men; or compared with the moving objects which pass and repass in the streets of a great city. Our native woods often contain noble specimens, of which the bulk is ten or twelve feet in diameter, a width greater by three feet than the carriage-way of Fetter lane, near Temple-bar; and oaks might be named, on the block of which two men could thresh without incommoding one the other. The famous Greendale Oak is pierced by a road, over which it forms a triumphal arch, higher by several inches than the poets' postern at Westminster Abbey. The celebrated table in Dudley Castle which is formed of a single oaken plank, is longer than the wooden bridge that crosses the lake in the Regent's park; and the roof of the great hall of Westminster, which is spoken of with admiration on account of its vast span, being unsupported by a single pillar, is little more than one-third the width of the noble canopy of waving branches that are upheld by the Worksop Oak. The massive rafters of the spacious roof rest on strong walls, but the branches of the tree spring from one common centre. Architects can alone estimate the excessive purchase which boughs, of at least one hundred and eighty-nine feet, must have on the trunk into which they are inserted. Those of the Oak of Ellerslie cover a Scotch acre of ground; and in the Three-shire Oak, its branches drip over an extent of seven hundred and seven square yards. The tree itself grows in a nook that is formed by the junction of the three counties of York, Nottingham, and Derby; and as the trunk is so constructed, being tapering and firmly rooted in the earth, in order that it may uphold the boughs and repel the fury of the winds, so are the boughs themselves, made with an especial reference to the purpose for which they are designed. They are much thicker at the place of their insertion in the trunk than at the extremity; that their tendency to break may thus be uniform. We owe to this, the graceful waving of innumerable boughs, here aspiring in airy lightness above the general mass, and there gracefully feathering to the ground, the pleasing murmur of their foliage when rustling in the warm breeze of summer, and the elegant ramifications which are perceptible in winter. But whether seen against the clear blue ether of a winter sky, or presenting a broad and ample breadth of shade; whether raged against by a fierce tempest, or having the foliage gently shaken by playful breezes; the giant resistance in one case, or the ceaseless quiver of the other, owe their power, and their play, to the unseen members of the mighty column which are buried deep within the earth. These, though still, are ever working. Though they cannot move themselves, they move others. They draw up the moisture of the earth and send it, by means of a secret influence on an undiscoverable machinery, which is seen in its effects, though the way in which it operates is entirely unknown, to fill with life the smallest leaf that quivers in the sunbeams, or the tender bud that is not yet emerged from its silken cradle. They serve likewise to brace the tree within the earth, and they vary according to climate and locality. Take the beech for instance, which flourishes alike in deep valleys, and on windy hills. When growing in a sheltered place the roots are thrown out equally, like rays diverging from a common centre. When standing on an eminence or on a plain, exposed to the action of a wind that blows generally from one quarter, the roots spread out and grapple the firm soil towards the quarter from which the wind comes. In this country it is generally south-west, or west-south-west; hence it happens that when other causes do not interfere, our native trees generally incline their heads to the north-east, and their strongest roots go forth in an opposite direction, for the evident purpose of holding the tree firm, when the storms beat upon it. Trees are, consequently, often uprooted by a sudden squall of wind from the east or north-east, which have withstood the tempests of ages. The aggregate effect produced by forest scenery is magnificent--the deep retiring woodland, the waving of innumerable branches, the majestic columns which uphold them, the mingled tints and hues, the dancing of the lights and shadows on the ground, the long, long vistas which extend far as the eye can reach, when the view of external nature is shut out, when there is neither a green meadow nor distant hill to be seen, nor even a fence nor railing, nothing which betokens the hand of man; but noble trees around, and a magnificent canopy of mingled boughs; when not a sound is heard except the rustling of the wind in the topmost branches, or perchance the plaintive voice of the ring-dove, which loves to build her nest in solitary places. But the tree, which like the Beech of the Frith Common, stands alone, can best be understood. The mind can rest upon it, and the eye can embrace its beautiful proportions. Wisdom may be gained by him who loves to read the ample page of nature, while musing beneath its branches, for every leaf is an open book, every tender bud tells much concerning the goodness of that Being whose beneficence is equally conspicuous in the smallest, as in the mightiest of created things. This noble tree grows on a sunny hill side, And merry birds sing round it all the day long; Oh the joy of my childhood, at evening tide, To sit in its shadow and list the birds' song! No sound then was heard but the gush of the rill, Or the woodpecker tapping some hollow beech-tree; While the sun shed his last purple glow on the hill, And the last hum was heard of the home-loving bee. But now far away from that sunny hill side, 'Mid the stir and the din of the proud city's throng, I think, is that tree standing yet in its pride? Are the echoes still woke by the merry birds' song? They tell me the woodcutter's hatchet was heard, To thin the tall trees where they drooped o'er the lea; But he marr'd not the home of the wandering bird, The haunt of my childhood, my own beechen-tree. May peace in the cot of that woodman abide, And grateful birds sing to him all the day long, May his steps long be firm on the sunny hill's side. And echo respond to the voice of his song. I can think of that tree, where no green trees are seen, 'Mid the city's loud din, for the spirit is free, And dear to me still is the wild daisied green. Where thy branches are waving, my own beechen-tree. [Illustration: THE SALCEY OAK] The Salcey Oak "Thou wert a bauble once, a cup and ball, Which babes might play with, and the thievish jay, Seeking her food, with ease might have purloin'd The auburn nut that held thee, swallowing down Thy yet close-folded latitude of boughs, And all thy embryo vastness at a gulph."--COWPER. By virtue of those indices which naturalists discover in the trunks and boughs of aged trees, it is conjectured that the autumns of fifteen hundred years have visited the Oak of Salcey. Standing remote from those frequented parts of Britain, where a thronging population causes the increase of buildings and the making of new roads, protected also by the inland situation of the little forest by which it is surrounded, the old tree has remained entire. It stands a living cavern, with an arched entrance on either side, within whose ample circumference large animals may lie down at noon, and where the careful shepherd often folds his flock at nightfall. It measures forty-six feet ten inches at the base, and at one yard from the ground the girth is thirty-nine feet ten inches. The knotted roots of the old tree have been laid bare by time or accidents, or by that living principle which causes aged trees to unearth their roots, and to raise the soil into hillocks; successive storms or the heavy tread of cattle have worn away the hillocks, and the roots being left in arches, produce an equally fantastic and picturesque effect. I have frequently observed the same peculiarity among the deep beech-woods of Gloucestershire; grass does not generally grow beneath them, yet in places open to the sun, primroses nestle in the interstices, and long pendent fern-leaves with the nailwort and forget-me-not grow profusely; but more commonly the bare and knarled roots are without verdure, and they often afford a welcome covert to the wild rabbit, who makes them the portals of her burrow. The effect which is thus produced is well deserving the attention of the artist. The roots of such trees as grow on high and rugged banks, are occasionally unearthed to the extent of several feet, while between them, are deep hollows, running far back, with masses of freestone, and pendent ferns; and groups of innocent sheep, may be often seen with their heads projecting beneath the long fibres of the thickly tangled roots. Pliny relates that in countries subject to the shock of earthquakes, or where the living principle in trees is extremely vigorous, in consequence of soil or climate, the roots are often raised to a surprising height, that they look like arches, beneath which troops of cavalry may pass, as through the open and stately portals of a town. The venerable tree which has given rise to this digression, stands in the centre of a grassy area, where cattle pasture, and though still bearing the name of forest, the site on which it grows, exhibits little that would recall to mind, that it was once covered with noble trees. A few still remain, some apparently of great age, others in different stages of growth or of decay; but to the eye and to the heart, the one which is called by pre-eminence the Salcey Oak, must be alone. He who loves to watch the motions of animals, and the flight of birds; the passing of summer clouds, and the gradual advancing and receding of the light; the aspect too of nature, when shone upon by the bright warm sunbeams or at the fall of night, may find much to interest him in, and around the time-worn tree. Seen dimly in the dubious nights of the summer solstice, it presents the aspect of a cavern overgrown with bushes, within which a flock of sheep are often quietly reposing, or a cow has laid down to rest, with her little one beside her. The dew meanwhile is heavy on the grass, and not a sound is heard. The inmates of the nearest farm-house are not yet moving, neither is any animal abroad, nor have the early birds left the boughs on which they rest. That sound of waters which of all others is the loudest, when all else is still, which seems to gather strength when the night is deepest, and often causes him who loiters in the fields to think that he is listening to the congregated roar of some far-off torrent, when perhaps only a little streamlet is brawling among the trees; that solemn sound is not heard here, for no running streams are close at hand. Nothing then is heard in the silence of this lone hour, but the rustle of the aspen-leaves, which are never still, even in the hot nights of summer, when not a breeze is felt, or the last whoop of the gray owl, when she hastens to shelter herself in the cavernous old tree, for that is her favourite abode. The nightingale does not affect the Oak of Salcey, neither does the lark love to raise his voice in the midst of the old trees, where no young copses, covered with wild roses and honeysuckles, invite him to place his nest among them. When the day dawns, and objects become visible, forth come the hare and rabbit from their shady coverts, and joyous birds from the shelter of trees and bushes. The early blackbird, nature's sweetest minstrel, sings loudly that all may hear, and shaking off their slumbers may be up and doing; his full strain of melody does not always wait for the rising of the sun, he rather bids him welcome on his first appearance. Heralded by his clear voice, the chorus of singing birds commences. The lark rises high in air, the thrush and throstle, the linnet and the goldfinch pour forth such enchanting notes, as man, with all his science, cannot imitate. The rays of the bright sun shine into the hollow of the tree, and rouse the innocent sheep which slept there, to pasture on the fresh grass; the cattle too are moving, some from the great oak, others from the coppice-wood, which is seen at intervals among the trees. The business of the farm now commences, and the labourers are abroad. You may, perhaps, chance to see one of them pass this way, in going to, or returning from the fields, either to gather in the crops of hay, or corn, or to plough the land according to the season of the year. But this is of rare occurrence, few care to visit the old oak, and the pathway does not lead across the area by which it is surrounded. At noon day when the sun is high, how quiet is this place! The song-birds are silent, but the hum of insects is at its height; they float up and down, and seem to rest on the soft air, as if threading the mazes of a dance, and then advancing and retreating with a ceaseless buzz. But when the shadow of the tree lengthens upon the grass, and the beams of the setting sun tint its topmost boughs of a golden hue, first one bird carols, and then another. Then also the breathing of the oxen, and the brushing sound which they make in cropping the damp grass, become audible. No one listens to them at noon, but the deep silence which begins to steal over the place, when twilight renders the large objects alone visible, brings the slightest movement to the ear. At length even such faint sounds are heard no longer; the birds cease their songs, and when the moonbeams shine into the cavern which time has formed in the Oak of Salcey, it may be seen that both sheep and cattle have retired thither. At one season of the year the oak is beat upon by heavy rain, and loud winds howl furiously around its aged head; at another it is white with snow, or the hoar frost of winter settles on it. At length green leaves peep forth from among the fissures of the trunk and boughs, and the sapling trees are green also. There is little else to record in connexion with this aged tree. Peasants may have sheltered their flocks for ages beneath its canopy of branches, when those branches were full of sap, and when stately trees stood round in all their greatness, where now only a grassy area meets the eye. But no ancient ruins are to be seen by him who climbs the trunk, nor yet the traces of any city which might have invited the aggressions of an enemy. We conjecture, therefore, that a forest, with breaks of lawn and thicket, and perhaps a common on which the peasant built his hut, and the homestead arose in peaceful times, might have extended round the oak of Salcey. The ground on which we tread presents sufficient indications that such has been the case. The millfoil-yarrow, the wild camomile, the gravel birdweed, and stonebasil, ancient tenants of the soil, which grow only in the purest air of heaven, on waste land and stony banks, are seen in company with the wild bluebell and the crested cowwheat, with which the mower filleth not his hand, nor he that bindeth sheaves his bosom. [Illustration] Old Trees in Welbeck Park. "There oft the Muse, what most delights her, sees Long living galleries of aged trees; Bold sons of earth, that lift their arms so high, As if once more they would invade the sky. In such green palaces the first kings reign'd, Slept in their shades, and angels entertain'd. With such old counsellors they did advise, And, by frequenting sacred groves, grew wise. Free from the impediments of light and noise, Man, thus retir'd, his noblest thoughts employs."--WALLER. Valleys and cultivated fields, have each their characteristics of richness or of loveliness, but they have no beauty in comparison with that of woodland scenery. The wild thyme and moss, the short-cropped herbage, the tufts of fern and golden-blossomed gorse, that vary the ground on which we tread; the solemn depth of the lone forest, the noble groups of trees that diversify the open spaces, and the clear streams that flow silently through the deep soil, bordered with cowslips and wild marigolds, have all, and each, their own peculiar attractions. Who has not been sensible when passing among them of an hilarity of feeling, a delight, which he has experienced nowhere else, which carries him onward from one spot to another, now in the midst of trees, and now again in the open space, as if he could never weary? Then, the sweet fresh breezes of the spring, how pure they are, sporting over the green herbage or among the trees. They are not infected with sighs of human sorrow; they have not passed beside the couch of dying men, or through the throng of a great city. They are sporting now as they sported a thousand years ago, among the branches of some of the old trees, which still remain, relics of bygone days, memorials of what has been. Those breezes are still the same, for the circumambient fluid, which gives hilarity and freshness to everything that lives and moves on the surface of the earth, is not subjected to the unalterable law which seems impressed on all beside. Earthly things grow old, or assume some new character. Even the kindred element of water evaporates, and is replenished by means of rain or dew; the soil is blown away in dust, and renewed again by the decay of vegetables. Men cease from off the earth; in one day their thoughts perish; cities which they have erected, noble structures, destined to last for ages, crumble silently, or else are overthrown by war or earthquakes; but the air, though ever moving, neither evaporates, nor is susceptible of change. Thus, then, whether in the character of a whirlwind, or of zephyr; whether as a breeze of spring, or tempest from the north, has it raged or sported in the branches of the stately tree, which stands among its brethren of the forest, resembling a noble column, surrounded by crowding houses. It is termed the Duke's Walking-Stick, but the hand that would essay to move the shaft from out the place where it has stood for ages, must be gifted with a power and a spell, which even the wildest fancy has never yet assigned to any being of mortal mould; not even to those giants of fierce bearing, with whom she loves to people her land of fiction. The column stands alone, its smooth trunk is branchless to a giddy height, and its topmost boughs are higher than the roof of Westminster Abbey at its loftiest elevation. A tree, with which the branches of no other tree can mingle, solitary in the midst of its sylvan brotherhood, having no communion in its stateliness, either with the oak, over which long ages have passed, or with the sapling of yesterday. Thoughts of home and kindred are blended with that other tree, to which the lovers of forest scenery make a pilgrimage--the seven Sisters, for such is the name of a contiguous tree, with several columns, which, upspringing from the same root, are seen to mingle their leaves and branches. The bird which confides her nest in spring to the sheltering boughs of the one, teaches her young to nestle among the opening leaves of the other; so closely are they entwined, that a squirrel would find it difficult to make his way between them. We know not why the cognomen which distinguishes this favourite tree was given, or the period of its greatest perfection, whether it arose from out the earth in Saxon or Norman times, or whether seven ladies of a Ducal family, sisters in birth and love, gave that fond name to the noble tree, because of its interwoven stems. The Queen's Oak. O Lady! on thy regal brow The shades of death are gathered now! What matter, if in queenly bower, Was past of life thy fitful hour? In cloister gray, where meets at eve The whispering winds that softly breathe; Or, if in leafy glen afar, To some lone cot the guiding star Of him, who turn'd with weary feet Thy joyous answering smile to meet? What matter, if in hut or hall, Was spread o'er thee the funeral pall; If mutes and banners waited round, Or flowrets decked thy simple mound? If wrought on earth thy Maker's will, No meddling fiend shall work thee ill: O blest thy waiting-place shall be, Till the grave shall set her captive free, Through His dear might who came to bless Man in his utter helplessness.--M. R. What see you in that old oak more than in any other tree, except that its trunk is white with age, and that gray lichens hang in tufts from out the interstices of the bark? That tree, stranger, was a silent witness of scenes long past. It stood when England was rent asunder during the fearful contest of the Roses; and beside its noble trunk met those, in all the pride of chivalry and loveliness of beauty, who now are resting from life's weary pilgrimage beneath the tomb of Quentin Matsys. Who has not heard concerning the Duchess Dowager of Bedford, how she left her high estate to wed a simple squire, and to dwell with him in the beautiful solitude of her dower castle of Grafton, far from the scene of her former greatness! The noble trees that grouped around the castle wall, mingled with those of the wide forest of Whittlebury, a royal chase, on the verge of which, and at no great distance from the castle, stood this aged tree, then in all the pride of sylvan majesty; and far as the eye could reach, extended one vast sweep of woodland scenery, with breaks of lawn and thicket. The inhabitants of Grafton Castle passed the first years of their wedded life in comparative obscurity, exercising hospitality, according to the manners of the age, yet keeping as much as possible apart from the dangers and excitements of public life. At length the necessity of providing for the elder branches of an increasing family, rendered it desirable to strengthen their connexions, and the Duchess of Bedford, whose rank was more exalted than her fortune, resolved to introduce them at the court of her friend, Queen Margaret, to whom her eldest daughter, the beautiful Elizabeth Woodville, was appointed maid of honour.[40] Years passed on, and Elizabeth was united to John Gray, son and heir to Lord Ferrars of Groby, possessor of the ancient domain of Bradgate,[41] by reason of his descent from Petronilla, daughter of Grantmesnil, one of the proudest of our Norman nobility. Withdrawn from her quiet home by the stirring incidents that attended the fierce contest between the rival houses of York and Lancaster, Elizabeth accompanied her husband during the campaign, and shared with him in many of its perils. It was even said that Queen Margaret persuaded her to visit king-making Warwick in his camp, under the pretence of requesting some little favour, for the stout earl was ever kind to her; but in reality to make observations relative to the number and condition of his troops. This was on the eve of the great battle of St. Albans, which took place at a short distance from the abbey. The abbey stood, in peaceable times, like a vast granary, which continually received and gave out its produce, into which was gathered both corn, and wine, and oil, barley, and the fruits of the earth, and to which not fewer than twelve cells and hospitals were appended. And scarcely was there a forest, chase, or wood throughout the greatest part of England, which did not in some measure contribute a supply to the abbey of its timber or venison. Successive monarchs banquetted within its walls, and while the abbots were distinguished for their extensive hospitality, the poor were not forgotten. Thus stood St. Albans, often in stormy times a place of refuge, into which the peasants drove their cattle and were secure, and while the storm of war raged furiously without, there was safety and abundance within. But it was not always so, and St. Albans was sacked more than once. The infuriated followers of Wat Tyler set fire to the papers and written records of the abbey, and in after times it was exposed to all the horrors of civil war, when the rival houses of York and Lancaster battled close beside its walls, and beneath the floor of our Lady's chapel rest the remains of many who fought and fell in those murderous conflicts. Showers and warm sunbeams contribute their aid ofttimes to repair the ravages which war has made in the aspect of nature. The trodden fields were again covered with corn; dwellings which had been set on fire, were speedily rebuilt, and all went on as before. Tributes of corn, and wine, and oil, were brought into the abbey, and the poor and destitute received their daily doles. But men had not yet learned that war and misery are synonymous. The second battle of St. Albans, at which the forces of Queen Margaret were, for a brief space, triumphant, was deeply felt within the abbey. Wounded men, borne by their companions from the fray, were continually brought in; and when the battle ceased, it was fearful to hear the continual tolling of the bell, sounding daily from morning till night, while the dead were being interred; if holding rank among the living, within the precincts of the monastery, if otherwise, in an adjoining field.[42] The husband of Elizabeth Woodville, Gray Lord Ferrars, was then in the twenty-fifth year of his age. Handsome, valorous, and intrepid, and devotedly attached to the cause of Henry VI.; he was appointed commander of the Red-rose cavalry, and, while leading on the memorable onset by which the field was won, he received a mortal wound, of which he died a few days after, at the village of Colney, on the twenty-eighth of February 1461.[43] Henry VI. visited and endeavoured to console the dying youth, and sought, with the usual kindliness of his nature, to reconcile him to the thought of death, by pointing to the only Refuge, on whom his own hopes rested. Some chroniclers relate, that, according to the fashion of the age, he conferred the honour of knighthood on the wounded earl, for the sake of his sons, for although his father, Lord Ferrars, had died two months before, the distracted condition of the country had prevented the young nobleman from taking his place in the house of peers. A deep and rancorous feeling seems to have existed against the memory of this brave and devoted adherent of King Henry; his harmless children, the eldest of whom was not more than four years of age, were deprived of their inheritance, and his widow was not permitted to remain on the family estate; the fine old mansion, with its broad lands, was confiscated; it became the property of another, who repaired thither to take possession, and with him his family and dependents, who filled all the offices and places of trust and profit which the adherents of the house of Gray had hitherto enjoyed. Elizabeth, therefore, sought again the paternal roof. Sad was the day of her return, yet she only was changed. The avenue of noble trees waved in the breeze, fresh and shady as when last she passed; the fields, too, looked as green and lovely, and through them lay the pathway, fringed with wild flowers, where she had often gathered, with her young companions, fresh garlands of sweet flowers, with which to bedeck themselves. The mansion had not been altered, since the family returned from court, at the accession of Edward IV. There was the open door, down the steps of which the train of sisters had followed their stately mother, when they set forth a few years before, at the invitation of Queen Margaret, to visit her court; the eldest, appointed to be her maid of honour;[44] the others, with promises of favour and promotion. They had now returned, for there was neither favour nor promotion for adherents of the Red-rose, and Catherine, and Anne, and Mary, were waiting to receive Elizabeth with blended feelings of joy and sorrow; joy, to welcome back their sister; sorrow, to see her widow's weeds and orphan children. Time had not changed them, nor were the faithful servants, who had seen, a few years back, their young mistress depart, with tears and blessings, yet broken down. Here, then, at a short distance from this time-worn tree, Elizabeth continued to reside in Grafton Castle, devoted to the education of her sons; for whom, as well as for herself, she was dependent on the bounty of her father. Edward came at length to hunt in the forest of Whittlebury, for this great forest was a royal chase, abounding with shady coverts and open spaces, where the fern grew wild and high, and dancing lights and shadows seemed to sport over a wilderness of broken ground and coppice-wood. Elizabeth heard that he would pass at a short distance from her mother's dower castle, and she resolved to wait for him under the shade of the tall tree, which bears her name. The mingled sound of hounds and horns, with the trampling of horses on the green turf, soon reached her ear, and presently the monarch passed that way with his gallant train of hunters. She was then, for such is the tradition of the neighbourhood,[45] with her fatherless boys, on this very spot, for she had thrown herself on the ground, and besought him, with many tears, to have pity on her impoverished and bereaved children. The sight of beauty in affliction softened the stern heart of the monarch, while the anxiety of a mother for her children seemed to awaken in his heart feelings of kindliness and compassion, to which he had been long a stranger, and he raised her from the ground, with assurances of favour and consideration. Legends tell, that they met again under the same old tree, for that Edward seemed to prefer that their interviews should take place where he had first seen and loved the beautiful Elizabeth. History relates that the espousals were privately solemnised early in the morning of the first of May 1464, at the town of Grafton, near Stony Stratford. None were present excepting the Duchess of Bedford, the priest, and two gentlewomen, with a young man, who assisted in singing. The priest who wedded them lies buried before the altar, in the church of the Minoresses at London-bridge.[46] O what a mingled throng are passing now, As in a mirror, which time seems to hold For men to gaze in! Actors in all scenes, Mingled, and yet distinct, with names on each, Given by Him who sent them forth to bless Their homes or kindred--dwelling where they may. Kings, with their crowned heads, and he who serves-- The anxious tradesman, and the gentle one Who walks with peace, looking on meads and streams-- Loving the sound of whispering winds at eve, Of warbling birds, and prattling streams that gush 'Mid flowers and ferns, and green hills meeting round; For such are seen, e'en near the deadly fray Of battle fields, where meet the sire and son. The Red-rose conquering now--and then the Pale; And he, who skulks in forest haunt, or cave When morning dawns, walks as a chief at eve. Look, then, at the strange eventful scenes in the life of Elizabeth Woodville, as they pass before the mental vision, now in brightness and in beauty, and now in shade and sadness. Observe that gallant gentleman, holding a lady by the hand, in a large and antique apartment, for the scene has changed from Grafton Castle to the old palace of Reading. That gentleman is Edward IV., and standing round, are peers and princes of the realm, adherents of the house of York, whom the king has convened in council, that he may present to them the lady Elizabeth as his rightful queen,--one whom he had wedded because of her exalted worth, for he could never hope to espouse a foreign princess, on account of the house of Lancaster.[47] The queen is apparently little more than twenty-eight years of age, and her delicate and modest beauty is not impaired by either time or sorrow. Her head is encircled with a high crown of peculiar richness, the numerous points of which are finished by fleur-de-lis. Rich pearls, strung in an elaborate pattern, encircle her beautiful neck, while a small ring, in the middle of her forehead, divides her pale yellow tresses, which descend in waving curls of great length and profusion. Her face is exceedingly fair, and her eyes are timidly cast down. She is royally attired in a splendid kind of gold brocade, woven in stripes of blue and gold, of which the wearing is restricted to the royal reigning family, with a close boddice and tight sleeves, and ermine robings, turned back over the shoulders, and the whole dress is girded round the waist with a crimson scarf. Her skirt is full and flowing, with a broad ermine border, and a train of many yards in length, held up by a trainbearer, a fair and gentle-looking damsel, most probably one of the queen's sisters, who has gracefully folded the extremity around her arms. A rich blue satin petticoat is seen beneath the drapery, and the shoes that peep forth occasionally are of a pointed form.[48] From that old room of state, where stands the fair young queen, thus regally attired, passes on the pageant of king and lady, and bearded counsellors, in solemn pomp, to the stately abbey church of Reading, the lady led by the young Duke of Clarence, where she is publicly declared queen; and where having made her offering, she is receiving the congratulations of the assembled nobility, among whom, some people say, is the Earl of Warwick. Brilliant fêtes and tournaments succeed, such as have not been seen in England, since the gorgeous days of Edward III., when he held high state in Windsor Castle. Elizabeth presides in all, with her lovely train of sisters, and around them gather, as shepherds to "the star of Arcady, or Tyrian cynosure," many a gallant knight and noble, proud to tilt in honour of those fair damsels, and to receive from them the prize that beauty awards to valour. Listen now to the loud hum that mighty London sends through all her gates, for sights and sounds of revelry pertain to this bright act in the life of our sovereign lady. Knights, and citizens, and throngs of people are filling every street, and crowding every window. The queen is passing through the city to her palace of Westminster, in a litter borne on poles, and supported by stately prancing steeds; and right and left, behind and in advance, ride valiant men, whom the king has deputed to this honour. The queen has come from Eltham Palace, where the hawthorn-trees are all in blossom, and the little birds are singing blithely, as if to hail their queen on the day of her coronation. And when the train of knights and citizens is seen passing beneath the lofty portal of the ancient abbey, sweet sounds greet them, not of joyous birds that warble their harmonious concerts among the trees in Eltham park, but deep solemn music, and glorious human voices chanting in unison; and thus welcomed and attended, enters Elizabeth, to pass forth again a crowned and anointed woman. And with her is Count James, of St. Pol, uncle to the Duchess of Bedford, with a hundred knights and their attendants; a sovereign prince, and near kinsman of the queen, whom Charles the Bold had deputed to be present at the coronation. King Edward desired that the peers of England and the citizens of London should be assured that the lady whom he married was worthy, by her high descent, to share his throne, and he had requested the French king to induce some of the princes of the house of Luxemburg to visit England, and claim kindred with his wife. Count James set forth accordingly, for now that his fair cousin wore a crown, he was proud to acknowledge the connexion. It was otherwise a few years before with the house of Luxemburg: they had not only chosen to forget the mother of Elizabeth, because she married a private gentleman, "though he was the handsomest man in all England, and the duchess was an exceeding handsome gentlewoman." They had not only chosen to withold their countenance, but had even spoken such harsh words, that neither the knight nor lady dared to claim kindred with them on the continent, for the father of that same count, who was now in England, would have slain them both, had they ventured within his reach. All was now forgotten, and he who looks with the mental eye through the long, long vista of past ages, may discern in the dim distance, gorgeous pageants, and tilts and tournaments, ladies coming forth from their old Gothic castles to grace the court, with chevaliers of France and England, each from their baronial residences, mingling in feats of arms and festivals. And then, beside the small couch of a fair infant, are seen standing the haughty Cicely of York, and the royally descended Jaquetta of Bedford, grandmothers of the young scion, made friends that day, as they bend with looks of love over the unconscious sleeping one. Sleep on, fair child, thy brow shall wear a crown, but weary years of woes and wanderings are before thee.[49] The hand of the reaper, Cuts the ears that are hoary: But the voice of the weeper, Wails manhood in glory.--SCOTT. It is the middle of corn harvest, and reapers are cutting down the rich brown ears, on the verge of the great forest, where first met the Lady Elizabeth and King Edward. All around the Queen's Oak, the oak of Whittlebury Chase, is one vast joyous solitude of woods and waters, lonely, yet cheerful; without any habitation, yet not unpeopled, for noble antlers are seen emerging from the brushwood, and joyous birds and butterflies fly in and out among the trees, or flit from one flower to another. All is stillness, and beauty, and luxuriance; and let him who has found a covert within the woody range, venture not far away, for there are fearful doings in the land. Gradually melt away the mists of time, that have hidden for a while the court of Westminster, but the king is not there, nor yet the queen, nor the couch on which the young child lay; but instead of these, strange men are seen hurrying from room to room, as if in quest of plunder. The moon is up, and her pale beams shine on the white sails of a small vessel, that urges its way, as in fear, from the shores of Lynn, in Norfolk.[50] They shine, likewise, on a mother with three little girls, and a noble looking dame, the Lady Scrope, who have taken refuge in a strong and gloomy building at the end of St. Margaret's church-yard. That lone mother is the beautiful Queen of England, she has fled to sanctuary on the approach of Warwick's army, for the ship, whose white sails glisten in the clear cold moonbeams, conveys her husband abroad in quest of succour. Stern men are prowling round the gloomy building, but no one dares to go within, for the queen has registered herself and her three children, Elizabeth, Mary, and Cicely, and the Lady Scrope, as inmates of sanctuary. That gloomy place has sheltered murderers and robbers, men, too, who were in peril of their lives, for treason against their king; but in the present evil times, ladies and young children often find a home within its walls, when all other homes are broken up. And thus, all comfortless and forlorn, is waiting the Queen of England, for the birth of that fair child, who first saw light within the sanctuary of Westminster.[51] No distinction is there between the kindred of a prince or peasant, when the crown is put aside, no royal spell with which to chace away either want or sorrow. The Queen of England soon began to be in need, and must have been constrained to surrender to the army of Queen Margaret, had not provisions been secretly conveyed to her by a kind-hearted butcher of the name of Gould, who could not bear, he said, to think that the lady and her children should be distressed for lack of food. The infant prince is about to be baptized, and this with no greater ceremony than if he had been a poor man's child. A poor man's child might have more to gladden him, smiling faces and fresh air, but around this son of a throneless monarch are sad countenances and gloomy walls. No costly gifts are presented, and for attendants there remain but one or two kind friends, faithful among faithless thousands. No cloth of gold adorns the Gothic font of hewn stone, round which the little band of fond and faithful friends are gathered, while the sacred ceremony is performed by the sub-prior, who gives to the young prince the name of his father. Those who promise for him, poor child, that he shall renounce the pomps and pleasures of the world, when his noble patrimony seems lost to him, are his grandmother and the Lady Scrope, that devoted woman, who adheres to the queen in all her trials. The good abbot, Thomas Milling, performs the office of godfather, no other man being either willing or at hand to do the desolate one that service. Hark now to the sound of cheerful voices. They come from those who no longer fear to be regarded as adherents of the house of York. King Edward is returned, and with him a gallant company of gentlemen are seen pressing onward to the sanctuary. One moment more, the bolted doors fly open, and the king and queen, with their three little girls, are preparing to leave the sanctuary; the infant prince, borne in the arms of his nurse, and his blithe and gladsome sisters, making the old walls resound with their joyous voices. Men speak much concerning the valorous conduct of Queen Margaret, and all which she has done and suffered in order to replace her husband on the throne. But they speak more of the gentle Elizabeth; how she had sat down in meekness and in patience within the walls of that dismal place, where murderers and traitors had harboured in other times, waiting quietly till it pleased the Most High to send her better days, sojourning, indeed, in trouble, heaviness, and sorrow, yet sustaining it as became a Christian woman, having much to fear, yet hoping against hope.[52] The queen is playing now with her ladies at a courtly game called the marteaux, while others are amusing themselves as best befit them, according to the fashion of the times. King Edward is dancing with the Lady Elizabeth, his eldest daughter, and all is mirth and revelry, and joyousness, and well may those rejoice, who but a few days before knew not where to find a hiding-place. Who is that stately gentleman, whose dress and accent bespeak him from foreign parts, on whom all eyes are turned, and even the king salutes with more than kingly courtesy? The Lord of Grauthuse, Louis of Bruges. At once a nobleman, a merchant, and a man of letters, acting as deputy in the Low Countries for his master, Charles the Bold. He received and welcomed his royal guest, when in the preceding year the king fled from England, with a few attendants, "the most distressed company of creatures that were ever seen," for Edward had left his military coat, lined with martin's fur, with the master of the ship, having no other means of paying him, and was put on shore in his waistcoat. Unlike many in those days, who made the exiles of either faction, whether of the red or paler rose, pay dearly for their prison-houses, or hard fare, the Lord of Grauthuse fed and clothed the king and his attendants. He lent him ships and money, without which he could not have returned to his family, and afforded him every facility for making good his landing on the shores of Britain.[53] The minstrel has ceased now, and night and silence pervade the castle. The moon, which looked down on the white sail of King Edward, passing in its swiftness and its loneliness over the dark waters, shines now on the ancient turrets of Windsor Castle, wherein the king is sleeping. And there, too, his wife and children, his courtiers and his guards, are resting, and no sound is heard except the heavy tramp of the warders as they go their rounds, or perchance the deep bay of some listening hound, which the leveret's light step on the damp grass has roused from his slumber. Morning returns, and the cheerful sights and sounds of busy life. St. George's Chapel, with its painted windows and knights' banners are brightening in the sunbeams, while our lady's mass is sung, with the full harmony of the choristers' sweet voices. The king is there, Lady Elizabeth and the Lord Grauthuse, for it seems as if his late deliverance from so much peril had wrought good thoughts within him. Again the scene is changed, from the chapel to the quadrant. The innocent young prince is being carried by Sir Richard Vaughan. He can hardly speak as yet, but his chamberlain has taught him to bid the Lord Grauthuse welcome, who saved his father, and brought himself from his dolorous birth-place, to enjoy at once his liberty, and the sun's cheering light. That faithful chamberlain who carries the young prince everywhere, after his father's footsteps, will yet be called upon to act in a very different scene. He is attending the king and count from place to place, now in the lodge at Windsor Park, where the royal family dine together, afterwards through the garden and vineyard of pleasure, for the king desires to show his guest the many and varied excellencies of his kingly dwelling. Pageants sweep by, and nobles are presiding in halls of state. See the monarch, too, in his kingly robes, with his cap of maintenance, and right and left his lords, both spiritual and temporal. And list to that grave man, who declares before the king and nobles, the intent and the desire of the commons, with regard to the queen and Lord Grauthuse; upon the one is bestowed all honour and commendation of her womanly behaviour and great constancy during the nation's peril; to the other, is conveyed that nation's gratitude for his kindness and humanity to her sovereign lord, by the king, creating him Earl of Winchester. And surely the ceremony of that creation is one of no ordinary interest. The king is passing now into Whitehall, and thither too goes the queen from her own apartment, wearing a crown upon her head, with the young prince in his small robes of state, borne after her in the arms of Master Vaughan. And thus the king and queen, and that fair child, proceed through the abbey church, to the shrine of St. Edward, where their offerings are presented. Next, in the review of pageantries and banquet-halls, hunting scenes and revels, in the beautiful bowers of Eltham Palace, rises from out the mingled scene, the rich and gorgeous spectacle of the betrothing of the young Duke of York with Anne Mowbray, the infant heiress of the duchy of Norfolk. St. Stephen's chapel is being hung with arras of gold, and men are employed both day and night in putting up the drapery, which standing in its richness, must yet be gracefully arranged in broad folds around the pillars and the columns. All this is done, and the closed doors are opened for the entrance of stately ladies and train-bearers, great lords and their attendants, the beauty and the chivalry of the house of York. And now the flourish of loud trumpets and the clang of cymbals announce the king's approach, and the full quire is pealing forth its melody of mingled voices and high minstrelsy. The king is entering with the young Prince of Wales and the three princesses, Elizabeth, Mary, and Cicely; the queen follows, leading the small bridegroom of five years' old, her brother, Earl Rivers, conducts the baby bride, who looks awestruck and wondering, at the unusual sights and sounds. Thus striking its roots deep, with young scions rising round, stands the red rose of England in all its richness and luxuriance. Look at that desolate woman, who is sitting all sorrowful and dismayed on the rushes that strew the floor of a large and antique apartment. Her long hair, once her richest ornament, has fallen from beneath her widow's cap, and flowing in all its wonted beauty, over her slight form, is resting on the pavement. Fearful scenes have passed before the view of England's queen since her proud day in St. Stephen's chapel--her husband's couch of death, his deep remorse for sins committed or duties passed over; his funeral, his empty throne, murder, and usurpation. There is the sound of many footsteps treading heavily and in haste, and the putting down of boxes; men are seen busy in conveying household stuff, and chests and packages, but that desolate woman does not seem to heed them--she is thinking only of her sorrows, and the dangers that surround her family, for intelligence was brought to her at midnight that the Duke of Gloucester had intercepted the young king on his way from Ludlow to the metropolis; that he had seized his person, and caused the arrest of her brother, Earl Rivers, and Lord Gray, her son, together with the faithful Vaughan, who used to carry prince Edward when an infant.[54] Bitterly does she lament having listened to the evil counsellors, who prevented her from placing a strong escort around the person of her son; but she remembered, even in the midst of her exceeding grief, that herself and her young family had before been saved by taking refuge in the sanctuary, and she resolved to go thither without delay. Rising up, therefore, in the midst of the dark night, she caused her innocent children to be brought to her, and hastened with them from the palace of Westminster to the residence of the good abbot. She knew that if able to keep her second son in safety, it would ensure the life of the young king; but she did not go as heretofore into the ancient sanctuary, for the whole of the abbey, with its rooms of state and spacious gardens, was equally privileged, and she felt that she was welcome. Never yet has the right of sanctuary been violated, even in the worst of times; and, perhaps, a ray of hope is lighting up in the breast of that lone woman; but now the door is opening, and the venerable Archbishop Rotherham, who resides in York-place, beside the abbey, enters, with a cheerful countenance, and communicates a message, sent him by Lord Hastings in the night, and which he believed to be of good import. Bourchier, the primate, accompanies him, and they come in full credence of the duke's good faith, who has endeavoured, with much sophistry, to convince the privy council that his designs are just and honourable. The queen seems unwilling to receive their message; her just apprehensions are not to be removed by the hopes which they endeavour to excite. The good archbishop seeks to comfort her by saying that he trusts the matter is none so sore as she takes it for, and that he is in good hope, and relieved from fear by the message sent from the Lord Chamberlain Hastings. "Ah, woe worth him," replies the queen, "for he is one of them that labours to destroy me and my children." "Madam," rejoins the bishop, "be of good cheer: I do assure you, if they crown any other king than your son, whom they now have with them, we shall, on the morrow, crown his brother, whom you have with you. And here is the great seal, which, in likewise, as that noble prince, your husband, delivered unto me, so here I deliver it unto you, to the use and behoof of your son."[55] This sad scene, like others of joy and sorrow in the life of poor Elizabeth, is fading from before the view, but, while it lingers, look well at the spacious hall wherein the queen has taken refuge, with its circular hearthstone in the centre, and an opening in the roof above, through which the smoke escapes in winter. The further end is nobly screened with oak panelling, laticed at the top, and having several doors of ancient workmanship, that open on winding stairs, leading to numerous small stone chambers, with carved windows and stone mullions. There are also state apartments, of which the walls are covered with richly carved oak; an organ-room, and the abbot's grand reception-room, with its Gothic window of painted glass, but with such we have no concern. May, sweet May is come, and the hearth-stone is decked with green branches and bright flowers; the birth of the young day, but withering before its close. Emblems of the failing hopes of her who sits all desolate beside them, and with her are two beautiful and serious-looking maidens, the princesses Elizabeth and Mary, and four young children, from three to eleven years of age; Richard, Duke of York, Anne, Catherine, and Bridget. At one time the terrified children hide in the folds of their mother's robe; at another, their cheerful voices are heard, calling to each other as they run from room to room; now in the state apartment, and now in some winding passage, or asking leave to wander forth among the bees and flowers in the quiet garden of the abbey. Poor children, your grief is light, and it passes soon, like an April shower; but darker clouds are gathering, and their crushing rain will fall heavily even upon you. An aged man is seen advancing towards the abbey, and with him a deputation, apparently of no mean rank. His robes and crosier denote his dignity, for it is the Archbishop of Canterbury, who is about to pay a visit to the queen, with a message from the Lord Protector, who has placed the young king in the Tower, under the pretence of awaiting his coronation, and who also desires to gain possession of his brother. A long and stormy debate had taken place in the star-chamber, close to Elizabeth's retreat. It was argued there, that men and women might remain in sanctuary, but that young children had no need, they being guileless of all crimes that might affect the state; that consequently the Duke of Gloucester might possess himself of his nephew whenever it pleased him. The archbishop was extremely concerned when he heard all this, and he proferred his services to speak with the queen, rather than force should be used.[56] The scene has changed from the great hall, with its fresh flowers around the hearthstone, and its floor strewed with green rushes, to the great Jerusalem chamber, with its Gothic window of richly stained and painted glass, its curious tapestry, and ancient picture of King Richard. Observe the venerable man, beneath the surface of whose placid and pale features deep feelings are at work. He knows not what to say, nor how to prepare the mind of the poor queen for the stern resolve of the hunchbacked protector, with regard to the young prince. At length he began by urging that the king required the company of his brother, being much cast down for the want of a playfellow. "Troweth the protector," replies the queen, (heaven grant that he may prove a protector,) "that the king doth lack a playfellow? Can none be found to play with the king but only his brother, who hath no wish to play because of sickness? as though princes so young as they be, could not play without their peers, or children could not play without their kindred, with whom, for the most part, they agree worse than with strangers!" The archbishop knew not what to say in answer, he liked not to tell her that the protector was resolved to gain possession of the young prince, and he waited in the hope that she might be inclined to accede to his request. At length the queen, taking her son by the hand, said, in a compressed and solemn tone, "My lord, and all my lords now present, I will not be so suspicious as to mistrust your truth. Lo here is this gentleman whom, I doubt not, would be safely kept by me if I were permitted; and well do I know there be some such deadly enemies to my blood, that if they wist where any lay, they would let it out if they could. The desire of a kingdom knoweth no kindred; brothers have been brothers' bane, and may the nephews be sure of the uncle? Each of these children are safe while they be asunder; notwithstanding, I here deliver him, and his brother's life with him, into your hands, and of you I shall require them before God and man. Faithful ye be, I wot well, and power ye have, if ye list, to keep them safe; but if ye think I fear too much, yet beware ye fear not too little! Farewell, my own sweet son! God send you good keeping. Let me kiss you once ere you go, for God knoweth when we shall kiss together again." Tenderly embracing the afflicted boy, she is seen "weeping bitterly over him, and he too is weeping as fast in his turn."[57] Fearful tragedies are acting now in the dim distance of time's perspective. They flit before the mental view, fading, and seeming to appear again; yet not the same, though like in terror and in kind. The shadowy figures of Hastings, of Gray, and Rivers, are seen passing from the block, and then the innocent forms of two young children, emerging from the gloomy range of fortresses belonging to the Tower. And loud is heard the sobbing, and the pitiful screams of the poor mother, as she beats upon her breast, and calls her sweet babes by name; and, kneeling down, implores the vengeance of the Just One, on the guilty head of him who has thus cruelly deprived her of her sons. The vaulted door of a spacious room is opening, and across the furthest end seems flitting a strange succession of sad scenes--a young child's[58] funeral passes, and then a burst of anguish comes remotely to the ear, as if across wide waters, from a stern man, who yet cannot hide his sorrow; then a woman's wail, but the wail soon dies away, and a death scene and a funeral pass in faint review.[59] Then the great fight of Bosworth, where a king is slain, and another takes his crown; a bridal follows and a coronation. Thus they pass; events of other days are shadows now; terrible, indeed, at the period of their reality, but when ended, how soon forgotten! yet not forgotten by the aged woman, who is resting, as in a quiet home, within that spacious room in the Abbey of Bermondsey. It is her right to be there, for the prior and monks are bound by their charter to entertain, and that most hospitably, the representative of their great founder, Clare, Earl of Gloucester. Edward VI. was the sole heir of that family, and the queen dowager is privileged to occupy the nobly panelled halls, and state-chambers, that are expressly reserved for the descendants of the founder.[60] The waves and billows of life's deepest waters have passed over that aged woman who is sitting in a richly carved chair, at the great oriel-window, watching the summer clouds as they flit over the smiling landscape, and cast their shadows on the abbey fields. Her venerable figure, beautiful even in its decrepitude, though not with the beauty of sunny youth, yet such as the bright ray of the setting sun sheds over an autumn landscape, recalls the faint remembrance of a lovely woman who once stood, with two orphan boys beneath the oak of Whittlebury, to sue for the restitution of her broad lands, from the gallant Edward. Hark to the toll of the convent bell. It is tolling for Elizabeth Woodville, late Queen Dowager of England, and the requiem is being sung, which breathes peace to the passing spirit. The moon is up, and yet the night is dark and gloomy, by reason of the heavy clouds that are rolling past, and he who looks narrowly on the deep dark waters of the river may discern a small boat gliding on, with the coffin of the queen on board, and four attendants, but when the moon shines out you can distinguish the prior of the Charterhouse by his robes, with two others in deep mourning, yet without insignia, by which to designate them, and one female figure. Now the rowers stop, and the coffin is being carried through the little park into Windsor Castle, a few torches serving to guide the bearers, which appear and disappear among the trees, like the twinkling lights of glow-worms in the grass. Stately figures are kneeling round the coffin, where it remains for a while, ready to be borne to its last resting-place, and among the mourners one is discerned in the dress of a nun. Again the coffin is upborne, and the queen's daughters fall behind, with a train of shadowy forms, ladies, and earls, and viscounts, moving onward to St. George's chapel. Strange it seems, that neither plumes nor scutcheons are to be seen; that when the dirge is being sung, the twelve old men, whose office it is to chant the requiem for the dead, are not even clad in sable vestments: appearing rather like a dozen old men indiscriminately and hastily brought together for the purpose, and permitted to retain the garments of poverty, in which they were found, and, instead of flambeaux, they light on the funeral with old torches and torches ends.[61] Some say, that the queen, when dying, expressed an earnest wish for a speedy and private funeral. If so, her request was punctually fulfilled. Yet still it is remarkable that no more of pomp should appertain to the obsequies of her who had been Queen of England--that scutcheons and nodding plumes, and other mourning tokens, were wanting to distinguish that illustrious one's last sojourn on earth. THE END. Joseph Rickerby, Printer, Sherbourn Lane. FOOTNOTES: [1] Gloucestershire. [2] South Wales. [3] Lingard. [4] Southey's visit to Godstow nunnery.--CAMDEN. [5] Roger de Hoveden. [6] Hatcher's Account of Salisbury. [7] The Old Peerage, by Brooke. [8] Dugdale incorrectly says months, instead of years, a mistake corrected by Bowles. [9] History of Lacock Abbey. Monsieur de Saint Palage's great work on the History of Troubadours. [10] Book of Lacock. [11] Close Rolls, May 2. Rhymer's Foedore, 1207. [12] Book of Lacock. [13] A most beautiful copy was deposited, and may still be seen, in the chamber of Records at Salisbury Cathedral. [14] Clause Rolls. [15] Dugdale, from a MS. Oxon, in Bibl. Bodl. n. 11. f. 177, et 178. p. a. [16] Matt. of Paris. Clause Rolls. [17] Register of Osmund, among the MSS. of the Cathedral. Narrative, by William de Wanda, published in the first volume of Wilkins's Concilia. [18] Matt. Paris. Foedera. [19] Matt. Paris. [20] William de Wanda's Church History. [21] History of Lacock. Matt. Paris. [22] History of Lacock Abbey. [23] Matt. of Westminster. [24] Chron. of W. de Wanda. Wilkin's Concilia, vol. 1 page 559. [25] Annals and Antiquities of Lacock Abbey. [26] Book of Lacock Abbey. [27] Annals of Lacock, p. 180. [28] Madox's History of the Exchequer, p. 218. [29] Book of Lacock. [30] Book of Lacock. [31] Historian of Lacock Abbey. [32] Marian is the legendary name of the Countess of Huntingdon. [33] Rom. viii. 21. [34] Rapin. [35] M. Paris. [36] Hen. Knyghton. [37] A small silver cross of beautiful workmanship was found buried a few years since, near the fatal tree. [38] Mentioned by Walter Hennyngforde, and quoted in Grafton's Chronicle. [39] The Palace of Bishops Hatfield, then a royal residence, where the Princess Elizabeth resided in a kind of honourable custody, though still rigorously guarded. [40] Hall's Chronicle, p. 365. Parliamentary History. Vol. II. 345. [41] Afterwards the home of Lady Jane Gray. [42] History of St. Albans. [43] Whethemstede and Guthrie. [44] Parliamentary History. Vol. II. p. 345. [45] Baker's Northamptonshire. [46] Fragment Chronicle, printed by Heane, at the end of the Sprott. Chronicle. [47] The Sprott. Chronicle. [48] Lives of the Queens of England, by Alice Strickland. [49] Monstrelet. [50] Hall. Comines. [51] It is conjectured that the prince was born in the Jerusalem Chamber, which the kind abbot relinquished to the queen. [52] Fleetwood's Chronicle. [53] Narrative of Louis of Bruges, Lord Grauthuse, edited by Sir F. Madden. [54] Cont. Hist. Croyl. Sir Thomas More. Hall. [55] Sir Thomas More. [56] Hall. [57] Hall, 355. Sir Thomas Moore, 358. [58] Only son of Richard III. [59] Death and funeral of Richard's Queen. [60] Annals of the Abbey of Bermondsey. [61] Arundel MSS. 30. referred to in the Lives of the Queens of England. 
34740	----	Transcriber's Note This plain text version of the book uses Latin-1 symbols in addition to ASCII character set. [oe] is used to represent the oe ligature. Minor changes to punctuation and formatting are made without comment. Changes to the text, to correct typographical errors, are listed as follows: Page 69 (paragraph on the Eared Sallow): changed "that" to "than" (... which are usually less than two inches long,...) * * * * * A LIST OF THE VOLUMES IN THE WAYSIDE AND WOODLAND SERIES WAYSIDE AND WOODLAND BLOSSOMS A Pocket Guide to British Wild Flowers, for the Country Rambler. (First and Second Series.) With clear Descriptions of 760 Species. By EDWARD STEP, F.L.S. And Coloured Figures of 257 Species by MABEL E. STEP. WAYSIDE AND WOODLAND TREES A Pocket Guide to the British Sylva. By EDWARD STEP, F.L.S. With 175 Plates from Water-colour Drawings by MABEL E. STEP and Photographs by HENRY IRVING and the Author. WAYSIDE AND WOODLAND FERNS A Pocket Guide to the British Ferns, Horsetails and Club-Mosses. By EDWARD STEP, F.L.S. With Coloured Figures of every Species by MABEL E. STEP. And 67 Photographs by the Author. THE BUTTERFLIES OF THE BRITISH ISLES A Pocket Guide for the Country Rambler. With clear Descriptions and Life Histories of all the Species. By RICHARD SOUTH, F.E.S. With 450 Coloured Figures photographed from Nature, and numerous Black and White Drawings. THE MOTHS OF THE BRITISH ISLES (First and Second Series). A Complete Pocket Guide to all the Species included in the Groups formerly known as Macro-lepidoptera. By RICHARD SOUTH, F.E.S. With upwards of 1500 Coloured Figures photographed from Nature, and numerous Black and White Drawings. AT ALL BOOKSELLERS. _Full Prospectuses on application to the Publishers--_ FREDERICK WARNE AND CO. LONDON: 15, Bedford Street, Strand. NEW YORK: 12, East 33rd Street. WAYSIDE AND WOODLAND TREES. [Illustration: _Pl. 1._ Flowers of Horse Chestnut. _Frontispiece._] Wayside and Woodland Trees A POCKET GUIDE TO THE BRITISH SYLVA BY EDWARD STEP, F.L.S. AUTHOR OF "WAYSIDE AND WOODLAND BLOSSOMS" "THE ROMANCE OF WILD FLOWERS" "SHELL LIFE" ETC. _WITH ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-FIVE PLATES FROM WATER-COLOUR DRAWINGS BY MABEL E. STEP AND PHOTOGRAPHS BY HENRY IRVING AND THE AUTHOR._ LONDON FREDERICK WARNE & CO. AND NEW YORK (_All rights reserved_) "_Of all man's works of art, a cathedral is greatest. A vast and majestic tree is greater than that._" _Henry Ward Beecher._ PREFACE. The purpose of this volume is not the addition of one more to the numerous treatises upon sylviculture or forestry, but to afford a straightforward means for the identification of our native trees and larger shrubs for the convenience of the rural rambler and Nature-lover. The list of British arborescent plants is a somewhat meagre one, but all that could be done in a pocket volume by way of supplementing it has been done--by adding some account of those exotics that have long been naturalized in our woods, and a few of more recent introduction that have already become conspicuous ornaments in many public and private parks. In this edition forty-eight extra plates have been added, of which twenty-four are in colours. The latter are in part reproductions of water-colour studies of flowers and fruits, and partly from photographs by a new method. For the black and white plates, the photographs, it should be explained, have been taken upon a novel plan in most cases. This consists in photographing a deciduous tree in its summer glory, and returning to the same spot in winter and photographing the same individual, so that a striking comparison may be made between the summer and winter aspects of the principal species. Supplementary photographs are given, in many cases, of the bole, which exhibit the character of the bark, and should prove a valuable aid in the identification of species. Others show in larger detail the flowers or fruit, and the characteristic leaf-buds in spring. The figures in the text have all been expressly drawn for the work with a view to showing at a glance the general character of the foliage, and in most cases the flower and fruit. The work is divided into two sections. Part I. including those species that are generally considered to be indigenous to the British Islands, with briefer notices of the introduced species that are closely related to them. Part II. being devoted to those of foreign origin, some of them introduced so long ago that they are commonly regarded as native by those who are not botanists. INTRODUCTORY. There are two points of view from which to regard trees--the mercantile and the æsthetic. The former is well exemplified in Dumbiedyke's advice to Jock: "Jock, when ye hae naething else to do, ye may be aye sticking in a tree; it will be growing, Jock, when ye're sleeping." The canny Scot was thinking of the "unearned increment" another generation might gather in, due to the almost unceasing activity of the vegetable cells in the manufacture of timber. The other view was expressed by "the Autocrat of the Breakfast-table" in a letter to a friend: "Whenever we plant a tree we are doing what we can to make our planet a more wholesome and happier dwelling-place for those who come after us, if not for ourselves." But, after all, it is the trees that have been planted by Nature that give the greatest pleasure apart from commercial considerations--the lonely Pine, that grows in rugged grandeur on the edge of the escarpment where its seed was planted in the crevice by the wind; the Oak that grows outside the forest, where a squirrel or a jay dropped the acorn, and where the young tree had room all its life to throw out its arms as it would; the little cluster of Birches that springs from the ferns and moss of the hillside. All trees so grown develop an individuality that is not apparent in their fellows of the timber forest; and however we may delight in the peace and quiet of the forest, with its softened light and cool fragrant air, we can there only regard the trees in a mass. We might, indeed, reverse the old saying, and declare that we cannot see the trees on account of the wood. Nature and the timber-producer have different aims and pursue different methods in the making of forests, though the latter is not above taking a hint from the former occasionally. Nature mixes her seeds and sows them broadcast over the land she intends to turn into forest, that the more vigorous kinds may act as nurses, sheltering and protecting the less robust. Then comes the struggle for existence, with its final ending in the survival of the fittest. In the mean time the mixed forest has given shelter to an enormous population of smaller fry--plants, mammals, birds, and insects--and has been a delightful recreation ground for man. The timber-producer aims at so controlling the struggle for existence that the survival of the fit is maintained from start to finish. He plants his young trees in regular order, putting in nurses at intervals and along the borders, intending to cut them down when his purpose has been served. The timber trees are allowed no elbow-room, the putting forth of lateral branches is discouraged, but steady upward growth and the production of "canopy" is abetted. His aim is to get these timber-sticks as near alike as possible, free from individuality, and with the minimum of difference in girth at top and bottom of each pole. This means a thicker and longer balk of clean timber when the tree is felled and squared. The continuous canopy induces growth in the upward direction only, and discourages the weeds and undergrowth that add to the charm of the forest, but which unprofitably use up the wood-producing elements in the soil. This plan contrasts strongly with the views on planting formerly prevalent in this country, John Evelyn, for example, making a special point of giving the Oak room to stretch out its arms, "free from all incumbrances." But, then, unlike the timber-producers, Evelyn had an eye for landscape beauty, and giving an opportunity for the display of such beauty. He says: "And if thus his Majesty's forests and chases were stored, viz. with this spreading tree at handsome intervals, by which grazing might be improved for the feeding of deer and cattle under them (for such was the old Saltus), being only visited with the gleams of the sun, and adorned with the distant landscapes appearing through the glades and frequent valleys, nothing could be more ravishing." The greater the success of the forester, the more profound is the solemn stillness of the forest--and the more monotonous. In place of the natural forest, with its varied and teeming life, we have what Wordsworth called a timber factory. In the natural forest, with its mixture of many kinds of trees, the undergrowth of shrubs, and carpet of grass and weeds, the stronger trees spread out their arms in all directions, and fritter away (as the scientific forester would say) their wood-producing powers in making much firewood and little valuable timber. But the result is very beautiful, and the nature-lover can wander among it without tiring, and can study without exhausting its treasures. Emerson says: "In the woods is perpetual youth. Within these plantations of God a decorum and sanctity reign, a perennial festival is dressed, and the guest sees not how he should tire of them in a thousand years." To the scientific forester this is all waste land, and he pleads for the "higher culture" being applied to it. With every desire that the natural resources of our country should be properly developed, we do hope that he will not be entirely successful in his efforts, and that a few of the woods and wastes of Nature's own planting may be left for the recreation of the simple folk who have not yet taken to appraising the value of everything by the price it will fetch in the market. The trees described in this volume are the really wild growths that have lived a natural life; and though many of the photographs are from planted trees, they are such as have been allowed to grow as they would, and show the characteristic branching of the species. A few words on the life of a tree may be welcomed here by those readers who have not made a study of botany. Although the nurseryman makes use of suckers and cuttings for the quicker multiplication of certain species, every tree in its natural habitat produces seeds and is reproduced by them. The flowering of our forest trees is a phenomenon that does not as a rule attract attention, but their fruiting or seed-bearing becomes patent to all who visit the woods in autumn. A tree has lived many years before it is capable of producing seed. The seed-bearing age is different in each species; thus the Oak begins to bear when it is between sixty and seventy years old, the Ash between forty and fifty, the Birch and Sweet Chestnut at twenty-five years. Some produce seed every year after that period is reached, others every second, third, or fifth year; others, again, bear fitfully except at intervals of from six to nine years, when they produce an enormous crop. Most tree-seeds germinate in the spring following their maturity, but they are not all distributed when ripe. The Birch, the Elm, and the Aspen, for examples, retain their seeds until spring, and these germinate soon after they have been dispersed. The seeds contain sufficient nutriment to feed the seedling whilst it is developing it roots and first real leaves. We can, of course, go further back in starting our observations of the life progress of the monarch of the forest. We can dissect the insignificant greenish flower of the Oak when the future seed (acorn) is but a single cell, a tiny bag filled with protoplasm. From that early stage to the period when the tree is first ripe for conversion into timber we span a century and a half, equal to two good human lives, and the Oak is but at the point where a man attains his majority. The Oak is built up after the fashion by which man attains to his full stature. It is a process of multiplication of weak, minute cells, which become specialized for distinct offices in the economy of the vegetable community we call a tree. Some go to renew and enlarge the roots, others to the perfecting of that system of vessels through which the crude fluids from the roots are carried up to the topmost leaf, whence, after undergoing chemical transformation in the leaf laboratory, it is circulated to all parts of the organism to make possible the production of more cells. Each of these has a special task, and it becomes invested with cork or wood to enable it to become part of the bark or the timber; or it remains soft and develops the green colouring matter, which enables it, when exposed to sunlight, to manufacture starch from carbon and water. This is very similar to what takes place in the human organism, where the nutriment taken in is used up in the production of new cells, which are differentiated into muscle-cells, bone-cells, epidermal-cells, and so forth, building up or renewing muscles or nerves, bones or arteries; but the mechanism of distribution is different, the heart-pump doing the work of capillary attraction and gravitation. The ancients believed in the Dryads, spirits that were imprisoned in trees, and whose life was coterminous with that of the tree; and it will be seen that they had stronger physical justification for their belief than they knew. Shakespeare relates how Sycorax, the witch-mother of Caliban, imprisoned Ariel in a tree; and Huxley finely tells us that "The plant is an animal confined in a wooden case; and Nature, like Sycorax, holds thousands of 'delicate Ariels' imprisoned in every oak. She is jealous of letting us know this; and among the higher and more conspicuous forms of plants reveals it only by such obscure manifestations as the shrinking of the Sensitive Plant, the sudden clasp of the Dionæa, or, still more slightly, by the phenomena of the cyclosis." The tree, as we have indicated, gets its food from the air and the soil. The rootlets have the power of dissolving the mineral salts in the soil in which they ramify; some authorities believing that they are materially helped in this respect--so far as organic matter is concerned--by a fungus that invests them with a mantle of delicate threads. However that may be, the fluid that is taken up by the roots is not merely water, but water plus dissolved mineral matter and nitrogen. At the same time as the roots are thus absorbing liquid nutriment, the leaves, pierced with thousands of little _stomata_, or mouths, take in atmospheric air, which is compounded chiefly of the gases oxygen and carbon. The leaf-cells containing the green colouring matter (_chlorophyll_) seize hold of the carbon and release the oxygen. The carbon is then combined with the fluid from the roots by the vital chemistry of the leaves, and is circulated all over the system for the sustenance of all the organs and tissues. The flowering of the trees varies so greatly that it can only be dealt with satisfactorily as each species is described. It may be stated, however, that all the true forest trees are wind-fertilized, and therefore have inconspicuous greenish blossoms. By true forest trees we mean those that alone or slightly mixed are capable of forming high forest. The smaller trees, such as Crab, Rowan, Cherry, Blackthorn, Hawthorn, Buckthorn, etc., belong more to the open woodland, to the common and the hedgerow. These, from their habitat, can be seen singly, and therefore can make use of the conspicuous flowers that are fertilized by insects. WAYSIDE AND WOODLAND TREES. PART I. NATIVE TREES AND SHRUBS. The Oak (_Quercus robur_). When good John Evelyn wrote his "Sylva, or a Discourse of Forest Trees," he was greatly concerned lest our "wooden walls" should diminish in strength for want of a succession of stout Oaks in our woodlands, and therefore he put the Oak in the forefront of his discourse. To-day steel and teak have largely supplanted oak in the building of our navy, and our walls of defence are no longer of wood. Yet in spite of these changes, and the consequent reduction of the Oak's importance, we must still look upon it as the typical British tree, and, regardless of its place in botanical classifications, we shall follow the lead of our master and place it first on our list. There is no necessity for entering upon a minute description of the botanical characters of so well known a tree. The sturdy, massive trunk, firm as a rock; the broad, rounded outline of its head, caused by the downward sweeping extremities of the wide-spreading lower limbs; the wavy outline of the lobed leaves, and the equally distinct egg-and-cup-shaped fruit--these are characters that cannot be confused with those of any other tree, and are the most familiar objects in the landscape in most parts of our islands. To my mind, no wood is so awe-inspiring as one filled with old oaks, all so much alike, yet each with a distinct individuality. We regard with reverence a human centenarian, who may have nothing beyond his great age to commend him to us; but we think of the long period of history of which he has been a spectator, possibly an active maker of history. The huge Oak has probably lived through ten or twenty such periods. Compared with the Oak, man is but of mushroom growth. It does not produce an acorn until sixty or seventy years old, and even then it is not mature. Not till a century and a half have passed over its head is its timber fit for use, and as a rule it is not felled under the age of two hundred years. Many trees are left to a much greater age, or we should not have still with us so many venerable specimens, and where they have not been left until partially decayed, the timber is found to be still very valuable when finally cut down. Of one of these patriarchs of the forest, cut down in the year 1810, we have figures of quantity and value from a contemporary record. It was known as the Gelenos Oak, and stood about four miles from Newport, Monmouthshire. When felled, it yielded 2426 cubic feet of sound timber, and six tons of bark. It was bought just as it stood for £405, and the purchaser had to pay £82 for labour for stripping, felling, and converting into timber. Five men were employed for twenty days in stripping the bark and felling the tree, and after that a pair of sawyers, working six days a week, were five months cutting it up. But the bark realized £200, and the timber about £400. The timber and bark from this one tree were about equal to the average produce of three acres of oak coppice after fifteen years growth. [Illustration: _Pl. 2._ Oak--summer.] [Illustration: _Pl. 3._ Oak--winter.] Full-grown oaks vary in height from sixty to one hundred and thirty feet, the difference depending upon situation; the tallest, of course, being those that have been drawn up in forests, at the expense of their branches. Trees growing freely in the open are of less height, and are made to appear comparative dwarfs by the huge proportions of the bole. In the forest this may be no more than ten feet in girth, but in isolated specimens may be as much as fifty-four feet (Cowthorpe Oak), with a much broader base. The thick rough bark is deeply furrowed in a large network pattern, which affords temporary hiding-places for insects. The branches are much given to turn and zig-zag from side to side--a character that makes them very useful in boat-building, as "knees" of various angles may be cut from them without having recourse to bending. The best knees are to be obtained from Oaks grown in the hedgerow. [Illustration: Oak. A, female flower; B, male flowers.] The Oak flowers in April or May, and the blossoms are of two distinct forms--male and female. The males are in little clusters, which are borne at intervals along a hanging stalk, two or three inches in length. They are green, and therefore inconspicuous; but examined separately, they will be found to have a definite calyx, whose margin is cut into an uncertain number (4-7) of lobes. There are no petals, but attached to the sides of the calyx there are ten stamens. The female flowers are fewer, and will be found on short erect stalks above the male catkins. Each female flower consists of a calyx, invested by a number of overlapping scales, and enclosing an ovary with three styles. The ovary is divided into three cells, each containing two seed-eggs. An acorn should therefore contain six kernels, but, as a rule, only one of the seed-eggs develops, though occasionally an acorn contains two kernels. The overlapping scales at the base of the female flower become the rough cup that holds the acorn. The Oak is subject to a considerable amount of variation, probably due to differences of situation, soil, etc., and some authors have sought to elevate certain of the varieties into species by giving them distinctive names. It does not appear to be certain, however, that these forms are at all constant, and they are connected by intermediate forms that make the identification of many individuals a matter of difficulty. In one of these forms (_sessiliflora_) the stalk of the acorns connecting them with the branch is very short, but the leaves have a distinct footstalk, from half an inch to an inch long. This form is more plentiful in the north and west, and is conspicuous in the Forest of Dean. A second form, known as _pedunculata_, has the leaf-stalk short or absent, the base of the leaf broad and somewhat heart-shaped, and the stalk upon which the acorns are borne very long. A third form (_intermedia_), commonly known as Durmast, has short leaf-stalks, short stalks to the acorns, and the under side of the leaf downy. _Pedunculata_ is found more on the lower hills and the sides of valleys, whilst _sessiliflora_ prefers higher ground, with a southern or western aspect. [Illustration: _Pl. 4._ Bole of Oak.] [Illustration: _Pl. 5._ Flowers of Oak.] The Oak is most abundant on clay soils, but is at its best when growing in deep sandy loam, where there is also plenty of humus. Its roots in such soil strike down to a depth of five feet, and therefore it thrives in association with Beech, whose roots are much nearer the surface, and whose fallen leaves supply it with humus. The Oak is more persistently attacked by insects than any other tree. One authority (Leunis) has tabulated the species that get their living mainly or entirely from their attacks on the foliage, timber, or bark, and they number about five hundred. With some species this warfare is waged on so extensive a scale, that in some years by early summer the Oaks are almost divested of their foliage, and a new crop of leaves becomes a necessity. But the reserve forces of the Oak are quite equal to this drain, and the tree does not appear to suffer, though a much less thorough attack would be serious to a Conifer. One of the worst of these Oak-spoilers--though it by no means restricts its energies to attacks on this tree--is the Mottled Umber Moth (_Hibernia defoliaria_), whose pretty caterpillars may be seen hanging by silken threads from the leafless twigs. A striking Oak insect is the Stag Beetle (_Lucanus cervus_), which, in warm evenings in the south of England, may be seen flying round the Oaks, the size and antler-like jaws of the male arousing feelings of respect in the minds of those who are not acquainted with its habits. The formidable looking "horns" are usually harmless. The beetle spends its larval stage in the wood of unhealthy Oaks, and, when mature, seeks his hornless mate among its foliage. Perhaps the most interesting of the Oak's pensioners to the woodland rambler will be the varied forms of gall on different parts of the tree. There is the so-called Oak-apple, of uneven surface and spongy to the touch, which certain people still wear on May 29th, in honour of Charles II.; the well-rounded hard Bullet-gall of _Cynips kollari_, the Artichoke-gall of _Cynips gemmæ_, the Spangle-galls of _Neuroterus lenticularis_, so plentiful on the back of the leaf, and the Root-gall of _Biorhiza aptera_. All these galls are abnormal growths, due to the irritation set up by the Gall-wasps named, when they pierced the young tissues in order to lay their eggs in them. Where any of these galls are perforated it may be known that the Gall-wasp whose grub fed within has flown, but where there is no such perforation the grub is still within, feeding upon the flesh of the gall, or in the chrysalis stage, awaiting translation to the winged condition. Several Oaks of foreign origin are also grown in our parks and open spaces; among them the Holm Oak (_Quercus ilex_) whose evergreen leathery leaves have toothed or plain edges, and occasionally the lower ones develop marginal spines, whence its name of Holm or Holly Oak. It is notable for retaining its lower branches, so that its appearance, as Loudon remarks, "even when fully grown, is that of an immense bush, rather than that of a timber tree." It is a native of Southern Europe and North Africa, and appears to have been introduced about the middle of the sixteenth century. It usually attains a height of from twenty to thirty feet, but occasionally specimens are seen up to sixty feet. It has a much thinner, more even bark than that of our native Oak, and of a black colour. The long brown acorns do not ripen until the second year. [Illustration: _Pl. 6._ Holm Oak.] [Illustration: _Pl. 7._ Acorns of Turkey Oak.] The Turkey Oak (_Quercus cerris_) is a much larger tree, attaining to similar heights to our British Oak, but easily distinguishable by its more pyramidal outline, and its attenuated leaves. The lance-shaped lobes of these are unequal, sharp, and angular; and the footless acorn-cups are covered with bristly or mossy-looking scales. The acorns, which are small and exceedingly bitter, rarely ripen till their second autumn. The whole tree--trunk, branches, and twigs--is of straighter growth than _Quercus robur_. It is a native of Southern Europe and the Levant, and was introduced about one hundred and seventy years ago. The spring rambler in the woods may come upon a party of woodmen stripping young Oaks of their bark, or felling them, whilst cylinders of separated bark rest across poles in the process of drying. This is the industry of barking for the purpose of the tanner. When the Oaks in a coppice are about sixteen years old they are most suitable for this purpose, the bark then containing a larger percentage of _tannin_ than at any other period. The operation is best performed in May, when the sap is in flow, and should be completed between the first swelling of the leaf-buds and the unrolling of the leaves. If the weather is cold and damp the bark will peel the better, provided there is an absence of north or east winds. Before the tree is cut down the bole is stripped, the first ring being taken from just above the roots to a height of two and a half feet above. When the tree is felled, it is cut into lengths and the bark stripped from them; then all branches that are an inch or more in diameter are peeled. The bark is piled to dry for a couple of weeks, and is then broken into small pieces and sent away in sacks. It is not alone in the use of the bark that the tannic acid of the Oak is made evident; it is to the presence of this that the austerity of the acorn is due, and also the ink-producing properties of certain Oak-galls. Everything connected with the tree gets a roughness of flavour from this same principle. Even that remarkable fungus, the Vegetable Beef-steak, that may be found on old Oaks in autumn, is impregnated with it. Prior regards the name Oak (Anglo-Saxon _ac_) as originally belonging to the fruit, and only later transferred to the tree that produces it. The more obvious explanation (though we know that in etymological and other matters the obvious is not always the true interpretation) is, that acorn (ac-corn) signified the corn or fruit of the ac. Selby tells us that "During the Anglo-Saxon rule, and even for some time after the Conquest, Oak-forests were chiefly valued for the fattening of swine. Laws relating to pannage, or the fattening of hogs in the forest, were enacted during the Heptarchy; and by Ina's statutes, any person wantonly injuring or destroying an Oak-tree was mulcted in a fine varying according to size, or the quantity of mast it produced." * * * * * [Illustration: _Pl. 8._ Fruit of Beech.] [Illustration: _Pl. 9._ Beech--summer.] [Illustration: _Pl. 10._ Acorns of Pedunculate Oak.] The Beech (_Fagus sylvatica_). We speak of the Oak as the "Monarch of the Woods," and to the Beech the title "Mother of Forests" has been given. To the timber-merchant the Beech has little importance, but the grower of timber freely acknowledges his heavy indebtedness to this nursing mother, for, in the words of Professor Gayer, the Bavarian forestry expert, "without Beech there can no more be properly tended forests of broad-leaved genera, as along with it would have to be given up many other valuable timber-trees, whose production is only possible with the aid of Beech." Quite apart from utilitarian considerations, we should be very sorry to lose the Beech, with its towering, massive shaft clad in smooth grey bark, its spreading roots above the soil, and the dense shade of its fine foliage. Fortunately for the lover of natural beauty, it is this luxuriant growth of leaves and the shade it gives that are the redeeming virtues of the Beech in the eye of the forester. Its drip destroys most of the soil-exhausting weeds, its shade protects the soil from over-evaporation, and the heavy crop of leaves enriches it by their decomposition. On these points the forestry experts of to-day join hands with John Evelyn, who, nearly 250 years ago, thus referred to it--"The shade unpropitious to corn and grass, but sweet, and of all the rest, most refreshing to the weary shepherd--_lentus in umbra_, echoing Amaryllis with his oaten pipe." And, again, after giving us a long catalogue of the varied uses to which Beechwood may be put, he adds--"Yet for all this, you would not wonder to hear me deplore the so frequent use of this wood, if you did consider that the industry of France furnishes that country for all domestic utensils with excellent Walnut, a material infinitely preferable to the best Beech, which is indeed good only for shade and for the fire." In the days of open hearths and chimney corners the Beech was extensively used for fuel, and it is still reputed to make good charcoal; but to-day the chairmaker and the turner are the chief users of its wood. [Illustration: _Pl. 11._ Bole of Beech.] The Beech well grown attains a height of about 100 feet, and a girth of 20 feet. There was, until recently, a Beech in Norbury Park, Surrey, 160 feet in height. Its branches horizontally spreading gave it a head of enormous proportions. Hooker gives the _diameter_ of the Knowle Beech as 352 feet, which means a circumference of about as many yards. It will grow in most upland places where the Oak thrives, though it does not need so deep a soil, and has a preference for land containing lime. Fresh mineral soils, rich in humus, are the best for it. In poor soils its growth is slow and its life is longer. It begins to bear mostly at about eighteen years of age, and thereafter gives good crops at intervals of three or five years. In spring, just before the buds expand, the twigs of the Beech have a very distinct appearance. They are long and slender, placed alternately along the twig, and the brown envelopes retain their shape long after they have been cast off. It is interesting to note how well these are mimicked by a glossy spindle-shaped snail (_Clausilia laminata_) that has a decided fondness for the Beech. As the snails crawl up the bole or over the moss at its base, it is not easy at a glance to say which are snails and which bud-envelopes. This is one of the protective resemblances adopted by many animals to give them a chance of eluding their natural enemies--in this case the thrush and other birds. In the bud the leaf is folded fan-wise, and the folds run parallel with the nerves. They expand into an oval, smooth-faced leaf, with slightly scooped edges, and a most delicate fringe of short gossamer, which falls off later. These leaves Evelyn recommended as a stuffing for beds, declaring that if "gathered about the fall, and somewhat before they are much frost-bitten, [they] afford the best and easiest mattresses in the world to lay under our quilts instead of straw.... In Switzerland I have sometimes lain on them to my great refreshment." That last clause seems to imply that the authorities at home would not allow the introduction of new-fangled bed-stuffings, but remained true to straw. These leaves are rich in potash, and as they readily decay, they produce an admirable humus. In sheltered places the leaves, turned to a light ruddy-brown colour, are retained on the lower branches until cast off by the expansion of the new buds. In early summer, whilst the leaves are still pellucid, the shade of a big Beech is particularly inviting. Later the leaves become opaque, and their glossy surfaces throw back the heat rays. Then the play of light upon the great mass of foliage is very fine; but when autumn has turned their deep green to orange and warm ruddy brown, and they catch the red rays of the westering sun, the tree appears to be turned into a blazing fire. [Illustration: _Pl. 12._ Beech--winter.] [Illustration: Leaves, flowers, and fruit of Beech. A, female; B, male flowers.] The Beech flowers in April or May. The blossoms are rather more conspicuous than is the case with the Oak, for the male flowers are gathered together in a hanging purplish-brown rounded tassel with yellow anthers. The female flowers, to the number of two, three, or four, are clustered in a "cupule" of overlapping scales, like those of the Oak. But in the Beech the "cupule" becomes a bristly closed box, which afterwards opens by one end splitting into four triangular silk-hair-lined valves, which turn back and reveal the three-sided, sharp-edged "mast." This mast was formerly a very valuable product of the Beech-woods, when herds of swine were turned in them to feed upon the fallen Beech-nuts. Agricultural methods have changed; but though our hogs are now confined in styes, and fed on a diet that more rapidly fattens, Beech-mast is still a good food eagerly taken by such woodland denizens as badgers, deer, squirrels, and dormice. The vitality of the Beech is so high that quite frequently the bole divides at its upper part into several trunks, which rise straight up, and each attains the dimensions of a complete tree. Often such a tree stands on a sandy bank, and seems in imminent danger of toppling over, but its uprightness secures it against strain, and the roots that it sent down the steep side of the bank have thickened into strong props. Many such trees may be found along the hollow lanes in the Greensand district of Surrey, and we have more than once sheltered from a storm under their roots. We have already mentioned the value of the Beech as a nurse for other trees, and its frequent use for that purpose, but it should also be stated that it is a powerful competitor with other trees, and if these are left to fight their own battles unaided, the Beech will be the conqueror. Evelyn saw this more than two centuries ago, and pointed out that where mixed woods of Oak and Beech were left to themselves, they ultimately became pure Beech woods. The Beech appears to gain this advantage through rooting in the surface soil, and, exhausting it of food elements, suffers none to penetrate to the lower strata, where the Oak has its roots. A number of insects feed upon the Beech, but they are mostly more beautiful or more singular than destructive. The Copper Beech, which is so effectively used for ornament in parks, is merely a sub-variety of the Common Beech, and all the examples in cultivation are believed to be "sports" from the purple variety, which itself was a natural sport discovered in a German wood little more than a hundred years ago. The modern word Beech is derived from the Anglo-Saxon _boc_, _bece_, _beoce_, which had very similar equivalents in all branches of the German and Scandinavian family, and from the fact that the literature of these people was inscribed on tablets of Beech, our word _book_ has the same origin. * * * * * [Illustration: _Pl. 13._ Birch--summer.] [Illustration: _Pl. 14._ Bole of Birch.] [Illustration: _Pl. 15._ Catkins of Birch.] The Birch (_Betula alba_). "The Lady of the Woods," as Coleridge christened the Birch, is at once the most graceful, the hardiest, and the most ubiquitous of our forest trees. It grows throughout the length and breadth of our islands, and seems happy alike on a London common, in a suburban garden, or far up in the Scottish highlands (2500 feet). It penetrates farther north than any other tree, and its presence is a great boon to the natives of Lapland. It will grow where it is subjected to great heat, as well as where it must endure extreme cold, with its slender roots exploring the beds of peat, the rich humus of the old wood, or the raw soil of the mountain-side, where it has to cling to rocks and a few mosses. Given plenty of light, and it seems to care for little else. Though a mere shrub in the far north, with us the Birch has a trunk sometimes as tall as eighty, but more frequently fifty feet, and a girth of from two to three feet. In its first decade it increases in height at the rate of a foot and a half or two feet in a year; but, of course, there is little breadth to be built up at the same time. It reaches maturity in half a century, and before the other half is reached the Birch will have passed away. The bark of the Birch is more enduring than its timber, which may be partly due to its habit of casting off the outer layer in shreds, like fine tissue-paper, from time to time. The greater part of the bark is silvery white, which adds to the apparent slenderness of the tree, and makes it conspicuous from a long distance; for the attenuated and drooping branches, dressed in small and loosely hung leaves, sway so constantly that the trunk is scarcely hidden. The glossy, leathery leaves vary in shape from a triangular form to a pointed oval, their edges doubly toothed, and their footstalks long and slender. [Illustration: Birch leaves and catkins.] About April the hanging catkins of the Birch, which were in evidence in the previous autumn, have matured and become dark crimson; the scales separate and expose the two stamens of each flower, which has a single sepal. The female flowers are in a short, more erect spike, which consists of overlapping scales (_bracts_), each containing two or three flowers. The flowers have neither petals nor sepals, each consisting merely of an ovary with two slender styles. After fertilization the female spike has developed into a little oblong cone. The minute nuts have a pair of delicate wings to each, and as they are set free from the cones they flutter on the breeze like a swarm of small flies. The moss that usually covers the ground beneath the Birch will be found in October to be thickly speckled with these fruits, which are something more than seeds, as they are commonly termed; they are really analogous to the acorn--a nut within a thin shell. The tree sometimes begins to produce seed when only fifteen years old; but, as a rule, it is ten years older before it bears, and thereafter it has a crop every year. It is strange how so striking and graceful a tree could have been so persistently ignored by the old school of landscape painters, when one remembers with what good effect modern artists have utilized it. In this connection we need not apologize for quoting at length a description of the tree from the artist's point of view, because it also gives attention to those points one would like the rambler to notice. Mr. P. G. Hamerton in his _Sylvan Year_, says-- "The stem ... of the Silver Birch is one of the masterpieces of Nature. Everything has been done to heighten its unrivalled brilliance. The horizontal peeling of the bark, making dark rings at irregular distances, the brown spots, the dark colour of the small twigs, the rough texture near the ground, and the exquisite silky smoothness of the tight white bands above, offer exactly that variety of contrast which makes us feel a rare quality like that smooth whiteness as strongly as we are capable of feeling it. And amongst the common effects in all northern countries, one of the most brilliant is the opposition of birch trunks in sunshine against the deep blue or purple of a mountain distance in shadow. At all seasons of the year the beauty of the birch is attractive and peculiarly its own. The young beech may remind you of it occasionally under strong effects of light, and is also very graceful, but we have no tree that rivals the birch in its own qualities of colour and form, still less in that air and bearing which are so much more difficult to describe. In winter you see the full delicacy of the sprays that the lightest foliage hides, and in early spring this tree clothes itself, next after the willow, with tiny triangular leaves, inexpressibly light in the mass, so that from a distance they have the effect of a green mist rather than anything more material. When the tree is isolated sufficiently to come against the sky, you may see one of the prettiest sights in Nature--the pure deep azure of heaven, with the silvery white and fresh green of the birch in opposition. And yet it is not a crude green, for there is a good deal of warm red in it, which gives one of those precious tertiaries that all true colourists value." Linnæus named our common Birch _Betula alba_; but more than a century ago Ehrhart pointed out that there were two well-defined forms of the tree, which he proposed to separate as distinct species under the names of _B. verrucosa_ and _B. pubescens_. Hooker regards the first of these as the typical form, for which he properly retains the Linnæan name. It is distinguished by having the base of the bole covered with coarse, rough, and blackish bark, the _smooth_ leaves looking as though their base had been cut off, and the twigs warty. The _B. pubescens_ of Ehrhart appears to be a variety of Fries' _B. glutinosa_, which Hooker treats as a sub-species of _B. alba_. The bark at its base is smooth and white, its _downy_ leaves have a triangular base, and its twigs are free from warts. It sometimes assumes a bush-like form. The Dwarf Birch (_Betula nana_) is a distinct species, which occurs locally in the mountainous parts of Northumberland and Scotland. It is not a tree, but a bush, only two or three feet in height. Its firm-textured, round leaves have scalloped margins and short footstalks. [Illustration: _Pl. 16._ Birch--winter.] The foliage of the Birch in autumn turns to a yellow hue. At this period--and, indeed, for a month earlier--there may be seen beneath the Birch-trees one of the most striking of our toadstools, the Fly Agaric (_Amanita muscarius_), so-called from its use as the lethal ingredient in the making of fly-papers. From a bulbous base a creamy yellow stem arises, decked about half its height with an ample hanging frill. The upper side of the spreading "cap" is painted with crimson, over which are scattered flecks of white or cream kid--the remains of an outer envelope that was ruptured by the expansion of the cap, and of which the frill represents the lower portion. This species is really poisonous, and the Kamschatkans are said to make their _vodka_ superlatively intoxicating by the addition of this fungus to it. On the trunk of the Birch may sometimes be found a large fungus named _Polyporus betulinus_, whose root-like portion penetrates the bark and sucks up the sap. Birch-bark is used for tanning certain kinds of leather, and the peculiar odour of Russian leather is said to be due to the use of Birch in its preparation. The Birch agrees with the Beech in two respects--it is of little value for timber, but as a nurse to young timber-trees it is of considerable importance. Its name is from the Anglo-Saxon _beorc_, _birce_, and signifies the Bark-tree. * * * * * [Illustration: _Pl. 17._ Alder--summer.] The Alder (_Alnus glutinosa_). Although the Alder is abundant by riversides and in all low-lying moist lands as far north as Caithness, it is not so generally well known at sight as the Oak, the Beech, and the Birch. It is a small tree ordinarily only thirty to forty feet in height, with a girth from three to six feet, though occasionally it aspires to seventy feet in height. This is when it is growing in moist loam, upon which rain or floods have washed down good layers of humus from woods at a higher elevation. If, with its roots thus well cared for, its head is in a humid atmosphere, the Alder is in happy case. If it has had the misfortune to get into a porous soil, though this may be moist enough to please an Ash, the Alder becomes merely a big bush. [Illustration: Alder.] The bark of the Alder is rough and black, and the wood soft. Whilst the tree is alive its wood is white, but when cut and exposed to the air it becomes red; finally, on drying, it changes to a pinkish tint. As timber it has no great reputation, except for piles or other submerged purposes, when it is said to be exceedingly durable. It has also enjoyed a great reputation for making the best charcoal for the gunpowder mills, and it is largely used by the turner, the wood-carver, and the cabinet-maker. The leaves, which have short stalks, and are from two to four inches long, are roundish with a wedge-shaped base. They have a waved and toothed margin, and remain green long after the leaves of other trees have fallen. In their young condition these leaves are covered with hairs, and are sticky to the touch, and it is to this fact that the name _glutinosa_ has reference. [Illustration: _Pl. 18._ Catkins of Alder.] [Illustration: _Pl. 19._ Bole of Alder.] The flowering of the Alder is very similar to that of the Birch, but the male catkins have red scales, and each flower four stamens. The female spikes have the fleshy scales covered by red-brown bracts of a woody consistence, which persist after the fruit has dropped out of them. Seed is not produced until the Alder is twenty years old, and the crop is repeated almost every year after. The cones are ripe about October or November, when they scatter their fruit, but the empty ones persist in hanging to the branches throughout the winter in numbers sufficient to give the leafless tree a brown appearance from a little distance. The immature male catkins are in evidence at the same time. There is a variety (_incisa_) of the Alder in which the leaves are so deeply toothed that they bear a close resemblance to those of the Hawthorn. In some localities the tree is called the Howler and Aller, the latter word apparently the original name, for its Anglo-Saxon forms were _ælr_, _alr_, and _aler_. [Illustration: _Pl. 20._ Alder--winter.] The Hornbeam (_Carpinus betulus_). The Hornbeam is frequently passed by as a Beech, to which it has a very close superficial likeness, but a comparison of leaves, flowers, or bole would at once make the differences obvious. It is usually found in similar situations to the Beech, though it does not ascend so far up the hills as that species. On dry, poor soils it does not attain its full proportions and may only be classed as a small tree; but when growing on low ground, in rich loam or good clay, it reaches a height of seventy feet, with a girth of ten feet. If two measurements of the bole's diameter be taken at right angles to each other, they will be found to differ greatly. A section of the trunk will not show a circular outline, but rather an ellipse, the bole appearing to have been flattened on two sides. It is coated with a smooth grey bark, usually spotted with white. The leaves are less symmetrical than those of Beech, and are broader towards the base. They are of rougher texture, hairy on the underside, and their edges are doubly toothed. In autumn they turn yellow, then to ruddy gold, but a few days later they have settled into the rusty hue they retain throughout the winter, in those cases where they remain on the tree until spring. The wood is exceedingly tough, and not to be worked up with ease, but it is considered to make admirable fuel. Evelyn says, "It burns like a candle." There are those who say that the name Hornbeam has reference to the tough or hornlike character of its beams; others declare that in the days when bullocks were yoked to the plough the yoke was made of this wood, as being fitted by its toughness to stand the strain, and as it was attached to the horns, it became the horn-beam. A third theory is that the name was derived from _Ornus_, the Manna-ash, with which early botanists confused it, but with all respect to the authority of Dr. Prior, who favours it, we prefer to stand on the first suggestion, with old John Gerarde, who says ("Herball," 1633): "In time it waxeth so hard that the toughnesse and hardnesse of it may be rather compared to horn than unto wood, and therefore it was called Hornbeam or hardbeam." The carpenter is not pleased who has hornbeam to work up, for his tools lose their edge far too quickly for his labour to be profitable. Evelyn tells us that it was called by some the Horse-beech, from the resemblance of the leaves. [Illustration: _Pl. 21._ Hornbeam--summer.] [Illustration: Hornbeam.] The two kinds of catkins are similar and cylindrical, but whilst the male is pendulous from the beginning, the female is erect until after the formation of the fruit, when it gradually assumes the hanging position. The bracts of the male are oval, with sharp tips, each containing an uncertain (3-12) number of stamens. In the female the bracts fall early, but their place is taken by three-lobed bracteoles, which enlarge after flowering, and become an inch or an inch and a half long. A single flower occupies each bracteole, consisting of a two-celled ovary and two styles. Only one cell develops, so that the hard green fruit contains but one seed. The appearance of these fruits in autumn as they hang in a spray from the underside of the branches is quite distinct from those of any other of our native trees. The Hornbeam's title to be considered indigenous has had some doubts thrown upon it because there are some records of specimens having been introduced during the fifteenth century, but that is not sufficient ground upon which to deny nationality. We have known persons to bring home from distant parts as treasures wild plants and ferns that were growing within a mile of their own homes. It appears to be a real native of the southern and midland counties of England, and of Wales. A line drawn across the map from North Wales to Norfolk roughly marks the limit; north of that line the Hornbeam appears to have been planted, as also in Ireland. [Illustration: _Pl. 22._ Hornbeam--winter.] [Illustration: _Pl. 23._ Bole of Hornbeam.] [Illustration: _Pl. 24._ Fruits of Hornbeam.] The Hazel (_Corylus avellana_). It is rarely that the Hazel is allowed in this country to develop into a tree; as a rule it is a shrub, forming undergrowth in wood or copse, or part of a hedge. As it is cut down with the copse or hedge, it cannot form a standard of any size. But that the Hazel left alone will develop into a small tree is shown by an example in Eastwell Park, Kent, whose height a few years ago was thirty feet, with a circumference of three feet round the bole. As soon as the nuts are formed the bush is easily identified by all, so that a description of its character is hardly necessary. The large, roundish, heart-shaped leaves are arranged alternately in two rows along the straight downy shoots. Their margins are doubly toothed, and when in the bud they are plaited, the folds being parallel to the midrib. Soon after the buds open, many of the leaves assume a purplish tint for a while; in autumn they turn brown, and finally pale to yellow. [Illustration: _Pl. 25._ Hazel Catkins.] [Illustration: Hazel. A, female flowers; B, male flowers.] Before the leaves appear the Hazel is rendered conspicuous by the male catkins, which are familiar to country children under the name of Lamb's-tails. These may be seen in an undeveloped condition in the autumn, when the nuts are being sought. A cluster of two or three hard, little, grey-green cylinders is all that may then be seen of them; but throughout the winter they lengthen, their scales loosen, and in February they are a couple of inches long, pliant, and yellow with the abundant pollen which blows out of them as they swing. The female flowers are by no means conspicuous, and have to be looked for. They will be found in the form of swollen buds on the upper parts of the shoots and branches, from which issue some fine crimson threads. These are the styles and stigmas, and on dissection of the budlike head, each pair of styles will be seen to spring from a two-celled ovary nestling between the bracts or scales of which the head is composed. It is only rarely that the seed-egg in each cell develops; as a rule one shrivels, and the other develops into the sweet "kernel" of the Hazel-nut. The shell is the ovary that has become woody and hard; the ragged-edged leathery "shuck" is the enlarged bracts that surrounded the minute flower. The Hazel likes a good soil, and will not really flourish without it, though it will _grow_ almost anywhere, except where the moisture is stagnant. Its wood is said to be best when grown on a chalky subsoil. Of course, as timber, the Hazel does not count, but its tough and pliant rods and staves are valuable for many small uses, such as the making of hoops for casks, walking-sticks, and--divining-rods! The bark is smooth and brown. The Barcelona nut, imported so largely in winter, is only a variety of the Hazel; as also the Cob and the Filbert, so largely cultivated in Kent. The name is the Anglo-Saxon _hæsl_, or _hæsel_, and signifies a baton of authority, from the use of its rods in driving cattle and slaves. [Illustration: _Pl. 26._ Hazel Nuts.] The Lime (_Tilia platyphyllos_). Those persons who obtain their ideas of trees mainly from the specimens they can see in suburban roads and gardens are in danger of getting quite a false impression of the Lime. It is a long suffering, good-tempered tree, and like human individuals of similar temperament, is subjected to shameful treatment. The suburban gardener who has a row of Limes to trim uses the saw, and amputates every arm close up to the shoulder, so that when the season of budding and burgeoning arrives the row of Limes will look like an upward extension in green of the brick wall. Such are the atrocities upon which Suburbia has to base its ideas of one of the most imposing of trees. [Illustration: _Pl. 27._ Lime-tree--summer.] The Large-leaved Lime, growing in park-land or meadow, with its roots deep in good light loam, and its head eighty or ninety feet above, is quite another matter. Such a tree is a thing of beauty, and one can stand long at its base looking up among the wide-spreading limbs so well clothed with leaves of fine texture and tint. The girth of such a specimen at four feet from the ground would be about fifteen feet. Larger individuals have been recorded, up to twenty-seven feet. There are three kinds of Lime in general cultivation in this country, but the differences between them are not great. They are the Large-leaved (_Tilia platyphyllos_), the Small-leaved (_T. parvifolia_), and the Intermediate or Common Lime (_T. vulgaris_). The last-named is generally admitted to be an introduced kind, and it is the one most commonly planted. Respecting the claims of the other two to rank as natives, there has been some difference of opinion among authorities. The Small-leaved Lime, which does not occur in woods north of Cumberland, was regarded by Borrer as a true indigene, but H. C. Watson considered its claims as open to doubt, though he had no such doubt of the Large-leaved Lime, which is only growing really wild in the woods of Herefordshire, Radnorshire, and the West Riding of Yorkshire. All our Limes have similar straight tall stems, clad in smooth bark, and with a similar habit of growth. They are trees that demand genial climatic conditions for their proper development, and in consequence they do not put forth their leaves until May. The period of their leafy glory is comparatively short, for they are among the trees that lose their leaves earliest in autumn, after having been for a few days transmuted into gold. The leaf of the Lime is heart-shaped, with one of the basal lobes larger than the other, and the edges cut into saw-like teeth. There are slight differences in those of the three species, which will be indicated below. [Illustration: Lime.] In its floral arrangements the Lime differs from the trees previously mentioned in that it has distinct sepals and petals, an abundance of honey, and strong, sweet fragrance as of Honeysuckle. Unlike them, it does not trust to so rough and ready an agent of fertilization as the wind, so that it waits until its boughs are well clothed with leaves before putting forth its yellowish-white blossoms. These are in clusters (_cymes_) of six or seven, the stalks of all arising from one very long and stouter stalk, which is attached for half its length to a thin and narrow bract. Individually regarded, the flowers will be found to consist of five sepals, five petals, an oval ovary with a style ending in a five-toothed stigma, and surrounded by a large number of stamens. The stamens discharge their pollen before the stigma of that flower is fitted to receive it, so that cross-fertilization is ensured by the visits of the innumerable bees that visit the flowers for the abundant nectar they contain, and which the bees convert into a first-rate honey. [Illustration: _Pl. 28._ Flowers of Lime.] [Illustration: _Pl. 29._ Fruits of Lime.] [Illustration: _Pl. 30._ Bole of Lime.] [Illustration: _Pl. 31._ Lime--winter.] The flowers are succeeded by globose little fruits, each about a quarter of an inch across, yellow, and covered with pale down. In a good season these will be found to contain one or two seeds, but too often in this country the summers are too cool to ripen them. The Lime does not begin to bear until about its thirty-fifth year. It flowers every year thereafter, but the question of its seed-crop depends entirely upon the weather. For the purposes to which large timber is usually put, the light white wood of the Lime is not highly esteemed, not being considered of sufficient durability; yet it serves for many smaller uses, where its lightness and fine grain are strong recommendations. It must not be forgotten that the wonderful carvings of Grinling Gibbons were executed in this wood. It is largely used by the makers of musical instruments; and, as every one knows, it is from the inner bark of the Lime that those useful bast mats, which are imported from Russia in such large numbers, are made. Probably owing to its lightness, again, the wood was used in old times for making bucklers. The question of its value as timber is probably never taken into account when it is planted in this country, where its ornamental appearance as an avenue or shade-tree is its great recommendation. It is one of the long-lived trees, its full life-period being certainly five centuries. Those in St. James's Park are popularly supposed to have been planted, at the suggestion of John Evelyn, somewhere about the year 1660. There is a fine Lime avenue in Bushey Park, probably planted by Dutch William. Deer and cattle are fond of the foliage and young shoots if they can get at them. Numerous insects exhibit a like partiality; of these the caterpillar of the large and handsome Lime Hawk-moth (_Smerinthus tiliæ_) is the most characteristic. The differences between the three species may be briefly noted:-- SMALL-LEAVED LIME (_Tilia parvifolia_). Does not attain the large proportions of the others. Leaves about two inches across, smooth; on the lower surface the axils of the nerves are glaucous and downy, with hairy patches between nerves. Fruit thin-shelled and brittle, downy, and very faintly ribbed. The upper leaves show a tendency to lobing. LARGE-LEAVED LIME (_Tilia platyphyllos_). Bark rougher. Twigs hairy. Leaves larger (four inches) and rougher, downy beneath, axils of the nerves woolly. Fruit of more oval shape, woody and strongly ribbed when ripe. COMMON LIME (_Tilia vulgaris_). Intermediate between the others. Leaves larger than those of _T. parvifolia_, smaller than those of _T. platyphyllos_; downy in axils beneath. Twigs smooth. Fruit woody, but without ribs. The name Lime was originally Linde, a form which, with the addition of _n_, is in use to-day. Chaucer and other English writers spell it Line and Lyne, and the transition from this form to that commonly used to-day has been effected by changing the _n_ to _m_. Originally it meant _pliant_, and had reference to the useful bast from which cordage and other flexible things were made. The Wych Elm (_Ulmus montana_). Of the two species of Elms commonly grown in these islands this alone is a native, though the Common or Small-leaved Elm (_Ulmus campestris_) was introduced from the Continent by the Romans, so that it has had time to get itself widely distributed over our country. Other names for the Wych Elm are Mountain Elm, Scots Elm, and Witch Hazel--the last-named being now more generally applied to an American plant, the _Hamamelis_. The philologists appear to be uncertain as to the origin and meaning of Wych, but it seems most probably a form of Witch. Just as a Hazel-rod is used by water-finders, who declare that its movements indicate the presence of hidden springs, so a wand of _Ulmus montana_ may have furnished the Witch-finder with a Witch Hazel for the detection of witches! [Illustration: _Pl. 32._ Wych Elm--summer.] [Illustration: _Pl. 33._ Fruits of Wych Elm.] The names _montana_, _campestris_, and Mountain Elm must not be allowed to mislead us as to the habits of the two species, for though the Wych Elm is known to reach an altitude of 3300 feet in the Alps, here it ascends only to 1300 feet (Yorks.), whilst _Ulmus campestris_, which might be understood to be less a hill-climber, grows at an elevation of 1500 feet in Derbyshire. As a matter of fact, both species are much fonder of valleys than of mountains. The Wych Elm forms a trunk of large size, from 80 to 120 feet or more in height, with a girth of 50 feet, and covered with rough bark that is often corky. Its long slender branches spread widely with a downward tendency, the downy forking twigs bearing their leaves in a straight row along each side. The leaves are somewhat oval in general form, but the two sides of the midrib are unequal in size and shape. Their edges are doubly or trebly toothed, and the surfaces are rough and harsh to the touch. The hairs that cover the strong ribs on the under surface serve for the protection of the breathing pores from dust. On leaves of the pendulous form of this tree, grown in the London parks and gardens, these hairs will be found to be quite black with the soot particles gathered from the air. Trees need carbon, but in this gross form they are too often suffocated by it. In March or April the brownish flowers are produced in bunches from the sides of the branches. They are a quarter of an inch long, bell-shaped, their edges cut into lobes, and finely fringed. The ovary, with its two awl-shaped styles, is surrounded by four or five stamens with purple anthers. They appear in March or April, before the leaf-buds have opened, and are dependent on the wind for the transfer of pollen. The fruit is an oblong _samara_, about an inch long. This consists of a single seed in the centre, invested by a thin envelope, which is extended all round as a light membranous wing, which gives it buoyancy and enables it to float through the air to a little distance. These seeds are not produced until about the thirtieth year of the tree's life, and though they are ripened almost annually thereafter, good crops are biennial or triennial only. It has often been stated that the Wych Elm does not send up suckers, but it does, though not invariably; it does so chiefly as the result of root-pruning or some other check to the extension of the root-system. [Illustration: Wych Elm.] [Illustration: _Pl. 34._ Bole of Wych Elm.] [Illustration: _Pl. 35._ Wych Elm--winter.] [Illustration: _Pl. 36._ Common Elm--summer.] [Illustration: _Pl. 37._ Bole of Common Elm.] The Elm most frequently seen is the Small-leaved Elm (_Ulmus campestris_), which is therefore entitled to its alternative name of Common Elm. Constantly grown as a hedgerow tree, it meets us at every turn, though it is much less plentiful in Scotland than in other parts of the United Kingdom. It is in all respects very similar to the Wych Elm, but its leaves are smaller--usually from two to three inches long, the twigs often covered with a corky bark, and the seed, instead of being in the centre of the samara, is much nearer to the notched end. The leaves are proportionately narrower than those of _montana_, and it will be found that the hairs which cover the midrib below possess in minor degree the irritating qualities of the Nettle's stings. This is a fact not generally known, but I became painfully aware of it a few years ago when clearing away the suckers of an Elm that were encroaching too much upon my garden border. Examination of these hairs shows that they are constructed much on the same plan as those of the Nettle--a member of the same Natural Order, by the way. The fact that these leaves are browsed by cattle and deer may explain this development of the hairs, which, whilst they may serve to keep off sheep, have not yet reached a degree of acridity sufficient to protect them from the larger beasts. Both flowers and samaras are about a third smaller than those of _montana_; but seed is very seldom produced in this country, and the tree seeks to reproduce itself by throwing up abundant suckers round the base of the bole, and even from root-branches at a considerable distance from the trunk. These, of course, if allowed to grow, would soon surround the tree with copse. _Campestris_ often attains a greater height with its straighter trunk than _montana_, but its girth is not so great, seldom being more than twenty feet. Its dark wood is harder and finer grained than that produced by the native tree. Its favour as a hedgerow tree is probably due to the fact that it gives shade which is not obnoxious to the growth of grass. Both species are subject to a great amount of variation, and in nurserymen's catalogues these forms have appropriate names, but they are not regarded as of sufficient permanence to merit scientific distinction. In point of age--Elms are known to exceed five hundred years. [Illustration: Common Elm.] Among the insects that feed upon the Elm's foliage, the most noteworthy is the caterpillar of the fine Large Tortoiseshell Butterfly (_Vanessa polychloros_). I have already mentioned the relationship subsisting between Elms and Nettles, and it is a point worth noting that nearly all our native species of _Vanessa_ feed in the larval state upon the leaves of the Nettle. In London parks and squares the Elms are much infested by the caterpillars of the Vapourer-moth, whose wingless females may be seen like short-legged spiders on the bark, whilst the male flutters in an apparently aimless way on wings of rich brown with central white spots. [Illustration: _Pl. 38._ Common Elm--winter.] In October the leaves, which have for some time assumed a very dull dark-green tint, suddenly turn to orange, then fade to pale yellow, and fall in showers. The name Elm was derived from the Latin _Ulmus_, and appears to indicate an instrument of punishment--probably from its rods having been used to belabour slaves. Prior remarks that the word is "nearly identical in all the Germanic and Scandinavian dialects, but does not find its root in any of them. It plays through all the vowels ... but stands isolated as a foreign word which they have adopted." This "playing through the vowels" may be thus illustrated--Alm, Ælm, and Elm (Anglo-Saxon and English); Ilme, Olm, and Ulme, in various German dialects. * * * * * [Illustration: _Pl. 39._ Ash--summer.] The Ash (_Fraxinus excelsior_). So commanding, yet at the same time so light and graceful, does a well-grown Ash appear, that Gilpin called it the "Venus of the Woods." This may appear to some to be rather too close an approach to the "Lady of the Woods" (Birch), but in our opinion it well expresses the characteristics of the two. They are both exceedingly graceful, but the beauty of the Birch is that of the nymph, whilst that of the Ash is the combined grace and strength of the goddess. I have said "a well-grown" Ash, a phrase by which the timberman would understand a tree that had been hemmed in so closely by other trees that it has had no chance of developing as a tree, but only as a straight stout stick of wood, from eighty to one hundred feet long. _My_ well-grown Ash is in a meadow, where both soil and atmosphere are moist and cool; where it has had elbow-room to reach its long graceful arms upwards and outwards, and to cover them with the plumy circlets of long leaves. It is there, or on the outskirts of the wood, or in the hedgerow, that the Ash is able to do credit to Gilpin's name for it. [Illustration: Ash.] Before the reign of iron and steel was quite so universal, Ash timber was in demand for many uses where the metals have now supplanted it. It was then far more widely grown as a hedgerow tree than is now the case. Selby laments the neglect of this former custom, which kept up a supply of tough and elastic timber, useful in all agricultural operations, and added much to the beauty of the country. No doubt the noxious drip and shade of the Ash have had much to do with this abandonment of it, for few things can live beneath it--a condition helped by its numerous fibrous roots, which quickly exhaust and drain the soil, and so starve out other plants. Although it thus drains the surface soil, it is not dependent upon these upper layers for food, for its much-branched roots extend very deeply in the porous soils it prefers. It must not be supposed from the foregoing remarks that the Ash is confined to the lowlands. In Yorkshire it is found growing at an elevation of 1350 feet; in Mid-Germany it grows as far up as 3500 feet, and in the Alpine districts 500 feet higher still. It has a preference for the northern and eastern sides of hills, where the atmosphere is moist and cool, and the soil deep and porous, for it loves free and not stagnant moisture for its roots. The bark of both trunk and branches is pale grey, and some look to this as the origin of the tree's English name. On examining the leafless branches in early spring, two things strike the observer--the blackness of the big opposite leaf-buds, and the stoutness of the twigs. This latter fact is due to the great size of the leaves they have to support, which implies a considerable strain in wind or rain. What are generally regarded as the leaves of the Ash are only leaflets, though they are equal in size to the leaves of most of our trees. The largest of the leaflets are about three inches in length, and there are from four to seven--mostly six--pairs, and an odd terminal one, to each leaf. They are lance-shaped, with toothed edges. The leaves are late in appearing, but, like Charles Lamb and his office-hours, they make up for it by an early departure. [Illustration: _Pl. 40._ Flowers of Ash.] The flowers of the Ash are very poor affairs, for they have neither calyx nor corolla, though their association in large clusters makes them fairly conspicuous as they droop from the sides of the branches in April or May. Stamens and pistils are borne by the same or separate flowers, and both kinds or one only may be found on the same tree. The pistil is a greenish yellow pear-shaped body, and the stamens are very dark purple. The flowers are succeeded by bunches of "keys"--each one, when ripe, a narrow-oblong scale, with a notch at one end and a seed lying within at the other. The correct name for these is samaras. In looking at a bunch of these "keys"--they are something like the keys to the primitive locks of the ancients--one is struck by the fact that they all have a little twist in the wing or sail, which causes the "key" to spin steadily on the wind and reach the earth seed-end first. They are, therefore, sometimes known as "spinners." These are ripe in October; but though the trees produce seed nearly every year after the fortieth, one may chance to look at a dozen Ashes before he comes upon one that bears a seed. The reason for this lies in the fact that some trees have no female blossoms. The seeds do not germinate until the second spring after they are sown. [Illustration: _Pl. 41._ Bole of Ash.] Much of the Ash-wood in use for carriage-poles, oars, axe and hammer shafts, and similar purposes where only small diameters are needed, are obtained from Ash-coppice, which rapidly produces well-developed poles. So strong and elastic is the Ash timber when taken from young trees, that it is claimed it will bear a greater strain than any other European timber of equal thickness. The Ash is not one of the long-lived trees, its natural span being about two hundred years, but its wood is regarded as best between the ages of thirty and sixty years. [Illustration: _Pl. 42._ Ash--winter.] Cattle and horses are fond of Ash leaves, which were formerly much used for fodder, and still are in some districts; but it is said that to indulge cows in this food is fatal to the production of good butter from their milk. In some country places there is still extant a "Shrew-Ash"--a tree into which a hole has been bored sufficiently large to admit a living shrew-mouse, which has then been plugged in, to die of suffocation. A touch of a leaf from this tree was reputed to cure cramp, but especially that form of it supposed to be caused by a shrew passing over man or beast. Then there was the Ash whose bole had been cleft that it might be a "sovran" remedy for infantile hernia. It is difficult to account for the origin of these ideas, but they are deep-rooted and die hard. John Evelyn remarks of this latter superstition: "I have heard it affirmed, with great confidence and upon experience, that the rupture, to which many children are obnoxious, is healed by passing the infant through a wide cleft in the bole or stem of a growing Ash-tree; it is then carried a second time round the Ash, and caused to repass the same aperture as before. The rupture of the child being bound up, it is supposed to heal as the cleft of the tree closes and coalesces." The origin of the name Ash is uncertain, though many fanciful suggestions have been made in explanation of its meaning. Its Anglo-Saxon form was æsc, a word used by the same people for spear, but that was because their spear-shafts were made of Ash-wood. * * * * * [Illustration: _Pl. 43._ Field Maple.] The Maple (_Acer campestre_). There are a number of Maples in cultivation, but only three of them are commonly met with in the open, and of these one alone is a native. This is the Small-leaved, Common, or Field Maple (_Acer campestre_), a small tree that attains a height of twenty or thirty feet in the tall hedgerow or in the wood, but is most familiar as a mere bush or as a constituent of the low field-hedge. It does not grow to any considerable thickness of bole, so has no importance as timber, but the turner, the cabinet-maker, and the artist in fancy pipes and snuff-boxes, are glad to make use of its fine-grained, pale-brown wood. This is often beautifully veined, especially the wood from the roots, and as it will take a high polish, which brings out these markings plainly, it is a very desirable wood for such purposes. The brown bark gives little clue to the character of the wood it covers, for in young trees it is rough and deeply fissured, though with age it becomes smooth. [Illustration: Field Maple.] [Illustration: _Pl. 44._ Fruits of Sycamore.] [Illustration: _Pl. 45._ Sycamore--summer.] The leaves vary greatly in size, those growing on a tree being much larger than those produced by a bush. They range from two to four inches in diameter, and are always in pairs--springing from the sides of the branch exactly opposite to each other. The general form of the leaf is kidney-shaped, but it is cut up into five lobes, which are more or less toothed. They are downy when young, of a deep green colour, but too frequently this is disguised by a thick layer of road-dust. In October they turn to a rich yellow, and the Maple is then prominent even in a distant view, for the bright colour of the foliage makes the tree stand out prominently, in strong contrast with the still deep green of the Oaks or Firs beyond. The Maples are among the trees that have complete flowers, although in this case they happen to be greenish yellow. They are about a quarter of an inch across, have narrow sepals and narrower petals, eight stamens, and a two-lobed flattened ovary, that develops into the pair of broad-winged "keys," or samaras. These are individually much like those of the Ash, but unsymmetrical and curved, half an inch long, with their bases joined together. Sometimes in late summer these "keys" take on a colouring of deep crimson, previous to turning brown as they ripen. As a rule the contained seeds take eighteen months to germinate, though a few may start growth the first spring. The Common Maple is thought to be indigenous only from the county of Durham to the southern coast, and in Ireland. In Scotland it is only an introduced plant that has become naturalized. The Great Maple, Sycamore, or False Plane (_Acer pseudo-platanus_) is not a native tree, but it appears to have been introduced from the Continent as far back as the fifteenth century, so that it has had time during the intervening centuries to get well established among us, and by means of its winged seeds to distribute itself to remote corners of our islands. It appears to be fond of exposed situations, growing to a large size even near the sea, where the salt-laden gales destroy all other deciduous trees. Recently in Ireland we ascended a hill where the planting of pines and other trees had resulted in comparative failure, and found that the wind-borne seeds of the Sycamore had produced a large number of young trees, which will probably serve later as nurses for more desirable timber-producers. The close-grained, firm wood, which can be worked with ease, is not highly esteemed. [Illustration: Sycamore.] [Illustration: _Pl. 46._ Leaf-buds of Sycamore.] [Illustration: _Pl. 47._ Bole of Sycamore.] Its name of False Plane is due to the Scots calling it the Plane, misled of old by the similarity of the leaves, and the fact that patches of the fine ash-grey bark flake off, as in the true Plane, showing other tints. It grows to a height of sixty or even eighty feet so quickly that it is full-grown when only fifty or sixty years old, though it is supposed to live from a hundred and fifty to two hundred and fifty years. Like that of the Common Maple, the wood of the Sycamore is firm and fine-grained, which does credit to the efforts of the French-polisher. The leaves are more heart-shaped, but cut into five lobes, whose edges are unequally toothed; they are six or eight inches across. The flowers are similar to those of the Common Maple, but larger, and in a long hanging raceme, which has a rather fine appearance. The samaras are scimitar-shaped and red-brown, about an inch and a half long. These are produced freely after the tree is about twenty years old. Like many other Maples, the Sycamore has sap which contains much sugar. Some of this appears also to exude through the leaves, for they are often found to be quite sticky to the touch. The black patches so frequent on Sycamore leaves are the work of a small fungus--_Rhytisma acerinum_. The Norway Maple (_Acer platanoides_) is a tree of much more recent (1683) introduction from the Continent. Its height is from thirty to sixty feet, and its early growth is very rapid. The leaves are even larger than those of Sycamore, of similar shape, but the lobes are only slightly toothed. The clusters of bright yellow flowers are almost erect; the tree does not produce seed until it is between forty and fifty years old. The Maple was the Mapel-treow or Mapulder of the Anglo-Saxons; it was originally the Celtic _mapwl_, and the name indicated those knotty excrescences on the trunk from which the cabinet-maker got the mottled wood that was so highly prized in early times for the making of bowls and table-tops, for which fabulous prices have been paid. [Illustration: _Pl. 48._ Sycamore--winter.] The Poplars (_Populus_). Almost everybody who has an elementary acquaintance with trees knows a Poplar at sight, the foliage being so very distinct from that of other trees. But the distinctions between the several species are not so immediately obvious. Five kinds of Poplar are commonly grown in this country, of which only two are regarded as distinct indigenous species. These are the White Poplar (_Populus alba_), and the Aspen (_P. tremula_). A third indigenous form, the Grey Poplar (_P. canescens_), is thought to be either a sub-species of _P. alba_, or a hybrid between that species and _P. tremula_. Then of common introduced species we have the Black Poplar (_Populus nigra_), and the Lombardy Poplar (_P. fastigiata_). [Illustration: _Pl. 49._ White Poplar, with Catkins--spring.] The Poplars (_Populus_) and the Willows (_Salix_) together constitute the Natural Order _Salicineæ_. The two genera agree broadly in the construction and arrangement of their flowers in catkins, but whereas the Poplars have broad leaves and drooping catkins, the Willows, with few exceptions, have long slender leaves and erect catkins. The sexes are not only in distinct flowers, but on separate trees--what botanists describe by the term _di[oe]cious_. The males appear to be far more numerous than the females. In the popular sense there are no flowers, for there are neither sepals nor petals, each set of sexual organs being protected merely by a scale. The catkins containing these flowers usually appear before the leaves. As there is nothing to attract insects to the work, the trees have to rely upon the wind for conveying the pollen to the female trees. The first three species described below have from four to twelve stamens; _P. nigra_ and _P. fastigiata_ have from twelve to twenty stamens. The Poplars share the love of the Willows for moist places. They are found more frequently in gardens and hedgerows than in woods. Their growth is rapid, and their timber, consequently, is of little value, though its softness and lightness render it suitable for making boxes, and its whiteness and non-liability to splinter fit it for use as flooring. An additional point in favour of White Poplar for the latter purpose is its unreadiness to burn. [Illustration: White Poplar, or Abele. A, female catkin.] The White Poplar, or Abele (_Populus alba_), grows into a large tree, something between sixty and a hundred feet high, covered with smooth grey bark. Its branches spread horizontally, and its broad heart-shaped leaves, which vary from an inch to three inches long, are hung on long slender foot-stalks. In most trees the leaf-stalks are flattened from above, but in the case of the Poplars they are flattened from the sides, so that when moved by the wind they flutter laterally. These leaves have a waved margin, a smooth upper surface, and are snowy white and cottony beneath. The leaf-buds are also invested by cottony filaments. The roots produce numerous suckers, even at a distance from the trunk, and the leaves on these sucker-shoots are very large--two to four inches broad--of a more triangular shape, the outline lobed and toothed. The catkins, which appear in March and April, are cylindrical; those of the male trees may be as much as four inches long, each flower containing from six to ten stamens with purple anthers. The female catkins are not nearly so long, the two yellow stigmas are slender with slit tips, and the ovaries develop into slender egg-shaped capsules, each with its fringed scale. This species is said not to produce flowers in Scotland. In July, when the seed capsules open, the surrounding vegetation and ground are thickly strewn with the long white cotton filaments attached to the seeds. The wood of this tree is softer and more spongy than that of other Poplars. [Illustration: _Pl. 50._ White Poplar--summer.] [Illustration: _Pl. 51._ Bole of White Poplar.] The Grey Poplar (_Populus canescens_), which is thought to be indigenous only in the south-eastern parts of England, is not so tall a tree as _P. alba_, though it sometimes attains to eighty or ninety feet, with a circumference between ten and twenty-four feet. Its life extends to about a century, but its wood--which does not split when nails are driven through thin boards of it--is considered best between fifty and sixty years of age. The leaves on the branches are shaped like those of _P. alba_, but their under sides are either coated with grey down or are quite smooth; those of the suckers have their margins cut into angles and teeth. The female flowers mostly have four wedge-shaped purple stigmas (sometimes two), which are cleft into four at their extremities. [Illustration: Aspen.] The Aspen or Asp (_Populus tremula_) does not attain either to so large a size or so moderate an age as the Abele. Its height, when full grown, is from forty to eighty feet, and after fifty or sixty years its heart-wood begins to decay, and its destruction is then hastened by the attacks of such internal-feeding insects as the caterpillars of the Goat-moth and the Wood Leopard-moth. The leaves on the branches are broadly egg-shaped, approaching to round, the waved margin cut into teeth with turned-in points. In one form (var. _villosa_) the leaves are covered beneath with silky or cottony hairs; in the other form (var. _glabra_) they are almost smooth. The leaves on the suckers are heart-shaped, without teeth. The leaf-stalks of the Aspen are longer than those of its congeners, so that they are constantly on the flutter--a circumstance that has led to an explanatory legend, to the effect that the cross of Calvary was made of Aspen-wood, and that the tree shivers perpetually in remembrance. Possibly the present inferiority of Aspen timber is to be explained in a similar manner. The catkins, which are two or three inches long, are similar to those of the foregoing species, but the scales have jagged edges. It is indigenous in all the British Islands as far north as Orkney, but, though commonly found in copses on a moist light soil, is more frequent as a planted tree in gardens and pleasure grounds. It is a characteristic tree of the plains throughout the Continent, but ascends to 1600 feet in Yorkshire, and in the Bavarian Alps is found as high as 4400 feet. It is not a deep-rooting tree, the root-branches running almost horizontally. Where accessible to cattle or deer, the foliage of the suckers is eagerly browsed by them. [Illustration: _Pl. 52._ Catkins of Aspen.] [Illustration: _Pl. 53._ Black Poplar--summer.] [Illustration: _Pl. 54._ Bole of Black Poplar.] [Illustration: _Pl. 55._ Black Poplar--winter.] [Illustration: Black Poplar.] The Black Poplar (_Populus nigra_) appears to be so called not by reason of any blackness of leaf or bark, but because of the absence of any white or grey down on the underside of its leaves. Its bark is grey, like that of the species already mentioned, but readily distinguished from them by the great swellings and nodosities that mar the symmetry of its trunk. It is a tree of erect growth, fifty to sixty feet in height, with horizontal branches, and leaves that vary in shape from triangular and rhombic to almost circular, and in width from an inch to four inches. They have rounded teeth on the margins, which are at first also fringed, and in their young state the underside is silky. The flowers in the catkins of this and the next species are not so densely packed. Those of the male are two or three inches in length, and dark red in colour; their abundance before the tree has put out its leaves makes the male tree a conspicuous object. The female catkins are shorter and do not droop. When the roundish capsules burst in May or June to distribute their seeds, the white cotton with which the latter are invested gives prominence to the female tree. The wood is chiefly used by the turner; in Holland, where it is extensively cultivated, it provides the material for sabots. The Black Poplar is not a native of this country, but it is generally distributed throughout Europe and Northern Asia. The date of its introduction is not known, but it has been here for many centuries, and is quite naturalized, springing up on river banks and in other moist situations. Some botanists regard it as only a variety of the Lombardy Poplar, but apart from the very different habit of the tree--not by itself sufficient grounds for separation--there is the more important fact that the Black Poplar rarely produces suckers from its roots, whilst the Lombardy Poplar does so constantly. However, this is a point we can leave for the botanists to discuss; for the purposes of this book the two trees are sufficiently distinct to be treated separately. The Lombardy Poplar (_Populus fastigiata_) is no more a native of Italy than of England. Its home is in the Taurus and the Himalayas, whence it has spread into Persia. Introduced into Southern Europe, it has become specially abundant along the rivers of Lombardy, and so in France and England it bears the name of that country. Lord Rochford introduced it to England from Turin in 1758. Its leaves are like those of the Black Poplar, but its branches, instead of spreading, all grow straight upwards, so that the fastigiate or spire shape of the tree is produced--a shape only found otherwise among coniferous trees, particularly in the Cypress, the Juniper and the Irish Yew. It is its form, great height (100 to 150 feet), and rapidity of growth that have led to its wide use here as an ornamental tree--in many cases as a mere vegetable hoarding to shut out some offensive view. Its growth is extremely rapid, especially during its first score of years, when it will attain a height of sixty feet or more, provided it be grown in good, moist (but not marshy) soil. Its wood is, of course, of little value, and is chiefly used for making boxes and packing-cases, where its lightness, combined with toughness and cheapness, is an advantage. The bark is rough and deeply furrowed, unlike the other species, and the trunk is twisted. Like the Black Poplar, it has smooth shoots, and the unopened buds are sticky. It is propagated in this country by suckers and cuttings. It is said that the first trees introduced were so obtained, and that they were all from male trees; consequently, that we have no female trees here, and seed production is impossible. If the female grows here, it is certainly very scarce. The bark has been used for tanning. [Illustration: _Pl. 56._ Lombardy Poplar--summer.] [Illustration: _Pl. 57._ Bole of Lombardy Poplar.] [Illustration: _Pl. 58._ Lombardy Poplar--winter.] The Black Italian Poplar (_Populus monilifera_) is another misnamed tree, for it is a native of North America, though introduced to England from the Continent in 1772 by Dr. John Hope. It has the distinction of being considered the most rapid-growing even of the Poplars. Loudon gives its rate of growth in the neighbourhood of London as between thirty and forty feet in seven years! Even in Scotland (where it has been largely planted as a substitute for Larch, since the partial failure of that tree) it attains a height of 120 feet in sixty years, when planted along the river banks. It is probably only a variety of _P. nigra_, which it resembles in most points, but is larger, and of very erect growth. The Tacamahac or Balsam Poplar (_Populus balsamifera_) is another importation from North America, introduced in 1692. In its native country it grows to a height of eighty feet, but here forty or fifty feet is more usual. Its leaves are of more slender form than those of the other Poplars, egg-shaped, with a near approach to being lance-shaped. Their edges are toothed, their upper surface dark green and smooth, the underside whitish with cotton. The distinctive character of the tree is the fragrance of its foliage, which scents the air on moist evenings, and makes the Tacamahac a desirable tree to plant near the water, where alone it attains any moderate size. The Willows (_Salix_). There is not in the whole of the British flora another genus of plants that presents such difficulties of identification as the genus _Salix_. Even so hardened a botanist as Sir J. D. Hooker, in reviewing the tangle of species, varieties (natural and cultivated), and hybrids, is so far stirred from his ordinary composure that he stigmatizes it as a "troublesome genus." When Sir Joseph chose that mild adjective he was at Kew surrounded by the national herbaria and with nicely labelled living plants at hand for comparison. What, then, can the rambling nature-lover hope to do with the Willows he comes across one at a time, without much chance of comparing? He must be content to follow the "lumpers," who group a number of these uncertain forms under the name of a species to which they have evident relationship. When he has mastered the distinctions between these aggregate species, it will be early enough to attempt the segregation of the forms and varieties under each. In their natural condition Willows are graceful and picturesque, but a large number of the examples met with in our rambles have been so altered for commercial reasons as to be more grotesque than beautiful. It is not the timber-man who is responsible this time, for a pollard Willow, though it produces a shock-head of long slender shoots, suitable for basket-rods, lets in moisture at the top of the bole, and the wood is more or less decayed and worthless. Only four of our native Willows can be regarded as timber trees. These are the White Willow, the Crack Willow, the Bedford Willow, and the Sallow. Like the Poplars, their growth is very rapid, and their wood is consequently light, but it has the advantage of Poplar-wood in being tougher, and therefore serving for purposes where Poplar is of no value. In the present day the growers of straight-boled Willows find their best market among the makers of cricket-bats. A good deal of it is also cut into thin strips for plaiting into chip-hats and hand-baskets. The Osier is grown in extensive riverside beds for the production of long pliant shoots for the basket-weavers; though many of the so-called Osier-rods are really stool-shoots from Willows that have been pollarded, or whose leading shoot has never been allowed to grow. On those parts of our coast where the crab and lobster fishery is pursued, a regular supply of such shoots for weaving into "pots" and "hullies" is a necessity, and a "withy bed" will usually be found on some valley stream near, or on a damp terrace halfway up the cliffs. [Illustration: _Pl. 59._ Crack Willow--summer.] [Illustration: _Pl. 60._ Bole of Crack Willow.] [Illustration: _Pl. 61._ Crack Willow--winter.] The bark of the tree Willows has long been known to be rich in an alkaloid called _salicine_, which has tonic and astringent properties, and has often been used instead of _quinine_, though it is not nearly so powerful as the Peruvian drug. The bark is also used for tanning. The association of the Willow with sadness is very old, but there does not appear to be any satisfactory reason for it--certainly to contemplate a naturally-grown Willow that grows on the edge of a limpid stream, in which its graceful shoots and slender leaves are reflected, does not suggest sad thoughts to the average healthy mind. The association is chiefly with maidens forsaken by their false lovers, as indicated by Shakespeare when he makes Desdemona say-- "My mother had a maid called Barbara: She was in love; and he she loved proved mad, And did forsake her; she had a song of 'Willow'; An old thing 'twas, but it expressed her fortune, And she died singing it." The Crack Willow or Withy (_Salix fragilis_) is one of the two most considerable of our tree Willows. In good soil it will in twenty years attain nearly its full height, which is eighty or ninety feet. Its bole sometimes has a girth of twenty feet. Its smooth, polished shoots afford the best ready means of distinguishing it, for instead of their base pointing to the centre of the trunk as in other trees, they grow obliquely, so that the shoots frequently cross each other. They are both tough and pliant, but if struck at the base they readily break off. This character explains the names Crack Willow and _fragilis_. The leaves are lance-shaped, three to six inches long, smooth, with glandular teeth, pale or glaucous on the underside, and with half-heart-shaped stipules, which, however, are soon cast off. As we have already indicated under the head of Poplars, the male and female catkins of the Willows are borne by different trees. In the case of the Crack Willow, the male catkins are an inch or two long, proportionately stout, each flower bearing two stamens (occasionally three, four, or five). The female catkin is more slender, the flowers each containing a smooth ovary, ending in a short style that divides into two curved stigmas. The catkins appear in April or May. Although, like most of the Willows, this species is fond of cold, wet soil in low situations, it is not restricted to the plains. In Northumberland it is found at 1300 feet above the sea. Its northward range extends as far as Ross-shire, but it is a doubtful native in both Scotland and Ireland. [Illustration: Crack Willow.] The Bedford Willow (_S. russelliana_) is believed to be a hybrid between _S. fragilis_ and _S. alba_. It grows to a height of fifty feet, with a girth of twelve feet. The leaves are more slender than those of _S. fragilis_, taper to a point at each end, and are very smooth on both sides. It occurs in swampy woods. [Illustration: _Pl. 62._ White Willow--summer.] [Illustration: _Pl. 63._ Flowers of White Willow.] [Illustration: White Willow.] The White Willow (_Salix alba_) is so called from the appearance of the leaves as the light is reflected from their silky surfaces, which are alike above and below. It is a tree from sixty to eighty feet high, with a girth of twenty feet, covered with thick and deeply fissured bark. The leaves are from two to four inches long, of a narrow elliptical shape. In the typical form the twigs are olive-coloured, but in the variety _vitellina_ (known as the Golden Willow) these are yellow or reddish. In the variety _cærulea_ the old leaves become quite smooth above, but retain the glaucous appearance of the underside. The White Willow is found as far north as Sutherlandshire, but although it is believed to be an indigenous species, most of the modern specimens appear to have been planted. It affords good timber, and the bark is almost equal to that of Oak for tanning. A great number of the old Willows met with in our rambles are partially decayed, a condition frequently the result of lopping large branches, for the wound never heals, and decay setting in at that point, extends down the bole. Upon such decaying specimens one may often find one of the most handsome of our native beetles--the Musk-beetle, with long, slender body and long antennæ, all coloured in dark golden green, and diffusing the aroma of a rose. [Illustration: _Pl. 64._ Bole of White Willow.] [Illustration: _Pl. 65._ White Willow--winter.] [Illustration: _Pl. 66._ Almond-leaved Willow--summer.] [Illustration: _Pl. 67._ Almond-leaved Willow--winter.] The Almond-leaved or French Willow (_Salix triandra_) is a small tree about twenty feet high, distinguished by its bark being thrown off in flakes. Its slender lance-shaped leaves are smooth green above and glaucous beneath, two to four inches long, and with half-heart-shaped stipules. The male flowers offer another distinguishing mark in their stamens being three in number. Its habitats are the banks of rivers and streams, and in Osier-beds. It is extensively grown on account of the long, straight shoots produced from the stump when the tree is cut down, which are of great use in wicker-work. The Bay-leaved Willow (_Salix pentandra_) is met with either as a small upright tree about twenty feet high, or as a shrub eight feet high. Its oval or elliptical leaves are rich green, smooth and sticky on the upper surface, and give out a pleasant fragrance like those of the Bay-tree; they vary from an inch to four inches long, and they may or may not bear stipules, but if these are present they will be egg-shaped or oblong. The stamens are normally five in each flower, but they vary up to twelve. This is reputed to be of all our Willows the latest to flower. A line drawn through York, Worcester, and North Wales will give roughly its southward range as a native species. South of that line it has been planted; north of it to the Scottish border it is a native. It has been found growing at a height of 1300 feet in Northumberland. [Illustration: _Pl. 68._ Bay-leaved Willow--summer.] [Illustration: _Pl. 69._ Bay-leaved Willow--winter.] [Illustration: _Pl. 70._ Bole of Bay-leaved Willow.] [Illustration: Sallow.] The Sallow (_Salix caprea_) is the only other species that can properly be considered as a tree, as it attains to a height of thirty feet, though fifteen to twenty feet is a more common measurement. Its usually egg-shaped leaves vary from almost round to elliptical or lance-shaped, and from two to four inches in length. In the typical form, which occurs chiefly in woods, dry pastures, and hedgerows, they are broad, smooth, and dull-green above, covered with soft white down beneath; the stipules half-kidney-shaped. This is the earliest of all our Willows to flower, and the gold (male) and silver (female) catkins are put out before the leaves. In the country, within a few miles of the larger cities, this can hardly be a desirable species to plant, for on the Sunday before Easter thousands who at no other period exhibit any strong religious tendency journey out to pick some "Palm," as they designate the Sallow bloom, and the rough pruning the Sallows then get must in many cases be disastrous. He who imagines that insect life is suspended until spring is on the verge of summer should visit the woods when the Sallow is in bloom; he will be astonished at the swarms of bees and moths that are collecting the abundant pollen or sipping the nectar provided for them. Before the bright catkins can be seen the locality of the tree may be known by the loud hum produced by hundreds of pairs of wings. The all but invariable rule among the Willows--as among Oaks, Beech, Birch, Hazel, and Pines--is to depend upon the wind for the transfer of pollen from one tree to the stigmas of another of the same species, but in the Sallow we find a breaking away from what was doubtless the primitive arrangement in all flowering plants, by the bribing with honey of more reliable and less wasteful winged carriers. The Gray Sallow (_Salix cinerea_) is really a sub-species of _S. caprea_. It has a liking for moister places than the type, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that its growth in moister situations has brought about the differences by which it is separated from the parent form. These points are, briefly--the buds and twigs are downy, the leaves smaller and proportionately narrower, the upper surface downy, grey-green beneath; the anthers of the male pale yellow, the capsule of the female smaller. The Eared Sallow (_S. aurita_) is probably also only another form of _S. caprea_, distinguished by its small, bushlike proportions (two to four feet high), long branches and red twigs; its small wrinkled leaves, which are usually less than two inches long, are of an almost oblong shape, downy beneath, and with large ear-shaped stipules. Its likeness is much closer to _S. cinerea_ than to the type; it is fond of damp copses and moist places on heaths, where it may be found at considerable elevations. In the Highlands it ascends to 2000 feet. There are Willows of dwarf habit, some with long straggling branches and more or less prostrate stems, that grow upon heaths. Each has a name under which it has at some time or other been ranked as a distinct species, just as the forms of Bramble and Rose have been. The differences between them are minute, and of little interest save to the advanced scientific botanist, who with his dried specimens spread before him often detects subtle distinctions not apparent to the outdoor student of the living plant. For the purposes of those for whom this volume is intended they may be regarded as one. Dwarf Silky Willow (_Salix repens_). It is a low bush from six to twelve inches high, the stem lying along the ground. Some of the branches straggle in the same fashion, but those which bear the flowers are more or less erect. The leaf-buds and the young leaves are silky, a condition that usually endures on the lower surface, and in some forms on the upper also. They are broadly or narrowly lance-shaped, varying in the different forms alluded to above; in size they range from a half to one and a half inches in length, and may have lance-shaped stipules, or none at all. The scales of the catkins are yellowish-green or purple, with dark tips. After they have shed their pollen the anthers turn black. One form or other of this species will be found in all parts of the British Islands where there are heaths or commons; in the Highlands it occurs as high as 2500 feet. Another group of small Willows that form bushes (rarely a small tree) have been united under two species--the Dark-leaved Willow (_Salix nigricans_), and the Tea-leaved Willow (_Salix phylicifolia_). None of them occur south of Yorkshire, and the chief distinction between the two species (?) consists in the leaves of _S. nigricans_ turning black when being dried for the herbarium, whilst those of _S. phylicifolia_ do not. [Illustration: Osier.] The Osier (_Salix viminalis_). Many of the foregoing Willows, when cut down low and induced to send out long, slender shoots, are known as Osiers, but only two species are botanically regarded as Osiers--this and the Purple Osier (_S. purpurea_). The present species may remain as a shrub or grow into a small tree, thirty feet high, with long, straight branches, which are silky when young, but afterwards become polished. The leaves vary in length from four to ten inches, and are slenderly lance-shaped, tapering to a point in front, and narrowing into the foot-stalk behind. They have waved margins without teeth, and the upper surface netted with veins, the under surface silvery and silky; stipules narrow lance-shaped. The Osier may be seen in Osier-beds and wet places generally throughout the country as far north as Elgin and Argyll. There are several varieties and hybrids. [Illustration: _Pl. 71._ Purple Osier--summer.] The Purple Osier (_Salix purpurea_). In all the other Willows mentioned the stamens, whatever their number, all have the filaments distinct from each other. In this species alone the filaments of the two stamens are more or less united. The Purple Osier gets its name from the red or purple bark which clothes the thin but tough twigs. It is a shrub, and grows from five to ten feet high. The leaves, which are rather thin in texture, are from three to six inches long, of slender-lance-shape, with toothed edges, smooth and glaucous on both sides, but especially beneath, somewhat hairy when young. They are almost opposite on the twigs, and when dried for the herbarium turn black. There are several varieties of this shrub, which were formerly honoured with specific rank. [Illustration: _Pl. 72._ Purple Osier--winter.] There remains a group of several small species of very local occurrence, with which we can do little more here beyond naming them. The Woolly Willow (_Salix lanata_) is a small shrub, two or three feet high, with twisted branches, woolly twigs, and hairy black buds. The broad egg-shaped or oblong leathery leaves are also woolly, and two or three inches long. There are half-heart-shaped stipules at the base of the very short leaf-stalk. It is an Alpine plant, and is found about the mountain rills of Perth, Forfar, Inverness, and Sutherland at elevations between 2000 and 2500 feet. Conspicuous in spring for its rich golden catkins. Sadler's Willow (_S. sadleri_), of which only two or three specimens have been found (in Glen Callater, 2500 feet), is probably a form of this species. The Lapland Willow (_Salix lapponum_) is of a similar proportion to the last-named, sometimes erect, sometimes trailing. Its leaves are more elliptic in shape, covered above with silky hairs and below with cottony filaments. In _lanata_ the raised veins form a network pattern; in _lapponum_ they are straight. The stipules at the base of the long foot-stalk are small or altogether wanting. Like the preceding species, it is restricted to Scotch Alpine rocks, at elevations between 2000 and 2700 feet. The Whortle-leaved Willow (_Salix myrsinites_) is a small, wiry, creeping, or half-erect shrub, six inches to a foot high, with toothed, dark glossy leaves, an inch or less in length, whose net-veining shows on both sides. It is restricted to the Alpine parts of mid-Scotland, from 1000 to 2700 feet. The Small Tree-Willow (_Salix arbuscula_) is a small shrub, whose stem creeps along the ground and roots as it goes, sending up more or less erect branches a foot or two high. The downy twigs are first yellow, then reddish-brown. The small leaves vary from egg-shaped to lance-shaped, and are shining above and glaucous beneath; toothed. In the Highlands of Aberdeen, Argyll, Dumfries, Forfar, and Perth, between 1000 and 2400 feet. The Least Willow (_Salix herbacea_) is not so restricted in its range, for it is found in all parts of the United Kingdom where there are heights sufficiently Alpine (2000 to 4300 feet) for its tastes. It is only an inch or two high, and has consequently the distinction of being the smallest British shrub. It is not so herbaceous as it seems, or as its name implies, for its shrubby stem and branches creep along underground, sending up only short, scantly leaved twigs. The curled, roundish leaves do not exceed half an inch in length; they are net-veined, toothed, and shining. The catkins appear after the leaves. The Net-leaved Willow (_Salix reticulata_) is another of the Scotch Alpines. It is similar in habit to the last-named, but larger, its buried branches sending up twigs a foot long. The roundish-oblong, leathery leaves are not toothed; they are smooth above and glaucous beneath, strongly net-veined on either side. The purplish or yellow catkins do not develop till after the leaves. It is restricted to the mountains of Aberdeen, Forfar, Inverness, Perth, and Sutherland. The Weeping Willow (_Salix babylonica_), so conspicuous an ornament of riverside lawns, is an introduced species, whose slender branches hang downwards. It has large, lance-shaped, finely toothed leaves, smooth above and glaucous beneath. Further description of so well-known a tree is unnecessary. It attains a height of forty to fifty feet. The name _babylonica_ was bestowed in the belief that its headquarters were on the banks of the Euphrates. It is now known to be a native of Japan, and other parts of Asia. The name Willow is the Anglo-Saxon _welig_, indicating pliancy, willingness. Our Native Conifers. The British flora is singularly poor in coniferous plants, the Scots Pine, the Yew, and the Juniper being our only native species, and even of these some authorities will have it that the Yew is not truly a Conifer at all; they place it in a separate order--_Taxaceæ_. For our present purpose, however, although the Yew does not produce cones, it will be convenient to keep it in its old position. The principal feature distinguishing all Conifers and their allies (_Gymnosperms_) from other flowering plants (_Angiosperms_) is briefly this: Angiosperms have their incipient seeds (_ovules_) enclosed in a carpel, through which a shoot from the pollen grain has to penetrate in order to reach and fertilize the ovule. In Gymnosperms the carpel takes the form of a leaf or bract, upon which the naked ovule lies open to actual contact with the pollen grain. After fertilization the carpel enlarges to protect the seed, and becomes fleshy or woody, in the latter case a group of carpels forming the well-known cones of Pine or Fir. [Illustration: _Pl. 73._ Yew.] In some of the groups (as the Yew, for example) the male or pollen-producing flowers are borne by a separate tree from that which bears the female or cone-producing flowers. In the Pines both sexes are found on the same tree; but throughout the order the pollen is carried by the wind. All the species are trees, or shrubs. They are among the most valuable of timber trees, and, in addition, yield a number of useful substances, such as pitch, tar, turpentine, etc. The leaves are always rigid, extremely narrow, and long in proportion: usually of the form that botanists term linear, with the two sides parallel. In the Yews these leaves spread out in two rows from opposite sides of the twigs; in the Pines they are in clusters of two, three, or five, seeming to be bound together at the base by a wisp of thin skin. The number of leaves in each bundle is often a help in distinguishing species. The Yew (_Taxus baccata_) lacks the graceful proportions of most of our trees, but it has for compensation a most obvious air of strength and endurance. Who doubts, as he gazes at some sombre Yew in the old churchyard, the story of the local antiquarian, who tells him the tree has so stood for 2000 years. He may, perhaps, mildly suggest that neither the church nor the churchyard was in existence so far back, but even then the antiquarian will probably have the last word by suggesting that the grove of Yews of which this formed part was the church of the past. Thousands see in cathedral aisles the reproduction in stone of the pine-forest or the beech-wood. Standing before an ancient Yew they may see whence came the idea for those _clustered_ columns. They actually exist in the bole of the Yew, which presents the appearance not of a single trunk, but of several trunks that have coalesced. This condition is due to the Yew continually pushing out new shoots from the lower part of its bole, which take an upright direction, and coalesce with the old wood. Although the Yew is a large tree, it is by no means a tall tree: the height of full-grown Yews in this country ranging between fifteen and fifty feet, though they are said to attain a greater length in India. The bole of the Yew is short but massive, covered with a thin red bark, that flakes off in patches much after the manner of Plane-bark. Large specimens have a girth of from twenty-five to fifty feet--or even more. Such a circumference represents the growth of many centuries, for the annual growth-rings are very thin. It is this very slow growth that produces the hard, compact, and elastic wood that was so highly esteemed in the days of the long-bow. Not only is the timber elastic and strong, but it is exceedingly durable, so that it is said, "A post of Yew will outlast a post of iron." Its branches start from the trunk at only a few feet from the ground, and, taking an almost horizontal direction, throw out a great number of leafy twigs, which provide a dense and extensive shade. These leaves are leathery in texture, curved somewhat after the manner of a reaping-hook, shiny and dark above, pale and unpolished below. [Illustration: Yew. A, male flowers.] We have already mentioned that the Yew is a di[oe]cious tree--that is, one whose male and female blossoms are borne on separate trees--but the statement requires qualification to this extent, that occasionally a tree will be found bearing a branch or branches whose flowers are of the sex opposite to those covering the greater part of the tree. The male catkin is almost round, a quarter of an inch across, and contains about half a dozen yellow anthers, the base surrounded by dry overlapping scales. They may be found during February and March, in profusion on the underside of the boughs. The female flower is much smaller, and consists of a fleshy disk with a few scales at its base, and on this stands a single seed-egg. After fertilization of the seed-egg the disk develops into a red wax-like cup around the enlarging seed with its olive-green coat. The flesh of the cup is full of sweet mucilage, which makes the fruit acceptable to children, but the flavour is rather too mawkish to suit older tastes. Yew-berries are not poisonous, as sometimes supposed; neither is the contained kernel, which has a pleasant nutty flavour. Much has been said and written as to the toxic property of Yew-leaves, and it appears that though cattle and goats may browse upon them with impunity, horses and human beings pay the penalty of death for such indulgence. That word toxic, by the way, owes its significance to the Yew. The tree was named _taxus_ in Latin, from the Greek _toxon_ (a bow), because of the ancient repute of its wood for making that instrument. The tree was held to be poisonous, and so its name in the form of _toxicum_ came to designate all poisons. [Illustration: _Pl. 74._ Bole of Yew.] There are some lines in _In Memoriam_ which many readers of Tennyson have found as obscure as the shade of the Yew where they were conceived. The poet is addressing a venerable churchyard Yew in these words:-- "Old warder of these buried bones, And answering now my random stroke With fruitful cloud and living smoke; Dark Yew, that graspest at the stones And dippest towards the dreamless dead, To thee, too, comes the golden hour, When flower is feeling after flower." To any readers who have found a difficulty in understanding these lines, we would say: visit the Yew groves in February or March, when the male branches are thickly covered with their yellow flowers, and strike a branch with your stick. In response to the "random stroke" the pollen will fly off in a "fruitful cloud" or "living smoke," some of it to be caught by the minute female blossoms. This is the Yew-tree's "golden hour, when flower is feeling after flower." In the pre-gunpowder era, so important was it to have a sufficient supply of suitable wood for the making of the dreaded English long-bow, that the culture of the Yew was made the subject of a number of royal ordinances, which, of course, were allowed to drop out of observance when the bow was displaced by the firearm. And now when men plant Yews they are mostly the ornamental varieties, such as the Irish or Florence Court Yew, which originated as a wild sport on the mountains of Fermanagh about a hundred and forty years ago. Evelyn, it is true, revived the interest in the Yew as an ornamental tree, and it is with regret we add that at his suggestion it was first put to the base use called topiary work, which had hitherto been restricted to Box and Juniper. Evelyn showed how much more closely and continuously the Yew could be clipped without affecting its vitality, and the fashion he thus set--and regarded as a "merit"--was very generally followed during the next century. Many of the atrocities of those days are still with us, but only as survivals; and we can so often agree with Evelyn that we may forgive him for having led our ancestors astray in this matter. Evelyn was by no means blind to the good points of the tree in its natural condition, as witness this quotation, which is as true to-day as when it was written:-- "He that in winter should behold some of our highest hills in Surry clad with whole woods of these two last sorts of trees [Box and Yew], for divers miles in circuit (as in those delicious groves of them, belonging to the Honourable, my Noble Friend, the late Sir Adam Brown, of Bechworth Castle), from Box Hill, might, without the least violence to his imagination, easily fancy himself transported into some new or enchanted country; for if in any spot in England, 'tis here Eternal spring and summer all the year." Along the chalk range of which the celebrated Box Hill forms part will be found many fine examples of the Yew, as at Cherkley Court, near Leatherhead, where there is an actual Yew forest. There was a monstrous Yew at Brabourne in Kent, in Evelyn's time, for he tells us he measured it, and found its girth to be only one inch short of fifty-nine feet. There are numerous giants of the species still living in quiet country churchyards, where they have probably served--as tradition states of those at Fountains Abbey--as a shelter for the builders of the ancient church during its erection. It is reputed to be the longest-lived of all trees, and it is to be hoped that no hindrance will be put in the way of these connections of the present with the far past living to their full natural limit, whatever it may be. It is naturally a tree of the uplands and lower hills, and shows a distinct preference for soils that contain plenty of lime. The Irish Yew (var. _fastigiata_), to which passing reference was made, differs from the type in having all its branches growing erectly, after the manner of a Lombardy Poplar, and in the leaves being scattered promiscuously over the branchlets instead of being in two regular rows. It attains a height of twenty to twenty-five feet. [Illustration: _Pl. 75._ Juniper.] [Illustration: _Pl. 76._ Fruits of Yew.] [Illustration: _Pl. 77._ Fruits of Juniper.] The Juniper (_Juniperus communis_) is seldom more than a shrub a few feet in height, though it occasionally develops into a small tree from ten to twenty feet high, and with a girth of five feet. It has a fibrous red bark, which flakes off like that of the Yew. The leaves are shaped like a cobbler's awl, rigid, and end in sharp points. They have thickened margins, the concave upper sides are glaucous, and they are arranged round the branches in whorls of three. The male and female flowers are on separate trees. The male catkin may be known in May by its numerous anthers and pale yellow pollen. The female catkins will be found in the axils of the leaves, and resemble buds. The scales are fleshy, and after fertilization the upper ones slowly develop into the form of a berry, which has a few undeveloped scales at its base. They do not ripen until the following year, when they are blue-black, covered with a fine glaucous bloom. They have a pungent flavour, which is utilized in concocting gin, which indeed owes its name to this fact--the word being merely a contraction of _genévrier_, the French form of Juniper. The "berries" have long been known as a kidney stimulant--a fact which has been fully utilized as the justification of every gin-drinker. A beautiful little moth--_Hypsilophus marginellus_--may often be taken about the Juniper, upon which its caterpillar feeds. To appreciate the variety of forms assumed by the Juniper according to the elevation at which it grows, it should be seen on slopes like those of the North Downs in Surrey--one portion of the range at Mickleham is named Juniper Hill. In the valleys it may be found as a small shapely tree, higher up the slopes as a pyramidal shrub, and as we reach higher and more exposed positions, the Juniper gradually dwindles to a low, shapeless bush. This, however, must not be confounded with a distinct variety to which the name _nana_ has been applied; it differs from the type in having shorter and broader overlapping leaves, with curved tips. Var. _nana_ is confined to the mountains of the north of our islands, and ascends to 2700 feet, which is 300 feet higher than is recorded of the type. [Illustration: Juniper in fruit. A, flowers.] The Virginian Juniper (_Juniperus virginiana_), or "Red Cedar," as it is called on the American continent, is a much larger plant, which is frequently planted in our parks and gardens. It varies in habit, and may be low and spreading, bush-like, or tall and tapering, thirty to forty feet high. Its leaves are in threes, like those of our native species, but the three are united by their bases. It is with the red heart-wood of this tree that our "cedar" pencils are covered, large quantities of the timber of _J. virginiana_, and formerly of _J. bermudiana_, being imported for the purpose. The Virginian Juniper has been with us for many years. It is mentioned by Evelyn in his "Sylva" (1664), and is believed to have been introduced by him from North America. [Illustration: _Pl. 78._ Scots Pine.] [Illustration: _Pl. 79._ Bole of Scots Pine.] The Scots Pine (_Pinus sylvestris_), commonly but incorrectly styled Scotch Fir, is the typical Pine-tree of Northern Europe, where (especially in Russia and Northern Germany) it constitutes huge forests. It is even said to cover far wider tracts of country than any other forest tree. Although there is evidence that in ancient days it was pretty widely distributed over Britain, to-day all those Pine-woods of Southern England are the results of planting, and it is only in a few places between Yorkshire and Sutherland, and in Ireland, that it can be regarded as truly wild and indigenous. Mr. John Nisbet points out that the term "pine-forest" is a bit of tautology, for the old German word _forst_ was derived from _foraha_--now represented by _föhre_, a fire or pine--so that "pine-forest" is equivalent to "pine-pine." However, the etymologists will probably allow us to speak of Pine-woods, and we will try to remember that when we use the word forest it must always indicate an assemblage of Pine-trees. In favourable soil, at a moderate elevation, the Scots Pine is a fine tree a hundred feet high, with a rough-barked trunk, whose girth is twelve feet. Under such conditions it develops a strong tap-root, which goes deep; but where the soil is shallow or otherwise unfavourable the tap-root is not developed. At great elevations the upward growth is checked early, and it becomes a mere evergreen bush. The branches are short and spreading, those on the lower portions of the trunk dying early, so that the tree soon gets that gaunt weather-beaten look that is so characteristic of it. Then, after the growth of the leading shoot has become feeble, the upper branches continue to lengthen, and so bring about that flat-topped condition. Its growth is rapid, and in twenty years it will attain a height of forty or fifty feet. The leaves, which are in bundles of two, are from two to three inches long, very slender, grooved above and convex beneath. They remain on the tree for over two years, and in their first season are of a glaucous hue, but in the second year this changes to dark deep-green. Both male and female flowers are borne by the same tree. The male catkins are individually small (¼ inch), but are combined in spikes; this and the abundant pale yellow pollen makes them conspicuous. The female cones are somewhat egg-shaped, tapering to a point, which is often curved. They are usually in clusters of three, and grow to a length of two or three inches. The scales are comparatively few, and their ends are thickened into an irregular four-sided boss, at first ending in a little point. The seeds are winged, and contained beneath the scales. They take about eighteen months to ripen, when the scales separate in dry windy weather, and allow the breeze to pick out the seeds and send them flying through the air to a great distance. The pollen, too, it should be noted, is of a form specially fitted for aerial transport, each particle of pollen forming two connected spheres. It is quite a common experience in May to find little heaps of this pollen collected in hollows and at the margins of ponds in the neighbourhood of Pine-woods; but, so difficult is it to get people to understand the common facts of nature, that it is generally regarded as evidence of a shower of brimstone having fallen. It is not only the ignorant rustic who falls into this error; judging from letters sent to the press by country parsons, even the universities fail to prepare their alumni to deal with such phenomena. After the eruptions of La Soufriere, several wrote to say that quantities of powdered sulphur from St. Vincent had descended in their Surrey and Hampshire parishes! their notion being that the commercial "flowers of sulphur" are the direct produce of volcanoes. [Illustration: Scots Pine.] Although the wood produced by the Scots Pine in this country is not considered of the highest quality, the species is certainly of equal value as a timber-producer with any other tree. Owing to our mild winters and long periods of seasonal growth, the Pine-wood produced in Britain is coarse-grained and not very durable. In the colder parts of Northern Europe, where summers are short and the long winters are severe, the texture of the timber is more solid and the grain closer. And so enormous quantities of Pine-wood come to us from the Baltic ports every year. In addition to the timber, other valuable substances known to commerce are products of the Scots Pine--pitch and tar, resin and turpentine, for example. The Pine is an accommodating tree, for though it likes a deep soil in which to strike its tap-root, it will grow upon rocky ground, where the roots have to become horizontal and near the surface; or it will form forests on poor sandy soils, even on the loose hot sands near the seashore. This is a valuable power, because the fall of its needles gradually forms a humus, and so provides food for other plants which could not exist on raw sand. Other coniferous trees that have become more or less familiar in our plantations and parks will be found in the second division of this book. [Illustration: _Pl. 80._ Male Flowers of Scots Pine.] The Holly (_Ilex aquifolium_). The Holly must be regarded as one of our small trees, although many specimens attain a height of forty or fifty feet, with a girth of ten or twelve feet. It is well distributed throughout our islands, ascending to a thousand feet, and it is probable that no other tree is so well known, by its foliage at least, as the Holly, or Holm, to give it its ancient name. The word Holm was incorporated by some of our ancestors far back in the name Holmsdale, which still attaches to the stretch of country at the southern foot of the chalk hills in Surrey, and whose proud motto is, "Never wonne, ne never shall." At the western end of the Holmsdale is Holmwood, and still a little further west Holmbury. In these places the Holly still grows bravely, not far from the old home of John Evelyn, who must be thought of whenever we talk of Hollies, though the recollection has to do with Sayes Court, his Thames-side house, where the barbarian Peter wrought such havoc with his cherished Holly-hedge. How Evelyn must have lamented that outrage is indicated in this extract from the "Sylva":-- "Is there under heaven a more glorious and refreshing object of the kind, than an impregnable hedge of about four hundred feet in length, nine feet high, and five in diameter, which I can show in my now ruined gardens at Say's Court (thanks to the Czar of Moscovy) at any time of the year, glittering with its armed and varnished leaves? The taller standards at orderly distance, blushing with their natural coral. It mocks the rudest assaults of the weather, beasts, or hedge-breakers, _et illum nemo impunè lacessit_." [Illustration: _Pl. 81._ Holly.] [Illustration: Holly.] The bark of the Holly is smooth and pale-grey in colour. Time out of mind it has been used in the preparation of a viscid substance known as birdlime, which, spread on twigs, holds the feet of small birds. Respecting the foliage of the Holly, there is little need to say anything, but for uniformity's sake we may note that the leaves are oval in shape, of a leathery consistence, with a firmer margin, running out into long sharp spines. It is a fact worthy of note that when the Holly has attained to a height of ten feet or so, it frequently clothes its upper branches in leaves that have no spines--a circumstance that Robert Southey sought to explain in his poem "The Holly-tree," on teleological grounds. His second verse, however, contains sufficient explanation of the fact it describes:-- "Below, a circling fence, its leaves are seen Wrinkled and keen; No grazing cattle through their prickly round Can reach to wound; But, as they grow where nothing is to fear, Smooth and unarm'd the pointless leaves appear." In some places the young shoots are gathered by the peasants, dried, bruised, and used as a winter cattle-food. No doubt, in the early history of the Holly, cattle found out its good qualities for themselves, and browsed upon the then-unarmed foliage. In self-defence the tree developed spines upon its leaves, and so kept its enemies at a respectful distance. Above the reach of these marauders the production of spines would be a useless waste of material. [Illustration: _Pl. 82._ Flowers of Holly.] The flowers of the Holly, though small, are conspicuous by their great number and white colour. They are about a quarter of an inch across, with four petals and four stamens or stigmas. Sometimes flowers with stamens are produced by the same tree that bears flowers with stigmas; but often the male and the female flowers are borne by separate trees, so that the possessor of a Holly that is solely male is sometimes puzzled by the fact that his tree, though covered with blossom, never produces a berry. The fruit is analogous in structure to that of the Plum and Cherry, and is technically termed a _drupe_; but instead of the single stone of these fruits, in the Holly-berry there are four bony little stones, each with its contained seed. The berries ripen about September, and are then scarlet and glossy, though here and there one finds a tree whose fruit never gets beyond the yellow stage of coloration. [Illustration: _Pl. 83._ Fruits of Holly.] [Illustration: _Pl. 84._ Bole of Holly.] Most parts of the tree have had their uses in medicine; the leaves, for example, being said to have value as a febrifuge, and the berries as a purgative, or in large doses (6 to 8) as an emetic. The smooth bark of large Hollies is often attacked by one of the most striking of our native lichens--_Graphis elegans_--whose black fruiting portions look like a raised cuneiform inscription. The Holly is not greatly subject to the attacks of insects, but many of its leaves will be found to have been tunnelled between the upper and lower skins by the larva of a minute moth, one of the Leaf-miners. It also provides the pabulum for the caterpillar of the Holly-blue butterfly (_Lycæna argiolus_). The dead leaves may be examined for the minute Prickly Snail (_Helix aculeata_). The wood of the Holly has an exceedingly fine grain, due to its slow growth, and it is very hard and white. These qualities make it valuable for many purposes, often as a substitute for Box-wood, and, when dyed black, in lieu of Ebony. * * * * * [Illustration: _Pl. 85._ Spindle--winter.] The Spindle-tree (_Euonymus europæus_). The Spindle is right on the borderland between trees and shrubs, for though it will grow into a tree twenty feet high, yet our hedgerow specimens are usually bushlike, and only ten or twelve feet high. Until the autumn the Spindle, we fear, is rarely recognized as such, but gets confused with Buckthorn and Dogwood. In October, however, its quaint fruits have changed to a pale crimson hue, which renders them the most conspicuous feature of a hedgerow--even of one plentifully decorated with scarlet hips and haws and bryony-berries. The unusual tint of the Spindle, and the fact that it swings on a slender stalk, at once mark it out from the rigid-stalked hips and haws. The trunk of the Spindle is clothed in smooth grey bark. The twigs, which are in pairs, starting from opposite sides of a branch, are four-angled. The shining leaves vary from egg-shaped to lance-shaped, with finely-toothed edges. They are arranged in pairs, and in autumn they change to yellow and red. When bruised they give off a f[oe]tid odour, the juice is acrid, and said to be poisonous--a charge which is laid against the bark, flowers, and seed as well. The small greenish-white flowers are borne in loose clusters, of the type known as cymes, from the axils of the leaves, and appear in May and June. Some contain both stamens and pistil, but others are either stamenate _or_ pistillate. The calyx is cut into four or six parts, the petals and stamens agree with these parts in number, but the lobes of the stigma only range from three to five, corresponding with the cells of the ovary. The fruit is deeply lobed, and marked with grooves, indicating the lines of future division, when the lobes open and disclose the seeds, at first covered with their orange jackets, or _arils_, after the manner of the mace that encloses the nutmeg. [Illustration: _Pl. 86._ Flowers of Spindle.] [Illustration: _Pl. 87._ Fruits of Spindle-tree.] [Illustration: Spindle-tree. A, flowers.] The hardness and toughness of Spindle-wood has long been esteemed in the fashioning of small wares where these qualities are essential, and the common name is a survival of the days when spinning was the occupation of every woman. Then spindles were in demand for winding the spun thread upon, and no wood was more suitable than that of Euonymus for making them. It shares with the Cornel (_Cornus sanguinea_) the name Dogwood; it is also Skewerwood, Prickwood, and Pegwood, all suggestive of uses to which it is or was applied. The young shoots make a very fine charcoal for artists' use. The Spindle is indigenous throughout our islands, but cannot be said to be generally common; it is rarer in Scotland and Ireland than in England. Among the exotic species cultivated in our parks and gardens are the handsome variegated forms of the Evergreen Spindle (_Euonymus japonicus_) of China and Japan, and the Broad-leaved Spindle (_E. latifolius_) from Europe. The Buckthorns (_Rhamnus_). Our two native species of Buckthorn are shrubs of from five to ten feet in height. In this one respect they agree; in almost all others they differ. Both are Buckthorns in name, but the Breaking Buckthorn (_Rhamnus frangula_) is quite unarmed, whilst many of the branchlets of the Purging Buckthorn (_Rhamnus catharticus_) are hardened into spines. The Purging Buckthorn is distinguished by its stiff habit, and by some of the leaves being gathered into bundles at the ends of the shoots. The leaves are egg-shaped, with toothed edges, and of a yellowish-green tint, with short leaf-stalks. The yellowish-green flowers are very small, and will be found both singly and in clusters from the leaf-axils. There are a four-cleft calyx, four petals, four stamens, or four stigmas, for the sexes are usually on separate plants. The fruit is black, round, and about a quarter of an inch across, containing four stones. These so-called "berries" are ripe in September. Formerly they were much used as a purging medicine, but of so violent a character that their use has come to be discouraged, and the safer syrup of Buckthorn is prescribed instead. The juice of these berries is the raw material from which the artist's sap-green is prepared. It may be found in woods, thick hedgerows, and bushy places on commons southward of Westmoreland, showing a decided preference for chalky soils. In Ireland it only occurs rarely. [Illustration: _Pl. 88._ Breaking Buckthorn.] [Illustration: _Pl. 89._ Fruits of Purging Buckthorn.] [Illustration: _Pl. 90._ Fruits of Breaking Buckthorn.] [Illustration: Purging Buckthorn. A, flowers.] The Breaking Buckthorn (_Rhamnus frangula_) is also known as the Berry-bearing Alder, its leaves, with their lateral veins, presenting something of the appearance of the Alder. Its more slender stems are purplish-brown in hue, and _all_ the leaves are arranged alternately up the stems. The leaves further differ from those of _R. catharticus_ in having plain, un-toothed edges, and their veins parallel one to another. The flowers are similar in size to those of the other species, but are whiter, less yellow, fewer in number, and on longer stalks. The parts of the flower, too, are in fives instead of fours; and the "berry," though similar to the previous species, is much larger (half-inch diameter). In an unripe condition these fruits yield a good green dye, much used by calico printers and others. The wood made into charcoal is said to be the best for the purposes of the gunpowder makers, who know it by the name of Black Dogwood. The straight shoots of both species are used for forming walking and umbrella sticks, and those of longer growth for pea and bean sticks. The Brimstone butterfly (_Gonepteryx rhamni_) lays its eggs on the leaves of _R. frangula_, upon which the larva feeds. The name Buckthorn appears to be due to an ancient misunderstanding of the German name Buxdorn, which should have been translated Box-thorn. Wild Plums (_Prunus communis_). With the single exception of the Hazel, all our native fruit-trees are members of the extensive and beautiful Rose family. Before Roman invasions brought improved and cultivated varieties, our "rude forefathers" must have been glad to eat the Sloes, Crabs, and Wild Cherries that are now regarded as too terribly crude and austere, in an uncooked condition, for any stomach but that of the natural boy, which appears capable of surviving any ill-treatment. Some authors have regarded the Wild Plum and the Bullace as being specifically distinct from the Sloe and from each other; but the modern view is that their differences only entitle them to rank as sub-species of the Sloe, and as such they will be regarded here. [Illustration: _Pl. 91._ Flowers of Wild Plum.] [Illustration: _Pl. 92._ Sloes.] [Illustration: _Pl. 93._ Blackthorn--spring.] [Illustration: Blackthorn. A, flowers.] The Sloe or Blackthorn (_Prunus communis_) is the rigid many-branched shrub, with stiletto-like tips, that luxuriates on some of our commons and in our hedgerows. The blackish bark that gives its name to the shrub forms a fine foil in March or April for the pure white starry blossoms that brave the cold blasts before the leaf-buds dare unfurl their coverings. In some places--as in Cornwall, where it is the principal hedge plant, and where cliffs, creeks, and river banks are bordered by it--these bare black or purple stems are almost hidden by the abundant growth of the Grey Lichen (_Evernia prunastri_). In this, the typical form, the branches and twigs turn in every direction, so that it is impossible to thrust one's hand into a Blackthorn bush without getting considerably scratched. The well-known flower consists of a five-lobed calyx, five white petals, and from fifteen to twenty stamens round the single carpel. The stigma matures in advance of the stamens, so that it has usually been fertilized by bee-borne pollen from another Sloe before its own anthers have disclosed their pollen. The fruit is about half an inch across, globose in form, and held erect upon its short stalk; black, but its blackness hidden by a delicate "bloom" that gives it a purplish glaucous hue. Terribly harsh are these fruits to the palate, and a mere bite at an unripe one is sufficient to set teeth on edge and contract the muscles of mouth and face. And yet, when the tight jacket of the Sloe begins to relax and pucker, the juice condenses into more mealy flesh, and the acridity passes, one may _eat_ not one but a dozen, slowly, enjoying the piquancy of each before swallowing. Country people make them into wine, and it used to be said that much that is sold as port had its origin in the skins of British sloes instead of Portuguese grapes. And for special use "for the stomach's sake" old-wife followers of St. Paul pin their faith to gin in which Sloes have soaked for months. In the days of our youth it was a stock jibe against the grocer that most of his China tea had been grown on Blackthorn bushes not far from home, and with tea at five or six shillings a pound there may have been some basis of truth for the belief; but with the prices of to-day it may be presumed that Blackthorn leaves would cost the dealer at least as much as real tea-leaves from Assam and Darjeeling. The Bullace (_Prunus communis_, sub-sp. _insititia_) differs from the Sloe in having _brown_ bark, the branches _straight_ and only a few of them ending in spines, the leaves larger, broader, more coarsely toothed, and downy on the underside. The flowers, too, have broader petals, and the fruit--which may be black or yellow--droops, and is between three-quarters and one inch in diameter. In many places where this grows it can only be regarded as an escape from cultivation. The Wild Plum (_Prunus communis_, sub-sp. _domestica_) has also brown bark, its branches straight, and not ending in spines. The downiness noticed on the underside of the Bullace leaves is here restricted to the ribs of the leaf. The fruit attains a diameter of an inch or an inch and a half. Although found occasionally in hedgerows, this sub-species is not indigenous in any part of our islands. Hooker says the only country in which it is really indigenous is Western Asia; but its numerous cultivated forms are widely distributed. It should be noted that the fruits of the Blackthorn and its sub-species are formed within the flower; so are those of the Cherries, to be next described, the ovary being botanically termed "superior," that is, above the base of the calyx and corolla, when the flower is in an erect position. This is a point of some importance when one seeks to understand the different formation of the fruit in so closely related a species as the Apple, in which the ovary is "inferior," or below the flower. Wild Cherries (_Prunus avium_). Nature has been comparatively lavish in the matter of Cherries, for she has bestowed three species upon the British Islands. For the cultivated Cherry it is said that we ought to thank the Romans, as for many other good things in the way of food. Pliny states that we had the Cherry in Britain by the middle of the first century A.D. Evelyn tells us that the Cherry orchards of Kent owe their origin to "the plain industry of one Richard Haines, a printer to Henry VIII.," by whom "the fields and environs of about thirty towns, in Kent only, were planted with fruit trees from Flanders, to the unusual benefit and general improvement of the county to this day." It is probable, however, that our own countrymen had already effected some improvement on the wild sorts by cultivation, for even in the woods some trees are found bearing fruit much larger and of better flavour than usual, and such would be selected for cultivation. [Illustration: _Pl. 94._ Gean in flower.] [Illustration: _Pl. 95._ Flowers of Gean.] Our three natives are the Wild or Dwarf Cherry (_Prunus cerasus_), the Gean (_P. avium_), and the Bird Cherry (_P. padus_). Of these the Gean is the species most widely distributed throughout our country, and we therefore give it precedence. [Illustration: Gean. A, fruit; B, flower.] The Gean (_Prunus avium_) is a tree that in suitable soils attains a height of thirty or forty feet, with short, stout branches, that take an upward direction. The leaves are large, broadly oval, with sharp-toothed edges, and downy on the underside. They always droop from the branches, and in spring they are of a bronzy-brown tint, which afterwards changes to pale green. Soon after the leaves have unfolded they are almost hidden by the umbels of wide-open white flowers, which have soft, heart-shaped petals, and whose anthers and stigmas mature simultaneously. The firm-fleshed drupe is heart-shaped, black or red, sweet or bitter, with scanty juice which stains the fingers. This is believed to be the original wild stock from which our modern Black Hearts and Bigarreau Cherries have been evolved by the cultivator. [Illustration: Wild Cherry. A, fruit; B, flower.] The Dwarf or Wild Cherry (_Prunus cerasus_) is more bush-like than tree-like, for it sends up a great number of suckers around the main stem. The branches are slender and drooping. The leaves, which are of similar shape to those of _P. avium_, are smooth and deep blue-green in tint, with round-toothed edges. The flowers are not so widely open as in the previous species, but retain more of the cup-shape, whilst the notched petals are firmer in consistence and oval in shape. The drupe is in this species round, with red skin and juicy flesh of a distinctly acid character. The juice does not stain as does that of _P. avium_. The Morello or Brandy Cherry, the May Duke, and the Kentish Cherries are considered to be derived from this species. This does not extend further north than Yorkshire; in Ireland it is rare. [Illustration: _Pl. 96._ Bird Cherry--spring.] [Illustration: _Pl. 97._ Bole of Bird Cherry.] The Bird Cherry (_Prunus padus_) forms a tree from ten to twenty feet in height, with more elliptic leaves, which have their edges doubly cut into fine teeth. The flowers are not clustered in umbels, as in both the foregoing, but in a loose raceme from lateral spurs of new growth. The flowers are erect when they open, and the stigmas mature before the anthers, so that cross-fertilization is favoured in this species. After fertilization the flower droops, to be out of the way of the bees in their visits to the unfertilized blossoms. The petals in this species look as if their edges had been gnawed. The drupes are small, black, and very bitter, with a wrinkled stone. This is a northern species, coming not further south than Leicestershire and South Wales. All three species flower in late April or early May. Cherry wood is strong, fine-grained, and of a red colour. It is easily worked, and susceptible of a high polish, so that it is in request by cabinet-makers, turners, and musical instrument makers. [Illustration: _Pl. 98._ Flowers of Wild Apple.] [Illustration: _Pl. 99._ Bird Cherry--winter.] * * * * * [Illustration: _Pl. 100._ Wild Pear--spring.] The Wild Pear (_Pyrus communis_). The Wild Pear is only to be found growing in the southern half of Britain, its northward range not extending beyond Yorkshire, and even in the south its claim to be regarded as a true native has been contested. Mr. Hewett C. Watson regards it as more probably a denizen, that is, a species originally introduced by man, which has maintained its hold upon the new land. Upon this assumption it is probable that the introduced specimens were already somewhat cultivated, but when they (or their descendants) became wild they reverted to the original condition of the species. [Illustration: Wild Pear. A, flower.] The Wild Pear, or Choke-pear, is a small tree, from twenty to sixty feet in height, of somewhat pyramidal form. The twigs, which are usually of a drooping tendency, are also much given to ending in spines--a character scarcely apparent in the cultivated tree. The leaves, too, of the wild tree are more distinctly toothed than those of the Garden Pear. They are oval in shape, with blunt-toothed edges, and downy on the lower surface. Along the new shoots the leaves are arranged alternately on opposite sides, but on shoots a year old they are produced in clusters. The flowers, which measure more than an inch across, are pure white in colour, and are clustered in cymes of five to nine. They appear in April and May, and are of the Wild Rose type, there being numerous stamens, from three to five styles, which ripen before the stamens, five petals, and the calyx, taking the form of a pitcher with a five-lobed mouth, represents the five sepals. In speaking of the Wild Plums we directed attention to the fact that the ovary was within the flower; in the Pear (and the other members of the genus _Pyrus_) it is below the flower, hidden away in fact within the calyx-tube. When the flower opens it is ready for fertilization, but as the stamens of that flower are not yet mature this can only be accomplished by pollen brought by the bees from other flowers as they rifle the honey-glands. The effect of pollination is to cause special vegetative activity in the neighbourhood of the ovary, resulting in the thickening of the flesh of the calyx-tube around it, until it has become of the characteristic pear-shape, and an inch or two in length. A section of a pear or apple, taken lengthwise, will show a faint green outline of the ovary, and will demonstrate how much of the flesh is really belonging to the calyx-tube. The fruit of the Wild Pear is green until about November, when it turns yellow. It is of too harsh a character to be fit for eating. A Pear formerly known as a variety (_briggsii_) of _Pyrus communis_ is now regarded as a distinct species under the name of _Pyrus cordata_. It is found in Cornwall, and is distinguished by its more oval leaves being rounded at the base, and by its much smaller fruits being often globular. The Pear is a long-lived tree, that grows singly or in small groups on dry plains. It attains a height of about fifty feet in thirty years, and its girth may then be three or four feet. The timber is fine-grained, strong and heavy, with a reddish tinge. Stained with black, it is used to counterfeit ebony. [Illustration: _Pl. 101._ Wild Apples.] [Illustration: _Pl. 102._ Bole of Wild Pear.] [Illustration: _Pl. 103._ Wild Pear--winter.] The Wild Apple (_Pyrus malus_). It is by no means an easy matter to decide whether the Crab-trees that grow along the hedgerows are truly wild or the offspring of orchard apples. In woods, away from gardens and orchards, there is less difficulty. Like the Pear, the Apple appears to have been the subject of cultural attention from very early times. This is proved by the philologists from the similarity of the equivalents for our word Apple in all the Celtic and Sclavonian languages, showing by their common origin that the fruit was of sufficient importance to have a distinctive name long before the separation of the peoples of Northern Europe. The name of Crab is of comparatively recent origin. Prior regards it as a form of the Lowland Scotch _scrab_, derived from Anglo-Saxon _scrobb_, a shrub, indicating that it is an Apple-bush rather than an Apple-tree. The Wild Apple has not the pyramidal form of the Wild Pear, the branches spreading more widely when young and drooping when older, so that the head is rounded. In height it varies as a tree from twenty to thirty feet, though many examples of good age still retain the dimensions of a bush. Owing to the spreading character of the branches, the diameter of the head often exceeds the height of the tree. The bole has seldom any pretensions to symmetry, and is usually more or less crooked like the older branches. The brown bark is not very rough, though its numerous fissures and cracks give it a rugged appearance. Its wood, like that of the Pear, is hard and fine-grained, but, instead of having a reddish tinge, there is a tendency to brownness. The leaves vary in shape, but are more or less oblong, smooth above, sometimes downy on the lower surface when young, and with toothed edges. [Illustration: Crab or Wild Apple. A, flower; B, fruit.] The flowers are about the same size as those of the Wild Pear, but their white petals are beautifully tinted and streaked with pink. The small clusters are umbels--that is to say, the footstalks of similar length start from a common base. The fruit is almost spherical, and instead of the foot-stalk gradually merging into the apple, the attachment is always in a depression of the latter. In the typical form of the Wild Apple the yellow and red fruit hang by their slender stalks, but there is a variety (_mitis_) in which the fruit is borne _above_ the stouter stalks. The variety may also be known by the downiness of the young leaves, the calyx-tube, and the stalks. The fruit is about an inch across, and so rich in malic acid as to be unfit for food in its natural state, though children punish their digestive organs with it. Pigs are partial to Crab-apples, a taste they have evidently inherited from the wild boar. A delicious preserve, called Crab-jelly, is made by stewing the whole fruit, then pressing the soft flesh through a hair sieve, and boiling the pulp with sugar. Cyder is made from the rotting Crabs; also a kind of vinegar called verjuice, or vargis. [Illustration: _Pl. 104._ Wild Apple--summer.] [Illustration: _Pl. 105._ Wild Apple--winter.] The Wild Apple is found all over the United Kingdom as far north as the Clyde, and wherever it is known to occur it is worth a special visit in May, when all its crooked branches and straggling shoots are rendered beautiful by the abundance of delicately tinted and fragrant flowers. It is also far from being unattractive in the autumn, when the miniature apples hang from the boughs. [Illustration: _Pl. 106._ Bole of Crab, or Wild Apple.] White Beam (_Pyrus aria_). Owing to its very local occurrence, the White Beam, though widely distributed, is one of the less known of our trees and shrubs. It comes into both these categories according to the situation of its growth, for whilst in exposed mountainous localities a specimen of mature age may be no more than four or five feet high, and of bush-like growth, under the lee of a wood, and on a calcareous soil, it will be an erect and graceful tree of pyramidal form, whose apex is forty feet from the ground. In its early years growth is tolerably rapid, but at the age of ten it slackens pace, and after it has attained its majority its progress is very slow. Its wood is fine-grained, very hard, white, but inclining to yellow. The bark is smooth, and little subject to the cracks and fissures that mark the Apple-bark. The branches, except a few of the lowest, all have an upward tendency. [Illustration: _Pl. 107._ White Beam--spring.] [Illustration: White Beam. A, fruits.] The leaves vary considerably in the several forms or sub-species, but in the typical form they are a broad oval, with the edges coarsely toothed or cut into lobes, the upper side smooth, and the lower side clothed with white cottony down, the almost straight nerves strongly marked. The white flowers, which appear in May or June, are only half an inch across, and gathered into loose clusters. They are succeeded by nearly round scarlet fruits, half an inch in diameter, known in Lancashire and Westmoreland as Chess-apples. The tree is also known in the same districts as Sea Owler, the latter word, according to Prior, being a corruption of Aller or Alder, probably from the resemblance of the plaited leaves to those of _Alnus glutinosa_. These Chess-apples are very sharp and rough to the taste, but when kept like Medlars, till they "blet" or begin to decay, are far from unpleasant. Birds and squirrels eagerly seek for them on the tree, and those that fall are as welcome to hedgehogs and other mammals. This form is only found from the Midlands to the South of England as far west as Devon, and in Ireland. The sub-species _latifolia_ (_Pyrus rotundifolia_ of some botanists) has broader leaves, varying from oval-oblong to almost round, divided into wedge-shaped lobes, the cottony down beneath being grey rather than white, and the nerves less prominent on the underside. This form is found in Cornwall. The sub-species _scandica_ (also known as _Pyrus intermedia_) has the leaves less tough, more deeply divided into rounded or oblong lobes, and the grey cotton beneath of a looser character. This form is found in Scotland. It should be noted that this species must not be called the White Beam-_tree_, for the word _beam_ is the Saxon equivalent for tree. Other names for it include Hen-apple, Cumberland Hawthorn, Hoar Withy, Quick Beam, and Whipcrop. THE WILD SERVICE (_Pyrus torminalis_) is a small tree of local occurrence, which does not extend further north than Lancashire. In general appearance it may be taken for the White Beam, but closer inspection will reveal the following differences. The leaves, which are cut into tapering lobes and coarsely toothed, are heart-shaped at the base; when young they are slightly downy beneath, but when mature they are smooth on both sides. Though the flowers are similar in size and colour to those of the White Beam, the fruit is smaller (one-third inch in diameter), less globular, and more like a large haw, though the colour is greenish-brown. The flowers appear in April and May, and the fruit, which is of a very dry, juiceless character, is ripe in November. In some localities these fruits are marketed, but they require to be kept like Medlars, until decay sets in, before they are fit to be eaten. [Illustration: _Pl. 108._ Flowers of White Beam.] [Illustration: _Pl. 109._ Bole of White Beam.] [Illustration: _Pl. 110._ White Beam--winter.] Mountain Ash, or Rowan (_Pyrus aucuparia_). Little description of the Mountain Ash is needed, for in recent years it has come so much into favour that it is now one of the commonest of the trees planted in little suburban gardens and fore-courts. Its hardiness, its indifference to the character of the soil, the fact that other plants will grow beneath it, and the absence of need for pruning--all these points unite to make it suitable and popular for growth in restricted spaces. But the wood on the hillside is the natural home of the Mountain Ash, and in the Highlands its vertical range extends to 2600 feet above sea-level. [Illustration: _Pl. 111._ Rowan, or Mountain Ash--summer.] The Mountain Ash attains a height of from thirty to fifty feet, and has a straight clean bole, clothed in smooth grey bark, scarred horizontally as though it had been scored with a knife. All the branches have an upward tendency, and the shoots bear the long feathery leaves, whose division into six or eight pairs of slender leaflets suggests _the_ Ash, from which part of its name has been borrowed. Gazing on this tree either in flower or fruit, it would be quite unnecessary to explain that it is not even remotely allied to _Fraxinus excelsior_, and that the similarity of leaf-division is the only point of resemblance between them. These leaflets have toothed edges, are paler on the underside, and in a young condition the midrib and nerves are hairy. The creamy-white fragrant flowers are like little Hawthorn blossoms, though only half the size, and they appear in dense clusters (_cymes_) in May or June. The fruit are miniature apples, of the size of holly-berries, bright scarlet without and yellow within. They ripen in September, and are then a great attraction to thrushes, blackbirds, and their kind, who rapidly strip the tree of them. Though this at first sight may appear like frustrating the tree's object in producing fruit, it is not really so, the attractive flesh being a mere bait to induce the birds to pass the seeds through their intestines, and thus get them sown far and wide. By this method the process of germination is considerably hastened, whereas by hand-sowing the seeds lie in the earth for eighteen months before shooting. All the species of _Pyrus_ produce their fruits with this object, the larger more or less brownish ones being intended to attract mammals, the smaller and red-coloured to tempt birds. The seeds have leathery jackets to protect them from the action of the digestive fluids, and are further wrapped in a parchmenty, bony, or wooden "core" (_endocarp_) with a similar object. In the case of the Rowan this is very like wood. [Illustration: Rowan, or Mountain Ash. A, portion of flower-cluster.] In the south of Britain the Mountain Ash is chiefly grown as underwood and used as a nurse for oaks and other timber trees, which soon outgrow it and kill it; so that in the woods it is seldom allowed to grow into a fully developed tree, but, thanks to the birds, it comes up on the common and the hillside, and has a chance of producing its masses of ruby fruit. Its wood is tough and elastic, but, owing to the smallness of its girth, it does not produce timber of any size. Still, it makes admirable poles and hoops. The word Rowan is one of the most interesting of tree-names, and connects the still-existing superstitious practices of our northern counties, not only with the old Norsemen, but with the ancient Hindus who spoke the Sanskrit tongue. The word is spelled in many ways which connect it with the Old Norse _runa_, a charm, it being supposed to have power to ward off the effects of the evil eye. In earlier times _runa_ was the Sanskrit appellation for a magician; _rûn-stafas_ were staves cut from the Rowan-tree upon which runes were inscribed. Until quite recently the respect for its magical properties was shown in the north by fixing a branch of Rowan to the cattle-byre as a charm against the evil designs of witches, warlocks, and others of that kidney. In this connection we may quote also from Evelyn's "Sylva." He says: "Ale and beer brewed with these berries, being ripe, is an incomparable drink, familiar in Wales, where this tree is reputed so sacred that there is not a churchyard without one of them planted in it (as among us the Yew); so, on a certain day in the year, everybody religiously wears a cross made of the wood; and the tree is by some authors called Fraxinus Cambro-Britannica, reputed to be a preservative against fascinations and evil spirits; whence, perhaps, we call it witchen, the boughs being stuck about the house or the wood used for walking-staves." [Illustration: _Pl. 112._ Bole of Rowan.] [Illustration: _Pl. 113._ Flowers of Rowan.] Among the numerous names of the Mountain Ash are Fowler's Service (or Servise, from _Cerevisia_, a fermented drink), Cock-drunks, Hen-drunks (from the belief that fowls were intoxicated by eating the "berries"), Quickbeam, White Ash (from the colour of the flowers), Witch-wood, and Witchen. Quickbeam is in allusion to the constant movement of foliage, quick being the Anglo-Saxon _cwic_, alive. Witch-wood and Witchen are also forms of _cwic_. [Illustration: _Pl. 114._ Rowan--winter.] * * * * * The True Service (_Pyrus sorbus_) closely resembles the Mountain Ash in habit and foliage, but it is not a native of Britain, though it used to be claimed as such, on account of its growing in the more mountainous parts of Cornwall and in Wyre Forest, Worcestershire. The latter, however, is the only Service tree that could put in such a claim, for it grows--or grew?--far from habitations or cultivated land, and the presumption is that it has not owed its introduction to man. Still, "one swallow does not make a summer," and a solitary wild tree does not give the species a title to be reckoned as British. It is occasionally cultivated here, and its portrait, with a brief account of its points of difference from the Mountain Ash, may be useful. A comparison of the photographs from the boles of the two species will show a great difference: that of the Mountain Ash being smooth, whilst that of the Service is rugged. The leaf is similarly broken up into paired leaflets, but these are broader, and are downy on both upper and lower sides. The white flowers are as large as May-blossoms, and the fruits, which may be either apple-shaped or pear-shaped, are greenish-brown, with rusty specks, and four times the size of Rowan-berries. In winter, when there are neither leaves, flowers, nor fruits to help in the distinction, the bark may be taken in conjunction with the leaf-buds, which are green and smooth in this species, whilst those of the Mountain Ash are black and downy. The fruit may be eaten after it has begun to decay, as in the case of the Medlar. Loudon describes the wood of the Service as the hardest and heaviest of all the trees indigenous to Europe: fine-grained, red-tinted, susceptible of a high polish, and much in request in France for all purposes where strength and durability are needed. He further says that it takes two centuries to attain its full stature (fifty to sixty feet), "and lives to so great an age that some specimens of it are believed to be upwards of 1000 years old." We have already made reference to the meaning of the name Service. Another name--Sorb (from Latin _sorbeo_)--shows closer affinity for the fermented liquor indicated by Servise, for it means "drink down." A third name is Chequer-tree, which Dr. Prior tells us is an antique pronunciation of the word _choker_, in allusion to the unpalatable fruit, fit to choke one. Choke-pear, it will be remembered, is a synonym of the Wild Pear. Britten and Holland regard the name Chequer-tree as having no connection with choking, but an indication of the chequered or spotted appearance of the fruit. [Illustration: _Pl. 115._ True Service Tree--spring.] [Illustration: _Pl. 116._ Fruit of Medlar.] [Illustration: _Pl. 117._ Bole of True Service.] * * * * * The Medlar (_Pyrus germanica_) is a small tree, native of Persia, Asia Minor, and Greece, and which is generally held to occur wild in England and the Channel Islands only as an escape from cultivation. The theory is that the tree was introduced at some date prior to 1596--when we have record of its being in cultivation here--and that the Medlar-trees growing in the hedges of south and middle England are from seeds of these cultivated trees, which have been sown by birds, or more probably mammals who have eaten the fruit. The fact that it is not found in woods is taken as evidence that it is non-indigenous. Such evidence is not the most convincing, but it is the best available. It should be noted, however, that the agents credited with its distribution along our hedgerows have free access to woods, and that if these places were favourable to the growth of the Medlar, we should probably find it there, whether indigenous or exotic. Much more conclusive, we think, is its restricted distribution abroad, as already indicated. One would not expect to find a tree whose nearest home is Greece, leaping over the whole of Europe and appearing as an indigene in Britain. [Illustration: Medlar. A, flower.] In its wild condition the Medlar is a much-branched and spiny tree, from ten to twenty feet high, in these respects resembling the Hawthorn; but, like the Pear, it puts off its defences when cultivated. Its leaves are large and undivided, of an oblong-lance shape, downy beneath, and sometimes with the edges very finely toothed. The solitary white flowers are large--one and a half inches across--with a woolly calyx, whose five tips expand into leafy growths. They appear in May or June, and are succeeded by brown fruits, an inch or less across, which may be described as round, with a depressed top, which is ornamented with the remains of the calyx-lobes. They ripen in October or November. Hawthorn (_Cratægus oxyacantha_). Though distributed as a wild tree throughout the length and breadth of the British Islands, we are all more familiar with the Hawthorn as planted material in the construction of hedges, and this is a use to which it has been put ever since land was plotted out and enclosed. For the word is Anglo-Saxon (_hægthorn_), and signifies hedge-thorn. The man in the street would say without hesitation that Hawthorn means the thorn that produces Haws, but the philologist would tell him that it is only a modern and erroneous practice to apply the name of the hedge to the fruit of the hedge-thorn. It is also Whitethorn, to make the distinction between its light-grey bark and that of the Blackthorn; and May because of the period when it chiefly attracts attention. [Illustration: _Pl. 118._ Fruits of Hawthorn.] [Illustration: _Pl. 119._ True Service--winter.] Where the Hawthorn is allowed its natural growth, it attains a height of forty feet, with a circumference between three and ten feet. Such a tree is represented in our photograph. On our commons, where in their youth the Hawthorns have to submit to much mutilation from browsing animals, their growth is spoiled; but though some of these never become more than bushes tangled up with Blackthorn into small thickets, there are others that form a distinct bole and a round head of branches from ten to twenty feet high, which in late May or (more frequently) early June look like solid masses of snow. The characteristic of the tree which makes it so valuable as fencing material is found in its numerous branches, supporting a network of twigs so dense that even a hand may not be pushed among them without incurring serious scratches. That this character is not confined to it as a hedge shrub is clearly shown by the winter photograph of the leafless tree. [Illustration: Hawthorn, or May. A, fruit ("haws").] The well-known lobed leaves are very variable both in size and shape, and the degree to which they are cut. They are a favourite food with horses and oxen, who would demolish the hedges that confine them to the fields but for the spines which protect the older branches at least. The white flowers are about three-quarters of an inch across, borne in numerous corymbs. The pink anthers give relief to the uniform whiteness of the petals. The flowers, though usually sweet-scented, occasionally give forth a very unpleasant odour. The familiar fruits, too, instead of their usual crimson, are yellow occasionally, as in the Holly. In favourable years these are so plentiful that they quite kill the effect of the dark-green leaves, and when such a tree is seen in the October sunshine, it appears to be glowing with fire to its centre. Beneath the ripe mealy flesh there is a hard bony core, in whose cells the seeds are protected from digestion when the fruit has been swallowed by a bird. The Hawthorn is said to live from a century to two centuries, growing very slowly after it has reached a height of about fifteen feet. Its wood is both hard and tough, and the name of the genus has reference to that fact, being derived from the Greek kratos, strength. [Illustration: _Pl. 120._ Hawthorn--summer.] [Illustration: _Pl. 121._ Flowers of Hawthorn--"May."] [Illustration: _Pl. 122._ Bole of Hawthorn.] [Illustration: _Pl. 123._ Hawthorn--winter.] The Strawberry-tree (_Arbutus unedo_). Not in the woods or by waysides in Great Britain will the Strawberry-tree be found, though it may be seen in parks and gardens; but in parts of the Emerald Isle it is native. Killarney, Muckross, and Bantry are given by Hooker as its Irish stations, but we have also found it in the woods at Woodstock, Co. Kilkenny, in a situation where it seemed unlikely such a tree would be planted. It does not attain a large size--ordinarily about ten or twelve feet--though in cultivation it may attain to twenty or even thirty feet. The bark is rough and scaly, tinged with red, and twisted. The leathery leaves are more or less oval, two or three inches long, with toothed edges and hairy stalks. Although arranged alternately on the shoots, they present the appearance at a little distance of being clustered, rosette fashion, at the tips of the twigs. The creamy-white flowers are clustered in drooping racemes at the ends of the twigs, and are about one-third of an inch across, bell-shaped. When the seed-eggs have been fertilized the corollas drop off, so that in the flowering season (September and October) the ground beneath will usually be found strewn with them. The fruit is a round berry, of an orange-red hue, whose surface is completely studded with little points. As these berries do not come to maturity until about fourteen months after the flowers have dropped their corollas, we may see both flowers and almost full-formed fruit on the tree at the same time. They are not eatable until quite ripe, and even then they are not to everybody's taste, on account of their austerity. In truth, we have it on the testimony of Pliny that the old Latin name _unedo_, now enshrined in the specific scientific name, was given to it because to eat one of these tree strawberries was a sufficiently extensive acquaintance for most persons. [Illustration: Strawberry-tree.] It is perhaps unnecessary to add that, in spite of the name, there is no relationship existing between this tree and _the_ Strawberry; nor is there more than a faint superficial resemblance between the fruits of the two plants. The Strawberry belongs to the great Rose family, whilst the nearest British connections of the Arbutus are the Bilberries and Heaths. [Illustration: _Pl. 124._ Strawberry Tree.] Dogwood (_Cornus sanguinea_). Among the constituents of the broad hedgerow, and the copse that borders many a country road, the Dogwood or Cornel is apt to be overlooked as Privet, to which its similar, opposite leaves and clusters of small white flowers bear a superficial resemblance. It has a great variety of local names, though it must be admitted that many of these show close connections one with another. This, however, makes them not less interesting, but indicates how ancient and general is the underlying idea which has given rise to them. Dogwood had originally no connection with dogs, but was the wood of which dags, goads, and skewers were made, because, as the Latin _Cornus_ signifies, it was of horny hardness and toughness. When the etymology got changed by the substitution of "o" for "a" in dag, it was also called Dog-tree, Dog-berry, Dog-timber, and Houndberry-tree, and to explain the name it was said that the bark made an excellent wash for mangy dogs. Gatter, Gatten, Gaiter, Gaitre-berry, are all from the Anglo-Saxon _Gad-treow_, or goad-tree; Gadrise means Goad-shrub (_Gad-riis_), and Gatteridge is _gaitre rouge_, from the red colour of the bare twigs. [Illustration: _Pl. 125._ Fruits of Dogwood.] [Illustration: Dogwood, or Cornel. A, flowers; B, berries.] But we must not overlook the shrub itself whilst considering its wealth of names. It grows to a height of six or eight feet, and is clothed with opposite oval leaves, which are smooth on both surfaces. The honeyed flowers are produced in June or July at the extremities of the branches in dense round cymes. Individually they are small (one-third of an inch across), opaque white, with four petals and four stamens, which mature concurrently with the stigma. They give out an unpleasant odour, which appears to render them more attractive to flies and small beetles. The flowers are succeeded by small green berries, which turn purple-black about September, and are exceedingly bitter. They are said to yield an oil which is used in France for soap-making, and has been here burned in lamps. The Dogwood is widely distributed over Britain as far north as Westmoreland. It does not occur in Scotland, and is rare in Ireland. It would seem as though its place in North Britain was taken by a herbaceous species, the Dwarf Cornel (_Cornus suecica_), which grows upon Alpine moorlands from Yorkshire as far north as Sutherlandshire. The stems of this, which have as many inches to their stature as the shrub has feet, die down annually. Its minute flowers are purplish instead of white, and its smaller berries red. [Illustration: _Pl. 126._ Flowers of Dogwood.] Wayfaring-tree (_Viburnum lantana_). The Wayfaring-tree has a number of names by which it is known locally, but the one we have used is generally known, though it may have the disadvantage of being a comparatively modern one whose parentage is known to us. The origin of most of these popular names is lost in the mists of antiquity. John Gerarde, whose "Herbal" was published in 1597, noting its fondness for roadside hedges and thickets, called it Wayfaring-tree, or Wayfaringman's-tree. Thereupon Parkinson, nearly half a century later, remarks: "Gerard calleth it in English the Wayfaring tree, but I know no travailer doth take either pleasure or profit by it more than by any other hedge trees." Our own experience serves to prove that Wayfarers, as a class, have improved since Parkinson's day, for we have frequently been questioned in the Surrey chalk-districts, at various seasons, respecting the bold plant; in winter showing its large naked buds, all rough with starry hairs, which keep off frost, as well as do the many scales and thick varnish of Horse-chestnut buds; in summer the broad, hairy leaves, looking as dusty as a miller's coat, whilst above them spread the slightly rounded heads of white flowers; later, when the flowers are succeeded by bunches of glowing coral beads, that in autumn become beads of jet. It is not confined to the chalk-hills, but as far north as Yorkshire may be looked for wherever the soil is dry, though it finds this condition best on the chalk, and is there especially abundant. It is not indigenous in either Scotland or Ireland. [Illustration: _Pl. 127._ Fruits of Wayfaring-tree.] [Illustration: Wayfaring-tree. A, portion of flower-cluster.] Though it grows to a height of twenty feet in places, it can never properly be called a tree. Its downy stems are never very stout. They branch a good deal, and it should be noted that the branches are always given off in pairs, a branch from each side of the stem at exactly the same height; the leaves are produced in the same order. These leaves, which are three or four inches in length, are much wrinkled, heart-shaped, with a blunt, small end, white beneath, and the edges very finely toothed. The flower-cluster is a cyme, and it should be noted that all the white flowers comprised in it are of the same size and form, the corollas being funnel-shaped, with five lobes, and the five stamens are extruded from the mouth. The flowers, which are jointed to the stalks, are out in May and June, and the flattened oval fruits that follow are, as already stated, at first red, then black. The local names for this shrub include Mealy-tree, Whipcrop, Cotton-tree, Cottoner, Coventree, Lithe-wort, Lithy-tree, Twist-wood, White-wood. Mealy-tree, Cotton-tree, Cottoner, and White-wood all have obvious reference to the appearance of the young shoots and leaves, due to the presence of the white hairs with which they are covered. Lithe-wort and Lithy-tree, also Twist-wood and Whipcrop, indicate the supple and elastic character of the branches, which are often used instead of Withy to bind up a bundle of sticks or vegetables, or to make a hoop for a gate-fastener. In Germany the shoots, when only a year old, are used in basket-weaving, and, when a year or two older, serve for pipe-stems. [Illustration: _Pl. 128._ Wayfaring Tree.] The Guelder Rose (_Viburnum opulus_). Although the Guelder Rose and the Wayfaring-tree are very closely related, the differences between them are so great that there is little danger of any person with ordinary powers of observation confusing them. The Guelder Rose does not grow so tall as its congener, twelve feet being about the extreme height to which it attains in a wild state, and ordinarily it is several feet less. It is not so fond of dry soils, and is more frequently found in the copse, where it is not subject to the extremes of heat and cold that have produced the hairy covering of _V. lantana_. The stems and branches are quite smooth, and the leaf-buds are wrapped in scales. The young leaves, it is true, when they break from the bud, are covered with down, but they throw this off as they expand to their full size, and become smooth on either side. Instead of the leaf being heart-shaped, it is divided into three deeply toothed lobes, and it will be noted that at the base of the leaf-stalk there is a pair of slender stipules, which _lantana_ never has. The cyme or flower-head is more rounded, and whilst the mass of flowers are of the same size (a quarter of an inch) as those of the Wayfaring-tree, those in the outer row are three times the size--but they are entirely without stamens or pistil! It would appear that in order to make the flower-cluster more conspicuous, and thus attract insects, the material that should have gone to furnish these organs has been used up in the broader and whiter corolla. The inner and perfect flowers are creamy-white, bell-shaped, and they secrete honey. Both stamens and stigma mature simultaneously. The fruits are almost round, and of a clear, translucent red. Respecting these fruits, we cannot forbear from quoting a remark of Hamerton's. He says, writing as the French recorder of the _Sylvan Year_: "For any one who enjoys the sight of red berries in the most jewel-like splendour, there is nothing in winter like the Viburnum, the species we call _Viorne obier_, and if you meet with a fine specimen just when it is caught by the level rays of a crimson sunset, you will behold a shrub that seems to have come from that garden of Aladdin where the fruit of the trees were jewels." These fruits, though enticing to the sight, and juicy, are nauseous to the taste. [Illustration: Guelder Rose. A, fruit; B, flowers.] The name Guelder Rose is a strange case of transference from a cultivated to a wild plant: the var. _sterilis_, in which _all_ the flowers are like the outer row in the normal cluster, was first cultivated in Gelderland; so Gerarde tells us that "it is called in Dutch, _Gheldersche Roose_; in English, _Gelder's Rose_." In the Cotswolds it is known as King's Crown, from the "King of the May" having been crowned with a chaplet of it. Another name for it is Water Elder, presumably given on account of the similar appearance of the flower-clusters in _Viburnum_ and _Sambucus_. The distribution of the Guelder Rose as a wild plant extends northwards to Caithness, although it is rare in Scotland. It occurs throughout Ireland. [Illustration: _Pl. 129._ Elder.] [Illustration: _Pl. 130._ Fruits of Guelder Rose.] [Illustration: _Pl. 131._ Flowers of Elder.] The Elder (_Sambucus nigra_). [Illustration: Elder. A, berries; B, portion of flower-cluster.] The Elder is more a tree of the wayside than of the woodland, often of low bushy growth; but where it finds good loamy soil with abundant moisture it attains a height of twenty feet. None of our trees grows more rapidly in its earliest years, and any bit of its living wood will readily take root, so that its presence in the hedge is often due to planting for the purpose of rapidly erecting a live screen. Its quickly grown juicy shoots soon harden into a tube of tough wood with a core of pith which is readily extracted, and renders the tube available for a peashooter, a pop-gun, or a music-pipe. Such uses have been known from remote antiquity--probably one might say from the beginnings of the human race. The ancient Greeks called it _Sambúke_, from its wood having been used in the making of musical instruments. In the north of Britain it is known as Bourtree, Bore-tree, or Bottery, from the ease with which this clearing out of the pith is effected, and it is pretty clear that the more general name of Elder also has relation to the tubular shoots. Piers Plowman calls the tree Eller, a name that survives in Kent, Sussex, Lincoln, East Yorks, and Cheshire. This word, according to Prior, is derived from the Anglo-Saxon _eller_ and _ellarn_, and seems to mean "kindler"--"a name which we may suppose that it acquired from its hollow branches being used, like the bamboo in the tropics, to blow up a fire." It is thus probable that the housewife got her bellows, the musician his pipe, and the schoolboy his pop-gun, all from the same source. The stems are coated with a grey corky bark, and the younger divisions of the branches show an angular section when cut. When old, the wood becomes hard and heavy, and has been used as a substitute for Box. The leaf is divided into five, seven, or nine oval leaflets with toothed edges. The flower is of the form that botanists describe as _rotate_, that is, the corolla forms a very short tube, from the mouth of which five petal-like lobes spread flat. This is a quarter of an inch broad, and creamy-white in colour, giving out an odour which some persons like, but which the writer considers offensive. Large numbers of these small flowers are gathered into flat-topped cymes, five or six inches in diameter. The primary stalks of these cymes are five in number. The flowers are succeeded by small globular berries, ultimately of a purple-black hue, and of mawkish flavour, which are yet much sought after by country people for the making of Elderberry wine, which they credit with marvellous medicinal powers. In truth, the Elder still retains among rustic folk much of the reputation it had when John Evelyn praised it so highly in his "Sylva," where he says, "If the medicinal properties of the leaves, bark, berries, etc., were thoroughly known, I cannot tell what our countryman could ail for which he might not fetch a remedy from every hedge, either for sickness or wound." Occasionally one may find in the hedgerow an Elder with its leaflets deeply cut into very slender lobes, so that the leaf has resemblance to that of Fool's Parsley. This is an escape from cultivation--a garden variety (_laciniata_) known as the Cut-leaved or Parsley-leaved Elder. * * * * * [Illustration: _Pl. 132._ Box Trees.] [Illustration: _Pl. 133._ Bole of Box.] The Box (_Buxus sempervirens_). Though frequently to be met with in parks and ornamental grounds, there are only a few places in this country where the Box is really indigenous. These are in the counties of Surrey, Kent, Buckingham, and Gloucester. On the famous Box Hill, near Dorking, in Surrey, it may be seen attaining its proper proportions as a small tree, and in sufficient abundance to form groves covering a considerable area. It grows to a height of fifteen or twenty feet, with a girth of about twenty inches. Its slender branches are clothed with small, oblong, leathery leaves, which give out a peculiar and distinctive odour. They are about an inch in length, polished on the upper side, evergreen, and opposite. The flowers may be looked for from January to May, and will be found clustered between the leaf and the stem. These are quite small and inconspicuous, of a whitish-green colour, and the sexes are in separate flowers. The uppermost one in the centre of each cluster is a female flower; the others are males. The males consist of four petals, enclosing a rudimentary ovary, from beneath which spring four stamens. The sepals of the female flower vary in number, from four to twelve, and enclose a rounded ovary with three styles, which are ripe and protruded before the males open. This develops into the three-celled capsule with three diverging beaks, which correspond with the styles, and in each cell there are one or two black seeds. [Illustration: Box. A, male flowers; B, female flower.] The growth of the tree is very slow, and, in consequence, the grain of its wood is very fine. It is also very hard, and so heavy that alone among native woods it will not float in water. On account of its fine grain and hardness, it is in request by the turner and mathematical instrument maker, and was formerly largely used by the wood-engraver for "woodcuts." Since the introduction of the photographic "process" blocks, the industry of preparing Box-wood for the engraver must have become all but extinct, and for that reason Box plantations must be less valuable assets than formerly. It is on record that when the Box Hill trees were cut in 1815, the "fall" realized nearly £10,000. Box Hill is in no sense a plantation; its slopes and summit are clothed with a natural mixed wood of Box, Oak, Beech, and Yew. Beneath every Box-tree will be found hundreds of seedlings of various ages. Some of these may be seen in our photograph, which depicts naturally grown Box-trees on the famous hill. It will be noted that their "habit" is widely different from that of the more bush-like forms so familiar in gardens. PART II. EXOTIC TREES AND SHRUBS. We have already given descriptions and illustrations of several exotic species in Part I., where it seemed more advantageous to the reader to include them with British species of the same genus; those now to be dealt with are in all cases members of genera not represented in our native Flora. The Plane (_Platanus orientalis_). In spite of the fact that the Plane is an exotic of comparatively recent introduction, it seems in a fair way of being associated in the future with London. It has taken with great kindness to London life, in spite of the drawbacks of smoke, fog, flagstones, and asphalt. Its leaves get thickly coated with soot, which also turns its light-grey bark to black; but as the upper surface of the leaves is smooth and firm, a shower of rain washes them clean, and the rigid outer layer of bark is thrown off by the expansion of the softer bark beneath. This is not thrown off all at once, but in large and small flakes, which leave a smooth yellow patch behind, temporarily free from soot contamination. A variety of trees has been tried for street-planting, but none has stood the trying conditions of London so well as the Plane, and therefore before many years the capital will be the city of Planes. [Illustration: _Pl. 134._ Plane Tree--summer.] [Illustration: _Pl. 135._ Bole of Plane Tree.] [Illustration: Oriental Plane.] Two species are recognized--the Oriental Plane (_Platanus orientalis_) and the Western Plane (_P. occidentalis_); but it would probably be more accurate to regard them as geographical varieties of one species, the points in which they differ being small and not very important. Thus the leaves of the Oriental Plane are described as being so much more deeply lobed than those of the Western Plane that the former are botanically described as palmate; but the two forms of leaf may often be found on the same individual. The Western Plane, too, does not shed its bark in small flakes like the Oriental Plane, but in large sheets. Planes normally rise to a height of something between seventy and ninety feet, and the trunk attains a circumference of from nine to twelve feet; but there is a record of a portly Plane whose waist measurement was forty feet! Many persons imagine because the leaves of the Plane resemble those of the Sycamore that the two are closely related; but this is not so, and a comparison of the flowers and fruit will show that they are not. The catkins of the Plane take the form of balls, in which male _or_ female flowers are pressed together; and the fruits, instead of being winged samaras, are the rough balls that so closely resemble an old-fashioned form of button, that the tree is known in some parts of the United States as the Button-wood. (It is also known there as Sycamore and Cotton-tree.) The Plane is supposed to have got its name _Platanus_ from the Greek word _platus_ (broad), in double allusion to the broad leaves and the ample shadow which the tree throws. These leaves are five-lobed, and, as already indicated, those of the Oriental species are much more deeply cut. Further distinction is found in the colour of the petiole or leaf-stalk, which is green in _P. orientalis_, and purplish-red in _P. occidentalis_, and in the larger and smoother seed-buttons of the latter. Instead of the leaves being attached to the stem in pairs, as we saw in the Sycamore, those of the Plane are alternate--that is to say, leaf number two of a series will be halfway between one and three, but on the opposite side of the shoot. The outline of the tree is not so regular as in most others, the leaves being gathered in heavy masses, with broad spaces between, rather than equally distributed over the head. This is, of course, due to the freedom with which the crooked arms are flung about. The pale-brown wood is fine-grained, tough, and hard, and is extensively used by pianoforte-makers, coach-builders, and cabinet-makers, but is not highly esteemed for other purposes to which timber is put in this country. The Oriental Plane is popularly supposed to have been introduced to England from the Levant by Francis Bacon, but if Loudon's statement that it was "in British gardens before 1548" rests on good evidence, Bacon's claim is dismissed, for _he_ was not "introduced" until 1561. It was nearly a hundred years later (1640) that the Occidental Plane was first brought from Virginia by the younger Tradescant, and planted in that remarkable garden of his father's in South Lambeth Road. The form that has done so well in London, and of which many fine examples are to be seen in the parks and squares, is a variety of the Oriental Plane, with leaves less deeply divided than those of the type, and therefore more nearly approaching the Occidental Plane in this respect. It is distinguished by the name of the Maple-leaved Plane (_Platanus orientalis_, var. _acerifolia_). It is this variety we have chosen as the subject for our photograph. [Illustration: _Pl. 136._ Plane Tree--winter.] The Walnut (_Juglans regia_). In the Golden Age, when man lived happily on a handful of acorns, the gods fed upon walnuts, and so their name was _Jovis glans_--the nuts of Jupiter--since contracted into _Juglans_. Those who delight in obvious interpretations by appealing to the modern meanings of words similar in construction may be pardoned for supposing that Walnut-trees were formerly trained against walls; but, like many other obvious interpretations, this is wide of the mark. Some have gone back to the Anglo-Saxons for help, and though the result arrived at is in all probability the correct one, it is almost certain that the Anglo-Saxons knew nothing of the matter, and would scarcely trouble to give a name to something they had never seen. The Walnut is a native of the Himalayas, the Hindu Kuh, Persia, Lebanon, and Asia Minor to Greece. The learned Roman, Varro, who was born B.C. 116, and died B.C. 28, mentions it as existing in Italy in his day; and Pliny tells us it was brought thence from Persia. The date of its introduction to Britain is usually set down as about the middle of the sixteenth century, but it was probably at least a century earlier, for Gerarde, writing at the close of the sixteenth century, describes it as a tree commonly to be seen in orchards, and in fields near the highways, where a very new importation was not likely to be found. But to return to the name: there can be little doubt that it is a contraction of Wälsh-nut (in modern spelling, Welsh-nut), meaning foreign. This is German, and while the modern sons of the Vaterland write it Wallnuss (occasionally Wälshenuss), the Dutch form is Wallnoot. That this is the true derivation is made pretty certain by Gerarde, who calls it "Walnut, and of some Walsh-nut." That the new importation was fully appreciated in Europe for its fruit may be judged by the extent to which its cultivation had spread in Evelyn's day, for he tells us the trees abounded in Burgundy, where they stood in the midst of goodly wheat-lands. He says: "In several places betwixt Hanau and Frankfort in Germany no young farmer is permitted to marry a wife till he bring proof that he hath planted and is a father of such a stated number of [Walnut] trees, and the law is inviolably observed to this day, for the extraordinary benefit the tree affords the inhabitants." [Illustration: _Pl. 137._ Walnut--summer.] The Walnut is a handsome tree, growing to a height of forty to sixty feet, with a bole twenty feet or more in circumference, and a huge spreading head. The bark is of a cool grey colour, smooth when young, but as the tree matures deep longitudinal furrows form, and it becomes very rugged. The twisted branches take a direction more upward than horizontal, but in early summer they are almost completely hidden by the masses of large and handsome leaves of warm green colour and spicy aroma. I once rejoiced in the occupation of a garden that held two Walnut-trees, and though they had not attained to the fruiting age, their possession was a delight to me; but then I am one of those who enjoy their fragrance, which is unbearable to some persons. The large leaves are formed after the fashion of the Ash-leaf--broken up into a variable number of lance-shaped leaflets with scarcely perceptible teeth. [Illustration: Walnut. A, female flowers; B, male flowers.] The flowering of the Walnut is much on the plan of the Oak and the Hazel, the sexes being in different flowers, but borne by one tree; the males forming a long drooping catkin of slender cylindrical form, the females being solitary, or a few grouped at the end of a shoot. Separated from the catkin, the males will each be seen to consist of a calyx of five greenish scales, enclosing a large number of stamens. The calyx of the female closely invests the ovary, which has two or three fleshy stigmas. The flowering takes place in early spring, before the leaf-buds have burst. The fruit is a plum-like drupe, only the enveloping green flesh becomes brown, and, splitting irregularly, discloses the "stone," which in this species takes the form of a hard but thin-shelled nut--the well-known Walnut, with its wrinkled kernel of crisp white flesh, from which a fine oil is obtained. The ripening of these nuts--which is accomplished by the beginning of October--can only be relied upon in the southern half of Britain, and even there the crop is often spoiled by late frosts in spring. Its chief value in Europe is as a fruit-tree, though the light but tough wood is much esteemed for the manufacture of furniture. Owing to its rapid growth, the grain is coarse, but the dark-brown colour is esteemed, especially as it is relieved by streaks and veins of lighter tints and black. It is easily worked, and bears a high polish. The wood of young trees is white, gradually deepening to brown as maturity is approached. All the juices of the tree, whether from wood, bark, leaves, or green fruit, are rich in the brown pigment to which the hue of the timber is due. The combined lightness and toughness of the wood led to its adoption as the favourite material for making the stocks of guns and rifles. It is said that so great was the demand for this purpose during the Peninsular War, that a single Walnut-tree realized £600 for its timber, and this created a boom that led to the cutting down of all our finest Walnut-trees. Some of these were doubtless the very trees referred to by Evelyn, who tells us the Walnut was extensively planted at Leatherhead in Surrey, also at Cassaulton (Carshalton) and Godstone in the same county, where the rambler may come across fine Walnut-trees to this day, and occasionally to young ones growing wild in hedgerows and wastes. [Illustration: _Pl. 138._ Fruit of Walnut.] [Illustration: _Pl. 139._ Walnut--winter.] The old doggerel adage, "A dog and a wife and a walnut-tree, the more they are beaten the better they be," has reference to the manner of harvesting the ripe fruit. Evelyn says: "In Italy they arm the tops of long poles with nails and iron for the purpose [of loosening the fruit], and believe the beating improves the tree; which I no more believe than I do that discipline would reform a shrew." He expresses no opinion on the question of beating dogs. Sweet Chestnut (_Castanea sativa_). Until about the middle of the last century the Chestnut was generally regarded as a genuine native of these islands. It is true that botanists felt that so large and longevous a tree, if native, should be found in the natural forests of this country, or even forming pure forest. These things they did not find, but, on the other hand, they were shown beams in ancient buildings, including Westminster Abbey, which were believed to be Chestnut-wood, and this evidence seemed to point to the fact that Chestnut timber was grown much more plentifully in this country at the period when these old buildings were erected. Dr. Lindley, however, set the matter at rest by examination of the reputed Chestnut beams in the roof of Westminster Abbey, and proved that they were of Durmast Oak. A similar examination of the timbers of the old Louvre in Paris, which were also reputed to be Chestnut, gave a similar result. A comparison of sections across the grain of Oak and Chestnut allows of no possibility of mistake, and it is now known that whilst the wood of young Chestnuts is tough and durable, that from old trees is brittle and comparatively worthless, except for firewood, which is exactly the opposite of Oak-wood. It is now generally agreed that its real home is in Asia Minor and Greece, whence it was introduced to Italy in very remote times, and has since spread over most of temperate Europe, its seeds ripening and sowing themselves wherever the vine flourishes. We appear to be indebted to our friends the Romans for its introduction to Britain, who no doubt hoped to utilize the fruit for food, as at home--a hope that must have been disappointed, for its crops, even in the South of England, are very fitful, and the nuts quite small. [Illustration: _Pl. 140._ Sweet Chestnut--summer.] [Illustration: _Pl. 141._ Bole of Sweet Chestnut.] In suitable situations the Chestnut is of larger proportions and greater length of life even than the Oak. In the South of England it will attain a height of from sixty to eighty feet in fifty or sixty years, and if growing in deep porous loam, free from carbonate of lime, and sheltered from strong winds and frosts, it builds up an erect massive column. Hamerton has said of such a tree: "His expression is that of sturdy strength; his trunk and limbs are built, not like those of Apollo, but like the trunk and limbs of Hercules." Under less suitable conditions the undivided trunk is little more than ten feet long; then it divides off into several huge limbs, and so the general character of the tree is altered, and it presents much the appearance of having been pollarded. The branches have a horizontal and downward habit of growth, the extremities of the lowest ones often being but little above the earth. The fine elliptical leaves are nine or ten inches in length, of a rich green, that is enhanced by the polished surface, which "brings up" the colour. Their edges are cut into long pointed teeth. Towards autumn they pale to light yellow, and then deepen into gold on their way to the final brown of the fallen leaf, which, by the way, is a great enricher of the soil where the Chestnut is grown. [Illustration: Sweet Chestnut. A, fruit.] The flowers, though individually small and inconspicuous, are rather striking, from their association in cylindrical yellow catkins, about six inches long, which hang from the axils of the leaves. The upper part of this catkin consists of male flowers, each with a number of stamens enclosed in a perianth or calyx of five or six green leaves. The female flowers, on the lower part of the catkin, are two or three together, in a prickly four-lobed "cupule," or involucre, and consist each of a calyx closely investing a tapering ovary, whose summit bears from five to eight radiating stigmas, the number corresponding with the cells into which the ovary is divided. Each cell contains two seed-eggs, but as a rule only one in each flower develops. As development of the ovary and seeds progresses, the cupule also grows, and ultimately entirely surrounds the cluster with the hedgehog-like coat in which the nuts are contained when ripe. Then it splits open and discloses the two or three glossy brown nuts. The Chestnut is in flower from May to July, and the nuts drop in October. They form an important article of food in South Europe, where they are produced in abundance, and there can be little doubt that the importers of the tree to this country believed it would prove equally valuable here. Evelyn had this in mind when he recommended the nut as "a lusty and masculine food for rustics at all times, and of better nourishment for husbandmen than cole and rusty bacon." Well, there is plenty of Chestnut grown around Evelyn's estate at Wootton to-day, but it is chiefly as coppice, to provide hop-poles, and hoops for barrels, for which purpose the long straight shoots are split in two. Grown as coppice, the Chestnut also provides fine cover for pheasants and other game. The trees begin to bear when about twenty-five years old, and from thence on to the fiftieth or sixtieth year the timber is at its best, but later it develops the defect known as "ring shake," and becomes of little use. That is probably why one meets with so many hollow wrecks of what were once noble Chestnuts. The young wood is covered with smooth brown bark, but later this becomes grey, and its surface splits into longitudinal fissures, which give a very distinctive character to the trunk. In older trees the fissures and the alternating ridges have a slight spiral twist, which gives the tree the appearance (shown in our third photo) of having been wrenched round by some mighty force. The average age of the Chestnut is about five hundred years, but there have been in this country many old trees that were much older, if any reliance could be placed in local tradition. There was--we fear there is little of it still remaining--the great Tortworth Chestnut in Lord Ducies' park at Tortworth Court. In 1820 it was found to have a girth of fifty-two feet. Evelyn refers to it in his "Sylva," and tells us that in the reign of King Stephen it already bore the title of the Great Chestnut of Tortworth. The name Chestnut appears to be a modification of the old Latin name _Castanea_, through the French form _Chataigner_. The Latin is said to be derived from Kastanum, a town in Thessaly, but it is more likely that the presence of Chestnut-trees gave a name to the town, as has happened so many times in our own country with various trees, the Chestnut included. Horse Chestnut (_Æsculus hippocastanum_). Our placing the Chestnut and the Horse Chestnut into juxtaposition must not be understood as a recognition of any relationship that may be implied in their names, but rather the reverse--to accentuate the differences that exist between them, and which have led botanists to separate them widely in all systems of classification. Although the fruits are sufficiently similar to have suggested the name Chestnut being applied to this, with a qualifying prefix, they have been produced by flowers of entirely different character. Evelyn tells us that the word Horse was added because of its virtues in "curing horses broken-winded and other cattle of coughs," a statement for which he was no doubt indebted to Parkinson (1640), who says, "Horse Chestnuts are given in the East Country, and so through all Turkie, unto Horses to cure them of the cough, shortnesse of winde, and such other diseases;" but seeing that, in this country at least, horses refuse to touch them, there can be little doubt that the name was given to indicate their inferiority to the Sweet Chestnut, and by a process only too well known to the student of early botanical literature, the name was afterwards held to be proof of their medicinal value to horses. [Illustration: _Pl. 142._ Flowers of Sweet Chestnut.] [Illustration: _Pl. 143._ Sweet Chestnut--winter.] The Horse Chestnut is a native of the mountain regions of Greece, Persia, and Northern India, and is believed to have been introduced to Britain about 1550. It is not a tree that will be found in the woodlands, or even by the wayside, except when it is behind a fence; yet it constantly greets the rambler who has left the suburban gardens behind him, and in the public parks--notably the magnificent avenue of Bushey Park--where by contrast it exhibits itself as the grandest of all flowering trees. Though the stout cylindrical bole is short, its erect trunk towers to a height of eighty or a hundred feet, supporting the massive pyramid, beautiful on account of its fine foliage and handsome flowers alike. The stout branches take an upward direction at first, then stretch outward and curve downwards, though in winter, when relieved of the weight of foliage, their extremities curl sharply upward, and the great buds in spring are almost erect. These brown buds, with their numerous wraps and liberal coating of varnish, afford considerable interest to the suburban dweller in early spring. He watches their gradual swelling, and the polish that comes upon them through the daily melting of their varnish under the influence of sunshine. Then the outer scales fall flat, the upper parts show green and loose; there is a perceptible lengthening of the shoot, which leaves a space between those outer wraps and the folded leaves. Next the leaflets separate and assume a horizontal position as they expand. Then probably there comes a frost, and next morning the leaflets are all hanging down, almost blackened, flaccid and dejected-looking. A warm southerly rain, followed by sunshine, reinvigorates them, and we see that the lengthening of the shoot has actually brought the incipient flower-spike clear into view. By about the second week in May the pyramid is clothed with bold handsome foliage, against which the conical spikes of white blossoms, tinged with crimson and dotted with yellow, stand out conspicuously. The leaves are almost circular, but broken up, finger-fashion, into seven toothed leaflets of different sizes, which appear to have started as ovals, but the necessity for not overcrowding their neighbours has necessitated the portion nearest the leaf-stalk taking a wedge shape. The large size of these leaves--as much as eighteen inches across--leads the non-botanical to regard the leaflets as being full leaves. On emerging from the bud the leaves are seen to be covered with down, but as they expand this is thrown off. [Illustration: Horse Chestnut. A, flower; B, fruit.] The flowers consist of a bell-shaped calyx with five lobes, supporting five separate petals, pure white in colour, but splashed and dotted with crimson and yellow towards the base of the upper ones, to indicate the way to the honey-glands. There are seven curved stamens, and in their midst a longer curved style proceeding from a roundish ovary with three cells. In each cell there are two seed-eggs, but as a rule only one egg in two of the cells develops into a "nut." The ovary develops into a large fleshy bur, with short stout spines, which splits into three valves when the dark-red glossy seeds are ripe. In the Sweet Chestnut the brown skin of the nut is the ovary, which had been overgrown by the prickly involucre; here the spiny green shell is the ovary, and the "nut" a seed. Though horses will not eat this bitter fruit, cattle, deer, and sheep are fond of it. Pounded in water, it becomes one of the numerous vegetable substitutes for soap. Under the name of Konker, or Conqueror, it affords a seasonal joy to the average boy, who first bombards the tree with sticks and stones to dislodge the fruit, and then threads the ruddy konkers on string and does battle with a chum similarly equipped, the one whose string is broken or pulled from his hand by the conflict of weapons being the vanquished. In some parts the game is led off by the recitation of the rhyme, "Oblionker! my fust konker." [Illustration: _Pl. 144._ Horse Chestnut--summer.] [Illustration: _Pl. 145._ Fruits of Horse Chestnut.] [Illustration: _Pl. 146._ Bole of Horse Chestnut.] [Illustration: _Pl. 147._ Horse Chestnut--winter.] The growth of the tree is very rapid, and consequently the timber is soft and of no value where durability is required. Still, its even grain and susceptibility to a high polish make it useful for indoor wood, such as cabinet-making and flooring. It is also used for making charcoal for the gunpowder mills. Although Salvator Rosa and other landscape painters have made such good use of the Sweet Chestnut pictorially, they have utterly neglected the Horse Chestnut; and Hamerton hints that the cause of this neglect is the artist's inability to represent its large flowers and leaves by the landscape painter's ordinary method of laying on masses of colour: this requires drawing. The tree begins to produce fruit about its twentieth year, and continues to do so nearly every year. Its age is estimated as about two hundred years. The bark, at first smooth, breaks into irregular scales and in old trees a twist may be developed, as illustrated by our photo of the bole. The generic name _Æsculus_ (from Latin _esca_, food) has no real connection with the tree, the ancients having given it to some species of Oak with edible acorns (_vide_ Pliny), but by some unknown means it has become transferred to a tree whose fruit is far too bitter to be eaten by man. The Red-flowered Horse Chestnut (_Æsculus carnea_) is a smaller and less vigorous tree. Its origin is unknown, but it is believed to be a garden hybrid that made its appearance about 1820. The Bay Tree (_Laurus nobilis_). The Bay is the true Laurel, of whose leaves and berries the wreaths were made in ancient days for poets and conquerors. Naturally it is more of a shrub than a tree, for though it often attains a height of sixty feet, it persists in sending up so many suckers that the tree-like character is lost. In cultivation, however, it is often grown on a single stem, as well as formed by cutting into arbours and arches. We call to mind a Cornish village, where a garden enclosure in its square (or "plestor," as Gilbert White would say) was surrounded by about a dozen Bays so grown. Bays grow abundantly in the gardens of South Cornwall, and we always connected their general cultivation with the pilchard fishery. Certainly, these trees in the plestor were very convenient in the autumn and winter, for the leaves are an essential ingredient in the proper composition of that seductive dish, marinated pilchards, to which they impart their peculiar aromatic flavour. The Bay is a native of Southern Europe, whence it was introduced at some date prior to 1562. Prior says the name is the old Roman _bacca_ (a berry), altered "by the usual omission of 'c' between the two vowels," this plant having become the _bacca par excellence_, because its berries were articles of commerce. [Illustration: Bay. A, flower; B, fruit.] The evergreen leaves are lance-shaped, without teeth, and arranged alternately on the branchlets. Not all the trees produce the berries, for the sexes are in distinct individuals, and all the white or yellowish four-parted flowers on one tree are stamen-bearing, whilst on another individual they all bear ovaries and no stamens. The berries, at first green, ultimately become of a dark purple hue. The flowers will be found in April or May; the ripe berries in October. The Bay is grown chiefly as a shrubbery ornament, and can only survive our winters out-of-doors in the South of England. [Illustration: _Pl. 148._ Bay.] * * * * * [Illustration: _Pl. 149._ Laburnum.] Laburnum (_Laburnum vulgare_). Although the Laburnums of our parks and gardens have all come from seed, and themselves produce an abundance of it, we do not meet with wayside "escapes" as we might expect to do, having regard to the habit of the tree and the fact that it is comparatively indifferent respecting character of soil. Possibly a remark of Loudon's may explain this. He says that rabbits are exceedingly fond of the bark, and it may be that they destroy any young trees that are unprotected by palings or netting. The tree produces such a glorification of many an ordinary suburban road, when its flowering time comes round, that one would like to note its effect as a common object of the hillside and the woodland, against a background furnished by our more sober native trees. The Laburnum is at home in the mountain forests of Central and Southern Europe, but there is no record of its introduction to Britain. We do know, however, that it has been with us for more than three centuries, for Gerarde, in his "Herbal," published 1597, refers to it as growing in his garden. It belongs to the great Pea and Bean family (_Leguminosæ_), and is very closely related to the Common Broom, whose solitary flowers those of the Laburnum's drooping racemes nearly resemble. Ordinarily it is only a low tree of about twenty feet in height, but in favourable situations it may attain to thirty feet or more. Some of the larger Laburnums, however, are of a distinct species (_L. alpinus_). The pale round branches are clothed with leaves that are divided into three oval-lance-shaped leaflets, covered on the underside with silvery down. Both leaves and golden flowers appear simultaneously in May, but from the fact that the latter are gathered into numerous long pendulous racemes, their blaze of colour makes the leaves almost invisible. Tennyson's description of its flowering--"Laburnum, dropping wells of fire"--is fine, but we rather prefer Cowper's "rich in streaming gold," as embodying a more exact colour idea. The flowers are succeeded by long downy legumes or pods, like those of the bean and pea, containing many seeds, which are of a dangerously violent emetic character when introduced to the human stomach. The dark wood is of coarse grain; but, in spite of this, hard and enduring, and taking a good polish. It is chiefly used by musical instrument makers, turners, and cabinet-makers. [Illustration: Laburnum. A, seed-pod.] Laburnum is the old Latin name, which is thus rather fancifully explained by Prior, "an adjective from _L. labor_, denoting what belongs to the _hour of labour_, and which may allude to its closing its leaflets together at night, and expanding them by day." Common local names are Golden Chain, suggested by the strings of flowers, and Bean-trefoile and Pea-tree, having reference to the leaves and legumes respectively. The Locust Tree (_Robinia pseudacacia_). Although the Locust, or False Acacia, is little planted now, it is only paying the penalty for having had its merits enormously exaggerated; just as human reputations sometimes sink into oblivion after a season of popularity achieved by the persistent "booming" of influential friends. The friend in this case was William Cobbett, who, on his return from the United States, about 1820, preached salvation to the timber grower through the planting of Robinia; "nothing in the timber way could be so great a benefit as the general cultivation of this tree." So great was the demand thus created that Cobbett himself started a nursery for the propagation and supply of Robinias, and so great is the virtue of a name that people refused the Locust-trees that every nurseryman had in stock and wished to sell, and would be content with nothing but Cobbett's Robinias, which could not be produced fast enough for the demand! They thought it was an entirely new introduction, though it had been grown in this country as an ornamental tree for nearly two centuries! Its wood is hard, strong, and durable, but liable to crack, and of limited utility. The Locust was introduced to Europe from North America early in the seventeenth century, and was then thought to be identical with the African Acacia. Linnæus named the genus in honour of Jean Robin, a French botanist, whose son, an official at the Jardin des Plantes, was the first to cultivate the tree in Europe. It is a tree of light and graceful proportions, its branches being long and slender, and the long narrow leaves being broken up into a large number of small oval leaflets, arranged _pinnately_, that is, featherwise. The stipules, which are found at the base of the leaf-stalk in many plants, are in this genus converted into sharp spines. The flowers, of similar pea-shape to those of the Laburnum, are white and fragrant. They are in long loose racemes, which droop from the axils of the leaves in May. The legumes are very thin, and of a dark-brown hue. [Illustration: False Acacia, or Locust Tree. A, seed-pod.] [Illustration: _Pl. 150._ Locust Tree--summer.] [Illustration: _Pl. 151._ Bole of Locust Tree.] [Illustration: _Pl. 152._ Locust--winter.] This was one of the first American trees introduced to Europe, and its name of Locust came with it, the missionaries believing it must be the tree upon whose fruit, with the addition of wild honey, John the Baptist supported himself in the wilderness. It is also known as Silver Chain, in contradistinction to the Gold Chain or Laburnum; also as White Laburnum. The Larch (_Larix europæa_). An enormous number of exotic Coniferous trees are at the present time commonly grown in our parks and pleasure grounds, and even our woods show a considerable variety beyond the Scots Pine and Yew that Nature has alone given us as timber trees in this order. To attempt to give even a very brief account of all these in a pocket volume, in addition to almost the entire woody Flora indigenous to these islands, would be manifestly absurd. We can, however, deal with a few representative species of these exotics, and we give the Larch the first place by reason of its present plentifulness in extensive unmixed woods and plantations. The Larch is naturally a tree of the mountains, and ascends to a greater elevation even than the Spruce Fir. Unmixed forests of Larch in the Bavarian Alps occur between 3000 and 6000 feet above sea-level, and on the central Swiss Alps it ascends to nearly 7000 feet. A long winter of real cold is necessary for its full development and the ripening of its wood, and for that reason the timber of Larch grown in England is inferior to that grown in its native countries, because our winters are either short or mild, and neither gives the tree the full rest it needs. It is a European tree, and was introduced--though not in any numbers--to England at some date prior to 1629. For 150 years it appears to have been cultivated here merely as an ornamental garden tree. Then attention was called to its value as a timber tree, and the Society of Arts offered gold medals for Larch planting and essays upon its economic importance. Already (1728) the second Duke of Atholl had begun those experiments in Larch growing for timber which have been continued by his successors on a vast scale, the fourth Duke planting 27,000,000 Larch-trees on 15,000 acres of barren land. Their example has been copied on a smaller scale all over the country. [Illustration: Larch. A, flower.] [Illustration: _Pl. 153._ Larch--summer.] [Illustration: _Pl. 154._ Larch--winter.] [Illustration: _Pl. 155._ Bole of Larch.] The Larch is a lofty tree, with a very straight tapering trunk ordinarily attaining a length between 80 and 100 feet, but under very favourable conditions 120 feet, with a girth of bole from 6 to 12 feet. The brown bark is easily separable into thin layers, and the growth of the tree causes it to split into deep longitudinal fissures. The long lower branches are spreading, with a downward tendency, and the tips turned upward again. The twigs are mostly pendulous, and bear long and slender light-green leaves, in bundles of thirty or forty. All the other families of Coniferous trees are evergreen, their leaves lasting for several years; but at the beginning of winter the Larch leaves wither and fall, and the Larch-wood takes on a more lifeless aspect than is assumed by any of our native trees in their leafless condition. But in spring, when the fresh green leaves are just showing in spreading tufts, and the reddish-purple female flowers--Tennyson's "rosy plumelets"--hang brightly from the gaunt branches, the Larch wears an entirely different appearance, and in summer the light grace of branches and foliage makes the Larch a beautiful object. That is, one should say, the trees that grow on the very outer edge of the wood, or, better still, one that has been planted as a specimen tree, where it has room to fling out its arms on all sides without touching anything, and can get the abundant light it needs. The straight rows in the plantation, with every tree at an equal distance from its neighbours, and its lower branches dead, may be very pretty from the timber-merchant's point of view, but one likes to think of the tree as a living thing of beauty rather than as a detail in a factory where scaffold-poles and telegraph-posts are being grown to regulation size and shape. The brown cones are egg-shaped, little more than an inch in length, the scales with loose edges. The wood is very durable, and it has the great recommendation of being fit for ordinary use when the tree is only forty years old. It is most valuable for those purposes where exposure to all weathers is a necessity, for it endures constant change from wet to dry. Larch-bark is used for tanning, and Venice turpentine is a product of the tree. Unlike most Conifers, it has the power of sending out new shoots when the branches have been removed close up to the stem. Larch plantations sometimes present the appearance of death whilst they are still covered with foliage, but the leaves are yellow and twisted. This most frequently occurs in the case of trees between the ages of ten and fourteen years, and is due to the depredations of a leaf-mining caterpillar, which ultimately changes into a minute moth, the Larch-miner (_Coleophora laricella_). It feeds in the interior of the Larch-needles, and therefore is beyond the reach of destruction, except by felling and burning affected trees, to prevent the spread of the pest. Its ravages keep the tree in ill-health, and apparently prepare the way for the deadly attack of another small enemy, known as the Larch Canker--the fungus _Peziza willkommii_. Sickly trees are also liable to the attentions of a Wood-wasp (_Sirex juvencus_), whose appearance is usually the cause of a little terror in nervous persons. It has two pairs of smoky transparent wings, and its stout, straight, blue body terminates in a long slender point. Its large white grub spends two or three years tunnelling towards the heart of the tree and out to the bark again, but rarely attacks sound trees. It sometimes makes its appearance in a house from wood that has been used for building purposes. [Illustration: _Pl. 156._ Flowers and Cone of Larch.] The Silver Fir (_Abies pectinata_). Evelyn has left on record the fact that a two-year-old specimen of the Silver Fir was planted in Harefield Park, near Uxbridge, in the year 1603, and this is usually regarded as the date of its introduction to England, though the evidence is by no means conclusive. Its home is in the mountain regions of Central and Southern Europe. Its highest range appears to be on the Pyrenees, where it is found at an elevation of 6500 feet, forming pure forests of considerable area. Specimens have been recorded in Southern Germany that have attained a height of nearly 200 feet, but in this country a more usual stature is from 100 to 120 feet, with a bole girth between 10 and 15 feet. Its trunk is straight and erect, tapering gently, and covered with smooth bark, of a greyish-brown colour, which in aged specimens becomes rugged and fissured longitudinally, as shown in our photo, and of a silvery grey colour. It retains its lower branches for a period of forty to fifty years, but after that age they begin to fall off. Whilst the tree is growing up--which is, roughly speaking, during its first two hundred years--the crown forms a slender bush; but its vertical growth completed, the crown grows laterally, and becomes flat-topped. Its life-period covers about four hundred years. [Illustration: _Pl. 157._ Silver Fir.] [Illustration: Silver Fir. A, cone.] The leaves are flat and slender, not in bundles, as in the Scots Pine, but arranged along the branchlets in two or three dense ranks. They are dark, rich green above, about an inch long, and on the flattened underside there is a bluish-white stripe on each side of the midrib, which gives a silvery appearance to the foliage when upturned, as is usual on the fertile branches. These leaves endure from six to nine years. The flowers appear in May at the tips of the branches. The male flowers are about three-quarters of an inch long, and consist of two or three series of overlapping scales, enclosing the yellow stamens. The cones are cylindrical, with a blunt top, always erect, 6 to 8 inches long, and from 1¼ to 2 inches in diameter. On the back of each of the broad scales there is a long, slender, pointed bract, which extends beyond the scale and turns downward. At first these cones are green, then become reddish, and when mature are brown; but maturity is not reached until eighteen months after their appearance. The angular seeds are furnished with a broad wing twice their length. They are shed by the cones in the spring following their maturity, the scales falling at the same time and leaving the core of the cone on the tree. As a rule, the tree does not produce fertile seeds until it is about forty years of age, but seedless cones are formed from its twentieth year. Although the flowers of both sexes are found on the same tree, it may be that for a series of years only cones are produced. Until the Silver Fir is about twelve years old its growth is slow, and its annual increase is only a few inches, but later it will be as many feet. During this early stage spring frosts often destroy the leader-shoot, but its place is taken by another shoot; and soon the symmetry of the tree is restored. If this occurs at a later stage, however, the tree bears evidence of it in a forked trunk. It is a deep-rooting species, with a branching tap-root, and succeeds best in an open soil that is moist without being wet. [Illustration: _Pl. 158._ Bole of Silver Fir.] The timber, which has an irregular grain, is strong, and does not warp; but it is soft, and not enduring where it is exposed to the weather. It is yellowish-white in colour, and is largely used for all interior work. * * * * * [Illustration: _Pl. 159._ Spruce Firs.] [Illustration: _Pl. 160._ Bole of Spruce Fir.] The Spruce Fir (_Picea excelsa_). Although we are compelled to class the Spruce among introduced species, it can lay claim to have been one of the older forest trees of Britain, for the upper beds of the Tertiary formations contain abundant evidence that the Spruce was a native here when those strata were laid down. Of its modern introduction there is no record, but from mention of it by Turner in his "Names of Herbes in Greke, Latin, Englishe, etc.," we know that it was at some date anterior to the publication of that work (1548). It is widely distributed as a native tree throughout the continent of Europe, with the exception of Denmark and Holland. It is the principal forest tree on the elevated tracts of Germany and Switzerland, and on the central Alpine ranges it reaches an altitude of 6500 feet. It is an extremely variable tree, but we cannot here deal with the varieties beyond saying that two principal forms, different in habit and in timber, are outwardly distinguished by one having red, the other green, cones. The Spruce Fir is a tall and graceful tree with tapering trunk, 120 to 150 feet in height, though in this country its more usual stature, when full-grown, would be about 80 feet high, with a bole circumference of about 9 feet. At first covered with thin, smooth, warm-brown bark, in later life this breaks up into irregular scales, thin layers of which are cast off. Instead of a bushy crown, such as we see in the Silver Fir, the Spruce ends in a delicate spire, so familiar in the Christmas-tree, which is a Spruce Fir in the nursery stage. The branches are in very regular tiers from base to summit, and the branchlets go off almost opposite each other, densely clothed with the short grass-green needles. These are from a half to three-quarters of an inch in length, four-sided, and ending in a fine sharp point. They endure for six or seven years. [Illustration: Spruce Fir.] The flowers are produced near the ends of last year's shoots, those with stamens being borne singly or in clusters of two or three. They are about three-quarters of an inch in length, and of a yellow colour, tinged with pink. The cones, which hang downwards, are almost cylindrical, about 5 inches long and 1½ inches in diameter. The pale brown scales are thin, and loosely overlap. The seeds, of which there are two under each scale, are very small, with a transparent brown wing, five times the length of the seed. The flowers appear in May, and the seeds are not ripe until nearly a year later. The tree is a shallow rooter, the roots going off horizontally in all directions a little below the surface, and becoming intimately matted with those of neighbouring trees. This surface-rooting often leads to disaster in plantations and forests of Spruce, for it is least able of all the firs to withstand a gale, which will sometimes make a broad avenue through the plantation by toppling the trees one against another. The wood of the Spruce Fir, though light, is even grained, elastic, and durable, and the straightness of its stem makes it very valuable for all purposes where great length and straightness are required, as for the masts of small vessels, ladders, scaffolding, telegraph-poles; as well as for the varied uses the builder finds for its planks. It supplies resin and pitch, and most of the cheaper periodicals now issued largely owe their existence to the Spruce, for its fibres reduced to pulp are made into the paper upon which they are printed. Although its growth during the first few years is rather slow, progress during the next twenty-five years is tolerably rapid, being at the rate of two or three feet per year, if in a favourable situation, and on moist light soil. When grown in a wood the Spruce loses its lower branches early, but when given sufficient "elbow-room," these remain to a good old age, so that from spire to earth the graceful cone of bright green is continuous. The name Spruce is from the German _sprossen_ (a sprout), in allusion to the numerous short branchlets that are a characteristic of the tree. [Illustration: _Pl. 161._ Douglas Fir.] [Illustration: _Pl. 162._ Bole of Douglas Fir.] [Illustration: _Pl. 163._ Cone of Spruce Fir.] The Douglas Fir (_Pseudotsuga douglasii_). Although the name of this tree in English and Latin might reasonably lead one to suppose that David Douglas, the intrepid botanical explorer, was the discoverer of it, that is not really so. It was Archibald Menzies who first made it known to science, by means of herbarium specimens collected in 1792, when, as the companion of Vancouver, he visited the western coasts of North America. But Douglas, in his capacity of collector to the Royal Horticultural Society, landed at Fort Vancouver on the Columbia River in 1825, and not only sent home herbarium specimens, but seeds also, of this and several previously unknown Conifers. It was by means of these seeds that the Douglas Fir was introduced to Britain. It was already known by Lambert's name of _Abies taxifolia_, but Dr. Lindley, a short time previous to Douglas' untimely death, selected the tree as a suitable and enduring memorial of the enormous services Douglas had rendered, and named it _Abies douglasii_. Since then Carrière has split up the old genus _Abies_ and placed _douglasii_ in the new genus _Pseudotsuga_. Under the most favourable natural conditions, as around Puget Sound and on the western slopes of the Sierra Nevada, the Douglas Fir grows to a height of 300 feet, with a girth of 30 to 40 feet, but on the drier slopes of the Rocky Mountains it is not more than 100 feet high. In Colorado, forests of Douglas Fir are found at an elevation of 11,000 feet. The tree has not been sufficiently long established in this country to say what dimensions it will reach, though it appears to have taken kindly to Ireland and to Devon and Cornwall, where the rate of growth of young trees is about 30 inches per annum. There are plenty of trees in these islands, planted about the year 1834, which have reached or passed 100 feet, and there is no doubt that towards our western coasts this height will be greatly exceeded. Some of these trees have long since produced cones, and from their seeds many young trees have been raised. [Illustration: Douglas Fir. A, female flower; B, male flower.] The Douglas Fir is of pyramidal outline, with the lowest branches bending to the ground under their weight of branchlets and leaves; above, they spread horizontally, but the uppermost are more or less ascending. The branchlets are given off mostly in opposite pairs, densely clothed with slender, rich green leaves, ¾ to 1¼ inches in length, paler beneath. They endure for six or seven years, and are arranged in three or four ranks. The male flowers will be found clustered at intervals on the underside of the previous year's shoots, whilst the cones are formed at the tips of the lateral branchlets, and hang downwards. These cones are somewhat elliptical in outline, from 2½ to 4 inches long, with large scales, and from the back of each there extends a three-clawed bract, whereof the middle claw or awn is very long. Several well-marked varieties of the Douglas Fir are also to be met with occasionally in parks and gardens. The Douglas Fir produces excellent timber, and is a most valuable forest tree, not only on that account, but because of its adaptability to varying conditions of soil and climate. It is the most widely distributed of all American forest trees, and the area of its distribution is spread over thirty-two degrees of latitude, and from end to end of this range it has, in the words of Sargent, "to endure the fierce gales and long winters of the north, and the nearly perpetual sunshine of the Mexican Cordilleras; to thrive in the rain and fog which sweep almost continuously along the Pacific coast range, and on the arid mountain slopes of the interior, where for months every year rain never falls." It appears to thrive best where the air is humid and the soil well drained. It begins to bear cones about its twenty-fifth year. The straight tapering trunk is largely used for the masts and spars of ships, its suitability for this purpose being evident to all visitors to Kew who have gazed at the flag-staff set up in the arboretum. This pole is 159 feet long, with a circumference of 6 feet at the base, tapering to 2 feet 2 inches at the top, and weighing about 3 tons. It was brought from Vancouver Island, and an examination of its rings before it was set up showed that it represented the growth of about 250 years. The full life of the Douglas Fir is estimated to be about 750 years. * * * * * [Illustration: _Pl. 164._ Stone Pine.] [Illustration: _Pl. 165._ Bole of Stone Pine.] The Stone Pine (_Pinus pinea_). Between the tall, graceful spire of the Douglas Fir and the squat, heavy, umbrella-like head of the Stone Pine, there is an enormous contrast. It must be confessed that the Stone Pine is less beautiful than picturesque, a point that strongly commends it to the landscape painter working in the countries bordering the Mediterranean, in which region it is native. The date of its introduction to Britain is not known, but it has been in cultivation here certainly for more than three centuries and a half, for Turner mentions it in his "Names of Herbes in Greke, Latin, Englishe, Duch, and Frenche," published in 1548. In its native countries it attains a height of sixty to eighty feet, but in this country the finest examples are only about thirty-five feet, whilst ordinary British-grown examples are only half that height. Its trunk, covered with rugged, and deeply fissured, thick, red-grey bark, forks at no great distance from the roots, and sends off massive spreading branches of great length. For several years the young tree produces short single leaves, but later leaves are five or six inches long, slender, and of a bright green tint, in pairs, united at their base by a pale sheath. These leaves endure for two or three years. The pollen-bearing flowers are crowded into a spike. The female flowers are about three-quarters of an inch long, composed of pale greenish scales. After fertilization, these grow to a length of four to six inches, of a rugged oval form and red-brown colour, ripening in the third year. The scales of these cones are somewhat wedge-shaped, with a stout rhomboid boss, which has a depression round the central protuberance. The seeds, which are eaten for dessert and preserved as sweetmeats in the countries where the Stone Pine is native, are enclosed in a bony shell, and it is from this circumstance that the tree gets its name. [Illustration: Stone Pine, cone and leaves.] * * * * * [Illustration: _Pl. 166._ Austrian Pine.] [Illustration: _Pl. 167._ Bole of Austrian Pine.] The Austrian Pine (_Pinus laricio_). What is known as the Austrian Pine is a variety of the Corsican or Larch Pine, and its botanical name correctly set out is _Pinus laricio_, var. _austriaca_. The name has reference to the fact that its chief home as an indigenous tree is in the southern provinces of the Austrian Empire. The range of the type and its varieties together includes Central and Southern Europe, and part of Western Asia. It is a comparatively recent addition to our sylva in both forms, for the type was introduced in 1759, in the belief that it was a maritime form of the Scots Pine, but the variety _austriaca_ was first sent out by Lawson and Son, the Edinburgh nurserymen, in 1835. [Illustration: Austrian Pine.] The typical species (Corsican Pine) is a slender tree of somewhat pyramidal form, growing to the height of 80 to 120 feet. The Austrian Pine, though a large tree, is of smaller proportions--from 60 to 80 feet high--but with stouter and longer branches, and denser foliage. The leaves, which vary from three to five inches in length, are sheathed in pairs, convex on the outer side, rigid, glossy, dark green, and with toothed margins. The cone is conical (!), with a rounded base, two to three inches in length, and its position on the branch is almost horizontal, the scales somewhat similar to those of the Scots Pine, but with stronger bosses, and of a yellowish-brown colour, polished. It takes about seventeen months to become full grown and ripen the seeds. [Illustration: _Pl. 168._ Cones of Austrian Pine.] The Austrian Pine is one of those that do well on poor soils, and takes kindly to chalk. From the density of its foliage, it makes a good shade and shelter tree. Its timber, though coarse in grain, is very durable, and useful for outside work. * * * * * [Illustration: _Pl. 169._ Cedar of Lebanon.] Cedar of Lebanon (_Cedrus libani_). Made familiar, by name at least, from very early times by frequent references to it in the books of the Old Testament, it is rather strange that so hardy a tree was not one of the first of those introduced for ornament into Britain. It is true that local legends attaching to some old Cedars in this country credit them with having been planted in "the spacious times of great Elizabeth"--as the great Cedar at Whitton, Middlesex, blown down in 1779; but, on the other hand, we have the fact that no mention is made of the Cedar by John Evelyn in his "Sylva" (1664). This, it is true, is only negative evidence; but it is strong none the less, for it is not at all likely that so keen and pious an arboriculturist would have omitted mention of so noteworthy a tree had such been growing here when he wrote. There is reason to believe, however, that the still-existing Enfield Cedar was planted about the date of Evelyn's publication by Dr. Uvedale, master of the Enfield Grammar School. The researches of Sir J. D. Hooker, subsequent to his memorable expedition to Lebanon and Taurus in 1860, established the specific identity of the three Cedars known as the Mount Atlas Cedar, the Cedar of Lebanon, and the Deodar. Though the arboriculturist still treats them as distinct species, they are scientifically regarded as geographical forms of one species. For convenience we here adopt the arboriculturist's view. [Illustration: _Pl. 170._ Bole of Cedar of Lebanon.] [Illustration: Cedar of Lebanon.] The Cedar varies greatly--no tree more so--in height and general outline, according to situation and environment, and though the stature of well-grown trees in this country may be correctly stated as from 50 to 80 feet, we are not without examples of 100 and 120 feet where the conditions have been specially favourable. There is one of 120 feet at Strathfieldsaye, and among the numerous fine Cedars at Goodwood there is the celebrated Great Cedar, 90 feet high, with a bole 25 feet in circumference, and a broad conical head whose base has a diameter of 130 feet. But the Cedar, as usually seen on lawns and in parks, has a low, rounded, or flattened top, the great spreading arms having grown more rapidly than the trunk. Thus grown, the huge bole has seldom any great length, throwing out these timber branches at from six to ten feet from the ground, and immediately afterwards the trunk is divided into several stems. From these the main branches take a curving direction, at first ascending, but the part furthest from the trunk becoming almost horizontal. It is chiefly at the extremity of the branches that the branchlets and leaves are produced. The evergreen leaves last for three, four, or five years, and are of needle-shape, varying in length from a little less to a little more than an inch. They are produced in a similar manner to those of the Larch--in tufts that are arranged spirally round dwarf shoots, mostly on the upper side of the branchlets. The male flowers are to be found at the extremity of branchlets which, though six or seven years old, are very short, their development having been arrested. The solid, purple-brown cones are only three or four inches long, broad-topped, and with a diameter of about half the length; the scales thin and closely pressed together; they are at first greyish-green, tinged with pink. The development and maturity of these cones takes two or three seasons, and they remain on the tree for several years longer. The seeds are angular, with a wedge-shaped wing. The trees do not produce cones until they are from twenty-five to thirty years old; but they may be a century old before producing either male or female flowers. The trunk is covered with thick, rough, deeply fissured bark. On the branches the bark is smooth, and peels off in thin flakes. The Cedar, in its native habitat, produces admirable timber, but that of trees grown in our own country is described by Loudon as "reddish-white, light and spongy, easily worked, but very apt to shrink and warp, and by no means durable." For these reasons the tree is grown almost solely for ornament. The name Cedar is supposed to be derived from the Arabic _kedroum_, or _kèdre_ (power), and has reference to its majestic proportions and strong timber. * * * * * [Illustration: _Pl. 171._ Deodar.] The Deodar, or Indian Cedar (_Cedrus deodara_). Although, as we have indicated, the differences between the Cedar of Lebanon and the Cedar of Himalaya are not such as can be scientifically accepted as constituting specific distinctness, they are sufficient to at once strike the ordinary observer. In proportion to the height of the trunk, for example, the main branches are much shorter, the result being a more regular pyramidal outline, terminating in a light spire. The terminal shoots of the branches are longer, more slender, and quite pendulous. These differences, though really slight, transform the rather heavy majesty of the Cedar, as represented by _C. libani_, into one of graceful beauty. Although the experience of sixty years has sadly falsified the high hopes entertained as to the suitability of the Deodar for cultivation in this country as a timber tree, its value for ornamental purposes and in landscape gardening has not been impaired. The headquarters of the Deodar are in the mountains of north-west India, where it forms forests at various altitudes above 3500 feet. Its vertical distribution, indeed, extends to a height of 12,000 feet, but its principal habitat lies between 6000 and 10,000 feet. Deodar timber produced in its native forests is exceedingly durable, being compact and even grained, not liable to warp or split, and standing the test of being alternately wet and dry. Loudon states that when a building, which had been erected by the Emperor Akbar in the latter part of the sixteenth century, was pulled down between 1820 and 1825, the Deodar timber used in its construction was found to be so sound that it was again used in building a house for Rajah Shah. And Brandis tells of very much more ancient bridges in Srunagar, whose piers are of Deodar wood, and appear to be as yet unaffected by decay. [Illustration: Deodar. A, cone.] It is to the Hon. W. L. Melville that we are indebted for the introduction of the Deodar to Britain in 1831, and during the next ten years many young trees were raised here from seeds. Favourably impressed by the rapidity of growth of these seedlings, the government, fearing a coming shortage of Oak for naval purposes, imported and distributed large numbers of Deodar seeds, and high estimates were formed of the future value of these trees. But in framing these estimates one important factor was omitted--the uncertainty of the British climate, with its rapid changes, "everything by turns, and nothing long." A score or two of years served to demonstrate that such conditions were opposed to the longevity and uniform development that produced sound timber on the Indian mountains; and to-day the Deodar is not mentioned among the trees that are to bring riches to the British timber grower. In spite of this failure, there are to be seen in many parts of these islands fine young Deodars of forty or fifty years, and from fifty to seventy feet in height. [Illustration: _Pl. 172._ Bole of Deodar.] There is no necessity for repeating the particulars already given respecting the Cedar of Lebanon, and which apply to the Deodar with such modifications as are indicated in the first paragraph above. Specimens grown where they have sufficient space for spreading out their long arms, retain their branches to the base of the trunk, and if these are cut off they can reproduce them. Several nursery varieties--with golden (_aurea_), silvery (_argentea_), or more intense green (_viridis_) foliage than the type--have appeared as a result of European cultivation. * * * * * [Illustration: _Pl. 173._ Lawson's Cypress.] Lawson's Cypress (_Cupressus lawsoniana_). Lawson's Cypress belongs to that section of Conifers which includes the Junipers and Thuias, and is a representative of the North American Sylva. It is a native of South Oregon and North California, where it is believed to have been first discovered by Jeffrey, about 1852. Two years later seeds were received by Messrs. Lawson, the Edinburgh nurserymen, from Mr. William Murray, and from these seeds were raised the first young trees of this species sent out by the firm. The name was bestowed in honour of Mr. Charles Lawson, the then head of the firm, and by this name it is generally known in Europe, but in the United States it is the Port Orford Cypress. At Port Orford, on the Oregon coast, according to Sargent, "it forms one of the most prolific and beautiful coniferous forests of the continent, unsurpassed in the variety and luxuriance of its undergrowth of Rhododendrons, Vacciniums, Raspberries, Buckthorns, and Ferns," and any one who has seen well-grown specimens in the pleasure-grounds of this country can easily realize something of the beauty of such a forest, though allowance has to be made for the fact that in forest growth the lower branches are lost at an early age. [Illustration: Lawson Cypress.] In its native home the Lawson Cypress attains a height of between 120 and 150 feet, occasionally reaching 200 feet, with a base circumference of 40 feet. The thick brown bark splits into rounded scaly ridges. The short horizontal branches divide a good deal towards their leafy extremities, which are curved, and commonly drooping. The leaves are little evergreen scales, which overlap, and being closely pressed to the branchlet, completely clothe and hide it. They are bright dark-green in colour, and endure for three or four years. The male flowers are produced at the tips of short branchlets, formed a year earlier. They are of cylindric form, crimson in colour, and each stamen bears from two to six anther-cells. The small "cones" are more or less globular, but instead of a large number of spirally arranged overlapping scales, as in the Pines and Firs, here there are only eight, whose edges at first join to form a box. When the "cone" is ripe these scales separate, to allow the escape of the seeds. The Lawson Cypress produces a valuable wood, close-grained and strong, yet light. It is considered one of the most important timber trees of North America; but in this country it has been planted solely with a view to its ornamental qualities. Its perfect hardiness and its freedom of growth may, with longer experience than half a century affords, lead to its being regarded as a timber producer here also. The Common Cypress (_Cupressus sempervirens_) of the Mediterranean region and the East, of which poets have sung in all ages, has been cultivated in this country for at least three hundred and fifty years. [Illustration: _Pl. 174._ Bole of Lawson's Cypress.] The Chili Pine (_Araucaria imbricata_). The Chili Pine, or "Monkey Puzzle," is a familiar sight on suburban lawns, where, however, it seldom attains a large size or long retains health. The lower branches drop off, and the upper ones become brown, as though scorched. But away from the smoke-laden atmosphere and uncongenial soils, some handsome and massive Araucarias may be seen rising from fair lawns, with dense branches curving at their tips, and regularly disposed in whorls from the dome-like head of the tree to the grass at its base. Such was the magnificent specimen at Dropmore that died in 1902, such is the fine tree at Woodstock, Co. Kilkenny, which now presumably takes the position of eminence in these islands hitherto held by the Dropmore example. [Illustration: Chili Pine, and cone. A, seed, with attached wing.] The Chili Pine is a native of Southern Chili, where it was discovered by a Spaniard, Don F. Dendariarena, in 1780, as he was prospecting for timber. About the same time two other Spaniards, Drs. Ruiz and Pavon, were botanizing in Chili, and came across the Araucaria, of which they sent herbarium specimens to Europe. But in spite of this three-fold opportunity for Spain, the actual introduction of the Araucaria to Europe must be credited to Britain. Archibald Menzies, who accompanied Captain Vancouver as botanist on his celebrated voyage, came across the tree in Chili, and brought home both seeds and young plants. One of these became a fine tree at Kew, where it was for many years the object of admiration and interest, but it perished in 1892. [Illustration: _Pl. 175._ Chili Pine.] The Araucaria forms extensive pure forests in the province of Arauco, from which it gets its name, and to whose inhabitants the seeds are a most important item of their food-supply. Not only do the trees in these forests lose their lower branches, but even those growing in the open plains of their native country have similarly bare trunks for nearly half their height. It is therefore a satisfaction to know that the finest specimens grown in this country have really surpassed those grown in their natural home. The height reached by old trees is from eighty to a hundred feet, with a trunk-girth of from sixteen to twenty-three feet. The tapering of this trunk is very slight, and a few of the stiff, spine-tipped leaves, with which its younger extremity is densely clothed, still remain attached in a dried-up condition far down the column. These leaves will have been observed to entirely cover the branches, not being restricted, as in most trees, to the newly formed branchlets and twigs. They are very hard, and endure for about fifteen years; are about an inch and a quarter long, and overlap, though their sharp-pointed ends turn away from the branch. The cylindrical male flowers are four or five inches long, borne singly or in small clusters. It was formerly supposed that the sexes were on separate trees, but though many individuals only produce flowers of one kind, this is by no means the general rule. The female flowers are about four inches long, almost round in shape, but broader at the base than above. They are covered with long, narrow, overlapping scales, beneath which are found the seeds when the flower has developed into the brown cone, which is six inches in diameter. The scales are then easily detached; in fact, when the seeds are ripe, the cone falls to pieces. The seed is about an inch and a half long, enclosed in a hard, thin shell. The Chili Pine does not succeed in this country unless it is given pure air, sunshine, abundant moisture, and an open subsoil to carry it off. Yet it will grow to a very handsome tree if these conditions are observed. Very fine effects have been obtained in some places by planting an Araucaria grove. Such an avenue is in fine condition at Woodstock, Co. Kilkenny (running parallel with an avenue of _Abies nobilis_), every tree with its branches intact from turf to summit, and bearing fertile cones. There is a similar, but less perfectly preserved, Araucaria grove at Bicton in Devonshire. CLASSIFIED INDEX TO NATURAL ORDERS, GENERA AND SPECIES _Described in this work._ Order TILIACEÆ. TILIA platyphyllos, Scop., 36, 40. _Plates_ 27, 28, 29, 30, 31 " parvifolia, Ehrh., 37, 40 " vulgaris, Hayne, 37, 40 Order ILICINEÆ. ILEX aquifolium, L., 85. _Plates_ 81, 82, 83, 84 Order CELASTRINEÆ. EUONYMUS europæus, L., 88. _Plates_ 85, 86, 87 " japonicus, Thunb., 90 " latifolius, C. Bauh., 90 Order RHAMNEÆ. RHAMNUS catharticus, L., 90. _Plate_ 89 " frangula, L., 91. _Plates_ 88, 90 Order SAPINDACEÆ. ÆSCULUS hippocastanum, L., 139. _Plates_ 1, 144, 145, 146, 147 " carnea, Willd., 143 ACER campestre, L., 49. _Plate_ 43 " platanoides, L., 53 " pseudo-platanus, L., 51. _Plates_ 44, 45, 46, 47, 48 Order LEGUMINOSÆ. LABURNUM vulgare, Presl., 145. _Plate_ 149 ROBINIA pseudacacia, L., 147. _Plates_ 150, 151, 152 Order ROSACEÆ. PRUNUS communis, Hudson, 92. _Plates_ 92, 93 " insititia, L., 94 " domestica, L., 94. _Plate_ 91 " avium, L., 95. _Plates_ 94, 95 " cerasus, L., 97 " padus, L., 98. _Plates_ 96, 97, 99 PYRUS communis, L., 98. _Plates_ 100, 102, 103 " cordata, Desv., 100 " malus, L., 101. _Plates_ 98, 101, 104, 105, 106 " aria, Ehrh., 103. _Plates_ 107, 108, 109, 110 " latifolia, Syme, 105 " scandica, Syme, 105 " torminalis, DC., 105 " aucuparia, Gaert., 106. _Plates_ 111, 112, 113, 114 " sorbus, Gaert., 109. _Plates_ 115, 117, 119 " germanica, Hook., 110. _Plate_ 116 CRATÆGUS oxyacantha, Pall., 112. _Plates_ 118, 120, 121, 122, 123 Order CORNACEÆ. CORNUS sanguinea, L., 116. _Plates_ 125, 126 " suecica, L., 118 Order CAPRIFOLIACEÆ. SAMBUCUS nigra, L., 123. _Plates_ 129, 131 VIBURNUM opulus, L., 120. _Plate_ 130 " lantana, L., 118. _Plates_ 127, 128 Order ERICACEÆ. ARBUTUS unedo, L., 114. _Plate_ 124 Order OLEACEÆ. FRAXINUS excelsior, L., 45. _Plates_ 39, 40, 41, 42 Order LAURACEÆ. LAURUS nobilis, L., 143. _Plate_ 148 Order EUPHORBIACEÆ. BUXUS sempervirens, L., 125. _Plates_ 132, 133 Order URTICACEÆ. ULMUS montana, Stokes, 40. _Plates_ 32, 33, 34, 35 " campestris, L., 43. _Plates_ 36, 37, 38 Order PLATANACEÆ. PLATANUS orientalis, L., 128. _Plates_ 134, 135, 136 " occidentalis, L., 129 Order JUGLANDACEÆ. JUGLANS regia, L., 131. _Plates_ 137, 138, 139 Order CUPULIFERÆ. BETULA alba, L., 25. _Plates_ 13, 14, 15, 16 " verrucosa, Ehrh., 28 " pubescens, Ehrh., 28 " nana, L., 28 ALNUS glutinosa, Medic., 29. _Plates_ 17, 18, 19, 20 CARPINUS betulus, L., 31. _Plates_ 21, 22, 23, 24 CORYLUS avellana, L., 34. _Plates_ 25, 26 QUERCUS robur, L., 13. _Plates_ 2, 3, 4, 5, 10 " ilex, L., 18. _Plate_ 6 " cerris, L., 19. _Plate_ 7 CASTANEA sativa, Mill., 135. _Plates_ 140, 141, 142, 143 FAGUS sylvatica, L., 20. _Plates_ 8, 9, 11, 12 Order SALICINEÆ. SALIX triandra, L., 66. _Plates_ 66, 67 " pentandra, L., 66. _Plates_ 68, 69, 70 " fragilis, L., 63. _Plates_ 59, 60, 61 " russelliana, Sm., 64 " alba, L., 65. _Plates_ 62, 63, 64, 65 " cinerea, L., 68 " aurita, L., 68 " caprea, L., 67 " repens, L., 69 " nigricans, Sm., 69 " phylicifolia, L., 70 " arbuscula, L., 72 " viminalis, L., 70 " reticulata, L., 72 " purpurea, L., 71. _Plates_ 71, 72 " lanata, L., 71 " sadleri, Syme, 71 " lapponum, L., 72 " myrsinites, L., 72 " herbacea, L., 72 " babylonica, Hort., 73 POPULUS alba, L., 55. _Plates_ 49, 50, 51 " canescens, Sm., 56 " tremula, L., 56. _Plate_ 52 " nigra, L., 58. _Plates_ 53, 54, 55 " fastigiata, Desf., 60. _Plates_ 56, 57, 58 " balsamifera, L., 61 " monilifera, Hort., 61 Order TAXACEÆ. TAXUS baccata, L., 74. _Plates_ 73, 74, 76 Order CONIFERÆ. JUNIPERUS communis, L., 79. _Plates_ 75, 77 " bermudiana, L., 81 " virginiana, L., 81 CUPRESSUS lawsoniana, Murr., 169. _Plates_ 173, 174 ARAUCARIA imbricata, Pav., 171. _Plate_ 175 PICEA excelsa, Link., 155. _Plates_ 159, 160, 163 CEDRUS deodara, Loud., 167. _Plates_ 171, 172 " libani, Loud., 164. _Plates_ 169, 170 LARIX europæa, DC., 149. _Plates_ 153, 154, 155, 156 ABIES pectinata, DC., 152. _Plates_ 157, 158 PSEUDOTSUGA douglasii, Carr, 157. _Plates_ 161, 162 PINUS sylvestris, L., 81. _Plates_ 78, 79, 80 " laricio, Poir., 162. _Plates_ 166, 167, 168 " pinea, L., 160. _Plates_ 164, 165 INDEX. Abele, 55. _Plates_ 49, 50, 51 _Abies pectinata_, 152. _Plates_ 157, 158 _Acer campestre_, 49. _Plate_ 43 " _platanoides_, 53 " _pseudoplatanus_, 51. _Plates_ 44, 45, 46 _Æsculus carnea_, 143 " _hippocastanum_, 139. _Plates_ 1, 144, 145, 146, 147 Alder, 29, _Plates_ 17, 18, 19, 20; Berry-bearing Alder, 91, _Plates_ 88, 90 _Alnus glutinosa_, 29. _Plates_ 17, 18, 19, 20 Apple, Wild, 101. _Plates_ 98, 101, 104, 105, 106 _Araucaria imbricata_, 171. _Plate_ 175 _Arbutus unedo_, 114. _Plate_ 124 Ash, 45, _Plates_ 39, 40, 41, 42; Mountain Ash, 106, _Plates_ 111, 112, 113, 114 Aspen, 56. _Plate_ 52 Austrian Pine, 162. _Plates_ 166, 167, 168 Bay Tree, 143. _Plate_ 148 Beech, 20. _Plates_ 8, 9, 11, 12 _Betula alba_, 25. _Plates_ 13, 14, 15, 16 " _nana_, 28 Birch, 25, _Plates_ 13, 14, 15, 16; Dwarf Birch, 28 Blackthorn, 92. _Plates_ 92, 93 Box, 125. _Plates_ 132, 133 Buckthorns, 90; Breaking Buckthorn, 91, _Plates_ 88, 90; Purging Buckthorn, 90, _Plate_ 89 Bullace, 94 _Buxus sempervirens_, 125. _Plates_ 132, 133 _Carpinus betulus_, 31. _Plates_ 21, 22, 23, 24 _Castanea sativa_, 135. _Plates_ 140, 141, 142, 143 Cedar of Lebanon, 164, _Plates_ 169, 170; Indian Cedar, 167, _Plates_ 171, 172; Red Cedar, 81 _Cedrus deodara_, 167. _Plates_ 171, 172 " _libani_, 164. _Plates_ 169, 170 Cherry, Wild, 95, _Plates_ 94, 95; Dwarf Cherry, 97; Bird Cherry, 98, _Plates_ 96, 97, 99 Chestnut, Horse, 139, _Plates_ 1, 144, 145, 146, 147; Sweet Chestnut, 135. _Plates_ 140, 141, 142, 143 Chili Pine, 171. _Plate_ 175 Conifers, Native, 73; Exotic, 149 Cornel, 116; Dwarf Cornel, 118 _Cornus sanguinea_, 116. _Plates_ 125, 126 " _suecica_, 118 _Corylus avellana_, 34. _Plates_ 25, 26 Crab, 101. _Plates_ 98, 101, 104, 105, 106 _Cratægus oxyacantha_, 112. _Plates_ 118, 120, 121, 122, 123 _Cupressus lawsoniana_, 169. _Plates_ 173, 174 Deodar, 167. _Plates_ 171, 172 Dogwood, 116. _Plates_ 125, 126 Douglas Fir, 157. _Plates_ 161, 162 Elder, 123. _Plates_ 129, 131 Elms, 40; Wych Elm, 40, _Plates_ 32, 33, 34, 35; Common Elm, 43, _Plates_ 36, 37, 38 _Euonymus europæus_, 88. _Plates_ 85, 86, 87 " _japonicus_, 90 " _latifolius_, 90 _Fagus sylvatica_, 20. _Plates_ 8, 9, 11, 12 False Acacia, 147. _Plates_ 150, 151, 152 False Plane, 51. _Plates_ 44, 45, 46, 47, 48 Fir, Douglas, 157. _Plates_, 161, 162; Silver Fir, 152. _Plates_ 157, 158; Spruce Fir, 155. _Plates_ 159, 160, 163 Fraxinus excelsior, 45. _Plates_ 39, 40, 41, 42 Gean, 96. _Plates_ 94, 95 Guelder Rose, 120. _Plate_ 130 Hawthorn, 112. _Plates_ 118, 120, 121, 122, 123 Hazel, 34. _Plates_ 25, 26 Holly, 85. _Plates_ 81, 82, 83, 84 Holm Oak, 18. _Plate_ 6 Hornbeam, 31. _Plates_ 21, 22, 23, 24 Horse Chestnut, 139. _Plates_ 1, 144, 145, 146, 147; Red-flowered Horse Chestnut, 143 _Ilex aquifolium_, 85. _Plates_ 81, 82, 83, 84 _Juglans regia_, 131. _Plates_ 137, 138, 139 Juniper, 79. _Plates_ 75, 77; Virginian Juniper, 81 _Juniperus bermudiana_, 81 " _communis_, 79. _Plates_ 75, 77 " _virginiana_, 81 Laburnum, 145. _Plate_ 149; White Laburnum, 147 _Laburnum vulgare_, 145. _Plate_ 149 Larch, 149. _Plates_ 153, 154, 155, 156 _Larix europæa_, 149. _Plates_ 153, 154, 155, 156 _Laurus nobilis_, 143. _Plate_ 148 Lawson's Cypress, 169. _Plates_ 173, 174 Lime, 36. _Plates_ 27, 28, 29, 30, 31 Locust Tree, 147. _Plates_ 150, 151, 152 Maples, 49; Field or Common, 49. _Plate_ 43; Great Maple, 51. _Plates_ 44, 45, 46, 47, 48; Norway Maple, 53 May, 112. _Plates_ 118, 120, 121, 122, 123 Medlar, 110. _Plate_ 116 Monkey Puzzle, 171. _Plate_ 175 Norway Maple, 53 Oak, 13. _Plates_ 2, 3, 4, 5, 10; Holm Oak, 18. _Plate_ 6; Turkey Oak, 19. _Plate_ 7 Osier, 70; Purple Osier, 71. _Plates_ 71, 72 Pear, Wild, 98. _Plates_ 100, 102, 103 _Picea excelsa_, 155. _Plates_ 159, 160, 163 Pine, Austrian, 162. _Plates_, 166, 167, 168; Chili Pine, 171. _Plate_ 175; Scots Pine, 81. _Plates_ 78, 79, 80; Stone Pine, 160. _Plates_ 164, 165 _Pinus laricio_, 162. _Plates_ 166, 167, 168 " _pinea_, 160. _Plates_ 164, 165 " _sylvestris_, 81. _Plates_ 78, 79, 80 Planes, 128; Oriental Plane, 128; Occidental Plane, 129; Maple-leaved Plane, 131. _Plates_ 134, 135, 136 _Platanus occidentalis_, 129 " _orientalis_, 128. _Plates_ 134, 135, 136 Plums, Wild, 92, 94. _Plates_ 91, 92, 93 Poplars, 54; White Poplar, 55. _Plates_ 49, 50, 51; Grey Poplar, 55; Black Poplar, 58. _Plates_ 53, 54, 55; Lombardy Poplar, 60. _Plates_ 56, 57, 58; Black Italian Poplar, 61; Balsam Poplar, 61 _Populus alba_, 55. _Plates_ 49, 50, 51 " _balsamifera_, 61 " _canescens_, 55 " _fastigiata_, 60. _Plates_ 56, 57, 58 " _monilifera_, 61 " _nigra_, 58. _Plates_ 53, 54, 55 " _tremula_, 56. _Plate_ 52 _Prunus avium_, 95. _Plates_ 94, 95 " _cerasus_, 97 " _communis_, 92. _Plates_ 92, 93 " _domestica_, 94. _Plate_ 91 " _insititia_, 94 " _padus_, 98. _Plates_ 96, 97, 99 _Pseudotsuga douglasii_, 157. _Plates_ 161, 162 _Pyrus aria_, 103. _Plates_ 107, 108, 109, 110 " _aucuparia_, 106. _Plates_ 111, 112, 113, 114 " _communis_, 98. _Plates_ 100, 102, 103 " _cordata_, 100 " _germanica_, 110. Plate 116 " _latifolia_, 105 " _malus_, 101. _Plates_ 98, 101, 104, 105, 106 " _scandica_, 105 " _sorbus_, 109. _Plates_ 115, 117, 119 " _torminalis_, 105 _Quercus cerris_, 19. _Plate_ 7 " _ilex_, 18. _Plate_ 6 " _robur_, 13. _Plates_ 2, 3, 4, 5, 10 _Rhamnus catharticus_, 90. _Plate_ 89 " _frangula_, 91. _Plates_ 88, 90 _Robinia pseudacacia_, 147. _Plates_ 150, 151, 152 Rowan, 106. _Plates_ 111, 112, 113, 114 _Salix alba_, 65. _Plates_ 62, 63, 64, 65 " _arbuscula_, 72 " _aurita_, 68 " _babylonica_, 73 " _capræa_, 67 " _cinerea_, 67 " _fragilis_, 63. _Plates_ 59, 60, 61 " _herbacea_, 72 " _lanata_, 71 " _lapponum_, 72 " _myrsinites_, 72 " _nigricans_, 69 _Salix pentandra_, 66. _Plates_ 68, 69, 70 " _phylicifolia_, 70 " _purpurea_, 71. _Plates_ 71, 72 " _repens_, 69 " _reticulata_, 72 " _russelliana_, 64 " _sadleri_, 71 " _triandra_, 65. _Plates_ 66, 67 " _viminalis_, 70 Sallow, 67; Grey Sallow, 68; Eared Sallow, 68 _Sambucus nigra_, 123. _Plates_ 129, 131 Scots Pine, 81. _Plates_ 78, 79, 80 Service, Wild, 105; True Service, 109. _Plates_ 115, 117, 119 Silver Fir, 152. _Plates_ 157, 158 Sloe, 92. Plates 92, 93 Spindle-tree, 88. _Plates_ 85, 86, 87 Spruce Fir, 155. _Plates_ 159, 160, 163 Stone Pine, 160. _Plates_ 164, 165 Strawberry-tree, 114. _Plate_ 124 Sweet Chestnut, 135. _Plates_ 140, 141, 142, 143 Sycamore, 51. _Plates_ 44, 45, 46, 47, 48 Tacamahac, 61 _Tilia parvifolia_, 37, 40 " _platyphyllos_, 36, 40. _Plates_ 27, 28, 29, 30, 31 " _vulgaris_, 37, 40 Turkey Oak, 19. _Plate_ 7 _Ulmus campestris_, 43. _Plates_ 36, 37, 38 " _montana_, 40. _Plates_ 32, 33, 34, 35 _Viburnum lantana_, 118. _Plates_ 127, 128 " _opulus_, 120. _Plate_ 130 Walnut, 131. _Plates_ 137, 138, 139 Wayfaring-tree, 118. _Plates_ 127, 128 White Beam, 103. _Plates_ 107, 108, 109, 110 Whitethorn, 112. _Plates_ 118, 120, 121, 122, 123 Willows, 61; Crack Willow, 63. _Plates_ 59, 60, 61; Bedford Willow, 64; White Willow, 65. _Plates_ 62, 63, 64, 65; Golden Willow, 65; Almond-leaved Willow, 66. _Plates_ 66, 67; French Willow, 66; Bay-leaved Willow, 67. _Plates_ 68, 69, 70; Dwarf Silky Willow, 69; Dark-leaved Willow, 69; Tea-leaved Willow, 70; Woolly Willow, 71; Sadler's Willow, 71; Lapland Willow, 72; Whortle-leaved Willow, 72; Small Tree Willow, 72; Least Willow, 72; Net-leaved Willow, 72; Weeping Willow, 73 Withy, 63. _Plates_ 59, 60, 61 Wych Elm, 40. _Plates_ 33, 34, 35 Yew, 74. _Plates_ 73, 74, 76; Irish Yew, 79 THE END. PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES. 
41702	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original 137 illustrations. See 41702-h.htm or 41702-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/41702/41702-h/41702-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/41702/41702-h.zip) Transcriber's note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=). TREES OF INDIANA (First Revised Edition) by CHAS. C. DEAM April, 1921 Fort Wayne Printing Company Contractors for Indiana State Printing and Binding Fort Wayne, Indiana 1921 The Department of Conservation State of Indiana W. A. Guthrie, Chairman. Stanley Coulter. John W. Holtzman. E. M. Wilson, Secretary. Publication No. 13 Richard Lieber. Director. [Illustration: Plate 1. SYCAMORE NEAR WORTHINGTON. IND., THE LARGEST BROAD-LEAVED TREE IN THE U. S. FIVE FEET ABOVE THE GROUND IT IS 42 FT. 3 IN. IN CIRC.; THE EAST BRANCH IS 27 FT. 3 IN. IN CIRC. AND THE WEST BRANCH IS 23 FT. 2 IN. IN CIRC. SEE JOUR. HEREDITY, VOL. 6:407:1915.] Preface The first edition of Deam's "Trees of Indiana" was published in 1911. By limiting the distribution, the edition of 10,000 lasted about three years. The demand for a book of this kind was so great that a second edition of 1,000 copies was published in March 1919. This edition was exhausted within five days after its publication was announced, and thousands of requests for it could not be filled. These came from all classes of people, but the greatest demand was from the school teachers of the State. Since forestry is an integral part of agriculture which is now taught in our public schools, and since a book on the trees of the State is in demand, the Conservation Commission has authorized a revised edition of "The Trees of Indiana." What was formerly Bulletin No. 3 of the Division of Forestry is now published as Publication No. 13 of the Department. The reader's attention is called to a new departure in illustrations, which were made from photographic reproductions of specimens in Mr. Deam's herbarium. The photographs were taken by Mr. Harry F. Dietz of the Division of Entomology. It is believed that it will be gratefully received by the public and will stimulate an interest in forestry that should achieve practical results. RICHARD LIEBER, Director, The Department of Conservation. Table of Contents. Preface 7 List of illustrations 10 Introduction 13 Key to families 17 Trees of Indiana 19 Excluded Species 290 Measurements of some large trees that grow in Indiana 297 Specific gravity of Indiana woods 299 Index 305 Illustrations. PLATE NUMBER PLATES PAGE 1. Frontispiece; Sycamore, largest hardwood tree in U.S. 5 2. Pinus Strobus (White Pine) 21 3. Pinus Banksiana (Gray or Jack Pine) 23 4. Pinus virginiana (Scrub Pine) 24 5. Larix laricina (Tamarack) 27 6. Tsuga canadensis (Hemlock) 29 7. Taxodium distichum (Cypress) 31 8. Thuja occidentalis (Arbor-Vitæ) 33 9. Juniperus virginiana (Red Cedar) 35 10. Salix nigra (Black Willow) 37 11. Salix amygdaloides (Peach-leaved Willow) 39 12. Salix alba (White Willow) 41 13. Salix fragilis (Crack Willow) 42 14. Salix discolor (Pussy Willow) 44 15. Populus alba (Silver-leaf Poplar) 46 16. Populus heterophylla (Swamp Cottonwood) 48 17. Populus deltoides (Cottonwood) 49 18. Populus grandidentata (Large-toothed Aspen) 51 19. Populus tremuloides (Quaking Aspen) 53 20. Juglans cinerea (Butternut) 55 21. Juglans nigra (Black Walnut) 57 22. Carya illinoensis (Pecan) 60 23. Carya cordiformis (Pignut Hickory) 62 24. Carya ovata (Shellbark Hickory) 64 25. Carya laciniosa (Big Shellbark Hickory) 67 26. Carya alba (White Hickory) 69 27. Carya glabra (Black Hickory) 71 28. Carya ovalis (Small-fruited Hickory) 73 29. Carya Buckleyi var. arkansana 77 30. Carpinus caroliniana (Water Beech) 79 31. Ostrya virginiana (Ironwood) 81 32. Betula lutea (Yellow Birch) 83 33. Betula populifolia (Gray or White Birch) 86 34. Betula papyrifera (Paper or Canoe Birch) 87 35. Betula nigra (Black or Red Birch) 89 36. Alnus incana (Speckled Alder) 91 37. Alnus rugosa (Smooth Alder) 93 38. Fagus grandifolia (Beech) 95 39. Castanea dentata (Chestnut) 97 40. Quercus alba (White Oak) 102 41. Quercus bicolor (Swamp White Oak) 105 42. Quercus Muhlenbergii (Chinquapin Oak) 106 43. Quercus Michauxii (Cow or Basket Oak) 108 44. Quercus Prinus (Chestnut Oak) 111 45. Quercus stellata (Post Oak) 113 46. Quercus macrocarpa (Bur Oak) 115 47. Quercus lyrata (Overcup Oak) 118 48. Quercus imbricaria (Shingle Oak) 120 49. Quercus rubra (Red Oak) 122 50. Quercus palustris (Pin Oak) 124 51. Quercus Schneckii (Schneck's Red Oak) 125 52. Quercus ellipsoidalis (Hill's Oak) 128 53. Quercus velutina (Black Oak) 129 54. Quercus coccinea (Scarlet Oak) 132 55. Quercus falcata (Spanish Oak) 134 56. Quercus marilandica (Black Jack Oak) 136 57. Ulmus fulva (Slippery or Red Elm) 139 58. Ulmus americana (White Elm) 141 59. Ulmus Thomasi (Hickory or Rock Elm) 143 60. Ulmus alata (Winged Elm) 144 61. Celtis occidentalis (Hackberry) 147 62. Celtis pumila var. Deamii (Dwarf Hackberry) 149 63. Celtis mississippiensis (Sugarberry) 152 64. Morus rubra (Red Mulberry) 154 65. Maclura pomifera (Osage Orange) 156 66. Magnolia acuminata (Cucumber Tree) 158 67. Liriodendron Tulipifera (Tulip Tree or Yellow Poplar) 160 68. Asimina triloba (Pawpaw) 162 69. Sassafras officinale (Sassafras) 164 70. Liquidambar Styraciflua (Sweet Gum) 167 71. Platanus occidentalis (Sycamore) 169 72. Malus glaucescens (American Crab Apple) 173 73. Malus lancifolia (Narrow-leaved Crab Apple) 175 74. Malus ioensis (Western Crab Apple) 176 75. Amelanchier canadensis (Juneberry or Service Berry) 178 76. Amelanchier lævis (Smooth Juneberry or Service Berry) 179 77. Cratægus Crus-galli (Cock-spur Thorn) 183 78. Cratægus cuneiformis (Marshall's Thorn) 184 79. Cratægus punctata (Large-fruited Thorn) 186 80. Cratægus Margaretta (Judge Brown's Thorn) 187 81. Cratægus collina (Chapman's Hill Thorn) 189 82. Cratægus succulenta (Long-spined Thorn) 190 83. Cratægus neo-fluvialis (New River Thorn) 192 84. Cratægus Calpodendron (Pear Thorn) 193 85. Cratægus chrysocarpa (Round-leaved Thorn) 195 86. Cratægus viridis (Southern Thorn) 196 87. Cratægus nitida (Shining Thorn) 198 88. Cratægus macrosperma (Variable Thorn) 199 89. Cratægus basilica (Edson's Thorn) 201 90. Cratægus Jesupi (Jesup's Thorn) 202 91. Cratægus rugosa (Fretz's Thorn) 204 92. Cratægus filipes (Miss Beckwith's Thorn) 205 93. Cratægus Gattingeri (Gattinger's Thorn) 207 94. Cratægus pruinosa (Waxy-fruited Thorn) 208 95. Cratægus coccinoides (Eggert's Thorn) 210 96. Cratægus coccinea (Scarlet Thorn) 211 97. Cratægus mollis (Red-fruited or Downy Thorn) 213 98. Cratægus Phænopyrum (Washington's Thorn) 215 99. Prunus americana (Wild Red Plum) 217 100. Prunus americana var. lanata (Woolly-leaf Plum) 219 101. Prunus nigra (Canada Plum) 220 102. Prunus hortulana (Wild Goose Plum) 222 103. Prunus pennsylvanica (Wild Red Cherry) 224 104. Prunus serotina (Wild Black Cherry) 225 105. Cercis canadensis (Redbud) 228 106. Gleditsia triacanthos (Honey Locust) 229 107. Gleditsia aquatica (Water Honey Locust) 231 108. Gymnocladus dioica (Coffeenut Tree) 234 109. Robinia Pseudo-Acacia (Black Locust) 236 110. Ailanthus altissima (Ailanthus or Tree of Heaven) 238 111. Acer Negundo (Box Elder) 241 112. Acer saccharinum (Silver Maple) 243 113. Acer rubrum (Red Maple) 245 114. Acer nigrum (Black Maple) 247 115. Acer saccharum (Sugar Maple) 249 116. Æsculus glabra (Buckeye) 252 117. Æsculus octandra (Sweet Buckeye) 254 118. Tilia glabra (Linn or Basswood) 256 119. Tilia heterophylla (White Basswood) 258 120. Nyssa sylvatica (Black Gum) 260 121. Cornus florida (Dogwood) 262 122. Oxydendrum arboreum (Sour Wood or Sorrel Tree) 264 123. Diospyros virginiana (Persimmon) 266 124. Fraxinus americana (White Ash) 269 125. Fraxinus biltmoreana (Biltmore Ash) 271 126. Fraxinus lanceolata (Green Ash) 273 127. Fraxinus pennsylvanica (Red Ash) 275 128. Fraxinus profunda (Pumpkin Ash) 277 129. Fraxinus quadrangulata (Blue Ash) 279 130. Fraxinus nigra (Black Ash) 281 131. Adelia acuminata (Pond Brush or Crooked Brush) 283 132. Catalpa bignonioides (Catalpa) 285 133. Catalpa speciosa (Hardy Catalpa) 286 134. Viburnum prunifolium (Black Haw) 289 135. County Map of Indiana 301 136. Map showing certain areas of forest distribution 302 137. English and Metric Scales compared 303 Trees of Indiana _INTRODUCTION_ The present edition has been entirely rewritten. While the general plan of the first edition has been followed, some changes have been made. The number of trees included has been wholly arbitrary. All woody plants of the State which generally attain a maximum diameter of 10 cm. (4 inches) at breast high are regarded as tree forms. _Alnus rugosa_ which so closely resembles _Alnus incana_, is an exception, and a description of it is given to aid in the identification of our tree form of _Alnus_. Also several species of Cratægus are included which commonly do not attain tree size. The species of all Cratægus begin to flower and fruit many years before they attain their maximum size. The genus is much in need of study, and the smaller forms are included to stimulate a study of the genus, and in order that the larger forms may be more easily and certainly identified. The number of introduced trees has been limited to those that more or less freely escape at least in some parts of the State. The one exception is _Catalpa bignonioides_, which is given to help separate it from our native catalpa, both of which are now commonly planted. =Botanic Description.=--The botanic descriptions have been made from specimens collected in Indiana. In most instances the material has been quite ample, and collected from all parts of the State. Technical terms have been avoided, and only when precision and accuracy were necessary have a few been used which can be found in any school dictionary. The length of the description varies in proportion to the importance and interest of the species and the number of characters necessary to separate it from other forms. The characters used are those which are the most conspicuous, and are generally with the specimen at hand. In most instances mature leaves are at hand, and these are most fully described. When leaves are discussed, only mature and normal leaves are considered. The descriptions are not drawn to include the leaf forms, and sizes of coppice shoots or seedlings. Measurements of simple leaves do not include the petiole unless mentioned. When the term twig is used, it means the growth of the year. Branchlets and branches mean all growth except the present year. By seasons are meant the calendar seasons. The size of trees is designated as small, medium and large. These terms are defined as follows: Small trees are those that attain a diameter of 2 dm.; medium-sized trees are those whose maximum diameter is between 2 dm. and 6 dm.; large-sized trees are those which are commonly more than 6 dm. in diameter. Diameter measurements are at 14 dm. (4-1/2) feet above the ground, or breast high. The common names given are those most generally used in our area. Where common names are rarely applied to our forms, the common commercial or botanical common name is given. In some instances where a tree is known by several names, one or more of which are often applied to a related species, the liberty has been taken to select a common name which should be restricted to the one species. Botanical names are usually pronounced according to the English method of pronouncing Latin. The accented syllables have been marked as follows: the grave (\) accent to indicate the long English sound of the vowel and the acute (/) accent to show the short or otherwise modified sound. Measurements have been given in the metric system, and in some instances the English equivalent has also been given. The nomenclature attempted is that of the International Code. The sequence of families is that of Gray's Manual, 7th Edition. =Distribution.=--The general distribution of the species is first given, which is followed by the distribution in Indiana. The general distribution has been obtained by freely consulting all the local floras and general works on botany. The Indiana distribution has been obtained for the greater part from specimens represented in the writer's herbarium and from notes in doing field work during the past 24 years. Since the first edition of the "Trees of Indiana" was published the writer has traveled over 27,000 miles in Indiana, via auto, making a special study of the flora of the State, and has visited every county and has traversed practically every township in the State. In discussing numbers in distribution it was decided to use terms already in common use, but to assign a definite meaning to each as follows: Very common means more than 25 trees to the acre; common, 5-25 trees to the acre; frequent 1-5 trees to the acre; infrequent, 1 tree to 2-10 acres; rare, 1 tree to every 11-100 acres; very rare, 1 tree to more than 100 acres; local when the distribution is circumscribed or in spots. Where a species has the limit of its range in our area, its distribution is sometimes given at length for scientific reasons. It should be remembered that some of the older records of distribution were made by geologists or inexperienced botanists, and when such records are questioned it is done with a spirit of scientific accuracy. Some of our early authors did not distinguish between cultivated and native trees, which involves the distribution of certain species. The habitat of many species is discussed; which suggests forestal, horticultural and ornamental possibilities. Then too, the habitat of a tree, helps to identify it. When associated trees are given, those are enumerated which are characteristic of the species throughout its range in our area and they are arranged in the order of their abundance. A county map of the State is included which will assist in finding the range of each species. A forestal area map is also added to visualize certain habitats of the State. The range and distribution of the species in the State has been given considerable attention to encourage investigation along this line. =Remarks.=--Under this title the economic uses of the trees and their products have been given. In addition horticultural and unclassified information is included. =Illustrations.=--All of the illustrations except two are photographic reproductions of specimens in the writer's herbarium. The two drawings were used in the first edition. About 20 of the photographs were made by Paul Ulman, and the remainder by Harry F. Dietz, who has laboriously tried to obtain good reproductions from the material at hand. =Explanation of Map of Certain Forestal Areas.=--In describing the distribution of certain species of trees within the State, it was found convenient to speak of certain forestal areas which are here described, and are illustrated by a map which may be found at the end of the text. _Lake Region_:--The southernmost lakes in Indiana are those located in the southwestern part of Wells County; Lake Galacia about five miles northeast of Fairmount in Grant County; Lake Cicott in Cass County; and Kate's Pond about 1-1/2 miles northwest of Independence in Warren County. Roughly estimated, all of Indiana north of a line connecting these lakes might be considered the lake area of the State. _Prairie Area_:--While the interior of Indiana has quite a few small areas called prairies, the real western prairie did not extend far into the State. The dividing line is very irregular, and several elongated lobes extended farther east than indicated by the map. The larger areas east of the line were the extensive prairie area of the Kankakee Valley; the northern part of Pulaski County; and parts of White and Tippecanoe Counties. _"Knob" Area_:--This is the hilliest part of the State and is located in the southcentral part. It is contained in the unglaciated portion of the State, and includes the "knobs" of the Knobstone, Chester and Mansfield sandstone areas of Indiana. In this area are included the scrub pine and chestnut oak, with one exception; sorrel tree and the chestnut, with two possible exceptions. _The Flats_:--This is a level stretch of country, here and there deeply eroded. Being level, and the soil a fine compact clay, the drainage is poor which suggested the local name "flats." _The Lower Wabash Valley_:--This is part of Knox, Gibson and Posey Counties which is usually inundated each year by the Wabash River. =Acknowledgments.=--The character and qualities of the wood have for the greater part been taken from the works of Britton and Brown, Hough, and Sargent, to whom indebtedness is acknowledged. The _Salicaceæ_, except the genus _Populus_ was written by C. R. Ball, of the Bureau of Plant Industry, Washington, D. C. The _Malaceæ_ was contributed by W. W. Eggleston, also of the Bureau of Plant Industry, Washington, D. C. These authors were asked to make their part conform to the general plan of the book. Mr. Ball and Mr. Eggleston are recognized authorities on the respective parts they have written and users of this book will appreciate the value of having these difficult parts written by our best authorities. The author wishes to gratefully acknowledge this great favor. The most grateful acknowledgement is given to Prof. Stanley Coulter, Dean, School Science, Purdue University, who has read all of the manuscript and made valuable suggestions, corrections and criticisms. I wish to acknowledge the assistance of Stella M. Deam, my wife, in field and clerical work. I wish to thank the Department of Conservation for the opportunity of doing this work. Key to the Families. PAGE Leaves linear or scale-like. Pinaceæ 19 Leaves not as above. A. Leaves compound. Leaves palmately compound. Æsculaceæ 251 Leaves without an odd leaflet at the end. Cæsalpinaceæ 226 Leaves with an odd leaflet at the end. Leaves alternate. Leaflets toothed all around. Juglandaceæ 52 Leaflets entire, or with 1-4 teeth near the base. Trees with thorns, leaflets entire, generally less than 4 cm. (1-1/2 inches) long. Fabaceæ 233 Trees without thorns, leaflets entire or with 1-4 teeth near the base, generally longer than 4 cm. (1-1/2 inches). Simarubaceæ 237 Leaves opposite. Leaflets 3-5, fruit in pairs. Aceraceæ 239 Leaflets 5-11, fruit single. Oleaceæ 267 A. Leaves simple. Leaves opposite or whorled. Petioles more than 4 cm. (1-1/2 inches) long. Blades palmately 3-5 lobed. Aceraceæ 239 Blades entire or with 1 or 2 lateral lobes. Bignoniaceæ 284 Petioles less than 4 cm. (1-1/2 inches) long. Flowers 4-parted, stone of fruit round. Cornaceæ 259 Flowers 5-parted, stone of fruit flattened. Caprifoliaceæ 288 Leaves alternate. B. Leaves entire. Trees with thorns and a milky sap. Maclura in Moraceæ 155 Trees without thorns, sap not milky. Leaves 3-5 nerved at the base. Leaves 3-nerved at the base. Celtis in Ulmaceæ 146 Leaves 5-nerved at the base. Cercis in Cæsalpinaceæ 227 Leaves with 1 primary nerve. Leaves usually more than 1.5 dm. (6 inches) long, flowers solitary. Flowers appearing before or with the leaves. Anonaceæ 161 Flowers appearing after the leaves. Magnoliaceæ 155 Leaves less than 1.5 dm. (6 inches) long, flowers in clusters. Bark and leaves aromatic Lauraceæ 163 Bark and leaves not aromatic. Fruit dry, an acorn Quercus imbricaria in Fagaceæ 119 Fruit fleshy. Fruit with one seed, stone cylindrical Nyssa in Cornaceæ 259 Fruit with more than one seed, rarely one, seeds flat Ebenaceæ 265 B. Leaves finely serrate, coarsely toothed or lobed. C. Leaves with one primary vein. Bark and leaves aromatic Lauraceæ 163 Bark and leaves not aromatic. Staminate and pistillate flowers and fruit in catkins. Scales of winter buds 2, ovary many-seeded, seeds with a tuft of hairs at the summit Salix in Salicaceæ 34 Scales of winter buds more than 2, ovary 1-seeded, seeds without a tuft of hairs at the summit Betulaceæ 78 Staminate and pistillate flowers and fruit not in catkins. Fruit dry. Fruit a samara Ulmus in Ulmaceæ 137 Fruit not a samara Bark smooth; fruit spiny Fagaceæ 92 Bark furrowed; fruit a smooth capsule Ericaceæ 263 Fruit fleshy. Flowers more than 8 mm. (1/3 inch) broad, fruit edible, apple-like. Trees mostly with thorns, fruit with remnant of calyx at apex of fruit, normally with more than 1 seed. Malaceæ 171 Trees without thorns, fruit with no remnant of calyx at the apex, fruit a 1-seeded edible drupe. Amygdalaceæ 216 Flowers less than 8 mm. (1/3 inch) across, fruit a non-edible drupe Cornaceæ 259 C. Leaves with more than 1 primary vein. Staminate and pistillate flowers in catkins. Fruit dry Populus in Salicaceæ 45 Fruit fleshy Morus in Moraceæ 151 Staminate and pistillate flowers not in catkins. Pistillate and staminate flowers separate. Leaves 3-nerved at the base, fruit a 1-seeded drupe Celtis in Ulmaceæ 146 Leaves 5-nerved at the base, fruit a head of carpels or achenes. Bark fissured, not peeling off in flakes, leaves aromatic Altingiaceæ 166 Bark peeling off in flakes, leaves not aromatic Platanaceæ 168 Pistillate and staminate flowers in one. Fruit dry Tiliaceæ 255 Fruit fleshy Malaceæ 171 =PINÀCEAE.= The Pine Family. Trees and shrubs with a resinous sap, which yields rosin, tar, turpentine and essential oils. The leaves are linear or scale-like, alternate, whorled or clustered; flowers naked, appearing in the spring; fruit a cone or sometimes berry-like. A large family of trees and shrubs, containing over 200 species, found in many parts of the world, and of great economic importance. In Indiana only nine species are native, and the distribution of seven of these species has always been very limited. Leaves linear, in clusters of 2, 3, 5 or more than 5. Leaves in bundles of 2-5. 1 Pinus. Leaves in bundles of more than 5. 2 Larix. Leaves linear and solitary, or scale-like. Leaves all linear. Leaves obtuse. 3 Tsuga. Leaves sharp-pointed. Leaves green on both sides, alternate. 4 Taxodium. Leaves glaucous beneath, opposite or whorled. 6 Juniperus. Leaves all scale-like, or some of the branches with linear sharp-pointed leaves. Leaves all scale-like, fruit a cone of 8-12 imbricated scales. 5 Thuja. Leaves scale-like or some linear and sharp-pointed, fruit berry-like. 6 Juniperus. =1. PÌNUS.= The Pines. Evergreen trees with needle-shaped leaves in bundles of 2-5 or 7; flowers appearing in the spring, the staminate clustered at the base of the season's shoots, the pistillate on the side or near the end of the shoots; fruit a woody cone which matures at the end of the second season, or more rarely at the end of the third season; scales of the cone variously thickened; seeds in pairs at the base of the scales. There are about 70 species of pines of which three are native to Indiana. Commercially the pines are classed as soft and hard. In our area the soft pines are represented by the white pine, while the gray and Jersey pines are classed as hard pines. Leaves 5 in a bundle, 6-12 cm. long. 1 P. Strobus. Leaves 2-3 in a bundle. Scales of cones unarmed, leaves usually 2-4 cm. long. 2 P. Banksiana. Scales of cones tipped with a short spine, leaves usually over 4 cm. long. 3 P. virginiana. =1.= =Pinus Stròbus= Linnæus. White Pine. Plate 2. Bark greenish and smooth on young trees, becoming reddish or gray and furrowed on old trees; young twigs scurvy-pubescent, soon smooth and light brown; leaves normally 5 in a bundle, sometimes more, 6-12 cm. long, 3-sided, sharp-pointed, bluish-green, maturing and falling at end of second season; cones ripening at end of second season, usually 10-20 cm. long; wood light, soft, not strong, works easily, takes a good polish, and warps little. =Distribution.=--Newfoundland to Manitoba, south to Iowa, Kentucky and along the Alleghany Mountains to northern Georgia. The mass distribution of this species is to the north of our area, and in Indiana it is local and found in small numbers. It is a common tree on some of the dunes bordering Lake Michigan, and is found locally throughout the area bordering Lake Michigan. Its distribution in this part of the State has not been studied, but it is believed that in Lake and Porter Counties it is not at present found far from the Lake. Blatchley[1] reports "a thicket of this species about a peat bog on the Hayward farm one mile east of Merrillville in Lake County." The writer has seen it as a frequent tree in a black oak woods about four miles southwest of Michigan City, also quite a number of large trees seven miles northeast of Michigan City in a swampy woods, associated with white elm, black ash, soft maple, etc. Nieuwland[2] reports a single tree found in a tamarack swamp 25 miles east of Michigan City near Lydick in St. Joseph County. The next appearance of this species is to the south in Warren County on the outcrops of sandstone along Big Pine, Little Pine, Rock and Kickapoo Creeks. It is found more or less on bluffs of these creeks. It was the most abundant along Big Pine Creek, and followed up the creek for a distance of about ten miles, or midway between Rainsville and Indian Village. To the south it is next found in Fountain County on the outcrops of sandstone along Big Shawnee and Bear Creeks. Franklin Watts who owns the "Bear Creek Canyon" just south of Fountain says he remembers the area before any cutting was done along the creek. He says that the white pine was a common tree along the creek for a distance of half a mile and that a few scattered trees were found as far as 40 rods from the creek. He stated that the largest trees were about 30 inches in diameter and as high as the highest of the surrounding trees. Moving southward it is next found on a ridge of sandstone in Montgomery County on the south side of Sugar Creek about a mile east of the shades. Here it is closely associated with hemlock which is absent in all of the stations to the north. Coulter[3] reports a colony in the "knobs" of the northeast corner of Floyd County. This species was also reported from Clark County by Baird and Taylor. The writer has made inquiry and diligently searched for this species in this county but failed to locate it. In the vicinity of Borden where the Jersey pine grows, millmen distinguish two kinds of pines. Investigation showed that both are Jersey pine. The one with resinous exudations along the trunk is one kind, and trunks without exudation is the other. Since Baird and Taylor include cultivated trees in their list of the plants of Clark County, it is proposed to drop this reference. [Illustration: Plate 2. PINUS STROBUS Linnæus. (× 1/2.) White Pine.] =Remarks.=--White pine on account of the excellent qualities of its wood is in great demand, and has always ranked as one of our leading timber trees. In fact it was so highly prized that practically all of the original stand of this species has been cut. The tree adapts itself to many habitats, hence has been used extensively for forestry purposes both in America and Europe. In fact it was the most used tree in forestry until about ten years ago when the white pine blister rust was discovered in America. This disease is now found in practically all of the states where this species forms dense stands. However, Federal and State authorities are trying to stamp out the disease. In Indiana it is a species well worth a trial for forestry purposes, especially in windbreaks where other species are used. =2.= =Pinus Banksiàna= Lambert. Gray Pine. Jack Pine. Plate 3. A small tree 10-15 m. high with reddish-brown bark, broken into short flakes; shoots of season yellow-green, turning reddish-brown, smooth; leaves dark green, in twos, 2-5 cm. long, divergent, curved or twisted, rigid, sharp-pointed, persisting for two or three years; cones sessile, sharp-pointed, oblique at the base, 3-5 cm. long, usually pointing in the direction of the branch; wood light, soft and weak. =Distribution.=--The most northern of all of our pines. Nova Scotia to northern New York, northern Illinois, Minnesota and northward. In Indiana it is found only on and among the sand dunes in the immediate vicinity of Lake Michigan, and in no instance has it been seen more than three miles from the Lake. Found sparingly in Lake, Porter and Laporte Counties. It is the most abundant in the vicinity of Dune Park. [Illustration: Plate 3. PINUS BANKSIANA Lambert. Gray or Jack Pine. (× 1/2.)] [Illustration: Plate 4. PINUS VIRGINIANA Miller. Jersey or Scrub Pine. (×1/2.)] =3.= =Pinus virginiàna= Miller. Jersey Pine. Scrub Pine. Plate 4. Bark dark-brown with rather shallow fissures, the ridges broken, somewhat scaly; shoots green, light brown or purplish with a bloom, becoming a gray-brown; leaves in bundles of two, rarely three, twisted, usually about 4-5 cm. long, deciduous during the third or fourth year; cones sessile or nearly so, narrowly conic when closed, 4-7 cm. long, opening in the autumn of the second season; scales armed with a curved spine 2-4 mm. long; wood light, soft, weak, brittle and slightly resinous. =Distribution.=--Long Island to South Carolina, Alabama and north to Indiana and Licking County, Ohio. The distribution in Indiana is quite limited, and has never been understood by authors who variously give it as found throughout the southern part of Indiana. It is confined to the knob area of Floyd, Clark and Scott Counties, and the southeastern part of Washington County. In the original forest it is confined to the tops of the knobs where it is associated with Quercus Prinus (Gray's Man. 7th Edition). It propagates easily from self-sown seed, hence is soon found on the lower slopes of cut-over lands, and soon occupies fallow fields. It is now found in the open woods several miles east of the knobs in the preceding counties, but pioneers of this section say it was not a constituent of the original forests but has come in since the original forests were heavily cut over. It is believed that it crowned the knobs over our area from 5-10 miles wide extending through the counties named and extending northward about 25 miles. This species is found in the open woods on a few hills on the Millport Ridge in the northern part of Washington County, and it appears as if native, but investigation showed that it had spread from a tree on the site of a pioneer's cabin. It is also found as a frequent escape on the wooded bluff of Raccoon Creek in the southern part of Owen County, and appears as native here. It is associated on the bluff and slope with hemlock. Chas. Green, a man of sixty years, who owns the place says the trees were seeded by a tree planted in his father's yard nearby. His father also planted a white pine in his yard, and it is to be noted while the Jersey Pine has freely escaped the white pine has not, although the habitat seems favorable. =Remarks.=--In its native habitat on the exposed summits of the "knobs" it is usually a small tree about 3 dm. in diameter and 10 m. high. When it finds lodgement on the lower slopes and coves it may attain a diameter of 7 dm. and a height of 25 m. This tree is really entitled to be called "old field pine" on account of its ability to establish itself on them. From the ease with which this species propagates itself from seed it seems worthy a trial for forestry purposes in the "knob" area of the State. However, all attempts to grow this species from seedlings at the Forest Reserve have failed. =2. LÀRIX.= The Larches. =Larix laricìná= (Du Roi) Koch. Tamarack. Plate No. 5. Tall spire-like trees, usually 2-3 dm. in diameter, rarely as large as 5 dm. in diameter; bark gray or reddish-brown, scaly; twigs slender, smooth, light brown, becoming a dark gray brown; leaves scattered along the shoots of the season, in fascicles on the older branches, usually 20-50 in a bundle; filiform, 1-2.5 cm. long, obtuse at apex, triangular in cross-section, all falling off late in autumn; staminate flowers borne on the short leafless branches, the pistillate appear with the leaves on the branches of the previous season; cones borne on short, stout branchlets, normally erect or inclined to be so, 10-20 mm. long, purplish brown while growing, turning to a light brown at maturity, persisting on the tree for about a year; wood hard, heavy, light brown, variable in strength. =Distribution.=--Labrador, Newfoundland south to southern New York, West Virginia, northern Ohio and Indiana, Wisconsin, Minnesota and northward. In Indiana it is confined to the northern part of the State, and has not been reported south of the northern part of Cass County. The most southern station in the eastern part of the State is about Lake Everett in the northwest part of Allen County. It is found on low borders of lakes, in swamps and in bogs. In all of its stations in Indiana it is found growing near the water level in great depths of organic matter more or less decomposed or in beds of peat, which contain little or practically no soil. Where it is found, it usually forms a pure stand. =Remarks.=--Formerly the tamarack was a common tree in its area. Recently many of the tamarack swamps have been drained. This with heavy cutting has reduced the supply of tamarack in Indiana to an insignificant amount. The tamarack is popularly classed as white and yellow--the yellow being considered the better of the two. In our area it is used principally for poles and posts. There is a diversity of opinion as to the durability of tamarack in contact with the soil. The most authentic information places the life of fence posts at about ten years. [Illustration: Plate 5. LARIX LARICINA (Du Roi) Koch. Tamarack. (×1.)] =3. TSÙGA.= The Hemlocks. =Tsuga canadénsis= (Linnæus) Carrière. Hemlock. Plate 6. Tall trees, 3-7 dm. in diameter, with reddish-brown or grayish bark, deeply furrowed; shoots very slender and hairy, becoming smooth in a few years; leaves apparently 2-ranked, persisting for about three years, linear, short petioled, 6-13 mm. long, usually about 10 mm. long, usually flat, obtuse or notched at apex, bright green and shiny above, bluish-white beneath; staminate flowers appear early in the spring from buds in the axils of the leaves of the previous season, the pistillate terminal, erect, oblong; cones almost sessile and pendulous, borne on the end of last year's branch, maturing the first season, ovoid, 1.5-2.5 cm. long; wood light, soft, brittle, not durable, difficult to work, splintery but holds a nail well. =Distribution.=--Nova Scotia south to Delaware, west to Minnesota and southeastward through Indiana and eastern Kentucky, thence southward on the mountains to northern Alabama. In Indiana it is not found[4] north of Brown County. It is found in limited numbers at the following places: on a bluff of Bean Blossom Creek in Brown County; on a steep wooded slope on the south side of a small creek about one and a half miles north of Borden in Clark County, and also reported on the bank of Silver Creek between Clark and Floyd Counties; a few trees on the top and sides of the cliffs about one mile east of Taswell in Crawford County; a few trees on the bluff of Guthrie Creek in Jackson County; a few trees along the north fork of the Muscatatuck River between Vernon and North Vernon in Jennings County; a few trees on the south bank of Back Creek near Leesville in Lawrence County; frequent on the banks of Sugar Creek near the "Shades" in Montgomery County; a few trees on the bank of Raccoon Creek in the southern part of Owen County; frequent on the bank of Sugar Creek in Turkey Run State Park in Parke County; a few trees on the banks of Raccoon and Walnut Creeks in Putnam County. Also reported by Beeler[5] as found on a bluff of White River in Morgan County. In all of its stations it is found on sandstone bluffs on the south side of streams, giving it a north or northwest exposure. In a few of the stations there are no small trees, but in Montgomery County along Sugar Creek it is reproducing well. =Remarks.=--Hemlock is of no economic importance in Indiana. The bark is much used in tanning. Hemlock is frequently used for a hedge plant, also as a specimen tree in parks, etc. [Illustration: Plate 6. TSUGA CANADENSIS (Linnæus) Carrière. Hemlock. (×1/2.)] =4. TAXÒDIUM.= The Bald Cypress. =Taxodium dístichum= (Linnæus) L. C. Richard. Cypress. Plate 7. Large tall straight trees, up to 18 dm. in diameter and 45 m. high, usually with a buttressed base which is frequently hollow. In wet situations it develops steeple-shaped projections from the roots to above the water level, known as "knees"; bark gray or reddish-brown, separating from the trunk in long thin narrow strips; shoots light green, smooth, turning reddish-brown the first year, then a darker brown; leaves spirally arranged, appearing as if 2-ranked on vegetative shoots, linear, 5-15 mm. long, sessile, acute, yellowish-green, turning brown in the fall and dropping off; staminate flowers numerous, borne on long terminal panicles, pistillate flowers solitary in the axils of the leaves; fruit a cone, globose, about 2.5 cm. in diameter, the surface with some wrinkles made by the edges of the closely fitting scales; wood light, soft and straight-grained, rather weak, does not warp or shrink much and reputed to be very durable when exposed to soil or weather. =Distribution.=--Along the Atlantic coast from Delaware to Florida and along the Gulf west to Texas and north along the Mississippi Valley to Indiana. In Indiana it has a peculiar and limited distribution. The mass distribution was just north and west of Decker in Knox County. Collett[6] estimates that 20,000 acres were "covered with a fine forest of cypress". Wright[7] maps the other places in the southern part of Knox County where the cypress was known to have occurred. At present the only cypress in Knox County is in the extreme southwest part of the county, and is known as Little Cypress swamp. Here it is associated with such trees as white elm and Schneck's oak. It is believed that it extended only a few miles north of the Deshee River. Going southward it has not been seen in Gibson County, and is first noted in Posey County along the Wabash River in a cypress pond about 12 miles southwest of Mt. Vernon. Then again in Posey County along the Ohio River on the shores of Hovey Lake, and in a slough about 3 miles east of Mt. Vernon. It occurred in a few spots in Vanderburg County along the Ohio River southwest of Evansville. It again appears in limited numbers along Cypress Creek a few miles east of Newburg in Warrick County, which is its eastern[8] known limit. The cypress in all of its stations is found only in places that are for the greater part of the year under water. =Remarks.=--The original stand of cypress in Indiana has practically all been cut, and the swamps drained and now under cultivation. In the slough east of Mt. Vernon for several years, thousands of seedlings of the year have been noted, but for some reason they do not survive a second year. The present indications are that the cypress will be extinct in Indiana before many years because practically no small trees can be found. [Illustration: Plate 7. TAXODIUM DISTICHUM (Linnæus) L. C. Richard. Cypress. (× 1/2.)] This species is highly recommended by some nurserymen for ornamental planting. It proves hardy in the southern part of the state. It is a fast growing tree, adapted to a wet soil, but will succeed in drier situations. =5. THÙJA.= Arbor-Vitæ. =Thuja occidentàlis= Linnæus. Arbor-Vitæ. Plate 8. Small evergreen trees with a conical crown, bark on old trees reddish-brown or dark gray, shreddy; branchlets compressed, reddish-brown; leaves all closely appressed, in alternate pairs, scale-like, about 3 mm. long on young branchlets, on old branches somewhat longer together with a spine 2-3 mm. long; flowers appear early in the spring from the ends of the branches; cones mature the first season, about 1 cm. long and .5 cm. in diameter; wood soft, brittle, weak and durable. =Distribution.=--New Brunswick to Manitoba, south to Minnesota and New Jersey thence southward along the Alleghanies to North Carolina and Tennessee. In Indiana it is found native[9] only in Lake and Porter Counties. In Lake County a few isolated specimens have been found in several places near Lake Michigan. In Porter County it is known only in a large tamarack swamp north of the Mineral Springs stop on the Traction line, and about a mile from Lake Michigan. Here about 100 trees are found scattered over an area of less than two acres. The largest specimen measures 70 cm. in circumference. This species is doomed to early extinction in our area. No doubt it already has vanished from Lake County, and it is probable that the colony north of Mineral Springs is the last of the species in Indiana. =Remarks.=--While only found in a swamp in Indiana, this species adapts itself to all kinds of soils and exposures. It transplants readily and is used for ornamental purposes, and for windbreaks. Dwarf forms are frequently planted for hedges. The wood is used principally for poles and posts, and is commercially known as white cedar. =6. JUNÍPERUS.= The Junipers. Evergreen shrubs or trees, leaves opposite or whorled, sessile, scale-like or short-linear; fruit berry-like; seeds 1-3. =Juniperus virginiàna= Linnæus. Red Cedar. Plate 9. A small tree, usually 1-2 dm. and rarely up to 5 dm. in diameter; bark shreddy; branches usually more or less ascending which gives the tree a narrow conic appearance; shoots green, soon turning light to reddish-brown and on older branches gray or dark brown; leaves 4-ranked, scale-like and 1.5-2 mm. long, or subulate, decurrent at base and 3-10 mm. long on vigorous branches or very small trees; flowers terminal; fruit ripening the first season, berry-like, globose but longer than wide, with a bloom and a very resinous pulp about the seeds which are usually 1 or 2; wood light, brittle, close-grained, durable and fragrant. [Illustration: Plate 8. THUJA OCCIDENTALIS Linnæus. Arbor-Vitæ. (× 1/2.).] =Distribution.=--Nova Scotia south to Florida, west to Texas and north to South Dakota. It is found in all parts of Indiana, although sparingly in the northern part, especially where streams with bluffs are absent. No doubt this species in the original forests was confined principally to the bluffs of streams and rocky ravines. Since the forests have been cut, it is now found growing along fences, in open dry woods, and in southern Indiana it is a common tree in old abandoned fields, and in waste places. =Remarks.=--Red cedar has had many uses, and the large trees have been practically all harvested. It is now used principally for poles, posts, crossties, cigar boxes and lead pencils. It is the best wood known for lead pencils. The odor is so objectionable to insects that a market has been made for chests of this wood in which to store clothing and furs. =SALICÀCEAE.=[10] The Willow Family. Trees or shrubs with bitter bark; simple alternate leaves; flowers in catkins, which fall off as a whole, the staminate after flowering, the pistillate after ripening and scattering of the seeds, the staminate and pistillate on different plants (dioecious); flower scales single, below each flower; fruit a lanceolate or ovate-lanceolate capsule opening lengthwise into 2 recurving carpels or valves; seeds numerous, minute, oblong, bearing a tuft of hairs at the base. Genera 2, _Salix_, the willows, and _Populus_, the aspens and poplars, or cottonwoods, separated by the following characters, those applying only to Indiana trees species in parentheses: Buds covered by a single scale; (leaf-blades mostly enlongated, more than twice as long as wide); flower scales entire or rarely shallowly toothed at apex; stamens mostly 2 or 3-8 or 10 1 Salix. Buds covered by numerous scales; (leaf-blades mostly cordate-ovate, less than twice as long as broad); flower scales deeply cut or lacerate; stamens more than 10 2 Populus. [Illustration: Plate 9. JUNIPERUS VIRGINIANA Linnæus. Red Cedar. (× 1/2.)] =1. SÀLIX.= The Willows. Trees or shrubs (occasionally herbaceous) with usually clustered teims, twigs round; leaf-blades lanceolate and long-acuminate or elliptic-lanceolate and short pointed in all Indiana tree species, finely toothed or nearly entire; catkins appearing before (precocious), with (coetaneous), or after the leaves (serotinous); each pistillate flower with a little gland at the base of the pedicel on the inside. A large genus of several hundred species varying from tiny shrubby or subherbaceous plants scarcely an inch in height to 0.5 m. (2 feet) or more in diameter, in alluvial lowlands; occurring under Indiana conditions from cold bogs and river banks to dry sand dunes. Willows are used for many purposes, among them ornament, shade, hedges, posts, poles, mattresses, revetments to protect levees, baskets, fish-weirs, whistles, etc., while the wood is used for charcoal, which is especially prized for gunpowder making, and the bark is used for tanning and furnishes salicin, which is used in medicine as a substitute for quinine and as a tonic and febrifuge. Small to large trees; leaves narrowly to broadly lanceolate, mostly long pointed, finely and rather closely toothed; flowers appearing with the leaves; capsules not hairy. Native trees; leaves green on both sides (No. 1) or white (glaucous) beneath (No. 2), and then with very long points and long slender twisted petioles which are never glandular; stamens 3-5-7 or more. Twigs dark green, spreading; leaves narrowly lanceolate, green on both sides; petioles short 1 S. nigra. Twigs yellowish, somewhat drooping; leaves broadly lanceolate, glaucous beneath; petioles long, twisted 2 S. amygdaloides. European trees, cultivated for ornament and use; leaves always glaucous beneath; stamens always 2. Teeth on edge of leaf 8-10 to each cm. (20-25 to the inch); petioles usually glandular; capsules almost sessile 3 S. alba. Teeth on edge of leaf 6-8 per cm. (15-20 to the inch); petioles usually glandular; pedicels 0.5-1 mm. long 4 S. fragilis. Shrubs or rarely small trees; leaves elliptical or oblanceolate, short pointed; margin entire or coarsely wavy or shallow-toothed; flowers before the leaves; stamens 2; capsules long, hairy. Twigs and leaves not hairy; leaves thin 5 S. discolor. Twigs and sometimes the lower surface of the leaves densely hairy, leaves thicker 6 S. discolor eriocephala. [Illustration: Plate 10. SALIX NIGRA Marshall. Black Willow. (× 1/2.)] =1.= =Salix nìgra= Marshall. Willow. Black Willow. Plate 10. Shrub or tree 5-20 m. (17-65 feet) high, dark green in mass color; bark of trunk thick, rough, flaky, dark brown to nearly black; twigs brittle at base, the younger pubescent and green, becoming glabrous and darker with age; buds ovate, small, 2-3 mm. (1/8 inch) long; petioles 3-6 or 8 mm. (1/8-3/8 inch) long; stipules small, ovate to roundish; leaf blades narrowly lanceolate, acute or rounded at base, long-acuminate at the apex, 6-11 cm. (2-1/4-4-1/4 inches) long, 7-12 mm. (1/4-1/2 inch) wide, often falcate (scythe-shaped), the so-called variety =falcata=, finely serrate, green on both sides, shining above, paler and dull beneath, glabrous or sometimes pubescent beneath on midrib and larger veins; flowers appearing with the leaves in late April in the southern part of the State and well into May in the northern part; catkins slender, 2-5 or 6 cm. (4/5-2 or 2-1/2 inches) long, the staminate bright yellow; capsules 3-5 mm. (1/8 inch) long, ovoid or ovoid-lanceolate, on pedicels 1-2 mm. (1/16 inch) long. =Distribution.=--New Brunswick and New England, westward to the eastern part of the Great Plains area from North Dakota to Texas, and, in some forms, westward across that State and into Mexico. It is interesting that this species, the first willow published in America, in the first book on American Botany ever published in this country, should be abundantly and widely distributed in the United States. Specimens have been seen from the following counties in Indiana:--Allen (Deam); Bartholomew (Deam); Clark (Deam); Crawford (Deam); Dearborn (Deam); Dubois (Deam); Decatur (Deam); Floyd (Deam); Fulton (Deam); Harrison (Deam); Hendricks (Deam); Henry (Deam); Jackson (Deam); Jay (Deam); Jennings (Deam); Knox (Deam); Kosciusko (Deam); Lagrange (Deam); Marion (Mrs. Chas. C. Deam); Marshall (Deam); Miami (Deam); Morgan (Deam); Noble (Deam); Ohio (Deam); Parke (Deam); Perry (Deam); Porter (Deam); Posey (Deam); Pulaski (Deam); Ripley (Deam); Steuben (Deam); Sullivan (Deam); Tippecanoe (Deam); Vermillion (Deam); Wabash (Deam); Warrick (Deam); White (Deam). =Economic Uses.=--The black willow is used very extensively along the lower reaches of the Mississippi River in making mattresses which protect the levees from washing. In 1912, it was estimated that 150,000 cords were used annually. =2.= =Salix amygdaloìdes= Andersson. Willow. Peach-leaved Willow. Plate 11. Trees 3-12 m. (10-40 feet) high, yellowish-green in mass color; bark of trunk fissured, dark brown or reddish-brown; twigs longer and less brittle than those of _Salix nigra_, yellowish to reddish-brown, usually somewhat drooping, giving a "weeping" effect, which, with the color, makes the species easily recognizable from a distance; buds ovoid, about 3 mm. (1/8 inch) long, colored as the twigs; petioles long, slender, twisted, 5-15 or 20 mm. (1/4-4/5 inch) long; leaves lanceolate to broadly lanceolate or ovate-lanceolate, rounded or somewhat acute at base, long-pointed at apex, closely serrulate, 5-12 cm. (2-5 inches) long, 1.5-3 cm. (3/5-1-1/4 inches) wide, yellowish-green above, glaucous beneath, glabrous; flowers appear from late April throughout May, usually later than those of _Salix nigra_; catkins slender, 3-5 cm. (1-2 inches) long, the fertile becoming 4-8 cm. (1-1/2-3 inches) long in fruit; capsules lanceolate, 4-5 mm. (1/6 inch) long; pedicels slender, 2 mm. (1/12 inch) long. [Illustration: Plate 11. SALIX AMYGDALOIDES Andersson. Peach-leaved Willow. (× 1/2.)] =Distribution.=--From Western Quebec and Central New York, west to the Cascade Mountains in British Columbia, Washington and Oregon, south to Colorado and northwest Texas. In Indiana fairly common in the northern third, rare in the central third, and lacking in the southern portion of the State. Specimens have been seen from Indiana from the following counties: Elkhart (Deam); Fulton (Deam); Henry (Deam); Jasper (Deam); Kosciusko (Deam); Lake (Deam), (Umbach); Laporte (Deam); Marion (Mrs. Chas. C. Deam); Marshall (Deam); Pulaski (Deam); Steuben (Deam); Wells (Deam); White (Deam). =3.= =Salix álba= Linnæus. Willow. White Willow. Plate 12. Trees with 1-5 spreading stems, 5-20 m. (17-65 feet) high; bark rough, coarsely ridged, gray to brownish; twigs brittle at base, green or yellowish, glabrous; buds 5-6 mm. (1/4 inch) long; petioles 5-10 mm. (1/5-2/5 inch) long, seldom glandular; leaves lanceolate, 5-12 cm. (2-5 inches) long, 1-2.5 cm. (2/5-1 inch) wide, acuminate at apex, usually acute at base, leaves bright green above, glaucous beneath, thinly to densely silky on both sides when young, often permanently silky beneath, margins with about 9-10 teeth per cm. (2/5 inch), usually glandular; flowers with the leaves, in April and May; catkins slender, cylindrical, 3-6 cm. (1-1/4-2-1/2 inches) long; scales pale yellow; capsules ovoid-conical, 3-5 mm. (1/4 inch) long, almost sessile. The common form usually is referred to variety =vitellina= (Linnæus) Koch, with orange twigs and more glabrate leaves. =Distribution.=--A native of Europe which has been frequently planted and sometimes escapes. Specimens have been seen from Indiana from the following counties: Gibson (Schneck); Hamilton (Mrs. Chas. C. Deam); Harrison (Deam); Switzerland (Deam); Warren (Deam); Wells (Deam). =4.= =Salix frágilis= Linnæus. Willow. Crack Willow. Plate 13. Tree very similar to _Salix alba_; twigs very brittle at the base (hence the name), green to reddish; petioles 7-15 mm. (1/4-5/8 inch) long, glandular just below the base of the leaf; leaves lanceolate, acuminate, 7-15 cm. (3-6 inches) long, 2-3.5 cm. (4/5-1-1/2 inches) wide, coarsely serrate with 5-6 teeth to each cm. (2/5 inch) of margin, dark green and shining above, paler to glaucous beneath, rarely green, glabrous on both sides; catkins appearing with the leaves in late April and during May, 4-8 cm. (1-1/2-3 inches) long; capsules slenderly conical, 4-5 mm. (1/5 inch) long, on pedicels 0.5-1 mm. (1/16 inch) long. [Illustration: Plate 12. SALIX ALBA Linnæus. White Willow. (× 1/2.)] [Illustration: Plate 13. SALIX FRAGILIS Linnæus. Crack Willow. (× 1/2.)] =Distribution.=--A native of Europe. It has been frequently planted and often escapes. Specimens have been seen from the following Indiana counties: Benton (Deam); Clark (Deam); Laporte (Deam); Switzerland (Deam); Union (Deam); Wells (Deam). =Economic Uses.=--This species and the white willow are introduced from Europe and extensively grown for the production of charcoal to use in powder making. =5.= =Salix díscolor= Muhlenberg. Pussy Willow. Swamp Willow. Glaucous Willow. Plate 14. Shrub or small tree, 2-4 or occasionally 7-5 m. (7-15 or 25 feet) high; bark thin, usually smooth, reddish brown; twigs stoutish, reddish-purple to dark brown, often pubescent (see the variety); buds large, 5-10 mm. (1/5-2/5 inch) long, colored as the twigs; stipules large, mostly roundish, entire or toothed; leaves short-lanceolate to elliptic or elliptic-oblanceolate, acute or short-acuminate at the apex, rounded or acute at the base, 5-10 cm. (2-4 inches) long, 2-3.5 cm. (4/5-1-1/2 inches) wide, nearly entire to coarsely wavy-toothed on the margins, dark shining green above, densely glaucous and occasionally somewhat pubescent beneath, especially on midrib and primaries; flowers appear in late March or in April before the leaves; catkins sessile, on old wood, stout, dense, the staminate very beautiful (pussies), without leaf-bracts at base, 2-5 cm. (1-2 inches) long, the pistillate becoming 3-8 cm. (1-1/2-3 inches) long in fruit; scales elliptic-oblanceolate, densely clothed with long shining hairs; capsules conic-rostrate, 7-10 or 12 mm. (1/4-1/2 inch) long, densely gray-woolly; pedicels 1.5-3 mm. (1/16-1/8 inch) long. =Distribution.=--Nova Scotia south to Delaware and west to the eastern edge of the Great Plains area. Fairly well distributed over the entire State of Indiana. Specimens have been seen from the following counties: Allen (Deam); Dearborn (Deam); Decatur (Deam); Elkhart (Deam); Fulton (Deam); Gibson (Schneck); Hancock (Mrs. Chas. C. Deam); Henry (Deam); Jackson (Deam); Jay (Deam); Jefferson (Deam); Jennings (Deam); Knox (Deam); Lake (Deam); Marion (Mrs. Chas. C. Deam); Marshall (Deam); Newton (Deam); Porter (Deam); Randolph (Deam); Ripley (Deam); Shelby (Mrs. Chas. C. Deam); Sullivan (Deam); Tippecanoe (Deam); Wabash (Deam); Warren (Deam); Wayne (Deam); Wells (Deam); White (Deam). =5a.= =Salix discolor= variety =eriòcéphala= (Michaux) Andersson. Differs from the species chiefly in rather densely pubescent twigs and buds; thicker and more lanceolate leaves, usually more or less pubescent beneath; and the sometimes more densely pubescent catkins. [Illustration: Plate 14. SALIX DISCOLOR Muhlenberg. Pussy Willow. (× 1/2.)] =Distribution.=--Range of the species but less common. Specimens have been seen from the following Indiana counties: Cass (Deam); Decatur (Deam); Fulton (Deam); Gibson (Schneck); Jackson (Deam); Jay (Deam); Knox (Deam); Laporte (Deam); Pulaski (Deam); Sullivan (Deam); Warren (Deam); Wayne (Deam). =2. PÓPULUS.= The Poplars. Rapidly growing trees; buds usually large, scaly and more or less resinous; leaves alternate, broad, toothed or sometimes lobed; flowers appearing before the leaves on large pendulous catkins; anthers red or purple. In the following key mature leaves from trees are considered: Petioles round or channeled, scarcely or not at all flattened laterally. Leaves chalky-white tomentose beneath, some of them more or less lobed, blades 6-10 cm. long 1 P. alba. Leaves pubescent or whitish tomentose while young, never lobed, blades 10-17 cm. long 2 P. heterophylla. Petioles strongly flattened laterally especially near the blade. Winter buds more than 8 mm. in length, stamens more than 20, capsules more than 3 mm. in diameter, leaves broadly deltoid, majority more than 8 cm. wide 3 P. deltoides. Winter buds less than 8 mm. in length, stamens fewer than 20, capsules less than 3 mm. in diameter, leaves roundish ovate, majority less than 8 cm. wide. Winter buds more or less pubescent, dull; leaves generally with less than 12 teeth to a side 4 P. grandidentata. Winter buds smooth or rarely somewhat pubescent, glossy; leaves with more than 12 teeth to a side 5 P. tremuloides. =1.= =Populus álba= Linnæus. Silver-leaf Poplar. Plate 15. Short-trunked trees with a round top, up to a meter or more in diameter; bark on young trees smooth, greenish-white or gray, becoming furrowed on old trees, gray or dark brown; shoots white tomentose, becoming smooth in age; leaves ovate or triangular, 3-5 lobed or irregularly toothed, hairy on both surfaces on expanding, becoming dark green and glabrous above, remaining white tomentose beneath; stamens about 8; wood light, soft and weak. =Distribution.=--Introduced from Europe and escaped in all parts of the State. =Remarks.=--This tree has long been under cultivation, and several horticultural forms have been introduced. It is falling into disuse on account of its habit of sending up root shoots. It adapts itself to all kinds of soil, grows rapidly, transplants easily, stands pruning well and has few insect or fungous enemies. [Illustration: Plate 15. POPULUS ALBA Linnæus. Silver-leaf Poplar. (× 1/2.)] =2.= =Populus heterophylla= Linnæus. Swamp Cottonwood. Swamp Poplar. Plate 16. Tall trees up to 5-8 dm. in diameter; bark of old trees very thick, broken into long ridges which are separated by deep furrows, reddish-brown but generally weathered to ash-color; shoots densely woolly at first, becoming glabrous before the second season; leaves broadly-ovate with petioles 2-10 cm. long, more or less woolly on both surfaces on unfolding, becoming glabrous above and remaining woolly beneath, at least on the larger veins, rarely becoming entirely glabrous, usually cordate at the base, blunt at apex, margins rather regularly crenate-serrate; flowers in April; capsules ripening in June, about 6 mm. in diameter, on stalks 5-10 mm. long; wood same as the next species. =Distribution.=--Along the Atlantic Coast from Connecticut to Florida and along the Gulf to Louisiana, and northward along the Mississippi Valley to Michigan. It is found in many parts of Indiana. In the northern counties it is found in "gumbo" soils in swamps. It is a common tree in the river swamps of the lower Wabash Valley where it reaches its greatest size. There are no records for the extreme southeastern part of the State, although it has been found in swamps in Harrison and Clark Counties and is found in many counties of Ohio. =Remarks.=--The pith of the shoots of this species is orange which easily distinguishes it from all other species of the genus which have a white pith. This species in all of its range is closely associated with the common cottonwood, and millmen make no distinction in the price or qualities of the timber. =3.= =Populus deltoìdes= Marshall. Cottonwood. Carolina Poplar. (_Populus balsamifera_ var. _virginiana_ (Castiglioni) Sargent). Plate 17. One of the largest trees of the Indiana forests; bark of very old trees very thick, broken into ridges up to 1 dm. or more in thickness, separated by deep furrows, reddish-brown, weathering to a gray; leaves hairy on both surfaces as they unfold, soon glabrous except on the margins which are more or less ciliate, broadly-deltoid, usually 7-12 cm. long, and about as wide, base more or less truncate or cordate, or somewhat wedge-shaped, with rather short acuminate tips, crenate-serrate; capsules ovate, about 6 mm. in diameter, on stalks 1-2 mm. long; wood light, soft, weak, sap wood white, heartwood small and brown; warps badly on drying. =Distribution.=--Quebec to Florida and west to the Rocky Mountains. Throughout Indiana in low ground along streams, in swamps and about lakes. On account of its habit of growing only in low ground it is infrequent in the hill country of southern Indiana. [Illustration: Plate 16. POPULUS HETEROPHYLLA Linnæus. Swamp Cottonwood. (× 1/2.)] [Illustration: Plate 17. POPULUS DELTOIDES Marshall. Cottonwood. (× 1/2.)] =Remarks.=--The cottonwood is adapted to a moist soil, propagates easily, grows rapidly and is one of the best trees for forestry purposes for planting overflow lands, and for planting where a quick shade is desired or for temporary windbreaks. The leaves of this tree are quite variable and several forms have been described. The Carolina poplar of nurserymen has an upright habit of growth and was formerly much planted as a shade tree. Its undesirable qualities have condemned it, and most cities now prohibit its planting. Cottonwood has many uses, and was formerly a very important timber tree, but the supply has so diminished that large trees have become quite scarce. The thick bark was much used by the boys of the pioneers for whittling out toys, etc. =4.= =Populus grandidentàta= Michaux. Large-toothed Aspen. Plate 18. A small or medium-sized tree, 1-4 dm. in diameter; bark smooth, grayish-green or whitish, becoming furrowed and dark brown on the trunks of old trees that grow in the northern part of the State, especially when growing in a swampy habitat. In the southern part of the State where the tree usually grows on the top of hills, the bark does not darken so much, frequently remaining a light to dark gray until maturity. Shoots more or less woolly at first, becoming glabrous, reddish-brown; leaves on sprouts and very young trees very velvety beneath, slightly hairy above, ovate in outline, cordate at base and with blades up to 20 cm. in length; leaves on older trees a yellow green, glabrous, ovate, blades usually 6-10 cm. long, coarsely and unevenly toothed, the base slightly rounded, rarely truncate or slightly cordate, the apex pointed or rounded; petioles strongly flattened laterally; stamens 6-12; capsule about 5 mm. long on a stalk about 1 mm. long; wood soft, light and not strong. =Distribution.=--Nova Scotia west to northern Minnesota and south to the Ohio River, and along the Alleghany Mountains to South Carolina. Found throughout Indiana, except we have no authentic records for Gibson[11] and Posey[12] Counties. In the northern part of Indiana it is found in great colonies about lakes, etc. or rarely a few trees on the crests of gravel and sand ridges. In southern Indiana it is found in the "knob" area in small colonies on the tops of the ridges associated with scrub pine and chestnut oak and is rarely found in low ground in this part of the State. =Remarks.=--This species is too rare to be of much economic importance. It could be most profitably used for excelsior and pulp wood. [Illustration: Plate 18. POPULUS GRANDIDENTATA Michaux. Large-toothed Aspen. (× 1/2.)] =5.= =Populus tremuloìdes= Michaux. Quaking Aspen. Plate 19. A straight narrow tree up to 3 dm. in diameter, usually about 1-5 dm. in diameter; bark usually smooth, greenish-white or gray, on older trees becoming rough or fissured, and turning darker; shoots glabrous or with a few hairs, turning reddish-brown the first season, later to a gray; leaves of sprouts and very small trees usually ovate with a cordate base and two or three times as large as leaves of older trees; mature leaves on older trees variable, glabrous, the prevailing type has a bluish-green leaf which is widely ovate or nearly orbicular, 3-7 cm. long, truncate or slightly rounded at the base, usually abruptly short-pointed at apex, finely and regularly serrate, the unusual type of leaf is thinner, yellow-green, ovate, 2/3 as wide as long, rounded or wedge-shaped at base, gradually tapering to a point at the apex, otherwise as the prevailing form; stamens 6-12; capsules about 6 mm. long, on stalks about 1 mm. long; wood light, soft and weak. =Distribution.=--One of the most widely distributed of North American trees. It ranges from Labrador south to Pennsylvania, thence southwest to northern Mexico, and then north to northern Alaska. It is found at sea level and at elevations of 10,000 feet. There are records of its occurrence in all parts of Indiana. In all of its Indiana stations it grows only in low ground about lakes, swamps, ponds, low places between sand dunes, and along streams. In many places in the lake region it is found in almost pure stands over small areas. =Remarks.=--In Indiana this species is not of sufficient size and abundance to be of much economic importance. =JUGLANDÀCEAE.= The Walnut Family. Trees with large, aromatic, odd pinnate leaves; flowers appearing after the leaves unfold, the staminate in catkins, the pistillate solitary or in clusters; fruit a nut in a fleshy or hard fibrous shell; kernel edible or astringent. Pith of twigs chambered; staminate catkins thick, sessile or short stalked; stamens 8-40, glabrous; nuts with a network of rough projections 1 Juglans. Pith of twigs not chambered; staminate catkins slender, long-stalked; stamens 3-10, hairy; nuts more or less angled but smooth 2 Carya. =1. JÙGLANS.= The Walnuts. Trees with furrowed bark; pulp surrounding nut continuous, without lines of dehiscence on the surface. [Illustration: Plate 19. POPULUS TREMULOIDES Michaux. Quaking Aspen. (× 1/2.)] Bark gray, ridges smooth; upper part of leaf-scar of last year's twigs with a mat of hairs; pith dark-brown; fruit oblong, husk clammy 1 J. cinerea. Bark dark brown, ridges rough; upper part of leaf-scar of last year's twigs without a mat of hairs; pith light brown; fruit orbicular to slightly elongate, husk not clammy 2 J. nigra. =1.= =Juglans cinèrea= Linnæus. Butternut. Plate 20. A medium sized tree, usually less than 6 dm. in diameter; leaf-scars with upper margin convex or rarely notched; leaves 3-6 dm. in length; leaflets 7-19, the middle pairs the longest, clammy, almost sessile, oblong-lanceolate, 6-12 cm. long, fine serrate, rounded at base and acuminate at apex; flowers in May or June; fruit ripens in October, 4-8 cm. long with 4 prominent longitudinal ridges; kernel sweet and very oily; wood light, soft, not strong, coarse-grained but takes a good polish. =Distribution.=--Valley of the St. Lawrence River south to the Gulf States and west to Nebraska. Found in all parts of Indiana, although very sparingly in some counties. It is an infrequent tree in our range, and in only a few localities is it frequent or common. It is found along streams and in ravines, and in two instances it has been noted in old tamarack marshes. It prefers a well drained gravelly soil, and is rarely if ever found in a compact soil. Thrifty trees of any size in the woodland are now rarely seen. The tops of the larger trees are usually found in a more or less dying condition. Benedict and Elrod[13] as early as 1892 make the following observation in a catalogue of the plants of Cass and Wabash Counties: "A few scrubby, half dead trees were seen, the last of their race. It seems unable to adapt itself to new conditions, and is rapidly dying out." =Remarks.=--This tree is often called the white walnut to distinguish it from the black walnut from which it is easily separated. It is too rare in Indiana to be of economic importance, except that trees growing in the open are spared for the nut crop. Trees growing in the open develop a short trunk with a wide spreading top and are apparently much healthier than when grown under forest conditions. The bark of the root is used in medicine as a hepatic stimulant. [Illustration: Plate 20. JUGLANS CINEREA Linnæus. Butternut. (× 1/2.)] =2.= =Juglans nìgra= Linnæus. Walnut. Plate 21. One of the largest and most valuable trees of the Indiana forest. Leaf-scars with the upper margin notched; leaves 3-7 dm. long, mature leaves glabrous above and pubescent beneath, leaflets, usually 11-23, almost sessile, ovate-lanceolate, 4-10 cm. long, finely serrate, long-pointed at apex; flowers in May or June; fruit ripens the first year, in September and October, globose to oblong, 5-8 cm. in diameter; nut variable, from subglobose to ovoid or elliptical, more or less rounded or pointed at the ends, 1.5-3.5 cm. through the widest diameter; kernel edible; wood heavy, hard, strong, rather coarse, heart wood dark brown, durable, works easily and takes a high polish. =Distribution.=--Ontario south to the Gulf States and west to Texas and Nebraska. It was more or less frequent to common in all parts of Indiana in well drained rich soils. =Remarks.=--This tree is frequently called black walnut. On account of the many excellent qualities of the wood, the walnut has been a choice timber tree from pioneer days to the present. It served the pioneer for rails, and in his buildings for sleepers, rafters, interior finish, furniture, etc. It soon sprung into commercial importance, and has been used for almost everything for which wood is used. Indiana and Ohio have furnished the greatest amount of walnut. The supply of lumber from old forest-grown trees has become so scarce that it is sought in old buildings, rail fences, old stumps and old furniture has been worked over. That the demand for walnut timber will not cease is assured; this should encourage land owners to grow this tree. It is adapted to a moist, rich, deep soil and will do well in such a habitat in all parts of the State. Where such land is set aside for forestry purposes, no better tree could be used for planting. Since the tree develops a long tap root which makes it difficult to transplant, it is recommended that the nuts be stratified in the fall, and the germinated nuts be planted in April or May. The foliage of the walnut is often attacked by the "tent caterpillar" which can be easily destroyed by burning about sun down when the larvæ collect in a bunch on or near the trunk of the tree. Since the nut of the walnut is of considerable commercial value, it is recommended that the walnut be planted along fences, about orchards and as one of the species in windbreaks. =2. CÀRYA.= The Hickories. Trees with hard, tight or scaly bark; leaflets alternate, odd-pinnate, glandular-dotted beneath; leaflets serrate, usually unequal at the base, the lateral sessile or nearly so, the terminal short-stalked, the lowest pair the smallest, upper pair and terminal the largest, bruised leaflets characteristically aromatic; staminate flowers in slender catkins, anthers hairy; pistillate flowers in small clusters; fruit a bony nut contained in a woody husk which separates more or less completely from the nut into four parts. [Illustration: Plate 21. JUGLANS NIGRA Linnæus. Black Walnut. (× 1/2.)] There are now recognized[14] fifteen species and several varieties of hickory, all of which grow in the United States east of the Rocky Mountains. Hickory grows in no other place in the world, except one species in northern Mexico. The wood of the different species of hickory is not of equal commercial value, but the wood of the commercial species heads the list of Indiana woods for strength, toughness and resiliency. The individuals of the several species vary much in respect to their bark, size and pubescence of the twigs, number and size of the leaflets, size and shape of the nuts. No attempt will be made to deal with all of the extreme forms, and only those reported by Heimlich[15] and Sargent[16] will be discussed. Bud scales 4-6, valvate (in pairs), leaflets generally curved backward. Leaflets 9-17, generally about 13; nut elongated, circular in cross-section; kernel sweet 1 C. illinoensis. Leaflets 5-9, generally 5-7; nut about as broad as long, compressed in cross-section; kernel bitter 2 C. cordiformis. Bud scales more than 6, imbricated (not in pairs); leaflets not curved backward. Branchlets usually stout; terminal buds large, 7-25 mm. long; the year's growth usually more or less hairy; dry husks 4-10 mm. thick. Prevailing number of leaflets 5 3 C. ovata. Prevailing number of leaflets more than 5. Trees of low ground; bark of young trees tight and light, of older trees scaly, separating into long thin plates; branchlets usually light orange color; nuts usually large, compressed, 3-6 cm. long, pointed at base 4 C. laciniosa. Trees of high ground; bark of young trees tight and dark, of older trees tight and deeply furrowed, the thick ridges broken into short lengths which on very old trees loosen at the base; branchlets reddish-brown; nuts usually about half as large as the preceding and usually with a rounded base 5 C. alba. Branchlets usually slender; terminal buds small, 5-12 mm. long; the year's growth usually glabrous, rarely hairy; dried husk 1-2.5 mm. thick. Branchlets and leaves not covered when they first appear with rusty-brown pubescence. Prevailing number of leaflets 5; fruit usually smooth and tapering at base to a short stem (fig-like); shell of nut thick, kernel sweet and astringent 6 C. glabra. Prevailing number of leaflets generally 7; fruit usually granular, rarely tapering at the base to a short stem (fig-like); shell of nut thin, kernel sweet without astringency 7 C. ovalis. Branchlets and leaves densely covered when they first appear with rusty-brown pubescence 8 C. Buckleyi. =1.= =Carya illinoénsis= (Wangenheim) K. Koch. Pecan. Plate 22. Very tall slender trees up to 15 dm. in diameter; bark tight, sometimes becoming scaly on very old trees, fissured, ridges narrow, ashy-brown tinged with red; twigs at first hairy, becoming smooth or nearly so and reddish-brown by the end of the season; leaves 3-5 dm. long; leaflets 9-17, ovate to oblong-lanceolate, somewhat curved backward, 7-15 cm. long, taper-pointed, hairy when they unfold, becoming at maturity smooth or nearly so, dark green above, and a yellow-green beneath; clusters of staminate catkins sessile; fruit single or in small clusters, oblong 3.5-6 cm. long, the winged sutures extending to the base, the husk splitting to below the middle; nut ovoid-oblong, reddish-brown; wood heavy, hard and not strong. =Distribution.=--In the Mississippi Valley from Indiana and Iowa south to Texas. In Indiana it was a native of the southwest part of the State. It was a common tree in the river bottoms of Point Township of Posey County, and in the bottoms of the southwest part of Gibson County. It was found more or less frequently in the bottoms of the Wabash Valley, as far north as to within four miles of Covington where the author collected specimens in 1918. It followed the bottoms of the Ohio River east at least as far as Clark County. Michaux[17] gives it as rare in the vicinity of Louisville. Victor Lyons of Jeffersonville says that it was a native to the east part of Survey 29 of the Illinois Grant, and one tree in the northwest corner of No. 32; and there were nine trees 9-10 dm. in diameter in Floyd County on "Loop Island". A large tree grew in the bottoms near Bethlehem in Clark County, which is said to have been a native. Young[18] says that there are two trees in Jefferson County, one planted, the other probably native. Coulter[19] says "there are several trees in the river bottoms." [Illustration: Plate 22. CARYA ILLINOENSIS (Wangenheim) K. Koch. Pecan. (× 1/2.) The two nuts to right are from the McCallister hybrid pecan tree.] There are several trees on the Elisha Golay farm about one mile east of Vevay which are in rows, which show that they were planted. The largest has a trunk 2.2 m. long and a circumference of 31 dm. It followed the north fork of White River as far as Greene County, and the south fork of White River as far as Seymour. A pioneer told me he remembered a small colony in the eastern part of Washington County in the bottoms near the Muscatatuck River. In Indiana it is found only in very low land which is subject to overflow. =Remarks.=--So far as the wood is concerned, the pecan is the poorest of all hickories. It has only about one-half the strength and stiffness of the shellbark hickory. Although the wood is inferior, the pecan has the distinction of producing the best nut of any native tree of America. The pecan was well known to the Indians, and some authors say the range of the species was extended by planting by the Indians. It has been a nut of commerce ever since the area of its range has been settled. It was planted by the pioneers, and recently nurserymen took up the subject of growing stock by budding and grafting from superior trees. At present there are about 100 horticultural varieties. The horticulturist has developed forms twice the size of the native nuts, and with shells so thin as to be styled "paper-shelled." The pecan has been extensively planted for commercial purposes in the southern states, but information obtained from owners of pecan trees in Indiana indicate that the winters are too severe for profitable pecan culture in Indiana. During the winter of 1917-18 the whole of a tract of 13 year old pecan trees on the Forest Reserve in Clark County was killed back to the ground. In Noble County about one mile south of Wolf Lake is a tree planted about 50 years ago that is about 9 dm. in circumference that frequently sets nuts but they never mature on account of the early frosts. =2.= =Carya cordifórmis= (Wangenheim) K. Koch. Pignut Hickory. Plate 23. Large tall trees with tight bark, usually a light gray, sometimes darker, fissures shallow and very irregular; twigs at first green, somewhat hairy, soon becoming smooth or nearly so, and a yellowish-brown, or reddish-brown by the end of the season; leaves and leaflets variable, the prevailing type of trees have smaller leaves with long and narrow leaflets, the unusual form has larger leaves up to 4 dm. in length with terminal leaflets up to 2 dm. in length and 8.5 cm. in width, and the last pair almost as large; fruit subglobose or rarely oblong, 2-3.5 cm. long; wings of sutures extending to below the middle, rarely one reaching the base; husk about 1.5 mm. thick, tardily separating to about the middle; nut ovoid or oblong, slightly flattened laterally, often as wide or wider than long, depressed, obcordate, with a short or long point at the apex, ovoid or rounded at the base, smooth or rarely with four distinct ridges; shell very thin and brittle; kernel very bitter; wood heavy, very hard, strong, tough and close-grained. It has about 92 per cent of the strength and about 73 per cent of the stiffness of shellbark hickory. [Illustration: Plate 23. CARYA CORDIFORMIS (Wangenheim) K. Koch. Pignut Hickory. (× 1/2.) The nuts are from different trees to show variation.] =Distribution.=--Valley of the St. Lawrence River west to Nebraska and south to the Gulf States. In Indiana a map distribution of the species in the State shows that it has been found in practically all of the counties on the west, north and east borders. It is usually found in rich soil along streams and in rich woods, and may be found in all of the counties of the State. Despite the fact that no animal agency was active against the propagation of this tree, it was rarely found more than as an infrequent tree throughout our range. =Remarks.=--The hickories as a class, except the pecan, can not stand "civilization," especially much tramping about the base. It appears that the pignut hickory is the most easily affected. In Parke County about Coxville great numbers of the trees have been killed by the borers. For the uses of the wood see shellbark hickory. Since this species does not produce as much marketable lumber as the shellbark hickory, and the nuts are valueless, it should not be recommended for planting in the farmer's woodlot. The rossed bark of this species is preferred by manufacturers of split-bottomed chairs, and is known by them as "yellow-bud" hickory. =3.= =Carya ovàta= (Miller) K. Koch. Shellbark Hickory. Plate 24. Large and very tall trees; bark of young trees tight, beginning to scale when the trees reach 1-2 dm. in diameter, separating into long thin strips on old trees; twigs at the end of the season usually stout, 3-5 mm. in diameter near the tip, but some are slender and as small as 2.5 mm. in diameter, at first covered with hairs, becoming smooth at the end of the season or remaining hairy, reddish-brown; winter buds hairy, the terminal one on vigorous shoots long-ovoid, outer scales sharp-pointed; ordinary leaves 2-4 dm. long; leaflets 3-5, the lateral sessile or nearly so, the terminal one on a stalk about 1 dm. long, up to 10 cm. wide and 22 cm. long, leaflets variable in shape from ovate to oval, oblong-oval or obovate, all long taper-pointed, hairy beneath when they unfold and remaining hairy until maturity or sometimes becoming almost glabrous; fruit variable in size, 3-6 cm. long, usually subglobose, furrowed along the sutures at least near the outer end; husk freely splitting to the base, except one tree which was noted where the husk remains on the nut, rarely opening for only a short distance at the apex, very variable in thickness from 4-10 mm.; nut exceedingly variable, compressed, 4-angled, the angles generally visible to the base, 2-3 cm. long, more or less pointed, rarely rounded at the base or obcordate at the apex, generally ovate to oval in outline, some almost freakish in shape; shell generally thin; kernel sweet; wood heavy, very hard and strong, close-grained, light brown, sap wood white and thin on old trees. [Illustration: Plate 24. CARYA OVATA (Miller) K. Koch. Shellbark Hickory. (× 1/2.) The nuts are from different trees to show variation.] =Distribution.=--Quebec west to southern Minnesota, Kansas and eastern Texas, thence eastward to the Atlantic through the north part of the Gulf States. It is frequent to common in all parts of Indiana except on the hills of the southern part. It prefers rich moist soil and is generally found in bottom lands or on rolling land, and if in dryer situations on the sides of hills. It is generally associated with red oak, big shellbark hickory, swamp white oak, sweet gum, linn, white ash, slippery elm, sugar maple, beech, etc. In the forest it is a tall straight tree with few main branches for a crown. No tree carries its taper better than this species. When grown in the open the side branches do not shade off, and it grows to a medium height with a wide spreading crown. =Remarks.=--The writer has one specimen from Wells County which no doubt should be referred to this species, but the description has not been drawn to cover it. The twigs are very slender and pubescent; the leaves are normal and pubescent; the fruit is obovoid, 2-4 cm. long; husk less than 1 mm. thick at outer end and 2 mm. thick at the base; nut obovoid, 1-8 cm. long, little compressed, rounded at the base, rounded at the apex, slightly angled, angles obscure on lower half; otherwise as the type. The species is very variable and no dependence can be placed upon such characters as pubescence of the twigs, leaves or fruit, size of the twigs, color of the anthers, size or shape of the nuts. The wood of the shellbark and the big shellbark hickories is the most used of all the hickories because it is generally freer from knots and blemishes. Hickory is used principally for carriage and wagon stock, agricultural implements, handles and fuel. The supply of hickory is fast waning, and in the near future will be limited. The hickories are very slow growing trees. They develop a long tap root, hence are hard to transplant. Hickory should constitute an important part of the woodlot. If this species is not well represented, germinated nuts should be planted. The nut of this species usually sells for $3.00 to $5.00 per bushel, which should encourage land owners to plant it in the open along fences and about the orchard. It should be remembered that hickory will not stand much tramping by stock. =3a.= =Carya ovata= variety =fraxinifòlia= Sargent. Trees and Shrubs 2:207:1913. Is described as having leaflets lanceolate to slightly oblanceolate, acuminate, thick and firm in texture, lustrous above, pubescent along the midribs below, the terminal 1.4-1.5 dm. long from 4.4-5 cm. wide, and raised on a slender puberulous petiolule, the lateral leaflets unsymmetrical at the base, sessile, those of the lowest pair 7-9 cm. long, and from 2.5-3 cm. wide. Sargent[20] says "this variety occurs in Indiana," basing his authority upon my specimens of which he has duplicates. Heimlich[21] reports this variety from White County, and at the same time he reported the variety from Daviess, Martin and Wells Counties, based upon specimens collected by the author and determined by Sargent. I have carefully studied the specimens from Daviess, Martin and Wells Counties, and they do not agree with Sargent's description of the variety. While most of the leaves of the specimens in question agree with the description, some do not, which excludes it from the variety. =3b.= =Carya ovata= variety =Nuttallii= Sargent. Trees and Shrubs 2:207:1913. This variety is described as having "nut rounded, obcordate or rarely pointed at apex, rounded or abruptly pointed at the base, much compressed, prominently angled, about 1.5 cm. long and 1-1.2 cm. thick; the involucre 4-10 mm. thick, splits freely to the base. Except in size of the fruit there appears to be no character by which the variety can be distinguished from the common Shagbark." Heimlich[22] reported this variety from Dekalb County, based upon specimens collected by the author and determined by Sargent. The nuts of the specimens from Dekalb County are 2 cm. long. The author has specimens from Wells County that agree with the description. =4.= =Carya laciniòsa= (Michaux filius) Loudon. Big Shellbark Hickory. Plate 25. Large tall trees with trunks like those of the shellbark hickory; bark of young trees tight, beginning to scale when the trees reach a diameter of 1-2 dm., on older trees separating and scaling off into long thin narrow strips; twigs at the end of the season stout, 4-7 mm. thick near the tip, the twigs of the season hairy at first, becoming glabrous or nearly so by the end of autumn, yellowish or late in autumn a rusty brown, frequently retaining the leaf-stalks of the leaves of the previous season until spring which is peculiar to this species; terminal buds large, ovoid to ovoid-oblong, 10-25 mm. long; ordinary leaves 3-5 dm. long; leaflets 5-9, prevailing number 7, ovate to oblong-lanceolate or obovate, the largest 1-2 dm. long, velvety beneath when they unfold and remaining hairy beneath until maturity, rarely nearly glabrous; fruit ovate, subglobose, oblong or obovate, 3.5-7 cm. long; dry husk 3.5-11 mm. thick; nut variable, generally much compressed, up to 5.5 cm. long, usually circular in outline, but varying from ovate to obovate and oblong, usually each side has 2 or 3 ridges which extend more or less often to the base; shell very thick; kernel sweet; wood and uses same as that of the shellbark hickory. [Illustration: Plate 25. CARYA LACINIOSA (Michaux filius) Loudon. Big Shellbark Hickory. (× 1/2.) The nuts are from different trees to show variation.] =Distribution.=--Southwestern Ontario south to Alabama and west to Louisiana, Nebraska and Iowa. Found throughout Indiana, except there are as yet no records from the extreme northwest counties. It is frequent to common in moist rich woods, or in river bottoms which is its favorite habitat. It is usually associated with the shellbark hickory where it grows in moist situations. Sometimes in the river bottoms it grows in situations too wet for the shellbark hickory. In the lower Wabash bottoms it becomes a common tree. =Remarks.=--This hickory is also known as the big scaly-bark hickory and hard-head hickory. The nuts are an article of commerce and by some are preferred to the shellbark hickory although the nuts are hard to crack. This objection is easily overcome by wetting the nuts, and drying them by using heat which cracks the shell, making them easy to crack. =5.= =Carya álba= (Linnæus) K. Koch. White Hickory. Plate 26. Medium sized tall trees up to 10 dm. in diameter; bark tight, of two types, one light colored, thin and fissured into a network. This form has been seen only in the river bottoms of the southwestern part of the State. The common type of bark is thick, with thick ridges, dark but on the older trees it weathers to a light gray and becomes thickly covered with lichens; terminal twigs of branches at end of season stout, 3.5-7 mm. in diameter near the tip, densely hairy at first and remaining hairy throughout the season or becoming almost glabrous, reddish-brown; terminal bud large, ovate, 10-20 mm. long; ordinary leaves 2-4 dm. long, the rachis and under side of leaflets densely hairy when they unfold, remaining pubescent until maturity; leaflets 5-9, prevailing number 7, long-oval, ovate-lanceolate, or obovate; fruit usually globose, more rarely short elliptic, ovate or obovoid, the husk rather tardily opening to nearly the base, or only checking open at the top; dried husk 3-8 mm. thick; nut variable in shape, little compressed, somewhat globose, a little longer than wide, more rarely wider than long or short elliptic, usually 2.5-3.5 cm. long, generally rounded at the base and short-pointed at the apex, more rarely pointed at the base and long pointed at the apex, (one specimen is at hand that is almost a square box), usually with 4-6 angles, on some forms obscure; shell thick; kernel very small, sweet; wood and uses same as shellbark hickory. [Illustration: Plate 26. CARYA ALBA (Linnæus) K. Koch. White Hickory. (× 1/2.) The nuts are from different trees to show variation.] =Distribution.=--Southwestern Ontario south to the Gulf and west to Texas, Missouri and Iowa. Found throughout Indiana, except there are no records from the extreme northwestern counties. This species except in the lower Wabash Valley is confined to the uplands. It is rather a rare tree in northern Indiana, but becomes more or less frequent in the western part of the State south of the Wabash River and more or less frequent to common on the hills in all of the State south of Marion County. It is most abundant in the unglaciated area. =Remarks.=--This species is called mockernut by text books, and bull hickory in the vicinity of New Albany. =5a.= =Carya alba= variety =subcoriàcea= Sargent. Trees and Shrubs 2:207:1913. Only one tree of this variety is known in Indiana and it is located in Posey County on the bank of the cypress swamp about 13 miles southwest of Mt. Vernon. Specimens from this tree were sent to Sargent and he referred them to this variety.[23] It differs from the type in the larger size and shape of the fruit and nut. The dried fruit is 5 cm. long, oblong. The nut is oblong, 4.4 cm. long, pointed at both ends, or some nuts somewhat ovate in shape and more rounded at the base, little compressed and strongly angled; shell very thick, 5 mm. at the thinnest place; kernel very small and sweet. The nut easily distinguishes it from all forms of hickory. The author has bought hickory nuts for table use for several years from Posey County and this nut is frequently found in the assortment which shows that this variety is more or less frequent in that section. =6.= =Carya glàbra= (Miller) Spach. Black Hickory. Plate 27. Very tall medium sized trees, up to 7 dm. in diameter; bark tight, usually dark, fissures shallow on some and quite deep on others; twigs reddish-brown, glabrous, terminal buds small, ovoid, about 7-12 mm. long; ordinary leaves 2-3 dm. long; leaflets generally lanceolate, sometimes quite wide, or wider beyond the middle, prevailing number 5, the terminal usually 11-19 cm. long, somewhat pubescent on unfolding, more or less pubescent below at maturity, usually only the midrib, axils and larger veins with hairs; fruit generally smooth and obovoid, rarely globose or oval, 22-40 mm. long; husk sometimes not opening, more often one or more of the sutures open to less than half way, 1-2 mm. thick; nut about 20-30 mm. long and 16-25 mm. wide, rounded at the apex, elongated and rounded at the base, angles wanting or obscure; shell very hard and thick, about 1.5 mm. thick at the thinnest point; kernel sweet and astringent; wood and uses same as that of the shellbark hickory. [Illustration: Plate 27. CARYA GLABRA (Miller) Spach. Black Hickory. (× 1/2.) Fruit from different trees to show variation.] =Distribution.=--Southern Ontario south to the Gulf States and west to Texas and Iowa. This species is reported for all parts of the State. However, the records for the northern counties were made when this species was not separated from _Carya ovalis_, and since the latter species is quite frequent in the northern counties it is best to refer the early records to _Carya ovalis_. The most northern station based upon an existing specimen is the north side of the Mississinewa River east of Eaton in Delaware County. It is a frequent, common to very common tree on the hills in the southern part of the State. It has its mass distribution in the unglaciated part of the State, although it is locally a frequent to a common tree of the hills of the other southern counties. It appears that this species has the ability to invade areas after the virgin forest is cut, and it is not an uncommon sight to see this species in almost pure stands on the hills of cut-over lands. =Remarks.=--This species is often called pignut. Sargent wisely suggests that this name be used exclusively for _Carya cordiformis_. The great abundance of this species in Brown, Morgan and Monroe Counties has been instrumental in building up a large business in the manufacture of hickory chairs and furniture. Frames of furniture are made from the very young trees, and backs and seats from the bark of old trees, which are cut, stripped of their bark, and often left to rot. =6a.= =Carya glabra= variety =megacárpa= Sargent[24]. This variety was reported for Indiana by Heimlich.[25] His report was based on a specimen collected by the author in Franklin County. It was named by Sargent who has a duplicate specimen. Sargent in his revision of the hickories does not include Indiana in its range. The size of the fruit is the character that marks the variety and I do not believe this is sufficient to warrant its separation. I have, therefore, included all Indiana forms under the type. =7.= =Carya ovàlis= (Wangenheim) Sargent. Small-fruited Hickory. Plate 28. Medium sized tall trees; bark usually tight on the trunk for a distance up to 1.5-3 m., then becoming more or less scaly like the shellbark hickory, on some trees the bark is very thick and is quite scaly but it does not flake off in thin plates as the shellbark hickory; twigs purplish or reddish-brown, generally smooth by the end of the season, generally 3-4 mm. thick near the tip; terminal winter buds ovoid, 7-10 mm. long, covered with yellow scales and more or less pubescent; average size leaves 2-3 dm. long; leaflets 3-7, prevailing number usually 7, sometimes 5, usually lanceolate, frequently oval or slightly obovate, the terminal 12-21 cm. long, at maturity usually pubescent beneath in the axils of the veins, more rarely also the veins covered with hairs; fruit varies greatly in size and shape, the most common form is obovoid, more rarely oval, or subglobose, 25-42 mm. in length, granular and covered with yellow scales; husk usually splitting to the base, although tardily on some, often quite aromatic, dry husk 1.1-3 mm. thick; nut variable in size and shape, from elliptic to obovoid, 15-30 mm. long, compressed, generally about 20 per cent wider than thick, usually rounded at the base, generally slightly obovoid with the apex rounded, or obcordate; a common form has the four sides rounded, as wide as long or almost so, with the ends abruptly rounded so as to appear almost truncate, the elliptic form with both ends pointed is our rarest and smallest form; the surface on all forms is quite smooth, except the elliptic forms which have the angles usually extending from the tip to the base, on other forms the nuts are usually not prominently angled and on some the angles are very obscure except at the apex; shell usually thin, 1-1.5 mm. thick; kernel sweet; wood and uses the same as that of the shellbark hickory. [Illustration: Plate 28. CARYA OVALIS (Wangenheim) Sargent. Small-fruited Hickory. (× 1/2.) The nuts show the species and its varieties.] Sargent[26] has described five varieties of this species, three of which he credits to Indiana. The writer has sent him specimens from over 100 trees of this species, and he has variously distributed them to the type and varieties. Heimlich has reported Sargent's determination of many of these specimens in the Proc. Ind. Acad. Science, 1917:436-439:1918. The writer cannot agree with the determinations and believes further field study is necessary to discover characters by which the several forms can consistently be divided. To stimulate the study of this species, the original description of the varieties together with Sargent's characterization of the type are quoted because they are contained in a book not usually found in libraries. To these descriptions are added new characters which Sargent gives in his revision of the hickories in Bot. Gaz. 66:245-247:1918. =Carya ovalis= (type). "In the shape of the fruit and in the thickness of its involucre this tree is of four distinct forms; in all of them the involucre splits freely to the base, or nearly to the base, the shell of the nut is thin and the seed, although small, is sweet and edible. The extremes of these forms are very distinct, but there are forms which are intermediate between them, so that it is difficult to decide sometimes to which of the forms these intermediate forms should be referred. The first of these forms, as the fruit agrees with Wangenheim's figure, must be considered the type of the species. The fruit is oval, narrowed and rounded at the base, acute at the apex, usually from 2.5-3 cm. long and about 1.5 cm. in diameter. The involucre is from 2-2.5 mm. thick and occasionally one of the sutures remains closed. The nut is oblong, slightly flattened, rounded at the base, acute or acuminate and four-angled at the apex, the ridges extending for one-third or rarely for one-half of its length, from 2-2.5 cm. long and about 1.5 cm. in diameter. The shell is usually about 1 mm. thick." "The type of this species and its varieties have glabrous or rarely slightly pubescent leaves, with usually 7 thin leaflets." =7a.= =Carya ovalis= variety =obcordàta= (Muhlenberg) Sargent. "The fruit varies from subglobose to short-oblong or to slightly obovate, showing a tendency to pass into that of the other varieties of the species. It varies from 2-3 cm. in diameter, and the involucre, which is from 2-5 mm. thick, splits freely to the base or nearly to the base by narrowly winged sutures, one of them rarely extending only to the middle of the fruit. The nut is usually much compressed, often broadest above the middle, slightly angled sometimes to below the middle, rounded at the base and much compressed, often broadest above the middle, slightly angled sometimes to below the middle, rounded at the base and rounded and often more or less obcordate at the apex." =7b.= =Carya ovalis= variety =odoràta= (Marshall) Sargent. "The name may have been given by Marshall to this variety on account of the strong resinous odor of the inner surface of the fresh involucre of the fruit, which I have not noticed in that of the other forms. The fruit is subglobose or sometimes slightly longer than broad, flattened and usually from 1.3-1.5 cm. in diameter. The involucre varies from 1-1.5 mm. in thickness and splits freely to the base by distinctly winged sutures. The nut is rounded or acute at the base with a short point, rounded at the apex, very slightly or not at all ridged, pale colored, from 1.2-1.5 cm. long and wide and from 1-1.2 cm. thick." =7c.= =Carya ovalis= variety =obovàlis= Sargent. "In the fourth form the fruit is more or less obovate, about 2.5 cm. long and 2 cm. in diameter, and the involucre varies from 2-4 mm. in thickness. The nut is much compressed, pointed or rounded at the apex, rounded at the base, usually about 2 cm. long, nearly as broad and about 1.5 cm. thick." "The fruit resembles in shape that of _Carya glabra_, but the involucre is thicker and splits easily to the base or nearly to the base." =7d.= =Carya ovalis= variety =obcordàta=, =f. vestita= Sargent. Bot. Gaz. 66:246:1918. This is a form described from a specimen collected by the author on the border of Dan's Pond in Knox County. It differs from "the variety _obcordata_ in the thick tomentose covering of the branchlets during their first year. The leaves of this form are slightly pubescent in the autumn on the under surface of the midribs. Although the nuts are more compressed than those of the ordinary forms of var. _obcordata_, the fruit is of that variety. The branchlets are unusually stout for a form of _Carya ovalis_ and are covered with rusty tomentum during their first year and are more or less pubescent in their second and third seasons." =Distribution.=--Western New York west to Illinois and south to North Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Arkansas and Missouri. The species is found in all parts of the State, although the distribution of the varieties has not been worked out. The habitat of this species is high ground, and only rarely is it found in low ground. It prefers hills, slopes, base of the terraces of streams, and in the northern part of the State gravelly ridges and sandy soil. In all of its range it is usually associated with white and black oak. It is infrequent in the southern part of the State but north of the Wabash River it becomes more frequent and in some places it becomes common to very common. It is a common tree in Wells County north of the Wabash River and in the northern part of Lagrange County, and in both places a wide range of forms occur, some of which are not covered by the preceding description. No one of our trees offers a better opportunity for intensive study than this hickory. =Remarks.=--Text books call this species the small-fruited hickory. It is not commonly distinguished from the other hickories, but in Wells County where it is common the boys call it "Ladies' Hickory." =8.= =Carya Búckleyi= variety =arkansàna= Sargent.[27] Plate 29. Medium sized trees, bark tight, dark, deeply furrowed; mature twigs more or less pubescent, reddish brown; terminal buds ovoid, about 8 mm. long, thickly covered with yellow scales, and more or less pubescent; leaves 2-3.5 dm. long, rachis permanently pubescent; leaflets 5-7, prevailing number 7, lanceolate, terminal one about 15 cm. long, tawny pubescent on unfolding, more or less glabrous at maturity; fruit ellipsoid to slightly obovoid, very aromatic, about 3.5-4 cm. long, covered with yellow scales; husk usually splitting to below the middle, 3-4 mm. thick; nut oblong to slightly obovoid, 3-3.5 cm. long, scarcely compressed, rounded at each end, the four ridges faint except at the apex; shell thick, about 2 mm. at the thinnest point; kernel sweet; wood same as the white hickory which it most closely resembles. =Distribution.=--Southwestern Indiana, south in the Mississippi Valley to Louisiana and Texas. Known in Indiana only from one tree in Knox County on the sand ridge on the east side of what was formerly a cypress swamp, about two miles north of Decker. The soil is the Knox sand. It is associated with black and black jack oaks. =Remarks.=--The description has been drawn from ample material from this single tree. [Illustration: Plate 29. CARYA BUCKLEYI var. ARKANSANA Sargent. (× 1/2.)] =BETULÀCEAE.= The Birch Family. Trees or shrubs with simple, petioled, alternate (in pairs on the older branches of _Betula_) leaves; staminate flowers in long drooping catkins, 1-3 in the axil of each bract, the pistillate in short lateral or terminal aments; fruit a nut or samara. Staminate flowers solitary in the axil of each bract, without a calyx, pistillate flowers with a calyx; nut wingless. Bark of tree smooth; staminate aments in winter enclosed in bud scales; nut exposed, its subtending bract more or less irregularly 3-cleft 1 Carpinus. Bark of older trees shreddy; staminate aments in winter naked; nut enclosed in a bladder-like bract 2 Ostrya. Staminate flowers 3-6 in the axil of each bract, with a calyx, pistillate flowers without a calyx; nut winged. Winter buds sessile; stamens 2; fruit membranous and hop-like; fruiting bract deciduous at the end of the season when the nut escapes 3 Betula. Winter buds stalked; stamens 4; fruit woody and cone-like; fruiting bracts woody and persisting after the nuts escape 4 Alnus. =1. CARPÌNUS.= The Hornbeam. =Carpinus caroliniàna= Walter. Water Beech. Blue Beech. Plate 30. A small tree up to 3 dm. in diameter, usually 1-1.5 dm. in diameter with fluted or ridged trunks; bark smooth, close, gray; twigs hairy at first, soon becoming glabrous; leaves ovate-oblong, average leaves 6-10 cm. long, pointed at the apex, double-serrate, hairy when young, glabrous at maturity except on the veins and in the axils beneath, pubescent, not glandular, staminate catkins appearing in early spring; nut at the base of a 3-cleft bract about 2 cm. long, nut broadly ovate, compressed, pointed and about 5 mm. long; wood heavy, hard, tough and strong. =Distribution.=--Nova Scotia west to Minnesota and south to Florida and Texas. In Indiana it is frequent to common throughout the State in moist rich woods. It prefers a moist rich soil; however, it has a range from the tamarack bog to the dry black and white oak slope. It is tolerant of shade and is seldom found outside of the forest. =Remarks.=--This tree is too small and crooked to be of economic importance. It is regarded as a weed tree in the woodland, and should be removed to give place to more valuable species. [Illustration: Plate 30. CARPINUS CAROLINIANA Walter. Water or Blue Beech. (× 1/2.)] =2. ÓSTRYA.= The Hop Hornbeam. =Ostrya virginiàna= (Miller) Willdenow. Ironwood. Plate 31. Small trees up to 5 dm.[28] in diameter, usually about 1-2 dm. in diameter; bark smooth and light brown on small trees, shreddy on older trees; shoots hairy, becoming at the end of the season glabrous or nearly so and a reddish-brown; leaves oblong-ovate, other forms rare, average size about 7-12 cm. long, acuminate, usually double-serrate, hairy on both surfaces when they unfold, glabrous or nearly so above at maturity, more or less pubescent beneath, especially on the midrib and veins; staminate spikes develop in early winter; fruit hop-like about 2-4 cm. long; nut oblong-ovate about 7 mm. long and half as wide, compressed, light brown; wood very hard, tough, close-grained, strong, light brown. =Distribution.=--Nova Scotia west to Manitoba, south to the Gulf States and west to Texas. It is frequent to common in all of the counties of the State. However, it is entirely absent in the lower Wabash bottoms, except rarely on high grounds in this area. It prefers well drained dry soil, and is most frequent when it is associated with beech and sugar maple, although it is often quite plentiful in white oak woods. It is shade enduring and is one of the under trees in the forest where it grows very tall and slender and free from branches. When it grows in exposed places such as bluffs, it retains its side branches and is usually bushy. =Remarks.=--The trees are too small to be of much economic importance. It is 30 per cent stronger than white oak, and 46 per cent more elastic. These exceptional qualities were recognized by the Indians and it was used by them where wood of great strength and hardness was desired. Likewise the pioneer used it where he could for handles, wooden wedges, etc. Since it grows neither large nor fast, it is usually regarded as a weed tree in the woodland, and should be removed to give place to more valuable species. =Ostrya virginiàna= variety =glandulòsa= Spach. This is the name given to the form which has the twigs, petioles, peduncles and often the midrib and veins of the leaves beneath covered more or less with short erect, reddish, glandular hairs. It is found with the species, but is not so frequent. [Illustration: Plate 31. OSTRYA VIRGINIANA (Miller) K. Koch. Ironwood. (× 1/2.)] =3. BÉTULA.= The Birches. Trees and shrubs with bark tight, scaly or separating into very thin plates and peeling off transversely, whitish or dark colored; staminate catkins developing in autumn and dehiscing in early spring before or with the appearance of the leaves, pistillate catkins ovoid or cylindric; fruit a small winged flat seed, bearing at the apex the two persistent stigmas. Bark of twigs usually with a slight wintergreen flavor; leaves with 7-15, usually 9-11 pairs of prominent veins; rounded or slightly cordate at the base; fertile catkins generally 10 mm. or more in diameter. 1 B. lutea. Bark of twigs usually bitter, not wintergreen flavored; leaves with 4-11, usually 4-9 pairs of prominent veins, more or less obtusely angled at the base; fertile catkins generally less than 10 mm. in diameter (rarely 10 mm. or more, _B. nigra_). Bark of trunk chalky-white; fruiting aments drooping or spreading. Bark below base of lateral branches darkened-triangular in outline; leaves long acuminate and lustrous above; staminate catkins usually solitary. 2 B. populifolia. Bark below base of lateral branches not darkened; leaves ovate and not lustrous above; staminate catkins usually 2-3. 3 B. papyrifera. Bark of trunks dark; fruiting aments erect or nearly so. 4 B. nigra. =1.= =Betula lùtea= Michaux filius. Birch. Yellow Birch. Plate 32. Medium size trees; bark of small trees and of the branches of old trees smooth, silver or dark gray, freely peeling off in thin strips, becoming on older trees a dark brown, rarely tight, usually fissured into wide plates and rolling back from one edge; the shoots of the year hairy, greenish gray, becoming glabrous or nearly so and reddish-brown by the end of the second year, not aromatic when bruised but when chewed sometimes a faint wintergreen odor can be detected; winter buds pointed, reddish-brown, the lower scales more or less pubescent, generally with a fringe of hairs on the margins; leaves usually appearing in pairs, ovate to ovate-oblong, 4-14 cm. long, taper-pointed, oblique and wedge-shape, rounded or slightly cordate at the base, sharply and rather coarsely serrate, hairy on both sides when they appear, becoming at maturity glabrous or nearly so above, and remaining more or less pubescent below, especially on the veins, both surfaces with few to numerous resinous dots; petioles permanently hairy, generally 5-13 mm. long; flowers appear in May; staminate spikes in clusters at the ends of the branches, about 6 cm. long, scales broadly ovate, blunt, fringed with hairs, green-tipped with a margin of reddish-brown; pistillate spikes solitary in the axils of the leaves, mature spikes 2.5-5 cm. long, generally 2.5-3 cm. long, commonly about half as thick as long, recurved to ascending, commonly about horizontal, sessile or on short stalks; scales very variable, 5-11 mm. long, generally 7-8 mm. long, sometimes as wide as long but generally about one-fourth longer than wide, densely pubescent on the back, or rarely glabrous on the back, ciliate, glabrous or nearly so on the inside, commonly with a few brown or black glands on the margin, commonly lobed to more than one-third of their length, lobes ascending or divaricate, the lateral generally the larger and almost as long as the narrower middle lobe; nuts divested of the wings, slightly obovate, about 3 mm. long, wings about two-thirds as wide as the nut and usually with a fringe of hairs at the blunt apex. [Illustration: Plate 32. BETULA LUTEA Michaux filius. Yellow Birch. (× 1/2.)] =Distribution.=--The distribution of this species is variously given as from Newfoundland west to Manitoba and south in the Alleghenies to Georgia. It is now definitely known that the species of _Betula_ hybridize which may account for the peculiar forms often encountered. That there are geographic races or Mendelian segregates of this species is evidenced by the different interpretations given this species by different authors. _Betula alleghanensis_ Britton appears to be one of them. The descriptive difference between _Betula lenta_ and _Betula lutea_ is not clear, which has resulted in many authors crediting _Betula lenta_ to Indiana and the area west of Indiana. The preceding description does not agree with that of _Betula lutea_ exactly, and has been drawn to cover the specimens at hand from Indiana which the author has from Allen, Crawford, Lagrange, Lake, Marshall, Porter and Steuben Counties. It has recently been reported from White County by Heimlich.[29] He says: "Specimens were taken from two trees about two miles south of Buffalo near the water's edge of the river." The writer has visited this locality and found here, and also on the island above the bridge a little farther down the river, _Betula nigra_, but could not find _Betula lutea_. Since Heimlich did not report _Betula nigra_, which unmistakably occurs here, I assume he has confused the two species. It is very local in its distribution, and appears to be confined to swamps, borders of lakes, and streams in the extreme northern part of the State. It has not been seen south of the northern end of the State, except a few small trees found clinging to the walls of the cliffs of a ravine about one mile east of Taswell in Crawford County. The walls of this ravine are about 25 meters high; associated with it were a few trees of hemlock, and on the top of the cliffs, laurel (_Kalmia latifolia_). Large trees of this species in Indiana are usually from 4-6 dm. in diameter and about 15 m. high. The number in any one station is usually few, although there were formerly patches where it was plentiful. Van Gorder[30] reports for Noble County _Betula lenta_ which should be transferred to this species, and he says: "There is a marsh of several acres of birch in Section 15 of York Township." The largest area now known is that contained in the large tamarack swamp near Mineral Springs in Porter County. In this swamp are found tamarack and white cedar. It was in this swamp that the writer found a peculiar form of birch which has been determined as _Betula Sandbergi_. Since this species[31] is recognized as a hybrid of _Betula papyrifera_ and _Betula pumila_ variety _glandulifera_, and the last parent of this hybrid is not found in the vicinity, a discussion of this form is not presented. In the immediate vicinity are found only _Betula lutea_ and _Betula pumila_. _Betula papyrifera_ is found about a mile distant to the south. It is assumed that this form is a cross between _Betula lutea_ and _Betula pumila_. =2.= =Betula populifòlia= Marshall. Gray or White Birch. Plate 33. A small tree; bark a chalky-white, not separating into thin layers, inner bark orange, on the trunks of old trees nearly black; shoots at first covered with numerous glands, becoming smooth and yellowish or reddish-brown; leaves generally long-deltoid, average blades 3-6 cm. long, usually long taper-pointed, truncate or nearly so at the base, irregularly double-serrate, slightly pubescent on the veins when young, soon becoming glabrous; fertile catkins 1.5-3 cm. long and about 7 mm. in diameter; bracts of eastern trees differ from those of Indiana trees which are about 3-4 mm. long, lobed to about 1/3 of the distance from the apex, lateral lobes the largest and strongly divaricate, puberulent on the back; seed strongly notched at the apex; nut slightly obovoid; wings much broader than the nut. =Distribution.=--Nova Scotia west to southern Ontario and south to Delaware and Pennsylvania. In Indiana it has been reported from Lake, Laporte, Porter, St. Joseph and Tippecanoe Counties. There may be some doubt about the Tippecanoe record, since many of the older records were made from cultivated trees. The numbers of the species in Indiana were always limited. It is not able to meet changed conditions and it has already almost disappeared from our area. I was told that formerly this species was found all about a lake in Laporte County, but it has all died out. Its appearance in Indiana is peculiar since it is not found west of us, or north in Michigan or east in Ohio. This small group of trees near Lake Michigan is three or four hundred miles from the nearest of their kind. =Remarks.=--This species is called white and gray birch. The largest tree seen in Indiana was about 2 dm. in diameter and 13 m. high. [Illustration: Plate 33. BETULA POPULIFOLIA Marshall. White or Gray Birch. (× 1/2.)] [Illustration: Plate 34. BETULA PAPYRIFERA Marshall. Paper or Canoe Birch. (× 1/2.)] =3.= =Betula papyrífera= Marshall. Paper or Canoe Birch. Plate 34. Rather a small tree; bark thin, creamy white; chalky, dark near the base on old trees, separating in thin papery layers; shoots green, glandular and hairy, becoming glabrous and reddish-brown; leaves ovate or rhombic-ovate, acute to long taper-pointed, truncate, rounded or wedge-shape at the base, average blades 5-8 cm. long, usually irregularly double-serrate, hairy at first, becoming glabrous above or nearly so, remaining more or less pubescent below, especially on the veins and with tufts of hairs in the axils of the veins, minutely glandular on both surfaces, sometimes with only a few glands on the midribs above; fertile catkins 2-4 cm. long and about 6-9 mm. wide, bracts about 4 mm. long, pubescent on both faces, lobed to about one-third the distance from the apex, the lateral lobes the largest, divaricate or slightly recurved; seed deeply notched at apex, nut oval, pubescent at the apex, wings as broad as, or broader than the nut. =Distribution.=--Alaska to Labrador, south to New York, northern Indiana, Colorado and Washington. In Indiana it has been reported from Lake, Laporte, Marshall and St. Joseph Counties. It has not been found as a native in Ohio. This species is another example of a northern form finding its southern limit near Lake Michigan. =Remarks.=--This species in other parts of the country is known as white, paper and canoe birch. I have not seen specimens more than 2 dm. in diameter in Indiana. =4.= =Betula nìgra= Linnæus. Black or Red Birch. Plate 35. A medium sized tree; bark on young trees peeling off transversely in thin reddish-brown strips which roll back and usually persist for several years, bark of older trees dark brown, furrowed and separating into short plates or peeling off in strips; young twigs hairy, becoming glabrous and reddish at the end of the season; leaves rhombic-ovate, acute, short and broadly wedge-shaped at the base, blades of ordinary leaves 4-8 cm. long, irregularly toothed, glabrous above and pubescent beneath, rarely entirely glabrous; fertile catkins generally 2-3 cm. long, and usually slightly less than 1 cm. wide; bracts 6-10 mm. long, pubescent, ciliate, lobed to near the middle, the lobes about equal; nuts broadly ovate, broader than its wings, pubescent at the apex; wood light, strong, close-grained, heart wood light brown. =Distribution.=--Massachusetts west to Minnesota and south to Florida and Texas. In Indiana it is found more or less frequent in the counties bordering the Kankakee River, and as far east as St. Joseph, Marshall and Miami Counties. Along the Kankakee River it is frequently a tree of 6-8 dm. in diameter. This species has not been found in Michigan, northeastern Indiana or northern Ohio. It has never been noted near Lake Michigan, and the nearest point is Cedar Lake in Lake County about 20 miles south of the Lake. It is more or less frequent along certain streams throughout the southwestern part of the State. It is found as far north as Putnam and Marion Counties and eastward as far as Bartholomew, Scott and Clark Counties. There are no records for this species for eastern Indiana or western Ohio. About Hovey Lake in Posey County it reaches its greatest size, where trees up to 8 dm. in diameter and 30 m. high are to be found. In the "flats" in certain parts of Jackson and Scott Counties it becomes a common tree, associated with pin oak and sweet gum. [Illustration: Plate 35. BETULA NIGRA Linnæus. Black or Red Birch. (× 1/2.)] =Remarks.=--This is the most abundant birch of Indiana. In fact all other species are too rare to be of economic importance. The fact that other species of birch are so rare in Indiana, is the reason that this species is simply called "Birch." Outside of Indiana it is known as red birch and river birch. The principal use of this wood in this State is for heading. All of the birches, especially the horticultural forms, are used more or less for ornamental planting. They are beautiful trees but are short lived. =4. ÁLNUS.= The Alders. Trees or shrubs; bark astringent; staminate and pistillate catkins begin to develop early in summer and flower the following year early in the spring before the leaves appear; bracts of the fertile catkins thick and woody, obdeltoid with 3-rounded lobes at the apex; nuts obovate, reddish-brown. Leaves sharply double-serrate, the ends of the primary veins forming the apex of the larger teeth, glaucous beneath; nuts with a narrow thick margin 1 A. incana. Leaves single-serrate, pale beneath; nuts without margins 2 A. rugosa. =1.= =Alnus incàna= (Linnæus) Muenchhausen. Speckled Alder. Plate 36. Shrubs or small trees; bark generally smooth and a reddish-brown with a tinge of gray, with grayish dots, hence its name; twigs hairy at first, becoming smooth by the end of the season and a golden or reddish-brown with many fine dark specks; leaves broadly-oval, acute or short-pointed at apex, usually broadly rounded at the base, average blades 6.5-11 cm. long, glaucous beneath, hairy on both sides on unfolding, at maturity becoming glabrous above or with a few hairs on the veins, beneath remaining more or less hairy until late in autumn when usually only the veins are hairy; pistillate catkins resembling small cones, 1-1.5 cm. long and usually 7-12 mm. wide, near the ends of the branches, usually in clusters of 2-7. [Illustration: Plate 36. ALNUS INCANA (Linnæus) Muenchhausen. Speckled Alder. (× 1/2.)] =Distribution.=--Newfoundland to the Saskatchewan, south to New York, northeastern Ohio, northern Indiana and Nebraska. In Indiana it is confined to the northern tier of counties. I have specimens from Elkhart, Lagrange, Lake and Porter Counties. It was reported from Carroll County by Thompson, but in the absence of a verifying specimen I am inclined to think this citation should be referred to _Alnus_ _rugosa_. This species grows in low ground on the borders of streams, borders of swamps and in almost extinct sloughs near Lake Michigan. It is also found along Pigeon River in the eastern part of Lagrange County. In the vicinity of Mineral Springs in Porter County it is locally a common shrub or tree. It has the habit of stooling out, and commonly the several specimens will be deflected from a vertical from 20-45 degrees. The largest specimens are from 1-1.4 dm. in diameter and about 10 m. high. =Remarks.=--This species could be used to good advantage in ornamental planting in low ground. It grows rapidly, is easily transplanted and its foliage is dense and attractive. =2.= =Alnus rugòsa= (Du Roi) Sprengel. Smooth Alder. Plate 37. Shrubs with fluted or angled trunks, resembling _Carpinus_; bark thin, smooth or nearly so, reddish-brown, weathering gray; twigs hairy at first, becoming gray or reddish-brown by the end of the season and more or less glabrous and covered with small dark specks; leaves obovate, barely acute or rounded at apex, wedge-shape at base, average blades 6-10 cm. long, hairy on both surfaces while young, becoming smooth or nearly so above, remaining more or less hairy beneath, especially on the veins, under surface of leaves sufficiently glutinous to adhere to paper if pressure be applied, margins set with short callous teeth, about .5-1 mm. long; fertile catkins cone-shape, 10-20 mm. long and about 7 mm. in diameter, borne at the ends of branches in clusters of 2-5. =Distribution.=--Maine to Minnesota, south to Florida and Texas. In Indiana it is quite local. It has been reported in many of the counties of northern Indiana north of the Wabash River. It has been found in several of the southern counties and as far north as Salt Creek in Monroe County. No reports for the central part of the State. It is absent also in all of the eastern counties of the State, and the western part of Ohio. It is found growing in clumps in wet woods, swamps, cold bogs and along streams. It is usually a tall slender shrub; however, a specimen has been seen that measured 7 cm. in diameter and 5 m. in height. =Remarks.=--Of no value except for ornamental planting in wet ground. =FAGÀCEAE.= The Beech Family. Trees with simple, alternate, petioled leaves; flowers of two kinds; fruit a one-seeded nut. This is the most important family of trees occurring in the State. [Illustration: Plate 37. ALNUS RUGOSA (Du Roi) Sprengel. Smooth Alder. (× 1/2.)] Winter buds long and slender, at least 4 times as long as wide; staminate flowers in globose heads on drooping peduncles; nuts sharply 3-angled 1 Fagus. Winter buds not long and slender and less than 4 times as long as wide; staminate flowers in slender catkins; nuts not as above. Staminate catkins erect or spreading; nut flattened on one side and enclosed in a spiny, woody husk 2 Castanea. Staminate catkins drooping; nuts not flattened on one side, seated in a scaly, woody cup 3 Quercus. =1. FÀGUS.= The Beech. =Fagus grandifòlia= Ehrhart. Beech. Plate 38. Large tall trees with bark from light to dark gray; twigs densely covered at first with long hairs, soon becoming glabrous and turning to a reddish-brown; terminal winter buds about 2 cm. long; leaves ovate to ovate-oblong, long taper-pointed to merely acute, wedge-shape to cordate at base, regularly and usually minutely serrate, average blades 7-12 cm. long, silky when young, becoming at maturity glabrous above and nearly so beneath except on the veins; flowers appear in May; fruit a bur, supported on a club-shaped pubescent peduncle about 1.5 cm. long, covered with short recurved prickles, densely rufous-pubescent, its 4-valves enclosing the two triangular brown nuts; nuts edible; wood very hard, strong, usually tough, difficult to season, close-grained, takes a high polish, sap wood white, heart wood reddish. =Distribution.=--Nova Scotia, southern Ontario to Wisconsin, south to the Gulf States and Texas. It is found in every county of the State, although it is local in the prairie and dry sandy regions of the northwestern part of the State. It is a frequent to a very common tree on the high ground in many parts of the State. If the high ground and hills of the State are not forested with white and black oak, beech is almost certain to be the prevailing species. Wherever beech is found it is usually a frequent to a common tree, and it is not uncommon to see areas which are almost a pure stand of this species. It is also a frequent to a common tree in southern Indiana in what is called the "flats." Here it is associated with sweet gum and pin oak. On the slopes of hills of the southern counties it is associated with a great variety of trees. In the central part of the State its most frequent associate is the sugar maple. In the northern counties it has a wider range of associates, including white oak, ash, slippery elm, buckeye, ironwood, etc. It should be added that tulip is a constant associate except in the "flats." In point of number it ranks as first of Indiana trees. [Illustration: Plate 38. FAGUS GRANDIFOLIA Ehrhart. Beech. (× 1/2.)] =Remarks.=--Specimens with the habit of retaining their branches which lop downward, usually have thicker sap wood and are harder to split. This form is popularly styled the white beech. The form with smooth tall trunks with upright branches usually has more heart wood, splits more easily and is popularly distinguished as red beech. The term yellow beech is variously applied. This species is a large tree in all parts of the State, although the largest specimens are found in the southeastern part of the State. In the virgin forests trees almost 1 m. in diameter and 30 m. high were frequent. Beech was formerly used only for fuel, but in the last few decades it has been cut and used for many purposes, and the supply is fast diminishing. The beauty of this tree both in summer and winter, sunshine or storm makes it one of the most desirable for shade tree planting, but I have failed to find where it has been successfully used. It is one of the few trees that does not take to domestication. When the original forest is reduced to a remnant of beech, as a rule, the remaining beech will soon begin to die at the top. It is difficult to transplant. When planted the hole should be filled with earth obtained from under a living tree, in order to introduce the mycorrhiza that is necessary to the growth of the tree. =2. CASTÀNEA.= The Chestnut. =Castanea dentàta= (Marshall) Borkhausen. Chestnut. Plate 39. Large trees with deeply fissured bark, smooth on young trees; young twigs more or less hairy, soon becoming glabrous and a reddish-brown; leaves lanceolate, average blades 13-22 cm. long, taper-pointed, wedge-shape or obtuse at the base, coarsely serrate, teeth usually incurved, at maturity glabrous on both sides; flowers appear after the leaves in the latter part of June or early in July, the staminate catkins from the axils of the leaves of the year's growth, 1.5-3 dm. long, pistillate flowers in heads on short stalks in the axils of the leaves, usually on the branch beyond the greater part of the staminate catkins; fruit a globular spiny bur 5-7 cm. in diameter which contains the nuts; nuts usually 1-3, rarely 5, flattened on one side, edible; wood light, soft, not strong, checks and warps on seasoning, yellowish-brown, durable in contact with the ground. [Illustration: Plate 39. CASTANEA DENTATA (Marshall) Borkhausen. Chestnut. (× 1/2.)] =Distribution.=--Maine, southern Ontario, Michigan, south to Delaware and in the mountains to Alabama, and west to Arkansas. In Indiana it is found locally in the south central counties. The most northern station where I have seen trees that are native to a certainty is in Morgan County a short distance north of Martinsville. There are a few trees on the south bank of White River in Mound Park about 2 miles east of Anderson. This site was formerly an Indian village, and the trees may have been introduced here. The late A. C. Benedict formerly of the State Geological Survey, told me he saw a colony in 1878 in Fayette County on the farm of Dr. B. Ball, about 3 miles west of Connersville on the east side of Little Williams Creek. The trees were at least 6 dm. in diameter. The western line of distribution would be a line drawn from Martinsville to a point a few miles west of Shoals and south to Tell City. =Remarks.=--The greatest numbers of this species are found on the outcrops of the knobstone in Clark, Floyd, Harrison, Jackson, Lawrence, Martin, Orange and Washington Counties. It grows on high ground, associated with white and black oak, beech, etc. The species in all of our area grows to be a large tree. In the Ind. Geol. Rept. 1874:70:1875 there is a reference to a "stump in Jackson County that was 9 ft. and 2 in. in diameter." This species is rather gregarious in habit, and rarely are isolated trees found. It is quite local in its distribution, but where found it is usually a common tree. The bark was much used in tanning, and the timber for poles, ties and posts. The demand for this species has led to heavy cutting, so that the present supply is practically limited to inferior or small trees. The nut crop in this State is usually badly infested by the weevil. This species is easily propagated by seed or seedlings. It is recommended for forest planting in all parts of its natural range and other parts of the State where the soil is very sandy and free from limestone. This species never attains to an old age when growing close to the limestone. It grows rapidly and requires little pruning. The only objection to planting it for forestry purposes is that it might be infested by the chestnut bark disease which is fatal to this tree. This disease is far to the east of us, and there are wide barriers to its western migration. Since a chestnut grove would soon grow into post and pole size, in the event the grove would be killed by the bark disease, the crop could be harvested and the loss would be more of the nature of a disappointment than a financial one. If planted in a cleared area the seedlings should be spaced about 5 × 5 feet if no cultivation can be done. If the trees can be cultivated, plant 7 × 7 or 8 × 8 feet and grow corn for one or two years between the rows. =3. QUÉRCUS.= The Oaks. The leaves of Indiana oaks are deciduous; flowers appear in April or May, very small, the staminate on slender pendulous catkins, the pistillate solitary or in clusters in scaly bud-like cups; fruit an acorn which takes one or two years to mature, ripening in September or October. The species that mature their fruit the first year are popularly and commercially classed as "white oaks." Those that mature their fruit the second year are classed as "red, black or bristle-tipped oaks." The oaks are the largest genus of Indiana trees, and commercially are the most important of all trees of the State. They are the longest lived of all the trees that occur in the State, and while they have numerous insect enemies none of them prove fatal to it, except a certain gall insect. Note:--In collecting leaf specimens of oaks for identification it should be borne in mind that the foliage is quite variable. The leaves of seedlings, coppice shoots and of vigorous shoots of old trees sometimes vary considerably in size, form and leaf-margins. Also leaves of old trees that grow in the shade usually have the margins more nearly entire than the typical leaves. For example leaves may be found on the lower and interior branches of a pin oak which are not lobed to beyond the middle, which throws them into the red oak group. Bark gray, (except in No. 5) more or less scaly; mature leaves never with bristle tips; fruit maturing the first year. Mature leaves smooth beneath. 1 Q. alba. Mature leaves pubescent beneath. Primary veins beneath show regular pinnate venation. Some of the primary veins beneath end in a sinus. 2 Q. bicolor. All primary veins beneath end in teeth of the margin. Tips of leaves of fruiting branches sharp-pointed, usually forming an acute angle; fruit sessile or nearly so. 3 Q. Muhlenbergii. Tips of leaves of fruiting branches rounded or if sharp-pointed, it rarely forms an acute angle; fruit peduncled. Petioles green and woolly pubescent beneath (rarely almost glabrous); under surface of leaves velvety to the touch; bark gray, scaly, of the white oak type; trees of low ground. 4 Q. Michauxii. Petioles yellowish and smooth beneath, or rarely somewhat pubescent; under surface of leaves not velvety to the touch; bark dark, and tight, of the red oak type; trees of high ground (in Indiana confined to the "knobstone" area). 5 Q. Prinus. Primary veins beneath show irregular venation. Last year's growth pubescent; acorns generally less than 12 mm. in diameter. 6 Q. stellata. Last year's growth glabrous or nearly so; acorns more than 12 mm. in diameter. Leaves sinuate dentate, sometimes lobed near the base, velvety to the touch beneath; peduncles of fruit longer than the petioles. 2 Q. bicolor. Leaves irregularly lobed, harsh or rarely velvety or smooth to the touch beneath; peduncles of fruit shorter than the petioles. Cup of fruit fringed; apex of lobes of leaves generally rounded; trees of lowland. 7 Q. macrocarpa. Cup of fruit not fringed; apex of lobes of leaves generally acute; trees of swamps in the extreme southwestern counties of Indiana. 8 Q. lyrata. Bark dark, tight and furrowed; leaves with bristle tips; fruit maturing the second year. Leaves entire 9 Q. imbricaria. Leaves more or less deeply lobed, the lobes and teeth conspicuously bristle pointed. Mature leaves smooth beneath, except tufts of hairs in the axils. Leaves lobed to about the middle, the lateral lobes broadest at the base; cup saucer-shaped; nut about 1.5-2 cm. in diameter; terminal buds reddish. 10 Q. rubra. Leaves lobed to beyond the middle, frequently those grown in dense shade not so deeply lobed, some or all of the lateral lobes broadest toward the apex. Cup saucer-shaped, rarely enclosing the nut for more than 1/3 its length; trees of the low lands and swamps. Leaves glossy above; blades usually 10-12 cm. long; cups usually 1.5 cm. or less broad; terminal buds chestnut brown. 11 Q. palustris. Leaves dull above, usually about 15 cm. long; cups 1.5-2.5 cm. broad, rarely as narrow as 1.5 cm.; terminal buds grayish brown. 12 Q. Schneckii. Cup hemispheric, generally enclosing the nut for half its length; trees of the uplands. Inner bark yellowish or orange; kernel of nut yellowish or orange, and very bitter. Terminal buds usually 5 mm. or less in length, ovoid and generally blunt, reddish-brown; scales of cup closely appressed; trees local in the extreme northwest part of the State. 13 Q. ellipsoidalis. Terminal buds usually longer than 6 mm., usually angled and sharp-pointed; scales of cup not closely appressed; trees of all parts of the State 14 Q. velutina. Inner bark reddish or gray; kernel white and not very bitter 15 Q. coccinea. Mature leaves more or less pubescent on the whole under surface. Leaves grayish or yellowish pubescent beneath; scales of cup with a reddish-brown border; nut enclosed for about 1/3 its length 16 Q. falcata. Leaves brownish or rusty pubescent beneath, sometimes appearing grayish; scales of cup without a dark border; nut enclosed for about half of its length. Leaves expanded at the apex, and generally with three lobes; mature twigs generally scurvy-pubescent 17 Q. marilandica. Leaves deeply lobed; mature twigs generally glabrous. 14 Q. velutina. =1.= =Quercus álba= Linnæus. White Oak. Plate 40. Large trees with gray, fissured bark, flaky on the branches, on the upper part of the trunks of some trees the bark loosens at the fissures and peels back, forming flat strips which remain attached at one side; twigs at first hairy, becoming smooth; leaves mostly obovate in outline, generally 8-20 cm. long on petioles 0.5-2 cm. long, more or less deeply lobed into 5-9 lobes, the lobes ascending and generally blunt and entire, sometimes the lobes have one or two secondary lobes, leaves narrowed and oblique at the base, smooth above, smooth and glaucous beneath; acorns sessile or on stalks up to 2 cm. long; nuts quite variable on different trees as to size and shape, ovoid or oblong, 18-30 mm. long; cup flat on the bottom, tuberculate and encloses about 1/4 of the nut; scales blunt and woolly. =Distribution.=--Maine, southern Ontario, Minnesota south to Florida and Texas. Found in all parts of Indiana. In point of number it is exceeded only by the beech, although it has a more general distribution. It is adapted to many types of soil, and is found in almost all situations in Indiana except in very wet soils. It is sparingly found in the sand dune area. On the clay soils of the northern part of the State it is a frequent to an abundant tree, and in the southern part of the State it often forms complete stands on the slopes of the hills. The white oak is one of the largest and possibly the longest lived tree of Indiana. While it is able to adapt itself to many situations, it grows to the largest size in a porous, moist and rich soil. =Remarks.=--Wood heavy, hard, close-grained, tough, strong and durable. On account of its abundance, and wide range of uses, it has always been the most important timber tree of Indiana. Formerly the woods were full of white oak 1-1.5 meters (3-5 ft.) in diameter, but today trees of a meter (3 ft.) in diameter with long straight trunks are rare indeed. Michaux who traveled extensively in America 1801-1807, while the whole Mississippi Valley was yet a wilderness, remarks: "The white oak is the most valuable tree in America." He observed the ruthless destruction of this valuable tree, and predicted that the supply would soon be depleted, and that America would be sorry that regulations were not adopted to conserve the supply of this valuable tree. Michaux's prediction has come true, and yet no constructive measures have been provided to insure the Nation an adequate supply of this timber. It should be remembered that it requires two to three hundred years to grow a white oak a meter in diameter, and if we are to have white oak of that size in the next generation the largest of our present stand must be spared for that harvest. [Illustration: Plate 40. QUERCUS ALBA Linnæus. White Oak. (× 1/2.) Acorns from different trees to show variation.] White oak was formerly much used in construction work, but it has become so costly that cheaper woods take its place. At present it is used principally in cooperage, interior finish, wagon and car stock, furniture, agricultural implements, crossties, and veneer. Indiana has the reputation of furnishing the best grade of white oak in the world. Little attention has been given this valuable species either in horticultural or forestal planting. This no doubt is due in a great measure to the slow growth of the tree. It should be used more for shade tree, ornamental and roadside tree planting. There are good reasons why white oak should be much used in reforestation. The cheapest and most successful method of propagating white oak is to plant the seed in the places where the trees are desired to grow. This is best done by planting the acorns as soon as they fall or are mature. The best results will be obtained if the nuts are planted with the small end down, and covered about an inch deep with earth. If the ground is a hard clay soil and the small end of the nut is placed down a half inch of earth on the nut is sufficient. Rodents often destroy the nuts, and if this danger is apprehended it is best to poison the rodents or to stratify the seed, or grow seedlings and plant them when they are one year old. In forestal planting it is suggested that the planting be 4 × 4 feet. The white oak is quite variable in the lobing of the leaves, and in size and shape of the fruit, and in the length of its peduncle. The variable lobing of the leaves has lead several authors to describe varieties based on this character. The latest is that of Sargent[32] who describes: "The trees with leaves less deeply divided, with broad rounded lobes and usually smaller generally sessile fruit," as =Quercus alba= variety =latiloba=. =Quercus alba × Muhlenbérgii= (× _Quercus Deami_ Trelease). This rare hybrid was discovered in a woods about 3 miles northwest of Bluffton Indiana by L. A. Williamson and his son E. B. Williamson in 1904.[33] The tree is still standing and in 1918 bore a heavy crop of seed. A liberal quantity was sent for propagation to the Arnold Arboretum, New York Botanical Gardens, and Missouri Botanical Gardens. The Arboretum succeeded in germinating several seed. The New York Gardens succeeded in getting 5 seedlings. The Missouri Gardens failed to get any to germinate. About a gallon of seeds was planted in the Clark County State forest nursery and all failed. =2.= =Quercus bícolor Willdenow.= Swamp White Oak. Plate 41. Large trees; leaves on petioles 5-20 mm. long, 8-18 cm. long, obovate, wedge-shaped or narrowly rounded at base, rounded or pointed at the apex, margins coarsely divided with rounded or blunt teeth or somewhat pinnatifid, primary venation beneath somewhat regular, but usually some of the veins end in a sinus of the margin, both surfaces hairy at first, becoming smooth above and remaining velvety pubescent beneath; the upper surface of the leaf a bronze or dark green and the under surface grayish due to the dense tomentum, which in some instances becomes sparse and short, in which case the under surface is a light green; acorns usually in pairs on stalks 2-7 cm. long; nuts ovoid, 2-2.5 cm. long, enclosed for 1/3-1/2 their length in the cup; scales of cup acute to very long acuminate, scurvy pubescent and frequently tuberculate; kernel sweetish. =Distribution.=--Maine, southern Ontario, southern Minnesota south to Georgia and Arkansas. Found in all parts of Indiana. It is always found in wet places. In most of its range it is associated with the bur oak from which it is not commonly separated. In the northern counties it is usually associated with pin and bur oak, and white elm; in the flats of the southeastern part of the State it is usually associated with cow oak and sweet gum, while in the southwestern counties it is found most commonly with Spanish and pin oak. =Remarks.=--Commercially the wood is not distinguished from white oak, and the cut is sold for that species. =3.= =Quercus Muhlenbérgii= Engelmann. Chinquapin Oak. Sweet Oak. Yellow Oak. Chestnut Oak. Plate 42. Large trees; leaves on petioles 1-3 cm. long, blades very variable in size, shape and leaf margins, generally 10-20 cm. long, oblong-lanceolate to broadly obovate, narrowed or rounded and more or less unequal at the base, taper-pointed at the apex, the apex always forming an acute angle, margins coarsely and rather regularly toothed, primary veins beneath regular and straight, and end in a prominent gland in the point of the teeth, teeth more or less incurved, leaves smooth and dark green above, and grayish pubescent beneath; acorns generally sessile, but often on short stalks up to 1 cm. long; nut ovoid to oblong ovoid, 10-18 mm. long, enclosed for 1/4-1/2 its length in a very thin cup; scales of cup ovate, blunt-pointed or merely acute, sometimes tuberculate near the base of the cup, grayish pubescent without; kernel sweet, and the most edible of all of our oaks. [Illustration: Plate 41. QUERCUS BICOLOR Willdenow. Swamp White Oak. (× 1/2.)] [Illustration: Plate 42. QUERCUS MUHLENBERGII Engelmann. Chinquapin Oak. (× 1/2.) Detached acorns and leaves from different trees.] =Distribution.=--Vermont, southwestern Ontario to Wisconsin and south to Florida and west to Texas. Found in limited numbers in all parts of Indiana, although Hill's record for Lake county is the only record in the block of the 12 northwest counties. It is without a doubt found in every county south of the Wabash River. It is a rare or an infrequent tree in practically all parts of its range. It is generally found on the dry banks of streams, river terrace banks, rocky bluffs of streams, and only rarely in level dry woods. In the southern counties it is sometimes found on clay or rocky ridges. In most of its range it is now so rare that most of the inhabitants do not know the tree. =Remarks.=--Wood similar to white oak, and with the same uses. In White County a pioneer was found who knew the tree only by the name of pigeon oak. He said it received this name from the fact that the wild pigeons were fond of the acorns. The leaves of this tree vary greatly in size, shape, and leaf margins. The fruit also varies on different trees in the shape of the nut, and the depth of the cup. These variations have lead some authors to separate the forms and one histological study[34] seems to support minor differences. It has been observed that the leaves in the top of some trees may be thick, narrow and with long incurved teeth, while the leaves of the lower branches will be strongly obovate, thinner, and the teeth more dentate. In a general study it is best to include the polymorphic forms under one name. The distribution of the shallow and deep cup forms is so general that no regional or habitat areas can be assigned to either of them in Indiana. =4.= =Quercus Michaúxii= Nuttall (_Quercus Prinus_ Sargent). Cow Oak. Basket Oak. Plate 43. Large trees; leaves on petioles 1-3 cm. long, generally 1-2 dm. long, obovate, narrowed or narrowly rounded at the base, short taper-pointed, the apex generally blunt, the margins coarsely toothed, the teeth broad and rounded or more rarely acute, shaded leaves sometimes with margins merely undulate, hairy on both surfaces when young, becoming at maturity a dark yellow green and glabrous above, sometimes remaining somewhat pubescent along the midrib and the principal veins, leaves grayish and woolly pubescent beneath; acorns solitary or in pairs, sessile or on very short stalks, up to almost a cm. in length; nuts ovoid or oval with a broad base, enclosed for about 1/3 their length by the cup, the cups thick and generally 2-3 cm. broad; scales ovate, acute, rather blunt-pointed and more or less tuberculate near the base of the cup, tomentose on the back; kernel sweet. [Illustration: Plate 43. QUERCUS MICHAUXII Nuttall. Cow or Basket Oak. (× 1/2.)] =Distribution.=--Delaware, southern Indiana, Missouri, south to Florida and west to Texas. In Indiana it is believed that its distribution is pretty well known and well defined. It is an inhabitant of low wet woods, although large trees may be found in fairly dry woods which have been made dry by drainage. In discussing the distribution it must be remembered that this species was reported as _Quercus Prinus_ before the sixth edition of Gray's Manual which was published in 1890. Gorby's[35] reference to Miami County should be ignored, because he compiled his list of trees from a list of common names to which he appended the scientific names. His list includes several species which are not native, and his water willow (_Dianthera americana_) is an herbaceous plant. Wilson's[36] report for Hamilton County I believe also to be an error. Wilson preserved no specimen. Since Hamilton County has no cow oak habitat, and Wilson was not acquainted with the species, I think this reference should be transferred to the broad-leaf form of _Quercus Muhlenbergii_. The author has collected and distributed authentic specimens from a point 2-1/2 miles southwest of Napoleon in Ripley County. This species is reported by Meyncke for Franklin County as scarce, and by Collins for Dearborn County. Since the habitat of the species is found in these counties, it is fair to admit them into the range of the species. This species is a frequent to a very common tree in the flats of Clark, Scott, Jefferson, Jackson, Jennings, and Ripley Counties, where it is usually associated with beech and sweet gum. It is now known to range as far north as the northern parts of Jackson, Jennings and Ripley Counties. It is an infrequent tree of the Lower Wabash Valley as far north as southern Knox County and no doubt followed eastward along White River. It follows the Ohio River eastward at least to a point six miles east of Grandview in Spencer County. It no doubt was an occasional tree along the Ohio River up to Dearborn County. It has also been reported by Aiken for Hamilton County, Ohio. In the Lower Wabash Valley it is associated with Spanish and pin oak. =Remarks.=--Wood and uses similar to white oak. In the flats of southeastern Indiana it is generally called white oak, and in some places it is known as bur oak. It grows very rapidly and to a large size. A tree was measured in 1919 in the Klein woods about 4 miles north of North Vernon that was 3.57 meters (11 feet, 7 inches) in circumference, breast high, and was estimated to be 15 m. (50 feet) to the first branch. This species when grown in the open forms a large oval head, and in moist soil would make one of the best shade and roadside trees to be had. It is not known how it would adapt itself to high ground, but it is believed this species is worthy a trial as a shade tree. It is apparently hardy in the northern counties. =Quercus Bèadlei= Trelease. (_Quercus alba × Michauxii_). This hybrid between the white and cow oak was found by the writer in 1913 in the White River bottoms 3 miles east of Medora in Jackson County. The tree measured 3.54 meters (139 inches) in circumference breast high. Specimens were distributed under No. 19,037, and the determination was made by William Trelease, our leading authority on oaks. =5.= =Quercus Prìnus= Linnæus. (_Quercus montana_ Willdenow of some recent authors). Chestnut Oak. Plate 44. Medium to large sized tree; bark dark, tight, deeply fissured, the furrows wide, and the ridges continuous; leaves on petioles 1-3 cm. long, 1-2 dm. long, obovate to lanceolate, those growing in the shade usually the widest, rounded at the base, usually narrowly so or even wedge-shaped, short or long taper-pointed at the apex, the apex blunt, margins coarsely and nearly regularly crenate-toothed, the teeth broad and rounded, dark green above at maturity, a lighter and usually a yellow or grayish green beneath, only slightly hairy above when young, soon becoming entirely glabrate, very pubescent beneath when young and usually remaining so until maturity; petioles, midrib and primary veins beneath are usually conspicuously yellow, which is a distinctive character of this species; acorns solitary or in pairs, on short stalks usually about 1 cm. long, sometimes sessile; nuts large ovoid or oblong-ovoid, 2-3 cm. long, enclosed generally for about 1/3 their length in a thin cup; scales with triangular blunt tips, generally somewhat tuberculate and pubescent on the back; kernel sweet. =Distribution.=--Maine, northern shore of Lake Erie, to west central Indiana and south to northern Georgia and Alabama. In Indiana its distribution is limited to the knobstone and sandstone area of the State. Its distribution has been fairly well mapped. Two large trees on the edge of the top of the bluff of the Ohio River at Marble Hill which is located in the south corner of Jefferson County is the eastern limit of its range. It crowns some of the ridges, sometimes extending down the adjacent slopes a short distance, from Floyd County north to the south side of Salt Creek in Brown County. Its range then extends west to the east side of Monroe County, thence southwestward to the west side of Martin County, thence south to the Ohio River. Where it is found it is generally such a common tree that the areas are commonly called chestnut oak ridges and are regarded as our poorest and most stony land. In Floyd and Clark counties it is usually associated with scrub pine. In the remainder of its range it is generally associated with black jack post and black oaks. In our area this species is never found closely associated with limestone, and reports of this species being found on limestone areas should be referred to _Quercus Muhlenbergii_. [Illustration: Plate 44. QUERCUS PRINUS Linnæus. Chestnut Oak. (× 1/2.) Acorns and loose leaves from different trees.] =Remarks.=--Wood similar and uses generally the same as white oak. The tree usually grows in such poor situations that it never acquires a large diameter, and it is only when a tree is found in a cove or in richer and deeper soil that it grows to a large size. The amount of this species is very limited and it is therefore of no especial economic importance as a source of timber supply. The bark is rich in tannin. The crests of chestnut oak ridges are often cut bare of this species. The trunks are made into crossties, and the larger branches are peeled for their bark. The nuts germinate on top of the ground as soon as they fall, or even before they fall. Usually a large percentage germinate. The tree grows rapidly where soil conditions are at all favorable. It is believed that this species should be used to reforest the chestnut oak ridges of the State, and possibly it would be one of the best to employ on the slopes of other poor ridges. =6.= =Quercus stellàta= Wangenheim. Post Oak. Plate 45. Medium to large trees; bark resembles that of the white oak except on old trees the fissures are deeper when compared with a white oak of equal size, and the ridges are usually broken into shorter lengths; twigs stout, yellowish-brown at first, remaining this color more or less to the end of the season, at first densely covered with hairs which remain throughout the season, and usually one year old branchlets are more or less tomentose; leaves on hairy petioles 0.3-3 cm. long, generally about 1 cm. long; leaves obovate in outline, commonly 1-2 dm. long and about 2/3 as wide, and generally lobed into five principal lobes which are disposed as follows: the two basal are formed by two deep sinuses just below the middle of the leaf which cut off a large roughly triangular portion, one angle of which forms the base, the top two angles prolonged on each side into a rounded lobe which may be long or short; the terminal lobe is produced by two deep sinuses which constrict the blade at about 1/4-1/3 its length from the apex; the two basal and two terminal sinuses form the two lateral lobes which in size are equal to about one half of the leaf area; the lateral lobes are generally ascending with the terminal portion usually indented with a shallow sinus which produces two short lobes; the terminal lobe of the leaf commonly has two or three shallow secondary lobes; all the lobes of the leaf are rounded; base of leaf narrowed or rounded; leaves very thick at maturity, when they first appear both surfaces are densely covered with a yellowish pubescence, at maturity the upper surface is a dark glossy green, and smooth or nearly so, except some leaves retain fascicles of hairs, and the midrib and principal veins may be more or less rough pubescent, the under surface at maturity is a gray-green, and remains more or less densely covered with fascicles of hairs; acorns single or in clusters, sessile or nearly so; nuts small, ovoid 10-15 mm. long and 6-10 mm. wide, inclosed for about 1/2 their length in the cup; scales ovate, gray or reddish brown, tomentose on the back, blunt except those near the top of the cup which are sometimes acute; kernel sweet. [Illustration: Plate 45. QUERCUS STELLATA Wangenheim. Post Oak. (× 1/2.) Acorns from different trees.] =Distribution.=--Massachusetts, Indiana, south to Florida, and west to Oklahoma and Texas. In Indiana it is confined to the southwestern part of the State. In our area it is found on the crest of ridges in the knob area where it is generally associated with black, and black jack oaks, hence in our poorest and thinnest soils. West of the knob area it takes up different habitats. From Vigo County southward it is found on sand ridges associated with black and black jack oaks. West of the knob area it is frequently found in black oak woods and in Warrick County about two miles southwest of Tennyson it is a frequent tree in the Little Pigeon Creek bottoms which are a hard light clay soil. Here it is associated with pin oak and cork elm (_Ulmus alata_). In the Lower Wabash Valley, especially in Point Township of Posey County in the hard clay of this area it is a frequent to a common tree, associated with Spanish, pin, swamp, white and shingle oaks, and sweet gum. In this area it grows to be a large tree. This species has been reported for Hamilton County by Wilson, but I regard this reference a wrong identification which will relieve Hamilton County of the reputation of having "post oak" land. It was reported, also, by Gorby for Miami County. Since Gorby's list is wholly unreliable, it is best to drop this reference. Higley and Raddin[37] reported a single tree near Whiting. Nieuwland[38] reported this species from near Mineral Springs in Porter County, the report being based on his number 10,207 which I have not seen. There is no reason to doubt these references, because it is not an unusual thing to find a southern form jump from southern Indiana to a congenial habitat about Lake Michigan. =Remarks.=--Wood is similar but tougher than white oak, and its uses are the same as white oak. Since in our area the tree is usually medium sized, most of the trees are worked up into crossties. A tree in a black oak woods 4 miles east of Washington in Daviess County measured 2.22 meters (87-1/2 inches) in circumference breast high. This species in some localities is called iron oak, and in Gibson County on the sand dune area it is called sand bur oak. [Illustration: Plate 46. QUERCUS MACROCARPA Michaux. Bur Oak. (× 1/2.) Acorns from different trees. The right two belong to the variety OLIVÆFORMIS.] =7.= =Quercus macrocàrpa= Michaux. Bur Oak. Plate 46. Large trees; branchlets of young trees generally develop corky wings which are usually absent on mature trees; leaves on petioles 1-2 cm. long, obovate in outline, generally 1-2.5 dm. long, the margins more or less deeply cut so that there are usually 7 lobes, sometimes only 5, or as many as 9 or 11, sometimes the sinuses extend to the midrib, giving the leaf a "skeleton" appearance, the lobes are very irregular in shape and variously arranged, but often appear as if in pairs, lobes rounded and ascending, the larger lobes are sometimes somewhat lobed, the three terminal lobes are usually the largest and considered as a whole would equal in size one half or more of the entire leaf area, the base of the leaf is wedge-shape or narrowly rounded; leaves at maturity are dark green and smooth above, or somewhat pubescent along the midrib, a gray-green and woolly pubescent beneath; acorns usually solitary, sometimes in pairs or clusters of three, sessile or on short stalks, sometimes on stalks as long as 2.5 cm.; nuts very variable in size and shape, ovoid to oblong, often very much depressed at the apex, 2-3 cm. long, enclosed from 1/3 to almost their entire length in the cup which is fringed at the top; cups thick and large, sometimes 4.5 cm. in diameter; scales tomentose on the back and somewhat tuberculate, blunt near the base of the cup, but at and near the top of the cup they become long attenuate and on some trees appear almost bristle like; kernel sweet. =Distribution.=--Nova Scotia to Manitoba, south to Georgia and west to Texas and Wyoming. Found in all parts of Indiana, although we have no reports from the knob area where no doubt it is only local. It is a tree of wet woods, low borders of streams, etc., except among the hills of southern Indiana, it is an occasional tree of the slopes. In favorable habitats it was a frequent to a common tree. Its most constant associates are white elm, swamp white and red oak, linn, green and black ash, shellbark hickory, etc. It is sometimes called mossy-cup oak. =Remarks.=--Wood and uses similar to that of white oak. In point of number, size and value it ranks as one of the most valuable trees of the State. Michaux[39] says: "A tree three miles from Troy, Ohio, was measured that was fourteen feet and nine inches in diameter six feet above the ground. The trunk rises about fifty feet without limbs, and with scarcely a perceptible diminution in size." =7a.= =Quercus macrocarpa= var. =olivæfórmis= (Michaux filius) Gray. This variety is distinguished from the typical form by its shallow cup, and the long oval nut which is often 3 cm. long. The cup is semi-hemispheric, and encloses the nut for about one-half its length. Authentic specimens are at hand from Wells County, and it has been reported from Gibson and Hamilton Counties. No doubt this form has a wider range. =8.= =Quercus lyràta= Walter. Overcup Oak. Plate 47. Medium sized trees; bark generally intermediate between that of the swamp white and bur oak; leaves on petioles 5-30 mm. long which are generally somewhat reddish toward the base, 10-20 cm. long, obovate or oblong-obovate, margins very irregularly divided into 5-9 short or long lobes, ascending and generally acute, ordinarily the three terminal lobes are the largest, base of leaves wedge-shape, or narrowly rounded, upper surface at maturity dark green and smooth, the under surface densely covered with a thick tomentum to which is added more or less long and single or fascicled straight hairs; when the leaves are as described on the under surface they are gray beneath; however, a form occurs which is yellow green beneath and has little or no tomentum, but is thickly covered with long single or fascicled straight hairs; acorn single or in pairs, on stalks generally about 1 cm. long, sometimes the stalks are 3 cm. long, the stalk lies in a plane at a right angle to the base of the acorn which is a characteristic of this species; nut depressed-globose, about 1.5 cm. long, generally almost completely enclosed in the cup, or sometimes enclosed only for about 2/3 its length; cup generally very thick at the base, gradually becoming thinner at the top, and often it splits open; scales tomentose on the back, those near the base, thick and tuberculate on the back and blunt, but those near the top of the cup are acute or long attenuate; kernel sweet. =Distribution.=--Maryland to Missouri,[40] and south to Florida and west to Texas. In Indiana it is found only about river sloughs or deep swamps in the southwestern counties. At present it is known only from Knox, Gibson, Posey and Spencer Counties. It was reported by Nieuwland[41] for Marshall County on the authority of Clark. This specimen was taken during a survey of Lake Maxinkuckee, and is deposited in the National Museum. I have had the specimen examined by an authority, who reports that it is some other species. Its habitat is that of areas that are inundated much of the winter season. It is so rare that its associates could not be learned. In one place it grew in a depression lower than a nearby pin oak, and in another place it grew in a depression in a very low woods, surrounded by sweet gum, big shell bark hickory, and pin oak. It is generally found singly in depressions, but it is a common tree on the low border of the west side of Burnett's pond in Gibson County. =Remarks.=--Wood and uses similar to that of white oak. In our area it is usually known as bur oak. [Illustration: Plate 47. QUERCUS LYRATA Walter. Overcup Oak. (× 1/2.) Acorns from different trees.] =9.= =Quercus imbricària= Michaux. Shingle Oak. Plate 48. Medium to large sized trees; leaves on petioles generally 0.5-1 cm. long, 7-16 cm. long, elliptic to oblong-lanceolate, narrowed or rounded at the base, apex generally sharp-pointed and ending with a bristle, sometimes very wide leaves are blunt at the apex, margins entire, when they first appear the upper surface is somewhat woolly and the under surface whitish with a dense tomentum, soon glabrous and a dark green above, remaining more or less densely woolly or pubescent beneath; acorns sessile or nearly so, solitary or in pairs; nuts ovoid, about 1 cm. long and enclosed for about 1/2 their length in the cup; cup rounded at the base; scales pubescent on the back and obtuse. =Distribution.=--Pennsylvania, Michigan to Nebraska, south to Georgia and west to Arkansas. Found throughout Indiana. It is essentially a tree of low ground, but it is sometimes found near the base of slopes, and in the knob area it is sometimes found on the crest of ridges. In all parts of Indiana except the southwestern part it is found only locally and then usually in colonies of a few trees. In Wells County, I know of only two trees located at the base of a slope bordering a pond in Jackson Township. In the southwestern part of the State it is frequent to a common tree in its peculiar habitat. It appears that when drainage basins decrease in size, and leave sandy river bottoms, and bordering low sand dunes, that the shingle oak is the first oak to occupy the area. On the sand ridges it is crowded out by the black, black jack and post oaks. In the bottoms it is succeeded by pin, Schneck's, Spanish, swamp white and post oaks. Special notes were made on its distribution on a trip through Gibson, Pike, Daviess, Greene and Sullivan Counties, going from Francisco northward through the Patoka bottoms where in many places it forms pure stands. Usually in situations a little higher than the pin oak zone. Thence eastward to Winslow and then north to Sandy Hook in Daviess County, thence north to Washington, Montgomery, Odon, Newberry, Lyons, Marco and Sullivan. In its habitat all along this route it was a frequent to a very common tree. A few miles northeast of Montgomery is a small area which a pioneer informed me was originally a prairie. Typical prairie plants are yet found along the roadside and fences in the area. I was informed that the shingle oak was the only species found on the area, and on the border of the area. It is believed the mass distribution of the species was in the area indicated by the preceding route. Both east and west of this area the species becomes less frequent. =Remarks.=--Wood similar to red oak, but much inferior. Evidently it is rather a slow growing tree, but it might find a use as a shade or ornamental tree in sandy habitats where the pin oak would not thrive. It is also called black oak, peach oak, jack oak and water oak. [Illustration: Plate 48. QUERCUS IMBRICARIA Michaux. Shingle Oak. (× 1/2.)] =10.= =Quercus rùbra= Linnæus. [_Quercus maxima_ (Marshall) Ashe of some recent authors]. Red Oak. Plate 49. Large trees; winter buds ovoid, pointed, reddish, outer scales glabrous, sometimes pubescent on the edges; twigs soon smooth and reddish; leaves on petioles 2.5-5 cm. long, 10-20 cm. long, oval to oblong-obovate, broadly wedge-shape or truncate at the base, the margins divided by wide or narrow sinuses generally into 7-9 lobes, sometimes as many as 11, the lobes not uniform in size or shape, lobes broadest at the base and ending generally in 1-5 bristle points, pubescent above and below at first, soon becoming smooth at maturity and a dark green above, paler and yellowish-green beneath and smooth or with tufts of tomentum in the axils of the veins; acorns solitary or in pairs, sessile or on very short stalks; nuts ovoid, flat at the base, and rounded at the apex, 2-3 cm. long, enclosed for about 1/4 their length in the shallow cup; cups 2-3 cm. in diameter, thick, saucer-shape, flat or only slightly rounded at the base; scales ovate, blunt, appressed, and pubescent on the back; kernel somewhat bitter, eaten by hogs and cattle, but not relished by wild animals. =Distribution.=--Nova Scotia to Minnesota, south to Florida and west to Texas. Found throughout Indiana, although local in the knob area. Its preferred habitat is that of moist, rich and fairly well drained woods. It does not thrive in situations that are inundated much of the winter season such as the pin oak will endure. In the southern part of the State, especially in the flats it is frequently found on the high bluffs of streams and very large forest trees are frequent on a dry wooded slope of ten acres, on the Davis farm four miles south of Salem. In a congenial habitat it was a frequent to a common tree, although such a thing as nearly a pure stand would never be met with, such as was often formed by the white, black, shingle or pin oak. =Remarks.=--Wood hard, heavy, strong, close-grained, but not as good as white oak in any of its mechanical qualities. Commercially all of the biennial oaks are usually considered as red oak. The true red oak, however, is generally considered the best of all the biennial oaks. Until recently, when white oak became scarce, red oak was not in much demand, and was used principally for construction material. Now it is substituted in many places for white oak, and the uses now are in a great measure the same as those of white oak. The red oak grows rapidly, and is able to adapt itself to many soil conditions. It has been used in European countries for two centuries for shade and ornamental planting. It reproduces easily by planting the acorns, and should receive attention by woodlot owners as a suitable species for reinforcing woodlands, or in general forest planting. [Illustration: Plate 49. QUERCUS RUBRA Linnæus. Red Oak. (× 1/2.) Acorns from different trees.] =11.= =Quercus palústris= Du Roi. Pin Oak. Plate 50. Medium to large trees with very tight bark, the furrows shallow and generally wide; twigs at first pubescent, soon becoming smooth and reddish-brown; leaves on petioles generally 1-5 cm. long, blades about 7-15 cm. long, usually about 2/3 as wide, sometimes as wide as long, ovate to obovate in outline, narrowed to broadly truncate at the base, the margins divided into 5-7 lobes by deep and wide sinuses, except leaves that grow in the shade, the sinus cuts the blade to more than half way to the midrib, the lobes are widest at the base, or sometimes widest near the apex, the lobes usually somewhat toothed or lobed and end in 1-7 bristle tips, leaves hairy when they first appear, soon becoming glabrate and a glossy dark green above, a paler green beneath and smooth except tufts of hairs in the axils of the principal veins; acorns sessile or nearly so, single or in clusters; nuts subglobose or ovoid, generally 10-12 mm. long, the ovoid form somewhat smaller, covered about 1/4 their length by the shallow cups; cups saucer-shape and generally flat on the bottom, those with the ovoid nuts are rounded on the bottom; scales pubescent on the back, and rounded or blunt at the apex. =Distribution.=--Massachusetts, southwestern Ontario, Michigan to Iowa and south to Virginia and west to Oklahoma. Found in every county of Indiana. It is found only in wet situations where it is a frequent to a common tree. It prefers a hard compact clay soil with little drainage hence is rarely met with on the low borders of lakes where the soil is principally organic matter. =Remarks.=--Wood similar to red oak, but much inferior to it. It is tardy in the natural pruning of its lower branches, and when the dead branches break off they usually do so at some distance from the trunk. The stumps of the dead branches which penetrate to the center of the tree have given it the name of pin oak. It is also sometimes called water oak, and swamp oak. For street and ornamental planting it is one of the most desirable oaks to use. It is adapted to a moist soil, grows rapidly, and produces a dense shade. When grown in the open it develops a pyramidal crown. The nut of this species always has a depressed form, except a tree or two in Wells County which produce ovate nuts which are cone-pointed, and in bulk about half the size of the ordinary form. This form should be looked for to ascertain its area of distribution. [Illustration: Plate 50. QUERCUS PALUSTRIS Muenchhausen. (× 1/2.) Acorns from different trees. Those on the left the common form, those on the right the rare form.] [Illustration: Plate 51. QUERCUS SCHNECKII Britton. Schneck's Oak. (× 1/2.) Specimens from type tree.] =12.= =Quercus Schnéckii= Britton. Schneck's Oak. Plate 51. Large trees; bark somewhat intermediate between pin and red oak; twigs gray by autumn; winter buds large, about 0.5 cm. long, ovoid, glabrous and gray; leaves on petioles 2-6 cm. long, blades generally 8-18 cm. long, generally truncate at the base, sometimes wedge-shaped, leaves ovate to obovate in outline, divided into 5-7 lobes, by deep rounded and wide sinuses, the sinuses cutting the blade to more than half way to the midrib, except the leaves of lower branches that grow in the shade, the lobes variable in shape and size, usually the lowest are the shortest and smaller, the middle the longest and largest, the lobes are sometimes widest at the base, and sometimes widest at the apex, the end of the lobes are more or less toothed or lobed; the leaves at maturity are bright green, glossy and smooth above, a paler and yellow green and smooth beneath except tufts of hairs in the axils of the principal veins; acorns solitary or in pairs, usually on stalks about 0.5 cm. long; nuts ovoid, sometimes broadly so, or oblong, broad and flat or slightly convex at base, usually 1.5-2 cm. long, enclosed in the cup from 1/4-1/3 their length; cups flat or convex at the base: scales generally pubescent on the back, gray or with a reddish tip on those of the Lower Wabash Valley, or reddish gray and with margins more or less red of trees of the Upper Wabash Valley. =Distribution.=--In Indiana this species has been reported only from Wells, Bartholomew, Vermillion, Knox, Gibson and Posey Counties. This species was not separated from our common red oak until after all of the local floras of Indiana had been written, and it may have a much wider range than is at present known. In Wells County it is the prevailing "red oak" of the county, and no doubt is distributed throughout the Wabash Valley. In this area it is associated with all moist ground species. In the lower Wabash Valley, especially in Gibson, Knox and Posey Counties it is associated with Spanish, pin, and shingle oaks, sweet gum, etc. Several trees were noted in Knox County in Little Cypress swamp where it was associated with cypress, pin oak, white elm, red maple and swell-butt ash. =Remarks.=--This anomalous red oak has a range from Indiana to Texas. When the attention of authors was directed to it, several new species were the result. Later authors are not agreed as to whether this form, which has such a wide range and hence liable to show considerable variation within such a long range, is one or several species. C. S. Sargent who for years has studied this form throughout its range has seen the author's specimens and calls those with shallow cups typical or nearly typical _Quercus Shumardii_ Buckley[42] and those with the deep cups _Quercus Shumardii_ variety _Schneckii_ (Britton) Sargent. The writer has made rather an intensive study of the forms in Wells County and in the Lower Wabash Valley and has not been able to satisfy himself that, allowing for a reasonable variation, there is even a varietal difference in Indiana forms. The description has been drawn to cover all of the forms of Indiana. Dr. J. Schneck of Mt. Carmel, Illinois, was one of the first to discover that this form was not our common red oak, and when he called Dr. Britton's attention to it, Dr. Britton named it _Quercus Schneckii_ in honor of its discoverer. =13.= =Quercus ellipsoidàlis.= E. J. Hill. Hill's Oak. Plate 52. Medium sized trees; inner bark yellowish; twigs pubescent at first, becoming smooth and reddish brown by autumn; leaves on petioles 2-5 cm. long, ovate to slightly obovate or nearly orbicular in outline, 7-15 cm. long, wedge-shape or, truncate at the base, margin divided into 5-7 long lobes by wide sinuses which usually extend to more than half way to the midrib, sinuses rounded at the base, lobes broadest at the base or the apex, ending in 1-7 bristle points, leaves at first pubescent, both above and below, soon becoming glabrous above, and smooth beneath except tufts of hairs in the axils of the principal veins; acorns nearly sessile or on short stalks, single or in pairs; nuts oval to oblong, 12-20 mm. long, enclosed for 1/3-1/2 their length in the cup; scales obtuse, light reddish-brown, pubescent on the back; kernel pale yellow and bitter. =Distribution.=--Northwestern Indiana to Manitoba and south to Iowa. In Indiana it has been reported only from Lake and Porter Counties by Hill, and from White County by Heimlich. According to Hill, who has made the most extensive study of the distribution of this species in our area, the tree is found on sandy and clayey uplands, and in moist sandy places. It closely resembles the pin oak for which it has been mistaken. It also resembles the black and scarlet oaks. We have very little data on the range or distribution of the species in this State. =14.= =Quercus velùtina= Lamarck. Black Oak. Plate 53. Medium to large sized trees; inner bark yellow or orange; leaves on petioles 2-8 cm. long, ovate oblong or obovate, very variable in outline and in size, those of young trees and coppice shoots being very large, those of mature trees usually 12-18 cm. long, wedge-shape or truncate at the base, the margin divided into 5-9 lobes by wide and usually deep sinuses which are rounded at the base, the lobes variable in shape and size, the terminals of many of the lobes toothed or slightly lobed and ending in one or more bristles, leaves pubescent on both sides at first, soon becoming smooth, glossy and a dark green above; leaves of fruiting branches usually smooth beneath except the tufts of brown hairs in the axils of the principal veins, or rarely more or less pubescent over the whole under surface, the under surface of leaves of sterile branches and young trees usually are the most pubescent beneath, the leaves of some trees are much like those of the scarlet oak, but on the whole are larger; acorns sessile or nearly so, single or in pairs; nuts ovoid, oblong or subglobose, 1.5-2 cm. long, enclosed for about half their length in the cup-shaped cup; scales light-brown, densely pubescent on the back, obtuse, loose above the middle of the cup; kernel bitter. [Illustration: Plate 52. QUERCUS ELLIPSOIDALIS E. J. Hill. Hill's Oak. (× 1/2.) Specimens from type tree.] [Illustration: Plate 53. QUERCUS VELUTINA Lamarck. Black Oak. (× 1/2.)] =Distribution.=--Maine, southern Ontario, southern Minnesota, southern Nebraska south to Florida and west to Texas. Found throughout Indiana. It was no doubt found in every county or nearly every county of the State. It of course would be a rare tree throughout the rich black loam soils of the central Indiana counties. The black oak is confined to the poorer soils of the State, such as clay and gravelly ridges, sand dunes, sand ridges, and the hills of southern Indiana that are not covered with beech or white oak. It is a frequent to a common tree in the southwestern part of the State in the bottom lands where it is associated with Schneck's, shingle, and post oaks. In the northern part of the State it is generally associated with the white oak and if the soil is very poor it will form almost pure stands. On the poor ridges of southern Indiana it is generally associated with the white, and scarlet oaks, and invades habitats still poorer which are occupied by post, black jack, or chestnut oaks. Wherever the black oak is found it is generally more than a frequent tree and is usually a common tree or forms the principal stand. While the black is not so uniformly distributed over the State as the white oak, yet in point of numbers it nearly equals it, or may even exceed it. In Floyd and Harrison Counties are certain small areas which were known to the early settlers as the "barrens." These areas were treeless. They were covered with a growth of some sort of oak which the natives call "scrub" oak, hazel, and wild plum. The height of the growth in any part would "not hide a man on horse back." These areas are now all under cultivation, and are no longer distinguished from the forested areas. However, many parts of the barrens are now covered with forests, but these forests are a complete stand of black oak. Last year one of these areas was cut off, and the age of the trees were ascertained to be about 65 years old. The barrens of southern Indiana and adjacent States offer a good problem for ecologists. =Remarks.=--Wood similar to that of red oak, but often much inferior. The uses of the best grades of black oak are practically the same as red oak. Where the black and scarlet oaks are associated, the scarlet oak is rarely separated from it. The two species superficially much resemble each other. The black oak is always easily distinguished by cutting into the inner bark which is yellow, while that of scarlet oak is gray or reddish. The inner bark imparts a yellow color to spittle, and the scarlet does not. When mature fruiting branches are at hand they may be separated by the appearance of the acorns. The scales of the cups of the black oak are dull, and loosely imbricated near the top while those of the scarlet oak are rather glossy and closely imbricated. The scales of the scarlet oak, however, become somewhat loose after the acorn has matured, and fallen for some time. This species is sometimes called yellow oak. Since the chinquapin oak is also often called yellow oak, it is best to always call this species black oak. =15.= =Quercus coccínea= Muenchhausen. Scarlet Oak. Plate 54. Medium sized trees with bark resembling the black oak, inner bark gray or reddish; twigs reddish by autumn; winter buds reddish-brown and pubescent; leaves on petioles 2.5-6 cm. long, broadly oval to obovate, blades 7-15 cm. long, truncate or wedge-shape at the base, the blade divided into 5-7 lobes by deep and wide sinuses which cut the blade more than half the distance to the midrib, sinuses rounded at the base, the lobes variable in size and shape, usually the lowest are the shortest and smallest, the middle lobes the largest and longest, the lobes widest either at the base or the apex, the terminal part toothed or lobed, the terminal lobe generally 3-lobed or 3-toothed, both surfaces of the leaves at first pubescent, soon smooth and a dark glossy green above, and paler and smooth beneath except tufts of hairs in the axils of the principal veins; acorns sessile or nearly so, solitary or in pairs; nuts ovoid to oblong, 1.5-2 cm. long, enclosed for about half their length in the thick cup-shape cup; scales triangular but blunt, closely appressed, pubescent on the back except the center which is generally elevated and smooth and shiny, giving the cup a glossy appearance which easily separates it from its nearest ally the black oak whose cup is a dull, ash or reddish gray color; kernel white within, and less bitter than the black oak. =Distribution.=--Maine, southern Ontario to southern Nebraska, south to North Carolina, Alabama and Arkansas. It has been reported for the northwest counties and the southern part of Indiana, but we have no records for the east-central portion of the State. Clark reports it as common about Winona Lake, but does not report _Quercus velutina_ which is a common tree of the vicinity, and it is believed that Clark has confused the two species. In the northern part of the State its habitat is that of sand and gravel ridges associated with black oak. In the hill part of southern Indiana it is intimately associated with the black oak on the poorer ridges. We have no authentic records for the southwestern counties. The author has Schneck's specimens on which the record for Gibson and Posey County was based. I determined the specimens as belonging to the Spanish oak, and William Trelease verified the determination. I have no doubt that scarlet oak occurred on the sand ridges of that area. [Illustration: Plate 54. QUERCUS COCCINEA Muenchhausen. Scarlet Oak. (× 1/2.)] In the northern part of the State it is a rare or infrequent tree, while in favorable habitats in the hill country of the southern part of the State it is a frequent to a common tree. =Remarks.=--Wood similar but much inferior to red oak. The cut in this State is marketed as black oak, from which it is rarely separated. =16.= =Quercus falcàta= Michaux. Spanish Oak. Plate 55. Large trees; bark thick, rather deeply fissured, furrows usually narrow, ridges generally broad and broken into short lengths, the outer bark is reddish, except sometimes it becomes grayish by weathering; twigs densely pubescent at first, remaining more or less pubescent during the first year, or becoming smooth or nearly so and a reddish brown by autumn; leaves on petioles 0.5-6 cm. long, ordinarily about 2-3 cm. long, blades very variable in outline, ovate, ovate-oblong or obovate, usually somewhat curved, wedge-shaped, rounded or truncate at the base, shallow or deeply lobed, generally about 2/3 of the distance to the midrib; lobes 3-11, commonly 5-9, the number, size and shape of the lobes exceedingly variable, the longest lateral lobes are generally near the middle of the leaf, sometimes the lowest pair, sometimes the upper pair are the longest, terminal lobe triangular or oblong, generally widest at the base, although frequently widest at the apex, lateral lobes widest at the base and gradually becoming narrower, towards the apex, rarely somewhat wider at the apex, generally somewhat curved, lobes generally sharp-pointed, sometimes wide-angled or rounded at the apex, margins of lobes entire, wavy, toothed or lobed, sinuses wide and rounded at the base; leaves densely pubescent on both surfaces at first, gradually becoming smooth and dark green above by autumn, the under surface remaining covered with a tomentum which is grayish or yellowish; acorns sessile or nearly so, solitary or in pairs; nuts broadly ovoid, generally 10-12 mm. long, broadly rounded at the base, rounded at the apex, enclosed about one-half their length by the cup; cups strongly convex at the base; scales blunt, grayish and pubescent on their backs, their margins reddish and generally smooth. =Distribution.=--New Jersey and Missouri, south to Florida and west to Texas. The known distribution in Indiana would be that part of the State south of a line drawn from Vincennes to North Madison. It is local except in the southwestern counties. In our area it is found on both high and low ground. In Jefferson and Clark Counties it is found only in the flats where it is associated with beech, sweet gum, pin oak, red maple and black gum. A colony was found in Washington County on high ground, about eight miles southwest of Salem associated with black and post oak. In Harrison County about two miles southeast of Corydon it was found on the crest of a ridge with white and black oak. In Daviess County about four miles east of Washington it is associated with black and post oak. In Knox, Gibson, Pike and Warrick Counties it is local on sand ridges with black oak. It occurs in the greatest abundance in the river bottoms of Gibson, Posey and Spencer Counties, where it is generally associated with pin, Schneck's, shingle, swamp white, black and post oaks, and sweet gum. In the last named counties it is fairly well distributed, and is a frequent to a common tree. Brown's[43] report for Fountain County should not be recognized without a verifying specimen, since his list was compiled from a list of common names of the trees which he obtained. [Illustration: Plate 55. QUERCUS FALCATA Michaux. Spanish Oak. (× 1/2.)] =Remarks.=--Wood and uses similar to that of red oak. In Indiana it is all sold as red oak. In all parts of its range in Indiana it is known as red or black oak. However, the best accepted common name of this species throughout its range is Spanish oak, and since no other species is known by this name, it should be used for this species. The bark of this species varies considerably in color and tightness. The leaves are exceedingly variable in form. The leaves on the same tree will vary from 3-lobed to 11-lobed. Usually the lobing is deepest in the leaves nearest the top of the tree. Leaves of small trees, coppice shoots, and of the lower branches of some trees are often all or for the greater part 3-lobed. The color of the pubescence of the lower surface of the leaves varies from a gray to a yellow-gray. The variations have lead authors to divide this polymorphic species into several species and varieties. The author has included all the forms that occur in Indiana under one name. This species is variously known as _Quercus digitata_, _Quercus triloba_, _Quercus pagodaefolia_, and by the most recent authors as _Quercus pagoda_ and _Quercus rubra_ and its varieties. Specimens in the author's collection from Jefferson County were reported by Sargent[44] as _Quercus rubra_ var. _triloba_. =17.= =Quercus marilándica= Muenchhausen. Black Jack Oak. Plate 56. Mature trees generally 10-30 cm. in diameter; bark resembles that of a gnarled black oak; twigs generally scurvy-pubescent the first year; leaves on petioles from nearly sessile to 2.5 cm. long, usually less than a cm. long, blades 7-15 cm. long, broadly obovate, often almost as wide as long, narrowly rounded at the base, with three primary lobes at the apex, sometimes with two small lateral lobes, the apex is sometimes almost rounded and the position where the lobes usually occur is indicated by three primary veins which end in a bristle, the apex of the leaf is generally about equally divided into three lobes by two very shallow rounded sinuses, the lobes are rounded or merely acute; sometimes the terminal lobes develop a secondary lobe, leaves very pubescent both above and beneath when they first appear, becoming smooth and glossy above at maturity, and remaining more or less pubescent beneath; acorns sessile or nearly so, single or in pairs; nuts ovoid or oblong, 1-1.5 cm. long, broadly rounded at the base, rounded or somewhat conic at the apex, enclosed for about half their length in the cup-shaped cup; scales blunt, not closely appressed, pubescent on back, light reddish-brown; kernel bitter. [Illustration: Plate 56. QUERCUS MARILANDICA Muenchhausen. Black Jack Oak. (× 1/2.)] =Distribution.=--New York to Nebraska, south to Florida and west to Texas. In Indiana it is known to the author from Sullivan, Greene and Clark Counties and southwestward. It has been reported from Jefferson County by Barnes which is no doubt correct. Doubtful records are those by Brown for Fountain County, Miami County by Gorby, and Phinney's report for the area of Delaware, Jay, Randolph and Wayne Counties. It has been reported for the vicinity of Chicago by Higley and Raddin. It may be local on sterile, sandy ridges of the northern part of the State, but very local if it does occur. It is generally found in very poor soil on the crest of ridges associated with black and post oak. However, it has been found in Greene, Sullivan and Knox counties on sand ridges and at the base of sand ridges associated with black and post oak. The species has a very limited mass distribution and is only occasionally found and in colonies of a few trees each. =Remarks.=--Trees too small and scarce to be of any economic importance. ULMÀCEAE. The Elm Family. Trees or shrubs with simple, alternate, 2-ranked, petioled leaves; sepals 3-9, petals none, stamens as many as the sepals and opposite them, stigmas 2. Branchlets with solid pith; leaves with primary veins parallel; flowers borne on the twigs of the preceding season 1 Ulmus. Branchlets with chambered pith at the nodes; leaves 3-veined at the base; flowers borne on the twigs of the season 2 Celtis. 1. ÚLMUS. The Elms. Trees with furrowed bark; leaves short petioled, with lateral veins prominent and parallel, oblique or unequally heart-shaped at the base, taper-pointed at the apex, mostly double-serrate; flowers of Indiana species expanding before the leaves in March or April; fruit a samara surrounded with a wide membranous margin, maturing in the spring. Inner bark mucilaginous; leaves very rough above; flowers nearly sessile; fruit not ciliate 1 U. fulva. Inner bark not mucilaginous; leaves smooth or somewhat rough above; flowers on slender pedicils; fruit ciliate. Branches without corky wings; sides of samara glabrous 2 U. americana. Branches (at least some of them) with corky wings; at least one side of the samara pubescent. Buds ovate, not twice as long as wide, obtuse, or short-pointed, dark brown; scales pubescent and ciliate; leaves usually not twice as long as wide, base of petiole glabrous beneath; calyx lobes 7-9 3 U. Thomasi. Buds small, narrow, twice as long as wide, very sharp-pointed, light brown; scales glabrous or merely puberulent; leaves usually twice as long as wide, base of petiole pubescent all around 4 U. alata. =1. Ulmus fúlva= Michaux. Slippery Elm. Red Elm. Plate 57. Fairly large trees with deeply fissured reddish-brown bark without white streaks between the layers of the ridges, twigs very pubescent and green at first, becoming gray or reddish-brown at the end of the season and remaining more or less pubescent for a year or more; buds ovate, a very dark reddish brown, the scales more or less pubescent; leaves ovate, oval or slightly obovate, average blades 8-15 cm. long, hairy on both surfaces at first, remaining more or less pubescent beneath until maturity, and becoming very rough above with a few scattered hairs remaining, fragrant when dried, fragrance remaining for years; fruit ripening the last of April or the first of May before or with the unfolding of the leaves; samara orbicular or obovate, usually longer than wide, average size 13-17 mm. long and 9-12 mm. wide, the margin as wide or wider than the seed, margin glabrous, seed densely pubescent on both sides; wood hard, strong, light when well seasoned and not warping as badly as white elm. =Distribution.=--Quebec south to Florida, west to Texas, Nebraska and North Dakota. Found in all parts of Indiana. In the prairies or in the "flats" it may be absent in one or more contiguous counties and may be entirely absent on the crests and upper slopes of ridges. It prefers a moist well drained soil, and where it is found it is usually a frequent to a common tree, although rarely is it found as a very common tree. It is usually associated with sugar maple, beech, white ash, linn, tulip, white oak, etc. =Remarks.=--This tree usually is from 3-6 dm. in diameter and tall for its diameter. However, larger trees occur. In the Ind. Geol. Rept. 6:70:1875 mention is made of a tree in Jackson County that was "18 feet in circumference." The uses of the wood are similar to that of white elm. The inner bark collected in spring is much used in medicine under the name of slippery elm. [Illustration: Plate 57. ULMUS FULVA Michaux. Red or Slippery Elm. (× 1/2.)] =2. Ulmus americàna= Linnæus. White Elm. Plate 58. Large trees; bark deeply fissured, gray, the ridges showing white streaks between the layers; twigs more or less hairy at first and usually becoming glabrous by the end of the season; buds ovate, acute and glabrous; leaves ovate, oval or obovate, average blades 8-12 cm. long, hairy on both sides on expanding, becoming at maturity glabrous above and smooth or rough, sometimes very rough on vigorous young shoots, remaining pubescent beneath, rarely glabrous; fruit ripening before or as the leaves unfold, generally oval in shape, about 1 cm. long, both surfaces glabrous, margins about as wide as the seed and fringed with hairs; wood hard, tough, flexible, generally hard to split, warps badly in seasoning. =Distribution.=--Quebec to Florida, west to Texas and Nebraska. Found throughout Indiana, and doubtless in every county. It is frequent to common or very common on the flood plains of streams, in wet woods and in low ground generally. =Remarks.=--This species is also called water elm, swamp elm, gray elm, bitter elm, sour elm and in southwestern counties it is often called red elm. In Perry County it is often called hub elm. It is generally known as "elm" and when this term is used, it refers to this species. The wood has a very wide range of uses. The greatest amount has been used for hoops, staves and heading. Large quantities have been used in the manufacture of agricultural implements, hubs, furniture, basket handles, etc. White elm is usually considered very difficult to split, but I was informed by a pioneer timber cutter that the heart wood of the veterans of the forest splits as well as oak, and that he worked many a tree up into staves. He told me that he made into staves a tree in Paulding County, Ohio, that was eight feet in diameter at the stump. There is little attempt being made by woodlot owners to propagate this tree. However, the natural propagation of the species is probably greater than any other species because it produces seed at an early age, and culls of the forest are not cut because they are not good for fuel which leaves them to produce seed. Then the seed are light, and are scattered to great distances by the wind and water. It is propagated very easily from seedlings. The tree when grown in the open has a tendency to be bushy and unless it is given some pruning will have a very short clear trunk. It has always been regarded as one of the best species for shade tree planting. For beauty of form it is not excelled by any tree for shade or ornamental planting. However, it has several insect enemies that require spraying to keep them under control. [Illustration: Plate 58. ULMUS AMERICANA Linnæus. White Elm. (× 1/2.)] =3. Ulmus Thomási= Sargent. Hickory Elm. Rock Elm. Plate 59. Large trees; bark deeply fissured and grayish like the bark of the white elm; twigs light brown, generally densely hairy and remaining more or less pubescent until the end of the season or later, the twigs of some specimens are glabrous or only slightly hairy at first and soon become glabrous and somewhat glaucous, after the first year some of the branchlets begin to develop 1-4 corky ridges from a few millimeters to 5 or 6 mm. in thickness, the ridges are wide and rounded at the top, dark gray, brown and discontinuous, rarely a corky ridge will appear on a branchlet the first year; leaves oval or obovate, average blades 8-15 cm. long, at maturity glabrous and smooth or rough to very rough above, permanently pubescent beneath especially on the veins; fruit ripens late in May or early in June when the leaves are from 1/2 to 2/3 grown; samara oval, usually 1.5-2 cm. long, oblique at the base, with a beak 2-5 mm. long at the apex, both faces pubescent, wing about as wide as the seed; wood hard heavy, strong, flexible, uses the same as white elm. =Distribution.=--Southern Quebec and Ontario south to northern New Jersey and west to Minnesota and Missouri. The distribution in Indiana has not been studied. The frequency of its occurrence is not known, and all of the known stations are given. The published records are as follows: Dearborn (Collins); Franklin (Meyncke); Hamilton (Wilson); Jefferson (Barnes) and (Deam); Noble (VanGorder); Parke (Hobbs); St. Joseph (Nieuwland); Steuben (Bradner); Wayne (Petry and Markle); Wells (Deam). Additional records are Hendricks, Noble, Ripley, Vermillion and Wayne by Deam. The published record for Posey County by Deam and Schneck should be referred to _Ulmus alata_. It prefers a well drained soil and is most frequently found near the base of the slope or on the top of flood plain banks of streams, in ravines, or in a habitat like a beech-sugar maple woods. It is reported to have been frequent in Franklin, Noble and Wells Counties. Its appearance and habit of growth is so much like the white elm that it is not commonly distinguished from it, which accounts for the lack of definite knowledge of its range in our area. [Illustration: Plate 59. ULMUS THOMASI Sargent. Hickory or Rock Elm. (× 1/2.)] [Illustration: Plate 60. ULMUS ALATA Michaux. Winged Elm. (× 1/2.)] =4. Ulmus alàta= Michaux. Winged Elm. Plate 60. Small to medium sized trees; bark rather closely fissured, grayish or reddish-brown, in appearance like white elm; twigs hairy at first, generally remaining more or less pubescent throughout the season, rarely becoming entirely glabrous before the end of the season, a light brown gradually becoming a gray-brown; branchlets usually begin to develop two thin narrow corky ridges, becoming by the end of the second year 4-7 mm. thick, the year's growth of corky layer a light brown, the older layers a darker brown, the two main corky ridges are on opposite sides of the twigs, and between these there are generally additional corky excrescences, especially on the older branches; leaves oblong-lanceolate or oval, some somewhat falcate, average blades 4-8 cm. long, pubescent on both sides on unfolding, becoming at maturity glabrous or nearly so above, some are rough above at maturity, remaining pubescent until maturity beneath; petioles short, generally 2-3 mm. long, rarely 5 mm. or longer; fruit ripening before or with the unfolding of the leaves; samara 6-10 mm. long, pubescent on both faces. =Distribution.=--Virginia west through southern Indiana to southern Missouri, south to the Gulf and west to Texas. In Indiana it is confined to the southwestern part of the State. Gorby's report for Miami should be ignored. It has been reported as far north as Vigo and Monroe Counties by Blatchley, and as far east as Clark County by Baird and Taylor. The author has collected it in Crawford, Dubois, Martin, Orange, Perry, Posey, Spencer and Warrick Counties. The tree has two rather distinct habitats. In the hill counties it is found on the sides of cliffs, steep slopes or on the top of the ridges with such species as the black, chestnut and scarlet oaks and chestnut. In this habitat it is usually a small scrubby tree with an excessive number of side branches. Such specimens usually have the corky ridges well developed on all of the branches and the tree presents a weird appearance. The second habitat is in the hard clay flats of the southwestern counties. In Warrick County along Big Pigeon Creek west of Boonville I measured a specimen 21 dm. in circumference and I estimated the clear bole at 8 m. It was associated with sweet gum, black gum, white elm, red birch, red oak, etc. It is found throughout this county both in the "flats" and on the sandy ridges. In Posey County it is a frequent tree in the low woods about 10 miles southwest of Mt. Vernon. In these woods it acquires a diameter of 3-6 dm. and is associated with post oak, Spanish oak, sweet gum, shingle oak, etc. It is to be noted that specimens that grow in these conditions and those that acquire a large size do not develop such conspicuous corky branches. A large tree over 6 dm. in diameter was noted in the eastern part of Gibson County growing in low sandy soil which was destitute of corky branches so far as could be seen from the ground. All of the branches examined were free from corky ridges, and only a few corky excrescences were present. The specimen could easily be identified by the leaves. Another large tree 12 dm. in circumference in a black oak woods 4 miles south of Marengo in Crawford County was also free from corky ridges. This is an interesting tree and requires further study to establish its range in Indiana and to learn its habits. In Jasper, Indiana, it is a frequent shade tree. No doubt the trees were obtained from a nearby woods along the Patoka River where this species is known to occur. =2. CÉLTIS.= The Hackberries. Trees with pith of branchlets chambered; flowers in Indiana species appear before the leaves, the leaves generally with 3 primary veins at the base; staminate flowers usually in clusters, the pistillate solitary or few together in the axils of the leaves, and near the end of the twigs; fruit a globose drupe, sometimes elongated, pulp thin and sweet, frequently remaining on the tree until late winter, relished by birds; stone bony, wrinkled. Some of the American species of hackberry are very variable. The habitat of the species varies from deep swamps to arid rocky slopes. In fact, a single species as now understood may have a variable habitat. The following variations may be noted on the same tree or on different trees of the same species. The twigs may be glabrous, or pubescent; the leaves may vary in size, shape and texture, leaf margin, and in the roughness or smoothness of the surfaces; the petioles may be smooth or hairy; the pedicels may be glabrous or pubescent, shorter or longer than the petioles; the fruit also varies in shape. Leaves have been seen on the same tree which were smooth above, while others were quite rough above, the difference being due to the exposure to light. The original descriptions of the species are too short to sufficiently characterize the species, which adds to the confusion. However, C. S. Sargent[45] has recently revised the species and varieties of our area. Prof. Sargent has examined and named all of my material for me. Mr. B. F. Bush, who has extensively studied the hackberries in the field, also has examined my specimens. The writer has paid special attention to the hackberries of the State for the past few years and is still in doubt as to the status of the species that occur in the State. Since I am not following the determinations made by Sargent and Bush, and am following the nomenclature of the first edition, I regard the present treatment as tentative only. Margins of all the leaves sharply serrate all around except at base; nutlets 6-8 mm. long 1 C. occidentalis. Margins of leaves of fruiting branches generally entire, or some with a few teeth on one side or with a few teeth on both sides; margins of the leaves of vegetative branches and shoots similar to those of fruiting branches or with the margins serrate nearly all around; nutlets 5-6 mm. long. Leaves of a rather broad ovate type; mature fruit a dark cherry-red; usually shrubs, sometimes very small trees, of a dry habitat 2 C. pumila. Leaves of an ovate-lanceolate type; mature fruit a light cherry-red; medium-sized trees of a wet habitat 3 C. mississippiensis. [Illustration: Plate 61. CELTIS OCCIDENTALIS Linnæus. Hackberry. (x 1/2.)] =1. Celtis occidentàlis= Linnæus. Hackberry. Plate 61. Medium to large-sized trees; bark of old trees irregularly furrowed, sometimes some of the surface warty and rough; twigs smooth or pubescent, the fruiting ones generally smooth; leaves of an ovate type on petioles 0.5-2 cm. long, the blades of fruiting twigs 5-15 cm. long, those of vegetative twigs sometimes larger, oblique or slightly cordate at base, gradually tapering to a point at apex, or long acuminate at the apex, often becoming thick at maturity, especially those exposed to full sunlight, generally smooth above at maturity, especially those of fruiting twigs, or sometimes rough, especially those of vegetative branchlets or those growing in the shade, the under surface more or less pubescent along the veins at maturity; fruit matures in late autumn, very dark red, sometimes appearing almost black, globose or somewhat oblong, generally about 9-10 mm. in diameter, borne on pedicels which are longer or up to twice as long as the petioles; the pedicels which are always ascending are straight or somewhat curved upwards; nutlets globose, a little longer than wide. =Distribution.=--Valley of the St. Lawrence River, southern Ontario, to North Dakota, and south to the Gulf States and west to Texas. More or less frequent along streams throughout the State, except in the hilly counties of the southern part of the State. It is always found in moist soil, except in the hilly counties where it may be found on wooded slopes or on high rocky bluffs bordering streams. In all of our area the species is practically confined to drainage basins, and is generally close to streams. =Remarks.=--The wood is yellowish-white and before seasoning very much resembles ash for which it was generally sold. It has good bending qualities and is now much sought after for hoops. It was formerly often known as hoop ash. The supply is now becoming scarce, but when bought sells for the same price as good white elm. Some writers include under the name _Celtis occidentalis_ only those forms which are small trees and have ovate, short-pointed leaves. This type of tree has not been found in Indiana. The form with long acuminate pointed leave which is the common form in our area, is regarded as a variety of _Celtis occidentalis_. Trees having the upper surface of the leaves very rough are called _Celtis crassifolia_ Lamarck, or are merely regarded as a variety of _Celtis occidentalis_. This form is found throughout our area. The hackberry is sometimes used as a shade tree. It can scarcely be recommended because its leaves and twigs are often affected by galls which detract from its appearance. [Illustration: Plate 62. CELTIS PUMILA var. DEAMII Sargent. Dwarf Hackberry. (× 1/2.)] =2. Celtis pùmila= (Muhlenberg) Pursh. Dwarf Hackberry. Plate 62. Bark thin, smooth and gray on shrub-like forms, warty or deeply fissured on the larger forms; ridges flat and broken, dark gray-brown; twigs at first hairy, becoming smooth or nearly so by autumn; leaves of an ovate type, broadly-ovate, oblong-ovate to narrow ovate, on petioles 0.5-1.5 cm. long, blades of fruiting branchlets 3-10 cm. long, those of sterile twigs sometimes larger, oblique, rounded or somewhat cordate at the base, taper-pointed, sometimes acuminate at the apex, margins entire or with a few teeth usually about or above the middle, becoming thick and smooth above at maturity, sometimes rough, especially on vigorous shoots, generally somewhat pubescent along the veins beneath; fruit matures late in the autumn, usually an orange or light cherry color late in summer, becoming a very dark cherry color late in the autumn, globose to ellipsoidal, on pedicels about as long as the petioles; sometimes the pedicels are shorter but usually about one-half longer; pedicels generally ascending, rarely recurved, when recurved the pedicels are short. =Distribution.=--Pennsylvania to northern Illinois, south to Florida and west to Arkansas. Local in Indiana. It has been collected by the writer in Lake County near the mouth of the Grand Calumet River where it was collected by E. J. Hill who has given us the most detailed account of this species.[46] Also collected on a high, gravelly hill on the east side of Hog-back Lake, Steuben County; on a rocky wooded slope in Hamar's Hollow southeast of Mitchell in Lawrence County; on a "knob" in Floyd County; on a rocky wooded slope near Big Spring in Washington County; frequent on a rocky wooded slope near the Ohio River east of Elizabeth in Harrison County; on the bank of Blue River near Milltown in Crawford County; and in Perry County along the bluffs of the Ohio River about six miles east of Cannelton, and also on the crest of a ridge about six miles southwest of Derby. It has also been reported by Nieuwland for Clark in Marshall County. =Remarks.=--This species is usually a small shrub, and usually bears fruit when only 1.5-2 meters (5 or 6 feet) tall. Only a few trees have been seen that were 40 cm. (4 inches) in diameter. The small size at which this species fruits, easily distinguishes it from other species in our area. Its habitat also serves to distinguish it. Along Lake Michigan it grows on the dry sand dunes, and in southern Indiana it grows on dry rocky slopes. Sargent who has examined all of my specimens credits Indiana with the typical species, and separates from it a form which he calls _Celtis pumila_ variety _Deamii_[47]. This variety is based upon my No. 18,727, and the type specimen has been photographed to illustrate this species. The writer is not able to separate the two forms in our area, and believes that all belong either to _Celtis pumila_ or to the new variety. =3. Celtis mississippiénsis= Bosc. (_Celtis laevigata_ Willdenow). Sugarberry. Hackberry. Plate 63. Medium sized trees with the bark of the trunk of large trees irregularly covered with wart-like excrescences, rarely somewhat irregularly fissured, bark of the upper part of trunk and larger branches resembling that of the beech; leaves of an ovate-lanceolate type, as a whole narrower than the preceding species; on petioles 5-12 mm. long, blades of fruiting twigs 4-8 cm. long, usually rounded at the base, sometimes oblique, slightly cordate or somewhat narrowed at the base, usually gradually long-taper pointed at apex, margins generally entire, rarely a few teeth toward the apex, green on both surfaces, generally mature leaves are smooth above and below, more rarely somewhat rough above, and with some pubescence along the veins beneath; fruit in late summer an orange red color, gradually becoming darker until late autumn when it becomes red; pedicels shorter or longer than the petioles, usually slightly longer and ascending, fruit nearly globose, a trifle smaller than the preceding, and about two-thirds as large as the first. =Distribution.=--Virginia, southern Indiana, Missouri, eastern Kansas, south to the Gulf States and west to Texas. In Indiana it is confined to the southwestern counties. It is now known to definitely occur in Sullivan, Gibson, Posey, Warrick and Spencer Counties. Two trees were noted also, in the Muscatatuck bottoms near Delany Creek in Washington County. A "single bush about eight feet high" was reported from Jefferson County by Young. This may have been the preceding species. It was also reported by Haymond from Franklin County. =Remarks.=--With one exception all the specimens of this species have been found in very low ground. Usually it is associated with such low ground species as pecan, sweet gum, swell-butt ash, and the cane. One very peculiar specimen was found on the crest of a ridge about seven miles north of Salem in Washington County. It was a tree about fifteen feet tall, and had very narrow entire leaves. =MORÀCEAE.= The Mulberry Family. Trees or shrubs with a milky sap; leaves simple, alternate, petioled, 3-5 nerved at the base; fruit fleshy. Branches without spines; leaves serrate; pistillate flowers in spikes 1 Morus. Branches with spines; leaves entire; pistillate flowers in heads. 2 Maclura. [Illustration: Plate 63. CELTIS MISSISSIPPIENSIS Bosc. Sugarberry. (× 1/2.)] =1. MÒRUS.= The Mulberries. Trees with leaves 3-nerved at the base; flowers of two kinds on different branches of the same tree or on different trees; the staminate in long catkins, calyx 4-parted, petals none, stamens 4, the pistillate catkins short; fruit an aggregate of drupes. Leaves softly pubescent beneath 1 M. rubra. Leaves glabrous beneath, or with a few hairs on the veins or in the axils 2 M. alba. =1. Morus rùbra Linnæus.= Red Mulberry. Plate 64. Medium sized trees with short trunks and round heads; twigs at first green and puberulent, soon becoming glabrous and later usually turning gray; leaves ovate or somewhat orbicular, frequently 2-3 lobed, average mature blades 10-15 cm. long, more or less cordate at the base, abruptly taper-pointed, rough and glabrous above and finely pubescent beneath; fruit ripening in June or July, 1.5-3 cm. long, dark purple or nearly black, edible; wood light, soft, rather tough, coarse-grained, and durable in contact with the soil. =Distribution.=--Southern Ontario west to eastern Dakotas, south to the Gulf States and west to Texas. Found throughout Indiana, although there are no records for the extreme northwestern counties. Throughout our area it must be regarded as infrequent. It is only here and there that you find a tree, and I have never seen it where there were even a small number of trees close together. In the northern part of the State it is usually found in a moist well drained soil, associated with trees such as beech and sugar maple, or in lower ground with slippery elm and linn. It has no particular affinity for streams. In the southern part of the State it is found in both rich and poor soils. However, it is most often met with near the base of slopes. =Remarks.=--This tree seldom has a clear bole of more than 3-5 m. and is usually a tree about 20 cm. in diameter, rarely as large as 6 dm. in diameter, although there is a record[48] of a tree in Georgia that was "7 feet in diameter at 3 feet above the ground." The wood has been a favorite for fence posts since pioneer times. It transplants easily. The fruit is a favorite with birds and for this reason it should be planted about orchards and in woodlots. It is sometimes called the red mulberry to distinguish it from the following species.[49] [Illustration: Plate 64. MORUS RUBRA Linnæus. Red Mulberry. (× 1/2.)] =2. MACLÙRA.= The Osage Orange. =Maclura pomífera= (Rafinesque) Schneider. Hedge. Osage Orange. (_Toxylon pomiferum Raf._) Plate 65. Trees with brown shreddy bark on old trees; mature twigs greenish gray, zigzag; spines about 10-15 mm. long; leaves ovate to oblong lanceolate, average blades 7-12 cm. long, wedge-shape, rounded or cordate at the base, long taper-pointed at the apex, margins entire, pubescent on both sides while young, becoming at maturity lustrous and glabrous above, remaining pubescent beneath; fruit globose, about 1 dm. in diameter; wood heavy, very hard and strong, the most durable in contact with the soil of any of our post timbers. =Distribution.=--Missouri and Kansas south to Texas. Introduced into Indiana for hedge fences. There is some question as to the ability of this species to escape. I have heard that it frequently sends up root shoots at several feet from hedge fences, and that it frequently seeds itself along old hedge fences. For the past few years I have given the species especial attention and I have never seen it as an escape except in three instances. =Remarks.=--This species was formerly much planted for farm fences, but since land has become so valuable, its use has been discontinued, and the old fences are being dug up. The tree grows a short trunk, and one was noted in Grant County that was at least 6 dm. in diameter that was estimated to be less than fifty years old. This species is subject to the San Jose scale and in some localities it has been killed by it. It has been but little used for forest planting, and the plantations are not yet old enough to measure their success. [Illustration: Plate 65. MACLURA POMIFERA (Rafinesque). Schneider. Osage Orange. (× 1/2.)] =MAGNOLIÀCEAE.= The Magnolia Family. Trees or shrubs with alternate and petioled leaves; flowers large, terminal and solitary with numerous stamens and pistils. Buds silky white pubescent; leaves entire; fruit fleshy, dehiscent 1 Magnolia. Buds glabrous; leaves lobed; fruit a cone of dry carpels, indehiscent 2 Liriodendron. =1. MAGNÒLIA.= The Magnolias. =Magnolia acuminàta= Linnæus. Cucumber Tree. Plate 66. Large trees with furrowed bark which is gray and much resembles the tulip tree except the ridges are shallower and closer; twigs downy at first, becoming glabrous or nearly so and a light to a cherry brown by the end of the season; leaves oval, average blades 15-22 cm. long, rounded to truncate at the base, abruptly short-pointed, pubescent on both sides at first, becoming glabrous above, and remaining pubescent beneath, rarely entirely glabrous; flowers about 6 cm. long, bell-shaped, pale yellowish-green; fruit cylindrical, 5-7 cm. long, 1-2 cm. diameter, the large scarlet seeds begin to push out of their receptacle in September; wood light, soft, not strong, close-grained and durable. =Distribution.=--North shore of Lake Erie, western New York, eastern Ohio, southern Indiana, southern Illinois and along the Appalachian Mountains to southern Alabama and west to Arkansas. It doubtless occurred in all or nearly all of the counties in southern Indiana south of a line drawn from Franklin to Knox Counties. It no doubt was extremely local. For instance a pioneer 81 years old who had always lived in Washington County told me that there were two trees on his farm near Pekin, and these were the only two trees he knew of in the vicinity. These trees were popular because the neighbors came for the fruit to put into whisky for making bitters which were a specific for all ailments. I have seen only a shrub on the Forest Reserve in Clark County. On a beech and sugar maple ridge about 4 miles northwest of Medora in Jackson County on the Geo. W. Scott farm two trees were still standing in 1915. Mr. Scott, a pioneer, said the species was found on the ridge for about 2 miles and that there were about a half dozen trees to the acre, and the largest was about a meter in diameter. It is known in two other places in this county. A tree is still standing in Lawrence County on the Sam Mitchell farm 2-1/2 miles south of Bedford. Mr. Mitchell is a pioneer and says that a few trees were found in the vicinity on the ridges. It has been reported for Franklin, Floyd and Jefferson Counties. There is hearsay evidence that it occurred in other counties. [Illustration: Plate 66. MAGNOLIA ACUMINATA Linnæus. Cucumber Tree. (× 1/2.)] =Remarks.=--The cucumber tree has been too rare in Indiana to be of economic importance. The greatest interest with us is its distribution. The uses of the wood are similar to that of tulip with which it is botanically related. It is said that the greater part of the lumber which is produced in the south is sold as tulip. The seeds of this tree are extremely bitter and no bird, squirrel or mouse will carry or touch them. However, man after macerating them in whisky can use them for medicine. =2. LIRIODÈNDRON.= The Tulip Tree. =Liriodendron Tulipífera= Linnæus. Tulip. Yellow Poplar. Plate 67. Large trees with deeply furrowed grayish bark; twigs glabrous and glaucous at first, becoming reddish-brown by the end of the season, then gray or dark brown; leaves very variable, 4-6 lobed, average blades 5-12 cm. long, truncate and notched at the apex, more or less rounded, truncate or cordate at the base, glabrous above and below at maturity or with a few hairs on the veins beneath; flowers appear in May or June, large bell-shaped, about 4 cm. deep, greenish-yellow, sometimes tinged with orange-red; fruit upright, cone-shaped, 5-7 cm. long; wood light, weak, soft, stiff, straight and moderately coarse-grained, seasons and works well. Sap wood white, heart wood a light yellow. =Distribution.=--Vermont, southern Ontario, southern Michigan, south to Florida and west to Arkansas and Missouri. Found throughout Indiana, and doubtless is found in every county. It is rare to infrequent in most of the counties north of the Wabash River. It gradually becomes more frequent toward the south and where its habitat is found it is frequent to common. It prefers a moist rich well drained soil and thrives best in protected coves and near the lower part of slopes of hills. It is found with beech, sugar maple and white oak. It is rarely found in a black loam soil, but prefers a sandy soil. It was generally a common tree and of very large size in practically all of the counties in the southern two-thirds of the State. =Remarks.=--This tree is generally known by botanists as tulip tree. By lumbermen it is usually known as yellow poplar, or more often shortened to poplar. It is also known as blue, white and hickory poplar, or as white wood. The tulip tree is the second largest tree of Indiana. In the Ind. Geol. Rept. 6:70:1875, is the following: "I measured four poplar trees that stood within a few feet of each other; the largest was thirty-eight feet in circumference three feet from the ground, one hundred and twenty feet high, and about sixty-five feet to the first limb. The others were, respectively eighteen and a half, eighteen and seventeen feet in circumference at three feet from the ground." The range of the uses of the wood is not so great as the oak, but it has many uses. The demand has been so great that practically all of the large trees have been cut. Small trees have so much sap or white wood that they are not sought for lumber, but can be used for pulp and excelsior. [Illustration: Plate 67. LIRIODENDRON TULIPIFERA Linnæus. Tulip or Yellow Poplar. (× 1/2.)] The tulip transplants easily, grows rapidly, tall and with short side branches. Experiments in growing this tree indicate that it is one of the very best trees for reinforcing the woodlot, and other forest planting. It can be recommended for roadside planting because it grows tall and has a deep root system. Where conditions of life are not too severe it could be used for shade tree planting. =ANONÀCEAE.= The Custard Apple Family. =ASÍMINA.= The Pawpaw. =Asímina tríloba= (Linnæus) Dunal. Pawpaw. Plate 68. Shrubs or small trees; bark smooth except on very old trees when it becomes somewhat furrowed; twigs at first covered with rusty brown hairs, becoming glabrous and reddish-brown by the end of the season; leaves obovate-lanceolate, average blades 16-30 cm. long, abruptly taper-pointed, wedge-shape at base, margins entire, somewhat rusty pubescent at first, becoming at maturity glabrous above, and glabrous or nearly so beneath; flowers appear in May or early June, maroon color, drooping; fruit edible, ripening in September and October, 7-13 cm. long, greenish-yellow, smooth, pulp white or yellow, with a few large, dark-brown flattened seeds; wood light, soft and weak. =Distribution.=--New York, north shore of Lake Erie, southern Michigan, Nebraska, south to Florida and west to Texas. Found in all parts of Indiana, although it is found in the greatest abundance in the central counties. It prefers a moist rich soil, although it is quite adaptive. Sometimes it is found in a black loam soil in low woods or about lakes, but its preference is for a beech and sugar maple woods or habitats approximating it. In the southern counties it is absent on the sterile wooded ridges, but may be a common shrub at the base of the slopes. It is a constant companion of the tulip tree and where one will grow the other is likely to be found. It is a great tree to send up suckers, hence it is always found in clumps, or forms real thickets. This species with us is usually 2-7 meters high; however, there are records of large trees. Collett in Ind. Geol. Rept. 5:404:1874, in a geological report of Gibson County says: "A forest of pawpaw bushes attracted our attention by their tree-like size, being nearly a foot in diameter." [Illustration: Plate 68. ASIMINA TRILOBA (Linnæus) Dunal. Pawpaw. (× 1/2.)] =Remarks.=--This species is also known as the yellow and white pawpaw. Recently some enthusiasts have christened it the "Hoosier Banana". There has been an attempt for years to cultivate the pawpaw, and some varieties have been named. The fruit is variable. The one with a white pulp is rather insipid and is not considered good to eat. The form with a yellow pulp is the kind that is regarded as the most palatable. The two forms are not botanically separated but Prof. Stanley Coulter has made some observations on the two forms in the Ind. Geol. Rept. 24:745:1899. He says: "Two forms, not separated botanically are associated in our area. They differ in time of flowering, in size, shape, color and flavor of the fruit, in leaf shape, venation and odor and color of the bark. They are of constant popular recognition and probably separate species, never seeming to intergrade." It is desirable for ornamental planning on account of its interesting foliage, beautiful and unique flowers and delicious fruit. It is very difficult to transplant a sucker plant, and in order to get a start of this species it is best to plant the seed or seedlings. It is usually found growing in the shade, but does well in full sunlight. Mr. Arthur W. Osborn of Spiceland, who has done much experimental work in propagating this species, reports some interesting cases of pawpaw poisoning. He says he knew a lady whose skin would be irritated by the presence of pawpaws. Some individuals after eating them develop a rash with intense itching. In one instance he fed a person, subject to the rash from eating the pawpaw, a peeled pawpaw with a spoon, and the subject never touched the pawpaw, and the results were the same. The American Genetic Association has taken up the subject of improving the fruit of this tree, and there is no doubt but that in the future this species will be of considerable economic importance. The tree is free from all insect enemies, and since it can be grown in waste places, there is no reason why it should not receive more attention than it does. =LAURÀCEAE.= The Laurel Family. =SÁSSAFRAS.= The Sassafras. =Sassafras officinàle= Nees and Ebermaier. Sassafras. Red Sassafras. White Sassafras. Plate 69. Small to large trees; bark aromatic, smooth on young trees, reddish-brown and deeply furrowed on old trees, resembling that of black walnut; branchlets yellowish-green, splotched more or less with sooty spots; twigs at first more or less hairy, soon becoming smooth or remaining more or less hairy until autumn, more or less glaucous, especially the smooth forms; buds more or less pubescent, the axillary ones usually more or less hairy, the outer scales of the terminal one usually smooth and glaucous; leaves simple, alternate, ovate, elliptic to obovate, blades 5-16 cm. long, entire or with 1-5 lobes, narrowed at the base, the apex and terminal of the lobes acute, both surfaces hairy when they expand, generally becoming smooth above and beneath, or more often remaining more or less pubescent beneath, the midrib and two lateral veins usually prominent beneath; petioles 0.5-5 cm. long, hairy at first, becoming smooth or more often retaining some pubescence; flowers appear before or with the leaves in April or May, small, yellow or greenish, the male and female generally on different trees, on racemes up to 4 cm. long; flower stalks usually pubescent, sometimes smooth; fruit an oblong, blue-black, glaucous berry which matures late in summer; fruit generally 7-10 mm. long, on a stalk including the pedicel and raceme up to 9 cm. long. [Illustration: Plate 69. SASSAFRAS OFFICINALE Nees and Ebermaier. Sassafras. (× 1/2.)] =Distribution.=--Maine, southern Ontario to Iowa and south to Florida and west to Texas. No doubt it was formerly found in every county of Indiana. In the northern part of the State it is more local in its distribution than in the southern counties. In the northern counties where it is local it is found in colonies on sandy or clayey ridges. Sassafras is usually considered an indicator of poorer soils, hence, in the central counties it is often very local. It is frequent to common throughout the hilly counties of the southern part of the State. In this part of the State it becomes a pernicious weed tree. It soon invades fence rows and fallow fields, and is extremely difficult to kill out. It is rarely found in wet situations; however, in Sullivan and Clay Counties large trees have been observed in low alluvial ground, associated with the white elm, etc. =Remarks.=--Wood light, soft, coarse-grained, aromatic, heartwood brownish. In our area sassafras wood is used principally for posts and crossties. The roots contain a volatile oil which is much used in medicine and perfumery. Every one is familiar with the sassafras peddler who in the Spring sells a small bundle of roots or bark for making sassafras tea. The tea is reputed "to thin the blood." The aromatic character of the wood led the earliest inhabitants to attribute many medicinal and other qualities to the wood which, in many instances bordered on superstition. In some of the southern States bedsteads were made of sassafras with the belief that they would produce sounder sleep. Floors were made of sassafras to keep out the rats and mice. Perches of chicken houses were made of sassafras poles to keep off the lice. To successfully make soap, it was necessary to stir the contents of the kettle with a sassafras stick. The sassafras is usually about one-fourth of a meter in diameter. However, on the Charles Hole farm about three miles southeast of Butlerville grew two of the largest trees of which we have record. The trees grew within seven meters of each other on a slope now grown up with large sugar maple. They were cut by Mr. Hole's father, on whose farm they were located. The largest was cut in the later sixties and the smaller in the early seventies. The stumps were seen by the writer in 1918. Both are now hollow although the outside is quite solid after having been cut about fifty years. Chips were cut from the root spurs and the wood was almost as aromatic as if the tree had just been cut. "The stumps have been burned at least three times," says Mr. Hole, yet the smaller now measures 1.09 m. (43 inches) in diameter at a meter high. The largest stump now measures 1.22 m. (48 inches), in diameter at a meter high. Mr. Hole says that the smallest tree had a clear hole of at least 18 meters, and the largest tree was .92 m. (36 inches) in diameter 20 meters from the stump. Sassafras deserves more consideration than it has received as a shade and ornamental tree. The autumnal coloring of its foliage is scarcely surpassed by any tree; and it is free from injurious insect pests. It adapts itself to almost all kinds of soils, and grows rapidly. It is, however, transplanted with difficulty; this means only more care in digging the tree and planting it. Commonly the sassafras is classed as red and white sassafras. The roots of the white sassafras are said to be whiter, the aroma of the wood has a suggestion of camphor, and the wood is less durable. This belief is common throughout the area of its distribution, but so far as the writer knows, no scientific work has been published to verify this division of the species. Sassafras is extremely variable, but most botanical authors have considered the many variations as one species. Nuttall in 1818 was the first author to make a division of the forms, and he has been followed by some recent authors. Nuttall separated those forms with smooth twigs, buds, and under surface of leaves, from those with pubescent twigs, buds, and under surface of leaves. Nieuwland[50] separates a variety from the smooth forms which he calls =Sassafras albida= variety =glauca=, and reports it as occurring in the counties in the vicinity of Lake Michigan. The writer has at hand 46 specimens from 41 counties in Indiana, including all of the Lake Michigan Counties, and he has not been able to find a single character that is constant enough to make a division of our forms, consequently all the Indiana forms are included under one and the old name for sassafras. [Illustration: Plate 70. LIQUIDAMBAR STYRACIFLUA Linnæus. Sweet or Red Gum. (× 1/2.)] =ALTINGIÀCEAE.= Sweet Gum Family. =Liquidámbar Styracíflua= Linnæus. Sweet Gum. Plate 70. Large trees with resinous sap; bark deeply furrowed, grayish; twigs when very young somewhat hairy, soon becoming glabrous, a light reddish-brown by the end of the season, later a gray, usually some or all of the branchlets develop one or more corky ridges running lengthwise of the branchlets, or in some cases only corky excrescences; leaves simple, alternate, long-petioled, orbicular in outline, cleft into 5 wedge-shaped lobes, rarely 7 lobes, average blades 5-12 cm. long, truncate or cordate at the base, margins finely serrate, hairy on both surfaces on unfolding, soon becoming glabrous above, and remaining more or less hairy beneath especially in the axils of the veins, at maturity turning to a dull or brilliant red; flowers in heads, expanding in April or May; fruit a globular, horny aggregate of carpels, 3-4 cm. in diameter including the horns; wood heavy, hard, not strong, close-grained, inclined to shrink and warp in seasoning, takes a good polish, heart wood a rich brown which can be finished to imitate walnut or mahogany. =Distribution.=--Connecticut, southern Ohio to Missouri, south to Florida and west to Texas, and in the mountains in Mexico south to Guatemala. In Indiana it is confined to wet woods in the southern half of the State. The most northern records are from Franklin, Shelby, Putnam and Parke Counties. Wherever it is found it is usually a frequent to a common or very common tree. It is most frequently associated with the beech, but in the very wet woods it is found with pin oak, red birch, cow oak and white elm. =Remarks.=--This species grows rapidly; is somewhat hard to transplant; grows straight and tall with few side branches, and adapts itself to a wet, compact soil. In the "flats" of southern Indiana where it is associated with pin oak, red birch and beech, it is to be preferred for forest planting to these or any other species that could be grown in the "flats." It is practically free from all injurious insects. Sweet gum should be one of the principal species in wet places of the woodlots of southern Indiana. This species is one of the best for ornamental planting in all parts of the State where it is hardy. It is doubtful if it is wise to use it in the northern part of the State. Several trees in the northern part of the State are known to be quite hardy, but there are reports that it sometimes winter-kills. It can also be recommended for roadside and street planting. [Illustration: Plate 71. PLATANUS OCCIDENTALIS Linnæus. Sycamore. (× 1/2.)] =PLATANÀCEAE.= The Plane Tree Family. =PLÁTANUS.= The Plane Tree. Platanus occidentàlis Linnæus. Sycamore. Plate 71. The largest tree of the State; bark thin, smooth, on age separating into thin plates and exfoliating, base of the trunks of very old trees somewhat roughened or fissured, gray to grayish-green, splotched with white; twigs at first covered with a scurvy pubescence, becoming at maturity glabrous except a ring at the node about the leaf-scar, gray or light brown, and zigzag; leaves alternate, long-petioled, nearly orbicular in outline, the blades somewhat deltoid, blades large, variable in size and shape, average blades 9-17 cm. long, frequently much larger on vigorous shoots, generally with 3-5 main lobes, sometimes the lobes are indistinct and the leaves appear only irregularly toothed, margins toothed, rarely entire between the lobes, truncate or cordate at the base, acute or acuminate at the apex; one form has been noted with leaves obovate, scarcely lobed and with a wedge-shaped base; leaves covered on both sides at first with a dense tomentum, becoming at maturity glabrous above--rarely tardily pubescent, nearly glabrous beneath, except on the veins and in the axils, petioles remaining pubescent; flowers appear in May with the leaves in heads on long woolly peduncles; fruit a globose head of many seeds, 2-3.5 cm. in diameter, maturing late in the year; the seed are scattered by the wind during the winter months; wood heavy, hard, weak, close-grained, difficult to split and work, takes a high polish; when used as a container it does not communicate an objectional taste or odor to contents. =Distribution.=--Maine, Ontario to Nebraska, south to the Gulf States and west to Texas. Found in all parts of Indiana, although there are no records for the extreme northwestern counties. It is a tree of a low ground habitat, and is found principally in low ground along streams, about lakes, and ponds. In such habitats it is a frequent tree in all parts, except in the "flats" of the southern counties. In some places it is a common to a very common tree, especially along the upper courses of White River. =Remarks.=--In this State this species is always called the sycamore tree. It is the largest tree of the State, and the largest deciduous tree of the United States. Indiana has the distinction of having the largest living sycamore in the United States. It is located near Worthington, Indiana, and "in 1915, measured 43 feet and 3 inches in circumference at five feet above the ground." See frontispiece. The sycamore grew to great diameters in all parts of the State. It was commonly hollow, because it is believed the tree in early life is usually more or less injured by floating ice and debris which starts inner decay. Hollow sycamore logs were commonly used by the pioneers in which to smoke their meat, and sections of hollow logs about 12 dm. (4 feet) long were used to store grain in, and were known as "gums." The value of sycamore lumber has been very much underestimated. It has many uses such as butcher blocks, interior finish, furniture, piling, tobacco boxes, veneer berry boxes, handles, wooden ware, etc. Indiana has led in the production of sycamore lumber for years. The sycamore is well adapted for shade, ornamental and forestry purposes. It transplants easily, grows rapidly, stands pruning well and is comparatively free from injurious insects. It grows straight, tall and usually with a rather narrow crown. It prefers a moist soil, but adapts itself to dry situations. For planting overflow lands, or on the banks of streams it is one of the best species we have. It is also one of the best species for roadside tree planting, because it is deep rooted, grows tall, and does not produce a dense shade. =MALÀCEAE.=[51] The Apple Family. The trees of this family that occur in our area have simple, alternate leaves; perfect, regular flowers, 5-merous calyx and corolla; fruit a more or less fleshy pome. Flowers in racemes, cavities of mature fruit twice as many as the styles, seeds less than 4 mm. (1/8 inch) long 2 Amelanchier. Flowers in cymes or corymbs, cavities of mature fruit as many as the styles, seeds more than 4 mm. (1/8 inch) long. Fruit green, mature carpels papery 1 Malus. Fruit red, orange, blue-black or yellow, mature carpels bony 3 Cratægus. =I. MÀLUS.= The Apples. _Malus angustifolia_ has been reported from the State, but it is a species of more southern range. Both _Malus ioensis_ and _Malus lancifolia_ may easily be mistaken for this species. Leaves and petioles glabrous or only slightly pubescent; calyx tube and outside of calyx lobes glabrous or only slightly pubescent. Leaves distinctly lobed, at least those of vigorous shoots; petioles pubescent above 1 M. glaucescens. Leaves serrate, not lobed; petioles glabrous 2 M. lancifolia. Leaves (at least the lower surfaces) and petioles densely tomentose; calyx lobes densely tomentose on both sides 3 M. ioensis. =1. Malus glaucéscens= Rehder. American Crab Apple (_M. fragrans_ Rehder). Plate 72. Bark reddish, fissured and scaly; leaves on glandless petioles, petioles usually 2-4 cm. (3/4-1-1/2 inches) long, leaves narrow ovate to almost triangular, those on the lateral branchlets of the ovate type, those of the terminal branchlets and vigorous shoots of the triangular type, 3-8 cm. (1-1/2-3 inches) long, acute at the apex, mostly rounded or somewhat cordate at the base, sometimes tapering, those of the triangular type usually truncate, margin of the ovate type of leaves more or less sharply serrate, the basal third of the leaf with shallow teeth or entire, margins of the triangular type more deeply serrate to almost lobed, hairy above and below when they expand, becoming smooth both above and below, sometimes a few hairs are found on the veins beneath at maturity, bright green above, paler beneath; flowers appear in May when the leaves are about half grown, usually 5 or 6 in a cluster, white or rose-color, very fragrant, 3-4 cm. (1-1/2-2 inches) broad when fully expanded; calyx lobes lanceolate-acuminate, tomentose on the inside, glabrous outside; fruit depressed-globose, without angles, yellow-green, 2-4.5 cm. (3/4-2 inches) thick, 2-2.5 cm. (3/4-1 inch) long, very fragrant and covered with a waxy bloom. =Distribution.=--Central New York, lower peninsula Michigan, western New Jersey to northern Alabama and Missouri. Found in all parts of Indiana. No doubt in the original forests it was rare, but the removal of the large trees has been favorable to its growth until today it is somewhat frequent in moist open woods, along streams and neglected fences. It is most frequent among the hills in southern Indiana, and in all its distribution it is usually found in clumps. In our area it is a small tree about 10-20 cm. (4-8 inches) in diameter and 4-6 m. (12-18 feet) high, with a spreading crown. An exceptionally large tree is located on the south bank of Round Lake in Whitley County which measures 1.3 m. (51 inches) in circumference at one meter (3 feet) above the ground where the first branch appears. Specimens which were collected by the person whose name follows the county have been seen by the writer from the following counties of Indiana: Allen (Deam) 1919; Brown (Deam) 1911; Clark (Deam) 1913; Daviess (Deam) 1910; Decatur (Deam) 1911; Delaware (Deam) 1911; Floyd (Very) 1896; Fountain (Deam) 1919; Hamilton (Mrs. Chas. C. Deam) 1913; Kosciusko (Deam) 1910; Laporte (Deam) 1911; Morgan (Deam) 1910; Noble (Deam) 1919; Owen (Deam) 1911; Posey (Deam) 1911; Randolph (Deam) 1916, 1919; Steuben (Deam) 1905; Warren (Deam) 1911; Wayne (Deam) 1919; Wells (E. B. Williamson) 1896, (Deam) 1898, 1907, 1916, 1919. [Illustration: Plate 72. MALUS GLAUCESCENS Rehder. American Crab Apple. (× 1/2.)] =2. Malus lancifòlia= Rehder. Narrow-leaved Crab Apple. (_M. coronaria_ of manuals, in part.) Plate 73. Leaves ovate, oblong to oblong-lanceolate, 1.5-3 cm. (1/2-1-1/4 inches) wide, 3.5-8 cm. (1-1/2-3 inches) long, acute or shortly acuminate at the apex; rounded or broadly cuneate at the base, finely serrate often doubly serrate, slightly tomentose when young, becoming entirely glabrous; bright yellow-green on both sides. Flowers 3-3.5 cm. broad, 3-6 in a cluster, pedicels slender, glabrous. Calyx lobes oblong, lanceolate, glabrous outside, slightly villous inside, fruit subglobose, 2-3 cm. (3/4-1-1/3 inches) in diameter, green. =Distribution.=--Pennsylvania to the mountains of North Carolina, west to Indiana and south to Missouri. Specimens have been seen from the following counties of Indiana: Allen (Deam) 1919; Daviess (Deam) 1919; Delaware (Deam) 1911; Dubois (Deam) 1919; Fountain (Deam) 1919; Henry (Deam) 1917, 1919; Jay (Deam) 1919; Jennings (Deam); Knox (Deam) 1918, 1919; Noble (Deam) 1919; Posey (Deam) 1919; Spencer (Deam) 1919; Starke (Deam) 1911; Union (Deam) 1919; Vermillion (Deam) 1911. =3. Malus ioénsis= (Wood) Britton. Western Crab Apple. Iowa Crab Apple. Plate 74. Leaves oblong to ovate-oblong, 4-10 cm. (1-1/2-4 inches) long, 2-8 cm. (3/4-3-1/4 inches), wide, obtuse or acute at the apex, rounded or broadly cuneate at the base, dentate-crenate or doubly so, slightly pubescent above, becoming glabrous, dark green, slightly rugose above, densely white-tomentose below, remaining so at least along the veins; petioles 1.5-4 cm. (1/2-1-1/2 inches) long, densely white-tomentose; corymbs 2-5 flowered, pedicels pubescent; calyx densely white-tomentose, calyx lobes lanceolate-acuminate, densely tomentose on both sides; flowers similar to those of _Malus coronaria_; fruit globose, without angles, green, 2-3.5 cm. (3/4-1-1/2 inches) thick, 2-3 cm. (3/4-1-1/4 inches) long. =Distribution.=--Indiana, central Kentucky, Louisiana, Wisconsin, southern Minnesota, eastern Kansas and Texas. A tree in habit, similar to _Malus glaucescens_. Specimens have been seen from Allen (Deam) 1915; Benton (Deam) 1919; Cass (Deam) 1916; Daviess (Deam) 1919; Delaware (Deam) 1911; Floyd (Very) 1896; Huntington (Deam); Jasper (Deam) 1919; Knox (Deam) 1917; Lake (Deam) 1919; Lagrange (Deam) 1915; Laporte (Deam) 1913, 1919; Newton (Deam) 1919; Porter (Deam) 1915; Posey (Deam) 1919; Putnam (Grimes); Sullivan (Deam) 1917, 1919; Tippecanoe (Dorner) 1900, (Deam) 1917; Vigo (Deam) 1917, 1919; Warren (Deam) 1919; White (Deam) 1916; Whitley (Deam) 1919. [Illustration: Plate 73. MALUS LANCIFOLIA Rehder. Narrow-leaved Crab Apple. (× 1/2.)] [Illustration: Plate 74. MALUS IOENSIS (Wood) Britton. Western Crab Apple. (× 1/2.)] =Malus ioensis × lancifolia= n. hyb. Specimens collected by Deam in Grant County in 1907 and Huntington County in 1919 appear to be this cross. It would be strange indeed if such closely related species as these _Malus_ and many _Cratægus_ would not cross. =2. AMELÁNCHIER.= The Service Berries. Leaves densely white tomentose when young, becoming green. 1 A. canadensis. Leaves nearly or quite glabrous 2 A. lævis. =1. Amelanchier canadénsis= (Linnæus) Medicus. Juneberry. Service Berry. Plate 75. Leaves obovate, ovate, oval or oblong, 4-10 cm. (1-1/2-3 inches) long, 2.5-5 cm. (1-2 inches) wide, cordate at base, acute, or acuminate at apex, sharply and doubly serrate; blades and petioles densely white tomentose when young, persisting particularly on petioles with age, green or yellowish green, not unfolded at flowering time; racemes short, dense, silky tomentose pedicels, 15-25 mm. (1/2-1 inch) long in fruit; petals linear or linear-oblong 10-14 mm, (3/8-5/8 inch) long; calyx 2.5-3 mm. broad, campanulate, glabrous or somewhat woolly, calyx lobes oblong-triangular, obtuse, tomentose 2-3 mm. long, abruptly reflexed at the base when the petals fall; summit of ovary glabrous; fruit scanty, maroon-purple, dry and tasteless; flowers in April or May; fruit ripening June or July. =Distribution.=--Southern Maine to southern Michigan, Iowa, Kansas, Missouri and south to Georgia and Louisiana. Bushy tree or shrub sometimes 10 meters (35 feet) high. Specimens have been seen from the following counties: Clark (Deam) 1913; Clay (Deam) 1913; Crawford (Deam) 1911; Floyd (Deam) 1913; Fountain (L. A. Williamson) 1908; Jackson (Deam) 1911; Jefferson (Deam) 1918; Jennings (Deam); Lagrange (Deam) 1915; Tippecanoe (Dorner) 1900; Warren (Deam) 1911. =2. Amelanchier laévis= Wiegand. Smooth Juneberry. Service Berry. (_Amelanchier canadensis_ of Manuals, in part.) Plate 76. Leaves ovate-oval to ovate-oblong or sometimes obovate or elliptical, 4-6 cm. (1/2-2-1/4 inches) long, 2.5-4 cm. (1-1-1/2 inches) wide, apex short, acuminate, base cordate, rounded or sometimes acute, sharply serrate, glabrous or with a few hairs when young, dark green and slightly glaucous when mature, one-half or two-third grown at flowering time; petioles glabrous; racemes many flowered, drooping, glabrous or nearly so; fruiting pedicels 30-50 mm. (1-1/4-2 inches) long; petals oblong-linear, 10-18 mm. (3/8-3/4 inch) long; calyx campanulate, 2.75-5 mm. wide, glabrous, sepals triangular, lanceolate, 3-4 mm. long, abruptly reflexed at base when petals fall; summit of ovary glabrous; fruit purple to nearly black, glaucous, edible; flowers in April or May; fruit, June or July. [Illustration: Plate 75. AMELANCHIER CANADENSIS (Linnæus) Medicus. June or Service Berry. (× 1/2.)] [Illustration: Plate 76. AMELANCHIER LAEVIS Wiegand. Smooth Juneberry or Service Berry. (× 1/2.)] =Distribution.=--Newfoundland, northern Michigan, Kansas, Missouri and south in the mountains to Georgia and Alabama. Specimens have been seen from the following counties: Brown (Deam) 1910; Dubois (Deam) 1912; Grant (Deam) 1916; Jackson (Deam) 1918; Jefferson (Deam) 1918; Lagrange (Deam) 1915; Lake (Deam) 1911; Laporte (Deam) 1911, 1913; Lawrence (Deam) 1918; Owen (Deam) 1912; Perry (Deam) 1919; Porter (Deam) 1911 and (Agnes Chase); Putnam (Mrs. Chas. C. Deam) 1913; Ripley (Deam) 1915; St. Joseph (Deam) 1916; Steuben (Deam) 1905; Wells (Deam) 1898. Trees or shrubs, sometimes 13 meters (45 feet) high. In the mountains of Vermont the fruit is often abundant, very juicy and sweet, and in much demand both by man and the birds. The berries on the long racemes ripen at different times and are perhaps two weeks in maturing, thus furnishing food for some time. =3. CRATAÈGUS.= Thorn Apples. Red Haws. Large shrubs or small trees, most at home in a limestone region. This genus has been studied a great deal in this country. Much work is still necessary in Indiana since there are a number of other species that belong in this range. The "knob country" and southwestern Indiana are likely to produce the best results. A. Leaves not deltoid-cordate; pubescent or glabrous. I. Leaves broadest at the middle or apex, cuneate. a. Leaves broadest towards the apex. Leaves not impressed-veined above, shining I. Crus-galli. 1 C. Crus-galli. Leaves impressed-veined above, dull. II. Punctatæ. Fruit glabrous; calyx lobes entire. Fruit ellipsoidal; nutlets usually 3 or 4. Leaves bright yellow-green, slightly impressed above; fruit ellipsoidal. 2 C. cuneiformis. Leaves dull gray-green, strongly impressed-veined; fruit short ellipsoidal. 3 C. punctata. Fruit globose. 4 C. Margaretta. Fruit villous; calyx lobes glandular-serrate. 5 C. collina. b. Leaves broadest at the middle. Leaves impressed-veined; nutlets deeply pitted on inner face. III. Macracanthæ. Leaves dark green, glabrous and shining above, coriaceous. Fruit sometimes 16 mm. (2/3 inch) thick; stamens usually 10; leaves and anthers large. 6 C. succulenta. Fruit sometimes 12 mm. (1/2 inch) thick; stamens 15-20; leaves and anthers small. 7 C. neo-fluvialis. Leaves gray-green, pubescent and dull above, subcoriaceous. 8 C. Calpodendron. Leaves not impressed-veined; nutlets without pits. Calyx glandular margined, fruit more than 8 mm. (1/8 inch) thick; leaves not trilobate. IV. Rotundifoliæ. 9 C. chrysocarpa. Calyx lobes not glandular margined; fruit 4-8 mm. (1/16-1/8 inch thick); leaves often trilobate towards the apex. V. Virides. Fruit bright red, glaucous, 4-6 mm. (1/6-1/4 inch) thick; leaves serrate. 10 C. viridis. Fruit dull dark red, 6-8 mm. (1/4-1/3 inch) thick; leaves coarsely serrate. 11 C. nitida. II. Leaves broadest at the base. a. Leaves 1.5-6 cm. (1/2-2-1/2 inches) long and wide, membranaceous; calyx lobes usually entire. Leaves yellow-green, often slightly pubescent; fruit soft at maturity. VI. Tenuifoliæ. Fruit ellipsoidal, ovoid or pyriform. 12 C. macrosperma. Fruit compressed, globose or subglobose. 13 C. basilica. Leaves blue-green, glabrous; fruit hard at maturity. VII. Pruinosæ. Leaves elliptic-ovate. 14 C. Jesupi. Leaves usually cordate. Fruit conspicuously angled, strongly pruinose. 15 C. rugosa. Fruit without conspicuous angles, slightly pruinose. 16 C. filipes. Leaves usually cuneate. Leaves deltoid. 17 C. Gattingeri. Leaves ovate. 18 C. pruinosa. b. Leaves 3-10 cm. (1-4 inches) long and wide; calyx lobes usually serrate. VIII. Coccineæ. Mature leaves usually glabrous above; young foliage bronze-green; anthers pink. Corymbs and fruit glabrous. 19 C. coccinioides. Corymbs and fruit pubescent or tomentose. 20 C. coccinea. Mature leaves tomentose above; young foliage yellow-green; anthers yellow. 21 C. mollis. B. Leaves conspicuously deltoid-cordate. IX. Cordatæ. 22 C. Phænopyrum. =1. Crataegus Crus-gálli= Linnæus. Cock-spur Thorn. Newcastle Thorn. Plate 77. Bark dark gray, scaly; spines many, strong, straight, 3-18 cm. (1-7 inches) long; leaves obovate to elliptical, 2-10 cm. (3/4-4 inches) long, 1-4 cm. (1/4-1-1/2 inches) wide, sharply serrate, except towards the base, acute or rounded at the apex, cuneate, dark green and shining above, coriaceous, glabrous or occasionally slightly pubescent; petioles slightly winged above, glandless, 1-2 cm. (3/8-3/4 inch) long; corymbs glabrous or occasionally pubescent, many flowered; flowers appear in May or June, about 1.5 cm. (2/3 inch) wide; stamens 10-20; anthers usually pink; calyx lobes lanceolate-acuminate, entire; styles and nutlets usually 2; fruit ripens in October, ellipsoidal-ovoid to subglobose, about 1 cm. (3/8 inch) thick, greenish to red; flesh hard and dry, rather thin. =Distribution.=--Northern New York to Ontario, eastern Kansas and south through western Connecticut to Georgia and Texas. Introduced near Montreal, about Lake Champlain and Nantucket Island. Well distributed in Indiana (but apparently more common in the southern part of the State). A small tree, sometimes 10 m. (35 feet) high, with spreading branches and a broad crown; but often a large shrub. This is a variable species and has received many names. I have seen specimens from the following counties: Allen (Deam); Crawford (Deam); Dearborn (Deam); Decatur (Mrs. Chas. C. Deam); Delaware (Deam); Dubois (Deam); Franklin (Deam); Gibson (Schneck), (Deam); Grant (Deam); Hancock (Mrs. Chas. C. Deam); Jackson (Deam); Knox (Schneck); Lawrence (Deam); Marion (Mrs. Chas. C. Deam); Posey (Deam); Owen (Grimes); Randolph (Deam); Scott (Deam); Tippecanoe (Deam); Vermillion (Deam); Vigo (Blatchley); Washington (Deam); Wells (Deam). =2. Crataegus cuneifórmis= (Marshall) Eggleston. (_C. pausiaca_ Ashe). Marshall's Thorn. Plate 78. Bark dark brown, scaly; spines numerous, 2-18 cm. (3/4-7 inches) long; leaves oblanceolate-obovate, acute at the apex, cuneate at the base, serrate or doubly serrate 3-6 cm. (1/2-1-1/2 inches) wide, dark vivid yellow-green, glabrous and impressed veined above when mature, subcoriaceous; petioles 1-2 cm. (3/8-3/4 inch) long, slightly winged above; corymbs usually slightly pubescent, many flowered; flowers appear in May, 1.2-1.5 cm. (1/2-2/3 inch) wide; calyx lobes lanceolate-acuminate, entire; stamens, 10-15; anthers dark pink; styles and nutlets 2-4; fruit ripens in October, ellipsoidal-pyriform, scarlet or dark red, about 8 mm. (3/8 inch) thick, flesh hard, thick. =Distribution.=--Western New York and Pennsylvania to southwestern Virginia, west to central Illinois. [Illustration: Plate 77. CRATAEGUS CRUS-GALLI Linnæus. Cock-spur Thorn. (× 1/2.)] [Illustration: Plate 78. CRATAEGUS CUNEIFORMIS (Marshall) Eggleston. Marshall's Thorn. (× 1/2.)] A small tree sometimes 8 m. (25 feet) high, with spreading branches, forming a flat or round crown. This species is intermediate between _Crus-galli_ and _punctata_ and has been found as yet only in a region where both these species are known. I have seen specimens from the following counties: Clark (Deam); Floyd (Deam); Gibson (Schneck), (Deam); Hamilton (Mrs. Chas. C. Deam); Knox (Schneck); Marion (Mrs. Chas. C. Deam); Posey (Deam); Vigo (Blatchley); Wells (Deam). =3. Crataegus punctàta= Jacquin. Large-fruited Thorn. Dotted Haw. Plate 79. Bark grayish-brown, scaly; leaves light grey, 2-5 cm. (3/4-4 inches) long, 1-5 cm. (1/4-2 inches) broad, dull gray-green and markedly impressed-vein above, pubescent, becoming nearly glabrous above when mature, acute or obtuse at the apex, sharply cuneate at the base, serrate, doubly serrate or lobed at the apex, subcoriaceous; petioles 1-2 cm. (3/8-3/4 inch) long, slightly winged above; corymbs tomentose or canescent, many flowered; flowers appear in June, about 2 cm. (5/6 inch) wide; calyx lobes lanceolate, acuminate, entire; stamens about 20; anthers white or pink; styles and nutlets usually 3 or 4; fruit ripens in October or November, green, yellow or red, short-ellipsoidal, 1.2-2.5 cm. (1/2-1 inch) thick, flesh hard, thick; calyx lobes spreading. =Distribution.=--Quebec to Pennsylvania, southeastern Minnesota, Iowa, Kentucky and south to the high Alleghenies. Well distributed over Indiana. A small tree, sometimes 10 m. (35 feet) high, with distinctly horizontal branches and a broad, flat crown. Specimens have been seen from the following counties: Allen (Deam); Bartholomew (Deam); Dearborn (Deam); Fulton (Deam); Gibson (Deam); Grant (Deam); Hamilton (Mrs. Chas. C. Deam); Hendricks (Deam); Howard (Deam); Jennings (Deam); Johnson (Deam); Marion (Deam); Noble (Deam); Putnam (Grimes); Vermillion (Deam); Vigo (Blatchley); Wayne (Deam); Wells (Deam). =4. Crataegus Margarètta= Ashe. Judge Brown's Thorn. Mrs. Ashe's Thorn. Plate 80. Bark dark grayish-brown; spines curved, 2-4 cm. (3/4-1-1/2 inches) long; leaves oblong-obovate or ovate, sometimes broadly so, 2-6 cm. (3/4-2-1/2 inches) long, 2-4 cm. (3/4-1-1/2 inches) wide, obtuse or acute at the apex, cuneate or rounded at the base, serrate or doubly serrate with 2 or 3 pairs of acute or obtuse lobes towards the apex, glabrous when mature, dark green above, membranaceous; petioles 1-3 cm. (3/8-1-1/4 inches) long, slightly winged; corymbs slightly pubescent, becoming glabrous, 5-12 flowered; flowers appear in May, 1.5-2 cm. (1/2-5/6 inch) wide; stamens about 20; anthers yellow; styles and nutlets usually 2; calyx lobes lanceolate-acuminate, slightly pubescent inside; fruit ripens in October, dull rusty green, yellow or red, compressed-globose, to short ellipsoidal, angular, 8-25 mm. (1/2-2/3 inch) thick, flesh yellow, mealy, hard, thick; calyx lobes reflexed, deciduous. [Illustration: Plate 79. CRATAEGUS PUNCTATA Jacquin. Large-fruited Thorn. (× 1/2.)] [Illustration: Plate 80. CRATÆGUS MARGARETTA Ashe. Judge Brown's Thorn. Mrs. Ashe's Thorn. (× 1/2.)] =Distribution.=--Southern Ontario to central Iowa, western Virginia, Tennessee and Missouri. Known in Indiana only from the northern part of the State. A small tree sometimes 8 m. (25 feet) high, with spreading branches. Specimens have been seen from the following counties: Allen (Deam); Blackford (Deam); Cass (Mrs. Ida Jackson); Delaware (Deam); Elkhart (Deam); Fulton (Deam); Grant (Deam); Henry (Deam); Huntington (Deam); Johnson (Deam); Lagrange (Deam); Lawrence (Deam); Noble (Deam); Randolph (Deam); Steuben (Deam); Tipton (Mrs. Chas. C. Deam); Wayne (Deam); Wells (Deam). =5. Crataegus collìna= Chapman. Chapman's Hill Thorn. Plate 81. Bark dark gray, scaly; spines numerous, about 3-7 cm. (1-2-1/2 inches) long; often numerous branched thorns on the trunk 15-20 cm. (6-8 inches) long, brown; leaves obovate to oblanceolate, 2-6 cm. (3/4-2-1/4 inches) long, 1.5-5 cm. (1/2-2 inches) wide, acute or obtuse at the apex, strongly cuneate, serrate or doubly serrate with obtuse lobes towards the apex, subcoriaceous, yellow-green, young leaves somewhat pubescent, becoming glabrous with age; petioles about 2.5 cm. (1 inch) long, slightly hairy, somewhat winged; corymbs and calyx pubescent; flowers about 15 mm. (3/4 inch) wide; stamens 10-20, usually 20, anthers usually yellow; styles and nutlets, 4-5; calyx lobes glandular-ciliate or glandular-serrate; fruit ripens in October, globose or compressed-globose, red or orange-red, 9-12 mm. (3/8-1/2 inch) thick; calyx tube somewhat prominent, the lobes reflexed. =Distribution.=--Virginia to Georgia, Indiana, Missouri and Mississippi. Only one station known in Indiana; Deam's No. 12449 from Dearborn County. A tree sometimes 8 meters (25 feet) high with spreading branches and a broad flat crown. =6. Crataegus succulénta= Schrader. Long-spined Thorn. Plate 82. Bark gray; spines numerous, strong, 3-10 cm. (1-1/2-4 inches) long, chestnut-brown; leaves rhombic-ovate to obovate, 3-8 cm. (1-1/4-3-1/4 inches) long, 2.5-6 cm. (1-2-1/2 inches) wide, acute at the apex, broadly cuneate at the base, serrate or doubly serrate with fine teeth, often lobed towards the apex, coriaceous, dark shining green above, pubescent along the veins beneath; petioles 1-2 cm. (3/8-3/4 inch) long, slightly winged above; corymbs slightly villous, many-flowered; flowers appear in May, about 2 cm. (3/4 inch) broad; stamens 10-20, usually 10; anthers pink or occasionally yellow or white, large; styles and nutlets usually 2 or 3; calyx lobes lanceolate-acuminate, glandular-laciniate, villous; fruit ripens in September, subglobose, 5-15 mm. (1/4-2/3 inch) thick, dark red, shining, flesh thin, glutinous; nutlet with deep pits on the inner faces; calyx-lobes villous, reflexed. [Illustration: Plate 81. CRATÆGUS COLLINA Chapman. Chapman's Hill Thorn. (× 1/2.)] [Illustration: Plate 82. CRATÆGUS SUCCULENTA Schrader. Long-spined Thorn. (× 1/2.)] =Distribution.=--Nova Scotia to Minnesota, Nebraska and south in the higher Alleghenies to North Carolina and in the Rocky Mountains to southern Colorado. As yet reported only from northern to central Indiana. A small tree sometimes 6 m. (20 feet) high, with ascending branches and a broad, irregular crown; more often, however, a large shrub. Specimens have been seen from the following counties: Allen (Deam); Cass (Mrs. Ida Jackson); Fulton (Deam); Noble (VanGorder); Putnam (Grimes); Tippecanoe (Deam); Wells (Deam). =Horticultural Uses.=--Highly ornamental for parks and hedges because of the abundant flowers, dark green shining leaves and its dark red shining fruit. =7. Crataegus neo-fluviàlis= Ashe. New River Thorn. Plate 83. Bark grayish; spines numerous, 2.5-8 cm. (1-3 inches) long; leaves elliptical-ovate to obovate, 2.5-8 cm. (1-3 inches) long, 2-6 cm. (3/4-2-1/2 inches) wide, acute or obtuse at the apex, cuneate at the base, sharply and doubly serrate, with obtuse or acute lobes towards the apex, coriaceous, dark green and shining above, pubescent along the veins beneath; petioles 1-2 cm. (3/8-3/4 inch) long, slightly winged-above; corymbs and calyx-tubes glabrous or slightly villous, many-flowered; flowers appear in May, 1.2-1.6 cm. (1/2-2/3 inch) broad, stamens 15-20, anthers usually pink, small; styles and nutlets usually 2 or 3; calyx lobes more villous on the inside, lanceolate-acuminate, glandular-laciniate; fruit ripens in September, globose or short ellipsoidal, dark red, 4-13 mm. (1/4-1/2 inch) thick, flesh thin, glutinous, nutlets with deep pits in the inner faces; calyx lobes reflexed, glabrous or slightly hairy. =Distribution.=--Western Vermont to eastern Wisconsin, Iowa and south in the Alleghenies to North Carolina. A small tree sometimes 8 m. (30 feet) high, with ascending and spreading branches. Specimens have been seen from Allen (Deam); Fulton (Deam); Shelby (Deam); Wells (Deam). [Illustration: Plate 83. CRATÆGUS NEO-FLUVIALIS Ashe. New Riverthorn. (× 1/2.)] [Illustration: Plate 84. CRATÆGUS CALPODENDRON (Ehrhart) Medicus. Pear-thorn. (× 1/2.)] =8. Crataegus Calpodéndron= (Ehrhart) Medicus. Pear-thorn. Pear or Red Haw. Plate 84. Bark pale gray to dark brown, furrowed; spines occasional, slender 3-5 cm. (1-1/4-2 inches) long; leaves rhombic-ovate, 4-11 cm. (1-1/2-4-1/2 inches) long, 3-8 cm. (1-1/4-3 inches) wide, acute or acuminate at the apex, finely and doubly serrate, those on the vegetative shoots obtuse and more entire than the others, pubescent on both sides, becoming scabrate above, subcoriaceous, dull green above; petioles about 2 cm. (3/4 inch) long, wing margined, glandular hairy; corymbs white-tomentose, many flowered; flowers appear in June, about 1.5 cm. (2/3 inch) broad; stamens about 20; anthers small, pink; styles and nutlets usually 2 or 3; calyx lobes lanceolate-acuminate, glandular laciniate; fruit ripens in September, pyriform to ellipsoidal, orange-red or red, 8-10 mm. (1/3 inch) thick, flesh glutinous; nutlets with deep pits in their inner faces; calyx lobes reflexed. =Distribution.=--Central New York, northeastern New Jersey to Minnesota and Missouri and south in the mountains to northern Georgia. A large shrub or occasionally a tree 6 m. (20 feet) high, with ascending branches forming a broad crown. Specimens have been examined from the following counties: Boone (Deam); Floyd (Deam); Hancock (Mrs. Chas. C. Deam); Harrison (Deam); Marion (Mrs. Chas. C. Deam); Posey (Deam); Putnam (Grimes); Tippecanoe (Stanley Coulter); Wells (Deam); White (Deam); Whitley (Deam). =9. Crataegus chrysocárpa= Ashe. (_Crataegus Dodgei_ Sargent. _Crataegus rotundifolia_, Borckhausen.) Round-leaved Thorn. Plate 85. Bark dark red-brown, scaly; spines numerous, chestnut-brown, curved, 2-5 cm. (1-2 inches) long; leaves ovate-orbicular or obovate, 3-6 cm. (1-1/4-2-1/4 inches) long, 2-6 cm. (3/4-2-1/4 inches) wide, acute at the apex, broadly cuneate at the base, doubly serrate with rather coarse teeth and with 3 or 4 pairs of acute lobes, subcoriaceous, dark yellow-green and shining above, slightly pubescent or glabrous; corymbs glabrous or slightly pubescent; flowers 10-15 mm. (1/2-3/4 inch) wide; stamens 5-10; anthers light yellow; styles and nutlets usually 3-4; calyx lobes lanceolate, acuminate, usually entire, but glandular margined; fruit depressed-globose to short ovoid, about 10 mm. (1/2 inch) thick, flesh soft; calyx lobes reflexed. =Distribution.=--Nova Scotia and New Brunswick to Saskatchewan, south to Nebraska and Pennsylvania and in the mountains to North Carolina and New Mexico. Round topped shrub or tree sometimes 8 meters (25 feet) high. Specimens have been seen from the following counties: Delaware and Lagrange (Deam). [Illustration: Plate 85. CRATÆGUS CHRYSOCARPA Ashe. Round-leaved Thorn. (× 1/2.)] [Illustration: Plate 86. CRATÆGUS VIRIDIS Linnæus. Southern Thorn. (× 1/2.)] =10. Crataegus víridis= Linnæus. Southern Thorn. Plate 86. Bark gray to light orange; spines uncommon, 2-5 cm. (3/4-3-1/4 inches) long; leaves oblong-ovate, 2-8 cm. (3/4-3-1/4 inches) long, 2-5 cm. (1/2-2 inches) wide, acute, acuminate or even obtuse at the apex, serrate or doubly serrate, often with acute or obtuse lobes towards the apex, dark green, shining and slightly impressed veined above, sometimes pubescent along the veins beneath; petioles 1-2 cm. (3/8-3/4 inch) long, slightly winged above; corymbs glabrous, many flowered; flowers appear in May, 1-1.5 cm. (1/2-2/3 inch) broad; stamens about 20; anthers usually yellow, sometimes pink; styles and nutlets 4 or 5; calyx lobes lanceolate-acuminate, entire, slightly pubescent inside; fruit ripens in October, globose or compressed-globose, bright red or orange, glaucous, 4-6 mm. (1/4 inch) thick, flesh thin, hard, edible. =Distribution.=--Moist, alluvial soil along streams and lakes, southeastern Virginia to northern Florida and southwestern Indiana to eastern Kansas and Texas. A tree from 6-11 m. (20-35 feet) high, with ascending branches and a broad crown. Specimens have been examined from the following counties: Dubois (Deam); Gibson (Schneck), (Deam); Knox (Schneck); Posey (Deam). =11. Crataegus nítida= (Engelmann) Sargent. Shining Thorn. Plate 87. Bark dark and scaly; spines occasional, 3-5 cm. (1-2 inches) long; leaves oblong-ovate to oval, 3-8 cm. (1-1/4-3 inches) long, 2-6 cm. (3/4-2-1/4 inches) wide, acute at the apex, cuneate at the base, coarsely serrate or twice serrate with acute lobes towards the apex, dark green and shining above, glabrous; petioles 1-2 cm. (3/8-3/4 inch) long, slightly winged above, slightly villous when young; corymbs glabrous, many-flowered; flowers appear in May, 1.2-2 cm. (1/2-3/4 inch) broad; stamens about 20; anthers light yellow; styles and nutlets 3-5; calyx lobes lanceolate-acuminate, entire; fruit ripens in October, globose to short-ellipsoidal, dark dull red, 6-9 mm. (1/4-1/2 inch) thick; flesh yellow, mealy, hard. =Distribution.=--River bottoms southwestern Indiana to southern Illinois. A tree sometimes 9 m. (30 feet) high, with ascending and spreading branches and a broad crown. Specimens have been seen from Gibson (Schneck); Posey (Deam). [Illustration: Plate 87. CRATÆGUS NITIDA (Engelmann) Sargent. Shining Thorn. (× 1/2.)] [Illustration: Plate 88. CRATÆGUS MACROSPERMA Ashe. Variable Thorn. (× 1/2.)] =12. Crataegus macrospérma= Ashe. Variable Thorn. Plate 88. Bark brown, scaly; spines numerous, stout, curved, 2-7 cm. (3/4-2-3/4 inches) long; leaves broadly elliptical-ovate to broadly ovate, 2-7 cm. (3/4-2-3/4 inches) long and wide, acute at the apex, rounded, truncate or rarely cordate at the base, serrate or doubly serrate, slightly villous, becoming glabrate, dark yellow-green above, membranaceous; petioles slender, 2-3 cm. (1/2-1-1/4 inches) long, slightly winged above; corymbs glabrous or slightly villous, many-flowered; flowers appear in May, 1.5-2 cm. (1/2-3/4 inch) broad; stamens 5-20, usually 5-10; styles and nutlets usually 3 or 4; calyx lobes lanceolate-acuminate, entire; fruit ripens in August or September, ellipsoidal or pyriform, scarlet to crimson, often glaucous, 1-1.8 cm. (1/3-3/4 inch) thick, flesh succulent, edible; calyx lobes persistent, erect or spreading. =Distribution.=--Nova Scotia and Maine to southeastern Minnesota and south in the mountains to North Carolina and Tennessee. Usually a large shrub but occasionally a small tree, sometimes 8 m. (25 feet) high, with ascending branches. Specimens have been seen from the following counties: Allen (Deam); Bartholomew (Deam); Clark (Deam); Decatur (Deam); Fulton (Deam); Hancock (Mrs. Chas. C. Deam); Madison (Deam); Porter (Deam); Randolph (Deam); Shelby (Mrs. Chas. C. Deam); Washington (Deam); Wells (Deam); Whitley (Deam). =Crataegus macrosperma= Ashe. var. =matura= (Sargent) Eggleston. Lobes of the leaves acuminate, often recurved; fruit ripens early. =Distribution.=--Known in Indiana only from Deam's specimen No. 14187 from Wells County. =13. Crataegus basilìca= Beadle. (_Crataegus alnorum_ Sargent. _Crataegus Edsoni_ Sargent). Edson's Thorn. Plate 89. Bark brown, scaly; spines 2.5-4 cm. (1-1-1/2 inches) long, stout, curved; leaves ovate, 3-7 cm. (1-1/4-2-3/4 inches) long, acute at the apex, broadly cuneate or truncate at base, serrate or doubly serrate with acute lobes, dull dark yellow-green above, paler beneath; corymbs glabrous, many flowered; flowers 15-20 mm. (5/8-7/8 inch) broad; stamens about 20; anthers pink; styles and nutlets 3-5; fruit subglobose, slightly angular, dark cherry-red, 12-15 mm. (1/2-5/8 inch) thick, flesh succulent; calyx lobes erect or spreading. =Distribution.=--New England to southern Michigan, northern Indiana and Pennsylvania to mountains of North Carolina and Tennessee. A broad shrub or small tree sometimes 4.5 meters (15 feet) high, branches ascending. Specimens examined: Wells (Deam). [Illustration: Plate 89. CRATÆGUS BASILICA Beadle. Edson's Thorn. (× 1/2.)] [Illustration: Plate 90. CRATÆGUS JESUPI Sargent. Jesup's Thorn. (× 1/2.)] =14. Crataegus Jésupi= Sargent. Jesup's Thorn. Twin Mountain Thorn. Plate 90. Bark grayish-brown; spines stout, straight 2-4 cm. (3/4-1-1/2 inches) long; leaves elliptical-ovate, 3.5-7 cm. (1-1/2-3 inches) long, 2-5.5 cm. (1-2 inches) wide, acute or acuminate at the apex, broadly cuneate to truncate-cordate, serrate or doubly serrate, with 4 or 5 pairs of acute lobes, yellow-green above, paler beneath, glabrous; petioles slender, 2-3.5 cm. (3/4-1-1/2 inches) long, slightly winged above; corymbs glabrous, many-flowered; flowers appear in May, about 2 cm. (5/6 inch) broad; stamens about 10; anthers dark red; styles and nutlets usually 3 or 4; calyx lobes entire; fruit ripens in October, short-ellipsoidal to pyriform, dark red, slightly angled, lacking bloom when mature, about 1 cm. (3/8 inch) thick, flesh yellow, firm; calyx lobes mostly deciduous. =Distribution.=--Western Vermont, to southwestern Wisconsin and south to Pennsylvania and Owen County, Indiana. A shrubby tree, sometimes 6 m. (20 feet) high, with ascending branches and a round crown. Specimens examined: Owen (Mrs. Chas. C. Deam). =15. Crataegus rugòsa= Ashe. (_Crataegus deltoides_ Ashe). Fretz's Thorn. Plate 91. Spines numerous, 3-6 cm. (1-1/4-2-1/2 inches) long, stout curved; leaves broadly ovate, 3-7 cm. (1-2-3/4 inches) long and broad, acute or acuminate at the apex, cordate or truncate at the base, serrate or twice serrate with 4-6 pairs of broad acuminate lobes, glabrous, membranaceous; petioles 1-3 cm. (3/8-1-1/4 inches) long, glabrous; corymbs many-flowered, glabrous; flowers appear in May, about 2 cm. (5/6 inch) broad; stamens 10-20; anthers pink; styles and nutlets usually 4 or 5; calyx lobes deltoid-acuminate, entire or slightly serrate at the base; fruit ripens in October, depressed-globose, bright red, angular, glabrous, waxy, 1-1.5 cm. (1/2-2/3 inch) thick, flesh yellow, somewhat succulent; calyx lobes persistent, spreading, the tube rather prominent. =Distribution.=--Southwestern New England to southern Indiana and the mountains of North Carolina. A shrub or tree sometimes 6 m. (20 feet) high, with ascending branches and an irregular crown. Specimens examined: Allen (Deam); Decatur (Deam); Grant (Deam); Jennings (Deam); Owen (Deam); Perry (Deam); Wells (Deam). =16. Crataegus fílipes= Ashe. Miss Beckwith's Thorn. (_Crataegus silvicola_ var. _Beckwithae_ (Sargent) Eggleston). Plate 92. Spines numerous, curved, chestnut-brown, 2.5 to 6 cm. (1-2-1/2 inches) long; bark slightly scaly; leaves 2-7 cm. (3/4-2-3/4 inches) long, 2-6 cm. (3/4-2-1/2 inches) wide; leaves ovate, acute or acuminate at apex, rounded, truncate or on vegetative shoots cordate at base, serrate or doubly serrate, lower pair of acuminate lobes often deeply cut, membranaceous, glabrous; corymbs glabrous; flowers about 2 cm. (3/4 inch) broad; stamens about 10; anthers pink; styles and nutlets 3-5; fruit globose or compressed-globose, cherry-red, 8-10 mm. (1/3 inch) thick, ripens in October. [Illustration: Plate 91. CRATÆGUS RUGOSA Ashe. Fretz's Thorn. (× 1/2.)] [Illustration: Plate 92. CRATÆGUS FILIPES Ashe. Miss Beckwith's Thorn. (× 1/2.)] =Distribution.=--Western New England to central Michigan and south to Pennsylvania and southern Indiana. A shrub or tree sometimes 9 meters (30 feet) high, with irregular ascending branches. Specimens have been seen from Perry County, Deam's No. 27104. =17. Crataegus Gattíngeri= Ashe. (_Crataegus coccinea_ var. _oligandra_ Torrey and Gray). Dr. Clapp's Thorn. Gattinger's Thorn. Plate 93. Spines numerous, 2.5-6 cm. (1-2 inches) long; leaves narrowly ovate to deltoid, 2.5-6 cm. (1-2-1/2 inches) long, 2-5 cm. (3/4-2 inches) wide, acuminate at the apex, broadly cuneate or rounded at the base, serrate or doubly serrate, lobed towards the apex, membranaceous, glabrous, dark green above; petioles glabrous, 2-3 cm. (3/4-1-1/4 inches) long; corymbs glabrous, many-flowered; flowers appear in May, about 2 cm. (3/4 inch) broad; stamens 10-20; anthers small, pink; styles and nutlets usually 3 or 4; fruit ripens in October, globose, angular, red, slightly waxy, 0.8-1.2 cm. (1/3-1/2 inch) thick, flesh hard; calyx tube prominent, the lobes triangular, spreading. =Distribution.=--Southern Pennsylvania and southern Indiana to West Virginia and central Tennessee. Shrub or small tree sometimes 4.5 m. (15 feet) high, with ascending, irregular branches. Specimens seen from: Floyd (Dr. Clapp, before 1840); Knox (Schneck); Perry (Deam); Steuben (Deam); Wells (Deam). =18. Crataegus pruinòsa= (Wendland) K. Koch. Waxy-fruited Thorn. Plate 94. Bark dark brown; spines numerous, slender, 3-6 cm. (1-1/4-2-1/2 inches) long; leaves elliptic-ovate to broadly ovate, 2.5-6 cm. (1-2-1/2 inches) long and wide, acute or acuminate at the apex, abruptly cuneate, rounded or occasionally cordate at the base, serrate or doubly serrate with 3 or 4 pairs of broad acute lobes towards the apex, blue-green, glabrous, membranaceous; petioles 2 or 3 cm. (3/4-1-1/4 inches) long, glabrous; corymbs glabrous, many-flowered; flowers appear in May, about 2 cm. (5/6 inch) broad; stamens 10-20; anthers pink or sometimes yellow or white; styles and nutlets 4 or 5; calyx lobes lanceolate-acuminate, entire, slightly serrate at the base; fruit ripens in October, depressed-globose to short-ellipsoidal, strongly angled, waxy, apple green, becoming scarlet or purple, 1.2-1.5 cm. (1/2-2/3 inch), thick, firm, yellow, sweet; calyx tube prominent, the lobes spreading, persistent. =Distribution.=--Rocky, open woods, western New England to Michigan and south to North Carolina and Missouri. Well distributed in Indiana. [Illustration: Plate 93. CRATÆGUS GATTINGERI Ashe. Dr. Gattinger's Thorn. (× 1/2.)] [Illustration: Plate 94. CRATÆGUS PRUINOSA (Wendland) K. Koch. Waxy-fruited Thorn. (× 1/2.)] A small shrubby tree sometimes 6 m. (20 feet) high, with irregular branches and crown. Specimens have been seen from the following counties: Allen (Deam); Clark (Deam); Decatur (Deam); Delaware (Deam); Gibson (Deam); Hamilton (Deam); Hancock (Mrs. Chas. C. Deam); Lagrange (Deam); Madison (Deam); Marion (Deam); Monroe (Deam); Porter (Deam); Putnam (Grimes); Randolph (Deam); Steuben (Deam); Sullivan (Deam); Tipton (Deam); Vermillion (Deam); Warren (Deam); Wayne (Deam); Wells (Deam). =19. Crataegus coccinioìdes= Ashe. Eggert's Thorn. (_Crataegus Eggertii_ Britton). Plate 95. Bark grayish-brown, scaly; spines curved, 2-6 cm. (3/4-2-1/2 inches) long; leaves broadly ovate, 4-9 cm. (1-1/2-3-1/2 inches) long, 3.5-8 cm. (1-3/4-3 inches) wide, acute at the apex, rounded or truncate at the base, doubly serrate with several pairs of broad, acute lobes, dark green above, paler and slightly tomentose along the veins beneath, membranaceous; petioles 2 to 3 cm. (3/4-1-1/4 inches) long, slightly pubescent; corymbs glabrous, 5-12 flowered; flowers appear in May, about 2 cm. (5/6 inch) broad; stamens about 20; anthers pink; styles and nutlets usually 4 or 5; calyx lobes ovate, acute, glandular-serrate; fruit ripens in September, subglobose, obtusely angled, 1.5-2 cm. (3/4-1 inch) thick, flesh reddish, subacid, edible; calyx tube prominent, the lobes spreading. =Distribution.=--Montreal Island to Rhode Island and west to eastern Kansas and Missouri. A small tree sometimes 6 m. (20 feet) high, with ascending and spreading branches and a broad, round-topped crown. Specimens have been seen from: Floyd (Dr. Clapp, before 1840), (Deam); Gibson (Schneck); Marion (Deam); Martin (Deam); Vigo (Blatchley); Whitley (Deam). =20. Crataegus coccínea= Linnæus. Scarlet Thorn. Red Haw. (_Crataegus pedicillata_ Sargent). Plate 96. Bark light gray, spines stout, curved, 2-6 cm. (3/4-2 inches) long; leaves broadly ovate, 3-10 cm. (1-1/4-4 inches) long, 3-9 cm. (1-1/4-3-1/2 inches) wide, acute or acuminate at the apex, broadly cuneate to truncate at the base, serrate, doubly serrate or lobed, slightly pubescent, becoming scabrous above, nearly glabrous beneath, membranaceous; corymbs glabrous or sometimes slightly villous, many-flowered; flowers appear in May, 1.5-2 cm. (2/3-5/6 inch) broad; stamens 10-20; anthers pink; styles and nutlets 3-5; fruit ripens in September, pyriform to short ellipsoidal, scarlet or red, glabrous or slightly pubescent, 1.5-2 cm. (3/4-5/6 inch) thick, flesh thick, dry and mealy; calyx lobes lanceolate-acuminate, glandular-serrate, erect or spreading, rather persistent. [Illustration: Plate 95. CRATÆGUS COCCINOIDES Ashe. Eggert's Thorn. (× 1/2.)] [Illustration: Plate 96. CRATÆGUS COCCINEA Linnæus. Scarlet Thorn. (× 1/2.)] =Distribution.=--Connecticut to Ontario, Illinois, Delaware and Pennsylvania. A small tree sometimes 8 m. (25 feet) high, with ascending and spreading branches and a broad, round-topped crown. Specimens have been seen from the following counties: Floyd (Deam); Knox (Deam); Noble (VanGorder); Steuben (Deam); White (Deam). =Horticultural Uses.=--This fine tree has been in the gardener's hands several centuries. There are specimens in the Kew Gardens, England, more than two hundred years old. =20a. Crataegus coccinea= var. =Ellwangeriàna=, n. nom. (_Crataegus pedicillata_ var. _Ellwangeriana_ (Sargent) Eggleston). Corymbs densely villous; fruit slightly villous. =Distribution.=--Known in Indiana from Deam's specimen No. 27355 from Warren County. =21. Crataegus móllis= (Torrey and Gray) Scheele. Red-fruited or Downy Thorn. Red Haw. Plate 97. Bark grayish-brown, fissured and scaly; spines curved, 3-5 cm. (1-2 inches) long; leaves broadly ovate, acute at the apex, cordate to truncate at the base, serrate or twice serrate with narrow acute lobes, 4-13 cm. (1-1/2-5 inches) long, 4-10 cm. (1-1/2-4 inches) wide, slightly rugose, densely tomentose beneath, tomentose above, becoming scabrous, membranaceous; petioles 2-4 cm. (3/4-1-1/2 inches) long, tomentose; corymbs tomentose, many-flowered; flowers appear in May, about 2.5 cm. (1 inch) broad; stamens about 20; anthers light yellow; styles and nutlets 4 or 5; fruit ripens in September, short-ellipsoidal to subglobose, scarlet, 1.5-2.5 cm. (1/2-1 inch) thick, flesh thick, yellow, edible; calyx lobes glandular-serrate, swollen, erect or spreading, deciduous. =Distribution.=--Southern Ontario to South Dakota, south to central Tennessee and Arkansas. This thorn is well distributed over Indiana. A small tree often 13 m. (40 feet) high, with ascending and spreading branches, forming a broad, round-topped crown. Specimens have been examined from the following counties: Allen (Deam); Cass (Mrs. Ida Jackson); Dearborn (Deam); Decatur (Deam); Delaware (Deam); Floyd (Deam); Gibson (Schneck), (Deam); Hancock (Deam); Hendricks (Deam); Henry (Deam); Jackson (Deam); Knox (Schneck), (Deam); Madison (Deam); Marion (Mrs. Chas. C. Deam); Montgomery (Grimes); Posey (Deam); Putnam (Grimes); Shelby (Deam); Sullivan (Deam); Vermillion (Deam); Wells (Deam); Whitley (Deam). [Illustration: Plate 97. CRATÆGUS MOLLIS (Torrey and Gray) Scheele. Red-fruited Thorn. (× 1/2.)] =22. Crataegus Phænopyrum= (Linnæus fils) Medicus. Washington Thorn. Scarlet Haw. (_Crataegus cordata_ Aiton). Plate 98. Bark grayish-brown, scaly; spines numerous, slightly curved, 2-5 cm. (3/4-2 inches) long; leaves ovate-triangular, 2-8 cm. (3/4-3 inches) long and wide, simply or doubly serrate, often 3-5 lobed, acute at the apex, rounded to cordate at the base, bright green above, glabrous; petioles slender, 1.5-5 cm. (1/2-2 inches) long, glabrous; corymbs glabrous, many-flowered; flowers appear in June, 8-12 mm. (1/3-1/2 inch) broad; stamens about 20; anthers pink; styles and nutlets usually 5; calyx lobes deltoid, entire, deciduous; fruit ripens in October or November, depressed-globose, scarlet, 4-6 mm. (1/6-1/4 inch) thick, nutlets with a bare apex and smooth back, flesh thin, firm. =Distribution.=--Virginia to Georgia, Indiana to Arkansas. Moist rich soil. Naturalized in Pennsylvania and New Jersey. Possibly it may be naturalized at the Indiana station. More knowledge of distribution in southern Indiana is needed to settle this question. A shrubby tree sometimes 9 m. (30 feet) high, with nearly erect branches and an oblong crown. Specimens have been seen from Wayne (Deam). It also occurs in the Wabash Valley. =Horticultural Uses.=--This is one of the most desirable thorns for ornamental planting and hedges. Its scarlet autumn foliage and beautiful little scarlet fruit persist for a long time. It is also one of the American thorns long in cultivation, both in Europe and the United States. =Crataegus álbicans= Linnæus. This species was reported for Indiana by Heimlich.[52] The material at hand is not sufficient to make a satisfactory determination, hence it is omitted in the text. According to the treatment of the genus Crataegus in Britton and Brown's Illustrated Flora, 2nd Edition, the range of the following species extend into Indiana. Throughout the State-- In the northern part of the State-- C. Boyntoni. C. Brainerdi. C. lucorum. In the southern part of the State-- C. roanensis. C. beata. C. berberifolia. C. villipes. C. denaria. C. Pringlei. C. fecunda. C. ovata. [Illustration: Plate 98. CRATÆGUS PHÆNOPYRUM (Linnæus filius) Medicus. Washington Thorn. (× 1/2.)] =AMYGDALÀCEAE.= The Plum Family. Trees or shrubs with alternate, simple, petioled and usually serrate leaves; flowers perfect, calyx and corolla 5 numerous, stamens 15-30; fruit a 1-seeded drupe. The characters which separate the species are not at all constant, and the species often vary much in the extremes of their range. =PRÙNUS.= The Plums and Cherries. Flowers in umbel like clusters, or somewhat corymbose, appearing before or with the leaves on branchlets of the preceding year. Margins of leaves with sharp teeth. Petioles glabrous beneath 1 P. americana. Petioles more or less pubescent all around. 2 P. americana var. lanata. Margins of leaves with blunt or crenate teeth. Teeth of center of leaves about 10 per cm.; calyx lobes glandular; fruit more than 10 mm. in diameter. Principal leaves of fruiting branches generally more than 4 cm. broad; flowers white and generally more than 17 mm. wide. 3 P. nigra. Principal leaves of fruiting branches generally less than 4 cm. broad; flowers white which on age show a tinge of pink and generally less than 17 mm. wide. 4 P. hortulana. Teeth of center of leaves about 20 per cm.; calyx lobes glandless; fruit less than 10 mm. in diameter. 5 P. pennsylvanica. Flowers in racemes, appearing after the leaves on twigs of the present year 6 P. serotina. =1. Prunus americàna= Marshall. Wild Red Plum. Plate 99. Small trees with crooked branches; bark of old trees exfoliating in irregular plates; twigs smooth; leaves obovate or oval, 5-9 cm. long, 2.5-5 cm. wide, narrowed or sometimes rounded at the base, acuminate at apex, margins sharply serrate or doubly serrate, glabrous above and smooth below, or hairy on the veins and sometimes more or less pubescent over the whole under surface, inner surface of petiole more or less hairy and sometimes bearing one or two glands; flowers appear in April or May before or with the leaves in clusters of 2-4 or sometimes singly, about 2 cm. in diameter, calyx smooth or with some hairs near the base of the lobes which are pubescent within and smooth or hairy without, lobes entire or cut-toothed above the middle, glandless or with inconspicuous glands; fruit ripens in August or September, usually globose, about 2 cm. in diameter, red; stone doubly convex, oval to nearly orbicular, surface usually smooth. [Illustration: Plate 99. PRUNUS AMERICANA Marshall. Wild Red Plum. (× 1/2.)] =Distribution.=--Massachusetts to Florida, west to Manitoba and south to New Mexico. Found throughout Indiana. While it has a general distribution, it is not generally distributed through the forests, but is local in colonies in low grounds along streams or in low places in the forest. In the southern counties it is found on the ridges and commonly about the basins of sink-holes. Large single trees may be found but they are usually surrounded by many smaller ones which are root shoots. From this habit of the tree to produce root shoots large colonies are formed which has given rise to the term "plum thickets." =Remarks.=--The wood of this tree is of no economic importance, but the species from a horticultural standpoint is one of the most important of all of the plums. Many named varieties belong to this species. It should be noted that all species of plums are quite variable, and one must not be surprised to find specimens that will not come entirely within the descriptions. =2. Prunus americana= var. =lanàta= Sudworth. Woolly-leaf Plum. Plate 100. Small trees with the characteristic wild plum tree bark, except on age it becomes more furrowed; twigs generally puberulent or sometimes smooth; leaves obovate, oblong-obovate, or sometimes somewhat ovate, generally about 6-10 cm. long, and 4-6 cm. wide, rounded at the base, acute or short acuminate at the apex, margins sharply serrate, or doubly serrate, upper surface covered with short appressed hairs, lower surface permanently pubescent with longer hairs; petioles more or less pubescent and often bearing one or more glands; flowers appear in April or May in umbels of 2-4, upper part of calyx, and its lobes pubescent both inside and out, the lobes more or less cut-toothed and bearing inconspicuous glands; fruit ripening in September, globose, reddish with a bluish bloom; stone nearly orbicular and turgid. =Distribution.=--Indiana west to Indian Territory and south to the Gulf. The range of this variety has not been well understood, and it is believed that forms of this variety in the northern part of its range have been included in the preceding species. It is certain that in our area the two forms are separated with difficulty; especially is this true of certain individuals. Specimens at hand show it to occur in Floyd, Clark, Bartholomew, Martin, Warren, Vermillion, Gibson, Warrick, and Perry Counties. =Remarks.=--This form intergrades with the preceding to such an extent that there is little difference between the extremes of the two forms. [Illustration: Plate 100. PRUNUS AMERICANA variety LANATA Sudworth. Woolly-leaf Plum. (× 1/2.)] [Illustration: Plate 101. PRUNUS NIGRA Aiton. Canada Plum. (× 1/2.)] =3. Prunus nìgra= Aiton. Canada Plum. Plate 101. Small trees with the characteristic bark of the genus; twigs smooth; leaves obovate or oval, 5-11 cm. long and 3-6 cm. wide, rounded or somewhat narrowed at the base, abruptly short acuminate toward the apex, smooth or sparsely covered above with a short appressed pubescence, more or less pubescent beneath especially along the veins, usually pubescent on the veins at maturity, margins crenate-serrate, the teeth ending in persistent glands, petioles more or less pubescent on the inner surface, and generally bearing a pair of glands, which number varies from 1 to 3, or sometimes absent; flowers appear in April or May in umbels of 2-3, about 2 cm. in diameter--the largest of the genus in Indiana, calyx smooth, the lobes smooth without and within, except toward the base which is pubescent, the lobes reddish and the margins studded with numerous red glands; fruit ripens in July, globose, red; stone short oval and very flat. =Distribution.=--New Brunswick to Massachusetts and west to Minnesota and south to central Indiana. In Indiana it is definitely known only from Wells, Blackford and Marion Counties. No doubt it ranges throughout the northern part of Indiana, but it has not been separated from _Prunus americana_. Higley and Raddin[53] in 1891, when our text books did not separate this species, in a flora which included a part of Lake County Indiana, remark: "There are two distinct forms of _Prunus americana_; one with slender branches and large flowers with glandular calyx, found in swamps and another found with stout branches and much smaller flowers with the calyx less glandular, grows in dry soil." This no doubt refers to the species under discussion. In 1898 the author found this species growing in a swamp in Wells County, and transplanted a specimen to high ground in his orchard. It has persisted ever since, growing vigorously and freely suckering from the roots, but it has been quite susceptible to the San Jose scale. =4. Prunus hortulàna= Bailey. Wild Goose Plum. Plate 102. Small trees with bark exfoliating in plates or rolls on old trees; twigs smooth; leaves oblong-oval, oval, slightly ovate or obovate, generally 6-11 cm. long and 2.5-5.5 cm. wide, rounded and often slightly oblique at the base, acuminate at the apex, margins finely serrated with short rounded and glandular teeth, generally glossy and smooth above, more or less pubescent all over beneath with long hairs, the midrib and lateral veins usually prominent below, petioles pubescent on the inner face and usually bearing one or more glands; flowers appear with the leaves in April or May in umbels of 2-4; calyx glabrous, the lobes glabrous on the outer face, and more or less pubescent within, margins glandular; fruit ripens in August, generally globose, red; stone generally short oval, very turgid, face reticulated. [Illustration: Plate 102. PRUNUS HORTULANA Bailey. Wild Goose Plum. (× 1/2.)] =Distribution.=--Central Kentucky northwestward to central Iowa and southwestward to Kansas and east to northwest Tennessee. In Indiana the specimens at hand show it to be confined to the southwestern part of the State, although Pepoon[54] reports a single tree found near Dune Park in Porter County. It is found on sandy roadside cuts, base of sandy wooded slopes, etc., and is a common tree in Sullivan County for miles on the wooded bank of the terrace of the Wabash River. =5. Prunus pennsylvánica= Linnæus filius. Wild Red Cherry. Plate 103. Small trees with smooth cherry-like bark, somewhat roughened near the base on old trees; twigs smooth, at least at maturity; leaves oval, oval-lanceolate, or ovate, sometimes slightly falcate, 4-10 cm. long, and 1.5-4 cm. wide, rounded or narrowed at the base, long acuminate at the apex, margins finely serrate with glandular incurved teeth, glossy and smooth above, generally smooth beneath, sometimes pubescent along the midrib and veins, petioles generally smooth, rarely pubescent; flowers appear with the leaves in May in umbels of 3-7, or sometimes raceme-like but the rachis shorter than the pedicels; calyx glabrous, the lobes glabrous within and without, entire and glandless; fruit ripens in August, globose, 6-7 mm. in diameter, red; stone roundish-oval, surface granular. =Distribution.=--Newfoundland and New England to the Rocky Mountains, south to Colorado and eastward through northern Indiana to Pennsylvania and thence in the mountains to North Carolina. In Indiana it is definitely known to occur only in Lake, Porter, Laporte, St. Joseph and Lagrange Counties. It is frequently found on the black oak ridges about Lake Michigan. All other reports of this species for Indiana should be looked upon with suspicion. The one by Chipman from Kosciusko County may be correct. The one by Ridgway[55] for Posey County is undoubtedly an error. No doubt Phinney's[56] record for Central Eastern Indiana (Jay, Delaware, Randolph and Wayne Counties) is an error. The range of the species is to the north of our area, and like a few others it is found about the Great Lakes south of its general range. In Ohio it is reported only from Cuyahoga County which borders Lake Erie. [Illustration: Plate 103. PRUNUS PENNSYLVANICA Linnæus fils. Wild Red Cherry. (× 1/2.)] [Illustration: Plate 104. PRUNUS SEROTINA Ehrhart. Wild Black Cherry. (× 1/2.)] =6. Prunus serótina= Ehrhart. Wild Cherry. Cherry. =Wild Black Cherry.= Plate 104. Medium to large sized trees; bark of young trees smooth, becoming on old trees irregularly fissured and separating in small scaly plates; twigs slender and smooth, sometimes pubescent while young; leaves oval, oblong-oval, ovate or narrowly ovate, generally 5-12 cm. long and 2-4 cm. wide, generally narrowed at the base, sometimes rounded, short or long acuminate at the apex, margin finely serrate with incurved sharp callous teeth, smooth above and below, sometimes slightly pubescent beneath while young; flowers appear in May, when the leaves are almost grown, on the ends of the year's growth, in racemes generally 5-10 cm. long; fruit ripens in July and August, globose, about 6-10 mm. in diameter, dark red to almost black. =Distribution.=--Nova Scotia to South Dakota, south to Florida and west to Texas. Found in all parts of Indiana. It prefers a moist loose soil and is usually found with beech, sugar maple, tulip, white ash and white oak. In the original forest it was a rare to a frequent tree, and only rarely and locally did it ever become common. It grew to be several feet in diameter and was as tall as the highest trees of the forest. The trunk of the tree, however, was inclined to be crooked. It has now become a frequent tree along fences. =Remarks.=--The wood of wild cherry from pioneer times has been a favorite wood, and for this reason the tree soon disappeared and today large trees are very rare. The wood is strong, close-grained, reddish-brown, and very much resembles mahogany. In value it stands second in Indiana woods. It is used principally for furniture, office and store fixtures. The wild cherry grows readily from seed; is not difficult to transplant; adapts itself to almost all kinds of soils and grows rapidly. In Spring it is one of the very first trees to put out its leaves. It is not shade enduring, which no doubt, in a great measure, accounts for its rarity in the primeval forests. When grown in the open the tree usually produces an abundance of fruit which is much relished by birds. This species has many good features, and might be used to advantage in forest planting. =CAESALPINÀCEAE.= The Senna Family. Leaves simple; flowers pink; seed pod papery 1 Cercis. Leaves compound; flowers not pink; seed pod woody or leathery. Trees with thorns; stamens 3-5, longer than the corolla; pods flat and leathery; seeds about 1 cm. (1/2 inch) long 2 Gleditsia. Trees without thorns; stamens 10, shorter than the corolla; pods swollen, woody; seeds about 2 cm. (1 inch) long 3 Gymnocladus. =1. CÉRCIS.= The Redbud. =Cercis canadénsis= Linnæus. Redbud. Plate 105. Small trees; bark of trunk of old trees fissured, reddish-brown; twigs glabrous, light brown, becoming a dark brown; leaves alternate, broadly ovate, average blades 6-14 cm. long, cordate at base, short-pointed, sometimes short-acuminate or rarely rounded at the apex, margins entire, glabrous or pubescent on unfolding, at maturity usually glabrous on both sides, or with a few hairs in the axils of the veins or along the veins, sometimes more or less pubescent beneath, and with hairs on the veins above; petioles generally 2-6 cm. long; flowers appear in April or May before the leaves, in clusters of 4-8 on the branches of the preceding season, pink or rose color; pods 5-10 cm. long, thin, flat and glabrous; wood heavy, hard and weak. =Distribution.=--In Canada along the shores of Lake Erie and Ontario, New York west through Michigan to Iowa, south to the Gulf States and west to Texas. Found throughout Indiana except there are no records from the counties bordering Lake Michigan. In the northern part of the State it is rare or frequent in alluvial soil along streams or in rich woods. In the southern part of the State it is a frequent to a common tree in ravines and on slopes. It is never found in wet situations, and consequently is absent in the "flats" of the southern counties. =Remarks.=--The redbud is the common name for this tree throughout the State. In one locality it was known as the fish blossom because the larger fish spawn when this tree is in flower. In text books it is also called Judas tree. It is usually a tree 1-1.5 dm. in diameter and 5-10 m. high. It is of no economic importance and is classed as a weed tree in the woodlot and should be removed. It is frequently recommended for ornamental planting. It prefers a rich moist soil, and is shade enduring, although it succeeds best in the open or in a light shade. =2. GLEDÍTSIA.= The Honey Locust. Pods more than 8 cm. long; seeds oval 1 G. triacanthos. Pods less than 8 cm. long; seeds orbicular 2 G. aquatica. =1. Gleditsia triacánthos= Linnæus. Honey Locust. Plate 106. Medium to large sized trees; bark of old trunks fissured and peeling off in strips; spines on trunk large and often much branched, sometimes 4 dm. long; spines on branches not so large, generally more or less forked; twigs at first green, turning a light brown; leaves pinnate or bipinnate, 1-2 dm. long, rachis permanently pubescent; leaflets 9-14 pairs, fewer on the bipinnate forms, petiolules about 1 mm. long, form variable from ovate to lanceolate, sometimes somewhat falcate, generally 2-3 cm. long, usually more or less pubescent beneath; flowers appear in May or June, inconspicuous, greenish-yellow, rich in honey, their appearance being announced by the hum of the swarm of insects visiting them; fruit a flat, linear twisted pod, 2-4 dm. long, glabrous and lustrous or pubescent on the sides; seeds several, oval, about 6 mm. wide, and 10 mm. long, glabrous and chestnut brown; wood heavy, hard, strong, coarse-grained and takes a good polish. [Illustration: Plate 105. CERCIS CANADENSIS Linnæus. Redbud. (× 1/2.)] [Illustration: Plate 106. GLEDITSIA TRIACANTHOS Linnæus. Honey Locust. (× 1/2.)] =Distribution.=--Pennsylvania, southern Michigan to Iowa, and south to the Gulf States and west to Texas. Found infrequently throughout Indiana along streams, except that it is absent about Lake Michigan and that in the southwestern counties it becomes a frequent tree in the Wabash bottoms. In its native habitat it is rarely found except near a stream, pond, lake, etc. However, in the southeastern counties it has spread all over many of the hillsides which were once cleared and have been abandoned for agricultural purposes and left to natural forest regeneration. It was interesting to learn how this tree was able to propagate itself on the steep bare slopes. It was found that the seeds were scattered by cattle that greedily eat the fruit. It is a medium sized tree, except in the Wabash bottoms of the southwestern part of the State where it grows to be one of the largest trees of the forest, and is more luxuriant than in any other part of its range. =Remarks.=--In making a study of the fruit of this species, it was found that the sides of all the pods of all the specimens at hand except one are glabrous, even those of young fruit. The margins of the pods are pubescent. However, a specimen collected on August 27th in Vermillion County has the entire pod covered with long hairs. In consulting the literature on the subject it is found that some authors describe the fruit as glabrous while others describe it as hairy. It would be interesting to study the significance of this character to learn if each form has a geographic range. The wood is used principally for interior finish, furniture, posts and crossties. The tree has a grace that recommends it for ornamental planting despite its thorns. However, a thornless variety is now offered by nurserymen. It adapts itself to all kinds of soils, although it prefers a moist rich soil; grows rapidly and is comparatively free from insect damage. [Illustration: Plate 107. GLEDITSIA AQUATICA Marshall. Water Honey Locust. (× 1/2.)] =2. Gleditsia aquática= Marshall. Water Honey Locust. Plate 107. A medium sized tree with rather smooth bark, which becomes rough and flaky on large trees; twigs greenish, turning to a light brown by the end of the year; branchlets a greenish-gray brown; spines all usually more or less flattened, those of the branchlets and branches, rather few and usually simple, 4-10 cm. long, those of the trunk branched, spines do not develop on the year's growth; leaves from old wood pinnate, from the year's growth bipinnate; rachis grooved and pubescent or puberulent above and smooth below; leaflets generally 7-11 pairs, variable in shape and size, generally lanceolate and 1.5-2.5 cm. long, on petiolules about 1 mm. long, glabrous; flowers similar to the preceding species; fruit a glabrous, shining, oblique pod about 4-5 cm. long, containing 1 seed; seeds orbicular, flat, chestnut brown, about 1 cm. in diameter. =Distribution.=--Atlantic Coast from North Carolina south to Florida, and the Mississippi Valley from southwestern Indiana southward to Texas. In Indiana this species is rare and limited to the banks of river sloughs, locally called ponds and to one cypress swamp. It is known to have occurred on the banks of Wabash and Dan's ponds and Little Cypress swamp in the southwest corner of Knox County, and in Gibson County on the bank of a slough near Skelton and about Burnett's pond. The reference to Posey County is without a verifying specimen, although it may be found in the county. The writer has visited about every place in the county where the species might occur, and has never found it. Gorby's[57] reference for Miami County is without doubt an error. In our area it is a low crooked tree and grows with its base submerged more or less during the year. The idea of the proportions of this tree can be obtained from the measurements taken from the largest tree now known in Indiana, which is located on the shore of Dan's pond in Knox County. It measures 158 cm. (66 inches) in circumference at 1 m. above the ground, and is estimated to be 10 m. (30 feet) high. This species is too rare to be of economic importance. =Gleditsia aquatica × triacanthos.= Dr. Schneck[58] found two honey locust trees which he described as hybrids of the two species. The one was located on the bank of Dan's pond in Knox County, and the other in Gibson County. The original description is as follows: "In both instances the pods are the distinguishing feature. These are very much alike in both trees, being about 5 inches long, 1-1/2 inches wide, smooth, shining, of a light brown color and entirely destitute of pulp. Otherwise the tree cannot be distinguished from the trees among which they stand. They are both about 50 feet high, with short stems and spreading branches, and stand about 5 miles apart." The writer has five fruiting specimens from these two trees, taken by Dr. Schneck. Two of the sheets have the round and branched spines of _G. triacanthos_. =3. GYMNÓCLADUS.= The Coffee Tree. =Gymnocladus dioíca= (Linnæus) Koch. Coffeenut Tree. Plate 108. Medium sized trees; bark of trunks fissured, the ridges often curling up along the sides, very hard; twigs at first hairy, becoming glabrous and mottled gray-brown by the end of the season, robust, usually about 1 cm. in diameter; leaves alternate, twice pinnate, 3-9 dm. long, leaflets usually 6-10 pairs, ovate, generally from 3-4 cm. long, generally oblique and rounded, wedge-shape or truncate at the base, acute or very sharp-pointed at the apex, petiolules about 1 mm. long, pubescent on both sides at first, becoming glabrous or nearly so at maturity; flowers of two kinds, the male and female on separate trees, appearing in May or June; fruit a pod generally about 1-2 dm. long, thick, curved; seeds generally 4-7, large, flattened about 2 cm. in diameter; wood heavy, not hard, coarse-grained and takes a high polish. =Distribution.=--New York, southwestern Ontario to southern Minnesota south to Tennessee and Arkansas. This species has been reported or is known to exist in 33 counties in various parts of the State. It no doubt was native to every county of the State, except it be those bordering Lake Michigan from which we have no reports. It is a rare tree in all parts. Only exceptionally is it found even frequently. A few trees may be found in one place, and it will not be found again for many miles. No doubt there are many areas with a radius of 5 to 10 miles where this tree never occurred. It is usually found in alluvial soil along streams, or nearby terraces. =Remarks.=--This species generally is not very tall, and is usually found in open places in the forest or cut-over lands. However, one specimen was seen in Posey County that was as tall as a specimen of pecan of equal size that grew nearby. This species was so rare in this vicinity that I was asked to drive three miles to identify this tree which no one could name. Coffeenut, which is sometimes called Kentucky coffeenut, has always been so rare as to be of little economic importance. It has no qualities to recommend it for ornamental planting. =FABÀCEAE.= The Pea Family. Trees, shrubs, vines or herbs with alternate leaves, mostly compound; flowers with five petals which are pea-like (papilionaceous); stamens generally 10; fruit a legume. [Illustration: Plate 108. GYMNOCLADUS DIOICA (Linnæus) Koch. Coffeenut Tree. (× 9/20).] =ROBÍNIA.= The Locusts. =Robinia Pseùdo-Acàcia= Linnæus. Locust. Black Locust. Plate 109. Medium sized trees with deeply furrowed bark; twigs at first green and hairy, becoming at the end of the season glabrous and a light brown, the stipules developing in about a year into a pair of woody spines about 2 cm. long; leaves pinnate, 1.5-3 dm. long; leaflets 7-17 on short stalks, ovate to oblong, 2-6 cm. long, rounded at base, rounded or pointed and with a small indenture at apex, margin entire, pubescent on both sides at first, becoming at maturity glabrous above and remaining more or less pubescent below, especially on the midrib; flowers in loose racemes, white, expanding in May or June; fruit a flat and slightly curved pod about 5-10 cm. long, glabrous; seeds usually 4-8 in each pod, about 4 mm. long and 2.5 mm. wide; wood heavy, very hard, close-grained, takes a good polish, very durable in contact with the soil. =Distribution.=--Appalachian Mountains from Pennsylvania south to northern Georgia, and in Arkansas. In Indiana it is found as an escape in all parts and was doubtless native along the Ohio River, at least in the southeastern part of the State. Thomas[59] says: "We had gazed at the majestic beech of this country (near Rising Sun) three feet in diameter; we had seen the honey locust, the black walnut, a buckeye of equal magnitude; and then we saw with surprise, the black locust almost a rival in stature." Drake[60] says: "The flowering locust is abundant in Kentucky. Along the Ohio River it is rarely found more than 30 miles north of the river." =Remarks.=--This tree is generally known as the locust tree, but is sometimes called the yellow locust. Locust wood is somewhat lighter than white oak, but it is 34 percent stiffer and 45 per cent stronger. These remarkable qualities added to its durability in contact with the ground make it one of the most desirable trees for forest planting. The wood has been used principally for posts, ties, tree nails, etc. The locust when grown close together usually grows to 8-12 inches in diameter. There are, however, specimens that have grown in the open that are almost three feet in diameter. The pioneers used it extensively for ornamental planting, and it has escaped from such planting in all parts of the State. It propagates easily by root shoots which is the principal mode of spreading, except where the seed fall on exposed soil. [Illustration: Plate 109. ROBINIA PSEUDO-ACACIA Linnæus. Black Locust. (× 1/2.)] The locust has of recent years been extensively planted for post timber. It is very easily propagated from seedlings and grows rapidly. It is adapted to all kinds of soil, except a wet one. It prefers a well drained soil and seems to grow as fast in a loose clay soil as in a black loam. When used for forest planting the spacing should be from 5 × 5 feet to 8 × 8 feet. The spacing should be governed by the quality of the soil, and the amount of pruning that can be done. The locust has the habit of having the terminal to end in a fork and having one or more very large side branches. The best management requires that the very large side branches be removed as soon as they are noted, and one part of the terminal forks be cut off. The locust until recently gave great promise of being an important tree for planting sterile, washed and eroded slopes, on which it usually thrives and in many cases grows thriftily. However, reports from all parts of the State show that locust groves wherever planted are being killed by the locust body borer. The locust has also been attacked by the twig borer, bag worm and the leaf miner. At present there are no known economic means of controlling these destructive pests, and until they can be controlled, the planting of locust for commercial purposes will not prove profitable. =SIMARUBÀCEAE.= The Quassia Family. =AILÁNTHUS.= Tree of Heaven. =Ailanthus altíssima= (Miller) Swingle. Tree of Heaven. Stink Tree. (_Ailanthus glandulosa_ Desfontaines). Plate 110. Medium sized trees with dark gray bark, thin, rough or fissured on old trees; branchlets very robust; twigs smooth; leaves compound and very large, especially on coppice shoots, usually about 4-6 dm. long, odd-pinnate, arranged spirally on the branchlets; leaflets 13-41, ovate-oblong, acuminate, oblique at base, entire or with a few blunt teeth toward the base, smooth or hairy when they unfold, becoming smooth at maturity, dark green above, lighter beneath; flowers appear in June in large terminal panicles, the staminate and pistillate on different trees; fruit maturing in autumn, consists of many light brown, twisted and broadly-winged samaras which are about 1 cm. wide and 4-5 cm. long. =Distribution.=--A native of China. Introduced and spreading in cities, and into fields and woods in the southern part of the State. The most notable occurrence is in Jefferson County on the wooded bluffs of the Ohio River between Madison and Hanover. =Remarks.=--Where the sugar and black maple can not be used for shade tree planting this tree should receive attention. It adapts itself to all kinds of soils, and to all kinds of growing conditions such as smoke, etc. The crown is of an oval or rounded type. It stands pruning and injury to trunk or branches quite well. It is practically free from all diseases and insect injury. The leaves appear late but they do not fall until the first killing frost when they are killed, and frequently practically all of the leaves will fall in one day. The staminate flowers exhale a fetid odor for a few days which is about the only objectionable feature in this tree. In order to obviate this objection, nurserymen are now offering for sale pistillate trees which have been grafted on common stock. [Illustration: Plate 110. AILANTHUS ALTISSIMA (Miller) Swingle. Ailanthus or Tree of Heaven. (× 1/2.)] =ACERÀCEAE.= The Maple Family. =ÀCER.= The Maples. Trees with terete branches; scaly buds; long petioled, opposite leaves; fruit consists of two long-winged samaras which are joined at their base, separating at maturity. The sap of some of the species, when concentrated, yields the maple sugar and sirup of commerce. Leaves trifoliate or pinnate 1 A. Negundo. Leaves simple. Winter buds blunt; flowers appear from lateral buds before the leaves; fruit maturing in the spring or early summer. Leaves entirely glabrous beneath at maturity, 5-lobed; the two sinuses between the three largest lobes generally somewhat closed, formed as it were by the arcs of two circles which meet to form the sinus, and which if they were extended outward would cross each other within a few dm. of the sinus; fruit more or less pubescent at maturity 2 A. saccharinum. Leaves are never all entirely glabrous at maturity, 3-5 lobed; the two largest sinuses are generally angular with straight sides which if extended outward would never cross; fruit smooth at maturity. Twigs smooth at maturity; leaves at maturity smooth beneath except a few hairs in the axils of the veins, or more rarely the entire lower surface covered more or less with a short pubescence; mature fruit generally 2-3.5 cm. long 3 A. rubrum. Twigs more or less pubescent at maturity; leaves beneath covered with a dense tomentum which remains until maturity or sometimes becoming scanty; fruit about 4-5 cm. long var. Drummondii. Winter buds acute, sometimes somewhat blunt; flowers appear from terminal buds after the leaves; fruit maturing in the autumn. Leaves yellow green beneath; base of the petiole of the terminal leaves enlarged at the base, smooth or somewhat pubescent about the enlarged base. 4 A. nigrum. Leaves not yellow green beneath; base of the petiole of the terminal leaves not enlarged, petioles smooth, or if pubescent at the base the pubescence will be more or less evident the entire length of the petiole. Petioles smooth; leaves 3-5 lobed, blade as long or longer than wide, not densely pubescent beneath at maturity. 5 A. saccharum. Petioles smooth; leaves 3-lobed, blades wider than long. A. saccharum var. Rugelii. Petioles pubescent, rarely smooth; leaves 5-lobed, rarely 3-lobed, the under surface densely pubescent at maturity. A. saccharum var. Schneckii. =1. Acer Negúndo= Linnæus. Box Elder. Plate 111. A medium-sized tree with a short trunk and round head; bark of young trees smooth and gray, becoming thick on old trees, light to dark brown and more or less furrowed or rarely somewhat flaky; twigs smooth and greenish; leaves of average size are 1.5-3 dm. long, generally with 3 leaflets on the flowering branches, sometimes 5 or rarely with 7, on sterile branches or on growing shoots 3-7, the petioles generally 1/3-1/2 the length of the leaf and glabrous or nearly so at maturity; leaflets all on stalks more or less pubescent, the lateral stalks short, the terminal ones much longer, leaflets of varying size and shape, the margins usually varying from lobed to serrate or entire, pinnately veined, smooth above at maturity and remaining more or less pubescent beneath, especially along the veins; flowers appear just before the leaves the last of April or the first of May, the staminate and pistillate on separate trees; fruit matures late in summer, the body of the samara green and more or less pubescent. =Distribution.=--New England to Florida, west to Minnesota and south to eastern Texas. In Indiana, it is found throughout the State in moist or wet places along creeks and rivers, and infrequently on the highlands along roadsides and fences. Its original distribution in the State can only be conjectured. Judging from its tolerance to shade and its habitat, and from the earliest reports of its occurrence in the State, this species was quite rare in the northern part of the State, becoming infrequent to frequent in its habitat in the southern part of the State. Even today it is rather local in its distribution. I have never seen it on the low mucky border of a lake. =Remarks.=--This species on account of its rapid growth was formerly much used in our area as a shade tree. It is believed that most of the trees now found along roadsides, fences, clearings and on the drier banks of streams are from seed distributed by the wind from planted trees. This species is now little used as a shade tree and is never recommended because it sheds its leaves early, and is subject to injury from disease and insects. [Illustration: Plate 111. ACER NEGUNDO Linnæus. Box Elder. (× 1/2.)] =1a. Acer Negundo= variety =violàceum= Kirchner. (_Rulac Nuttallii_ Nieuwland). This variety is distinguished by its glaucous twigs and by the body of the fruit being glabrous at maturity. In most instances when the bloom is rubbed from the twigs they show a purple tinge, hence the varietal name. =Distribution.=--I have this variety in Indiana from the following counties: Brown, Cass, Elkhart, Franklin, Fulton, Hendricks, Henry, Jennings, Lagrange, Martin, Posey, St. Joseph, Vermillion and Wayne. =2. Acer saccharìnum= Linnæus. Silver Maple. Soft Maple. White Maple. Plate 112. Medium sized trees; bark of small trees smooth and gray, becoming on old trees reddish-brown, and freely splitting into thin scales; branchlets light to reddish-brown and generally turning upward at their tips; leaves generally about 1 dm. long, generally somewhat cordate at the base, sometimes truncate, deeply 3-lobed, each of the lateral lobes with an additional lobe below, margins of all of the lobes more or less irregular or even lobed, the two principal sinuses generally show a tendency to close, leaves hairy beneath when young, glabrous above and below at maturity and very glaucous beneath; flowers appear in March or April in the axils of the leaves of the previous year, the staminate and pistillate in separate clusters on the same or different trees; fruit on pedicels 1.5-6 cm. long, maturing in the spring or early summer, green, densely hairy while young and remaining more or less hairy at maturity, 4-7 cm. long, wings 1-2 cm. wide. =Distribution.=--New Brunswick to Florida, west to South Dakota and south to Texas. Locally frequent to very common in all parts of Indiana. This species is always found in wet or moist places, and in the lower Wabash bottoms in low overflow lands or in or about old sloughs it often forms the principal stand. It is more frequently associated with black willow, white elm, red birch, sycamore, etc. =Remarks.=--The silver maple has been used extensively for shade tree planting. The branches are very brittle, and ice storms sometimes break off so many branches that the tree may be badly injured. The shade trees of this species are in many parts of the state being killed by scale insects, and for this reason it should not be used. On account of its rapid growth it has also been much used for windbreaks but this practice should be discouraged and better species used. [Illustration: Plate 112. ACER SACCHARINUM Linnæus. Silver Maple. (× 1/2.)] =3. Acer rùbrum= Linnæus. Red Maple. Soft Maple. Swamp Maple. Plate 113. Medium to large sized trees; bark of small trees smooth and gray, becoming dark brown on old trees, somewhat furrowed and scaly; branchlets smooth and reddish; twigs generally smooth but sometimes hairy, becoming glabrous by autumn; leaves 5-12 cm. long, 3-5 lobed, more or less cordate at the base, sometimes truncate or rounded, sinuses acute, those of 3-lobed leaves generally wider angled than those of 5-lobed ones, the lobes more or less irregularly serrate or dentate, hairy while young, glabrous above and more or less hairy beneath at maturity, glaucous beneath; flowering period March or April; flowers red or reddish, in the axils of the leaves of the previous year, the staminate and pistillate in separate clusters on the same or different trees; fruit maturing late in spring, on pedicels 3-8 cm. long, generally red, sometimes green, glabrous at maturity, rarely somewhat pubescent, 1.5-3.5 cm. long. =Distribution.=--Newfoundland to Florida, west to Minnesota and south to Texas. It is found in all parts of Indiana. Its preferred habitat is that of low ground about lakes, swamps, along streams and in the "flats" in the southeast part of the State. Throughout its range in Indiana where it is found in low ground, it is in places rich in organic matter, except in the "flats" of the southern part of the State where it grows in a hard clay soil with sweet gum, red birch, etc. In contrast the silver maple is generally found growing in wet places with little organic matter; especially is this true in the lower Wabash bottoms. The red maple grows also on high ground. In the northern part of the State it is only an occasional tree of gravelly ridges or on high ground about lakes or along streams. In the southern part of the State it is a local to a frequent tree in most parts of the "knob" area where it is associated with white oak, black oak, black gum, etc. It is also an occasional tree on the top of bluffs and cliffs. =Remarks.=--The red maple is not abundant enough in Indiana to be of any economic importance. It grows rapidly and should replace the silver maple for shade tree planting since its branches are not broken off as easily by ice storms and it is more resistant to insect attack. =3a. Acer rubrum= variety =Drummóndii= (Hooker and Arnott) Torrey and Gray. This variety of the red maple is a form found in the dense swamps of the lower Wabash Valley. It is distinguished from the type by its twigs which generally remain more or less hairy until maturity; by the under surface of the leaves remaining more or less tomentose during the summer, and by its larger fruit. This variety is known with certainty only from Little Cypress Swamp in Knox County about 12 miles southwest of Decker. Here it is a frequent to a common tree associated with cypress, swell-butt ash, button-bush, sweet gum, etc. All of the trees of this locality have 5-lobed leaves. [Illustration: Plate 113. ACER RUBRUM Linnæus. Red Maple. (× 1/2.)] A specimen collected in the "bottoms" about two miles east of Huntingburg in Dubois County has 3-lobed leaves which are tomentose beneath at fruiting time and has fruit intermediate in size between the type and variety _Drummondii_ which I doubtfully refer to variety tridens Wood. =4. Acer nìgrum= F. A. Michaux. Black Maple. Black Sugar. Plate 114. Medium to large sized trees with dark furrowed bark on old trees; leaves a little wider than long, 6-15 cm. long, on petioles usually 3-15 cm. long which are more or less swollen at the base and by maturity develop a scale like appendage on each side of the petiole at the base--especially on each of the terminal pair of leaves, sometimes with foliar stipules which are 2-3 cm. long on stalks of equal length, leaves with three main lobes, the two lower lobes generally have a small lobe at their base, margins of lobes entire and undulating, sinuses between main lobes generally rounded at the base, wide and shallow, base with a narrow sinus, the lower lobes often overlapping, rarely somewhat dentate, dark green above and a paler yellow green below, hairy on both surfaces when young, becoming at maturity glabrous above and remaining more or less pubescent beneath; flowers appear in May when the leaves are about half grown on long hairy pedicels, the staminate and pistillate in separate clusters on the same or different trees; fruit matures in autumn, the samaras about 3 cm. long. =Distribution.=--Quebec to Georgia, west to South Dakota and south to Louisiana. Found in all parts of Indiana and invariably associated with sugar maple, and often with beech in addition. Frequently almost pure stands of sugar maple may be found with the black maple absent. Where found it is usually a frequent to common tree, and when it occurs on a wooded slope it is more frequent near the base and appears to be able to advance farther into moist situations than its congener. =Remarks.=--This tree cannot be distinguished from the sugar maple by its form, but at short range can be separated from it by its richer green foliage and by the drooping habit of the lower lobes of the leaves. It is commonly separated from the sugar maple by the darker color and by the narrower and shallower furrows of the bark, but these characters will not always separate the two species. Hence, when buying black maple trees from a nurseryman you may receive the sugar maple. Those who distinguish the two species agree that the black maple is the more desirable tree for shade tree planting. The black and sugar maple are the two most desirable trees for shade tree planting in Indiana. They are long lived, have a very desirable form, beautiful foliage, a long leaf period, and are quite free from disease and insect injury. [Illustration: Plate 114. ACER NIGRUM. F. A. Michaux. Black Maple. (× 1/2.)] =5. Acer sáccharum= Marshall. Sugar Maple. Sugar Tree. Hard Maple. Rock Maple. Plate 115. Usually large, tall trees. The bark of small trees is smooth or rough, becoming fissured on old trees, tight or on very old trees sometimes the ridges loosen on one edge and turn outward. The leaves are extremely variable on different trees, and frequently show a wide variation on the same tree, as to form and in the presence or absence of hairs on the petioles and on the under surface of the leaves. In our area all of the forms which have the majority of the leaves longer than wide or about as wide as long, may be considered as falling within the type. The average sized leaves are 6-12 cm. long, 3-5 lobed, more or less cordate at the base, generally with a broad sinus, sometimes truncate or slightly wedge-shape, sinuses generally wide-angled and rounded at the base, sometimes acute, hairy beneath when young, becoming smooth at maturity except for a few hairs along the veins or in the main axils of the veins, or sometimes remaining more or less pubescent over the whole under surface, more or less glaucous beneath; flowers appear in April or May, on hairy pedicels 3-7 cm. long, the staminate and pistillate in clusters on the same or different trees; fruit ripening in autumn, samaras glabrous and usually 2-4 cm. long. =Distribution.=--Newfoundland to Georgia, west to Manitoba and south to Texas. A frequent to a very common tree in all parts of Indiana. It is confined to rich uplands, or along streams in well drained alluvial soil. Throughout our area it is constantly associated with the beech. It is absent in the "flats" of the southeastern part of the State, and on the crest of the ridges of the "knob" area of Indiana, but it is a frequent or common tree on the lower slopes of the spurs of the "knobs." =Remarks.=--The under surface of the leaves of the sugar maple in the northern part of its range are green, while those of the southern part of its range are quite glaucous beneath. To distinguish these two intergrading forms the southern form has been called =Acer saccharum= var. =glaucum= Sargent[61]. All of the trees seen in Indiana have leaves more or less glaucous beneath. This character, however, is not always evident in dried specimens. The writer prefers not to apply the varietal name to the forms of our area. The sugar maple always has been and will continue to be one of the most important trees of the State. In its mass distribution in Indiana it ranks not less than third. In the quality and uses of its wood it is equalled or exceeded only by the oak, ash and hickory. When compared with white oak it is a little lighter but thirty per cent stronger and fifty-three per cent stiffer. The greatest amount of the annual cut of maple is worked into flooring which is shipped to all parts of the world. It is much used in the manufacture of furniture and ranks third in use for veneer and hard wood distillation, and as a fuel wood is excelled only by hickory. Since pioneer times, the sap of this tree has been made into sirup and sugar and their manufacture now forms a valuable industry. On an average it takes 3 to 4 gallons of sap to make a pound of sugar, and an average sized tree will annually yield about 3 to 4 pounds of sugar. [Illustration: Plate 115. ACER SACCHARUM Marshall. Sugar Maple. (× 1/2.)] The sugar maple on account of its slow growth has not been used much in reforestation. It is very tolerant of shade, can adapt itself to almost all kinds of soils, thrives either in a pure or mixed stand, and is practically free from injury of insects and diseases. It has, however, been extensively used as a shade tree. For this purpose it is scarcely excelled by any other tree. When grown in the open it almost invariably assumes a symmetrical oval form, and the autumnal coloration of its foliage is rarely surpassed by any of our trees. Where a large tree is desired for street or ornamental planting the sugar maple can safely be recommended. =5a. Acer saccharum= variety =Rugélii= (Pax) Rehder. This variety of the sugar maple has leaves much wider than long, smaller and 3-lobed. The lobes are long acuminate and usually entire, sometimes the lower lobe has a small lobe near the base. This variety is included in our flora on the authority of C. S. Sargent who has given this name to specimens from Indiana in the writer's herbarium. The specimens so named are from the southern part of the State. While there is a wide range of difference in the shape of the leaves of the typical 5-lobed _Acer saccharum_ and its variety _Rugelii_, all intermediate forms can be easily found. The leaves of a tree will vary most on those trees whose average shaped leaves are farthest from the typical form. =5b. Acer saccharum= variety =Schnéckii= Rehder. This variety in its extreme form is well marked by having the petioles and under surface of the leaves densely covered with hairs. The variety is characterized by having a "fulvous pubescence," but the 18 specimens at hand show the color of the pubescence on both young and mature specimens to range from white to fulvous. The leaves of all specimens at hand are 5-lobed and show a variation of leaves with petioles and under surface of leaves densely pubescent to those with petioles glabrous and with densely pubescent under surface. The habitat is that of a dry soil and associated with beech. It has been found in Gibson, Martin, Perry, Posey and Vanderburgh counties. =AESCULÀCEAE.= The Buckeye Family. =AÉSCULUS.= The Buckeyes. Trees with dark or ashy-gray colored bark; twigs stout; buds large, leaves opposite, palmately divided into 5-9 ovate or oblong divisions, the divisions serrate; flowers in terminal panicles; fruit a 3-lobed capsule. The fruit is poisonous to stock, although it rarely proves fatal. Anthers protruding from the flower; fruit warty 1 A. glabra. Anthers included in the flower; fruit smooth 2 A. octandra. =1. Æsculus glàbra= Willdenow. Buckeye. Plate 116. Medium to large sized trees[62]; bark of old trees fissured, not tight; branchlets robust; twigs at first more or less pubescent, remaining more or less hairy until maturity; leaves large, 5-foliate, rarely 6 or 7 foliate, petioles more or less pubescent; leaflets sessile or on very short stalks, ovate-oblong, oval-oblong, or obovate, about 1 dm. long, acuminate, narrowed to a wedge-shaped base, more or less pubescent beneath until maturity, especially along the principal veins, margins irregularly serrate except near the base; flowers generally appear in May when the leaves are almost full size, but in the southern part of the State the flowers sometimes appear the last of March, flower clusters 1-1.5 dm. long, the whole inflorescence usually densely covered with white hairs, flowers pale-greenish yellow; fruit a globular spiny capsule, generally 3-6 cm. in diameter, which usually contains 1-3 large glossy chocolate-colored nuts. The pubescence on the petioles, leaflets and inflorescence is generally white, but often with it are reddish and longer hairs which are scattered among the other hairs, except in the articulations of the flowers, pedicels and leaflets, where they appear in tufts. =Distribution.=--Pennsylvania south to Alabama, west to Iowa and south to the Indian Territory. Found in all parts of Indiana. It is usually associated with beech, sugar maple and linn. On account of the poisonous character of its fruit, land owners have almost exterminated it. From the data at hand it appears that the buckeye was a rare tree in the northern tier of counties. However, as soon as the basin of the Wabash is reached it becomes a frequent to a common tree where beech, sugar maple, and linn are found. In all of our area it prefers a rich moist soil, except in the southern counties it may be found even on the bluffs of streams with the species just named. In the lower Wabash Valley especially in Posey County it was a rare tree, or entirely absent. [Illustration: Plate 116. AESCULUS GLABRA Willdenow. Buckeye. (× 1/2.)] =Remarks.=--In our area the buckeye is the very first tree to put out its leaves. On this account in early Spring it can be easily distinguished in the forest. This character together with its large clusters of flowers which appear early are features which recommend it for shade tree and ornamental planting. The tree has now become so rare in Indiana as to have no economic importance. =2. Æsculus octándra= Marshall. Buckeye. Sweet Buckeye. Plate 117. Medium to large sized trees with smooth bark which on old trees becomes more or less scaly. This tree closely resembles the preceding from which it can be easily distinguished by the following characters. Its smoother and lighter colored bark; by the entire under surface of the leaves remaining permanently pubescent; the hairs more or less fulvous; by the included anthers; and by its smooth capsule. =Distribution.=--Western Pennsylvania, westward along the Ohio to Iowa, south to Georgia and west to Louisiana and Texas. In Indiana it is confined to a few counties along the Ohio River. The records of McCaslin for Jay and Phinney for Delaware counties are doubtless errors in determination. The writer has diligently tried to extend the range of this species in Indiana and has found it only in Dearborn, Jefferson, Clark and Crawford Counties, and in no place more than a mile from the Ohio River. No doubt under favorable situations it found its way to a greater distance from the River. On account of the poisonous character of its fruit, it has been almost exterminated, and only along the precipitous bluffs of the Ohio River are trees yet to be found. Doubtless its exact range in our area can never be determined. Dr. Drake[63] minutely described this species and remarks: "This species delights in rich hills, and is seldom seen far from the Ohio River. It frequently arrives at the height of 100 feet and the diameter of four feet." =Remarks.=--The wood is soft, white and resembles the sap wood of the tulip tree for which wood it is commonly sold. Too rare in Indiana to be of economic importance. Young[64] reported a purple flowered form of buckeye from Jefferson County, but since no specimen was preserved and the size of the plant is not given, it will not be considered here. The form was reported as rare under the name of =Æsculus flava= var. =purpurascens=. [Illustration: Plate 117. AESCULUS OCTANDRA Marshall. Sweet Buckeye. (× 1/2.)] TILIÀCEAE. The Linden Family. TÍLIA. The Basswoods. Trees with medium sized twigs; leaves alternate, mostly taper-pointed, oblique cordate or truncate at the base, serrate; flowers in axillary or terminal cymes, white or yellow, fragrant, peduncles of the cymes with a leaf-like bract adhering to about half their length; fruit nut-like, woody, 1-celled. Leaves smooth or nearly so beneath 1 T. glabra. Leaves densely white or gray pubescent beneath 2 T. heterophylla. =1. Tilia glàbra= Ventenat (_Tilia americana_ Linnæus of authors). Linn. Basswood. Plate 118. Medium to large sized trees with deeply furrowed bark, much resembling that of white ash or black walnut; twigs when chewed somewhat mucilaginous, usually somewhat zigzag; leaves on petioles 2-6 cm. long, blades ovate to nearly orbicular, 5-15 cm. long, short or long acuminate at the apex, margins more or less coarsely or finely serrate with teeth attenuate and ending in a gland, dark green and smooth above, a lighter green and generally smooth beneath at maturity except tufts of hairs in the axils of the principal veins, or sometimes with a scanty pubescence of simple or stellate hairs beneath; flowers appear in June or July, when the leaves are almost mature; bracts of the peduncles very variable, generally about 8-10 cm. long, rounded, or tapering at the base, obtuse or rounded at the apex, smooth both above and beneath at maturity; peduncles from very short up to 6 cm. in length; pedicels of flowers variable in length on the same and on different trees, generally about one cm. long; styles pubescent near the base on all of the specimens at hand; fruit woolly, globose or somewhat ellipsoidal, generally about 6 mm. in diameter. =Distribution.=--New Brunswick to Manitoba, south to Georgia and west to Texas. More or less frequent to common in rich moist soil in all parts of Indiana. It is the most frequent and common in the lake area of the State but was almost as frequent and common throughout the central part of the State until the hilly area is reached where its habitat disappears for the greater part. In the hill area it is confined to the basins of streams, although sometimes found on the high rocky bluffs of streams. Rare or absent in the flats. In most of its area it is associated with white ash, slippery elm, beech, maple, shellbark hickory, etc. =Remarks.=--Wood soft, light, straight and close-grained, white and seasons well. On account of its softness and lightness it has always been a favorite wood where these two factors were important considerations. Is practically odorless, hence, is a desirable wood to contain food products. Its principal uses are lumber, heading, excelsior and veneer. The supply of this species in Indiana is now practically exhausted. [Illustration: Plate 118. TILIA GLABRA Ventenat. Linn or Basswood. (× 1/2.)] In Indiana this species is commonly called linn, and only in a few counties near the Michigan line is it known as basswood. The name basswood is a corruption of the name bastwood, meaning the inner tough and fibrous part of the bark, which was used by pioneers for tying shocks of corn, and other cordage purposes. However, Dr. Schneck gives the name whittle-wood as one of its common names; and in some localities it is called bee tree, because bees find its flowers rich in honey. Linn is adapted to a rich moist soil, transplants fairly well, and grows rapidly. It has been used to some extent as an ornamental and shade tree, but its use as a street shade tree is no longer recommended because it is not adapted to city conditions, and is killed by the scale. It could, however, be recommended as an integral part of a windbreak, or woodlot where the land owner has an apiary. =2. Tilia heterophylla= Ventenat. Linn. White Basswood. Plate 119. Usually large trees; bark similar to the preceding but lighter in color; twigs similar to the preceding species; leaves on petioles 2-8 cm. long, blades ovate to nearly orbicular, generally 7-15 cm. long, generally oblique at the base, oblique-truncate or cordate at the base, abruptly short or long acuminate at the apex, margins serrate with teeth attenuate and ending in a gland, at maturity smooth and a dark yellow-green above, the under surface generally densely covered with a silvery or gray tomentum, however, on some specimens the pubescence is thin and appears as a stellate pubescence, the tufts of hairs in the principal axils of the veins are reddish brown, in addition to the pubescence reddish glands are often found on the veins beneath; flowers appear in June or July when the leaves are almost mature; bracts very variable. 4-15 cm. long, generally on short peduncles, rounded or wedge-shape at the base, generally rounded at the apex, sometimes merely obtuse, glabrous both above and below, or more or less densely pubescent beneath and generally sparingly pubescent above; pedicels of flowers variable in length, usually about 1 cm. long; styles of flowers pubescent at the base; fruit globose or somewhat ellipsoidal generally 6-8 mm. in diameter. =Distribution.=--This species as understood by Sargent ranges from West Virginia to Indiana and south to Florida and west to Alabama. In Indiana it is confined to counties near the Ohio River. Specimens are in the writer's herbarium from Dearborn, Ripley, Switzerland, Jefferson, Clark, Harrison, Crawford, Perry, southeastern Dubois and east Spencer Counties. Practically in all of its range in Indiana it is found on the tops of high bluffs along streams or on the slopes of deep ravines. It is an infrequent to a common tree where found. In general in the counties just mentioned it supplants the other species of _Tilia_. It was reported from Wayne County by Phinney, and Schneck says a single tree was found near the mouth of White River. The last named tree may be _Tilia neglecta_ which is said to be found just west in Illinois. [Illustration: Plate 119. TILIA HETEROPHYLLA Ventenat. White Basswood. (× 1/2.)] =Remarks.=--Wood and uses similar to that of the preceding species. In Indiana the species are not commercially separated. A satisfactory division of the species of _Tilia_ of the United States has long been a puzzle. C. S. Sargent[65] has recently published his studies of the species and credits Indiana with two species and one variety. His range of _Tilia neglecta_ might include a part of Indiana, and it may be that the pubescent forms of _Tilia glabra_ in our area should be referred to that species. Specimens No. 28043 and 28047 in the writer's herbarium collected from trees on the high bluff of Graham Creek in Jennings County, Sargent refers to =Tilia heterophylla= variety =Michauxii= Sargent. While Sargent's key to _Tilia_ quite distinctly separates the species and varieties, yet when specimens are collected from an area where the species overlap and seem to intergrade, the task of referring a specimen to the proper species or variety is not an easy one. In fact the writer acknowledges his inability to satisfactorily classify our forms of _Tilia_, and the present arrangement should be accepted as provisional. CORNÀCEAE. The Dogwood Family. Trees or shrubs; leaves simple, alternate, opposite or whorled; fruit mostly a drupe, 1 or 2 seeded. Leaves alternate; flowers of two kinds, the staminate in heads, 5-parted; stigmas lateral. 1 Nyssa. Leaves opposite; flowers perfect, 4-parted; stigmas terminal. 2 Cornus. =1. NYSSA.= The Tupelos. =Nyssa sylvática= Marshall. Gum. Black Gum. Sour Gum. Yellow Gum. Pepperidge. Plate 120. Medium to large sized trees; bark on old trees deeply and irregularly furrowed, the ridges broken up into small lengths; twigs at first pubescent, becoming glabrous; leaves oval-obovate or oblong, blades 5-12 cm. long on petioles 0.5-2 cm. long, rather abruptly acuminate at apex, narrowed at the base, sometimes rounded, margins entire, petioles and both surfaces pubescent when they unfold, becoming glabrous above and glabrous or nearly so beneath at maturity; flowers appear in May or June, the staminate in clusters, numerous, small greenish-white, the pistillate 2-8 or solitary; fruit ripens in autumn, a fleshy drupe, 1-3 of a cluster ripening on a pedicel 2-6 cm. long, ovoid, usually 10-12 mm. long, blue-black, sour and astringent; stone generally cylindric and tapering at each end and with 10-12 indistinct ribs. [Illustration: Plate 120. NYSSA SYLVATICA Marshall. Black Gum. (× 1/2.)] =Distribution.=--Maine, southern Ontario, southern Michigan, southeastern Wisconsin[66] to Missouri and south to the Gulf. Found throughout Indiana and no doubt was a native of practically every county. It is an infrequent to a very rare tree in the northern half of the State, becoming a common tree in certain parts of the southern counties. In the northern part of the State it is usually found on dry ground associated with the oaks, although it is also found with sugar maple and beech. =Remarks.=--Wood heavy, soft, very difficult to split. Woodsmen always speak of two kinds of black gum. There is one form which splits easily which is designated as "yellow gum." This distinction has not been substantiated. The uses of gum are many. The quality of not splitting makes many uses for it. The greater amount of gum is used as rough stuff. In the manufactures it is used for mine rollers, heading, boxes, hatter's blocks, water pipes, firearms, wooden ware, musical instruments, etc. The distinctive habit of growth of the black gum together with the gorgeous coloring of the autumnal foliage recommend this species for ornamental planting. It has an upright habit of growth, although the trunk is more or less crooked. The crown when grown in the open is usually pyramidal, composed of horizontal crooked branches. =2. CÒRNUS.= Dogwood. =Cornus flórida= Linnæus. Dogwood. Flowering Dogwood. Plate 121. Usually a small tree[67] 1-2 dm. in diameter; bark deeply fissured, the ridges divided into short oblong, pieces; branchlets slender, in winter condition turning up at the tips; twigs green and smooth or nearly so from the first; leaves oval or slightly obovate, blades generally 5-12 cm. long on petioles about 1 cm. long, generally abruptly taper-pointed at apex, gradually narrowed and generally oblique at the base, margins thickened and entire, or very slightly crenulate, appressed pubescent both above and beneath, light green above and a grayish-green beneath; flowering heads surrounded by an involucre of 4 large white or pinkish bracts; the mature bracts are obovate, 2-4 cm. long, notched at the apex, appear before the leaves in April or May; flowers are in a head, numerous, small and greenish, opening usually about the middle of May as the leaves appear or even when the leaves are one-third grown; fruit ripens in September or October, an ovoid red drupe about 1 cm. long, usually about 3-5 flowers of a head mature fruit; stone elliptic and pointed at each end. [Illustration: Plate 121. CORNUS FLORIDA Linnæus. Dogwood. (× 1/2.)] =Distribution.=--Southern Maine, southern Ontario, southern Michigan, to Missouri and south to Florida and west to Texas. Found in all parts of Indiana. Frequent to very common in all beech-sugar maple woods of the State. It is very rare or absent in the prairie area of the northwest part of the State, although it has been found in upland woods in all of the counties bordering Lake Michigan. It is also a frequent or more common tree in most parts of the State associated with white oak, or in the southern part of the State with black and white oak. It prefers a dry habitat, and is rarely found in wet situations. =Remarks.=--Wood hard, heavy, strong, close-grained and takes a high polish. The Indians made a scarlet dye from the roots. It was used much by the pioneers for wedges, mallets and handles for tools. The trees are so small that they do not produce much wood. The present supply is used principally for shuttles, golfheads, brush blocks, engraver's blocks, etc. The mature fruit is much relished by squirrels and birds. The tree is quite conspicuous in the flowering season, and when the fruit is maturing. These features recommend it for ornamental planting, and it is used to some extent. The tree has a flat crown, and is quite shade enduring. It is very difficult to transplant, and when the tree is transplanted, if possible, some earth taken from under a live dogwood tree, should be used to fill in the hole where it is planted. =ERICÀCEAE.= The Heath Family. =Oxydéndrum arbòreum= (Linnæus) DeCandolle. Sour Wood. Sorrel Tree. Plate 122. Small trees with a gray and deeply fissured bark, much resembling that of a young sweet gum tree; twigs and branchlets greenish and smooth; leaves alternate, on petioles about a cm. long, oblong-oval, generally 10-15 cm. long, narrowed at the base, acute or acuminate at the apex, margins entire toward the base or sometimes all over, usually about three-fourths is irregularly serrate with very short incurved teeth, glabrous above and beneath except a puberulence on the midrib and sometimes on the petiole to which an occasional prickle is added beneath; flowers appear in June when the leaves are full grown, in large panicles at the end of the year's growth, white, the whole inflorescence covered with a short gray pubescence; fruit a capsule about 0.5 cm. long on an erect and recurved pedicel of about the same length, maturing in autumn. [Illustration: Plate 122. OXYDENDRUM ARBOREUM (Linnæus) DeCandolle. Sour Wood. Sorrel Tree. (× 1/2.)] =Distribution.=--A tree of the elevated regions of the area from southeastern Pennsylvania to Florida and west to southern Indiana and south to Louisiana. In Indiana it is definitely known to occur only in Perry County at the base of a beech spur of the Van Buren Ridge about 7 miles southeast of Cannelton. Here it is a common tree over an area of an acre or two. The largest tree measured was about 1.5 dm. in diameter and 12 meters high. Here it is associated with beech, sugar maple, dogwood, sassafras, etc. When coppiced it grows long slender shoots which the boys of the pioneers used for arrows. A pioneer who lived near this colony of trees is the author of this use of the wood and he called the tree "arrow wood." =EBENÀCEAE.= The Ebony Family. =Diospyros virginiàna= Linnæus. Persimmon. Plate 123. Small or medium sized trees with deeply and irregularly fissured bark, the ridges broken up into short lengths; twigs pubescent; leaves alternate, oval, oblong-oval or ovate, generally 8-15 cm. long and 3-7 cm. wide, narrowed, rounded or cordate at the base, short pointed at the apex, margin entire but ciliate, slightly pubescent above when young, becoming glabrous on age, more or less pubescent beneath, sometimes glabrous except the midrib and margin; flowers appear in May or June on the year's growth when the leaves are about half grown, greenish yellow, the staminate on one tree and the pistillate on another; fruit ripens in August, September or October, depressed-globose or oblong in shape, 2-3 cm. in diameter, generally with 1-4 very hard flat seed. =Distribution.=--Connecticut to Iowa and south to the Gulf. In Indiana it is confined to the south half of the State. We have no record of wild trees being found north of Indianapolis, except Prof. Stanley Coulter reports three trees growing in Tippecanoe County in situations such as to indicate that they are native. It is doubtful if it was ever more than a frequent tree in the original forest. In some of the hill counties of the south central part of the State, it has become a common tree in clearings and abandoned fields. It grows long surface roots from which numerous suckers grow which form the "persimmon thickets." It seems to thrive in the poorest and hardest of soils. However, it reaches its greatest size in the alluvial bottoms of the Lower Wabash Valley. Here large and tall trees have been observed on the low border of sloughs, associated with such water-loving plants as water-locust, button-bush, swell-butt ash, etc. It thrives equally well on the high sandy ridges of Knox and Sullivan Counties. [Illustration: Plate 123. DIOSPYROS VIRGINIANA Linnæus. Persimmon. (× 1/2.)] =Remarks.=--The fruit is edible and the horticultural possibilities of this tree have never received the attention they deserve. The opinion is current that the fruit does not ripen and is not edible until it is subjected to a frost. This is an error. The best and largest fruit I have ever eaten ripened without a frost. A large native tree on the Forest Reserve in Clark County ripens its fruit in August, which is of an excellent quality and usually has only one, and rarely more than three seeds. The fruit of this tree is of the oblong type. The fruit varies much in size, time of ripening and quality. Some is scarcely edible. Some of the native trees bear fruit when they are not over eight feet tall, some are usually prolific bearers while others bear sparingly. For this reason if one wishes to grow persimmon trees it is best to buy grafted trees from some reliable nurseryman. The tree is hardy throughout Indiana and while it is a very slow growing tree, it can nevertheless be recommended for ornamental and roadside tree planting. It is to be noted that cattle will not browse persimmon, and that hogs greedily eat the ripe fruit. The fruit of many trees does not fall until early winter, and such trees are a granary for several kind of animals of the forest. The wood is hard, heavy, strong and close-grained. Practically the whole output of persimmon lumber is used in making shuttles. In Indiana the tree is too rare to furnish much lumber. =OLEÀCEAE.= The Olive Family. Leaves compound; fruit dry, a samara. 1 Fraxinus. Leaves simple; fruit fleshy, a drupe. 2 Adelia. =1. FRÁXINUS.= The Ashes. Trees with opposite, odd-pinnate leaves; flowers appear in April or May in clusters from the axils of last year's leaves, the staminate and pistillate on different or sometimes on the same tree; fruit a 1-seeded samara. Bark of mature trees furrowed; fruit not winged to the base. Body of fruit robust, round and rather abruptly passing into the wing; the body rarely winged 1/3 its length. Shoots and axis of leaves smooth. 1 F. americana. Shoots and axis of leaves velvety pubescent, at least when young. 2 F. biltmoreana. Body of fruit flattened and gradually passing into the wing; the body usually winged more than 1/3 its length. Shoots glabrous, or practically so. 3 F. lanceolata. Shoots velvety pubescent, at least when young. Calyx of fruit less than 3 mm. long; body of samara just below the wing less than 3 mm. wide, rarely 4 mm. wide, usually 1.5-2.5 mm. wide; samaras 3-4.5 cm. long. 4 F. pennsylvanica. Calyx of fruit more than 3 mm. long, generally 4-5 mm. long; body of samara just below the wing more than 3 mm. wide, usually 4-5 mm. wide; samaras generally 4-6 cm. long. 5 F. profunda. Bark of mature trees scaly or flaky; fruit winged to the base. Twigs usually 4 angled; leaflets on very short stalks. 6 F. quadrangulata. Twigs round; leaflets sessile. 7 F. nigra. =1. Fraxinus americàna= Linnæus. White Ash. Gray Ash. Plate 124. Large trees with deeply furrowed bark; twigs smooth, greenish gray and often covered with a bloom; leaves generally 2-3.5 dm. long, rachis smooth; leaflets 5-9, usually 7, generally 5-14 cm. long, on stalks generally 0.3-1 cm. long, the terminal one on a stalk 2-4 times as long, leaflets ovate to narrow-oblong, narrowed, rounded or oblique at base, short or long acuminate at apex, sometimes merely acute, margins entire or irregularly serrate, usually not serrated to the base, teeth short, dark green and smooth above, glaucous beneath, sometimes almost green beneath about Lake Michigan and in the northern tier of counties, usually pubescent beneath along the midrib and along the veins, sometimes glabrous; calyx persistent on the fruit, about 1 mm. long; fruit ripens in September and October, linear, 3-4.5 cm. long, variable in size and shape, body of samara cylindrical, somewhat narrower than the wing and usually 1/3-1/4 the length of the samara, each face of the body usually striated longitudinally with about 8 faint lines; wing terminal, generally about 0.5 cm. wide, pointed or notched at apex. =Distribution.=--Nova Scotia to Minnesota and south to the Gulf. Frequent to common in all parts of Indiana. It is the most abundant in the northern two-thirds of the State, where it is associated principally with beech, sugar maple, linn, slippery elm and red oak. In the hilly part of the State it is found principally near water courses and in ravines, and rarely on the white and black oak ridges. It is rarely found in the low "flats" of the southeast part of the State, or in the shingle oak bottoms along the Patoka River. =Remarks.=--The foliage of the white ash is quite variable in the texture of the leaflets. Leaflets on some trees are quite thin while those of other trees are thick and leathery, and no doubt would be classed by Sargent as variety =subcoriacea=[68]. [Illustration: Plate 124. FRAXINUS AMERICANA Linnæus. White Ash. (× 1/2.)] A form of white ash with reddish-purple fruit is found from Steuben to Clark County. This form is the prevailing type of white ash in Wayne County in the vicinity of Centerville. It has been described by Fernald as forma =iodocarpa=.[69] The wood is heavy, hard, strong, elastic, sap wood white and the heart wood light brown. It is one of the most valuable of Indiana woods, and is used by almost all wood using industries. Its principal uses include handles, butter tubs, car and vehicle stock, automobiles and implements. The white ash has been under cultivation at the Clark County State Forest for fifteen years, and the present indications are that it is one of the very best species to use for forest planting. It is hardy; grows in nearly all kinds of soil, although it prefers a moist, rich soil; transplants successfully; grows rapidly; bears pruning well; erect in habit of growth, and so far in our area forest plantings have not been destroyed by injurious insects. However, in some parts of the State, where trees have grown in the cities, some have been killed by scale insects. Aside from this the white ash would be an excellent tree for roadside planting, because it comes into leaf late, and never produces a dense shade. At present seed collectors are not able to separate the species of ash, and as a consequence white ash seedlings bought from a nursery are not always true to name. For this reason it is suggested that to obtain seedlings true to name that seed be collected and planted from a tree true to name. The seed should be planted in a sandy soil in rows, about 25 seeds to the foot, and covered about an inch deep with earth. The trees should be planted 4 × 4 ft. to 8 × 8 ft. apart. =2. Fraxinus biltmoreàna= Beadle. Biltmore Ash. Plate 125. Large forest trees, resembling the white ash. Young trees acquire the furrowed bark character earlier than the white ash, furrows of the bark of mature trees are usually deeper, and the ridges correspondingly farther apart; twigs are robust like the white ash and always velvety pubescent except in age when they may become smooth; leaves generally 2-3.5 dm. long, rachis pubescent; leaflets 5-11, usually 7-9, generally 5-14 cm. long, on stalks generally 0.3-1 cm. long, the terminal one on a stalk 2-4 times as long, leaflets broadly ovate to narrow ovate, or oblong to narrow oblong, narrowed, rounded, or oblique at the base, short or long acuminate at apex, sometimes merely acute, margins generally entire, sometimes with a few short teeth toward the apex, dark green and smooth above, glaucous and more or less pubescent beneath; fruit similar to the preceding species. [Illustration: Plate 125. FRAXINUS BILTMOREANA Beadle. Biltmore Ash. (× 1/2.)] =Distribution.=--This species has only recently been separated from the white ash and its range has not been ascertained. It is known to occur in the Appalachian Mountains from Pennsylvania to Georgia. In Indiana it is known to occur as far north as Wells County. It is commonly associated with the white ash, but much less frequent except in a few districts where it is the prevailing type. Such a district is in Gibson County north of Owensville. Here as well as in other parts of Gibson County very large trees have been observed. In the original forest the pioneers called the very large specimens of ash with deeply furrowed bark "the old fashion" ash. It is believed that most of these specimens were of this species. In the hilly parts of Indiana this species is found in situations too dry for the white ash, and for this reason should be given preference in hillside planting. On the wooded bluff of White River in Fairview Park north of Indianapolis is a specimen that measures 31 dm. in circumference, b.h. The deepest furrows on the north side of the tree are 6 cm. deep. =Remarks.=--This species is not yet commonly separated from the white ash and is known to the trade as white ash. Mr. Beadle who first recognized the species, named it Biltmore ash in honor of the Biltmore Estate on which the first tree was discovered. Authors ever since have so called it, and the common name which this form should bear is Biltmore ash. On the Clark County State Forest is a planting of sixteen year old white ash in which are mixed quite a number of Biltmore ash. This species at a distance, can be distinguished from the white ash by the rougher bark of the trunks and the darker green color of its foliage, and in the autumn by its more colored foliage. A closer view shows that the leaflets of the Biltmore ash stand in a plane above the rachis higher than those of the white ash. The wood is not commercially distinguished from the white ash, but its mechanical properties rank it somewhat below that species.[70] [Illustration: Plate 126. FRAXINUS LANCEOLATA Borkhausen. Green Ash. (× 1/2.)] =3. Fraxinus lanceolàta= Borckhausen. White Ash. Green Ash. Swamp Ash. Plate 126. Medium to large sized trees with fissured bark, the ridges and furrows narrower than those of the white ash; twigs slender and glabrous at maturity; leaves generally 2-3 dm. long, rachis smooth, rarely slightly pubescent; leaflets 5-9, usually 7, generally 5-15 cm. long, on stalks generally about 0.5 cm. or less in length, the terminal one on a stalk 2-4 times as long, leaflets generally narrow-oblong or ovate to narrow ovate-oblong, generally with a narrowed base, sometimes rounded and oblique, short or long acuminate at apex, margin entire near the base, the remainder of the margin generally sparsely serrate with short teeth, dark green and smooth above, a lighter green beneath and more or less pubescent on the petiolules, midrib and veins; calyx persistent, about 1 mm. long; fruit ripens in September and October, linear or spatulate, 3-5 cm. long, variable in size and shape, body 1/3-1/2 the length of samara, compressed or flattened and gradually narrowed to the base, usually less than half as wide as the wing, each face of the body usually striated with about 2-4 lines which are stronger than those near the edge of the body; wing generally 5-6 mm. wide, pointed or notched at apex, and decurrent on the sides of the body for about one-half of its length. =Distribution.=--Lake Champlain to the Saskatchewan and south to the Gulf. Found in all parts of Indiana. It is usually found in low ground along streams, in swamps, and in low woods. It is usually associated with white elm, red maple, cottonwood, aspens, linn, bur oak, etc., in the south to this list should be added silver maple and cypress. It prefers a habitat wetter than that of the white ash, although the two are found together in wet woods. In swampy woods it is often a common tree. While it has a general distribution in the State, it is much more local than the white ash. =Remarks.=--This form is not usually separated from the next species, and both are known in books and by nurserymen as green or red ash. The common name, green ash, should be applied to this species to separate it from the true white ash, and the next. In ash forest plantings on the Clark County State Forest, it is to be noted that this and the next species bear fruit while the trees are as small as 1.5 cm. in diameter, while the white and Biltmore ash which are much older and 6-8 cm. in diameter have never borne fruit. This species and the next bear fruit oftener and in greater abundance than the white or Biltmore ash. It is also to be noted that practically all of the volunteer ash trees found along fences and roadsides, except very large trees, are of the green ash species. The wood is similar to that of white ash, and the cut is usually sold as that species. However, it ranks below white ash in its mechanical qualities.[71] While the native green ash is found growing in swamps, it adapts itself to drier situations. It is planted more than any other species of ash in the cold and dry regions of the West and Northwest. [Illustration: Plate 127. FRAXINUS PENNSYLVANICA Marshall. Red Ash. (× 1/2.)] =4. Fraxinus pennsylvánica= Marshall. Red Ash. White Ash. Swamp Ash. Plate 127. Usually medium sized trees much like the preceding; twigs velvety pubescent at maturity; leaves generally 2-3 dm. long, rachis pubescent; leaflets 5-9, usually 7, generally 5-15 cm. long, on stalks generally about 0.5 cm. long, the terminal one on a stalk 2-4 times as long, leaflets generally ovate, ovate-oblong, or oblong to narrow-oblong, generally with a narrowed base, sometimes rounded and oblique, short or long acuminate at the apex, margins sometimes entire, generally entire near the base, the remainder more or less serrated with shallow teeth, dark green and smooth above, a lighter green beneath and more or less densely pubescent all over the lower surface, especially on the midrib and veins; calyx persistent, about 1 mm. long; fruit can not be distinguished from the preceding. =Distribution.=--Quebec to Manitoba, and south to Florida. Found sparingly in all parts of Indiana. It is usually found in low ground, but frequently on bluffs, and flood plain banks. =Remarks.=--This species is not commonly separated from the white ash group, but in books it is known as the red ash. This is the common name that should be applied to this form. This species is not usually separated from the preceding, but it is easily distinguished from it by its pubescent twigs. It can be distinguished from the next by its smaller twigs, smaller calyx and smaller fruit. The wood is similar to that of the white ash, and the cut is usually sold as that species. In mechanical qualities it is on a par with the green ash. =5. Fraxinus profúnda= Bush. Swell-butt Ash. Plate 128. Medium or large trees with fissured bark similar to the white ash; twigs robust and velvety pubescent at least while young; leaves generally 2-4 dm. long, rachis densely pubescent, rarely almost smooth; leaflets 5-9, generally 7, on stalks 0.5-1 cm. long, the terminal one on a stalk 2-4 times as long, leaflets ovate, narrow-ovate to narrow-oblong, narrowed or rounded and oblique at the base, short or long taper-pointed at the apex, margins entire, rarely with a few short teeth, dark green and smooth above, a lighter green and densely pubescent beneath, rarely somewhat smooth; calyx persistent, generally 4-5 mm. long, rarely as short as 3 mm.; fruit ripening in September and October, linear, generally 4-6 cm. long, variable in size and shape, body about 1/3 the length of the samara, compressed or flattened and gradually narrowed to the base, the striations on the face of the body not prominent and usually not distinct the full length of the body, samara often unilateral or somewhat falcate; wings notched or merely rounded at the apex, decurrent on the body 1/4-1/2 its length, sometimes almost terminal. [Illustration: Plate 128. FRAXINUS PROFUNDA Bush. Swell-butt or Pumpkin Ash. (× 1/2.)] =Distribution.=--Virginia, Indiana and Missouri, and south to Florida. In Indiana the distribution has not been determined. It is a common to an infrequent tree of the river sloughs and cypress swamps of the southwestern counties. Authentic specimens are at hand from Knox, Gibson, Posey, Perry, Bartholomew, Jackson, Marion and Daviess Counties, and specimens from Hamilton, Tipton and Starke Counties, I doubtfully refer to this species. The preferred habitat of this species is inundated swamps, and when it grows in such situations it generally develops a base swollen to a point somewhat above the water level. In Bartholomew County it was found associated with the cow oak, and the trunk resembled the white ash. =Remarks.=--This species is known by authors and commercially as pumpkin ash. The wood is similar to white ash but is inferior to that species. On account of its habitat this species was little cut until the past few years when ash became scarce. During the past few years most of the deep river and cypress swamps have been invaded and all of the ash cut. =6. Fraxinus quadrangulàta= Michaux. Blue Ash. Plate 129. Medium to large sized trees with light gray bark, not regularly fissured, scaly at least above; twigs and branchlets more or less distinctly 4-angled, the angles of vigorous shoots develop corky wings about 2 mm. high; leaves generally 2-3 dm. long; leaflets 7-11, generally 7-15 cm. long, on short stalks, usually 1-5 mm. long, sometimes sessile, the terminal one on a stalk generally about 1-2 cm. long, leaflets ovate to lanceolate, narrowed or rounded at the base, generally long acuminate at the apex, margins rather regularly and coarsely serrated with short incurved teeth, yellow-green and smooth above, about the same color beneath and generally smooth except along the veins, midrib and petiolules which are permanently pubescent; calyx very small, usually about 0.5 mm. long, and persisting more or less in fruit; fruit ripens last of June to August, samaras twisted, generally 3-4 cm. long and 8-10 mm. wide, rounded at the base, notched or rounded and apiculate at the apex, the apical end of all specimens at hand twisted to the right, the wing surrounds the body. =Distribution.=--Southern Ontario to Iowa, and south to northern Alabama and Arkansas. Found sparingly in most parts of Indiana, except the northwest part. There are no records northwest of White and Noble Counties. In the northern two-thirds of the State it is a rare to very rare tree, generally found only along the bluffs of streams. In many areas it is so rare that even the pioneers do not know the tree. It was the most frequent in the southeastern part of the State. Here also it is found principally along the higher banks of streams. While the species is confined principally to high ground it also grew in lower ground. The largest tree seen is on level ground at a fork of the road between Charlestown and Jeffersonville about 3 miles northeast of Jeffersonville. In 1918 this tree measured 28.2 dm. (104-1/2 inches) in circumference breast high. [Illustration: Plate 129. FRAXINUS QUADRANGULATA Michaux. Blue Ash. (× 1/2.)] This species has not been observed in the "knob" area of the State or anywhere in the flats of the Lower Wabash Valley. Schneck reports it as rare on the hills of this area. The tree is too rare to definitely determine its associates, although sugar maple is usually found with it. =Remarks.=--This species is becoming too scarce to be of much economic importance. The cut is usually sold as white ash. The uses of the wood are practically the same as the white ash. The fruit and foliage of this species most closely resembles that of the black ash, from which it can be distinguished by its greenish-yellow foliage and the habitat in which it grows. =7. Fraxinus nìgra= Marshall. Black Ash. Plate 130. Medium sized, tall and straight trees with a light gray bark, broken up into small thin plates on old trunks; twigs round, robust and smooth at maturity; leaves 2.5-4 dm. long, leaflets generally 7-11 and 7-13 cm. long, sessile, the terminal one generally on a stalk 0.5-1 cm. long, oblong or oblong-lanceolate, narrowed or rounded at the base, and short or long acuminate at the apex, margins coarsely and rather irregularly serrate with short teeth which are usually somewhat incurved, dark green and glabrous above, not much lighter beneath and glabrous or pubescent along the midrib and larger veins; calyx and corolla none; fruit ripens the last of June to August, similar to the fruit of the blue ash, samaras generally 3-4 cm. long, and 7-10 mm. wide, body winged all around, the base of the samara rounded, the apex notched or rounded, the apical end of the samara twisted more or less to the right in all specimens at hand. =Distribution.=--Nova Scotia to Manitoba, south to Virginia and northern Arkansas. Local in all parts of Indiana except in the "knob" area of the State. It is generally found in places that are inundated much of the winter season. Its habitat is in cold swampy woods or similar places about lakes. It has no special affinity for streams. It is local in its distribution. Where it is found it is generally a frequent to common tree. In the lake area of Indiana its habitat conditions are frequent, consequently colonies of it are frequent. South of the lake area of the State it becomes rare to extremely local. In the southwest part of the State it has been sparingly found in a few cypress swamps. It is usually associated with white elm, cottonwood, aspens, red maple, bur oak, and is one of the first species to invade extinct tamarack swamps. [Illustration: Plate 130. FRAXINUS NIGRA Marshall. Black Ash. (× 1/2.)] =Remarks.=--The wood is tougher but in most qualities is inferior to white ash and cannot be used for handles. The layers of growth separate easily which enables the wood to be separated into thin strips. This fact was known to the Indians who used this wood for making baskets. This use was continued by the white man and in addition it was a favorite wood for making hoops, and in many sections it is known as the "hoop ash." The wood has many uses such as for baskets, splint boxes, butter tubs, vehicle stock, interior finish, furniture, etc. The black burls of the trunk are much sought for by veneer manufacturers. =2. ADÈLIA.= =Adèlia acuminàta Michaux.= Pond Brush. Crooked Brush, Plate 131. Small trees, or shrub like, with gray smooth bark, becoming rough or fissured on large trees, the ridges short and broken; branchlets numerous and somewhat spiny; twigs glabrous; leaves opposite on petioles about 1 cm. long, ovate to elliptic-ovate, 4-11 cm. long, with a long narrow base, long acuminate at the apex, margins entire near the base, the remainder more or less coarsely serrated with short rounded teeth, rarely entire, smooth above and beneath; flowers appear last of March to the first of May, the staminate in small sessile clusters along the branchlets, the pistillate in short panicles; fruit a dark purple drupe, oblong, about 15 mm. long; stone with many longitudinal ribs. =Distribution.=--Southwestern Indiana and southern Illinois south to northern Florida and Texas. In Indiana it has been found only in Knox, Gibson, Posey and Perry Counties. It grows on the low borders of river sloughs, swamps and river banks. It is very tolerant of shade and may be found growing under larger trees. It usually forms dense thickets on the bank that surrounds standing water and is usually associated with button-bush. A straight specimen is rarely seen because the area where it grows overflows each winter, and the small trees are usually covered more or less with debris, and then the following season the side branches assume a vertical growth. The top may be released by the next inundation, and then other branches may assume leadership, and so on until the top is a mass of branches growing in several directions. The specimens found in Perry County grew on the low bank of the Ohio River about 6 miles east of Cannelton. The species is quite local in the area where it is found. It may border one river slough, and be entirely absent from another nearby. =Remarks.=--Of no economic use. In books it is called "swamp privet" but in the area where it grows it is not known by that name. [Illustration: Plate 131. ADELIA ACUMINATA Michaux. Pond Brush. Crooked Brush. (× 1/2.)] =BIGNONIÀCEAE.= The Trumpet Creeper Family. =CATÁLPA.= The Catalpas. Leaves simple, opposite or whorled, with long petioles; flowers in terminal panicles or corymbs; fruit a long round pod which splits into halves; seed many, flat, papery with a tuft of long hairs at each end. A small genus of widely distributed trees. The species freely hybridize, and have been cultivated and planted so extensively that it is difficult to find typical specimens. Bark of old trees thin and scaly; odor of bruised leaves fetid; lower lobe of corolla entire. 1 Catalpa bignonioides. Bark of old trees fissured and ridgy; odor of bruised leaves not fetid; lower lobe of corolla notched at the apex. 2 Catalpa speciosa. =1. Catalpa bignonioìdes= Walter. Catalpa. (_Catalpa Catalpa_ (Linnæus) Karsten). Plate 132. Medium to large sized trees, usually with a trunk 1-3 meters in length, and a wide crown; bark a grayish-brown, scaly and flaking off in small thin plates; leaves ovate, blades usually 1.5-2 dm. long, cordate at the base, taper-pointed at apex, margins entire, or with 1 or 2 lateral lobes, yellow-green and smooth above, and pubescent beneath; flowering period the last of May to the first of July, about two weeks later than the next species; inflorescence in a rather compact large panicle; flowers white, usually 2-3 cm. across at expanded end; marked on the lower inner surface by two rows of yellow blotches, the lower lobes marked with purplish spots, the lower lobe entire or nearly so; fruit a long pod, generally 4-10 develop in each panicle, usually 1.5-4 dm. long, about 1 cm. thick, somewhat flattened, the valves meeting at an angle which forms a ridge which is sensible to the fingers, the valves of the pod are thin, and become flat after they open; seed 2.5-4.5 cm. long, including the tufts of hairs at each end, and about 4-5 mm. wide, the tuft of hairs usually converging to a point. =Distribution.=--Supposed to be native to parts of Florida, Georgia, Alabama and Mississippi. It has been introduced throughout the eastern part of the United States. In Indiana it has been used in all parts as an ornamental and shade tree. It has few qualities to recommend it, and since the difference between this and the next species has been known the next species is usually substituted for it. [Illustration: Plate 132. CATALPA BIGNONIOIDES Walter. Catalpa. (× 1/2.)] [Illustration: Plate 133. CATALPA SPECIOSA Warder. Catalpa. Hardy Catalpa. (× 1/2.)] =2. Catalpa speciòsa= Warder. Catalpa. Hardy Catalpa. Catalfa. Plate 133. Medium to large sized trees with long and rather straight trunks when grown in the forest; bark dark grayish-brown, fissured and much resembling the bark of a linden or black walnut in appearance; leaves ovate, generally 1.5-3 dm. long, cordate or somewhat rounded at the base, long taper-pointed at apex, margins entire, dark green and smooth above, pubescent beneath; flowering period May or June; flowers in large terminal panicles, white with yellow and purplish spots within, expanded part about 4 cm. across; fruit a long cylindrical pod which matures late in autumn or early winter, 2-5 dm. long, and about 1.5 cm. in diameter, usually 1 or 2 and rarely 3 pods develop in a panicle, the valves of the pod remaining semi-terete after separating; seed many, thin and papery, 2.5-5 cm. long, and 4-8 mm. wide, body of samara about equals in length the tuft of hairs at each end, the hairs remain separated and are little inclined to form a tuft at the end. =Distribution.=--Known to have been a native of the southwestern part of Indiana, and to have followed the valley of the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers to the southeastern part of Missouri and the northeastern part of Arkansas. The tree has practically disappeared from the forests of Indiana, and the exact range in Indiana can never be known. Being such a conspicuous tree, it was thought that the memory of living pioneers might be relied upon to fix the limits of its range in Indiana. One pioneer living near Austin in Scott County said it was a native of the Muscatatuck bottoms, and another said it was a native in the flats of the southwestern part of Clark County. In its native habitat it was found only in very low ground, usually with such associates as pin oak, sweet gum, southern hackberry, big shellbark hickory, pecan, etc. In its native habitat it was an infrequent to a frequent tree, never a common tree. A pioneer was interviewed who settled in the Knox County bottoms about three miles west of Decker, when the whole area was a virgin forest. He said the catalpa was an occasional tree in the bottoms throughout the area; that he did not recall that it was ever found in as low situations as the cypress; that the tree was as tall as its associates, straight, and usually about 6 dm. in diameter, and that he never saw a tree a meter in diameter; that on account of the durable quality of the wood that it was cut for fence posts and rails. A pioneer who lived near the mouth of Deer Creek in Perry County said it was a native in his vicinity. The information at hand would fix the mass distribution of the species to the southwest of a line drawn from Terre Haute to a point about 6 miles east of Grandview in Spencer County. =Remarks.=--Attention was directed to this tree about 1880 by Dr. John A. Warder and Dr. Geo. Engelmann, and it has had enthusiastic admirers ever since. In Indiana its most enthusiastic advocate was John P. Brown of Connersville. Its popularity was based upon the durability of its wood and its rapid growth. Nurserymen grew seedlings and through their agents plantations of all sizes were sold in many States. The trees were planted to grow posts, telephone poles and crossties. In Indiana there is one plantation 42 years old, but the majority are only 10 to 15 years old. The tree has been planted long enough in our area to definitely conclude that it should not be planted in any part of Indiana for economic purposes. The range of the catalpa sphinx which defoliates the tree is rapidly increasing, and now ranges as far north as Wells County. In the southern part of the State the trees are usually defoliated twice each year by the larvæ of this insect, and as a consequence the trees make very little growth, and some owners of plantations have abandoned them on this account. A new insect is appearing which kills the young shoots, which will interfere with the upright habit of the tree. The catalpa is not recommended for forest planting in Indiana, and its use for this purpose has practically ceased. The catalpa prefers a moist, deep, rich soil, but will grow in almost all kinds of situations. In the northern part of the State, the young trees are frequently winter killed. The tree is quite tenacious of life and when cut off at the ground, usually sends up several coppice shoots. This species can be recommended for planting for shade for hog lots, and as a specimen tree in parks, etc. It is not a desirable street tree. =CAPRIFOLIÀCEAE.= The Honeysuckle Family. =VIBÚRNUM.= The Viburnums. =Viburnum prunifòlium= Linnæus. Black Haw. Plate 134. Small trees or shrubs; bark of old trees reddish-brown, furrowed and the ridges broken into short lengths; leaves simple, opposite, on petioles 0.5-1.5 cm. long; the lower pairs of leaves are generally smaller and have their petioles more or less winged, red and more or less densely covered with a rusty tomentum which may extend along the midrib and veins beneath or may sometimes cover a considerable part of the lower surface of the leaf while young, sometimes the margined petioles are only rough on the margins; leaf blades very variable in size and shape, usually 4-10 cm. long, ovate to slightly obovate, or narrow-oval to nearly orbicular, narrowed or rounded at the base, pointed at the apex, or sometimes rounded, margins finely serrate, glabrous both above and beneath at maturity; flowers appear the last of April or in May in cymes which are sessile or nearly so, flowers white, numerous, and generally about 0.5 cm. in diameter, fruit ripens in September and October, oval, oblong or nearly globose, generally 10-14 mm. long, dark blue, covered with a bloom, edible, and if not eaten by birds they persist on the branches until late autumn; stone oval and very flat. [Illustration: Plate 134. VIBURNUM PRUNIFOLIUM Linnæus. Black Haw. (× 1/2.)] =Distribution.=--Connecticut to Iowa and south to Georgia and west to Texas. It is more or less frequent in moist woods throughout Indiana, except in the hilly counties where it becomes more or less rare. In the hilly counties its place is taken by the southern black haw, _Viburnum rufidulum_ which only rarely attains tree size. =Remarks.=--This species could be used to advantage in ornamental planting where small trees or shrubs are required for a screen or back ground. The fruit of the black and red haws attract several species of birds. This species is quite variable in the shape, and texture of its leaves, and in the size and shape of its fruit. In the southern part of the State specimens are found that have very thick leaves with margined and tomentose petioles which very much resemble the southern species. =SPECIES EXCLUDED.= The following species have been reported for Indiana but have been excluded for want of satisfactory evidence to warrant their inclusion: The reasons for exclusion are discussed under the name of the species. It is needless to say that critical examination has been given doubtful species, and doubtful records, and every effort possible has been made to validate them. =Pinus echinàta= Miller. Short-leaf Pine. This species does not occur in our area and all reference to it should be transferred to _Pinus virginiana_. References to this species are instances of wrong determination. =Pinus resinòsa= Aiton. Norway Pine. This species was reported as an escape in Wabash County by Coulter[72] for Jenkins. =Pinus rígida= Miller. Pitch Pine. Baird and Taylor[73] reported this species for Clark County. The range of this species is to the east of our area. They also reported _Pinus Strobus_, which has not been seen since they reported it, and they failed to report _Pinus virginiana_ which is a common tree on the "knobs" of Clark County. A study of their flora of Clark County shows that they did little or no collecting in the "knobs." They also freely reported field crop, garden and flower escapes, and it is believed that their reference to _Pinus rigida_ and _Pinus Strobus_ should be regarded as to cultivated trees. =Àbies balsàmea= (Linnæus.) Miller. Balsam Fir. Heimlich[74] reports this as occurring in Porter County about Dune Park. He cites for his authority Bot. Gaz. Vol. 27: Apr. 1899. The article referred to is Cowles' article on the flora of the sand dunes of Lake Michigan, in which he discusses the flora from Glen Haven in northern Michigan to Dune Park, Indiana in Porter County, which has confused Heimlich in separating the trees reported at several stations. It has never been found in Indiana. =Chamæcyparis thyoìdes= (Linnæus) Britton, Sterns and Poggenberg. White Cedar. The range of this species is east of the Alleghany mountains and no doubt was never native in our area. The first reference to it is by Dr. Drake in his Picture of Cincinnati, published in 1815, page 83, in which he says: "The White Cedar and Cypress are found on the banks of the Wabash." Schneck[75] in his Flora of the Lower Wabash Valley says: "Wet places near the mouth of the Wabash River." I am certain it is not on the Indiana side of the river. Gorby[76] reports it for Miami County. All of his botanical records are too unreliable to receive serious consideration. Coulter[77] reports it as found in Allen County on the authority of Dr. C. R. Dryer. I saw Dr. Dryer recently and he says he has no recollections about it. =Juniperus commùnis= Linnæus. Juniper. This species has been reported from all parts of the State. The distribution of the species is to the north of Indiana, and examining herbarium specimens it is found that subulate forms of _Juniperus virginiana_ are frequently named _Juniperus communis_. In the older floras it was a custom to include cultivated forms, and not distinguish them as such. Since juniper has been for years a common ornamental shrub, especially in cemeteries, it is highly probable that many records have such a basis. It is proposed to drop this species from our flora. I refer Higley and Raddin's[78] record to the decumbent variety. VanGorder's and Bradner's records may also be the decumbent form. Heimlich's record I regard as an error, see remarks under _Abies balsamea_. =Populus balsamífera= Linnæus. Balsam Poplar. This species was reported by Bradner for Steuben County. In a letter from the late Prof. Bradner, he said he had no specimen and had no recollection of the tree. J. M. Coulter reported it for Jefferson County, but Young who also wrote a flora of Jefferson County does not mention it. Baird and Taylor also reported it for Clark County. The last two records may have been from cultivated trees or mistaken for _Populus grandidentata_ which was not reported and is in the area, and is a frequent tree in the "knobs" in Clark County. Heimlich reports it in Proc. Ind. Acad. Sci. 1917:404:1918 for Cowles. I regard this as an error. See discussion under _Abies canadensis_ on page 290. Since the range of the species is to the north of Indiana, it is here proposed to drop it from our flora. It should be looked for on the "divide" in Steuben County and about Lake Michigan. =Populus cándicans= Aiton. Balm of Gilead. This species has been included in a few local floras, but it is believed that it has not yet escaped from cultivation. Phinney[79] gives it as "an important timber tree of Delaware County," which is an error. =Populus nìgra= var. =itálica= Du Roi. Lombardy Poplar. Reference is made to this tree by Blatchley[80], Meyncke[81] and Nieuwland[82] but it is scarcely more than an accidental escape. =Carya aquática= Nuttall. Water Hickory. This species is listed as one of the principal trees occurring along the Wabash in the Coblenz edition of Prince Maximilan's travels in North America. It is recorded as "Water Bitternut (_Juglans aquatica_)." If it occurs in our area it most likely would be found in the extreme southwestern counties. It has been reported from Gallatin County, Illinois, bordering Posey County on the west. There are two other records of its occurrence in the State, which are doubtful. Ryland T. Brown[83] reported it in a list of the principal trees of Fountain County in a report of the geology of Fountain County. _Carya laciniosa_, which is sometimes called swamp hickory and which is more or less frequent in the county, he failed to report. It is believed this reference to _Carya aquatica_ should be referred to _laciniosa_. B. C. Hobbs also reported it as common in Parke County in a short list of the principal trees. He named only four of the five or more species of hickory that occur in the county, and it is believed since he was no botanist, that he confused the names. Elliott in his Trees of Indiana gives "_Carya aquatica_" as common, but no doubt this reference should be transferred to some other species. =Carya myristicæfórmis= Nuttall. Nutmeg Hickory. This tree also was reported by Prince Maximilian as occurring along the Wabash River. The known range of the species is from North Carolina to Arkansas, and for this reason the species is not included in this list. =Betula lénta= Linnæus. Black Birch. This species has been reported for Indiana as occurring in Fulton, Gibson, Miami, Noble, Posey, St. Joseph and Steuben Counties. Sargent[84] says: "This species has until recently been badly misunderstood. The range of the species is southern Maine to northwestern Vermont, eastern Kentucky, and south to Delaware and along the Appalachian Mountains to northern Georgia and Alabama." No doubt all of the Indiana records should be transferred to _Betula lutea_, except the Gibson and Posey County record which may be _Betula nigra_. =Castanea púmila= (Linnæus) Miller. Chinquapin. This species was given a place in our flora in Coulter's catalogue upon the authority of Sargent, Ridgway and Schneck. Ridgway, in giving an additional list of the trees of the Lower Wabash Valley[85] says: "There is some doubt as to No. 16 _Castanea pumila_, which is given on Prof. Sargent's authority; but there is a possibility of an error having been made from the circumstances that the name 'chinquapin' is in that region almost universally applied to the fruit of _Quercus Muhlenbergii_." The Posey County record was based on a specimen in Dr. Schneck's herbarium, which proves to have been taken from a cultivated tree near Poseyville. =Quercus ilicifòlia= Wangenheim. Bear Oak. This species is credited to our flora by Will Scott in his ecological study of "The Leesburg Swamp" in Kosciusko County, published in the Indiana Academy of Science, 1905, page 225. In a reply to an inquiry addressed to him he says no herbarium material was preserved. This ecological work was done during the summer months while working at the biological station at Winona Lake. In a footnote in this paper we are informed that for the identification of the trees listed, Apgar's Trees of the Northern United States was used. In this key to the trees, _Quercus velutina_ (Black Oak) is given only as a variety of _Quercus coccinea_ (Scarlet Oak), and the distinction between _Quercus velutina_ with its many formed leaves, and _Quercus ilicifolia_ is not made apparent. In view of the fact that the natural habitat of _Quercus ilicifolia_ is sandy barrens and rocky hillsides and its western range is eastern Ohio, it is believed what Mr. Scott had in hand was a variable form of _Quercus velutina_, which is frequent in that vicinity. The evidence is not encouraging enough to include it. =Quercus nìgra= Linnæus. Water Oak. This species has been reported by several authors for Indiana. It is believed that a majority of the records should be transferred to _velutina_ and _imbricaria_ or _marylandica_. Gorby and Schneck call _Quercus nigra_ black jack oak, which is generally the common name for _Quercus marilandica_. Ridgway in his writings of the flora of the lower Wabash Valley, likewise speaks of _Quercus nigra_ as jack oak and says it is found in poor soil. Coulter in his catalogue of Indiana plants regarded these references to _nigra_ as errors and did not include it in his list. The report for Crawford County by Deam should be transferred to _marilandica_. Since the range of the species is not north of Kentucky, the reference to the species in the State should be dropped. The published records are as follows: Carroll (Thompson); Crawford (Deam); Delaware, Jay, Randolph and Wayne (Phinney); Jay (McCaslin); Fountain (Brown); Miami (Gorby); Parke (Hobbs). =Quercus Phéllos= Linnæus. Willow Oak. This species has been reported from various counties of the State. The tree is said to grow in swamps and on sandy uplands, ranging from Staten Island, New York, south to Florida and west to Texas, and north to southern Kentucky. If it occurs within our area it no doubt would have been found by Dr. Schneck, who was an enthusiastic student of the oaks. He reported it as occurring in the lower Wabash in his early writings, but his herbarium contained no specimens. The writer while in search for this species in Posey County met three men in widely separated parts of the county who were acquainted with the species in the South and they said they had never seen it in Indiana. One of the men was an old man who had spent his boyhood in Arkansas and he was well acquainted with the willow oak before he came to Indiana. It is believed what has been reported for _Q. Phellos_ has been narrow-leaved forms of _Q. imbricaria_ (shingle oak), and that the records should be transferred to that species. The published records are as follows: Gibson, Knox and Posey (Schneck); Knox (Thomas); Miami (Gorby). =Quercus prinoìdes= Willdenow. Scrub or Dwarf Chestnut Oak. Reported for Marshall County by Nieuwland[86] on the authority of a specimen deposited in the National Museum collected by Clark. I had this reference checked by E. S. Steele and in a letter to me dated January 4, 1917, he says: "I find no specimen labeled _Quercus prinoides_, but there is one named _Q. Prinus_. There is no ground for calling it _Q. prinoides_." Since the specimen in question is a very immature one, I propose not to take it into consideration since the range of the species would be extended on a dubious specimen. =Planèra aquática= (Walter) J. F. Gmelin. Planer-tree. Water Elm. This tree was included in Coulter's catalogue upon the authority of Sargent, who includes Indiana in the range of the species in his "Forest Trees of North America," Vol. 9, U.S. Census Report, 1880, page 124. Dr. Schneck spent a lifetime along the lower Wabash bottoms and very carefully preserved specimens of all the flora of the region where this species is reported to occur. In his report of the flora of this region in 1875 he does not include this tree. An examination of his herbarium material showed no specimens of this tree either from Indiana or Illinois. It is fair to presume if he had been acquainted with the tree he would have had it represented in his herbarium. Since the white elm is frequently called water elm, as well as the planer-tree, it is easy to understand how confusion might arise in separating these trees by non-professional people. =Morus nìgra= Linnæus. Black Mulberry. This species is reported by Phinney[87] as one of the "more important and common forest trees observed in Delaware County." He also enumerates _Morus rubra_. A splendid example of careless work. This species is reported by Brown[88] for Fountain County, and by McCaslin[89] for Jay County. These authors reported this species as a native forest tree. Since this species is not a native of the United States the citations no doubt should be referred to our native mulberry, _Morus rubra_ (red mulberry). =Ìlex opàca= Aiton. Holly. This species was included in Coulter's Catalogue of the Plants of Indiana on the authority of Robert Ridgway. I find no reference to this species in the writings of Ridgway. In Shawnee Park on the west side of Louisville, Kentucky is a large tree of this species. I was told that it was a native. A timber buyer of Tell City told me that there was a native tree on his grandfather's farm in the southern part of Perry County. Since this species has been reported for Grayson County, Kentucky, which is less than forty miles to the south, it is quite probable that a few trees were found as far north as Indiana. =Acer pennsylvánicum= Linnæus. Moosewood. The only record of this species occurring in Indiana is in a report of the Trees occurring along the Wabash River by Prince Maximilian. Since the report does not definitely state where the species was observed or how frequently it occurred and since the greater part of Maximilian's time was spent on the Illinois side of the Wabash, it is more than likely that he observed it on the Illinois side of the Wabash. While Indiana is within the possible range of the species, it has not been discovered since. If not extinct in our area it is most likely to be found among the hills of the southern counties or in the vicinity of Lake Michigan. Robert Ridgway says that he and Dr. Schneck saw it growing in a wooded cove near a cavern called Flory's Cave in Johnson County, Illinois. =Nyssa aquática= Linnæus. Tupelo Gum. Several early authors erroneously reported _Nyssa sylvatica_ as this species. This species inhabits deep swamps. Dr. Schneck and Robert Ridgway, recognized authorities and best acquainted with the swamp area of the southwestern counties, at first thought it was a member of our flora, but later decided that it should be excluded. Michael Catt, 83 years old, who lived nearly 75 years about three miles west of Decker on the border of the cypress swamp in the south part of Knox County, told me that he is positive that the tupelo gum was an occasional tree in the cypress swamp west of Decker. =Fraxinus caroliniàna= Miller. Water Ash. This species was included in Coulter's Catalogue of Indiana Plants upon the authority of Dr. Schneck. It is asserted that specimens were sent to Missouri Botanical Gardens for verification. The writer has carefully examined all the specimens of _Fraxinus_ in the Missouri Botanical Gardens, and all of Schneck's specimens in the herbarium are now correctly named _Fraxinus profunda_. Since this species is not in our range it should be dropped from our flora. TABLE OF MEASUREMENTS OF THE LARGEST TREES OF SOME SPECIES THAT OCCUR IN INDIANA. ---------+-----------+-----------------------+-----------+-------+------- Authority| County. | Name. | Circum- | Clear | Total | | | ference. | Bole. |Height. ---------+-----------+-----------------------+-----------+-------+------- | | | cm.ft.in.|dm. ft.|dm. ft. | | | | | Deam |Laporte |Pinus Strobus | 267 8 8|... .. |229 75 | | (White Pine) | | | Deam |Lake |Pinus Banksiana | 116 3 11|... .. |168 55 | | (Jack Pine) | | | Schneck |L. W. V.[A]|Taxodium distichum | 562 18 9|226 74 |445 146 | | (Cypress) | | | Ridgway |L. W. V. |Salix nigra | 305 10 ..|... .. |268 88 | | (Black Willow) | | | Schneck |L. W. V. |Populus deltoides | 671 22 ..|229 75 |518 170 | | (Cottonwood) | | | Ridgway |L. W. V. |Populus grandidentata | 112 3 8|217 71 |217 71 | | (Quaking Aspen) | | | Ridgway |Knox |Populus heterophylla | 229 7 6|156 51 |281 92 | | (Cottonwood) | | | Deam |Marshall |Populus tremuloides | 121 4 ..|168 55 |168 55 | | (Quaking Aspen) | | | Schneck |L. W. V. |Juglans nigra | 671 22 ..|226 74 |473 155 | | (Black Walnut) | | | Schneck |L. W. V. |Carya alba | 315 10 4|168 55 |342 112 | | (White Hickory) | | | Ridgway |L. W. V. |Carya glabra | 229 7 6|... .. |351 115 | | (Black Hickory) | | | Ridgway |L. W. V. |Carya ovalis | 294 10 ..|213 70 |409 134 | | (Small-fruited | | | | | Hickory) | | | Schneck |L. W. V. |Carya illinoensis | 488 16 ..|275 90 |534 175 | | (Pecan) | | | Deam |Madison |Ostrya virginiana | 117 3 10|... .. |122 40 | | (Ironwood) | | | Ridgway |Knox |Carpinus caroliniana | 107 3 6| 21 7 | 98 32 | | (Blue Beech) | | | Deam |Porter |Betula papyrifera | 63 2 1|... .. |183 60 | | (Paper Birch) | | | Deam |Porter |Alnus incana | 42 1 5|... .. | 92 30 | | (Tag Alder) | | | Schneck |L. W. V. |Fagus grandifolia | 336 11 ..|... .. |372 122 | | (Beech) | | | Bot. Gaz.|Jackson |Castanea dentata | 671 22 ..|213 70 |... ... June '80| | (Chestnut) | | | Schneck |L. W. V. |Quercus alba | 549 18 ..|220 72 |503 165 | | (White Oak) | | | Schneck |L. W. V. |Quercus Schneckii | 618 20 3|287 94 |552 181 | | (Schneck's Oak) | | | Ridgway |L. W. V. |Quercus falcata | 427 14 ..|213 70 |396 130 | | (Spanish Oak) | | | Schneck |L. W. V. |Quercus macrocarpa | 671 22 ..|220 72 |503 165 | | (Burr Oak) | | | Ridgway |L. W. V. |Quercus Michauxii | 395 13 ..| 88 29 |364 119 | | (Cow Oak) | | | Schneck |L. W. V. |Quercus palustris | 366 12 ..| 70 23 |366 120 | | (Pin Oak) | | | Ridgway |Gibson |Quercus rubra | 702 23 ..|232 76 |... ... | | (Red Oak) | | | Ridgway |Knox |Quercus rubra | 427 14 ..|168 55 |436 143 | | (Red Oak) | | | Schneck |L. W. V. |Quercus velutina | 610 20 ..|229 75 |503 165 | | (Black Oak) | | | Ridgway |L. W. V. |Ulmus americana | 488 16 ..|152 50 |366 120 | | (White Elm) | | | Ridgway |Gibson |Celtis occidentalis | 336 11 ..|253 83 |183 60 | | (Hackberry) | | | Schneck |L. W. V. |Liriodendron Tulipifera| 762 25 ..|278 91 |580 190 | | (Yellow Poplar) | | | Schneck |Posey |Asimina triloba | 69 2 3|... .. |146 48 | | (Pawpaw) | | | Johnson |Posey |Sassafras officinale | 236 7 6|229 75 |290 95 | | (Sassafras) | | | Schneck |L. W. V. |Liquidambar Styraciflua| 518 17 ..|244 80 |500 164 | | (Sweet Gum) | | | Schneck |L. W. V. |Platanus occidentalis |1,116 33 4|207 68 |537 176 | | (Sycamore) | | | Bot. Gaz.|Daviess |Platanus occidentalis |1,464 48 ..| 76 25 |... .. June '80| | (Sycamore) | | | Deam |Steuben |Amelanchier lævis | 56 1 10|... .. | 92 30 | | (Juneberry) | | | Deam |Porter |Prunus pennsylvanica | 60 2 ..|... .. |107 35 | | (Wild Red Cherry) | | | Ridgway |Knox |Cercis canadensis | 84 2 9| 70 23 |165 54 | | (Redbud) | | | Ridgway |L. W. V. |Gleditsia aquatica | 212 7 ..|... .. |198 65 | | (Water Honey Locust) | | | Schneck |Posey |Gleditsia triacanthos | 549 18 ..|186 61 |593 129 | | (Honey Locust) | | | Deam |Posey |Acer Negundo | 300 9 10| 24 8 |122 40 | | (Box Elder) | | | Schneck |L. W. V. |Acer rubrum | 396 13 ..|183 60 |329 108 | | (Red Maple) | | | Schneck |L. W. V. |Acer saccharum | 381 12 6|183 60 |345 113 | | (Sugar Maple) | | | Schneck |L. W. V. |Tilia glabra | 534 17 6|153 50 |332 109 | | (Linn) | | | Deam |Jefferson |Tilia heterophylla | 356 8 8| 37 12 |183 60 | | (White Linn) | | | Ridgway |L. W. V. |Nyssa sylvatica | 549 18 ..|... .. |... ... | | (Black Gum) | | | Deam |Posey |Diospyros virginiana | 178 6 10| 24 8 |137 45 | | (Persimmon) | | | Ridgway |L. W. V. |Diospyros virginiana | 168 5 6|244 80 |351 115 | | (Persimmon) | | | Schneck |L. W. V. |Catalpa speciosa | 183 6 ..|146 48 |308 101 | | (Catalpa) | | | ---------+-----------+-----------------------+-----------+-------+------- [A] L. W. V.--Lower Wabash Valley. Specific Gravity of Indiana Woods.[90] The specific gravity was derived from wood dried at 100° centigrade (212 Fah.) until it ceased to lose weight. Carya ovata (Shellbark Hickory) 0.8372 Quercus stellata (Post Oak) 0.8367 Viburnum prunifolium (Black Haw) 0.8332 Quercus lyrata (Overcup Oak) 0.8313 Ostrya virginiana (Ironwood) 0.8264 Carya alba (White Hickory) 0.8218 Carya glabra (Black Hickory) 0.8217 Cornus florida (Flowering Dogwood) 0.8153 Carya laciniosa (Big Shellbark Hickory) 0.8108 Quercus Michauxii (Cow Oak) 0.8039 Diospyros virginiana (Persimmon) 0.7908 Amelanchier canadensis (Juneberry) 0.7838 Maclura pomifera (Osage Orange) 0.7736 Quercus bicolor (Swamp White Oak) 0.7662 Carya cordiformis (Pig Hickory) 0.7552 Quercus imbricaria (Shingle Oak) 0.7529 Quercus Prinus (Chestnut Oak) 0.7499 Ulmus alata (Cork Elm) 0.7491 Quercus alba (White Oak) 0.7470 Quercus macrocarpa (Bur Oak) 0.7453 Quercus coccinea (Scarlet Oak) 0.7405 Gleditsia aquatica (Water Honey Locust) 0.7342 Robinia Pseudo-Acacia (Black Locust) 0.7333 Quercus marilandica (Black Jack Oak) 0.7324 Celtis occidentalis (Hackberry) 0.7287 Carpinus caroliniana (Water Beech) 0.7286 Ulmus Thomasi (Hickory Elm) 0.7263 Prunus americana (Wild Plum) 0.7215 Fraxinus quadrangulata (Blue Ash) 0.7184 Carya illinoensis (Pecan) 0.7180 Malus glaucescens (Crab Apple) 0.7048 Quercus velutina (Black Oak) 0.7045 Ulmus fulva (Slippery Elm) 0.6956 Quercus palustris (Pin Oak) 0.6938 Gymnocladus dioica (Coffeenut) 0.6934 Quercus falcata (Spanish Oak) 0.6928 Acer nigrum (Black Maple) 0.6915 Acer saccharum (Sugar Maple) 0.6912 Fagus grandifolia (Beech) 0.6883 Gleditsia triacanthos (Honey Locust) 0.6740 Betula lutea (Yellow Birch) 0.6553 Fraxinus americana (White Ash) 0.6543 Quercus rubra (Red Oak) 0.6540 Ulmus americana (White Elm) 0.6506 Cercis canadensis (Redbud) 0.6363 Nyssa sylvatica (Black Gum) 0.6356 Adelia acuminata (Swamp Privet) 0.6345 Fraxinus nigra (Water Ash) 0.6318 Fraxinus pennsylvanica (Red Ash) 0.6251 Larix laricina (Tamarack) 0.6236 Acer rubrum (Red Maple) 0.6178 Juglans nigra (Black Walnut) 0.6115 Betula papyrifera (Paper Birch) 0.5955 Liquidambar Styraciflua (Sweet Gum) 0.5909 Morus rubra (Red Mulberry) 0.5898 Prunus serotina (Wild Black Cherry) 0.5822 Betula nigra (River Birch) 0.5762 Betula populifolia (White Birch) 0.5760 Platanus occidentalis (Sycamore) 0.5678 Pinus virginiana (Jersey Pine) 0.5309 Acer saccharinum (Silver Maple) 0.5259 Sassafras officinale (Sassafras) 0.5042 Prunus pennsylvanica (Wild Red Cherry) 0.5023 Juniperus virginiana (Red Cedar) 0.4926 Pinus Banksiana (Gray Pine) 0.4761 Magnolia acuminata (Cucumber Tree) 0.4690 Alnus rugosa (Alder) 0.4666 Populus grandidentata (Quaking Aspen) 0.4632 Alnus incana (Tag Alder) 0.4607 Taxodium distichum (Cypress) 0.4543 Æsculus glabra (Buckeye) 0.4542 Tilia glabra (Linn) 0.4525 Castanea dentata (Chestnut) 0.4504 Salix amygdaloides (Willow) 0.4502 Catalpa bignonioides (Catalpa) 0.4474 Salix nigra (Black Willow) 0.4456 Acer Negundo (Box Elder) 0.4328 Æsculus octandra (Sweet Buckeye) 0.4274 Tilia heterophylla (White Linn) 0.4253 Tsuga canadensis (Hemlock) 0.4239 Liriodendron Tulipifera (Yellow Poplar) 0.4230 Catalpa speciosa (Catalpa) 0.4165 Populus heterophylla (Downy Cottonwood) 0.4089 Juglans cinerea (Butternut) 0.4086 Populus tremuloides (Quaking Aspen) 0.4032 Asimina triloba (Pawpaw) 0.3069 Populus deltoides (Cottonwood) 0.3889 Pinus Strobus (White Pine) 0.3854 Thuja occidentalis (Arbor-Vitæ) 0.3164 [Illustration: Plate 135. COUNTY MAP OF INDIANA.] [Illustration: Plate 136. COUNTY MAP OF INDIANA SHOWING CERTAIN AREAS OF FOREST DISTRIBUTION.] [Illustration: Plate 137. ENGLISH AND METRIC SCALES COMPARED. These can be cut out and pasted on wood.] FOOTNOTES: [1] Ind. Geol. Rept. 22:93:1898. [2] Amer. Mid. Nat. 3:70:1913. [3] Proc. Ind. Acad. Sci. 1901:297:1902. [4] See discussion under Abies balsamea on page 290. [5] Proc. Ind. Hort. Soc. 1892:53:1893. [6] Ind. Geol. Surv. Rept. 5:338:1874. [7] Proc. Ind. Acad. Sci. 1897:173:1898. [8] Baird & Taylor's reference to this species is regarded as a cultivated tree or as an error: Manual Public Schools of Clark County, Ind. 1878-9, page 62. [9] Hamilton County by Wilson, no doubt from a cultivated tree. [10] Contributed by C. R. Ball, Bureau Plant Industry, Washington, D.C., except the genus Populus. [11] Coulter's record for Gibson County by Schneck is regarded as an error because Schneck himself does not report it, and there was no specimen in the Schneck herbarium. [12] Deam's record in Rept. Ind. St. Board Forestry 1911:124:1912 was a manuscript error. [13] Ind. Geol. Rept. 17:263:1892. [14] Sargent in Bot. Gaz. Vol. 64: 58:1918. [15] Heimlich in Proc. Ind. Acad. Sci. 1917:437:439:1918 credits most of my records jointly with Prof. G. N. Hoffer. This is an error. On my invitation Prof. Hoffer accompanied me nine days in the field doing mycological work. While he gave me valuable assistance in collecting during these days, his assistance and responsibility stopped there and he never asked or expected to be considered joint author. Again on our trip we collected only in Daviess, Gibson, Fountain, Knox, Lawrence, Martin, Pike and Sullivan Counties. [16] Sargent 1.c. [17] André Michaux's Travels 1793-1796. [18] Flora of Jefferson County. Ind. Geol. Surv. Rept. 2:283:1871. [19] Flora of Jefferson County. Ind. Geol. Surv. Rept. 6:265:1875. [20] Bot. Gaz. Vol. 66:236:1918. [21] Proc. Ind. Acad. Sci. 1917:435:1918. [22] Proc. Ind. Acad. Sci. 1917:435:1918. [23] Bot. Gaz. 66:237:1918. [24] Bot. Gaz. 66:244:1918. [25] Proc. Ind. Acad. Sci. 1917:436:1918. [26] Trees and Shrubs 2:208-209:1913 and Bot. Gaz. 66:247:1918. [27] Bot. Gaz. 66:249:1918. [28] In 1916 in Allen County along Cedar Creek, I measured a specimen that was 15.6 dm. in circ. b.h. with a clear bole of about 3m. [29] Proc. Ind. Acad. Sci. 1917:443:1918. [30] Ind. Geol. Rept. 18:61:1894. [31] Minnesota Bot. Studies 4:454:1916. [32] Sargent in Bot. Gaz. Vol. 65:435:1918. [33] This hybrid was described in the Report of the Indiana State Board of Forestry for 1911. [34] Elliott: Histological variations of _Quercus Muhlenbergii_. University of Kansas Science Bul. 9:45:54:8 Plates:1914. [35] Gorby: Trees and shrubs indigenous to Miami County, Ind. Geol. Rept. 16:168-170:1889. [36] Wilson: Flora of Hamilton and Marion Counties, Indiana. Proc. Ind. Acad. Science. 1894:156-176:1895. [37] Higley and Raddin: Flora of Cook County Illinois, and a part of Lake County Indiana. Bul. Chicago Acad. Sci. Vol. 2: 106:1891 [38] Nieuwland: Notes on our local flora. Amer. Mid. Nat. Vol. 3:230:1914. [39] Michaux: North American Silva. J. J. Smith's Trans. Vol. 1:37:1871. [40] Nieuwland: Notes on our local flora. Amer. Mid. Nat. Vol. 3:230:1914. [41] Prof. B. Shimek told me that recently a few trees were found about 30 miles west of Iowa City, Iowa. [42] Sargent: Notes on North American Trees. Bot. Gaz. Vol. 65:424:1918. [43] Brown: Trees of Fountain County, Ind. Geol. Rept. Vol. 11:123:1882. [44] Sargent: Notes on North American Trees. Bot. Gaz. Vol. 65:427:1918. [45] Bot. Gaz. Vol. 67:217-229:1919. [46] Hill: Notes on Celtis pumila, etc. Bul. Torrey Club: Vol:27:496-505:1900. [47] Bot. Gaz. Vol. 67:228-229:1919. [48] Garden & Forest 9:375:1896. [49] =Morus alba= Linnæus. White Mulberry. A small crooked tree; leaves ovate, sometimes lobed, blades 6-13 cm. long, cordate at the base, acute at apex, at maturity glabrous above and glabrous beneath or with some hairs on the veins and in the axils of the veins; fruit subglobose or oblong, 1-2 cm. long, white to pinkish. This is an introduced tree and has been reported as an escape in many parts of the State, especially by the older botanists. =Morus alba= variety =tatarica= Loudon, the Russian mulberry, has been reported as an escape. The writer has seen single specimens as an escape in woods in Cass and Marshall Counties. It can be distinguished by practically all of the leaves being more or less lobed and the reddish fruit. This form was introduced into the United States in great numbers about fifty years ago by the Mennonites. It was especially recommended by nurserymen for fence posts and it has been planted to some extent in Indiana, but it cannot be recommended. It grows too slowly and is too crooked to compensate for any lasting qualities the wood may have. =Morus nigra= has been reported from Indiana by Phinney, Brown and McCaslin as a forest tree. Since this is an introduced tree, and is not supposed to be hardy in our area, their reports should be transferred to some other species. [50] Amer. Midland Naturalist Vol. 3:347:1914. [51] Contributed by W. W. Eggleston, Bureau Plant Industry, Washington, D.C. [52] Proc. Ind. Acad. Sci. 1917:445:1918. [53] Higley and Raddin: Flora of Cook County Illinois and a part of Lake County Indiana. Bul. Chic. Acad. Sci. Vol. 2:33:1891. [54] Trans. Ill. Acad. Science, 1916:132. [55] Amer. Nat. 6:660:1872. [56] Rept. Ind. Geol. Surv. 12:208:1883. [57] Ind. Geol. Rept. 16:169:1889. [58] Plant World 7:252:1904. [59] Thomas' Western Travels, page 111:1819. [60] Drake in Picture of Cincinnati, page 83, 1815. [61] Bot. Gaz. Vol. 67:233:1919. [62] S. Coulter: Size of some trees of Jefferson County, Ind. Bot. Gaz. Vol. 1:10:1875. He says: "Fifty trees were measured at three feet above the ground with an average diameter of 2 ft. and 9 inches. An equal number of _Æsculus octandra_ were measured at the same height from the ground with an average diameter of 2 ft. and 9 inches." [63] Drake: Picture of Cincinnatus:79:1815. [64] Young: Botany of Jefferson County, Ind. Geo. Surv. Ind. Rept. 2:255:1871. [65] Sargent: Notes on North American Trees. Bot. Gaz. Vol. 66:421-438 and 494-511:1918. [66] Wadmond: Flora of Racine and Kenosha Counties. Trans. Wis. Acad. Sci. Vol. 16:857:1909. The author says: "Two trees near Berryville, the only known trees of this species in the State." [67] In 1918 I measured a specimen near Yankeetown in Warrick County that had a clear bole of 3 meters (10 feet), and a circumference of 11 dm. (40 inches) b.h. [68] Bot. Gaz. Vol. 67:241-242:1919. [69] Rhodora Vol. 14:192:1912. [70] Sterrett: Utilization of Ash. U. S. Dept. Agri. Bul. 523:1917. [71] Sterrett: Utilization of Ash, U. S. Dept. Agri. Bul. 523:1917. [72] Proc. Ind. Acad. Sci. 1900:141:1901. [73] Manual Public Schools Clark County, Ind. 1878-9, page 62. [74] Proc. Ind. Acad. Sci. 1917:403:1918. [75] Rept. Geol. Surv. Ind. 7:562:1876. [76] Rept. Geol. Surv. Ind. 16:168:1889. [77] Rept. Geol. Surv. Ind. 24:617:1900. [78] Sci. Bul. Chic. Acad. Vol. 2:148:1891. [79] Ind. Geol. Rept. 11:148:1881. [80] Blatchley's, Mss. Flora of Monroe County, Ind. June 1887. [81] Bul. Brockville Nat. Hist. Soc. No. 1:38:1885 [82] Amer. Midland Nat. Vol. 3:222:1914. [83] It is said that this list and that of Hobb's list of trees of Parke county were prepared by obtaining from farmers a list of the common names of the trees to which they attached botanical names. [84] Sargent in a letter to the author. [85] Proc. U.S. Nat. Mus. 17:415. [86] American Midland Naturalist 3:320:1914. [87] Ind. Geol. Rept. 11:148:1881. [88] Ind. Geol. Rept. 11:123:1882. [89] Ind. Geol. Rept. 12:174:1883. [90] Adapted from Sargent's "Trees of North America." INDEX The accepted botanical names are in bold-face type. Synonyms are placed in italics. Where the subject receives the most extended notice the page number is in bold-face type. Page =Abies balsamea=, =290= =Aceracea=, =239= =Acer=, =239= Negundo, =240=, 241, 298, 300 =Negundo= variety =violaceum=, =242= =nigrum=, =246=, 247, 299 =pennsylvanicum=, =295= =rubrum=, =244=, 245, 298, 300 =rubrum= variety =Drummondii=, =244= =rubrum= variety =tridens=, =246= =saccharinum=, 242, 243, 300 =saccharum=, 248, 249, 298, 299 =saccharum= variety =glaucum=, =248= =saccharum= variety =Schneckii=, =250= =saccharum= variety =Rugelii=, =250= Acknowledgments, 16 =Adelia=, =282= =acuminata=, =282=, 283, 300 =Æsculaceæ=, =251= =Æsculus=, =251= _flava_ variety _purpurascens_, _253_ =glabra=, =251=, 252, 300 =octandra=, =253=, 254, 300 =Ailanthus altissima=, =237=, 238 _glandulosa_, _237_ Alder, 90, 300 smooth, 92, 93 speckled, 90, 91 =Alnus=, =90=, 297 =incana=, 13, =90=, 91, 297, 300 =rugosa=, 13, 90, =92=, 93, 300 =Altingiaceæ=, =166= =Amelanchier canadensis=, =177=, 178 =lævis=, =177=, 179, 298, 299 =Amygdalaceæ=, =216= =Anonaceæ=, =161= Apple, American crab, 172, 173, 299 Iowa crab, 174 narrow-leaved crab, 174, 175 western crab, 174, 176 thorn, 180 Arbor-Vitæ 32, 33, 300 Arrow wood 265 Ash 267 Biltmore 270, 271 black 280, 281 blue 278, 279, 299 gray 267 green 272, 273 hoop 148, 282 pumpkin 277 red 274, 275, 300 swamp 272, 274 swell-butt 276, 277 water 300 white 267, 272, 274, 299 =Asimina triloba= =161=, 162, 298, 300 Aspen, large-toothed 50, 51 quaking 52, 53, 300 Ball, Carleton R 16 Balm of Gilead 292 Banana, Hoosier 161 Basswood 255, 256 white 257, 258 Beech 94, 95, 297, 299 blue 78, 79, 297 red 96 water 78, 79, 299 white 96 yellow 96 =Betulaceæ= =78= =Betula= =80= =alleghenensis= =84= =lenta= 84, 85, =292=, 299 =lutea= =82=, 83, 84, 85 =nigra= 84, =88=, 89, 293, 300 =papyrifera= =85=, 87, 297, 300 =papyrifera × pumila glandulifera= =85= =populifolia= =85=, 86, 300 =Sanbergi= =85= =Bignoniaceæ= =284= Birch 80, 82, 90 black 88, 89, 292 canoe 85, 87, 88 gray 85, 86 paper 85, 87, 88, 297, 300 red 88, 89, 90 river 90, 300 white 85, 86, 88, 300 yellow 82, 83, 299 Botanic descriptions, comments on 13 Box elder 240, 241 Britton and Brown 16 Buckeye 251, 252, 253, 300 sweet 253, 254, 300 Butternut 54, 55, 300 =Cæsalpinaceæ= =226= =Caprifoliaceæ= =288= =Carpinus caroliniana= =78=, 79, 297, 299 =Carya= =56= =alba= =68=, 69, 299 =alba= variety =subcoriacea= =70= =aquatica= =292= =Buckleyi= variety =arkansana= =76=, 77 =cordiformis= =61=, 62, 72, 299 =glabra= =70=, 71, 299 =glabra= variety =megacarpa= =72= =illinoensis= =59=, 60, 299 =laciniosa= =66=, 67, 292, 299 =myristicæformis= =292= =ovalis= 70, =72=, 73, 74 =ovalis= variety =obcordata= =75= =ovalis= variety =obcordata= forma =vestita= =75= =ovalis= variety =obovalis= =75= =ovalis= variety =odorata= =75= =ovata= =63=, 64, 299 =ovata= variety =fraxinifolia= =65= =ovata= variety =Nuttallii= =66= =Castanea dentata= =96=, 97, 297, 300 =pumila= =293= Catalfa 284 Catalpa 284, 298, 300 hardy 284 =Catalpa= =284= =Catalpa bigonnioides= 13, =284=, 285, 300 _Catalpa Catalpa_ _284_ =speciosa= =284=, 286, 287, 298, 300 Cedar, red 32, 35, 300 white 291 =Celtis= =146= _laevigata_ _151_ =mississipiensis= =151=, 152 =occidentalis= 147, =148=, 298, 299 =occidentalis= variety =crassifolia= =148= =pumila= =148=, 149 =pumila= variety =Deamii= 149, =150= =Cercis canadensis= =227=, 228, 298, 300 =Chamæcyparis thyoides= =291= Cherry, wild 223 wild black 223, 225, 300 wild red 223, 224, 298, 300 Chestnut 96, 97, 297, 300 Chinquapin 293 Coffeenut 233, 234, 299 Contents, table of 9 Conservation, The Department of 16 =Cornacea= =259= =Cornus florida= =261=, 262, 299 Cottonwood 47, 49, 297, 300 downy 300 swamp 47, 48 Coulter, Stanley, Commissioner 16, 163, 251 =Cratægus= =180= =albicans= =214= _alnorum_ _200_ =basilica= =200=, 201 =beata= =214= =berberifolia= =214= =Boyntoni= =214= =Brainerdi= =214= =Calpodendron= =191=, 193 =chrysocarpa= =194=, 195 =coccinea= =209=, 211 =coccinea= variety =Elwangeriana= =212= _coccinea_ variety _oligandra_ _206_ =coccinoides= =209=, 210 =collina= =188=, 189 _cordata_ _214_ =Crus-galli= =182=, 183 =cuneiformis= =182=, 184 _deltoides_ _203_ =denaria= =214= _Dodgei_ _194_ _Edsoni_ _200_ _Eggertii_ _209_ =fecunda= =214= =filipes= =203=, 205 =Gattingeri= =206=, 207 =Jesupi= =200=, 202 =lucorum= =214= =macrosperma= =197=, 199 =macrosperma= variety =matura= =200= =Margaretta= =185=, 187 =mollis= =212=, 213 =neo-fluvialis= =191=, 192 =nitida= =197=, 198 =ovata= =214= _pausiaca_ _182_ _pedicillata_ _209_ _pedicillata_ variety _Elwangeriana_ _212_ =Phænopyrum= =214=, 215 =Pringlei= =214= =pruinosa= =206=, 208 =punctata= =185=, 186 =roanensis= =214= _rotundifolia_ _194_ =rugosa= =203=, 204 _silvicola_ variety _Beckwithae_ _203_ =succulenta= =188=, 190 =villipes= =214= =viridis= 196, =197= Crooked brush 282, 283 Cucumber tree 157, 158, 300 Cypress, bald 28, 31, 297, 300 Deam, Stella M. 16 Dietz, Harry F. 7, 15 =Diospyros virginiana= =265=, 266, 298, 299 Distribution of trees, terms used to define 14 Dogwood 261, 262 flowering 261, 299 =Ebenaceæ= =265= Eggleston, W. W. 16, 171 Elder, box 240, 241, 298, 300 Elm 140 bitter 140 cork 299 gray 140 hickory 142, 143, 299 hub 140 red 138, 139, 140 rock 142, 143 slippery 138, 139, 299 sour 140 swamp 140 water 140, 294 white 140, 141, 300 winged 142, 144 English and metric scales compared 306 =Ericaceæ= =263= =Fabaceæ= =233= =Fagaceæ= =92= =Fagus grandifolia= =94=, 95, 297, 299 Fir, balsam 290 =Fraxinus= =267= =americana= =268=, 269, 299 =americana= forma =iodocarpa= =270= =americana= variety =subcoriacea= =268= =biltmoreana= =270=, 271 =caroliniana= =296= =lanceolata= =272=, 273 =nigra= =280=, 281, 300 =pennsylvanica= =274=, 275, 300 =profunda= =276=, 277, 296 =quadrangulata= =278=, 279, 299 Frontispiece 5 =Gleditsia aquatica= =230=, 231, 299 =aquatica x triacanthos= =232= =triancanthos= =227=, 229, 299 Gum 259 black 259, 298, 300 sour 259 sweet 166, 167, 298, 300 tupelo 295 yellow 259 =Gymnocladus dioica= =233=, 234, 299 Hackberry 146, 148, 151, 298, 299 dwarf 148, 149 Haw, black 288, 289, 299 dotted 185 pear 191, 193 red 180, 191, 209, 212 scarlet 214 southern black 289 Hedge 155 Hemlock 26, 29, 300 Hickory 56 big scaly-bark 68 big shellbark 65, 66, 67, 299 black 70, 71, 297, 299 hard-head 68 nutmeg 292 pignut 61, 62, 72, 299 shellbark 63, 64, 65, 299 small-fruited 72, 73, 76, 297 ladies 76 water 292 white 68, 69, 297, 299 yellow-bud 63 Holly 295, 298 Hop hornbeam 80 Hough, R. B. 16 =Ilex opaca= =295= Illustrations, explanation of 15 list of 10 Introduction 13 Ironwood 80, 297, 299 =Juglandaceæ= =52= =Juglans= =52= _aquatica_ _292_ =cinerea= =54=, 55, 300 =nigra= =54=, 57, 297, 300 Juneberry 177, 298, 299 smooth 177, 179 Juniper 291 =Juniperus communis= =291= =virginiana= =32=, 35, 291, 300 =Kalmia latifolia= =84= Key to the families of Indiana trees 17 Larch 26 =Larix laricina= =26=, 27, 300 =Lauraceæ= =163= Laurel 84 Lieber, Richard 7 Linn 255, 256, 298, 300 =Liquidambar Styraciflua= =166=, 167, 298, 300 =Liriodendron Tulipifera= =159=, 160, 298, 300 Locust 235 black 235, 236, 299 honey 227, 229, 298, 299 water honey 230, 231, 298, 299 yellow 235 =Maclura pomifera= =155=, 156, 299 =Magnoliaceæ= =155= =Magnolia acuminata= =157=, 158, 300 =Malaceæ= =171= =Malus= =171= =angustifolia= =171= _coronaria_ _174_, 176 _fragrans_ _172_ =glaucescens= =172=, 173, 299 =ioensis= =174= =ioensis= × lancifolia =177= =lancifolia= =174=, 175 Maple, black 246, 247, 299 black sugar 246 hard 248 red 244, 245, 298, 300 rock 248 silver 242, 243, 300 soft 242, 244 sugar 248, 249, 298, 299 swamp 244 white 242 Map of certain forestal areas of Indiana 302 explanation of 15 Map of Indiana 301 Moosewood 295 =Moraceæ= =151= =Morus= =153= =alba= =155= =alba= variety =tatarica= =155= =nigra= 155, =295= =rubra= =153=, 154, 298, 300 Mulberry, red 153, 154, 155, 298, 300 black 295 white 155 Nomenclature 14 =Nyssa aquatica= =295= =sylvatica= =259=, 260, 295, 300 Oak 98 basket 107, 108 bear 294 black 119, 127, 129, 135, 298, 299 black jack 135, 136, 299 bur 104, 115, 116, 117, 297, 299 chestnut 104, 110, 111, 299 chinquapin 104, 106 cow 107, 108, 297, 299 dwarf chestnut 294 Hill's 127, 128 iron 114 jack 119 mossy cup 116 over cup 117, 118, 299 peach 119 pigeon 107 pin 123, 124, 297, 299 post 112, 113, 300 red 121, 122, 126, 135, 297, 299 sand bur 114 scarlet 131, 132, 299 Schneck's 123, 125 scrub 294 shingle 119, 120, 299 Spanish 131, 133, 134, 297, 299 swamp 123 swamp white 104, 105, 299 sweet 104 water 119, 123, 294 white 101, 102, 297, 299 willow 294 yellow 104, 131 =Oleaceæ= =267= Osage Orange 155, 156, 299 =Ostrya virginiana= =80=, 81, 299 =virginiana= variety =glandulosa= =80= =Oxydendrum arboreum= =263=, 264 Pawpaw 161, 162, 298 white 161 yellow 161 Pecan 59, 60, 297, 299 McCallister 60 Pepperidge 259 Persimmon 265, 266, 298, 299 =Pinaceæ= =19= Pine 19 gray 22, 23, 300 jack 22, 23, 297 Jersey 22, 24, 25, 300 Norway 290 pitch 290 scrub 22, 24, 25 short-leaf 290 white 20, 21, 25, 297, 300 =Pinus= =19= =Banksiana= =22=, 23, 300 =echinata= =290= =resinosa= =290= =rigida= =290= =Strobus= =20=, 21, 290, 300 =virginiana= 24, =25= =Planera aquatica= =294= Planer-tree 294 Plane tree 168 =Platanaceæ= =168= =Platanus occidentalis= 168, 169, 298, 300 Plum, Canada 218, 220 wild goose 221, 222 wild red 216, 217, 299 woolly-leaf 218, 219 Pond brush 282, 283 Poplar 45, 159 balsam 291 blue 159 Carolina 47, 49 hickory 159 Lombardy 292 silver-leaf 45, 46 swamp 47 white 159 yellow 159, 160, 298 =Populus= =45= =alba= =45=, 46 =balsamifera= =291= _balsamifera_ variety _virginiana_ _47_ =candicans= =292= =deltoides= =47=, 49, 297, 300 =grandidentata= =50=, 51, 291, 297, 300 =heterophylla= =47=, 48, 297, 300 =nigra= variety =italica= =292= =tremuloides= =52=, 53, 297, 300 Preface 7 Privet swamp 300 =Prunus= =216= =americana= =216=, 217, 299 =americana= variety =lanata= =218=, 219 =hortulana= =221=, 222 =nigra= =218=, 220 =pennsylvanica= =223=, 224, 300 =serotina= =223=, 225, 300 Quaking aspen 52, 300 =Quercus= =98= =alba= =101=, 102, 297, 299 =alba= variety =latiloba= =103= =alba x Michauxii= =110= =alba x Muhlenbergii= =103= =Beadlei= =110= =bicolor= =104=, 105, 299 =coccinea= =131=, 132, 299 =Deami= =103= _digitata_ _135_ =ellipsoidalis= =127=, 128 =falcata= =133=, 134, 297, 299 =illicifolia= =293= =imbricaria= =119=, 120, 299 =lyrata= =117=, 118, 299 =macrocarpa= 115, =116=, 297, 299 =macrocarpa= variety =olivæformis= =116= =marilandica= =135=, 136, 294, 299 _maxima_ _121_ =Michauxii= =107=, 108, 297, 299 _montana_ _110_ =Muhlenbergii= =104=, 106, 109, 112, 293 =nigra= =293= _pagoda_ _135_ _pagodaefolia_ _135_ =palustris= =123=, 124, 297, 299 =Phellos= =294= =prinoides= =294= =Prinus= 107, =109=, 111, 294, 299 =rubra= =121=, 122, 135, 297, 299 _rubra_ variety _triloba_ _135_ =Schneckii= =123=, 125, 127, 297 _Shumardii_ _126_ _Shumardii_ variety _Schneckii_ _126_ =stellata= =112=, 113, 300 _triloba_ _135_ =velutina= =127=, 129, 131, 298, 299 Redbud 227, 228, 298, 300 Remarks, explanation of 15 =Robinia Pseudo-Acacia= =235=, 236, 299 _Rulac Nuttallii_ _242_ =Salicaceæ= =34= =Salix= =34= =alba= =40=, 41 =alba= variety =vitellina= =40= =amygdaloides= =38=, 39, 300 =discolor= =43=, 44 =discolor= variety =eriocephala= =43= =fragilis= =40=, 42 =nigra= =36=, 37, 300 =nigra= variety =falcata= =38= Sassafras 163, 164, 298, 300 red 163 white 163 _Sassafras albida_ variety _glauca_ _166_ =officinale= =163=, 164 Sargent, C. S. 16 Service berry 177 =Simarubaceæ= =237= Sorrel tree 263, 264 Sour wood 263, 264 Specific gravity of some of the woods of Indiana 299 Stink tree 237 Sugar berry 151 Sugar, black 246 Sugar tree 248 Sycamore 5, 168, 169, 298, 300 Tamarack 26, 27, 300 =Taxodium distichum= =28=, 31, 297, 300 Thorn, Mrs. Ashe's 185, 187 Miss Beckwith's 203, 205 Judge Brown's 185, 187 Chapman's Hill 188, 189 Dr. Clapp's 206 cock-spur 182, 183 downy 212 Eggert's 209, 210 Fretz's 203, 204 Dr. Gattinger's 206, 207 Jesup's 200, 202 large-fruited 185, 186 long-spined 188, 190 Marshall's 182 Newcastle 182 New-river 191, 192 pear 191, 193 red-fruited 212, 213 round-leaved 194, 195 scarlet 209, 211 shining 197, 198 southern 196, 197 variable 197, 199 Washington 214, 215 waxy-fruited 206, 208 =Thuja occidentalis= =32=, 33, 300 =Tiliaceæ= =255= =Tilia= =255= _americana_ _255_ =glabra= =255=, 256, 298, 300 =heterophylla= =257=, 258, 300 _heterophylla_ variety _Michauxii_ _259_ =neglecta= =259= =Toxylon pomiferum= =155= Tree of Heaven 237, 238 Trees, key to families occurring in Indiana 17 species excluded from Indiana flora 290 measurement of some of the largest found in Indiana 297 terms used to define distribution of 14 =Tsuga canadensis= =26=, 29, 300 Tulip 159, 160 Tupelo 259 =Ulmaceæ= =137= Ulman, Paul 15 =Ulmus= =137= =alata= =142=, 144, 299 =americana= =140=, 141, 298, 300 =fulva= =138=, 139, 209 =Thomasi= =142=, 143, 299 =Viburnum prunifolium= =288=, 289, 299 =rufidulum= =289= Walnut 52, 54, 56 black 54, 57, 297, 300 white 54, 55 Williamson, L. A. 103 Williamson, E. B. 103 Willow 36, 38, 40, 300 black 36, 37, 297, 300 crack 40, 42 glaucous 43 peach-leaved 38, 39 pussy 43, 44 swamp 43 white 40, 41 Wood, specific gravity of some species that occur in Indiana 299 Wood, white 159 whittle 257 * * * * * Transcriber's Note Footnote 46 was not indicated in the text and so was assumed to be associated with the text associated with E. J. Hill's account of the species _Celtis pumila_. The last three items in the key on page 36 were renumbered as "4" appeared twice. On page 287, "Dr. Jno. A. Warder" was changed to "Dr. John A. Warder". Formatting of the titles for the sections listed in the Table of Contents was standardized. Hyphenation and æ ligature use was standardized. The [oe] ligature was converted to oe. Small captioned text was NOT converted to UPPER CASE as that is used in the text for the Family Headers. 
37684	----	[Illustration: A MOOSE.] FOREST LIFE AND FOREST TREES: COMPRISING WINTER CAMP-LIFE AMONG THE LOGGERS, AND WILD-WOOD ADVENTURE. WITH DESCRIPTIONS OF LUMBERING OPERATIONS ON THE VARIOUS RIVERS OF MAINE AND NEW BRUNSWICK. BY JOHN S. SPRINGER. NEW YORK: HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 82 CLIFF STREET. 1851. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight hundred and fifty-one, by HARPER & BROTHERS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District of New York. PREFACE. The writer of the following pages was reared among the Pine forests of Maine, and has spent several of the most pleasant years of his life in active participation in many of the scenes here delineated. The incidents he has related are real, and in no case is the truth sacrificed to fancy or embellishment. When the author commenced writing, his motive was to indulge somewhat in pleasant reminiscences of the past, and to live over again that portion of his life which, in general, was so pleasantly spent among the wild mountains, forests, lakes, and rivers of Maine. It was during this retrospective exercise with his pen that the idea of writing a book, embracing his own experience and observations during the time in which he participated in the lumberman's life, suggested itself. Recollecting that, while the life, habits, and adventures of many classes of men had engaged the attention of the reading community, and that, among the multitude of narratives issued from the press, nothing of interest or importance had been put forth exemplifying the life and adventures of a very large class of persons known as lumbermen, he naturally became possessed with a desire to entertain others with some relation of what appeared to him to afford sufficient material for a book of some interest, and chiefly because the matter it might embrace had never been presented in a connected detail. Suggesting the substance of what has already been said to several intelligent lumbermen, an interest was at once awakened in their feelings upon the subject, accompanied with an urgent request that the plan should be prosecuted, and that a work should be prepared which might make their pursuits, adventures, and hardships more generally known. To many of these friends the author is also indebted for some assistance in furnishing statistical matter. In incorporating the somewhat lengthy notice of Forest Trees, forming the first part of this volume, the author has ventured to make his own taste and feelings the criterion by which he has been guided in his selections and observations for the reader, and although they may not hold a strict relation to the narrative, he hopes that they may not be deemed inappropriate or uninteresting. This volume makes no pretensions to literary merit; sooner would it, indeed, claim kindred with the wild and uncultivated scenes of which it is but a simple relation. In justice to the gentlemen whom he has quoted in arranging the statistical portion of this volume, as well as to himself, the author would state that the material was procured some four years ago. The statement of this fact may account for any discrepancy which may appear from more recent accounts of the lumbering interests, should they be found to vary from the representations here made. THE AUTHOR. PART I. TREES OF AMERICA. PART II. THE PINE-TREE, OR FOREST LIFE. PART III. RIVER LIFE. CONTENTS. PART I. TREES OF AMERICA. CHAPTER I. Trees, how regarded by Lumbermen.--Cedars of Lebanon.--Oldest Tree on Record.--Napoleon's Regard for it.--Dimensions.--Durability of the Cedar, how accounted for.--The Oak.--Religious Veneration in which it was held by the Druids.--The Uses to which their Shade was appropriated.--Curious Valuation of Oak Forests by the Ancient Saxons.--The Number of Species.--Its Value.--Remarkable old Oak in Brighton.--Charter Oak.--Button-wood Tree.--Remarkable Rapidity of its Growth.--Remarkable Size of one measured by Washington.--by Michaux.--Disease in 1842, '43, and '44.--The Oriental Plane-tree --Great Favorite with the Ancients.--Cimon's Effort to gratify the Athenians.--Pliny's Account of its Transportation.--The Privilege of its Shade a Tax.--Used as an Ornament.--Nourished with Wine.--Hortensius and Cicero.--Pliny's curious Account of one of remarkable Size 13 CHAPTER II. The Elm.--English Elm.--Scotch Elm.--Slippery Elm.--American Elm.--Superiority of latter.--Different Shapes, how accounted for.--Great Elm on Boston Common.--Rapidity of Growth.--The Riding Stick.--Remarkable Dimensions of noted Trees.--Boston Elm again.-- Its Age.--By whom set out.--Washington Elm, why so named.--"Trees of Peace," a Tribute of Respect.--English Elm in England and America.--Uses in France.--In Russia.--Birch Family.--Its Variety and Uses.--The Maple Family.--Number of Species.--Red Maple.--Unrivaled Beauty of American Forests.--Rock Maple.--Amount of Wood cut from one in Blandford.--Curious method of distinguishing it from the River Maple.--Amount and Value of the Sugar in Massachusetts.--Great Product from one Tree.--Sugar Maple in the State of Maine.--Dr. Jackson's Reports, &c. 19 CHAPTER III. Beech-trees.--Purity, Size, Fruit.--Efforts of Bears after the Nut.--The Uses to which its Leaves are appropriated.--Mr. Lauder's Testimony, &c.--Use of Wood.--Singular Exemption.--The novel Appearance of the Leaves of a Species in Germany.--Chestnut-tree --Remarkable one on Mount Ætna.--Balm of Gilead.--Willow.--Ash.-- Basswood, or Tiel-tree.--The Poplar.--The Hemlock.--Beauties of its Foliage.--Uses.--Hickory.--The Fir-tree.--Spruce-tree.--Its conical Form.--Uses.--American Larch.--Success of the Dukes of Athol in planting it on the Highlands of Scotland 28 PART II. THE PINE-TREE, OR FOREST LIFE. CHAPTER I. The Pines.--White Pines: rank claimed for this Variety.--Predilections. --Comparison instituted.--Pitch and Norway Pines.--White Pine.-- Magnitude.--New York Pines.--Lambert's Pine on Northwest Coast.-- Varieties.--Its Rank.--Great variety of purposes to which it is devoted.--Great Pine near Jackson Lake.--Capital Invested.--Hands employed on the Penobscot 37 CHAPTER II. The Pine twenty-five Years ago.--Its rapid Disappearance.--Explorations.--Outfit.--Up-river Journeying.--Its Distance.--Mode of Nightly Encampment.--Cooking.--Disturbed Slumbers. --Ludicrous Fright.--Deer.--Encounter with Bears.--Mode of Exploring. --Forest Observatory.--Climbing Trees.--The Emotions excited by the View.--Necessity of Compass.--Nature's Compass.--The Return.-- Annoyances from mischievous Bears.--Stumpage.--Permits.--Outfit and Return.--Crossing Carrying-places.--A Strong Man.--Skill of Boatmen.--Item of personal Experience.--Blind Path.--A Family in the Wilderness.--Things to be considered in locating Camps 44 CHAPTER III. Method of constructing Camp and Hovel.--Timber.--Covering.--Arrangement of Interior.--The Bed.-- Deacon Seat.--Ingenious Method of making a Seat.--Cooking: superior Method of Baking.--The nightly Camp Fire.--Liabilities from taking Fire.--A Camp consumed.--Men burned to Death.--Enjoyment.--The new Camp: Dedication.--A Song.--A Story.--New Order in Architecture.-- Ox Hovel.--Substitute for Lime.--The Devotedness of the Teamster. --Fat and lean Cattle.--Swamping Roads.--Clumps of Pine.--The points of Interest in a Logging Road.--The Teamster's Path.--Regret.--The peculiar Enjoyment of Men thus engaged 65 CHAPTER IV. Tokens of Winter.--The Anticipation.--Introduction of Team.-- Difficulties attending it.--Uncomfortable Boating.--The Contrast. --Method of crossing Streams and Rivers.--The Docility of the Ox. --Facilities of Turnpikes.--Stopping-places.--Arrival.--An Adventure.--Ten Oxen in the Ice.--Method of taking them Out.--An uncomfortable Night.--The midnight Excursion.--Oxen running at large in the Wilderness.--Developments of Memory.--Logging.--Division of Labor.--How to manage in the absence of a Cook.--"Uncle Nat."-- Anecdote.--Felling Pines.--Ingenuity of Choppers.--Preparatory Arrangements.--The Bob-sled.--Method of Operation described.-- The Excitement.--Comparison.--Immediate Length of Pine-trees. --Conclusion 83 CHAPTER V. The Skill and Enterprise of Lumbermen.--Method of taking Logs down Hills and Mountains.--Dry Sluice.--Stern Anchor.--Giant Mountain Steps.--Alpine Lumbering.--Warping a Team down Steeps.--Trial of Skill and Strength.--The rival Load.--Danger and Inconvenience of Hills in Logging Roads.--A distressing Accident.--Solemn Conclusion of a Winter's Work.--Some of the Perils attendant upon Lumbering.-- A fearful Wound.--Narrow Escape.--The buried Cap.--The safest Way of Retreat.--A Sabbath in the Logging Camp.--Sunday Morning Naps.--Domestic Camp Duties.--Letter Writing.--Recreations.--Sable Traps.--Deer and Moose.--Bear Meat.--A rare Joke.--Moose Hunt.-- Bewildered Hunters.--Extraordinary Encounter.--Conclusion of Sabbath in the Woods 100 CHAPTER VI. Camp Life.--Winter Evenings.--An Evening in Camp.--Characters.-- Card-playing.--A Song.--Collision with wild Beasts.--The unknown Animal in a Dilemma.--"Indian Devil."--The Aborigines' Terror.--A shocking Encounter.--The Discovery and Pursuit.--The Bear as an Antagonist.--Their thieving Propensities.--A thrilling Scene in the Night.--A desperate Encounter with three Bears 129 CHAPTER VII. Provision Teams.--Liabilities.--A Night in the Woods.--Traveling on Ice.--A Span of Horses lost.--Pat's Adventure.--Drogers' Caravan. --Horses in the Water.--Recovery of a sunken Load.--Returning Volunteers from Aroostook.--Description of a Log Tavern.--Perils on Lakes in Snow-storms.--Camping at Night.--Rude Ferry-boats 142 PART III. RIVER LIFE. CHAPTER I. "Breaking Up."--Grotesque Parading down River.--Rum and Intemperance. --Religious Rites profaned.--River-driving on Temperance Principles. --The first Experiment.--A spiritual Song 149 CHAPTER II. Log-landing.--Laborious Exposure.--Damming Streams.--Exciting Scenes.--Log-riding.--Fun.--Breaking a Dry-landing.--A sudden Death.--Thrilling Scenes on the "Nesourdnehunk."--Lake-driving.-- Steam Tow-boat.--Remarks on Lake Navigation.--Driving the main River.--Union of Crews.--Substantial Jokes.--Log Marks.--Dangers of River-driving.--Sad Feelings over the Grave of a River-driver. --Singular Substitute for a Coffin.--Burial of a River-driver.-- A Log Jam.--Great Excitement.--A Boat swamped.--A Man drowned.-- Narrow Escape.--Mode of Living on the River.--Wangun.--Antidote for Asthma.--The Wangun swamped.--An awful Struggle.--The miraculous Escape.--Driving among the Islands.--Amusing Exertions at identifying.--Consummation of Driving.--The Claims of lumbering Business for greater Prominence.--The Boom 155 CHAPTER III. Observations on the St. Croix River.--Boundary Line.--Pine Timber. --Agriculture in the Interior.--Youthful Associations with Grand Lake.--Traditionary Name of Grand Lake.--Lake Che-pet-na-cook.-- Rise of Eastern Branch St. Croix.--Lumbering Prospects.--Hemlock. --Reciprocal Relations of the Lumber Trade between Americans and Provincials.--The Machias Rivers.--Origin of Name.--Character of Soil.--Lumber Resources and Statistics.--West Machias.--Narraguagues River, curious Definition of.--Capacity of Stream.--Statistics.-- Union River.--Observations on its Lumbering Interests.--Mills in Franklin 176 CHAPTER IV. Penobscot River.--Its various Names.--Character of the Country through which it flows.--Its Length.--The vast Extent of Territory which it drains.--Its Multitude of Lakes.--Mount Ktaadn.--Indian Legend.-- Elevation of the Mountain.--Overwhelming Prospect.--A Sabbath in the Wilderness.--Moose in the Lake.--An uncomfortable Night.--Dr. Jackson's Narrative.--New Lumber Resources.--The interesting Origin of this new Resource.--John Bull outwitted.--Freshets on the Penobscot.--Freshet of 1846, cause of it.--Sudden Rise of Water. --Bangor submerged.--Bowlders of Ice.--Destruction of Property.-- Narrow Escape of Ferry-boat.--Peril of Boys.--Editorial Observations. --Lumber Statistics.--Where the Lumber finds a Market.--Speculations on future Prospects of Lumbering Interests.--Anticipations of the Future.--Bangor 186 CHAPTER V. Length of Kennebeck.--Moose-head Lake.--Its peculiar Shape.--Its Islands.--Burned Jacket.--Interesting Deposit.--Mount Kineo.--The Prospect from its Summit.--Moose River.--Old Indian.--The Banks of the Kennebeck.--Beauties of the Country, &c.--Lumber on Dead River. --Falls at Waterville.--Skowhegan Falls.--Arnold's Encampment.-- Nau-lau-chu-wak.--Caritunk Falls.--Lumber.--Statistics.--Author's Acknowledgments.--Androscoggin.--Course and other Peculiarities. --A question of Rivalry.--Water Power.--Original Indications.-- Interesting Sketch of Rumford Falls.--Estimated Water Power.-- Lumber Statistics.--Droughts and Freshets.--Umbagog Lake.--The serpentine Megalloway.--Granite Mountains.--Beautiful Foliage.-- Romantic Falls.--Character of Country.--Manner of Life in Log-cutting, &c.--Statistics, &c.--Presumpscot River, great Water-powers of.--Warmth of Water.--Statistical Remarks.--Saco River 227 CHAPTER VI. NEW BRUNSWICK. Object of the Chapter.--Description of St. John's River.--First Falls.--Contiguous Country.--"Mars Hill."--Prospect.--Grand Falls. --The Acadians, curious Facts respecting them.--The Mirimachi River.--Immense amount of Timber shipped.--Riots.--State of Morals.--The great Mirimachi Fire.--Hurricane.--Destruction of Human Life.--Area of the Fire.--Vessels in Harbor.--Painfully disgusting Sights.---Destruction among Fish.--Fire, rapidity of Progress.--Curious instance of Escape.--Ristigouche River, its Length.--Capacious Harbor.--Appearance of the Country.--High Banks.--Groves of Pine.--A Statistical Table 244 LIST OF ENGRAVINGS. Frontispiece--Moose Deer. Shooting Deer--Black Bear 49 Winter Quarters of Lumbermen 69 Log Hauling--Process of Loading Logs 95 The Common Wolf 113 Log Tavern in the Wilderness 146 River Drivers Breaking a Jam 165 A Coaster ascending the Penobscot for Lumber 187 View of the Penobscot--Forests and Lakes northeast from Ktaadn 189 Northeast View of Mount Ktaadn, from the west Branch of the Penobscot 199 Godfrey's Falls, on the Seboois River 208 Chase's Mountain, as seen from Sugar-loaf Mountain 211 Sugar-loaf Mountain, on the Seboois River 225 View of Lily Bay, on Moose-head Lake 228 Skowhegan Falls, on the Kennebeck 231 Rumford Falls, on the Androscoggin 235 View of Umbagog Lake--Source of the Androscoggin 237 Frye's Falls, on a Tributary of Ellis River 238 Rumford Bridge, Androscoggin River 239 Aroostook Falls 250 FOREST LIFE AND FOREST TREES. PART I. CHAPTER I. Trees, how regarded by Lumbermen.--Cedars of Lebanon.--Oldest Tree on Record.--Napoleon's Regard for it.--Dimensions.--Durability of the Cedar, how accounted for.--The Oak.--Religious Veneration in which it was held by the Druids.--The Uses to which their Shade was appropriated.--Curious Valuation of Oak Forests by the Ancient Saxons.--The Number of Species.--Its Value.--Remarkable old Oak in Brighton.--Charter Oak.--Button-wood Tree.--Remarkable Rapidity of its Growth.--Remarkable Size of one measured by Washington.--by Michaux.--Disease in 1842, '43, and '44.--The Oriental Plane-tree. --Great Favorite with the Ancients.--Cimon's Effort to gratify the Athenians.--Pliny's Account of its Transportation.--The Privilege of its Shade a Tax.--Used as an Ornament.--Nourished with Wine.-- Hortensius and Cicero.--Pliny's curious Account of one of remarkable Size. Lumbermen are accustomed to classify and rate forest trees by the lower, middle, and higher grades, just as animals are classified, from the muscle, through the intermediate grades, up to man, the crowning master-piece of the Creator's skill. But while man is universally recognized as first in the scale of animated nature, there is less uniformity of sentiment in respect to trees, as to which is entitled to hold the first rank in the vegetable kingdom. In the days of King David and Solomon, the noble Cedars of Lebanon held the pre-eminence, and were celebrated in verse as emblems of beauty, grandeur, and especially of durability; but "with the moderns the Cedar is emblematical of sadness and mourning": "Dark tree! still sad when others' grief is fled-- The only constant mourner of the dead."--BYRON. "Perhaps the oldest tree on record is the Cypress of Somma, in Lombardy. It is supposed to have been planted in the year of the birth of Christ, and on that account is looked upon with reverence by the inhabitants; but an ancient chronicle at Milan is said to prove that it was a tree in the time of Julius Cæsar, B.C. 42. It is one hundred and twenty-three feet high, and twenty-three feet in circumference at one foot from the ground. Napoleon, when laying down the plan for his great road over the Simplon, diverged from a straight line to avoid injuring this tree."[1] [1] Mass. Reports. "The Cedar was styled the glory of Lebanon. The Temple of Solomon and that of Diana at Ephesus were built of this wood. The number of these trees is now greatly diminished. They were often of vast size, sometimes girting thirty-six feet, perfectly sound, with a lofty height, whose spreading branches extended one hundred and ten feet." The durability of the Cedar is said to be attributable to two qualities: "1st, the bitterness of the wood, which protects it from the depredations of worms; and, 2dly, its resin, which preserves it from the injuries of the weather." To the _Oak_ some assign the first rank. It is celebrated in the East, and by many of the ancients was regarded with _religious_ veneration. In the West, and by moderns, it is employed more as an emblem of the strength, compactness, and durability of the state. "The religious veneration paid to this tree by the original natives of Britain, in the time of the Druids, is well known to every reader of British history." The patriarch Abraham resided under an Oak, or a grove of Oaks; and it is believed that he planted a grove of this tree. "In fact, since, in hot countries, nothing is more desirable than shade--nothing more refreshing than the shade of a tree--we may easily suppose the inhabitants would resort for such enjoyment to "Where'er the Oak's thick branches spread A deeper, darker shade." Oaks, and groves of Oaks, were esteemed proper places for religious services; so that while the Methodist denomination may not claim originality in holding grove or camp-meetings, they may, at least, plead the usages of antiquity in their defense. Altars were set up under them; affairs of state were discussed and ratified under their ample shade. "Abimelech was made king under an Oak." "Absalom rode upon a mule which went under the thick boughs of a great Oak, and his head caught hold of the Oak, and he was taken up between the heaven and the earth," and, while there suspended, was slain by Joab and his armor-bearers. "In England, whose Oak forests are now one of the sources of national wealth and naval supremacy, the tree was once prized only for the acorns, which were the chief support of those large herds of swine whose flesh formed so considerable a part of the food of the Saxons. Woods of old, says Burnett, were valued according to the number of hogs they could fatten; and so rigidly were the forest lands surveyed, that, in ancient records, such as the Doomsday-book, woods are mentioned of a single hog. The right of feeding hogs in woods, called pannage, formed, some centuries ago, one of the most valuable kinds of property. With this right monasteries were endowed, and it often constituted the dowry of the daughters of the Saxon kings."[2] [2] Mass. Reports, Trees, &c. Of the Oak some naturalists have enumerated twenty-four species. The wood of the White Oak is distinguished by three properties, which give to it its great value: hardness, toughness, and durability. The great variety of purposes to which it is appropriated shows it to be a tree of great value. For ship and carriage building, and in the manufacture of implements of husbandry, it is very valuable. This tree also holds rank on account of its size. In the "Report on the Trees and Shrubs of Massachusetts," notice is given of one still standing in Brighton. "In October, 1845, it measured twenty-five feet and nine inches in circumference at the surface. At three feet, it is twenty-two feet four inches; at six feet, fifteen feet two inches. It tapers gradually to the height of about twenty-five feet, where the stump of its ancient top is visible, below which point four or five branches are thrown out, which rise twenty or thirty feet higher. Below, the places of many former limbs are covered over by immense gnarled and bossed protuberances. The trunk is hollow at the base, with a large opening on the southwest, through which boys and men may easily enter. It had probably passed its prime centuries before the first English voice was heard on the shores of Massachusetts Bay. It is still clad with abundant foliage, and, if respected as its venerable age deserves, it may stand an object of admiration for centuries to come." The Charter Oak, in Hartford, Connecticut, is said to measure at the ground thirty-six feet; and in the smallest place above it is eight feet four inches in diameter. THE BUTTON-WOOD TREE. This tree is "remarkable for the rapidity of its growth, especially when standing near water. Loudon mentions one which, standing near a pond, had in twenty years attained the height of eighty feet, with a trunk eight feet in circumference at three feet from the ground, and a head of the diameter of forty-eight feet." "Nowhere is this tree more vigorous than along the rivers of Pennsylvania and Virginia, and especially on the Ohio and its tributaries." 'General Washington measured a Button-wood growing on an island in the Ohio, and found its girth, at five feet from the ground, about forty feet.' "In 1802, the younger Michaux and his companions found a large tree of this kind on the right bank of the Ohio, thirty-six miles from Marietta. Its base was swollen in an extraordinary manner, but, at four feet from the ground, its circumference was found to be forty-seven feet," or fifteen feet and eight inches in diameter. It is said that "it may be propagated with more ease than any tree of the forest." "It is valuable stove fuel." S. W. Pomeroy, Esq., a writer in the New England Farmer, expresses the opinion that, on land possessing the same fertility, this tree will furnish fuel which will give the greatest amount of caloric to the acre, except the locust on dry soil. It will be remembered that in 1842, '43, and '44, this tree appeared to be under the influence of a general blight throughout the Eastern States. Various opinions were entertained respecting the cause of the malady which occasioned so much regret. "By most persons it was considered the effect of frost, supposing the tree not to have matured its wood, viz., the new shoots, during the previous summer, so that it was incapable of resisting the effect of frost." Others ascribed it to the action of some insect or worm, and others believed it to be some unaccountable disease, while others regarded the phenomenon as a providential token of the approach of some important event unknown and unanticipated. The tree has now pretty generally recovered from its malady. "The Oriental Plane-tree holds the same place on the Eastern continent which our Button-wood does on this." "It was the greatest favorite among the ancients." "Cimon sought to gratify the Athenians by planting a public walk with them." "It was considered the finest shade tree in Europe." "Pliny tells the story of its having been brought across the Ionian Sea, to shade the tomb of Diomedes, in the island of the hero. From thence it was taken to Sicily, then to Italy; from Italy to Spain, and even into the most remote parts of the then barbarous France, where the natives were made to pay for the privilege of sitting under its shade. "No tree was ever so great a favorite with the Romans. They ornamented their villas with it, valuing it above all other trees for the depth of its salutary shade, &c. They nourished it with pure wine; and Hortensius is related to have begged of his rival, Cicero, to exchange turns with him in a cause in which they were engaged, that he might himself do this office for a tree he had planted in his Tusculanum." "Pliny describes some of the most remarkable planes. In the walks of the Academy at Athens were trees whose trunks were about forty-eight feet from the ground to the branches. In his own time there was one in Lycia, near a cool fountain by the road side, with a cavity of eighty-one feet circuit within its trunk, and a forest-like head, and arms like trees overshadowing broad fields. Within this apartment, made by moss-covered stones, to resemble a grotto, Licinius Mucianus thought it a fact worthy of history, that he dined with nineteen companions, and slept there too, not regretting splendid marbles, pictures, and golden-fretted roofs, and missing only the sound of rain drops pattering on the leaves."[3] [3] Emerson's Reports. CHAPTER II. The Elm.--English Elm.--Scotch Elm.--Slippery Elm.--American Elm. --Superiority of latter.--Different Shapes, how accounted for.-- Great Elm on Boston Common.--Rapidity of Growth.--The Riding Stick.--Remarkable Dimensions of noted Trees.--Boston Elm again.-- Its Age.--By whom set out.--Washington Elm, why so named.--"Trees of Peace," a Tribute of Respect.--English Elm in England and America.--Uses in France.--In Russia.--Birch Family.--Its Variety and Uses.--The Maple Family.--Number of Species.--Red Maple.--Unrivaled Beauty of American Forests.--Rock Maple.--Amount of Wood cut from one in Blandford.--Curious method of distinguishing it from the River Maple.--Amount and Value of the Sugar in Massachusetts.--Great Product from one Tree.--Sugar Maple in the State of Maine.--Dr. Jackson's Reports, &c. THE ELM-TREE. Of this family there are several varieties. The American, the English, the Scotch, and Slippery Elm. Of this enumeration, the American Elm stands first in point of ornament, while the timber of the English Elm is esteemed more highly on account of the toughness of the wood. It has been well said that the Elm is a tree deservedly esteemed for its ornament and shade. "The American Elm assumes many different shapes, and all of them beautiful. Of these, three are most striking and distinct. The tall Etruscan vase is formed by four or five limbs separating at twenty or thirty feet from the ground, going up with a gradual divergency to sixty or seventy, and then bending rapidly outward, forming a flat top with a pendent border." "Transplanting the Elm, it is said, often produces in it a character akin to that of the Oak. It is then a broad, round-headed tree." "Of this kind is the 'Great Elm' on Boston Common." Few trees of other species are to be found standing near the abodes of civilized life which have attained the vast dimensions of the Elm. Whatever may have been the peculiar properties of other trees, they have disappeared. Upturned by the passing hurricane, or leveled by the woodman's ax, they have passed away, while the Elm stands at our doors associated with the history and memory of the different generations which, like its autumnal sheddings, have long time ago mingled with the dust. The Elm grows with great rapidity, which, in addition to its beauty as an ornament, secures for it the favor of man. "I once heard," says the author of Massachusetts Reports, &c., an old man, standing under the shade of a tree nearly two feet in diameter, which towered above all around it, say, "This tree, after I had been many years successful in business, and in a change of fortune had retired to this farm, with a little that remained, I stuck into the ground after I had used it as a stick in a ride of eight miles from P." "From its having been so long a favorite, it has been more frequently spared, and oftener transplanted than any other tree. There are, in all parts of the state, many fine old trees standing." "In Springfield, in a field a few rods north of the hotel, is an Elm which was twenty-five feet and nine inches in circumference at three feet from the ground." The great Elm on Boston Common measures, at the same distance from the ground, seventeen feet eleven inches in circumference. "It is said to have been planted about the year 1670, by Captain Daniel Henchman, an ancestor of Governor Hancock. It is, therefore, more than one hundred and seventy-five years old." "There is an Elm in Hatfield, near the town-house, which measures at the ground forty-one feet; at three and one half feet from the ground it measures twenty-seven feet in circumference. The smallest place in the trunk is seven feet four inches in diameter. The top spreads over an area of one hundred and eight feet in diameter, making a circle of three hundred and twenty-four feet, covering a surface of over seven thousand five hundred square feet." "The Washington Elm, in Cambridge--so called because beneath its shade, or near it, General Washington is said to have first drawn his sword on taking the command of the American army--measured, in 1842, fifteen feet two inches at one foot, thirteen feet two at three feet from the ground. The celebrated Whitfield preached under the shade of this tree in 1744." "Two Elms were set out by the Indians in front of the house of the Rev. Oliver Peabody, who succeeded, in 1722, to the venerable Eliot, the Indian apostle, in the same truly Christian ministry, in Natick," Massachusetts. "This voluntary offering of the grateful savages they called Trees of Peace." There is an Elm standing in front of Mr. J. Chickering's house, Westford, Massachusetts, which I recently measured eighteen inches from the ground. Its circumference was twenty feet, and its _spurs_ were not prominent, as will be inferred from the fact that at four feet from the ground it measured eighteen feet in circumference. Seven and a half feet from the ground it divides into two branches, each of itself a very large trunk, the largest of which would measure three feet and a half in diameter. Seven or eight feet from the first division, at short intervals, the main branch, which grew on the west side next the house, divides into eight more branches, all nearly equal in size, and averaging a circumference of four and a half feet. About forty feet from the base of the tree these eight branches subdivide into twenty-one other branches, and so on indefinitely to the terminating twigs. The east main branch was divided into four principals, equal in size to the corresponding ones on the other side, and were subdivided also in the same manner as the one described. In height it is about seventy feet, vase-topped, with a pendent border. The extent of the spreading branches, northwest and southeast, was one hundred and five feet; those corresponding with the exact opposite points of the compass extended ninety-five feet, giving an area of three hundred feet in circumference. Some of the pendent branches, which drooped within a few feet of the ground, I judged to be forty feet in length. These, stretched to a horizontal position, would give a breadth of one hundred and eighty feet to the top. Various opinions obtain respecting the number of solid feet it contains, ranging from nine to eleven hundred. An old gentleman residing in the immediate vicinity, now eighty years old, told us that he could very well remember it when but a small tree, from which we infer its age to be about one hundred years. It appears to be perfectly sound, and now thrives as vigorously as a young sapling. It is a magnificent specimen of the vegetable kingdom, majestically imposing, awakening in the spectator a feeling of veneration in spite of himself. So ample is its wide-spreading Etruscan-shaped top, that at fifty rods' distance (were the trunk hid) one might mistake it for a group of twenty good-sized trees. "The Slippery Elm has a strong resemblance to the common Elm. It has less of the drooping appearance, and is commonly a much smaller tree." "The inner bark of this Elm contains a great quantity of mucilage. Flour prepared from the bark, by drying perfectly and grinding, and mixed with milk, like arrowroot, is a wholesome and nutritious food for infants and invalids." "Dr. Darlington says that, in the last war with Great Britain, the soldiers on the Canada frontier found this, in times of scarcity of forage, a grateful and nutritious food for their horses." 'The English Elm is said to have been introduced by importation, and planted by a wheel-wright for his own use in making hubs for wheels, for which purpose they are probably superior to any other wood known.' In its appearance it is said to have 'less grace than the American Elm, but more stateliness and grandeur.' 'It is distinguished from the American Elm, also, by the rough, broken character of its bark, which is darker, and also by having one principal stem, which soars upward to a great height, and the boldness and abruptness with which it throws out its branches. The leaves are of a darker color, smaller, and closer.' 'The largest dimensions given of the English Elm on the Continent is sixty feet high, and twenty feet in circumference at the ground, containing two hundred and sixty-eight feet of timber.' "The Crawley Elm stands in the village of Crawley, on the high road from London to Brighton. Its trunk measures sixty-one feet in circumference at the ground, and thirty-five feet round the _inside_ at two feet from the base. This tree is not so large as would seem from this account, as it diminishes very rapidly upward." "The noblest and most beautiful English Elms in this country are found in Roxbury, the largest of which measures fifteen feet five inches five feet from the ground; it holds its size fully to the height of twenty or twenty-five feet, where it divides into three large branches, the main central one of which rises upward to a height much above one hundred feet." "As among the ancient Romans, so in France at the present day, the leaves and shoots are used to feed cattle. In Russia, the leaves of a species of the Elm are used as a substitute for tea. The inner bark is in some places made into mats, and in Norway they kiln-dry it, and grind it with corn as an ingredient in bread." THE BIRCH. Of the Birch family there are several varieties, called the Black, Yellow, Red, Canoe, the Gray, and the Dwarf. Of these the Yellow and Canoe Birches are the most interesting and useful. The general outlines of the Yellow Birch often resemble the Elm, the root-spurs rise high up the trunk, protruding much beyond the regular circle of its shaft. It is very firmly rooted, capable of withstanding a violent blast. It attains to the height of seventy or eighty feet, and often measures from nine to ten feet in circumference three and four feet from the ground. Its wood is very useful for cabinet purposes, and is excellent for fuel. The White or Canoe Birch is most remarkable for the beautiful thin sheets of bark which it affords, from which the Indian canoe is constructed. It also makes excellent covering for a tent. In some parts of the northern regions it is said to attain a diameter of six or seven feet. The White Birch possesses "in an eminent degree the lightness and airiness of the Birch family, spreading out its glistening leaves on the ends of a very slender and often pencil spray, with an indescribable softness. So that Coleridge might have called it as he did the corresponding European species, "Most beautiful Of forest trees--the lady of the woods." THE MAPLE-TREE. This family is very numerous. "Nearly forty species are known, of which ten belong to the United States." 'The climate of New England is peculiarly favorable to their growth, as is shown by the perfection to which several of the most valuable species attain.' The Red Maple is most remarkable for the varying color of its leaves, which greatly beautify forest scenery. The leaves begin to turn in the latter part of summer and during the earlier part of autumn, from green to a deep crimson or scarlet. The forests of no other country present so beautiful a variety of coloring as our own; 'even corresponding climates with the same families bear no comparison.' The difference is said to depend "on the greater transparency of our atmosphere, and consequently greater intensity of the light; for the same cause which renders a much larger number of stars visible by night, and which clothes our flowering plants with more numerous flowers, and those of deeper, richer tints, gives somewhat of tropical splendor to our really colder parallels of latitude." Of the Maple family we may briefly notice only one more, the Rock Maple, "which in all respects is the most remarkable tree of the family." While young, it is justly admired for its ornamental beauties as a shrub. When in a state of maturity, "for the purposes of art, no native wood possesses more beauty or a greater variety of appearance." "In the forest the Rock Maple often attains great height, and produces a large quantity of timber. A tree in Blandford, which was four feet through at base and one hundred and eight feet high, yielded seven cords and a half of wood." It is said that the wood of this tree may be easily distinguished from the Red, or the River Maple, by pouring a few drops of sulphate of iron upon it. This wood turns greenish; that of the two former turns to a deep blue. "In Massachusetts, between five and six hundred thousand pounds of sugar are annually made from the juice of the Rock Maple, valued at about eight cents a pound," yielding a revenue of about forty-four to fifty thousand dollars per annum. Of the sap, "the average quantity to a tree is from twelve to twenty-four gallons each season. In some instances it is much greater. A tree in Bernardstown, about six feet in diameter, favorably situated, produced in one instance a barrel of sap in twenty-four hours." "Dr. Rush cites an instance of twenty pounds and one ounce of sugar having been made within nine days, in 1789, from a single tree in Montgomery county, New York." In another instance, thirty-three pounds are said to have been produced from one tree in one season. A gentleman from Leverett informs me that in one season he obtained from one tree one hundred and seventy-five gallons of sap, which, if of average strength, would have made forty-three pounds of sugar. The following remarks upon the Sugar Maple of Maine, from the "Third Annual Report" of Dr. Jackson's geological surveys in this state, will be read with interest, suggesting profitable hints to some. "The Acer Saccharinum, or Sugar Maple, is one of the most luxuriant and beautiful native forest trees in Maine, and abounds wherever the soil is of good quality. Its ascending sap is very rich in sugar, which is very readily obtained by means of a tap, bored with an augur half an inch in diameter, into the sap-wood of the tree, the sap being collected in the spring of the year, when it first begins to ascend, and before the foliage puts forth. It is customary to heap snow around the roots or stumps of the trees, to prevent their putting forth their leaves so soon as they otherwise would, for the juices of the tree begin to be elaborated as soon as the foliage is developed, and will not run. "After obtaining a quantity of Maple sap, it is poured into large iron or tinned copper kettles, and boiled down to a thick sirup; and after ascertaining that it is sufficiently concentrated to crystallize or grain, it is thrown into casks or vats, and when the sugar has formed, the molasses is drained off through a plug-hole slightly obstructed by tow. But little art is used in clarifying the sirup, and the chemist would regard the operations as very rude and clumsy; yet a very pleasant sugar, with a slightly acid taste, is made, and the molasses is of excellent flavor, and is largely used during the summer for making sweetened water, which is a wholesome and delicious beverage. "The sugar frequently contains oxide of iron, which it dissolves from the rusty potash kettles in which it is commonly boiled down, and hence it turns tea black. A neat manufacturer will always take care to scour out his kettles with vinegar and sand, so that the sugar may be white. He will also take care not to burn the sirup by urging the fire toward the end of the operation. If his sirup is acid, a little clear lime-water will saturate it, and the lime will principally separate with the molasses or with the scum. The sirup should be skimmed carefully during the operation. It is not worth while, perhaps, to describe the process of refining sugar; but it is perfectly easy to make Maple sugar as white as the best double-refined loaf-sugar of commerce. It would, however, lose its peculiar acid flavor, which now distinguishes it from ordinary cane sugar. "Were it generally known how productive are the groves of Sugar Maples, we should, I doubt not, be more careful, and not exterminate them from the forest, as is now too frequently done. It is, however, difficult to spare any forest trees in clearing a farm by fire; but groves in which they abound might be spared from the unrelenting ax of the woodman. Maple-trees may also be cultivated, and will become productive in twenty or thirty years; and it would certainly be one of our most beautiful pledges of regard for posterity to plant groups of Maples in convenient situations upon our lands, and to line the road sides with them. I am sure that such a plan, if carried into effect, would please public _taste_ in more ways than one, and we might be in part disfranchised from dependence on the cane plantations of the West Indies. "The following statistics will serve as an example of the products of the Sugar Maple in Maine; and it will also be noted that the whole work of making Maple sugar is completed in three or four weeks from the commencement of operations. Lbs. sugar. At the Forks of the Kennebeck, twelve persons made 3,650 On No. 1, 2d Range, one man and a boy made 1,000 In Farmington, Mr. Titcomb made 1,500 In Moscow, thirty families made 10,500 In Bingham, twenty families made 9,000 In Concord, thirty families made 11,000 ________ 36,650 "This, at twelve and a half cents a pound, would be worth $4,581. "It must be also remarked, that the manufacture of Maple sugar is carried on at a season of the year when there is little else to be done; and if properly-shaped evaporating vessels were used, a much larger quantity of sugar could be made in the season." CHAPTER III. Beech-trees.--Purity, Size, Fruit.--Efforts of Bears after the Nut.--The Uses to which its Leaves are appropriated.--Mr. Lauder's Testimony, &c.--Use of Wood.--Singular Exemption.--The novel Appearance of the Leaves of a Species in Germany.--Chestnut-tree. --Remarkable one on Mount Ætna.--Balm of Gilead.--Willow.--Ash. --Basswood, or Tiel-tree.--The Poplar.--The Hemlock.--Beauties of its Foliage.--Uses.--Hickory.--The Fir-tree.--Spruce-tree.-- Its conical Form.--Uses.--American Larch.--Success of the Dukes of Athol in planting it on the Highlands of Scotland. The Beech is a tree of no ordinary interest; first, as being more free from impurities than any tree with which we are acquainted. The bark is very clean and smooth, of a light lead color, sprinkled with fine dots of black, so that it has a grayish appearance. It attains the height of sixty to eighty feet. The lower branches are thrown out in a horizontal attitude, while the upper ones assume somewhat of an erect position. The leaves are of graceful proportions, and profuse, forming a dense shade. Some seasons this tree produces an abundance of nuts, which grow in round, prickly burrs, very similar to chestnuts. The nuts are triangular in shape, and supply the pigeon, partridge, squirrels, bears, and other animals with food. The squirrel will hoard up in his little burrow many quarts of these nuts, where he eats them at his leisure during the seasons of winter and spring. It is quite amusing to see the little fellows repeat their visits to their underground habitations, or leap from branch to branch, with their cheeks stuffed nearly to bursting with the precious Beech-nut. The Beech does not dispense its fruit until after severe frosts occur, when the burr either opens or drops from the limb where it grew; in the former case, after a smart frost at night, the early morning breeze shakes them from their elevated position, when they come rattling down upon the dry leaves like showers of hail. Impelled by hunger, bears often climb and gather the nut before it is ripe. I have frequently seen, during my backwoods excursions, the topmost limbs broken off and pulled in toward the trunk of the tree, some of them three inches in diameter, until the whole of the top branches were furled in, forming a tufted circle fifty feet in air. Burned and cracked, the Beech-nut makes a very good substitute for coffee. "The leaves were formerly used in Britain, and are to this day in some parts of Europe, for filling beds." Evelyn says that "its very leaves, which form a natural and most agreeable canopy all the summer, being gathered about the fall, and somewhat before they are much frost-bitten, afford the best and the easiest mattresses in the world to lay under our quilts instead of straw; because, besides their tenderness and loose lying together, they continue sweet for seven or eight years long; before which time straw becomes musty and hard. They are used by divers persons of quality in Dauphine, and in Switzerland I have sometimes lain on them to my very great refreshment. So as of this tree it may properly be said, "'The woods a house, the leaves a bed.'" "We can," says Sir Thomas Dick Lauder, "from our own experience, bear testimony to the truth of what Evelyn says here as to the excellence of Beech leaves for mattresses. We used always to think that the most luxurious and refreshing bed was that which prevails universally in Italy, and which consists of an absolute pile of mattresses filled with the elastic spathe of the Indian corn--which beds have the advantage of being soft as well as elastic--and we have always found the sleep enjoyed on them to be peculiarly sound and restorative. But the beds made of Beech leaves are really not a whit behind them in these qualities, while the fragrant smell of green tea which the leaves retain is most gratifying." "The wood of the Beech is preferred to all other wood for plane stocks, saw handles, and cylinders used in polishing glass. "Botanists are unable to find more than one kind of Beech, believing that the distinctions of '_white_' and '_red_' Beech in common use among the people describes but one species. "The Beech is said never to be struck by lightning. In traveling through a forest country, many trees of a different species, such as the Oak, and, more commonly than any tree within my observation, the Hemlock, may be seen riven by lightning, but never the Beech. "A most remarkable species of the Beech is said to have been discovered by accident in Germany. In early spring, when the leaves of the purple Beech are agitated by the wind, during bright sunshine, their clear red gives the tree the appearance of being on fire: an effect, Bosc observes, so truly magical, that it is scarcely credible by those who have not seen it."--_Loudon._ THE CHESTNUT-TREE. This tree is distinguished by the rapidity of its growth and the excellence of its wood for posts and rails--the latter lasting half a century--the good quality of the nut it bears, and the age and size to which it attains. "Some of the most remarkable trees of Europe are Chestnut-trees. On Mount Ætna is the famous _Castagno di cento cavalli_, so called from its having sheltered a hundred mounted cavaliers. Brydon found this, in 1770, two hundred and four feet in circumference, and it had the appearance of five distinct trees. A century before, when seen by Kircher, they were united, so that probably it had been one tree. The Forworth Chestnut, in England, was fifty-two feet in girth in 1820, when measured by Strutt. Near Sanserre, in France, is a tree of more than ten feet in diameter at six feet from the ground. It is supposed to be a thousand years old." The largest measurements given of the Chestnut in this country are of one in Bolton, with an erect, undivided trunk forty or fifty feet; three feet from the ground it measured seventeen feet in circumference. "Southeast of Monument Mountain, near the road leading to Sheffield, in a pasture, an old Chestnut measured, in September, 1844, 'at the ground, thirty feet two inches in circumference; at four feet, twenty-one feet in circumference: the branches extended sixty feet.'" The Balm of Gilead, the Willow, of which there are twenty-one species, the Ash and Basswood, the Poplar and Hemlock, all afford specimens of great magnitude, as well as possess properties of much value; to which list we may add the Hickory, chiefly for the great variety of valuable purposes to which the wood is appropriated. "Few trees contribute so much to the beauty of woods in autumn; the colors of all at that season are rich, and each species has its own. The fruit of some of the species in its wild state vies with the best of foreign nuts." THE FIR-TREE. "In its native forests the Fir-tree varies from two to ten feet in diameter, and from one hundred to one hundred and eighty feet in height. A stump is mentioned as still found on the Columbia River, which measures forty-eight feet in circumference at three feet from the ground, exclusive of its very thick bark." THE SPRUCE-TREE. This tree presents a tapering trunk, with a top of mathematical exactness, a regular cone. They attain to the height of seventy or one hundred feet, measuring at the base--the largest I have ever seen--about eight feet in circumference. Lightness, strength, and elasticity are the distinguishing qualities of this wood; and, owing to this, it is extensively used in ship-building, and the frame-work of houses. The Hemlock is a large tree, often measuring fifteen feet in circumference at the base; the column rises to an elevation of from seventy to one hundred feet; it holds its size remarkably until it reaches the principal limbs, two thirds its height, when it tapers rapidly to the extremity. Its foliage is beautiful for its softness, and forms the principal ingredient in the bed of lumbermen. The use of the boughs for brooms is known to the good country people throughout New England. By persons of classical taste, it is considered the most beautiful of the evergreens. The author of Massachusetts Reports on Trees, &c., to whom I am much indebted for many of the preceding observations, remarks of the young Hemlock, "that in the beginning of summer each twig is terminated with a tuft of yellowish-green, recent leaves, surmounting the darker green of the former year; the effect, as an object of beauty, is equaled by very few flowering shrubs, and far surpasses that produced by any other tree." The bark is valuable in tanning leather, and makes excellent fuel. This tree grows in immense quantities in the northeast part of Maine, often occupying acres of ground, to the exclusion of nearly all other trees. Its wood is more valued for boards than formerly; its close grain and hardness fit it peculiarly for flooring. "It is much used in the large Atlantic cities as a substitute for stone in the pavement of streets, for which purpose it is sawn into hexagonal (six-sided) blocks of eight inches in thickness, and eight, ten, or eighteen inches in breadth." "The American _Larch_, known very generally in New England by the aboriginal name of Hackmatack, is sometimes known to attain an elevation of seventy feet, but does not usually exceed forty or fifty feet." It has crowded tufts of leaves, not unlike those of the Spruce or Pine, much shorter than those of the latter, and more slender and graceful than those of the former, and of lighter green, so disposed on the ends of the branches as to make the foliage of the tree the lightest of all the forest trees, especially when compared with the great strength of the tree itself. "Late in autumn they turn to a soft, leather-yellow color, and in the first days of November fall." "It has a straight, erect, rapidly-tapering trunk, clothed with a bluish-gray bark, rather rough, with small roundish scales." The branches are numerous, and most firmly attached to the stem, shooting out at apparently measured distances from each other, generally in a horizontal position, which makes its ascent quite as convenient as a ladder; and, as it grows mostly on open or meadow land, it is often climbed by timber-hunters, affording a good prospect of the forest on the opposite side of the meadow or intervales. The wood of the Hackmatack is distinguished by the following qualities: "Close-grained, compact, of reddish color, remarkable for its great weight, strength, and durability," the latter even being greater than the Oak. "On these accounts it is preferred before all other woods for knees, beams, and top timbers in ship-building." The Larch is extensively cultivated in Europe, particularly in Scotland. Though in America it is most generally found in low meadow land, where is depth of soil and plenty of moisture, it has nevertheless "the property of flourishing on surfaces almost without soil, thickly strewn with fragments of rocks, on the high, bleak sides and tops of hills, where vegetation scarcely exists." The following account of the experiments made by the Dukes of Athol, on the Highlands of Scotland, is so encouraging and deeply interesting, that, although long, I insert it, hoping the example may be followed in appropriate positions in this country: "The estates of the Dukes of Athol are in the north of Scotland, in the latitude of nearly 50° north. Between 1740 and 1750, James, duke of Athol, planted more than twelve hundred Larch-trees in various situations and elevations, for the purpose of trying a species of tree then new in Scotland. In 1759 he planted seven hundred Larches over a space of twenty-nine Scotch acres, intermixed with other kinds of forest trees, with the view of trying the value of the Larch as a timber tree. This plantation extended up the face of a hill from two hundred to four hundred feet above the level of the sea. The rocky ground of which it was composed was covered with loose and crumbling masses of mica slate, and was not worth above £3 a year altogether. Before he died, in 1764, he was satisfied of the superiority of the Larch as a timber over other firs, even in trees only eighteen or nineteen years old. His successor, John, duke of Athol, first conceived the idea of planting Larch by itself as a forest tree, and of planting the sides of the hills about Dunkeld. He planted three acres with Larches alone, at an elevation of five or six hundred feet above the level of the sea, on a soil not worth a shilling an acre. He also planted over four hundred acres on the sides of hills before his death, in 1774. His son, Duke John, continuing the execution of his father's plans, had planted in 1783 279,000 trees. Observing the rapid growth and hardy nature of the Larch, he determined to cover with it the steep acclivities of mountains of greater altitude than any that had yet been tried. He therefore inclosed a space of twenty-nine acres on the rigid summit of Craig-y-barns, and planted a strip entirely with Larches among the crevices and hollows of the rocks, where the least soil could be found. At this elevation none of the larger kinds of natural plants grew, so that the grounds required no previous preparation of clearing. This plantation was formed in 1785 and 1786. Between that year and 1791 he planted six hundred and eighty acres with 500,000 Larches, the greater part only sprinkled over the surface, on account of the difficulty of procuring a sufficient number of plants. Besides a plantation of seventy acres for the purpose of embellishment, he had, in 1799, extended his plantations of Larches over an additional space of eight hundred acres, six hundred of which were planted entirely, though thinly, with Larch. These took 800,000 plants. "Observing, with satisfaction and admiration, the luxuriant growth of the Larch in all situations, and its hardihood even in the most exposed regions, the duke resolved on pushing entire Larch plantations still further to the summit of the highest hills. "He therefore determined to cover with Larch sixteen hundred Scotch acres, situated from nine hundred to twelve hundred feet above the level of the sea. Its soil, presenting the most barren aspect, was strewed over thickly with fragments of rock, and vegetation of any kind scarcely existed upon it. 'To endeavor to grow ship-timber," writes the duke, "among rocks and shivered fragments of schist, such as I have described, would have appeared to a stranger extreme folly, and money thrown away; but, in the year 1800, I had for more than twenty-five years so watched and admired the hardihood and the strong vegetative powers of the Larch, in many situations as barren and as rugged as any part of this range, though not so elevated, as quite satisfied me that I ought, having so fair an opportunity, to seize it.' "Having now no doubt whatever of the successful growth of the Larch in very elevated situations, the duke still further pursued his object of covering _all_ his mountainous regions with that valuable wood. Accordingly, a space to the northward of the one last described, containing two thousand nine hundred and fifty-nine Scotch acres, was immediately inclosed, and planted entirely with Larch. "This tract, lying generally above the region of broom, furze, juniper, and long heath, required no artificial clearing. An improved mode of planting was employed here, that of using young plants only, two or three years' seedlings, put into the ground by means of an instrument invented by the duke instead of the common spade. "In 1824, the growth of the Larch in this last tract, called _Loch Ordie Forest_, having greatly exceeded the sanguine hopes and expectations of the duke, he determined on adding to it an extensive adjoining tract, consisting of two thousand two hundred and thirty-one Scotch acres, denominated Loch Hoishnie. The preparations of fencing, clearing (where that was necessary), making roads, and procuring plants from different nurserymen, occupied the time till October, 1825, when the planting commenced, and was carried on in such good earnest that the whole was finished by December, 1826. "The planting of this forest appears to have terminated the labors of the duke in planting. He and his predecessors had planted more than fourteen millions of Larch plants, occupying over ten thousand English acres. It has been estimated that the whole forest on mountain ground, planted entirely with Larch, about six thousand five hundred Scotch acres, will, in seventy-two years from the time of planting, be a forest of timber fit for building the largest ships. Before being cut down for this purpose, it will have been thinned to about four hundred trees to an acre. Supposing each tree to yield fifty cubic feet of timber, its value, at a shilling a foot (one half the present value), will give £1,000 an acre, or, in all, a sum of £6,500,000 sterling."[4] [4] Reports on Trees and Shrubs of Massachusetts. THE PINE-TREE, OR FOREST LIFE. PART II. CHAPTER I. The Pines.--White Pines: rank claimed for this Variety.-- Predilections.--Comparison instituted.--Pitch and Norway Pines. --White Pine.--Magnitude.--New York Pines.--Lambert's Pine on Northwest Coast.--Varieties.--Its Rank.--Great variety of purposes to which it is devoted.--Great Pine near Jackson Lake.--Capital Invested.--Hands employed on the Penobscot. After the foregoing brief notice of some of the most interesting trees, we come at length to consider that species which constitutes the theme of the following pages. The PINE has been appropriately called the Monarch of the Forest. Taken all in all, it is the crowning master-piece of all woody plants. This avowal is made in full view of what has been said respecting other specimens of the vegetable kingdom. From early education, we are accustomed to regard some things as before others in point of merit, whether truth in the case would support our notions or not. For trees we have our preferences. There is much of interest in every development of nature--much to admire, especially in the grandeur, the picturesque beauty, and sublimity of large forest trees. These things are so clearly defined in the mind of the botanist--so many excellencies does he discover in each genus, and every species of the respective families, that each succeeding description seems to place the last before every preceding one. Mankind, pretty generally, are disposed to place the Oak at the head of the vegetable kingdom, and it is crowned monarch of the forest. I was reared among the noble Pines of Maine, nestled in my cradle beneath their giant forms, and often has the sighing wind made music that has calmed me to repose as it gently played through their tasseled boughs. Often have I been filled with awe as I gazed upon their massive trunks and raised my eye to their cloud-swept tops. When a child, even, I could never read the following eulogy on the Oak without a fit of jealousy: "The Oak for grandeur, strength, and noble size Excels all trees which in the forest grow." Of the truth of this sentiment I could never feel persuaded; in fact, in only one particular is this true. In strength the Oak excels, but in towering grandeur and massive diameter the Pine far exceeds the Oak, and indeed all other North American trees. Properly there are but three species of the Pine. 1. The White Pine. 2. Pitch Pine. 3. The Norway, or Red Pine, as it is sometimes called.[5] The Red Pine is remarkable for its tall trunk; it sometimes rises eighty feet before it puts out a limb. I recollect cutting one on the Mattawamkeag River, which disembogues into the Penobscot, eighty-two feet before reaching a limb. They are sometimes found one hundred feet in height and four feet in diameter. [5] "With very few exceptions, the Pines are monoecious (having the male and female flowers on the same tree). The yellow pollen, which is very abundant, often falls in such quantities upon the branches and leaves below, and upon the neighboring plants, as to cover them; and being as light and fine as dust, it has been sometimes carried by the wind from a forest of Pines and spread upon the ground at a great distance. This affords a probable explanation of the stories which have been told, and which have been regarded with superstition or incredulity, of showers of sulphur." Lambert, describing the common Scotch Fir, says, "The pollen is sometimes in spring carried away by the wind in such quantities as to alarm the ignorant with the notion of its raining brimstone." The Pitch Pine is inferior to the red in size. The largest measurements I have ever seen give to one a diameter of two and a half feet, and ninety feet height; to another a girth of seven feet at the ground, and eighty feet height. This Pine is chiefly valued for the excellence of its fuel; and for generating steam in working engines it is preferable to any other wood.[6] Formerly, in some parts of the country, it was found much larger than it now is. "Men are living in Massachusetts and Maine who remember that it was not uncommon to find them of more than a hundred feet in height and four or five feet in diameter." [6] The amount of this wood annually consumed on the rail-roads in Massachusetts is valued at $200,000. At present the White Pine is altogether the most important of the species. In New England, particularly in the northern part, it is often found to measure one hundred and fifty feet in height. It is said that not many years since pines were found in the eastern part of New York which measured two hundred and forty feet in height. "Lambert's Pine, on the Northwest Coast, is found growing to the height of two hundred and thirty feet, and Douglas's Pine, in the same region, the loftiest tree known, has been said to exceed three hundred feet." The traveler quoted above describes one of the following dimensions: "One specimen, which had been blown down by the wind--and this was certainly not the largest which I saw--was of the following dimensions: its entire length was two hundred and fifteen feet; its circumference, three feet from the ground, was fifty-seven feet nine inches (nineteen feet three inches in diameter); and at one hundred and thirty-four feet from the ground it was seventeen feet five inches" in circumference, or about six feet in diameter.[7] [7] Since writing the above, the following account has come to hand: "The Bald Cypress of Oaxana (_Taxodium distichum_) and the famous Chestnut of Ætna have been often cited as the giants of the vegetable kingdom. But these sovereigns are dethroned, and put into the second rank by those lately discovered in Tasmania, which leave far behind them those antique monuments of nature. Last week I went to see the two largest trees existing in the world. Both of them are on the border of a small stream tributary to the river of Northwest Bay, in the rear of Mount Wellington. They are of the species named there Swamp Gum; I and my companions (five of us) measured them. One of them had fallen; we therefore easily obtained its dimensions. We found its body two hundred and twenty feet from the ground to the first branch. The top had broken off and partly decayed, but we ascertained the entire height of the tree to have been certainly three hundred feet. We found the diameter of the base of it to be thirty feet, and at the first branch twelve feet. Its weight we estimated to be four hundred and forty tons. The other tree, now growing without the least sign of decay, resembles an immense tower rising among the humble Sassafras-trees, although very large in fact. The Gum-tree at three feet above the ground measured one hundred and two feet in circumference. In the space of a square mile, I think there were not less than one hundred of these trees, none less than forty feet in circumference. It must require several thousand years to produce the largest one."--_Revue Horticole._ In Doctor Dwight's Travels we have an account of a tree in Lancaster, New Hampshire, which measured two hundred and sixty-four feet in length. "Fifty years ago, several trees growing on rather dry land in Blandford, measured, after they were felled, more than thirteen rods and a half, or two hundred and twenty-three feet in length." I have worked in the forests among this timber several years, have cut many hundreds of trees, and seen many thousands, but have never found one larger than the one I felled on a little stream which emptied into Jackson Lake, near the head of Baskahegan stream, in the eastern part of Maine. This was a "Pumpkin" Pine; its trunk was as straight and handsomely grown as a molded candle, and measured six feet in diameter four feet from the ground, without the aid of spur roots. It was about nine rods in length, or one hundred and forty-four feet, about sixty-five feet of which was free of limbs, and retained its diameter remarkably well. I was employed about one hour and a quarter in felling it. The afternoon was beautiful; every thing was calm, and to me the circumstances were deeply interesting. After chopping an hour or so, the mighty giant, the growth of centuries, which had withstood the hurricane, and raised itself in peerless majesty above all around, began to tremble under the strokes of a mere insect, as I might appear in comparison with it. My heart palpitated as I occasionally raised my eye to its pinnacle to catch the first indications of its fall. It came down at length with a crash which seemed to shake a hundred acres, while the loud echo rang through the forest, dying away among the distant hills. It had a hollow in the butt about the size of a barrel, and the surface of the stump was sufficiently capacious to allow a yoke of oxen to stand upon it. It made five logs, and loaded a six-ox team three times. The butt log was so large that the stream did not float it in the spring, and when the drive was taken down we were obliged to leave it behind, much to our regret and loss. At the boom that log would have been worth fifty dollars. Of the White Pine there are varieties, which by some are attributed to peculiar characteristics of the various locations in which they grow. That variety called sapling Pine, bull sapling, &c., usually grows on high, hard-wood land, or a mixture of evergreens and deciduous trees; particularly on the boundaries which mark damp, low forests and the lower border of ridges. The pumpkin Pine is generally found on flat land and in ravines; also on abrupt ridges, called horsebacks, where the forest is dense. The sap or outside of the sapling Pine is much thicker than that of the pumpkin Pine. I have seen it more than six inches thick on the former, and less than half an inch on the latter. This difference is accounted for by the rapidity with which the sapling grows, and the tardiness with which the swamp Pine matures, which, as before intimated, is to be attributed to the difference in their location. Of course, we must yield to the opinions of learned botanists; but while they maintain that these two are simply varieties of the same species, the proof seems insufficient to convince many whose daily occupation renders them most familiar with forest trees. If the difference is only attributable to soil and position, then we may reply that we have found the sapling in all possible locations. Besides, there are marked distinctions. The general contour differs much. The size, number, and position of the branches, the shape of the trunk, the toughness of the wood in the sapling, and the softness of that of the pumpkin Pine, all indicate a specific and essential difference. We have seen whole groves of saplings on low, swampy land. The same number of saplings are generally much sounder than an equal number of soft Pine. The soft Pine-tree holds its diameter to a much greater length than the sapling. I have seen a log of the former twenty feet long, differing not more than an inch and a half in diameter at either end. In a sapling log of the same length there would be a difference of several inches. There is one circumstance in the habits of this Pine worthy of note. As a general thing, they grow in clusters or communities. Indeed, this is a common characteristic of the Hemlock, the Cedar, and the Hackmatack. But there is, however, a sort of nationality in the local attitude of the latter. While the Pines, growing in clusters, seem to constitute the aristocracy--families of nobility--the rest of the forest seems to make up the populace; and I may add, that backwoodsmen are accustomed to pay them the same deferential regard above other gentlemen foresters which is awarded to superiors in human society. Indeed, the Pine has claims upon our regard, not only on account of its unequaled dimensions, but "from the importance of its products in naval, and especially in civil and domestic architecture, in many of the arts, and in some instances in medicine." "As it affords timber and boards of a greater size than any other soft-wooded tree, and is lighter and more free from knots, it is used in preference for the masts of ships, for the large beams, posts, and covering of wooden buildings, and for the frame-work of houses and bridges, as well as for clap-boards and shingles. The clearness, softness, and beauty of this wood recommend it for the panels and frames of doors, for wainscotings, for the frames of windows, for cornices and moldings, and for all the uses of the joiner. As it receives paint perfectly, it is employed for floors which are to be painted. Varnished without paint, it gradually takes a yellowish or light reddish color, and has considerable beauty. It is excellent for the carver in wood, and is used for the figure-heads of vessels; and as it takes gilding well, it is preferred for the frames of looking-glasses and pictures." Its importance may be estimated, also, from the vast amount of employment it furnishes and the revenue it produces. Its history is full of interest from the hour it leaves the stump in the forest, through the various processes it passes until taken from the hold of the ship and piled away upon our market piers. The amount of employment it furnishes to lumbermen, mill-men, rafters, coasters, truckmen, merchants, and mechanics, exceeds that furnished by any other single product in Maine or the province of New Brunswick. On the Penobscot alone there are said to be ten thousand men engaged in lumbering. CHAPTER II. The Pine twenty-five Years ago.--Its rapid Disappearance.--Explorations. --Outfit.--Up-river Journeying.--Its Distance.--Mode of Nightly Encampment.--Cooking.--Disturbed Slumbers.--Ludicrous Fright.--Deer. --Encounter with Bears.--Mode of Exploring.--Forest Observatory.-- Climbing Trees.--The Emotions excited by the View.--Necessity of Compass.--Nature's Compass.--The Return.--Annoyances from mischievous Bears.--Stumpage.--Permits.--Outfit and Return.--Crossing Carrying-places.--A Strong Man.--Skill of Boatmen.--Item of personal Experience.--Blind Path.--A Family in the Wilderness.--Things to be considered in locating Camps. Allusion has been made to the peculiarity of the Pine-tree in associating together in clusters or families. It is now a rare thing to find a sufficient quantity of timber in one of those clusters to meet the demands of a team during the usual period of hauling, which is about three months. Twenty-five or thirty years ago, large tracts of country were covered principally with Pine-trees. Those tracks seemed purposely located in the vicinity of lakes, large streams, and rivers; a winter's work could then be made contiguous to improved portions of the country, which rendered little previous exploration necessary. But the woodman's ax, together with the destructive fires which have swept over large districts from time to time, have, so to speak, driven this tree far back into the interior wilderness. In fact, the Pine seems doomed, by the avarice and enterprise of the white man, gradually to disappear from the borders of civilization, as have the Aborigines of this country before the onward march of the Saxon race. The diminished size and number of these Pine communities, near the borders of civil and agricultural abodes, added to the fact that this tree has been pursued to wild and unknown forest regions, renders exploring expeditions previous to the commencement of a winter's campaign absolutely indispensable, at least to insure success. This labor is performed, more or less, at all periods of the year; but, perhaps, the more general and appropriate time is found to be during the earlier part of autumn. The work of exploring is often performed during the winter, while the crews are on the ground, in camp. The difficulty of traveling through deep snows is overcome by the use of the snow-shoe, which enables the wearer to walk upon the surface of the untrodden snow. This shoe is about three feet long by sixteen inches wide, oval before and tapering to a point behind. It is simply a flat net-work, made from thongs of green hide, surrounded by a slender frame or bow of wood. This net-work is fastened, near the middle, to the bottom of the boot, and the woodman, throwing himself along, one side at a time, with a lengthened pace-like stride, passes over the ground at a rapid rate. When the business of timber-hunting is deferred until autumn, the following method is practiced: Two or three men accustomed to the business take the necessary provisions, which usually consists of ship-bread, salt pork, tea, sugar, or molasses; for cooking utensils, a coffee-pot or light tea-kettle, a tin dipper, sometimes a frying-pan, a woolen blanket or two for bed-clothes, and an ax, with gun and ammunition; all of which are put on board a _skiff_, if the exploration is to be on the St. Croix, or on a _bateau_ if on the Penobscot River, with two sets of propellers, setting-poles for rapids, and paddles to be used on dead water. With these slight preparations, away we start; now making our way up the main river, then shooting along up the less capacious branches; sometimes performing a journey of two hundred miles far into the interior, in those solitudes which never before, perhaps, echoed with the tones of the white man's voice. The location for our nightly encampments are selected in time to make the necessary arrangements for refreshment and repose, before the darkness shuts down over the dense wilderness that surrounds us. Selecting a proper site near some gushing spring, or where a murmuring streamlet plays along its romantic little channel, we pitch our tent, which formerly consisted of a slender frame of little poles, slightly covered on the top and at each end with long boughs, the front entirely open, before which burns the watch-fire, by whose light the deep darkness of a forest night is rendered more solemn and palpable. In some instances a large blanket is spread over the frame; and when there are good reasons to expect rain, we haul our boat up, turn it bottom side up, and crawl beneath it, this proving a sure protection from the falling rain or dew. Of late, small portable tent-coverings are used, which prove very convenient. Next the evening meal is prepared. Here the tea is thoroughly boiled, in the coffee-pot or tea-kettle, over the little fire. A thin slice of salt pork is cut, and, running a sharp stick through it, it is held over the fire and roasted, being withdrawn occasionally to catch the drippings on a cake of pilot or ship bread. This is a good substitute for buttered toast, the roasted pork making an excellent rasher. Sometimes we ate the pork raw, dipping it in molasses, which some relish; and though the recital may cause, in delicate and pampered stomachs, some qualms, yet we can assure the uninitiated that, from these gross simples, the hungry woodsman makes many a delicious meal. After _pipe_ devotions (for little else ascends from forest altars, though we have sometimes heard the voice of prayer even in the logging swamps), we throw our weary limbs upon our boughy couches to seek repose in the slumbers of night. Sometimes our slumbers are disturbed by the shrill whooping of the owl, whose residence is chosen in those lonely solitudes of dense woodlands, where this ghostly watchman of the night makes the wild wood reverberate with the echo of his whoo-ho-ho-whah-whoo! which is enough, as one has observed, to frighten a garrison of soldiers. Few sounds, I am certain, so really harmless in themselves, awaken such a thrill of terror, as it breaks suddenly upon the ear during the stillness and loneliness of the midnight hour. As I lay one night encamped upon the banks of a small stream which contributed its mite to the accumulating waters of the Penobscot River, an opportunity presented itself of testing the strength of my nerves. It was during the midnight hour, when even the trees seemed to sleep profoundly. Not a zephyr moved a twig, and the silence which reigned was painful. Rendered somewhat restless from the combined circumstances of the previous day's labor and a hard bed, I lay musing upon an account which I had formerly read of a midnight attack upon a company of militia, during the sanguinary struggles of the Revolution, by a party of savages. In the midst of my revery, I fancied that I could almost hear the stealthy footsteps of the wily Indian, when a sudden scream from a tree-top, nearly over the spot where I lay, brought me upon my feet at a bound. Seizing my gun, I looked aloft to see if I could discover the author of my sudden fright. By the light of the fire which still burned in the front of the tent, I discovered a pair of large eyes, resembling those of a cat. In an instant the woods echoed with the sharp report of my gun, when down came his owlship with a summerset to the ground. I have often listened to the quaint old figure, "I was not brought up in the woods to be scared by an owl," yet I think few can listen to the whooping of this solitary bird in the solemnity and stillness of midnight without being conscious of their susceptibility to emotions of fear, even though the judgment is assured of the absence of all that could harm. Sometimes the tramping of timid deer, attracted by the waning light of our watch-fire, or some roving beast of prey, attracted by the savory vapors of our evening meal, startle us from our slumbers. "Once, while on a timber-hunting excursion," said a mess-mate, "on the east branch of the Penobscot, the night being very mild, and feeling too much fatigued to make the usual preparations for security, we built our fire near the trunk of a large prostrate tree. When we laid down our heads were near the fallen tree, which protected us somewhat from the current of air, but we were without covering, except the spreading branches of the trees. We had not lain long before we heard a heavy tramping some little way off. It approached nearer and nearer, until the animal seemed directly upon us. "As I lay upon my back, I turned my eyes upward, when they met the full gaze of a large bear, which stood with its fore paws on the log directly over my head. In an instant I sprang upon my feet, and, seizing a brand from the fire, I hurled it after him, at the same instant making the woods tremble with the echo of my voice. "Alarmed at my sudden motions, and more than all at the fiery messenger, which emitted thousands of sparks as it whizzed along after him, glancing from tree to tree in its course, at each concussion emitting new volleys of fiery particles, without stopping to apologize for his intrusion upon our sleeping apartment, he plunged into the forest at full speed. By the rustling of dry leaves and the cracking of fallen limbs, we could hear him a long way off, with unabated energy fleeing from the object of his terror. Next morning we came across an old she-bear and her cubs. We had a spirited little dog with us, who instantly encountered the bear; but one blow from her paw completely disabled him, and his injuries proved so serious that we were obliged to kill the little fellow, much to our regret, for, of all places in the world, the companionship of a good dog is most valued in the woods. One of our men caught a cub; it struggled and whined, which soon attracted the attention of the old one. She at once rushed after him, and he was soon glad to drop his prize, but not until the old dam had nearly torn his clothes from his back. [Illustration: SHOOTING DEER.] [Illustration: BLACK BEAR.] "Arriving at length upon or near the territory to be explored, we haul our bateau safely on shore, and turn it bottom upward. Then, dividing our luggage into parcels, and making use of our blankets for knapsacks, we begin to traverse the wild forests, unfrequented except by the stately moose, the timid deer, the roaming black bear, and other wild animals of less note, whom we frequently disturb in their solitary haunts. "The uneven surface of the country, together with the density of the forest, circumscribe the range of vision. To overcome this impediment, we ascend into the top of some lofty tree. Sometimes extensive views of the surrounding forest are obtained from the side of abrupt ridges, and from the top of a _Horseback_. This latter is an "extremely curious ridge, and consists of sand and gravel, built up exactly like the embankments for rail-roads, the slope on either side being about 30°, while it rises above the surrounding low lands" from thirty to ninety feet. Dr. Jackson speaks of one in particular, between Weston and Houlton, in the northeastern part of Maine, "the top of which is perfectly level, and wide enough for two carriages to pass abreast." "Its surface was originally covered with Maple, Birch, and hard Pine-trees, while the low lands on either side are covered with a dense growth of Cedars. I could not help thinking, as I looked upon this natural embankment, that it would be easy for an antiquarian to mistake this ridge for a work of art, and to suppose that some of the aboriginal inhabitants of our country knew how to annihilate distance by rail-roads. My first impression respecting the geological origin of this embankment was that it was alluvial, and formed the bank on intervening shores of two lakes which existed in the low tracts, now covered with Cedars; but, on examining the nature of the materials of which it is composed, I became satisfied that it belonged to the formation of transported clay, sand, gravel, and bowlders, which is called diluvium, consisting of the loose fragments of rocks that were transported by a mighty current of water the last time the waters prevailed over the land. The occurrence of similar embankments at Houlton served to confirm this opinion, for there they had the same north and south direction, a coincidence so remarkable that it could not be the result of chance. The Horsebacks of New Limerick and Houlton are much more elevated" (as indeed they are on the banks or a little removed from the shores of the Mattawamkeag River), "and some of them are said to rise to the height of ninety feet." "I can not stop to speculate on the causes of this transportation of loose materials, but I may say that there are abundant proofs, on the whole face of this continent, that there has been a mighty rush of waters over its surface from the north and northwest, and that such a current has swept over the highest mountains of Massachusetts." When it is necessary to obtain views from low lands, the obstructions are overcome by ascending the highest trees. When an ascent is to be made, the Spruce-tree is generally selected, principally for the superior facilities which its numerous limbs afford the climber. To gain the first limbs of this tree, which are from twenty to forty feet from the ground, a smaller tree is undercut and lodged against it, clambering up which the top of the Spruce is reached. In some cases, when a very elevated position is desired, the Spruce-tree is lodged against the trunk of some lofty Pine, up which we ascend to a height twice that of the surrounding forest. From such a tree-top, like a mariner at the mast-head upon the "look-out" for whales (for indeed the Pine is the whale of the forest), large "clumps" and "veins" of Pine are discovered, whose towering tops may be seen for miles around. Such views fill the bosom of timber-hunters with an _intense interest_. They are the object of his search, his treasure, his _El Dorado_, and they are beheld with peculiar and thrilling emotions. To detail the process more minutely, we should observe that the man in the tree-top points out the direction in which the Pines are seen; or, if hid from the view of those below by the surrounding foliage, he breaks a small limb, and throws it in the direction in which they appear, while a man at the base marks the direction indicated by the falling limb by a compass which he holds in his hand, the compass being quite as necessary in the wilderness as on the pathless ocean. In fair weather the sun serves as an important guide; and in cloudy weather the close observation of an experienced woodsman will enable him to steer a tolerably correct course by the moss which grows on the trunks of most hard-wood trees, the north side of which are covered with a much larger share than the other portions of the trunk. This Indian compass, however, is not very convenient nor safe, particularly in passing through swampy lands, which are of frequent occurrence. After spending several days in scouring the wilderness in search of the Pines, minutely examining their quality (for an experienced lumberman can determine this with surprising certainty), calculating the distance the logs may have to be hauled, and noting the surface of the land through which the logging roads are to be cut, &c., we retrace our steps to the landing, where the bateau has been left. Once more our frail bark floats upon the dancing current of the stream, gliding onward as if stimulated with the very joyousness of the "homeward bound" voyagers. After several days' exploration on foot, the boat ride is particularly welcome. In the realization of this, however, we are sometimes sadly, even provokingly disappointed. It is known to those versed in the habits of the black bear, that late in the fall of the year they manifest an uncommon fondness for pitch or resinous substances. In the course of my travels through the forest, I have often seen Fir-trees which contained large quantities of balsam, with their bark entirely stripped from the trunk by these craving depredators. Under the impulses of this peculiar appetite, they sometimes tear even our bateau to pieces for the tar with which it is besmeared. If injured beyond the means of repair, we are compelled to pursue our journey down on foot. Perchance we may fortunately meet some Indian trapper with his frail canoe, which we charter for a portion of the journey, until another boat, or means of conveyance, can be secured. Were any of my readers ever on board the Indian's bark canoe? Some, doubtless, have been, and such will bear me out in the declaration that the voyager experiences emotions peculiarly agreeable. As a conveyance, it seems to occupy a space between riding and flying; not in respect to its speed, although this is considerable when the paddle is vigorously applied, but its fairy-like buoyancy quite dissipates the idea of one's gravity. Having determined, during the exploration, upon the territory from which we wish to cut and haul our logs, we proceed to obtain permits from the state or proprietors, which secure the exclusive right to cut timber within the bounds of the grant for a stipulated price; so much per thousand feet, board-measure, which varies from one to eight dollars _per M._, according to the quality of the timber and its convenient location to the lake, river, or stream upon which it is to be floated to market. Among other preliminaries which anticipate the winter operations of lumbermen is the "putting up" of large quantities of meadow hay. Skirting the stagnant sections of rivers and streams, extensive strips of meadow land spread back to the border of "uplands," whose outlines are distinctly defined by immense forests which hem in these large areas, sometimes embracing many thousands of acres. This intervale is covered with a heavy growth of meadow grass. By this remarkable arrangement, Nature has anticipated, as it would appear, the wants of lumbermen in locating, and in preserving from the encroachments of the forest, a plentiful supply of subsistence for the teams employed in procuring lumber in its immediate vicinity, and far from the haunts of civilized man. To these wild and solemn retreats, where the dismal hooting of the night-owl breaks upon the ear, and the sighing winds, as they pass through the tall, waving grass, waft the distant howl of the wolf, large crews of men resort, with the usual haying implements, provisions, &c., for making and stacking the hay to be used during the ensuing winter. In the latter part of autumn these meadows are covered with water, which finally freezes. It is therefore necessary to erect temporary scaffolds, called more generally "staddles," upon which the hay is to be piled in large stacks. These staddles are made of poles laid upon cross-stakes or crutches, sufficiently high to protect the hay from the water beneath. From these the hay is removed, sometimes in boats before the waters freeze, and afterward upon sleds on the ice. When the former method of transportation is adopted, two bateaus or skiffs are placed side by side, small poles being thrown across them; the hay is then loaded on this platform, and carried to the most convenient landing, where it is reloaded and hauled on ox-sleds to the camp. If the hay is removed upon the ice, the stacks are hauled away whole. The mode of loading is simple; the central part of the scaffolding is cut away, the sled shoved underneath, when the remaining props are cut away, and the whole stack settles on to the sled, and is thus moved off to the place of destination. This expeditious method of loading is particularly convenient and desirable, as may be imagined when one takes into consideration the biting winter winds which sweep across these wide meadow fields. Since agricultural interests have invited men far into the interior in the vicinity of lumber berths, where large tracts of land have been cleared up, less value is attached to, and less use made of meadow hay than formerly, as English grass becomes more plenty, is more available, and is much better in its quality. A distinguishing characteristic of this kind of business is the unceasing encounter by our lumbermen with the blood-thirsty millions of flies who swarm and triumph over these sanguinary fields. In the use of fire-arms these unvanquishable hosts are not skilled, to be sure, but in a charge they are invincible. No amount of slaughter will intimidate them. Though the sweeping hand of destruction annihilates them by thousands, still, with full ranks, the contest is carried on with unabated vigor, a respite only being afforded in rainy weather, or when high winds prevail; then they retire from the field. At night the musquito lancers take up the action--the Indian tribes of the insect species--and all night they keep up their ceaseless war-whoop, as they repeat their sallies upon the weary, disturbed sleeper. No coat of mail is proof against the attacks of one species of fly commonly called the midget, which is so small as to be almost imperceptible to the naked eye. The black fly and the musquito can only reach the exposed parts of the body, but to the midget every portion is accessible. He insinuates himself under the collar, the wristband, and through the texture of the garments, and the whole region between the shirt and the skin is a field for his operations. In one process of the haying operations, in particular, they are very annoying. The hay, when cut, is carried in small cocks upon two poles by two men to the scaffolding, for the purpose of being stacked. While thus employed, with both hands engaged, millions of these little invisibles insinuate themselves under the garments, and, whatever interest or ambition may fail to do, by way of producing energetic motion, the irritating smart of their bite abundantly makes up. _Nolens volens_, the men thus employed dance to the tune of "_Midget's meadow-hay jig_;" and when no longer able to resist the earnest invitation to rub and scratch, which their irritating bite holds out, down drop the poles, hay and all! Ah! let him who has experienced the irritation, and the relief of furious friction, _think_--I'm sure he may not pen it. But, notwithstanding the labor and annoyances of meadow life, there are pastimes and adventures to be met with. A shot now and then at some stray deer who may chance to stroll upon the meadow to graze; the hooking of beautiful trout, pickerel, and other delicious pan-fish, afford agreeable relief from _ennui_; while the spoils of the forest and the brook afford most agreeable changes of diet. Here, also, very frequently are skirmishes had with the common black bear. If Bruin is not intentionally pugnacious, he is really meddlesome; nay, more, a downright trespasser--a regular thief--an out-and-out "no-government" animal, who, though neither profane nor yet immoral, still, without apostolical piety, would have "all things common." These peculiar traits of character secure to him the especial attention of mankind, and ever make him the object of attack. Though formidable as an enemy, it is hard to allow him to pass, even if he be civilly inclined, without direct assault. On one occasion, while two men were crossing a small lake in a skiff, on their return from the meadows, where they had been putting up hay, they discovered a bear swimming from a point of land for the opposite shore. As usual in such cases, temptation silenced prudential remonstrance; so, changing their course, they gave chase. The craft being light, they gained fast upon the bear, who exerted himself to the utmost to gain the shore. But, finding himself an unequal match in the race, he turned upon his pursuers and swam to meet them. One of the men, a short, thick-set, dare-devil sort of a fellow, seized an ax, and the moment the bear came up, inflicted a blow upon his head which seemed to make but a slight impression. Before a second could be repeated, the bear clambered into the boat; he instantly grappled the man who struck him, firmly setting his teeth in the man's thigh; then settling back upon his haunches, he raised his victim in the air, and shook him as a dog would a wood-chuck. The man at the helm stood for a moment in amazement, without knowing how to act, and fearing that the bear might spring overboard and drown his companion; but, recollecting the effect of a blow upon the end of a bear's snout, he struck him with a short setting-pole. The bear dropped his victim into the bottom of the boat, sallied and fell overboard, and swam again for the shore. The man bled freely from the bite, and as the wound proved too serious to allow a renewal of the encounter, they made for the shore. Medical aid was procured as soon as possible, and in the course of six weeks the man recovered from the effects of the bite. But one thing saved them from being upset; the water proved sufficiently shoal to admit of the bear's getting bottom, from which he sprang into the boat. Had the water been deep, the boat must inevitably have been upset, in which case the consequences might have been more serious. It was on one of these haying occasions that a more startling but harmless encounter with the elements was experienced. One afternoon, about two o'clock, while several men were making their way up a small stream on a branch of the Penobscot, their attention was suddenly arrested by a sound which resembled distant thunder. Each moment the noise grew more distinct, accompanied with a tremulous motion of the earth. Still nearer and yet nearer it approached, with a rushing sound, intermingled with loud reports. Between our boatmen and the forest at the southwest spread an area of meadow land. Looking in this direction, a dense column, rising high in the heavens, was seen whirling in the distance, and approaching with incredible velocity. They barely effected a landing when it came upon them. In an instant their boat was hurled into the tops of the trees over their heads, while they were able to retain their position by holding on to the small undergrowth, and escaped unhurt. The hurricane, in its passage across the meadow, seemed to lose its force, so that by the time it reached the opposite side of the meadow its power was broken, and its career of destruction ended. In its passage it laid a strip of forest level some seventy rods wide and thirty miles long. No tree within this limit withstood its fury. The toughest and stateliest mingled in wildest confusion with blanched trunks, yielding sapling, and slender undergrowth. At the proper time, which varies in different localities, but generally during the early part of fall, a more extensive outfit is made for another up-river expedition, for the purpose of erecting winter camps, clearing the main roads, and attending to such other preliminaries as may be deemed necessary. Several years ago the whole distance from our homes to the interior was traveled by water, on which occasions heavy-laden boats were taken up these rivers and streams, and across the lakes, an operation which was both hazardous and laborious, particularly where the swift current of rapids was to be overcome, and when it became necessary to carry the boat and cargo around impassable falls--a frequent occurrence, the river in some places being nothing but one continuous succession of rapids for miles. In some places, to save the labor of "carrying by," attempts are made to shove the boats up fearful rapids, where a single mistake or false maneuver would swamp them. A lively little incident of this kind is quoted below, from Doctor Jackson's account of an excursion up the Penobscot on the business of a geological survey of the state. "While we were engaged in exploring the rocks (at Grindstones Falls), our men tried to shove the boat up the falls, but the violence of the current prevented their effecting their object, the boat being instantly filled and sunk in the attempt, while all our baggage and provisions that remained on board were swept off and carried down the stream. A scene of unwonted activity now ensued in our endeavors to save our articles, as they were rapidly borne down the foaming waters. The boat, fortunately, was not much injured, and we succeeded in hauling it upon a rock, and bailed out the water, after which we gave chase to our lost articles, and succeeded in saving those that were most essential to our safety. The bread-barrel, although scuttled, was but half full of bread, and floated down stream with its opening uppermost, so that but little of it was injured. Our bucket of rice burst open and was lost. The tea-kettle and other cooking apparatus sank in the river, and were fished up by a hook and line. The tent was found about a mile down the river, stretched across a rock. The maps and charts were soaked with water, so that it required as much labor and patience to unroll them as the papyri of Herculaneum. Our spare boots and shoes were irrecoverably lost. Having rescued the most important articles from the water, we carried by the falls, camped, and dried our papers and provision, being thankful that no worse an accident had befallen us. Fortunately, we had taken the precaution to remove our surveying instruments and the blankets from the boat before the falls were attempted. "Having kindled a camp-fire and dried ourselves, a storm of rain began to pour around us; but our great fire was not easily damped, and we passed a comfortable night beneath the shelter of a water-proof tent. "The Penobscot boatmen are well skilled in the art of camping in a comfortable manner, and soon prepare their fire for the night, make a bed of boughs, and pitch the tent in such a manner as to afford a complete shelter. Having partaken of our meal, we reposed upon the boughs spread upon the earth, our feet being turned toward the fire. This being our first encampment for the season, the novelty of the scene prevented sleep; the night was very pleasant, and the broad moon, slowly descending in the west, added her effulgence to beautify the scene, her image being reflected by the rippling waters, while various contrasts of light and shade from the dense foliage, and the pale moonbeam and glaring red camp-fire, gave an effect full of beauty, and worthy the attention of an artist. "Amid pleasant scenes, we are, however, subject to contrasts of a less agreeable kind; and here our Indian, while cutting wood, suffered a severe accident; his hatchet, accidentally slipping, was driven deeply into his leg between two bones, so as to expose the anterior tibial artery. I was then called upon in my surgical capacity, and, having my instruments with me, dressed his wound in the usual manner, and early next morning we took him to Maltanawcook Island, where we made arrangements with another Indian, Louis Neptune, to supply his place while he was recovering from his wound." These difficulties of transportation have been somewhat abated by the construction of roads, which penetrate much nearer to lumber berths than formerly, and enable us to convey our provisions, implements, and even boats, with horse-teams, a considerable portion of the distance once laboriously performed by water. I am not familiar with any kind of labor which tests a man's physical abilities and powers of endurance more than boating supplies up river. The labor of carrying by falls, and portages from lake to lake, imposes a heavy tax upon the body. Barrels of pork, flour, and other provisions, too heavy for one man to carry alone, are slung to a pole by the aid of ropes, one man being at either end, and thus we clamber, under our heavy burdens, over rocks, the trunks of fallen trees, slippery roots, and through mud-sloughs, sometimes without any path, through the thickets and groves of trees. The boat is turned bottom upward, the gunwales resting upon the shoulders of three men, two abreast near the bows, and one at the stern. In this position we pass over the same route through which the provisions have been carried to the next landing, where the goods are again reshipped, and we proceed by water on lake or stream, with the alternate routine of paddling, poling, and lugging, until the place of destination is reached. Persons wholly unacquainted with river navigation can have but an imperfect idea of the skill as well as nerve brought into requisition in taking a heavy-laden bateau, skiff, or canoe up over rapids. Let such a person stand upon the banks of the river, and survey some places over which these frail boats, loaded to the gunwale, pass, and he would not only regard the thing as exceedingly difficult and hazardous, but as altogether impossible; with the inexperienced it would, indeed, be both, but our skillful watermen will perform it with the greatest dexterity. Should any traveler chance to take an up-river trip with those boatmen, I am quite sure his observations would confirm my statement respecting them. I am happy to add here the testimony of Dr. Jackson, who had an opportunity to witness their skill: "Those who have never been on such a journey would be surprised at the dexterity of the Penobscot boatmen as they drive their frail bateau through the rapids and among dangerous rocks. The slightest failure on their part, on passing the numerous water-falls, would place the lives of those on board in imminent peril, and the traveler has good reason to be thankful if the boat by their care is saved from being overturned or sunk in the river. "When the waters rush down a rapid slope of smooth and round rocks, forming what are called gravel-beds, the most strenuous exertions of the boatmen are required to stem the current, and not unfrequently their 'setting' poles are caught between the rocks, so as to be jerked from their grasp. Bateaux are navigated up stream by means of slender poles of spruce, about twelve or fifteen feet in length, armed with an iron point, confined by a ferule or iron band around its extremity. One boatman stands in the bow and braces his foot against the stern as he labors; the other stands in the stern, and they both pole on the same side as they proceed up the margin of the stream. Descending the river, they make use of paddles." However, the depth to which these frail boats are loaded, in which condition they pass through rough waters and wide lakes, where the wind is liable in a few minutes to raise high waves, can not be regarded as prudent, with all their matchless skill in navigating. When I call to mind the intemperate habits to which most lumbermen in times past were addicted, I am surprised that no more accidents have occurred while navigating our rivers. I shall not soon forget the perilous circumstances in which I was once placed, in company with others, while taking a deeply laden skiff up to the head waters of the St. Croix. Having safely passed the rapids of the river, we embarked upon the Lake Che-pet-na-cook, up which we paddled about twenty miles to the portage, over which we had to carry our effects to Grand Lake, distant some two miles. By the time we had accomplished these moves the shadows of a September evening began to gather around us, giving a peculiar tint to the large sheet of water before us, which spread to the north some twenty-five miles, with an expanse east and west of about six miles, washing a portion of the shores of Maine on the west, and the province of New Brunswick on the east. The point of destination lay about half way up the lake on the American side. Our boat was deeply laden with men and provisions; of the former there were seven in number. A light wind from the east caused a gentle ripple upon the surface of the waters, which induced us to hug the easterly shore pretty closely. We proceeded slowly, and when it became necessary to change our course in order to cross the lake, night had nearly settled down upon the waters, leaving only sufficient light to reveal the opposite shore, which stretched along the verge of the horizon, presenting the appearance of a long, dark cloud settling upon the borders of the lake. We had plenty of new rum on board, which was used at stated intervals, as, according to the faith of nearly every man in those days, it gave to the arm more vigor in the necessary labor of plying the paddle. It soon became evident that one of our number had imbibed too freely, to the imminent hazard of our lives. The reader may easily imagine our perilous condition under such circumstances. Our frail skiff was about eighteen feet long, and four feet across the top of the gunwale amid-ships, tapering to a point at either end, constructed of thin slips of pine boards nailed to some half dozen pair of slender knees about two inches in diameter. On board were some fifteen hundred pounds of provisions, with seven men, which pressed her into the water nearly to the gunwale; three inches from the position of a level, and she would fill with water. As men usually are quite insensible to danger when in liquor, so was it with "_Dan_" in this instance. Too comfortable in his feelings to keep still, as indeed was indispensable to the most steady among us, he kept constantly lurching about, and periling us with a capsizing repeatedly. He was admonished in the most pressing and peremptory manner to keep quiet; but in his drunken idiocy he became a terror, and it was manifest that something must be done to insure our safety. Our paddles hung powerless over the sides of the frail thing which buoyed us upon the surface of the deep water; to advance seemed too uncertain and dreadful, while the darkness rested down deeper upon the lake. A hasty consultation was held upon the propriety of putting back to the shore, when the drunken wretch gave a sudden lurch, which settled the gunwale under water! "My God! we are gone!" shouted some half dozen voices at the instant. However, by a counter-motion we raised the submerged gunwale from sinking further. In an instant our helmsman was upon his feet, and, raising his paddle in a most menacing attitude over the head of the intoxicated man, "D--n you!" said he, "if you move again I'll split your skull open!" The threat was terrible, and he would have cleft his head open in an instant. I expected he would strike, for our lives depended upon quieting him in some way; but the fellow seemed to awake to our perilous condition, and slunk down into the bottom of the boat. We put about instantly for the shore, and in a few moments touched the beach. With a willing step I placed my feet on terra firma once more. It was then determined that part of the crew should remain, while the others should cross the lake, unload the provisions, and return for those left behind. Four men were accordingly left, and I was glad to make one of the number, though left upon a wild and unfrequented spot, without food or shelter, with the prospect of spending the greater portion of the night there, even should the rest of the crew make a successful trip; and, in the event of their being swamped, a thing by no means impossible, for sometimes the wind suddenly rises, and in a very short time lashes the lake into foaming waves, in which case the skiff could not live, then the circuit of the lake must be performed, and days must elapse before relief could be obtained; but still, with these certainties and probable contingencies before us, we were glad to feel mother earth under the soles of our feet. By the time these matters had been fixed, the darkness had shut out the western shore entirely from view; our comrades, therefore, only shaped their course by the fire which we had kindled upon the shore, and which we kept burning by a constant supply of brush and the most inflammable wood that could be procured. Not having had much experience in the wilderness at this time, and never under such peculiar circumstances, I felt somewhat timid and apprehensive, as we were far from relief and the abodes of civilization, and in a region where bears, wolves, and a dangerous specimen of the feline species, known by woodsmen as the "Indian devil," had prowled from time immemorial. From the manner in which my exiled companions piled the brush on the fire, I suspected, also, that they had some confidence in its protective power. The night was cold, but by our exertions to keep up a brilliant fire, and copious draughts of black pepper tea, which we made in a little kettle, we kept quite comfortable. This process lasted until two o'clock in the morning, when the boat returned for us, having twice crossed the lake, in all twelve miles. We stepped on board, and at four o'clock her third trip across during the night was finished. One half mile from the shore, surrounded by an almost unbroken wilderness, stood a log cabin, tenanted by a man with his family, who had settled down for the purpose of clearing up a farm. At the time we landed the sky was overcast with dense clouds, and the darkness was so intense that I could not see an inch before my nose; I felt the force of that trite old proverb, "It's always darkest just before day." To the above-named cabin we were piloted through a dense forest, which was interlaced with a thick growth of underbrush. We made our way along as entirely unassisted by vision as though there were no such thing. By the aid of a constant hallooing, which was kept up at the log cabin, we made a direct course; and, after an untold number of stumbles over old wind-falls, and jibes from the limbs, knots, and protruding boughs of trees, we reached the object of our solicitude hungry and much fatigued. Here, however, the hospitable inmates had anticipated our wants; a good meal of bread, baked beans, and pork, with coffee, was in waiting; and after heartily participating of the same, we threw ourselves upon a coarse bed, and were soon lost in a profound and undisturbed sleep. When we awoke the shades of night had entirely disappeared, the sun shone beautifully, and our ears were saluted with the wild notes of a thousand feathered songsters, whose sweet warblings lent a peculiar enchantment to the woodland scenery which skirted the shores of the lake, so strikingly in contrast with our dismal introduction the night previous, that we almost fancied ourselves awaking up in some fairy land. CHAPTER III. Method of constructing Camp and Hovel.--Timber.--Covering.--Arrangement of Interior.--The Bed.--Deacon Seat.--Ingenious Method of making a Seat.--Cooking: superior Method of Baking.--The nightly Camp Fire.--Liabilities from taking Fire.--A Camp consumed.--Men burned to Death.--Enjoyment.--The new Camp: Dedication. --A Song.--A Story.--New Order in Architecture.--Ox Hovel.--Substitute for Lime.--The Devotedness of the Teamster.--Fat and lean Cattle.-- Swamping Roads.--Clumps of Pine.--The points of Interest in a Logging Road.--The Teamster's Path.--Regret.--The peculiar Enjoyment of Men thus engaged. The re-outfit alluded to in the preceding pages having arrived upon the territory previously explored, arrangements are at once made to locate and build our winter camps. To determine upon the best point is by no means an easy task, it being very difficult to fix upon the location in a strange and imperfectly-explored forest. Wood and water privileges are to be taken into the account; a central position in respect to the timber; the landing, the locating of the main roads, &c., are to be attended to. To combine all these qualities, where we can see only a few rods in advance on account of the trees and thickets, and our work must necessarily cover hundreds of acres of wild land, it must be confessed is no ordinary task. I have seldom taxed my judgment as severely on any subject as in judiciously locating a logging establishment. These preliminaries being settled, we commence "right merrily" our camp. The top strata of leaves and turf are removed from the spot upon which the structure is to be erected; this is necessary, as we should otherwise be in great danger of fire from the dry turf. While this process is going forward, others are engaged in felling the trees on the spot, and cutting them the length determined upon for our edifice. The work commences by throwing the larger logs into a square, notching the ends together. Thus one tier after another is laid up until the walls attain the proper height, the smallest logs being used to finish out the upper tiers. In form they resemble a tin baker, rising some eight feet in front, while the roof pitches down within two or three feet of the ground in the rear. A double camp is constructed by putting two such squares face to face, with the fire in the middle. The Spruce-tree is generally selected for camp building, it being light, straight, and quite free from sap. The roof is covered with shingles from three to four feet in length. These are split from trees of straight and easy rift, such as the Pine, Spruce, and Cedar. The shingles are not nailed on, but secured in their place by laying a long heavy pole across each tier or course. The roof is finally covered with the boughs of the Fir, Spruce, and Hemlock, so that when the snow falls upon the whole, the warmth of the camp is preserved in the coldest weather. The crevices between the logs constituting the walls are tightly calked with moss gathered from surrounding trees. [Illustration: WINTER-QUARTERS OF LUMBERMEN.] The interior arrangement is very simple. One section of the area of the camp is used for the dining-room, another for the sleeping apartment, and a third is appropriated to the kitchen. These apartments are not denoted by partitioned walls, but simply by small poles some six inches in diameter, laid upon the floor of the camp (which is the pure loam), running in various directions, and thus forming square areas of different dimensions, and appropriated as above suggested. The head-board to our bed consists of one or more logs, which form also the back wall of the camp. The foot-board is a small pole, some four or six feet from the fire. Our bedstead is mother earth, upon whose cool but maternal bosom we strew a thick coating of hemlock, cedar, and fir boughs. The width of this bed is determined by the number of occupants, varying from ten to twenty feet. Bed-clothes are suited to the width of the bed by sewing quilts and blankets together. The occupants, as a general thing, throw off their outer garments only when they "turn in" for the night. These hardy sons of the forest envy not those who roll on beds of down; their sleep is sound and invigorating; they need not court the gentle spell, turning from side to side, but, quietly submitting, sink into its profound depths. Directly over the foot-pole, running parallel with it, and in front of the fire, is the "_deacon seat_." I think it would puzzle the greatest lexicographer of the age to define the word, or give its etymology as applied to a seat, which indeed it is, and nothing more nor less than a seat; but, so far as I can discover from those most deeply learned in the antiquarianism of the logging swamp, it has nothing more to do with deacons, or deacons with it, than with the pope. The seat itself, though the name be involved in a mystery, is nothing less nor more than a plank hewn from the trunk of a Spruce-tree some four inches thick by twelve inches wide, the length generally corresponding with the width of the bed, raised some eighteen inches above the foot-pole, and made stationary. This seat constitutes our sofa or settee, to which we add a few stools, which make up the principal part of our camp furniture. Should any of my readers ever be situated beyond the reach of cabinet-makers, but in the vicinity of the forest, I may introduce them into the secret of chair-making without the necessity of any tools except an ax. Split the top part of the trunk of a Spruce or Fir-tree in halves, cut a stick of the right length upon which three or four stout limbs grow; trim off the limbs of a sufficient length to suit your fancy; smooth the piece of timber to which they adhere by hewing, and your seat is completed. I can assure the reader that the instances are rare in which it becomes necessary to send them to the cabinetmaker for repairs, especially to have the legs glued in. The luxury of a temporary table is now pretty generally enjoyed, with plates, knives and forks, tin dippers for tea and coffee, and sometimes cups and saucers. Formerly the deacon seat was used instead of a table, and a large frying-pan served for a platter for the whole crew. Around this the men would gather, each putting in his bread or potatoe, and salt fish, to sop in the pork fat; and never did king or courtier enjoy the luxuries of a palace more exquisitely than do our loggers this homely fare. On the St. Croix River, lumbermen generally adhere, from choice, to the original custom of eating from the frying-pan. Bread and beans are baked in a large "Duch oven," which is placed in a hole dug in the earth by the side of the fire, and entirely covered with hot coals and embers. In this position it is allowed to remain until the contents are done, when the ashes and cover are removed. I need not presume to inform the skillful cook that this mode of baking is unequaled. Our camp-fire is made on the ground next to the front wall, which is sometimes protected by a tier of large stones, but in other instances we simply set up two short stakes, against which enormous back-logs rest. After supper, each night unfailingly a very large fire is built to sleep by. Some of the wood used is so large that it often burns twenty-four hours before being entirely consumed. The amount of fuel made use of in building one camp-fire would supply an ordinary fire a week. It is not an unfrequent occurrence, of course, for camps to take fire in this exposed situation, but some one generally discovers it in season to extinguish it by the timely application of snow or water. Instances have occurred, however, in which crews have been consumed with the camp. I recollect an instance in which a camp, on one of the tributaries of the Penobscot, took fire during the night while the inmates were asleep, and three out of four men were burned to death. In view of this liability, the roof of our camps are not so strongly fastened down but that, in the event of a retreat being cut off from the door, the united efforts of the inmates can burst it up, and thus make their escape. These things, however serious in some instances, are but little thought of or cared for. Around this good camp-fire, "With mirth to lighten duty," gather the crew after the toils of the day, to enjoy, as best they may, our long winter evenings; and around no fireside where there are equal responsibilities, intelligence, and many more luxuries, can be found more real contentment, or a greater degree of enjoyment. Here rises the voice of song upon the wings of the winter night storm as it rolls past with the sublimity of an Alpine tempest. Here, also, are rehearsals of wild adventure, listened to with all the interest which isolated circumstances usually lend even to little matters. The first night we lodged in one of our newly-erected camps, its dedication was proposed. It was moved and carried by acclamation that Hobbs should sing us a song, and that "Nick" should give us one of his yarns. Hobbs, who, by-the-way, was a short, thick-set little fellow, with a chubby red face, and, withal, rather musical in his turn, gave vent to the following beautiful song, dedicated to the "Lumbermen" by the poet Whittier. "Comrades! round our woodland quarters Sad-voiced autumn grieves; Thickly down these swelling waters Float his fallen leaves. Through the tall and naked timber, Column-like and old, Gleam the sunsets of November With their skies of gold. O'er us, to the South-land heading, Screams the gray wild goose; On the night-frost sounds the treading Of the stately moose. Fast the streams with ice are closing, Colder grows the sky, Soon, on lake and river frozen, Shall our log-piles lie. When, with sounds of smother'd thunder, On some night of rain, Lake and river break asunder Winter's weaken'd chain, Down the wild March-flood shall bear them To the saw-mill's wheel, Or, where Steam, the slave, shall tear them With his teeth of steel. Be it starlight, be it moonlight In these vales below, When the earliest beams of sunlight Streaks the mountain's snow, Crisps the hoar-frost keen and early To our hurrying feet, And the forest echoes clearly All our blows repeat. When the crystal Ambijejis Stretches broad and clear, And Millnoket's pine-black ridges Hide the browsing deer; Where, through lakes and wide morasses, Or through rocky walls, Swift and strong Penobscot passes, White with foamy falls. Where, through clouds, are glimpses given Of Katahdin's sides-- Rock and forest piled to heaven, Torn and plowed by slides! Far below the Indian trapping In the sunshine warm, Far above the snow-cloud wrapping Half the peak in storm! Where are mossy carpets better Than the Persian weaves, And, than Eastern perfumes, sweeter Seem the fading leaves; And a music wild and solemn From the Pine-tree's height, Rolls its vast and sea-like volume On the wind of night. Make we here our camp of winter, And through sleet and snow Pitch knot and beechen splinter On our hearth shall glow; Here, with mirth to lighten duty, We shall lack alone Woman, with her smile of beauty, And her gentle tone. But her hearth is brighter burning For our work to-day, And her welcome at returning Shall our loss repay. Strike, then, comrades! Trade is waiting On our rugged toil, Far ships waiting for the freighting Of our woodland spoil! Ships, whose traffic links these highlands Bleak and cold of ours With the citron-planted islands Of a clime of flowers; To our frosts the tribute bringing Of eternal heats. In our lap of winter flinging Tropic fruits and sweets. Cheerly on the ax of labor Let the sunbeam dance, Better than the flash of saber Or the gleam of lance! Strike! With every blow is given Freer sun and sky, And the long-hid earth to heaven Looks with wond'ring eye. Loud behind us grow the murmurs Of the age to come-- Clang of smiths, and tread of farmers Bearing harvest home! Here her virgin lap with treasures Shall the green earth fill-- Waving wheat and golden maize-ears Crown each beechen hill. Keep who will the city's alleys, Take the smooth-shorn plain, Give to us the cedarn valleys, Rocks and hills of Maine! In our North-land, wild and woody, Let us still have part-- Rugged nurse and mother sturdy, Hold us to thy heart! Oh, our free hearts beat the warmer For thy breath of snow, And our tread is all the firmer For thy rocks below. Freedom, hand in hand with labor, Walketh strong and brave; On the forehead of his neighbor No man writeth Slave! Brother looks on equal brother, Manhood looks on men-- Be thy future, oh our mother, As thy past hath been-- Heavenward, like thy mountain-guardians, With their star-crowns deck'd, And thy watchword, like Katahdin's Cloud-swept pine, 'ERECT!'" Then followed the "yarn." Now "Nick," as we familiarly called him, was a tall, sinewy man, the exact counterpart of Hobbs in physical proportions, full of fire, and fond of adventure. He had spent much of his life in the woods, and in different parts of the country, somewhat apt in his observations, and off-hand in his style of conversation. Looking thoughtfully into the fire a moment, as if to call an item from his experience, he proceeded as follows: "In the month of September, 18--, having business to transact with a man engaged in timber-making on Bartholomew's River, New Brunswick, I set out on horseback, late in the afternoon, for his encampment, distant some ten miles. Part of the distance I had to pass through a dense wilderness, where a path had been made by cutting away the underbrush and small trees; the rest of the journey could only be prosecuted by riding in the bed of the stream, which at the time was quite dry. "In answer to the inquiries made at the tavern where I hired my horse, I was told that the camp was on the bank of the stream, and could be easily seen from the channel through which I was to pass. The sun was about one hour high when I entered the woods; but I had not proceeded half way through when the heavens suddenly became overcast, which admonished me that I was about to experience one of those terrible thunder-tempests which sometimes occur at the close of a sultry September day, and are remarkable for the copious torrents of rain which fall in the vicinity of lakes and rivers, surrounded by the wilderness. I felt some solicitude to reach the river before it became dark, but the roughness of the road prevented me from going faster than a walking pace, and, ere I had accomplished the journey through the forest, the rain poured down in torrents. The thunder of heaven's artillery was tremendous, and the shooting chains of fire hissed through the tops of the trees like darting fiery serpents, here and there spending their force upon the lofty spire of some gigantic Pine, splitting and shivering its trunk into thousands of pieces, and strewing them far away upon the ground. Night, hastened by the gathering tempest, wrapped the whole scene in profound darkness; thus, amid the deafening peals of thunder, the darting forks of lightning which shot around me in every direction, and torrents of rain, my horse groped his way silently along, bearing me upon his back. At length, through much danger, I reached the channel of the river, to encounter new dangers and difficulties. "When I entered the channel, the rain had not materially affected the amount of water then flowing; but I had not proceeded far when the swollen and foaming current, which had accumulated from hill sides and numerous brooks, rushed by me, rendering riding imminently hazardous. To be prepared for the worst, I divested myself of my boots and the horse of his saddle. In vain did I strain my eyes to gain a glimpse of the camp each time the lightning dispelled the darkness, which gave me a momentary glimpse of all around. Concluding at length that I had gone too far down the river, I turned my horse and breasted the foaming current, resolving to renew my exertions in an up-river course. But the water by this time was so high, and the channel so treacherous, that I concluded to gain the shore of the stream, and make my way, if possible, along its banks, though densely studded with trees and bushes growing in the wildest confusion. Owing to the precipitousness of the banks, I was unable to gain my object, and was therefore compelled to remain in the stream. Again and again I essayed to escape to the shore, but from the same causes failed of its accomplishment. My situation was becoming more critical every moment. Sometimes my horse was making his way over large rocks; then, suddenly coming to deeper portions of the channel, would lose his footing entirely, and swim with me upon his back. All this time the darkness was intense, the tempest raged with unabated fury, while the already swollen current continued to increase. The solemnity of the midnight hour, rendered terrible by the tempest overhead and threatening waters beneath, filled my mind with painful apprehensions. The awful grandeur of God seemed to pass before me, proclaimed in the voice of his thunder. Death, the judgment, and my sins stood before me; and I felt constrained to implore His protecting mercy. At length the lightning revealed a camp just upon the bank. Here I was able to leave the channel of the river, whose banks had so long held me a prisoner. "Supposing that I had found the object of my hazardous search, I dismounted, and, flinging the bridle from my horse's head, left him to shift for himself, and hastened to enter; but, to my amazement, it proved an old, deserted, and solitary camp. Here, however, I resolved to worry out the remainder of the night. The wind chopping round to the northwest, it ceased raining and grew very cold, so that before daylight the rain drops froze upon the bushes; and, beginning to be very chilly, I found that exercise was necessary to keep me warm. The darkness was yet so great that I could see nothing; and, for fear of thrusting my head against the roof, I threw myself down and crawled about on my hands and knees, until, wearied with my exertions, I felt the need of repose. I then dug a hole down in the old boughs, which had been used by the former occupants as a bed, crawled into it, and covered myself entirely under the rubbish, except my face. For a few moments I thought I should be able to sleep, but my hopes were speedily dissipated. I had not lain long before I was covered with myriads of fleas. Springing from my restless couch, I shook and brushed them from my clothes; and as all hopes of rest were dismissed, I continued to exercise myself as well as I could until the grizzly rays of early morning dispelled the darkness which had so long held me a prisoner. As soon as it became sufficiently light, I set out, in my stockings, in pursuit of the camp, which I had failed to find the night previous. Proceeding up river about two miles, I came at once upon the camp. It was Sabbath morning; the inmates were indulging themselves in a late nap, and, notwithstanding my urgent circumstances, I resolved to wait a little, and give them a gentle surprise. You may be assured that my wretched appearance fully qualified me for the occasion. My feet were still partially covered with the ragged remnants of my stockings; my clothes were considerably torn and thoroughly wet, and the shives of the old bough bed were sticking into them nearly as thickly as a fleece of porcupine quills; my hat, rendered soft by the thorough drenching it had received, settled down over my head and ears; the black dye from the hat had run down in little lines all over my face, leaving their dry channels distinctly defined; my long and tangled hair, together with my haggard, care-worn countenance, rendered me altogether an object which, under any circumstances, was calculated to inspire terror. Stepping up to the camp, I gave a sudden, loud rap, without any further demonstration, which awoke the crew. As they naturally supposed themselves far away from any human beings, a knock at their door thus early, and on a Sabbath morning, the more surprised them, and awakened their curiosity. 'Who or what the d--l can that be?' I overheard some one within say. Presently a man, who, by-the-way, knew me perfectly well, came to the door, and, with some caution, opened it. I met him with a fixed and vacant stare, without uttering a word. He returned my gaze with an expression of inquisitive astonishment. "'You don't seem to know me,' I observed. The tones of my _voice_ increased his astonishment, for they seemed familiar, but the strangeness of my _appearance_ confounded him, and I could not refrain from laughing outright. Finally, half suspecting whom I _might_ be, he exclaimed, with much energy, '_Nick! in the name of G--d, is it you?_' I soon satisfied them on this point, while I briefly related my night's adventure. Their astonishment was great at seeing me in such an extraordinary plight, but not greater than was my satisfaction to meet them and to obtain the succor which I needed. After breakfast, some of the men went in pursuit of my horse, saddle, and boots. The last two they found on a little island in the stream, where, for fear of losing them by the flood, I had lashed them to a stump the night before." Having thus finished his story and replenished his pipe, the old man leaned back against the camp walls and enveloped himself in a cloud of smoke, while he listened, in turn, to the various incidents in the experience of others, of which his own had been suggestive. Finally, after some little discussion as to the precise location which each should occupy on the new bed, all hands "turned in," to live over again the fortunes of the day in the fantastic dreams of night. Having completed our own cabin, we proceed next to construct a hovel for the oxen, which are yet behind. In erecting this, the same order in architecture is observed as in that of the camp, the timber of which it is composed, however, being much larger than that with which our own habitation is constructed. With the trunks of trees the walls are carried up nearly equal in height, leaving one side, however, enough lower than the other to give a moderate pitch to the roof, which is covered with the same kind of material as that of the camp. In the camp for the workmen there is no floor but the earth; the ox hovel, however, has a flooring made of small poles laid closely together, and hewed down with some degree of smoothness with the adz, and in the final finish the crevices in the walls are plastered with clay or ox manure. A temporary shed is thrown up in front, which serves as a depôt for hay and provender. No little pains are bestowed upon the conveniences designed for the team. With the exception of sporting horses, never have I witnessed more untiring devotion to any creature than is bestowed upon the ox when under the care of a good teamster. The last thing before "turning in," he lights his lantern and repairs to the ox hovel. In the morning, by the peep of day, and often before, his faithful visits are repeated to hay, and provender, and card, and yoke up. No man's berth is so hard, among all the hands, as the teamster's. Every shoe and nail, every hoof and claw, and neck, yokes, chains, and sled, claim constant attention. While the rest of the hands are sitting or lounging around the liberal fire, shifting for their comfort, after exposure to the winter frosts through the day, he must repeatedly go out to look after the comfort of the sturdy, faithful ox. And then, for an hour or two in the morning again, while all, save the cook, are closing up the sweet and unbroken slumbers of the night, so welcome and necessary to the laborer, he is out amid the early frost with, I had almost said, the care of a mother, to see if "old Turk" is not loose, whether "Bright" favors the near fore-foot (which felt a little hot the day before), as he stands upon the hard floor, and then to inspect "Swan's" provender-trough, to see if he has eaten his meal, for it was carefully noted that at the "watering-place" last night he drank but little; while at the further end of the "tie-up" he thinks he hears a little clattering noise, and presently "little Star" is having his shins gently rapped, as a token of his master's wish to raise his foot to see if some nail has not given way in the loosened shoe; and this not for once, but every day, with numberless other cares connected with his charge. A competent hand in this profession generally calculates to do a good winter's hauling, and bring his team out in the spring in quite as good flesh as when they commenced in the early part of the season. But as in all other matters, so in this, there are exceptions to the general rule. Some teamsters spoil their cattle, and bring them out in the spring miserably poor, and nearly strained to death. Such a practice, however, can not be regarded as either merciful or economical. So far as true policy is concerned, it is much better to keep a team well. What may be gained by hard pushing during the former part of the season will be more than made up during the latter, when the teams are moderately urged and well kept, and then you have a good team still for future labor. Having completed our winter residences, next in order comes the business of looking out and cutting the "main," and some of the principal "branch roads." These roads, like the veins in the human body, ramify the wilderness to all the principal "clumps" and "groves of pine" embraced in the permit. We have here no "turnpikes" nor rail-ways, but what is often more interesting. No pencilings can excel the graceful curves found in a main road as it winds along through the forest, uniform in width of track, hard-beaten and glassy in its surface, polished by the sled and logs which are so frequently drawn over it. Each fall of snow, when well trodden, not unlike repeated coats of paint on a rough surface, serves to cover up the unevenness of the bottom, which in time becomes very smooth and even. And besides, no street in all our cities is so beautifully studded with trees, whose spreading branches affectionately interlace, forming graceful archways above. Along this road side, on the way to the landing, runs a serpentine pathway for the "knight of the goad," whose deviations are marked now outside this tree, then behind that "windfall," now again intercepting the main road, skipping along like a dog at one's side. To pass along this road in mid-winter, one would hardly suspect the deformities which the dissolving snows reveal in the spring--the stumps and knolls, skids and roots, with a full share of mud-sloughs, impassable to all except man, or animals untrammeled with the harness. In the process of making these roads, the first thing in order is to look out the best location for them. This is done by an experienced hand, who "spots" the trees where he wishes the road to be "swamped." We usually begin at the landing, and cut back toward the principal part of the timber to be hauled. In constructing this road, first all the underbrush is cut and thrown on one side; all trees standing in its range are cut close to the ground, and the trunks of prostrated trees cut off and thrown out, leaving a space from ten to twelve feet wide. The tops of the highest knolls are scraped off, and small poles, called skids, are laid across the road in the hollows between. Where a brook or slough occurs, a pole-bridge is thrown across it. These preparatory arrangements are entered upon and prosecuted with a degree of interest and pleasure by lumbermen scarcely credible to those unacquainted with such a mode of life and with such business. Though not altogether unacquainted with other occupations and other sources of enjoyment, still, to such scenes my thoughts run back for the happier portions of life and experience. I have attended to various kinds of labor, but never have I entered upon any half so pleasing as that usually performed in the "logging swamp." Although greatly jeoparding my reputation for taste, I will utter it. Positively, it is delightful. I have since had some years' experience in one of the professions, in the enjoyment of some of the refinements of life, yet, if it could be done consistently, I would now with eagerness exchange my house for the logging camp, my books for the ax, and the city full for those wilderness solitudes whose delightful valleys and swelling ridges give me Nature uncontaminated--I had almost said, uncursed, fresh from the hand of the Creator. To write of those things makes the bustling city seem dull and irksome. Fain would I hie away once more to those pleasant pastime labors. Happily, all tastes are not alike. Yet there are few who, on entering a beautiful native forest, would not experience delight; the varieties of trees set out by the hand of Nature, their graceful forms and spreading branches interlocked with neighborly affection and recognition; the _harmonious confusion_ of undergrowth; the beautiful mosses, the ever-varying surface--old age, manhood and youth, childhood and infancy--massive trunks and little sprouts; the towering Pine and creeping Winter-green, intermingled by the artless genii of these wild retreats, all combined, serve to explain the _attachment_ of the Aborigines to their forest abodes, and give to savage life the power of enchantment. CHAPTER IV. Tokens of Winter.--The Anticipation.--Introduction of Team.-- Difficulties attending it.--Uncomfortable Boating.--The Contrast.--Method of crossing Streams and Rivers.--The Docility of the Ox.--Facilities of Turnpikes.--Stopping-places.--Arrival. --An Adventure.--Ten Oxen in the Ice.--Method of taking them Out. --An uncomfortable Night.--The midnight Excursion.--Oxen running at large in the Wilderness.--Developments of Memory.--Logging.-- Division of Labor.--How to manage in the absence of a Cook.-- "Uncle Nat."--Anecdote.--Felling Pines.--Ingenuity of Choppers. --Preparatory Arrangements.--The Bob-sled.--Method of Operation described.--The Excitement.--Comparison.--Immediate Length of Pine-trees.--Conclusion. By the time these arrangements are made, serious indications of winter appear in cold, freezing nights and light falls of snow. It is now about time to look for the arrival of the team and extra hands. This event we anticipate with as much interest as voyagers are wont to feel when they meet upon the ocean after several months at sea. Letters and newspapers are expected, and, when received, perused with avidity. New acquaintances are to be made, new tools to be examined, and every thing foreign, however insignificant, is an object of interest. The introduction of the team to winter quarters is always attended with more or less trouble: much less, however, of late than in former years. Then, all the chains and other implements connected with the business, together with provisions for the crew and provender for the oxen, enough to last until the swamps, rivers, and lakes were frozen, so as to allow teams to pass over them, were boated in the manner described in a former chapter, which required many trips, and were continued until a late period in the fall. To the latest trips an additional and most uncomfortable inconvenience is added to the many hardships of boating provisions. This is when the ice makes on our poles while in the act of passing up over rapids. Often our hands become so cold and stiff as to render it very difficult to hold on to the icy instrument. The mariner may stop a moment, even in a gale, while at the yard-arm, to blow his freezing fingers; but not so with the lumberman with a loaded boat in a rapid current: every finger is needed every moment, as life and property would be endangered by paying even slight attention to cold fingers. Where the nature of the route will allow it, and an early start is desired, our teams are attached to a long sled, lightly loaded, which is dragged over miry, rough roads. In crossing large streams, we unyoke the oxen and swim them over. If we have no boat, a raft is constructed, upon which our effects are transported, when we re-yoke and pursue our route as before. Our oxen are often very reluctant to enter the water while the anchor ice runs, and the cold has already begun to congeal its surface. But an ox hardly knows how to refuse compliance with his master's wishes, so submissive is he in his disposition. Of late, since roads have been cut, and even "turnpikes" made a considerable portion of the distance up the main rivers, such as the "Calais and Houlton Road" on the St. Croix, and the "Military Road" on the Penobscot, which connect with other less perfect thoroughfares, and finally terminate in common swamp roads, our conveyances are much easier, and the business of taking the team on to the ground is, and may be safely, deferred until frosts and snows admit of a more agreeable mode of travel. What is called a team is variously composed of from four to six, and even eight oxen. During the months of November and December, after the ground and swamps are frozen, and early snows fall, our team is attached to a "long sled," loaded with provisions, tools, &c., accompanied with a new recruit of hands. Leaving home and the scenes of civilization, slowly we move forward to join those who had preceded us to make preparations for our reception. After several days' journeyings, putting up at night at places erected and supplied for the convenience of such travelers, and at suitable distances on the route, we finally reach our new home. Our arrival is no less agreeable to ourselves than welcome to our comrades. But there are incidents scattered all the way along, and seldom do we perform such a journey without experiencing something worth relating. On one occasion, late in the fall, we started for our winter quarters up river. We had traveled about one hundred miles, passing along up the military road, then south upon the Calais road to Baskahegan Lake, which we were to cross, our camps being on the opposite side. We reached the borders of the lake late in the afternoon. The ice was not so thickly frozen as was anticipated, so that the practicability of crossing seemed exceedingly problematical. Having been long on the way, we were anxious, if possible, to arrive in camp that night. The shores of the lake were so swampy that it was deemed impracticable to perform the route around it, and it was finally determined to make an effort to cross upon the ice. We had twelve oxen, which were disposed of in the following order: the lightest yoke of oxen was selected and driven in yoke before to test the strength of the ice, and, in case the loaded teams should break through, to be used to pull them out. These were our reserve. The next in the line of march was a pair of oxen attached to a sled, with hay, &c. Next in order was a four-ox team; these were also attached to a sled, loaded with hay and provisions; and, finally, to bring up the rear, still another four-ox team, with a loaded sled--all of which were strung out at suitable distances, to prevent too much weight coming upon any one point, thus rendering our passage more safe. The word was given, when we all moved forward, intending first to gain a point which ran out into the lake, covered with a thick small growth. The ice cracked and buckled beneath our feet at every step. Proceeding in this way, we gained the point in safety. It had by this time become late, and the last rays of the setting sun gilded the tops of the towering pines, which peered far up in the air above the surrounding forest. The night was very cold, and the wind swept up the lake with a penetrating chill, which made us button up our garments closely to prevent its too ready access to our bodies. Having gained the point in safety, we were emboldened to set forward again upon the main body of the lake, which was yet to be crossed. Here the ice seemed less capable of sustaining our weight than in the cove, which, from its protected position, had probably congealed sooner than the main lake, which was more exposed to the action of winds. Here the ice gave more alarming indications of its incapacity to hold us. We had not proceeded more than three fourths of a mile when the hindermost team broke through, sled and all, which was very naturally accounted for, as the teams which preceded cracked and weakened the ice. The alarm was given along the line, when the other teams stopped; and while we were preparing to extricate those already in, the next team of four oxen dropped in also; and finally they were all in at once, except the reserve pair. Had they kept in motion, probably the foremost teams might have escaped; but, upon stopping, the ice gradually settled, when in they went. There we were on that bleak spot, with the shades of night fast settling down upon us, and ten oxen struggling in the benumbing waters: business enough, thought we. Standing upon the edge of the ice, a man was placed by the side of each ox to keep his head out of the water. We unyoked one at a time, and, throwing a rope round the roots of his horns, the warp was carried forward and attached to the little oxen, whose services on this occasion were very necessary. A strong man was placed on the ice at the edge, so that, lifting the ox by his horns, he was able to press the ice down and raise his shoulder up on the edge, when the warp-oxen would pull them out. For half an hour we had a lively time of it, and in an almost incredible short time we had them all safely out, and drove them back upon the point nearly a mile. It was now very dark. We left our sleds in the water with the hay, pulling out a few armsful, which we carried to the shore to rub the oxen down with. Poor fellows! they seemed nearly chilled to death, while they shook as if they would fall to pieces. We built up a large fire, and, leaving the principal part of the crew behind to take care of the oxen, I, with several of the hands, started to find, if possible, the camps, where were waiting those who had been previously engaged in making arrangements for the winter. This was esteemed by some rather risky, as it was getting very dark, and we did not know exactly which way to shape our course. But the prospect seemed gloomy and uninviting to remain upon that bleak point all night, and, besides, we wished the assistance of the camp's crew in taking our teams over next day. Delay was not to be thought of. We therefore started. A squall of snow came up when we were midway across, which completely bewildered us, and we became divided in opinion as to the proper course to steer. Tenacious of my own views, I resolved to pursue the course which appeared to me right, when the others consented to follow. Finally, after several hours of hard travel, we gained the shore, not far from the road which led back to the camp, about half a mile distant in the woods. We were here, again, puzzled to know whether the camp lay at the right or left. Settling that matter by guess, as Yankees often do other things, we traveled along by the shore about one fourth of a mile, when, to our great relief, we came to the road, up which we passed, and reached the camp a little after midnight, hungry and fatigued. We found our comrades snugly quartered and soundly sleeping. Refreshing ourselves with hot tea, bread, and beef, we turned in and slept until daylight, when, after breakfast, all hands started to rejoin those left behind. We were with them in a few hours. Poor fellows! they had had a pretty uncomfortable season, not one moment's sleep during the night, and scantily provided with food, while the oxen fared harder still. We succeeded in getting out of the ice all but one load of hay, which we left behind. Not venturing to cross directly, we now followed round the lake, close in shore, and finally reached our winter quarters in safety, and without further accident. The task of taking oxen on to the ground every fall is very considerable, especially when we go far into the interior, as we frequently do nearly two hundred miles. This labor and expense is sometimes obviated by leaving them in the spring to shift for themselves in the wilderness and on the meadows, where they remain until autumn, when they are hunted up. During their wilderness exile they thrive finely, and, when found, appear very wild; yet wondering, they seem to look at us as though they had some lingering recollection of having seen us before. It is often very difficult to catch and yoke them; but, with all their wildness, they evidently show signs of pleasure in the recognition. When turned out in this way, however, instances have occurred when they have never again been seen or heard from. In some cases they probably get mired or cast, and die; in others, they doubtless stray away, and fall a prey to bears and wolves. Bears as well as wolves have been known to attack oxen. An individual who owned a very fine "six-ox team" turned them into the woods to browse, in a new region of country. Late in the evening, his attention was arrested by the bellowing of one of them. It continued for an hour or two, then ceased altogether. The night was very dark, and, as the ox was supposed to be more than a mile distant, it was thought not advisable to venture in search of him until morning. As soon as daylight appeared, he started, in company with another man, to investigate the cause of the uproar. Passing on about a mile, he found one of his best oxen laying prostrate, and, on examination, there was found a hole eaten into the thickest part of his hind quarter nearly as large as a hat; not less than six or eight pounds of flesh were gone. He had bled profusely. The ground was torn up for rods around where the encounter occurred; the tracks indicated the assailant to be a very large bear, who had probably worried the ox out, and then satiated his ravenous appetite, feasting upon him while yet alive. A road was bushed out to the spot where the poor creature lay, and he was got upon a sled and hauled home by a yoke of his companions, where the wound was dressed. It never, however, entirely healed, though it was so far improved as to allow of his being fattened, after which he was slaughtered for food. After a few days' respite, and as soon as a sufficient quantity of snow has fallen, we commence hauling the logs. As there are several departments of labor, each man is assigned to some one of them. In most cases, indeed, every hand is hired with the distinct understanding that he is to perform a particular part of the labor, and the wages differ accordingly, being regulated, also, by the ability with which they can severally fill those stations. First, then, comes the "boss," or the principal in charge. Then the choppers, meaning those who select, fell, and cut the logs, one of whom is master chopper. Next the swampers, who cut and clear the roads through the forest to the fallen trees, one of whom is master swamper. Then comes the barker and loader, the man who hews off the bark from that part of the log which is to drag on the snow, and assists the teamster in loading. Then we have the captain of the göad, or teamster, whom we have already alluded to; and finally the cook, whose duty is too generally known to require any particular description. Every crew is not supplied with the last important character; this deficiency, I believe, is much more common on the St. Croix than on the Penobscot, where the mode of camp life and fare is much better attended to. When we have no person specially set apart to this work, the crew generally take turns, to do which there is an obligation imposed by usage and common consent on some rivers, and each man, therefore, must comply, or furnish a substitute by employing some one to act for him. In those instances where no cook is provided, we take turns, a week at a time, or each man consents to perform some particular duty in cookery; for instance, one makes all the bread, another the tea and coffee, and so on through the routine of camp domesticism. A slight degree of rebellion sometimes manifests itself touching this business, especially before matters receive their regular winter mold. One refuses to cook, another says he "was hired to do something else," while another says, "I'm d--d if I cook any how." I recollect a pleasant occurrence of this kind, at least one rendered so by the clever management of an old man connected with the crew. They had returned to camp from the labors of the day, the fire was nearly out, and nothing prepared for supper. Alike fatigued and hungry, each refused, in turn, to discharge the duties of cook, and the gloomy prospect presented itself of a supperless night. "Uncle Nat," as we familiarly called him, was a "jolly old soul," the very personification of good nature, corpulency, and quietude, possessing, withal, a good share of ingenious wit; and, from his corpulency and asthmatical tendencies, reminding one of a small locomotive by the puffing and blowing consequent on physical exertion. Now how to settle this matter, and have even any number of volunteer cooks, at once occurred to "Uncle Nat." "Dear me" (his favorite expression), "what a time about cooking. Why, it is the easiest thing in nature to get supper. Now, boys, if you will all wait upon me, I'll be cook." "Agreed! agreed!" was the ready response on all hands. This matter being settled, "Uncle Nat" very deliberately deposited himself on the "deacon seat," and commenced drilling the volunteer assistants. "Now, Richard, get a little wood and kindle up the fire." "Isaac, step down to the brook and fetch a pail of water;" "and you, Mac, while the fire is getting under way, wash a few potatoes, and get them ready to put on when the pot boils." "Now, Jake, cut a few slices of pork," continued our chief cook, with much sang froid, "and put it over the fire to fry." "But you were to get supper, Uncle Nat." "Yes, I was to get supper, but you were to wait upon me," says he, casting a significant glance toward Tom, at the same time ordering him to make the dishes ready. Remonstrance was vain: they had agreed to wait upon him, if he would be cook. Every thing was arranged, supper ready, and there still sat the old gentleman--hadn't stirred an inch. "Dear me" (deep breathing), "dear me," said Uncle Nat, "I have got supper, and 'twas one of the easiest things in the world." The "boys" are caught--it was a "good 'un;" and to the enjoyment of a relishable supper was added a hearty laugh. Uncle Nat's proposition passed into a by-word, and all, ever after, were ready to do any thing, provided they could be "waited upon." In the process of taking logs to the landing from the swamp, the first thing in order is to select the tree. The direction in which it is judged likely to fall is determined by circumstances. First, the inclination of the tree as it stands; and, second, the direction and power of the wind. Sometimes this matter may be governed, where the tree stands very erect, by under-cutting one side more than the other; to which an expedient is added, when necessary, by falling one tree against another. Choppers can, if skillful, lay a tree, in falling, with sufficient accuracy to hit and drive a stake into the ground. When, however, a tree stands upon an abrupt hill-side, we are apt to get deceived. It is thrilling business to bring those giant Pines down. The ground trembles under the stroke, while the reverberating echo of its fall, as it rings through mountains and valleys, may, on a still morning, be heard six or eight miles. Before felling the Pine, small trees are cut for bed-pieces, the Pine-tree falling across them transversely, to prevent it from becoming too deeply imbedded in the snow. This also facilitates the barking and loading operation. The proper place being selected, the trunk of the tree is cut off while the "swampers" have been directing their road to the spot. The "barkers"--like whalemen leaping upon the back of their prize with their cutting spades--are at once at work with their axes, hewing the bark from that portion of the log which is to be drawn along on the snow, while the other end is to rest upon the sled. The "teams" next approach the scene of action, drawing after them a short sled, called a "bob-sled;" probably so named from the bobbing motion it has while drawn over the rough ground. It would be an insult to every New Englander's intelligence to attempt a description of this sled; I therefore pass it, remarking, by-the-way, that, considering the service for which it is designed, it is made very strong, as it is required to sustain one end, or more than half the weight of the largest trees upon a single bar: in some cases several tuns burden rest upon a single point. While this bar alone sustains one half the entire log, it is also the only part of the sled to which the heavy trunks of those massive trees are bound; it therefore draws as well as sustains the load, challenging the powers of six and even eight of the stoutest oxen. [Illustration: LOG HAULING--PROCESS OF LOADING LOGS.] In the process of loading, the bob-sled is placed several feet from the side of that end of the log which is to be placed upon it. Then a large skid, from four to eight inches in diameter and several feet in length, is placed near the large bar running under the log. A chain is next attached to the bar, passing now under, then over the log, back to the sled, crossing it. It is then attached by other chains to one or two yoke of oxen, whose united strength is requisite to roll one end of it upon this big bar, to which it is bound with strong, heavy chains. Of late, the tackle and fall has been introduced in loading, which very much facilitates the operation. The six oxen are now attached to the sled, one pair of them to the tongue; the others are attached by chains in advance as leaders. The teamster now arranges every ox in the most advantageous position, passing through several evolutions with his goad-stick; then giving the word of command, they settle to it. Slowly it moves forward, while the vociferations of the animated teamster, the squatting-like posture of the hard-drawn team, indicate the importance and interest of the occasion; and the bob-sled, as though it were a thing of life, actually screams out at every joint as if in keenest agony beneath its ponderous load. The reader has perhaps been present at a "launching;" the nervous emotions experienced in the process described, including the felling of the gigantic Pines, the skidding and hauling, quite equal those awakened at the launching of a vessel. This process is gone through with several times each day during the winter (Sundays excepted); really it is like going to launching every day, and the pleasurable excitement of the labor renders it extremely delightful to most who are engaged in it. The general custom is to take the whole trunk of the tree to the landing at one load, when its size will allow, where it is sawed into short logs from fourteen to thirty feet in length, to facilitate the driving down river. I have cut one tree into five logs, the shortest of which was not less than fourteen feet. I have seen them hauled eighty-two feet in length, resembling, in their passage to the landing, immense serpents crawling from their lurking-places. Thus we continue to fell, clear, and haul until the "clump" is exhausted, and our attention is again directed to another school of these forest whales, and so on until our winter's work is completed. Formerly, Pine-trees grew in abundance on the banks of rivers and streams, and the margins of those wild lakes found in the interior. Thousands were cut and rolled into the water, or on the ice, and perhaps a much larger number were so near the landing as to require merely to be dragged out, thus avoiding the labor of loading, in which case, from the massive size of the trees, it was necessary to cut them into short logs. Such opportunities, however, for lumber have gone by, and the greater portion has now to be hauled from a considerable distance. A greater scarcity is too evidently at hand, though, were every Pine-tree sound and good, no end to the quantity might yet be thought of; for, notwithstanding the immense quantities cut, and the devastating fires by which hundreds of millions have been destroyed, on some rivers it still abounds, but a large portion of Pine is found in a rotten and decayed state at heart. Having long since come to maturity, that peculiar process which makes its impress upon all earthly objects, _decay_, is nowhere more general in its depredations than among the noble Pines in the north and east. There is a cancerous disease peculiar to the Pine-tree, to which lumbermen give the original name of "_Conk_" or "_Konkus_." The manifestation of this disease on the outside of the tree, usually several feet from the butt-end, is a small spot of a brown color, sometimes resembling gingerbread in appearance and texture, protruding as a general thing only to the surface, and varying in size from a ninepence to the crown of a hat. In some clumps of Pine, all that indicates the presence of this disease is a little yellow pitch starting out through the bark and trickling down the outside. The uninitiated would be led to suspect but little, if indeed any, harm from an appearance so slight and unnoticeable as that presented by the konkus. It exerts no influence either upon the size or beautiful proportions of the tree, as those most seriously affected, in outward appearances, are as handsomely grown as the most perfect, which leads to the conclusion that the disease does not much affect them until quite mature. On cutting one of these trees, the infection is found to spread itself, more or less, throughout the trunk, turning the wood to a reddish color, making it spongy in texture; and while the fibrous portions of the wood retain their thread-like straightness, the marrowy portion or flesh-like membranes, and intermediate layers between the fibers, appear dry and of a milky whiteness. Sometimes the rot shoots upward, in imitation of the streaming light of the Aurora Borealis; in others downward, and even both ways, preserving the same appearance. Large families, and even communities of the Pine, are thus infected, so that in a group of thirty trees perhaps not more than half a dozen short logs can be obtained. Frauds are sometimes practiced upon those who purchase logs, by driving a knot or piece of a limb of the same tree into the konkus and hewing it off smoothly, so that it has the appearance of a natural knot, but the dissecting process at the saw-mill exposes the imposition. Much of this timber is hollow at the butt, affording in some instances fine winter retreats for bears, where they den. We have a high time of it when we chance to make such a discovery. "A few rods from the main logging road, where I worked one winter," said Mr. Johnson, "there stood a very large Pine-tree. We had nearly completed our winter's work, and it still stood unmolested, because from appearances it was supposed to be worthless. While passing it one day, not quite satisfied with the decision that had been made upon its quality, I resolved to satisfy my own mind touching its value; so, wallowing to it through the snow, which was nearly up to my middle, I struck it several blows with the head of my ax, an experiment to test whether a tree be hollow or not. When I desisted, my attention was arrested by a slight scratching and whining. "Suspecting the cause, but not quite satisfied, I thumped the tree again, listening more attentively, and heard the same noise as before: it was a bear's den. Examining the tree more closely, I discovered a small hole in the trunk, near the roots, with a rim of ice on the edge of the orifice, made by the freezing of the breath and vapor from the inmates. "Satisfied now of the character of the prisoners, I communicated my discovery at once to the rest of the crew, who immediately left their work and ran like a pack of hounds, jumping and leaping through the deep snow. We kicked the snow away from the roots to learn the place of entrée, which we plugged up with bits of wood, after removing the frozen dirt and turf with which it was closed. We next cut a hole into the tree, about four feet from the ground, some eight or ten inches in diameter; into this a pole was thrust, to 'stir them up' and prepare them to thrust their heads out below when the hole should be opened again. "Having annoyed them sufficiently to induce them to attempt an egress from the passage below, the obstacles were removed, after stationing two men, one on either side, with their axes to dispatch them--when the old bear thrust out her head. A severe wound was inflicted, which sent her back growling and gnashing her teeth. Again thrusting the pole through the upper aperture, we punched and jibed her for some minutes before she could be induced to make a second effort to escape; when she did, she was met as before, receiving a second and more deadly wound, which was succeeded with less furious demonstrations of rage than before. A third effort was made to drive them out, but there was no response save the piteous crying of small cubs. We then cut a small hard-wood tree, trimmed off the branches, leaving one prong about six inches long, sharpened out, forming a hook. Enlarging the aperture below, we thrust in the wooden hook, which grappled a heavy but resistless carcass. With much exertion we drew it forth: she was dead. The cubs, four in number--a thing unusual by one half--we took alive, and carried them to the camp, kept them a while, and finally sold them. They were quite small and harmless, of a most beautiful lustrous black, and fat as porpoises. The old dam was uncommonly large; we judged she might weigh about three hundred pounds. Her hide, when stretched out and nailed on to the end of the camp, appeared quite equal to a cow's hide in dimensions." Here in our wild winter quarters, where we delight to dwell during a period of from three to four months, we find much to interest and amuse--much to do, for an equal amount of labor is rarely performed within the same time under any other circumstances, and I may add, too, with less fatigue or disrelish. With incident, romance, story, song, and adventure, time passes rapidly away. CHAPTER V. The Skill and Enterprise of Lumbermen.--Method of taking Logs down Hills and Mountains.--Dry Sluice.--Stern Anchor.--Giant Mountain Steps.--Alpine Lumbering.--Warping a Team down Steeps.--Trial of Skill and Strength.--The rival Load.--Danger and Inconvenience of Hills in Logging Roads.--A distressing Accident.--Solemn Conclusion of a Winter's Work.--Some of the Perils attendant upon Lumbering.--A fearful Wound.--Narrow Escape.--The buried Cap.--The safest Way of Retreat.--A Sabbath in the Logging Camp.--Sunday Morning Naps.-- Domestic Camp Duties.--Letter Writing.--Recreations.--Sable Traps.--Deer and Moose.--Bear Meat.--A rare Joke.--Moose Hunt. --Bewildered Hunters.--Extraordinary Encounter.--Conclusion of Sabbath in the Woods. Lumbermen not only cut and haul from clumps and communities, but reconnoiter the forest, hill, vale, and mountain side for scattering trees; and when they are deemed _worth_ an _effort_, no location in which they may be found, however wild or daring, can oppose the skill and enterprise of our men. For taking logs down mountain sides, we adopt various methods, according to the circumstances. Sometimes we construct what are termed dry sluice-ways, which reach from the upper edge of a precipice down to the base of the hill. This is made by laying large poles or trunks of straight trees together the whole distance, which is so constructed as to keep the log from running off at the sides. Logs are rolled into the upper end, the descent or dip often being very steep; the log passes on with lightning-like velocity, quite burying itself in the snow and leaves below. From the roughness of the surfaces, the friction is very great, causing the bark and smoke to fly plentifully. At other times, when the descent is more gradual and not too steep, and when there is not a sufficient quantity to pay the expense of a sluice-way, we fell a large tree, sometimes the Hemlock, trim out the top, and cut the largest limbs off a foot, more or less, from the trunk. This is attached to the end of the log by strong chains, and as the oxen draw the load, this drag thrusts its stumpy limbs into the snow and frozen earth, and thus prevents the load from forcing the team forward too rapidly. Should the chain give way which attaches the hold-back to the load, nothing could save the team from sudden destruction. There is a mountain on the "west branch" of the Penobscot where Pine-trees of excellent quality stand far up its sides, whose tops appear to sweep the very clouds. The side which furnishes timber rises in terraces of gigantic proportions, forming a succession of abrupt precipices and shelving table-land. There are three of these giant mountain steps, each of which produces lumber which challenges the admiration and enterprise of the logmen. The ascent to these Alpine groves is too abrupt to allow the team to ascend in harness; we therefore unyoke and drive the oxen up winding pathways. The yokes and chains are carried up by the workmen, and also the bob-sled in pieces, after taking it apart. Ascending to the uppermost terrace, the oxen are re-yoked and the sled adjusted. The logs being cut and prepared as usual, are loaded, and hauled to the edge of the first precipice, unloaded, and rolled off to the table of the second terrace, where they are again loaded, hauled, and tumbled off as before, to the top of the first rise, from which they are again pitched down to the base of the mountain, where for the last time they are loaded, and hauled to the landing. To obtain logs in such romantic locations was really as hazardous as it was laborious, varying sufficiently from the usual routine of labor to invest the occasion with no ordinary interest. It was, indeed, an exhibition well calculated to awaken thrilling emotions to witness the descent of those massive logs, breaking and shivering whatever might obstruct their giddy plunge down the steep mountain side, making the valleys reverberate and ring merrily with the concussion. In other instances loads are eased down hill sides by the use of "tackle and fall," or by a strong "warp," taking a "bite" round a tree, and hitching to one yoke of the oxen. In this manner the load is "tailed down" steeps where it would be impossible for the "tongue oxen" to resist the pressure of the load. Sometimes the warp parts under the test to which it is thus subjected, when the whole load plunges onward like an avalanche, subjecting the poor oxen to a shocking death. But the circumstance which calls forth the most interest and exertion is the "rival load." When teams are located with sufficient proximity to admit of convenient intercourse, a spirit of rivalry is often rife between the different crews, on various points. The "largest tree," the "smartest chopper," the "best cook," the "greatest day's work," and a score of other superlatives, all invested with attractions, the greater from the isolated circumstances of swamp life. The "crack" load is preceded by all needful preliminaries. All defective places in the road are repaired. New "skids" are nicely pealed by hewing off the bark smoothly, and plentifully as well as calculatingly laid along the road. All needful repairs are made on the bob-sled, and the team put in contending plight. The trees intended for the "big load" are carefully prepared, and hauled to some convenient place on the main road singly, where they are reloaded, putting on two and sometimes three large trees. All things in readiness, the men follow up with hand-spikes and long levers. Then comes the "tug of war;" rod by rod, or foot by foot, the whole is moved forward, demanding every ounce of strength, both of men and oxen united, to perform the feat of getting it to the landing. Were life and fortune at stake, more could not be done under the circumstances. The surveyor applies the rule, and the result gives either the one or the other party "whereof to glory." If not "teetotalers," the vanquished "pay the bitters" when they get down river. Men love and will have excitement; with spirits never more buoyant, every thing, however trifling, adds to the stock of "fun alive" in the woods. Every crew has its "Jack," who, in the absence of other material, either from his store of "mother-wit" or "greenness," contributes to the merry shaking of sides, or allows himself to be the butt of good-natured ridicule. But while the greater part of swamp life is more or less merry, there are occasional interruptions to the joyousness that abounds. Logging roads are generally laid out with due regard to the conveniences of level or gently descending ground. But in some instances the unevenness of the country admits only of unfavorable alternatives. Sometimes there are moderate rises to ascend or descend on the way to the landing; the former are hard, the latter dangerous to the team. I knew a teamster to lose his life in the following shocking manner: On one section of the main road there was quite a "smart pitch" of considerable length, on which the load invariably "drove" the team along on a forced trot. Down this slope our teamster had often passed without sustaining any injury to himself or oxen. One day, having, as usual, taken his load from the stump, he proceeded toward the landing, soon passing out of sight and hearing. Not making his appearance at the expiration of the usual time, it was suspected that something more than usual had detained him. Obeying the impulses of a proper solicitude on his behalf, some of the hands started to render service if it were needed. Coming to the head of the hill down which the road ran, they saw the team at the foot of it, standing with the forward oxen faced about up the road, but no teamster. On reaching the spot, a most distressing spectacle presented itself; there lay the teamster on the hard road, with one of the sled runners directly across his bowels, which, under the weight of several tons of timber, were pressed down to the thickness of a man's hand. He was still alive, and when they called out to him, just before reaching the sled, he spoke up as promptly as usual, "Here am I," as if nothing had been the matter. These were the only and last words he ever uttered. A "pry" was immediately set, which raised the dead-fall from his crushed body, enabling them to extricate it from its dreadful position. Shortly after, his consciousness left him, and never more returned. He could give no explanation; but we inferred, from the position of the forward oxen, that the load had forced the team into a run, by which the tongue cattle, pressed by the leaders, turning them round, which probably threw the teamster under the runner, and the whole load stopped when about to poise over his body. He was taken to the camp, where all was done that could be, under the circumstances, to save him, but to no purpose. His work was finished. He still lingered, in an apparently unconscious state, until midnight, when his spirit, forsaking its bruised and crushed tenement, ascended above the sighing pines, and entered the eternal state. The only words he uttered were those in reply to the calling of his name. As near as we could judge, he had laid two hours in the position in which he was found. It was astonishing to see how he had gnawed the rave[8] of the sled. It was between three and four inches through. In his agony, he had bitten it nearly half off. To do this, he must have pulled himself up with his hands, gnawed a while, then fallen back again through exhaustion and in despair. He was taken out to the nearest settlement, and buried. [8] "Rave," the railing of the sled. At a later period, we lost our teamster by an accident not altogether dissimilar. It was at the winding up of our winter's work in hauling. Late in the afternoon we had felled and prepared our final tree, which was to finish the last of the numerous loads which had been taken to the well-stowed landing. Wearied with the frequency of his travels on the same road for the same purpose, this last load was anticipated with no ordinary interest; and when the tree was loaded, he seemed to contemplate it with profound satisfaction. "This," said he, "is my last load." For the last time the team was placed in order, to drag from its bed the tree of a hundred summers. Onward it moved at the signal given, and he was soon lost to view in the frequent windings of the forest road. It was nearly sundown, and, had it not been for closing up the winter's work that day, the hauling would have been deferred until next morning. The usual preparations for our evening camp-fire had been made, and the thick shadows of evening had been gathering for an hour, and yet he did not come. Again and again some one of the crew would step out to listen if he could catch the jingling of the chains as they were hauled along; but nothing broke upon the ear in the stillness of the early night. Unwilling longer to resist the solicitude entertained for his safety, several of us started with a lantern for the landing. We continued to pass on, every moment expecting to hear or meet him, until the landing was finally reached. There, quietly chewing the cud, the oxen were standing, unconscious of the cause that detained them, or that for the last time they had heard the well-known voice of their devoted master. Hastening along, we found the load properly rolled off the sled, but heavens! what a sight greeted our almost unbelieving vision! There lay the poor fellow beneath that terrible pressure. A log was resting across his crushed body. He was dead. From appearances, we judged that, after having knocked out the "fid," which united the chain that bound the load, the log rolled suddenly upon him. Thus, without a moment's warning, he ceased in the same instant to work and live. It proved, indeed, his "last load." To contemplate the sameness of the labor in passing to and fro from the swamp to the landing several times a day, on a solitary wilderness-road, for a term of several months, with only those respites afforded in stormy weather and on Sundays, one might think himself capable of entering into the feelings of a teamster, and sympathetically share with him the pleasurable emotions consequent upon the conclusion of his winter's work. While it must be conceded that, of things possessing every element capable of contributing pleasure, we sometimes weary through excess, let it not be supposed that our knight of the goad has more than usual occasion to tire, or sigh for the conclusion of the hauling season. To be sure, "ta and fra" the livelong winter, now with a load wending along a serpentine road, as it winds through the forest, he repeats his visits to the swamp, and then the landing; but he is relieved by the companionship of his dumb but docile oxen, for whom he contracts an affection, and over whom he exercises the watchful vigilance of a faithful guardian, while he exacts their utmost service. He sees that each performs his duty in urging forward the laboring sled. He watches every hoof, the clatter of shoes, the step of each ox, to detect any lameness. He observes every part and joint of the bob-sled while it screeches along under the massive log bound to it. He examines the chains, lest they should part, and, above all, the objects more watched than any others, the "fid-hook" and the "dog-hook," the former that it does not work out, the latter that it loose not its grappling hold upon the tree. Sometimes his little journeys are spiced with the infinite trouble which a long, sweeping stick will give him, by suddenly twirling and oversetting the sled every time it poises over some abrupt swell in the road. There is really too much to be looked after, thought of, and cared for in his passage to the landing to allow much listlessness or burdensome leisure. As well might a pilot indulge irresponsible dormancy in taking a fine ship into port, as for a teamster to be listless under his circumstances. No; the fact is, that, with the excitement attendant upon each load as it moves to the landing, ten times the number of tobacco quids are required than would abundantly suffice him on his return. Then look at the relaxation and comfort of the return. The jingling chains, as they trail along on the hard-beaten way, discourse a constant chorus. With his goad-stick under his arm or as a staff, he leisurely walks along, musing as he goes, emitting from his mouth the curling smoke of his unfailing pipe, like a walking chimney or a locomotive; anon whistling, humming, or pouring forth with full-toned voice some favorite air or merry-making ditty. He varies the whole exercise by constant addresses to the oxen, individually and collectively: "Haw, Bright!" "Ge, Duke!" "Whoap! whoap!" "What ye 'bout there, you lazy----" "If I come there, I'll tan your old hides for you!" "Pchip, pschip, go along there!" Knowing him not half in earnest, unless it happens to be a sharp day, the oxen keep on the even tenor of their way, enjoying the only apparent comfort an ox can enjoy while away from his crib--chewing the cud. Recently, however, the wolves have volunteered their services, by accompanying the teams, in some places, on their way to and from the landing, contributing infinitely more to the fears than conscious security of the teamsters. Three teams, in the winter of 1844, all in the same neighborhood, were beset with these ravenous animals. They were of unusually large size, manifesting a most singular boldness, and even familiarity, without the usual appearance of ferocity so characteristic of the animal. Sometimes one, and in another instance three, in a most unwelcome manner, volunteered their attendance, accompanying the teamster a long distance on his way. They would even jump on the log and ride, and approach very near the oxen. One of them actually jumped upon the sled, and down between the bars, while the sled was in motion. Some of the teamsters were much alarmed, keeping close to the oxen, and driving on as fast as possible. Others, more courageous, would run toward and strike at them with their goad-sticks; but the wolves sprang out of the way in an instant. But, although they seemed to act without a motive, there was something so cool and impudent in their conduct that it was trying to the nerves--even more so than an active encounter. For some time after this, fire-arms were a constant part of the teamster's equipage. No further molestation, however, was had from them that season. One of my neighbors related, in substance, the following incidents: "A short time since," said he, "while passing along the shores of the Mattawamkeag River in the winter, my attention was suddenly attracted by a distant howling and screaming--a noise which might remind one of the screeching of forty pair of old cart-wheels (to use the figure of an old hunter in describing the distant howling of a pack of wolves). Presently there came dashing from the forest upon the ice, a short distance from me, a timid deer, closely pursued by a hungry pack of infuriated wolves. I stood and observed them. The order of pursuit was in single file, until they came quite near their prey, when they suddenly branched off to the right and left, forming two lines; the foremost gradually closed in upon the poor deer, until he was completely surrounded, when, springing upon their victim, they instantly bore him to the ice, and in an incredibly short space of time devoured him, leaving the bones only; after which they galloped into the forest and disappeared." On the same river a pack of these prowling marauders were seen just at night, trailing along down river on the ice. A family living in a log house near by happened to have some poison, with which they saturated some bits of meat, and then threw them out upon the ice. Next morning early the meat was missing, and, on making a short search in the vicinity, six wolves were found "dead as hammers," all within sight of each other. Every one of them had dug a hole down through the snow into the frozen earth, in which they had thrust their noses, either for water to quench the burning thirst produced by the poison, or to snuff some antidote to the fatal drug. A bounty was obtained, on each, of ten dollars, besides their hides, making a fair job of it, as well as ridding the neighborhood of an annoying enemy. The following account of a wolf-chase will interest the reader: "During the winter of 1844, being engaged in the northern part of Maine, I had much leisure to devote to the wild sports of a new country. To none of these was I more passionately addicted than that of skating. The deep and sequestered lakes of this northern state, frozen by intense cold, present a wide field to the lovers of this pastime. Often would I bind on my rusty skates, and glide away up the glittering river, and wind each mazy streamlet that flowed on toward the parent ocean, and feel my very pulse bound with joyous exercise. It was during one of these excursions that I met with an adventure which, even at this period of my life, I remember with wonder and astonishment. "I had left my friend's house one evening, just before dusk, with the intention of skating a short distance up the noble Kennebeck, which glided directly before the door. The evening was fine and clear. The new moon peered from her lofty seat, and cast her rays on the frosty pines that skirted the shore, until they seemed the realization of a fairy scene. All Nature lay in a quiet which she sometimes chooses to assume, while water, earth, and air seemed to have sunken into repose. "I had gone up the river nearly two miles, when, coming to a little stream which emptied into the larger, I turned in to explore its course. Fir and hemlock of a century's growth met overhead, and formed an evergreen archway, radiant with frost-work. All was dark within; but I was young and fearless, and as I peered into the unbroken forest, that reared itself to the borders of the stream, I laughed in very joyousness. My wild hurra rang through the woods, and I stood listening to the echo that reverberated again and again, until all was hushed. Occasionally a night-bird would flap its wings from some tall oak. "The mighty lords of the forest stood as if naught but time could bow them. I thought how oft the Indian hunter concealed himself behind these very trees--how oft the arrow had pierced the deer by this very stream, and how oft his wild halloo had rung for his victory. I watched the owls as they fluttered by, until I almost fancied myself one of them, and held my breath to listen to their distant hooting. "All of a sudden a sound arose, it seemed from the very ice beneath my feet. It was loud and tremendous at first, until it ended in one long yell. I was appalled. Never before had such a noise met my ears. I thought it more than mortal--so fierce, and amid such an unbroken solitude, that it seemed a fiend from hell had blown a blast from an infernal trumpet. Presently I heard the twigs on the shore snap as if from the tread of some animal, and the blood rushed back to my forehead with a bound that made my skin burn, and I felt relieved that I had to contend with things of earthly and not spiritual mold, as I first fancied. My energies returned, and I looked around me for some means of defense. The moon shone through the opening by which I had entered the forest, and considering this the best means of escape, I darted toward it like an arrow. It was hardly a hundred yards distant, and the swallow could scarcely excel my desperate flight; yet, as I turned my eyes to the shore, I could see two dark objects dashing through the underbrush at a pace nearly double that of my own. By their great speed, and the short yells which they occasionally gave, I knew at once that they were the much-dreaded gray wolf. [Illustration: THE COMMON WOLF.] "I had never met with these animals, but, from the description given of them, I had but little pleasure in making their acquaintance. Their untamable fierceness, and the untiring strength which seems to be a part of their nature, render them objects of dread to every benighted traveler. "'With their long gallop, which can tire The hound's deep hate, the hunter's fire,' "they pursue their prey, and naught but death can separate them. The bushes that skirted the shore flew past with the velocity of light as I dashed on in my flight. The outlet was nearly gained; one second more, and I would be comparatively safe, when my pursuers appeared on the bank directly above me, which rose to the height of some ten feet. There was no time for thought; I bent my head and dashed wildly forward. The wolves sprang, but, miscalculating my speed, sprang behind, while their intended prey glided out into the river. "Nature turned me toward home. The light flakes of snow spun from the iron of my skates, and I was now some distance from my pursuers, when their fierce howl told me that I was again the fugitive. I did not look back; I did not feel sorry or glad; one thought of home, of the bright faces awaiting my return, of their tears if they should never again see me, and then every energy of mind and body was exerted for my escape. I was perfectly at home on the ice. Many were the days I spent on my skates, never thinking that at one time they would be my only means of safety. Every half minute an alternate yelp from my pursuers made me but too certain they were close at my heels. Nearer and nearer they came; I heard their feet pattering on the ice nearer still, until I fancied I could hear their deep breathing. Every nerve and muscle in my frame was stretched to the utmost tension. "The trees along the shore seemed to dance in the uncertain light, and my brain turned with my own breathless speed; yet still they seemed to hiss forth with a sound truly horrible, when an involuntary motion on my part turned me out of my course. The wolves close behind, unable to stop and as unable to turn, slipped, fell, still going on far ahead, their tongues lolling out, their white tushes gleaming from their bloody mouths, their dark, shaggy breasts freckled with foam; and as they passed me their eyes glared, and they howled with rage and fury. The thought flashed on my mind that by this means I could avoid them, viz., by turning aside whenever they came too near; for they, by the formation of their feet, are unable to run on ice except on a right line. "I immediately acted on this plan. The wolves, having regained their feet, sprang directly toward me. The race was renewed for twenty yards up the stream; they were already close on my back, when I glided round and dashed past my pursuers. A fierce growl greeted my evolution, and the wolves slipped upon their haunches and sailed onward, presenting a perfect picture of helplessness and baffled rage. Thus I gained nearly a hundred yards each turning. This was repeated two or three times, every moment the wolves getting more excited and baffled, until, coming opposite the house, a couple of stag-hounds, aroused by the noise, bayed furiously from their kennels. The wolves, taking the hint, stopped in their mad career, and after a moment's consideration turned and fled. I watched them till their dusky forms disappeared over a neighboring hill; then, taking off my skates, I wended my way to the house, with feelings better to be imagined than described." Such annoyances from these migrating beasts, in the vicinity of logging births as above-named, are of recent date. Up to 1840 I had been much in the wild forests of the northeastern part of Maine, clearing wild land during the summer and logging in the winter, and up to this time had never seen a satisfactory evidence of their presence. But since this period they have often been seen, and in such numbers and of such size as to render them objects of dread. Every department of labor among the loggers, and in fact, to extend the observation, every department of life, is characterized more or less by adventure and peril. Our men get badly cut sometimes, and then, in the absence of a surgeon, are put upon their own resources to stanch blood and dress wounds. I recollect an instance in which a man in one of the neighboring crews, while at work, received the whole bit of an ax into the muscular portion of his thigh, by an accidental blow from an associate. It was indeed a gaping wound. A wound of such an alarming character, in the absence of suitable medical aid, is deemed a serious matter, and not without just cause. In this instance use was made of handkerchiefs to swathe up the wound, so as to stanch the flowing blood, while they bore him to the camp upon a litter. He was laid upon the deacon seat, and the wound was sewed up by one of the crew with a common sewing-needle. It did well, and in the course of a few weeks he was able to resume his labors. Life is constantly endangered in felling the Pine-trees. The tops of other trees seldom oppose any barrier to the giddy plunge of the towering Pine, breaking, splitting, and crushing all coming within its range. The broken limbs which are torn from its own trunk, and the wrenched branches of other trees, rendered brittle by the intense frosts, fly in every direction, like the scattered fragments of an exploding ship, always more or less endangering life. Often those wrenched limbs are suspended directly over the place where our work requires our presence, and on the slightest motion, or from a sudden gust of wind, they slip down with the stealthiness of a hawk and the velocity of an arrow. I feel an involuntary shudder, as if now in the presence of danger, while I remember some of the narrow escapes I have had from death by the falling of such missiles. I recollect one in particular, which was wrenched from a large Pine-tree I had just felled. It lodged in the top of a towering Birch, directly over where it was necessary for me to stand while severing the top from the trunk. Viewing its position with some anxiety, I ventured to stand and work under it, forgetting in the excitement my danger. While thus engaged, the limb stealthily slipped from its position, and, falling directly before me end foremost, penetrated the frozen earth. It was about four inches through, and ten feet long. It just grazed my cap; a little variation, and it would have dashed my head in pieces. But my time had not come. Attracted, on one occasion, while swamping a road, by the appearance of a large limb which stuck fast in the ground, curiosity induced me to extricate it, for the purpose of seeing how far it had penetrated. After considerable exertion, I succeeded in drawing it out, when I was perfectly amazed to find a thick cloth cap on the end of it. It had penetrated the earth to a considerable depth. Subsequently I learned that it belonged to a man who was killed instantly by its fall, striking him on the head, and carrying his cap into the ground with it. It is never safe to run from a falling tree in a line directly opposite from the course in which it falls, as it sometimes strikes other trees in such a way as to throw the butt from the stump. I have sometimes seen them shoot back in this way with the velocity of lightning half their length. Running from a falling tree in the way above alluded to, I knew a man killed in an instant. Another reason which should induce choppers or spectators to avoid this manner of retreat is, that the broken limbs frequently rebound, and are thrown back in a direction opposite that in which the tree falls. It reminds one of a routed enemy hurling their missiles, as they retreat, back upon the pursuing foe. I have sometimes seen the air in the region of the tree-tops literally darkened with the flying fragments, small and great, torn from trees in the thundering passage of one of those massive columns to the ground. Sometimes they come down like a shower of arrows, as if from the departed spirits of aërial warriors. To retreat safely, one should run in a direction so as to make nearly a right angle with the falling tree. A man by the name of Hale, a master chopper, cut a Pine which, in its passage down, struck in the crutch of another tree and broke the trunk of the falling one, the top of which pitched back and instantly killed him. If lumbermen do not love the return of the seventh day for its moral purposes, they welcome it for the rest it brings, and the opportunity it affords for various little matters of personal comfort which demand attention. On visiting our winter quarters, one of the first things which might arrest attention, indicating a Sabbath in the logging-swamp, would be a long morning nap. Dismissing care, they court the gentle spell, until, wearied with the lengthened night, they rise, not, as on other mornings, when their hurrying feet brush the early frosts as they pass to their work, while the lingering night casts back its wasting shadows upon their path. On the Sabbath morning they recline upon their boughy couches until the sun has traveled a long way upon his daily circuit. Every one feels free to sleep, to lounge, or to do whatever he may choose, with a moderate abatement in behalf of the teamster and cook, whose duties require some seasonable attention on all mornings. Breakfast over, each individual disposes of himself as best accords with inclination or interest. There are a few general duties which come round every Sabbath, which some, by turns, feel the responsibility of performing. For instance, every Sabbath it is customary to replenish the bed with a fresh coat of boughs from the neighboring evergreens. Of the healthful and invigorating influence of this practice there is no doubt. Then follow the various little duties of a personal character. Our red flannel shirts are to be washed and mended, pants to be patched, mittens and socks to be repaired, boots to be tapped and greased, &c. Our clumsy fingers, especially if unused to the needle, make most ludicrous and unwoman-like business of patching up our torn garments. Letter-writing receives attention on this day, if at all, with no other than the deacon seat, perhaps, for a writing-desk, a sheet of soiled paper, ink dried and thick, or pale from freezing, and a pen made with a jack-knife; letters are dedicated to a wife, it may be, or to a mother by some dutiful son, or to his lady-love by some young swamper. There are some recreations to relieve the monotony of a Sabbath in the wilderness. Sometimes a short excursion in search of spruce gum; for many a young urchin at home has had the promise of a good supply of this article, to be furnished on the return of the campers. Others go in pursuit of timber for ax-helves. As neither the White Oak nor Walnut grow in the latitude of Pine forests in the eastern section of Maine, the White Ash, Rock Maple, Beech and Elm, and sometimes the Hornbeam, are in general use. Others spend, it may be, a portion of the day in short timber-hunting excursions. Where the contiguity of encampments allow it, visits are exchanged among the denizens of the camps. Formerly, when sable were more plenty, some one or more proprietors of a line of sable traps would take the opportunity on the Sabbath to visit them, as time from the weekly employment could not be spared for this purpose. Such traps are very simple in their construction. Some thin, flat pieces of wood, cleft from the Spruce or Fir-tree, are driven into the ground, forming the outline of a small circle some nine inches in diameter, and about the same in height, with an opening of three or four inches on one side, over which is placed the trunk of a small tree some three inches through, running cross-wise, and raised at one end about four inches, supported by a standard spindle, to which a small piece of meat is fastened for bait. The top of the whole is covered with light fir or spruce boughs, to prevent the sable from taking the bait from the top. Access to the bait is then had only by passing the head and shoulders into the little door or opening under the pole, when the slightest nibbling at the spindle will bring down the dead-fall and entrap them. These traps occur every few rods, and thus a line or circuit is formed for several miles. Wild cats sometimes take the business of tending these sable traps, in which case they tear them to pieces and devour the bait. One such animal will occasionally break up an entire line, and blast the hopes of the hunter till captured himself. Although, when circumstances favor it, some portion of Saturday is devoted to hauling up camp wood, yet the practice of devoting a few hours of the concluding part of the Sabbath is not unfrequent. Upon the whole, we conclude that, notwithstanding the necessity of rest and recreation, and the necessary attentions to personal conveniences which the seventh day affords, the season usually wears away rather heavily than otherwise, and Monday morning, with its cheerful employments, brings not an unwelcome change. The pleasures of a forest life are, with lumbermen, found rather in the labor performed than the recreations enjoyed. Suspension from labor, without the pleasant relief which home privileges afford, leaves a vacancy of feeling not altogether free from _ennui_. The little domestic duties claiming attention--unpleasant, as indeed they are unnatural to the coarser sex--remind them strongly of the absence of _woman_, without whose amiable presence, society, and services man can not enjoy his quota of earthly bliss. A tramp after deer and moose is sometimes taken. We often disturb them in penetrating the deep forests for timber. In such cases they always remove to some more sequestered place, and post themselves for winter quarters again, where we sometimes follow and take them when the condition of the snow renders their flight tardy and difficult. In the summer they roam at large through the forests and on the meadows, where they may often be seen feeding as we pass up the rivers; but in winter they confine themselves to much smaller limits, where they remain during the greater portion of the season. The flesh of the deer forms an agreeable change from our salt provisions. Venison is often quite plenty. From the hare and partridge our cook serves a delicious pot-pie. The flesh of the moose and bear are very good. Were it not for the unprepossessing appearance of the latter, his flesh would be esteemed before most wild meat. The flesh of a young black bear a year old, if fat, is not easily distinguished, when cooked, from a good pork spare rib. I recollect a ludicrous instance of imposition practiced upon an individual by furnishing him with bear meat for his dinner, while he supposed that he was feasting upon fresh pork. He was known to be exceedingly averse to eating bear meat, and often expressed his disrelish, and even disgust, at the idea. "Eat bear's meat? No! I would as soon eat a dog." A bear had been taken by a crew near by; it was fine meat, and it so happened that our anti-bear-eater was at their camp one day, when the cook served up in his best manner some of the flesh. Of course he was invited to dine, as lumbermen are always hospitable. On this occasion the invitation was especially urgent, as they "had a nice bit of fresh pork, which had been sent them by the provision-team." Our friend ate and praised the nice pork alternately. "Fine, very; hadn't had any fresh pork before for nearly a year. It was tender--it was sweet and good." With much effort, the risibility of the jokers was kept in subjection through the meal. Many senseless things were said, and every thing seemed to elicit laughter. Dinner over. "Well, captain, how have you enjoyed your dinner?" "First rate." "Do you know that you have been eating bear's meat?" "No!" said he; "that warn't bear's meat, was it?" "Yes." He seemed incredulous; but the evidences were at hand; the quarter from which the dinner had been taken was produced. Poor fellow! he looked as though he had swallowed a lizard; and, to "finish him up," the long-nailed shaggy paw was produced. He could stand it no longer; but, rushing out of the camp, and throwing himself down upon his hands and knees, he retched as though he had taken a dozen doses of ipecacuanha, while all the rest of the crew were convulsed with laughter at the poor fellow's distress. The moose is the largest species of deer found in the New England forest. Their size varies from that of a large pony to the full-grown horse. They have large branching antlers, which grow and are shed every season. The taking of moose is sometimes quite hazardous. The most favorable time for hunting them is toward spring, when the snow is deep, and when the warmth of mid-day melts the surface, and the cold nights freeze a crust, which greatly embarrasses the moose and deer in their flight. "One pleasant morning, six of us started with the intention of taking deer; we had a gun and a large dog. Fatigued, at length, with several hours' travel, and meeting with no success, we concluded to give it up, and returned to camp late in the afternoon. Having been very intent in our search for game, we had taken little notice of the various courses which we had traveled, and, when the purpose was formed of returning, we found, much to our discomfort, that we were altogether in doubt as to the direction proper to be pursued. However, we were not without our opinions on the subject, though, unfortunately, these opinions differed. We finally separated into two parties, four supposing that the camp lay in a particular direction, while two of us entertained nearly opposite views. The gun was retained by the four, while the dog followed myself and comrade. We had not separated more than five minutes, when the dog started two fine moose. The other party, being within hail, soon joined us in the pursuit. "As the snow was deep, and crusted sufficiently hard to bear us upon snow-shoes, while the moose broke through at every leap, we were soon sufficiently near them to allow a good shot. One of the men approached within a few yards of the hindermost, and fired. The ball took effect, but did not stop him. Still pursuing, another ball was lodged in his body, when he turned at bay. It was now our turn to retreat; but, after making a few bounds toward us, he turned and fled again, when we again came up to the charge. I took the gun this time, and approached within fifteen feet of him, and fired. He dropped instantly upon the snow. Supposing him dead, we left the spot and pursued the other with all possible dispatch, for there was not a moment to lose, as the fugitive, alarmed by the report of the gun, was redoubling his exertions to effect his escape. The dog, however, soon came upon him and retarded his flight. Emboldened in his successful encounter with the other, Rover dashed incautiously upon him, but nearly paid the forfeit of his life. The moose gave him a tremendous blow with one of his sharp hoofs, which made him cry out till the woods echoed with his piteous howl. In vain did we try to induce him to renew the encounter. His passion for the chase seemed effectually cooled; so we were obliged to abandon the pursuit, and the more readily, as the day was now quite spent. We returned to dress the one we had shot, but were astonished, on arriving at the place where we left him, to find that he, too, had made his escape. Tracking him by a trail of blood which appeared to spirt out at every leap he made, we soon came up with him, and fired again. The ball hit, but only to enrage him the more. Five additional bullets were lodged in his perforated body, now making in all nine. Having but one shot more, we desired to make it count effectively; so, taking the gun, I approached very near upon one side, and fired at his head. The ball passed directly into one eye and out at the other, thus rendering him completely blind. The last shot caused him to jump and plunge tremendously. He now became furious, and, guided by the sound of our footsteps, would dart at us like a catamount whenever we approached him. We had no ax to strike him down, or to cut clubs with which to dispatch him. We were at a stand what to do. We tried first to entangle him in the deep snow by approaching him, and thus induce him to spring out of the beaten into the untrodden snow; but the moment he found himself out, he would back directly into the beaten path again. "Our feelings became very uncomfortable, and now, from pity, we desired to put an end to his sufferings. To see his noble struggle for life, with nine bullets in him, and blind, inspired a painful regard toward him. What to do we knew not. It was really unsafe to approach him so as to cut his throat. We could neither entangle him in the snow, nor bring him down with the small sticks we had cut with our jack-knives. At length we hit upon the following expedient: obtaining a long stiff pole, one end of it was gently placed against his side. We found he leaned against it, and the harder we pushed the more he opposed. Uniting our strength, we pressed it as powerfully as we were capable; he resisted with equal strength. While thus pressing, we suddenly gave way, when he fell flat upon his side. Before he had time to recover, we sprang upon him, and with a knife severed the jugular vein, when he yielded to his fate. It was nearly two hours from the commencement of our last encounter before we dispatched him. Leaving him for the night, we returned to camp, quite overcome with hunger and fatigue. "Next morning we went out to bring in our prize. We found the other moose affectionately standing over the dead carcass of her slaughtered companion. Manifesting much reluctance to flee, she permitted our approach sufficiently near to afford a good shot, which we were not unwilling to improve; so, raising the fatal instrument to my cheek, I let go. She fell on the spot, and was soon dressed with the other. We took the carcasses into camp, and, after reserving what we wished for our own use, sent the remainder down river to our friends."[9] [9] The adventures of a mess-mate. The "bull moose" is a formidable foe when he "gets his dander up," and specially so at particular seasons of the year; then, unprovoked, they will make war on man, betraying none of that shrinking timidity so characteristic of the _cervine genus_. A hunter, who used to put up occasionally over night at our camp, entertained us with the following singular adventure. "Once," said he, "while out on a hunting excursion, I was pursued by a 'bull moose,' during that period when their jealousy was in full operation in behalf of the female. He approached me with his muscular neck curved, and head to the ground, in a manner not dissimilar to the attitude assumed by horned cattle when about to encounter each other. Just as he was about to make a pass at me, I sprang suddenly between his wide-spreading antlers, bestride his neck. Dexterously turning round, I seized him by the horns, and, locking my feet together under his neck, I clung to him like a sloth. With a mixture of rage and terror, he dashed wildly about, endeavoring to dislodge me; but, as my life depended upon maintaining my position, I clung to him with a corresponding desperation. After making a few ineffectual attempts to disengage me, he threw out his nose, and, laying his antlers back upon his shoulders, which formed a screen for my defense, he sprang forward into a furious run, still bearing me upon his neck. Now penetrating dense thickets, then leaping high "wind-falls,"[10] and struggling through swamp-mires, he finally fell through exhaustion, after carrying me about three miles. Improving the opportunity, I drew my hunter's knife from its sheath, and instantly buried it in his neck, cutting the jugular vein, which put a speedy termination to the contest and the flight." [10] Old fallen trees. The habits of the moose, in his manner of defense and attack, are similar to those of the stag, and may be illustrated by the following anecdote from the "Random Sketches of a Kentuckian." "Who ever saw Bravo without loving him? His sloe-black eyes, his glossy skin, flecked here and there with blue; his wide-spread thighs, clean shoulders, broad back, and low-drooping chest, bespoke him the true stag-hound; and none who ever saw his bounding form, or heard his deep-toned bay, as the swift-footed stag flew before him, would dispute his title. List, gentle reader, and I will tell you an adventure which will make you love him all the more. "A bright frosty morning in November, 1838, tempted me to visit the forest hunting-grounds. On this occasion I was followed by a fine-looking hound, which had been presented to me a few days before by a fellow-sportsman. I was anxious to test his qualities, and, knowing that a mean dog will not often hunt well with a good one, I had tied up the eager Bravo, and was attended by the strange dog alone. A brisk canter of half an hour brought me to the wild forest hills. Slackening the rein, I slowly wound my way up a brushy slope some three hundred yards in length. I had ascended about half way, when the hound began to exhibit signs of uneasiness, and at the same instant a stag sprang out from some underbrush near by, and rushed like a whirl-wind up the slope. A word, and the hound was crouching at my feet, and my trained Cherokee, with ear erect and flashing eye, watched the course of the affrighted animal. "On the very summit of the ridge, full one hundred and fifty yards, every limb standing out in bold relief against the clear blue sky, the stag paused, and looked proudly down upon us. After a moment of indecision, I raised my rifle, and sent the whizzing lead upon its errand. A single bound, and the antlered monarch was hidden from my view. Hastily running down a ball, I ascended the slope; my blood ran a little faster as I saw the 'gouts of blood' which stained the withered leaves where he had stood. One moment more, and the excited hound was leaping breast high on his trail, and the gallant Cherokee bore his rider like lightning after them. "Away--away! for hours we did thus hasten on, without once being at fault or checking our headlong speed. The chase had led us miles from the starting-point, and now appeared to be bearing up a creek, on one side of which arose a precipitous hill, some two miles in length, which I knew the wounded animal would never ascend. "Half a mile further on, another hill reared its bleak and barren head on the opposite side of the rivulet. Once fairly in the gorge, there was no exit save at the upper end of the ravine. Here, then, I must intercept my game, which I was able to do by taking a nearer cut over the ridge, that saved at least a mile. "Giving one parting shout to cheer my dog, Cherokee bore me headlong to the pass. I had scarcely arrived, when, black with sweat, the stag came laboring up the gorge, seemingly totally reckless of our presence. Again I poured forth the 'leaden messenger of death,' as meteor-like he flashed by us. One bound, and the noble animal lay prostrate within fifty feet of where I stood. Leaping from my horse, and placing one knee upon his shoulder, and a hand upon his antlers, I drew my hunting-knife; but scarcely had its keen point touched his neck, when, with a sudden bound, he threw me from his body, and my knife was hurled from my hand. In hunters' parlance, I had only 'creased him.' I at once saw my danger, but it was too late. With one bound he was upon me, wounding and almost disabling me with his sharp feet and horns. I seized him by his wide-spread antlers, and sought to regain possession of my knife, but in vain; each new struggle drew us further from it. Cherokee, frightened at the unusual scene, had madly fled to the top of the ridge, where he stood looking down upon the combat, trembling and quivering in every limb. "The ridge road I had taken placed us far in advance of the hound, whose bay I could not now hear. The struggles of the furious animal had become dreadful, and every moment I could feel his sharp hoofs cutting deep into my flesh; my grasp upon his antlers was growing less and less firm, and yet I relinquished not my hold. The struggle had brought us near a deep ditch, washed by the fall rains, and into this I endeavored to force my adversary, but my strength was unequal to the effort; when we approached to the very brink, he leaped over the drain. I relinquished my hold and rolled in, hoping thus to escape him; but he returned to the attack, and, throwing himself upon me, inflicted numerous severe cuts upon my face and breast before I could again seize him. Locking my arms around his antlers, I drew his head close to my breast, and was thus, by great effort, enabled to prevent his doing me any serious injury. But I felt that this could not last long; every muscle and fiber of my frame was called into action, and human nature could not long bear up under such exertion. Faltering a silent prayer to Heaven, I prepared to meet my fate. "At this moment of despair I heard the faint bayings of the hound; the stag, too, heard the sound, and, springing from the ditch, drew me with him. His efforts were now redoubled, and I could scarcely cling to him. Yet that blessed sound came nearer and nearer! Oh how wildly beat my heart as I saw the hound emerge from the ravine, and spring forward with a short, quick bark, as his eye rested on his game! I released my hold of the stag, who turned upon the new enemy. Exhausted, and unable to rise, I still cheered the dog that, dastard like, fled before the infuriated animal, who, seemingly despising such an enemy, again threw himself upon me. Again did I succeed in throwing my arms around his antlers, but not until he had inflicted several deep and dangerous wounds upon my head and face, cutting to the very bone. "Blinded by the flowing blood, exhausted and despairing, I cursed the coward dog, who stood near, baying furiously, yet refusing to seize his game. Oh! how I prayed for Bravo! The thoughts of death were bitter. To die thus in the wild forest, alone, with none to help! Thoughts of home and friends coursed like lightning through my brain. At that moment, when Hope herself had fled, deep and clear over the neighboring hill came the baying of my gallant Bravo! I should have known his voice among a thousand. I pealed forth, in one faint shout, 'On, Bravo, on!' The next moment, with tiger-like bounds, the noble dog came leaping down the declivity, scattering the dried autumnal leaves like a whirl-wind in his path. 'No pause he knew,' but, fixing his fangs in the stag's throat, he at once commenced the struggle. "I fell back, completely exhausted. Blinded with blood, I only knew that a terrific struggle was going on. In a few moments all was still, and I felt the warm breath of my faithful dog as he licked my wounds. Clearing my eyes from gore, I saw my late adversary dead at my feet, and Bravo, 'my own Bravo,' as the heroine of a modern novel would say, standing over me. He yet bore around his neck a fragment of the rope with which I had tied him. He had gnawed it in two, and, following his master through all his windings, arrived in time to rescue him from a horrible death. "I have recovered from my wounds. Bravo is lying at my feet. Who does not love Bravo? I am sure I do, and the rascal knows it--don't you, Bravo? Come here, sir!" CHAPTER VI. Camp Life.--Winter Evenings.--An Evening in Camp.--Characters.-- Card-playing.--A Song.--Collision with wild Beasts.--The unknown Animal in a Dilemma.--"Indian Devil."--The Aborigines' Terror.-- A shocking Encounter.--The Discovery and Pursuit.--The Bear as an Antagonist.--Their thieving Propensities.--A thrilling Scene in the Night.--A desperate Encounter with three Bears. The winter evenings of camp life are too much abridged in length to allow a long season either for repose or amusement, in consequence of the lateness of the hour in which the men leave work, and the various matters which regularly claim attention. By the time supper is over and the nightly camp-fire built, sleep early invites the laborer to the enjoyment of its soothing influences. And oh! how sweet is that repose! The incumbents of downy beds, nestled within the folds of gorgeous drapery, might earnestly but vainly court it. Could you take a peep into our snug camp some evening, you might see one of our number, seated perhaps on a stool in the corner, with a huge jack-knife in his hand, up to his knees in whittlings, while he is endeavoring to give shape and proportions to the stick he is cutting to supply the place of a broken ax-handle. The teamster might be seen driving a heated "staple," with jingling ring, into a new yoke, which is to supply the place of one "Old Turk" split while attempting, with his mate and associates, to remove an immense pine log from its bed during the day; and as he strikes the heated iron into the perforated timber, the curling smoke, in two little spiral columns, rises gradually and gracefully, spreading as they ascend, until his head is enveloped in a dense cloud. There sits another fellow staring into vacuity, while between his lips, profusely covered with a heavy beard, the growth of a quarter of a year, sticks a stub-stemmed pipe. Opening and shutting those ample lips, volumes of smoke roll out, like discharges from the side of a moss-grown battery, the very _beau ideal_ of all that is exquisite in "tobaccoing." Bestride the deacon seat, a little removed, sits the cook, with a large pan between his knees, with shirt-sleeves furled, and in the dough to his elbows, kneading a batch of bread to bake for breakfast. The sweat rolls from his half-covered forehead, and, unable to relieve his hands, he applies now one elbow, then the other, to dry up the mizzle from his moistened brow. Yonder, at the further end of the camp, in close proximity to the fire, sits a lean, lank little man, with thin lips, ample forehead, and eyes no larger than a rifle bullet, piercing as the sun, poring over the dingy pages of an old weekly, perhaps for the tenth time. Songs, cards, or stories possess but little attraction for him. Intellectually inclined, but miserably provided for, still the old newspaper is a more congenial companion for him. Behind the deacon seat, lounging upon the boughy bed, you may see half a dozen sturdy fellows--the bone and sinew of the crew--telling "yarns," or giving expression to the buoyancy of their feelings in a song, while the whole interior of the camp is lighted with a blazing hard-wood fire, which casts upward its rays through the capacious smoke-hole, gilding the overhanging branches of the neighboring trees. All within indicates health, content, and cheerfulness. Card-playing is often resorted to as an evening pastime. If not provided with candles or lamps, the lovers of this recreation are careful to select a store of pitchy knots, whose brilliant combustion relieves them from all the inconvenience of darkness. This is, however, a bewitching amusement, and often proves detrimental to the peace and rest of the whole crew, and injurious also to the interests of employers. The last winter I spent in the logging swamp, there were several packs of cards brought into the encampment by men in my division. I had resolved not to allow card-playing in my camp; but how to accomplish my purpose without inviting other unpleasant results was something to be thought of, as that man makes to himself an uncomfortable birth who incurs the ill will of his comrades in any way, especially in the exercise of authority not strictly related to the business for which they are employed, and by an infringement upon what they esteem their private and personal rights. Pointing out a pack of cards, while in camp one afternoon, to the owner of the same, at a moment when he was in a decidedly favorable mood for my purpose, "Come, Hobbs," said I, "burn them!" at the same time accompanying the request with the best reason I could offer to induce compliance. Taking them down, and thoughtfully shuffling them over for a minute, "Well," said he, "they are foolish things, aint they?" Of course I acquiesced. "Here goes!" said he, taking the poker and stirring open the hot bed of live coals, and in they went. The work of extirpation being commenced, he rifled the knapsacks of others belonging to the crew of their packs of cards, and threw them into the fire also, pronouncing deliberately, "High, low, Jack, and the game!" I really expected a fuss when the matter should come to the knowledge of the others. They submitted, however, to their bereavement like philosophers. It passed off without any muss being kicked up, though the agent was a little menaced for the liberties he had taken in the matter; but he enjoyed the sympathies of the instigator. Loggers, unlike most classes of men, are under the necessity of manufacturing their own songs.[11] The mariner, the patriot, the soldier, and the lover have engaged the attention of gifted bards in giving rhyme and measure to their feelings; yet they are not without poetical sentiment. The following is inserted as a specimen of log swamp literature, composed by one of the loggers: [11] I should make one exception; J. G. Whittier has lifted his gifted pen for them. THE LOGGER'S BOAST. "Come, all ye sons of freedom throughout the State of Maine, Come, all ye gallant lumbermen, and listen to my strain; On the banks of the Penobscot, where the rapid waters flow, O! we'll range the wild woods over, and a lumbering will go; And a lumbering we'll go, so a lumbering will go, O! we'll range the wild woods over while a lumbering we go. When the white frost gilds the valleys, the cold congeals the flood; When many men have naught to do to earn their families bread; When the swollen streams are frozen, and the hills are clad with snow, O! we'll range the wild woods over, and a lumbering we will go; And a lumbering we'll go, so a lumbering, &c. When you pass through the dense city, and pity all you meet, To hear their teeth chattering as they hurry down the street; In the red frost-proof flannel we're incased from top to toe, While we range the wild woods over, and a lumbering we go; And a lumbering we'll go, so a lumbering, &c. You may boast of your gay parties, your pleasures, and your plays, And pity us poor lumbermen while dashing in your sleighs; We want no better pastime than to chase the buck and doe; O! we'll range the wild woods over, and a lumbering we will go; And a lumbering we'll go, so a lumbering, &c. The music of our burnished ax shall make the woods resound, And many a lofty ancient Pine will tumble to the ground; At night, ho! round our good camp-fire we will sing while rude winds blow: O! we'll range the wild woods over while a lumbering we go; And a lumbering we'll go, so a lumbering, &c. When winter's snows are melted, and the ice-bound streams are free, We'll run our logs to market, then haste our friends to see; How kindly true hearts welcome us, our wives and children too, We will spend with these the summer, and once more a lumbering go; And a lumbering we'll go, so a lumbering we will go, We will spend with these the summer, and once more a lumbering go. And when upon the long-hid soil the white Pines disappear, We will cut the other forest trees, and sow whereon we clear; Our grain shall wave o'er valleys rich, our herds bedot the hills, When our feet no more are hurried on to tend the driving mills; Then no more a lumbering go, so no more a lumbering go, When our feet no more are hurried on to tend the driving mills. 'When our youthful days are ended,' we will cease from winter toils, And each one through the summer warm will till the virgin soil; 'We've enough to eat,' to drink, to wear, content through life to go, Then we'll tell our wild adventures o'er, and no more a lumbering go; And no more a lumbering go, so no more a lumbering go, O! we'll tell our wild adventures o'er, and no more a lumbering go." Our winter quarters and employments not unfrequently bring us into collision with wild animals of a formidable character. Of these the "Indian devil," or a species of the catamount, is chief. We often track animals of whom we have never gained sight. Passing along one day in pursuit of timber, my attention was arrested by a track of uncommon size and appearance. It was round, and about the size of a hat crown, and penetrated the snow where it would bear me. I noticed where the creature stepped over a large fallen tree about two feet and a half high. A light snow several inches deep covered the log, which he did not even brush with his belly as he passed over it. From the nature of the track, I knew he did not jump. His legs could not have been less than three feet in length. After this discovery, I made my way to where the rest of the crew were at work with right good will. A similar track, of probably this same animal, has been seen by many different persons and parties, at places quite remote from each other, for several winters; but no one, that I am aware of, is satisfied that he has yet been seen, unless, indeed, by two or three lads while on the shore of the Grand Lake, who were fishing out of holes cut in the ice near the shore. About half a mile from them a long point made out into the lake, running parallel with the shore, which formed the boundary of a deep cove. The ice had become quite weak; still, it bore them with safety. While busily engaged with their fishing-tackle, their attention was suddenly arrested by a loud, splashing noise, as though some one was struggling in the water; and, on looking for the cause, they saw a large animal endeavoring to make the main land, crossing directly from the point toward them. He continued to break in every few rods, when he would spring out again with the agility of a cat. After getting out, he would stand and look round, then venture forward, and break through as before. The description they gave of his appearance was that he looked just like an immense cat; appeared to be about four feet high, and five or six feet long, thick-set about the head and shoulders, resembling somewhat in this particular the bull-dog. His general color was quite like that of a mouse, or, to use the boys' own words, "bluish," with light breast and belly. His tail was very long, reaching down quite to the ice, and curled up at the end; this he moved about just as a cat moves its tail. Waiting but a moment to gain this general view, they made for home with all possible dispatch, about one mile distant. Several men, with guns and axes, immediately started for the lake, but nothing further was seen of him. The manner in which the ice was broken fully confirmed the statement made by the boys respecting the size of this unknown creature. There is an animal in the deep recesses of our forests, evidently belonging to the feline race, which, on account of its ferocity, is significantly called "_Indian Devil_"--in the Indian language, "the Lunk Soos;" a terror to the Indians, and the only animal in New England of which they stand in dread. You may speak of the moose, the bear, and the wolf even, and the red man is ready for the chase and the encounter. But name the object of his dread, and he will significantly shake his head, while he exclaims, "_He all one debil!_" An individual by the name of Smith met with the following adventure in an encounter with one of these animals on the Arromucto, while on his way to join a crew engaged in timber-making in the woods. He had nearly reached the place of encampment, when he came suddenly upon one of these ferocious animals. There was no chance for retreat, neither had he time for reflection on the best method of defense or escape. As he had no arms or other weapons of defense, the first impulse, in this truly fearful position, unfortunately, perhaps, was to spring into a small tree near by; but he had scarcely ascended his length when the desperate creature, probably rendered still more fierce by the promptings of hunger, sprang upon and seized him by the heel. Smith, however, after having his foot badly bitten, disengaged it from the shoe, which was firmly clinched in the creature's teeth, and let him drop. The moment he was disengaged, Smith sprang for a more secure position, and the animal at the same time leaped to another large tree, about ten feet distant, up which he ascended to an elevation equal to that of his victim, from which he threw himself upon him, firmly fixing his teeth in the calf of his leg. Hanging suspended thus until the flesh, insufficient to sustain the weight, gave way, he dropped again to the ground, carrying a portion of flesh in his mouth. Having greedily devoured this morsel, he bounded again up the opposite tree, and from thence upon Smith, in this manner renewing his attacks, and tearing away the flesh in mouthfuls from his legs. During this agonizing operation, Smith contrived to cut a limb from the tree, to which he managed to bind his jack-knife, with which he could now assail his enemy at every leap. He succeeded thus in wounding him so badly that at length his attacks were discontinued, and he finally disappeared in the dense forest. During the encounter, Smith had exerted his voice to the utmost to alarm the crew, who, he hoped, might be within hail. He was heard, and in a short time several of the crew reached the place, but not in time to save him from the dreadful encounter. The sight was truly appalling. His garments were not only rent from him, but the flesh literally torn from his legs, exposing even the bone and sinews. It was with the greatest difficulty he made the descent of the tree. Exhausted through loss of blood, and overcome by fright and exertion, he sunk upon the ground and immediately fainted; but the application of snow restored him to consciousness. Preparing a litter from poles and boughs, they conveyed him to the camp, washed and dressed his wounds as well as circumstances would allow, and, as soon as possible, removed him to the settlement, where medical aid was secured. After a protracted period of confinement, he gradually recovered from his wounds, though still carrying terrible scars, and sustaining irreparable injury. Such desperate encounters are, however, of rare occurrence, though collisions less sanguinary are not unfrequent. On one occasion, we tracked one of those animals where we had the day before been at work. From appearances, he seemed to have something unusual attached to one of his fore feet, which we judged to be a common steel trap. Returning to the camp for the gun and a lunch, two men started in pursuit. They followed him three days before overtaking him. In one place on the route they measured a bound of fifteen feet, which he made to take a rabbit, which he caught and devoured, leaving only small portions of the hide and fur of his victim. From the course traveled, it was evident that he was aware of his pursuers, whom he unquestionably desired to avoid. On the third day they came in sight of him for the first time. No longer retreating before his pursuers, he now turned upon them. Aware that they could have but one shot, it being impossible to reload before he would be upon them, they suffered him to approach very near, to make their aim more certain. The forest echoed with the report of the discharge; the shot took effect, and a furious scuffle followed. The snow flew, while the enraged and furious growl and gnashing teeth mingled with the clattering trap, and the echo of the powerful blows inflicted upon his head with the shivered breach of the gun, under which he yielded his life to his superior pursuers. But there is no animal among us with whom encounters are so frequent as the common black bear. Their superior strength, the skill with which they ward off blows, and even wrench an instrument from the hand of an assailant, and their tenacity of life, render them really a formidable antagonist. We have sometimes been diverted, as well as severely annoyed, by their thievish tricks. In one instance we were followed several days by one of them on our passage up river, who seemed equally bent on mischief and plunder. The first of our acquaintance with him occurred while encamped at the mouth of a small stream, whose channel we were improving by the removal of large rocks which obstructed log-driving. Our camp was merely temporary, so that all our goods were exposed. While we were asleep during the night, he came upon our premises, and selected from the baggage a bundle containing all the winter clothing of one of the men--boots, shaving tools, &c. His curiosity was too great to allow of a far removal of the pack without an examination of its contents; and never did deputy inspector or constable perform a more thorough search. Duties on the package were inadmissible; the goods were esteemed contraband, and were accordingly confiscated. The wearing apparel was torn into shreds. There was a pair of stout cow-hide boots, of which he tried the flavor; they were chewed up and spoiled. The razor did not escape his inquisitiveness. Whether he attempted to shave we say not, but he tested its palatableness by chewing up the handle. From this position we removed a few miles further up stream, where we were to construct a dam, the object of which was to flow the lake, to obtain a good head of water for spring driving. This job being somewhat lengthy, we erected a more permanent camp for our convenience. A few evenings after our settlement at this point, while all hands were in camp, we heard some one moving about on the roof, where a ten-gallon keg of molasses was deposited. At first it was supposed to be a trick by some one of the crew; but, on looking round, there was no one missing. Suspecting with more certainty the character of our visitor, we seized a fire-brand or two, and sallied forth like a disturbed garrison of ants, when we discovered that we were minus a keg of molasses. Following in the direction of the retreating thief, we found the keg but a few rods distant, setting on one end, with the other torn out. He evidently had intended a feast, but, intimidated by the fire-brands and the hallooing, he had retreated precipitately into his native haunts; but only, as it would seem, to plan another theft. About two hours afterward, when all was still, a noise was again heard in the door-yard, similar to that of a hog rooting among the chips, where the cook had thrown his potato parings. Peering through the crack of the camp door, sure enough, there was Bruin again, apparently as much at home as a house-dog. We had a gun, but improvidently had left our ammunition at another place of deposit, about a hundred rods distant. Resolved upon chastising him for his insolence in the event of another visit, the lantern was lighted, and the ammunition soon brought to camp. The gun was now charged with powder and two bullets. We waited some time for his return, first removing a strip from the camp door for a port-hole. Hearing nothing of him, all hands turned in again. About twelve o'clock at night he made us his third visit in the door-yard, as before, and directly in front of the camp, offering a most inviting shot. Creeping softly to the door, and passing the muzzle of the gun through the prepared aperture, our eye glanced along the barrel, thence to a dark object not thirty feet distant. A gentle but nervous pressure upon the trigger, a flash, a sheet of fire, and the very woods shook with the reverberating report, which sent Bruin away upon a plunging gallop. The copious effusion of warm blood which spirted on the chips was evidence that the leaden messenger had faithfully done its duty. A portion of his lights were shot away, and dropped to the ground, which convinced us that he was mortally wounded, and that it would not be possible for him to run far. Seizing as many fire-brands as could be procured, with axes, and the gun reloaded, all hands dashed into the forest after him, half-naked, just as they had risen from the bed, leaping, yelling, and swinging their fire-brands like so many wild spirits from the regions of fire. Guided in the pursuit by the cracking of rotten limbs and the rustling of leaves as he heavily plunged on, we pursued him through a dense swamp. From the increased distinctness with which we heard his step, it was evident we were gaining upon him. Soon we heard his labored breathing. Just before we overtook him, he merged from the swamp, and with much exertion ascended a slight elevation, covered with a fine growth of canoe Birch, where, from exhaustion and loss of blood, he lay down, and suffered us to surround him. The inflammable bark of the Birch was instantly ignited all round us, presenting a brilliant and wild illumination, which lent its influence to a most unbounded enthusiasm, while our war-dance was performed around the captured and slain marauder. Taken altogether, the scene presented one of the most lively collections of material for the pencil that we have ever contemplated. There were uncommon brilliancy, life, and animation in the group. After dispatching, we strung him up and dressed him on the spot, taking only one quarter of his carcass, with the hide, back to camp. A portion of this was served up next morning for breakfast; but while the sinewy, human-like appearance of the fore leg might have whetted the appetite of a cannibal, a contrary influence was exerted on ours. More sanguinary was the following encounter, which took place in the vicinity of Tara-height, on the Madawaska River: "A trap had been set by one of the men, named Jacob Harrison, who, being out in search of a yoke of oxen on the evening in question, saw a young bear fast in the trap, and three others close at hand in a very angry mood, a fact which rendered it necessary for him to make tracks immediately. On arriving at the farm, he gave the alarm, and, seizing an old dragoon saber, he was followed to the scene of action by Mr. James Burke, armed with a gun, and the other man with an ax. "They proceeded direct to the trap, supplied with a rope, intending to take the young bear alive. It being a short time after dark, objects could not be distinctly seen; but, on approaching close to the scene of action, a crashing among the leaves and dry branches, with sundry other indications, warned them of the proximity of the old animals. When within a few steps of the spot, a dark mass was seen on the ground--a growl was heard--and the confined beast made a furious leap on Jacob, who was in advance, catching him by the legs. The infuriated animal inflicted a severe wound on his knee, upon which he drew his sword, and defended himself with great coolness. "Upon receiving several wounds from the saber, the cub commenced to growl and cry in a frightful and peculiar manner, when the old she-bear, attracted to the spot, rushed on the adventurous Harrison, and attacked him from behind with great ferocity. Jacob turned upon the new foe, and wielded his trusty weapon with such energy and success, that in a short time he deprived her of one of her fore paws by a lucky stroke, and completely disabled her eventually by a desperate cut across the neck, which divided the tendons and severed the spinal vertebræ. Having completed his conquest (in achieving which he found the sword a better weapon than the ax, the animal being unable to knock it from his hand, every attempt to do so being followed by a wound), he had ample time to dispatch the imprisoned cub at leisure. "During the time this stirring and dangerous scene we have related was enacting, war was going on in equally bloody and vigorous style at a short distance. Mr. Burke, having discharged his gun at the other old bear, only slightly wounded him; the enraged Bruin sprang at him with a furious howl. He was met with a blow from the butt-end of the fowling-piece. At the first stroke the stock flew in pieces, and the next the heavy barrel was hurled a distance of twenty feet among the underwood by a side blow from the dexterous paw of the bear. Mr. Burke then retreated a few feet and placed his back against a large Hemlock, followed the while closely by the bear, but, being acquainted with the nature of the animal and his mode of attack, he drew a large hunting-knife from his belt, and, placing his arms by his side, coolly awaited the onset. "The maddened brute approached, growling and gnashing his teeth, and with a savage spring encircled the body of the hunter and the tree in his iron gripe. The next moment the flashing blade of the _couteau chasse_ tore his abdomen, and his smoking entrails rolled upon the ground. At this exciting crisis of the struggle, the other man, accompanied by the dog, came up in time to witness the triumphal close of the conflict. "Two old bears and a cub were the fruits of this dangerous adventure--all extremely fat--the largest of which, it is computed, would weigh upward of two hundred and fifty pounds. We have seldom heard of a more dangerous encounter with bears, and we are happy to say that Mr. Burke received no injury; and Mr. Jacob Harrison, although torn severely, and having three ribs broken, recovered under the care of an Indian doctor of the Algonquin tribe." CHAPTER VII. Provision Teams.--Liabilities.--A Night in the Woods.--Traveling on Ice.--A Span of Horses lost.--Pat's Adventure.--Drogers' Caravan.-- Horses in the Water.--Recovery of a sunken Load.--Returning Volunteers from Aroostook.--Description of a Log Tavern.--Perils on Lakes in Snow-storms.--Camping at Night.--Rude Ferry-boats. After the swamps, rivers, and lakes freeze, and the fallen snow has covered the ground, supplies for the rest of the winter and spring operations, consisting of hay, grain, flour, beef, pork, molasses, &c., are hauled on to the ground with horse-teams. In some instances the route extends two hundred and fifty miles from the head of ship navigation. As these routes, for the most part, lay through dense forests, over rough roads, along the frozen channels of rivers, across bleak and expansive lakes, far removed from the fireside and home of the hardy logger, there is something of the _hardships_ of adventure, if not its romance, connected with the experience of these transporting teams during their winter trips. Sometimes loaded sleds break down in their passage over the rough forest roads, or horses tire by extra exertion over untrodden snows, and night overtakes the lone teamster, many miles from the abode of any human being, amid frosts and snow, without fire and without comfortable sustenance. Detaching his horses, and covering them with their blankets, if he be loaded with hay, he allows them to feed from the load during the night, while, muffled in his coat, he burrows deep in the hay, alternately lulled and aroused by the tinkling of the horses' bells and by the howling of the hungry wolf. Sometimes the treacherous ice parts beneath his horses, and the swift current carries them under, hiding them in a moment and forever from his vision. I recollect the occurrence of the following thrilling event. It is customary to travel on ice as far as it makes on the rivers and streams, taking to the shore to pass the open and rapid sections, and then returning to the river and traveling as before. Returning homeward, after a trip into the woods with a load of provision, just at nightfall, might have been seen a span of fine horses, measuring off their ten miles an hour with the ease and fleetness of reindeers, upon the smooth surface of one of our eastern rivers far up in the interior. With vision circumscribed by the gathering darkness, and misjudging his position, the driver, quietly seated upon his sled, failed to see the danger in season to check the speed of his horses, when suddenly he plunged into one of those open places in the river where the water ran too rapidly to allow it to freeze. A few rods below the ice closed over again, beneath which the current swept with fearful rapidity. With the teamster still floating upon the half-sunken sled, the horses swam directly down with the current to the edge of the ice below. The moment they reached it, the noble creatures, as if confident of clearing the chilling element at a bound, simultaneously reared, and, striking their fore feet upon the ice, their hinder parts sank in the deep channel, and, falling backward, they were swept beneath the ice, together with the sled attached, and were drowned, while the teamster alone escaped by springing from the sled before it went under. When a team breaks in where the water is stagnant, a deliberate and calculating teamster may succeed in extricating his horses, while a shiftless man will let them drown. A gentleman of my acquaintance harnessed a fine mare into a single sled, loaded with provisions, which he sent by an Irishman up into the woods to his logging-camps. While passing the river, the horse broke in, and, after struggling several hours, sank through exhaustion and chill, and was drowned. In giving a brief account of the affair, Pat, evidently affected by the disaster, observed, "Ah! indade, sir, but she looked at me very wishfully, indade she did, sir!" "But why did you not help her, Patrick?" "'Dade, sir, an' didn't I put on the whip pretty smartly, sure?" It is quite common for drogers, as they are sometimes called, to form a northern caravan, by congregating together in their up-river tours to the number of twenty, and sometimes thirty teams. Some of these are composed of two horses, and others from four to six. Company, and mutual assistance in cases of necessity, are the motives which unite them, and the difficulties which they encounter often call into requisition this friendly interference. I was once passing up the Penobscot in company with twenty or thirty horse-teams, all loaded with supplies, immediately after a thaw, which had so far wasted the snow that we were obliged to leave the land road, and, at some risk, venture upon the ice, although in many places it was thin, and covered with water to the depth of two feet. It was deemed prudent to form a line with the teams at such distances apart as would subject the ice to the pressure of one team only on a given point, the whole preceded by a man with ax in hand to test its capacity to bear the approaching load. In some instances, where the current was stagnant, the ice was sufficiently strong to bear us for a mile or two without much alteration in our course. In places where the swiftness of the current had prevented the formation of ice of suitable thickness, we were obliged to use much caution, passing from one side of the river to the other to avoid suspicious places, making but little progress in our serpentine path. In this way several miles had been traveled without accident, which induced our pilot to exercise less vigilance, when suddenly the line was broken by the disappearance of one team through the ice. The alarm passed along the line, with the order to "Hold up! a team in!" "Don't close up; we shall all be in together!" But teamsters are afraid of ice over a running current; indeed, there is imminent danger to life under such circumstances. Some reined up; others, taking alarm, made for the shore; others put their horses into the run and passed by; while others, more cool and generous, came to the rescue of the drowning team. It proved to be a pair of our heaviest horses. The load consisted of thirteen barrels of pork, with other lighter articles, the whole team and load weighing over three tons. It was the work of but a few moments to extricate the horses, after disengaging them from their harness. The barrels rolled from the sled, and sank in fifteen feet of water. The most of the teamsters concurred in the opinion that the barrels were not recoverable; but, procuring a long pole, with a sharp pike in the end, I ran it down and stuck it firmly into one of the staves, and raised one barrel with perfect ease to the surface. A rope was thrown around it, by which it was rolled out upon the firm ice. Thus one after another was fished up, reloaded, and we were under way again in less than an hour. About noon we stopped to feed the horses and take some dinner on the ice. Unloosing the straps which attached the horses to the pole, we proceeded to bait. While thus situated, a company of volunteers, returning from the bloodless boundary war on the Aroostook, passed us, who, to amuse themselves, wantonly discharged a volley of musketry, which created a tremendous panic among our horses, causing them to upset several loads, breaking harnesses, and doing other damage, which occasioned considerable delay, and much swearing among the exasperated teamsters. One of our little teamsters was so enraged that he challenged the whole company to fight him. I really believe he would have engaged any one, or any number of them, had they halted. During the first three or four days' travel, particularly up the Penobscot, we find taverns at convenient distances for the accommodation of travelers, after which we leave, on some of the up-river routes, all settlements, for the distant and wild locations of the logging-camps. All along these solitary routes, at convenient distances, of late years, log shanties have been erected for the accommodation, principally, of supply-teams, where, during the winter, the temporary inn-holders do a driving business, abandoning the premises when the traveling season is over. [Illustration: LOG TAVERN IN THE WILDERNESS.] It may not be uninteresting to take a peep into one of these log taverns. We see here, then, rude walls thrown up of round logs, notched together at the ends--a building about as high as a common one-story house, covered with shingles laid upon ribs only. These are so closely put together that common short shingles may be laid on them quite as well as if the roof were boarded--a plan frequently adopted in new country settlements, where boards are not to be obtained. This building is divided by a partition into two apartments, in one of which, perhaps in the corner, a huge fire-place is constructed of rude stones, to the height of six or seven feet, where a large wooden mantle-bar is thrown across, from which point, with small split sticks, straw, and clay, it is topped out in the fashion of a chimney. This is the cook, eating, sitting, bar, and often the card-playing room, where teamsters, in crowded numbers, enjoy all the luxuries which their circumstances will admit, one of which is a most excellent appetite. The other room is strictly appropriated to sleeping purposes, with births rudely constructed, in tiers one above the other (with a space between the feet and fire), similar to the accommodations on board a vessel, so that in a space seven by thirty feet sixty men may be accommodated with lodging. Such a number of men, crowded into an area of so scanty dimensions, might be supposed to suffer inconvenience from confined and impure air; but the ready access which the twinkling starlight and sparkling hoar-frost find to the apartment through the numerous unstopped crevices warrants a more agreeable conclusion. Thus sociably, quietly, and snugly ensconced within that rude shelter, enveloped and surrounded with interminable forests, the hours of darkness are passed, while without, the piercing cold causes even the nestling trees to quake as the wings of the wild winter night labor with the furious snow-storm. Sometimes a portion of the route lays across large lakes, where the bleak winds pierce, or the dense snow-storm thickens the atmosphere, and obliterates alike the path and the shore from sight. I have known teamsters, while crossing these icy regions, suddenly overtaken by snow-storms so dense as to circumscribe the compass of vision to thirty rods, and to be compelled to wander all day long upon those bleak fields before they were able to find the logging road which formed their egress from the lake. Belated at other times, night overtakes them on the ice. In such cases, where it is not deemed prudent to proceed, they find access to the shore, where the thick evergreen forest trees afford some protection from the night winds. Here a fire is kindled, some coarse boughs plucked and thrown upon the snow, upon which a buffalo-skin is spread, and with a similar covering they repose, after snugly blanketing their horses. A biscuit of pilot-bread, with a "frizzled" slice of pork, constitute their repast--ten to one if it be not rinsed down with a draught of "fire-water" from the little canteen in the pea-jacket pocket. On some routes early fall trips are made with loads of camp supplies on wheels, over very rough roads, before the rivers and streams freeze. These are crossed upon a raft made of poles or logs capable of bearing a portion only of the load, which is carried over in parcels, according to the capacity or tonnage of the rude ferry-boat; sometimes swimming, and at others transporting the horses singly on the raft. In like manner we manage with our ox-teams, when we take an early start for the scene of our winter operations. RIVER LIFE. PART III. CHAPTER I. "Breaking Up."--Grotesque Parading down River.--Rum and Intemperance. --Religious Rites profaned.--River-driving on Temperance Principles. --The first Experiment.--A spiritual Song. Having completed our winter's work in hauling logs, another period commences in the chain of operations, "breaking up," moving down river, and making preparations for "river-driving." The time for breaking up is determined by various circumstances; sometimes an early spring, warm rains, and thawing days render the snow roads impassable for further log hauling. In other cases, when it is the intention to take the teams down river, where lakes and rivers are to be crossed on the route, it is necessary to start before the ice becomes too weak to bear up the oxen. Sometimes scarcity of timber renders an early removal necessary, while in those instances where it is concluded to turn the oxen out to shift for themselves, on browse and meadow grass, we haul as long as it can be done, esteeming every log hauled under such circumstances clear gain. Breaking up is rather a joyful occasion than otherwise, though camp life, as a whole, is very agreeable. Change is something which so well accords with the demands of our nature, that in most cases, when it occurs, its effects are most exhilarating. Under such circumstances, after three or four months spent in the wild woods, away from home, friends, and society, the anticipation of a renewed participation in the relations of life, in town and country, creates much buoyancy of feeling. All is good nature; every thing seems strangely imbued with power to please, to raise a joke, or excite a laugh. Whatever of value there may be about the premises not necessary for the driving operation, is loaded upon the long sled; the oxen being attached, the procession moves slowly from the scene of winter exploits, "homeward bound," leaving, however, a portion of the crew to make the necessary preparations for river-driving. After several days' travel, the neighborhood of home is reached; but, before the arrival in town, some little preparations are made by the hands for a triumphant entrée. Accordingly, colors are displayed from tall poles fastened to the sled, and sometimes, also, to the yoke of the oxen, made of handkerchiefs, with streaming pennants floating on the wind, or of strips of red flannel, the remains of a shirt of the same material, while the hats are decorated with liberal strips of ribbon of the same material, and waists sashed with red comforters; their beards being such as a Mohammedan might swear by. Thus attired, they parade the town with all the pomp of a modern caravan. The arrival of a company of these teams, ten or a dozen in number, sometimes amounting to forty or fifty oxen, and nearly as many men, creates no little interest in those thriving towns on the river which owe their existence, growth, and prosperity to the toils and hardships of these same hardy loggers. Each team is an object of special interest and criticism; and, according to the "condition" of flesh they are found in, so is the praise or discredit of the teamster in command, always making the amount of labor performed and the quality of the keeping furnished an accompanying criterion of judgment. This voluntary review, to the knight of the goad, is fraught with interest, as by the decisions of this review he either maintains, advances, or recedes from his former standing in the profession, and thus it affects not only his pride, but also his purse, as a teamster of repute commands the highest rate of wages. Some twenty years since, these arrivals, and also those of the river-drivers, were characterized by a free indulgence in spirituous liquors, and many drunken carousals. Grog-shops were numerous, and the dominion of King Alcohol undisputed by the masses. Liquor flowed as freely as the waters which bore their logs to the mills. Hogsheads of rum were drunk or wasted in the course of a few hours on some occasions, and excessive indulgence was the almost daily practice of the majority, even from the time of their arrival in the spring until the commencement of another winter's campaign. I speak now more particularly of employees, though I calculate, as a Southerner would say, that many of the employers in those days had experience enough to tell good West India from New England rum. "In 1832, in a population not exceeding four hundred and fifty or five hundred, on the St. Croix, three thousand five hundred gallons of ardent spirits were consumed." A distinguished lumberman, whose opinion is above quoted, remarks further, "So strong was the conviction that men could not work in the water without 'spirits,' that I had great difficulty in employing the first crew of men to drive on the river on temperance principles. When I made known my purpose to employ such a gang of men, the answer almost invariably was, 'You may _try_, but, depend upon it, the drive will never come down.' But old men, who had been spurred on to exertion for thirty years by ardent spirits, were forced to acknowledge, when they came down river, that they had never succeeded so well before; and learned, at that late period, that the cause of their stiff joints and premature old age was not wholly on account of exposure to the cold and work in the water, but the result of strong drink." It would be difficult to give an exaggerated sketch of the drunken practices among loggers twenty-five years ago. I recollect that matters were carried so far at Milltown, that the loggers would arrest passers-by, take them by force, bring them into the toll-house grog-shop, and baptize them by pouring a quart of rum over their heads. Distinctions of grade were lost sight of, and the office of deacon or priest constituted no exemption "pass" against the ordeal, rather the rite profaned. This process of ablution was practiced with such zeal upon their own craft and transient passers-by, that a hogshead of rum was drawn in a short time, running in brooks over the floor. The affair was conducted amid the most boisterous and immoderate merriment--the more distinguished the candidate, the more hearty the fun. But a change has come over, not the spirit of their dreams, but their practices and estimate of such excesses. I doubt whether any portion of society, or class of men whose intemperate habits were so excessive, and whose excuses, at least for a moderate use of liquor, were so reasonable, can be found where the principles of total abstinence have wrought so thorough and complete a change. Not that the evil is wholly eradicated, for many still continue its use. But it has now been fully demonstrated that men can endure the chilling hardships of river-driving quite as well, and, indeed, far better, without the stimulus of ardent spirits, and perform more and better-directed labor. At the time alluded to, however, more prominence was given to rum as a necessary part of the supplies than to almost any other article. "The first and most important article," says Mr. Todd, of St. Stephen's, N. B., "in all our movements, from the stump in the swamp to the ship's hold, was _Rum_! RUM!" To show how truly this one idea ran through the minds of the loggers, I present the following original rum song, illustrating the "spirit of the times," and of the log swamp muse. "'Tis when we do go into the woods, Drink round, brave boys! drink round, brave boys! 'Tis when we do go into the woods, Jolly brave boys are we; 'Tis when we do go into the woods, We look for timber, and that which is good, Heigh Ho! drink round, brave boys, And jolly brave boys are we. Now when the choppers begin to chop, Drink round, &c., When the choppers begin to chop, Jolly brave boys, &c.; And when the choppers begin to chop, They take the sound and leave the rot, Heigh ho! drink round, &c., And jolly brave boys, &c. And when the swampers begin to clear, Drink round, &c., And when the swampers begin to clear, Jolly brave boys, &c.; And when the swampers begin to clear, They show the teamster where to steer, Heigh ho! drink round, &c., And jolly brave boys, &c. And when we get them on to the sled, Drink round, &c., And when we get them on to the sled, Jolly brave boys, &c.; And when we get them on to the sled, 'Haw! back, Bright!' it goes ahead, Heigh ho! drink round, &c., And jolly brave boys, &c. Then, when we get them on to the stream, Drink round, &c., Then, when we get them on to the stream, Jolly brave boys, &c.; So, when we get them on to the stream, We'll knock out the fid and roll them in, Heigh ho! drink round, &c., Jolly brave boys, &c. And when we get them down to the boom, Drink round, &c., And when we get them down to the boom, Jolly brave boys, &c.; And when we get them down to the boom, We'll call at the tavern for brandy and rum, Heigh ho! drink round, &c., Jolly brave boys, &c. So when we get them down to the mill, 'Tis drink round, &c., So when we get them down to the mill, Jolly brave boys, &c.; And when we get them down to the mill, We'll call for the liquor and drink our fill, Heigh ho! drink, &c., Jolly brave boys, &c. The _merchant_ he takes us by the hand, Drink round, brave boys! drink round, brave boys! The merchant he takes us by the hand, And '_jolly brave boys are we_;' The merchant he takes us by the hand, Saying, 'Sirs, I have _goods_ at your command;' But heigh ho! drink round, brave boys, The _money_ will foot up a 'spree.'" CHAPTER II. RIVER-DRIVING. Log-landing.--Laborious Exposure.--Damming Streams.--Exciting Scenes. --Log-riding.--Fun.--Breaking a Dry-landing.--A sudden Death.-- Thrilling Scenes on the "Nesourdnehunk."--Lake-driving.--Steam Tow-boat.--Remarks on Lake Navigation.--Driving the main River.-- Union of Crews.--Substantial Jokes.--Log Marks.--Dangers of River-driving.--Sad Feelings over the Grave of a River-driver.-- Singular Substitute for a Coffin.--Burial of a River-driver.--A Log Jam.--Great Excitement.--A Boat swamped.--A Man drowned.-- Narrow Escape.--Mode of Living on the River.--Wangun.--Antidote for Asthma.--The Wangun swamped.--An awful Struggle.--The miraculous Escape.--Driving among the Islands.--Amusing Exertions at identifying. --Consummation of Driving.--The Claims of lumbering Business for greater Prominence.--The Boom. The business of _river-driving_ is not so agreeable as other departments of labor in the lumbering operations, though equally important, and also, in many respects, intensely interesting. The hands left at the camps at the time the team breaks up, to make the necessary instruments for _river-driving_, are soon joined with the addition of such forces as are requisite for an expeditious drive. As in most labor performed there is a directing and responsible head, so is it in river-driving; here, too, we have our "boss." As early as April, and sometimes the last of March, the high ascending sun begins to melt the snow on the south of mountain and hill sides, flowing intervales and lowlands, forming considerable rivers, where at other seasons of the year the insignificant little brook wound its stealthy course among the alders, hardly of a capacity to float the staff of a traveler; but, at the period referred to, by a little previous labor in cutting away the bushes and removing some of the stones in its channel, it is made capable of floating large logs, with the occasional assistance of a dam to flow shoal places. In brook-driving it is necessary to begin early, in order to get the logs into the more ample current of the main river while the freshet is yet up. In some cases, therefore, as a necessary step, the ice in the channel of the brook is cut out, opening a passage of sufficient width to allow three or four logs to float side by side. In forming a landing on the margin of such streams, the trees and bushes are cut and cleared out of the way for several rods back, and a considerable distance up and down, according to the number of logs to be hauled into it. To facilitate the sawing of the logs into suitable lengths for driving, as well as more especially to form bed-pieces upon which to roll them into the brook in the spring, a great many skids are cut and laid parallel with each other, running at right angles to the margin of the stream. On these landings, in the spring, the water is from one to two feet deep, the cause of which is sometimes accounted for from the fact that in the autumn the water is quite low, and the ice, in forming, is attached to the grass and bushes, which prevent it from rising; the result is, that the whole is overflowed in the spring. Into the channel thus cut the logs are rolled, as fast as it can be cleared, by shoving those already in down stream, until the brook, for a mile or more, is filled with new and beautiful logs. No part of the driving business is so trying to the constitution, perhaps, as clearing such a landing. It often occupies a week, during which all hands are in the water, in depth from the ankle to the hips, exerting themselves to the utmost, lifting with heavy pries, hand-spikes, and cant-dogs, to roll these massive sticks into the brook channel. The water at this season is extremely chilly, so much so that a few moments' exposure deprives the feet and legs of nearly all feeling, and the individual of power to move them, so that it often becomes necessary to assist each other to climb upon a log, where a process of thumping, rubbing, and stamping restores the circulation and natural power of motion. This effected, they jump in and at it again. When the water is too shallow on any part of a stream to float the logs, dams are constructed to flow the water back, with gates which can be opened and shut at pleasure, and either through the apertures of the gates or sluice-ways made for the purpose, the logs are run. This dam answers the same purpose in raising the water to float the logs below as above, on the brook. Shutting the gates, a large pond of water is soon accumulated; then hoisting them, out leaps the hissing element, foaming and dashing onward like a tiger leaping upon his prey. Away the logs scamper, reminding one of a flock of frightened sheep fleeing before the wolf. Some logs are so cumbersome that they remain unmoved, even with this artificial accumulation of water. In such cases, embracing the moment when the water is at its highest pitch, in we leap, and, thrusting our hand-spikes beneath them, bow our shoulders to the instrument, often stooping so low as to kiss the curling ripples as they dance by. In this way, sometimes by a few inches at a time, and sometimes by the rod, we urge them over difficult places; while, in connection with the annoyance of very cold water, broken fragments of ice mingle in the melée, imposing sundry thumps and bruises upon the benumbed limbs of the enduring river-driver. In some places, on low, swampy land, a body of water accumulates several rods wide, and from three to ten feet deep. Here the logs, as if to play "hide and seek," run in among the bushes, giving infinitely more trouble than amusement. Under such circumstances, it becomes necessary for the men to keep on the logs most of the time; and as logs roll very easily in the water, and are often extremely slippery, it requires the balancing skill of a wire-dancer to keep on them; and often some luckless wight, whether he will or no, plunges over head and ears into the flood as he is whirled from the back of some ticklish log; and, however unwelcome to himself, no sooner is his head above water than he hears the wild woods echo the jeering laugh of his more fortunate comrades. In other places, where banks are too abrupt to allow the team to pass on to the river, the logs are unloaded and rolled down in one general mass; the first few fall upon the ice, others rolling against them; the main body fall back and accumulate in great numbers. To break or clear such a landing is often very dangerous. While at work prying on the foremost, large masses start suddenly, and often the only way of escape is to spring in advance of the rushing pile and plunge the river. "I saw one poor fellow," said a logger, "hurled into eternity very suddenly while at work on one of those jams. Co-operating with others in an attempt to roll a stick from the pile, the main lever gave way, and the stick slipped back. This person used a single hand-spike, holding up the upper end and sallying back. When the log rolled back it caused the hand-spike to spring forward, and, before he had time to relinquish his grasp, it flung him headlong forward, like an arrow from the hunter's bow, down the embankment into the water; when recovered, he was dead. It was supposed that some internal injury was inflicted by the sudden ejectment, which caused him to suffocate more readily in the water. Rarely could the man be found his equal in physical energy; but strength opposes no barrier to death." Logs are now driven down streams whose navigation for such purposes was formerly regarded as impracticable--some from their diminutive size, and others from their wild, craggy channel. There is a stream of the latter description, called "_Nesourdnehunk_," which disembogues into the Penobscot on the southwest side of Mount Ktaadn, whose foaming waters leap from crag to crag, or roll in one plunging sheet down perpendicular ledges between two mountains. On one section of this stream, said to be about half a mile in length, there is a fall of three hundred feet. In some places it falls twenty-five feet perpendicularly. Down this wild pass logs are run, rolling, dashing, and plunging, end over end, making the astonished forest echo with their rebounding concussion. It would be a match for "Dame Nature" to locate a handsome Pine-tree beyond the grasp of the logmen. Where the Eastern hunter pursues the mountain goat, the logger would pursue the stately Pine. We have seen them in the deep ravine, on the abrupt hill-top, and far up the rugged mountain side, or peering down from some lofty cliff upon the insignificant animal at its base who is contemplating its sacrifice; a few minutes, and the crash of its giddy plunge is heard, "and swells along the echoing crag," causing the earth to tremble under the stroke of its massive trunk; and if it does not break in pieces, as is sometimes the case, in falling, it will in time find its way to the slip of the saw-mill. The resolution, daring, skill, and physical force of the men engaged in this business can find no rival, to say the least, in any body or class of men whatever. In many cases logs are hauled on to the ice of the lakes, streams, and rivers, instead of being left upon the banks or landing-places. When hauled on to the lakes, they are laid together as compactly as possible, and inclosed in a "boom," which is made by fastening the ends of the trunks of long trees, so as to prevent them from scattering over the lake on the breaking up of the ice. A strong bulk-head or raft is constructed of the logs, with a capstan or windlass for the purpose of warping the whole forward in a calm, or when the wind is ahead. In this operation, two or three men take an anchor into the boat, to which, of course, the warp is attached, when they row out to the extent of the rope, let go the anchor, and haul up by working the windlass. Sometimes a tempest breaks up the boom, and the logs are scattered, which gives much trouble, and not unfrequently causes a delay of one year before they reach the mills. On Moose-head Lake, at the head of the Kennebeck, a steam tow-boat has recently been built, which has proved very serviceable to lumbermen in towing rafts to the outlet. Probably the time will come when the business of other large lakes in Maine will require the services of similar boats. Had the same degree of knowledge and interest existed twenty years ago in regard to the application of steam to the various purposes of life that is now manifested, the crystal waters of the beautiful Grand Lake, at the head of the St. Croix, would have been plowed by the prow of some little steamer long ago. But now one great leading motive for such an undertaking is irrecoverably past; the White Pines have been mowed by the woodmen's ax; they have disappeared forever, at least in any considerable quantity. Still, other interests may arise and create a demand sufficiently promising, in a remunerative point of view, to induce an individual, or joint investment, for the construction of such a boat as may be needed. The Grand Lake is some twenty-five miles in length from north to south, and from six to eight miles wide at its greatest breadth. An imaginary line, passing lengthwise, constitutes the boundary between Maine and New Brunswick, the eastern shore being within the limits of her majesty's dominions. Settlements to a large extent have already been made on the American side; and when, in the course of time, the other side shall spring into importance, some little commerce may be opened between the two ports, a custom-house be established, &c., so that the places here sketched may constitute a miniature likeness of the two countries, with the broad Atlantic between them. However, in reference to the realization of what is here said of steamboats and commerce, we will say with the Dutchman, when he spoke prospectively of other matters, "_Vell, vell, ve shall see vat ve shall see!_" From lakes and tributary streams, the various parcels of logs cut and drove by different companies issue forth, and form one grand drive on the main river, where the separate crews unite, and make common cause in the driving operation. In other instances one drive may precede another, making the river for miles one general scene of logs and river-drivers. Sometimes the foremost logs of one drive, unobstructed, pass on and mingle with what is called the "tail end" of the preceding drive. Under such circumstances, if there be any grudge to gratify by the foremost crew, or a substantial joke to be put, such truant logs are run aground, into creeks, in meadow land, among the bushes, and on the shore. A crew of thirty or forty men will take a log belonging to another crew and run it up high and dry on to the land, stand it on end, prop it up, and leave it in that position. The rear crew, on coming up, stimulated by the prank, knock away the props, and throw it down; a score of pikes pierce its sides, when they shove it upon the run perhaps twenty rods to the river again, amid the most vociferous hurrahs and whooping, enough to give one quite an idea of the Indian war-whoop. Some, perhaps, who may trace these lines may be curious to know how the logs of one party can be distinguished from those of another. The answer is, precisely as one farmer distinguishes his sheep from those of his neighbor by the particular mark they bear, each differing in some particular from every other. A representation of these marks, which are cut in the side of the log, would remind one of the letters or characters of the Chinese. No employment that I am aware of threatens the life and health more than river-driving. Many a poor fellow finds his last resting-place on the bank of some wild stream, in whose stifling depths his last struggle for life was spent; where the wild wood skirts its margin--where, too, the lonely owl hoots his midnight requiem. I have visited many spots that were, from facts called up by retrospection, lonely and painfully silent, but have never been so spell-bound, so extremely oppressed with a feeling of sadness, as while standing over the little mound which marked the resting-place of a river-driver on the banks of a lonely stream, far away from the hearth of his childhood and the permanent abodes of civilization. The silent ripple of the now quiet stream (for the spring floods were past), the sighing of the winds among the branches of trees which waved in silence over the unconscious sleeper, rendered the position too painful for one predisposed to melancholy. When in those wild regions we have the misfortune to lose one of our number, after the body is recovered, we place it in a coffin composed of two empty flour barrels. One is passed over the head and shoulders, the other receives the lower extremities, when the two are brought together and fastened, his grave-clothes generally being some of his common wearing apparel. Seldom, if ever, does the voice of prayer rise over their bier under these circumstances; in silence the corpse is committed to its rude burial, while now and then a half-suppressed sigh is heard, and the unbidden tears steal down the sunburned cheeks of his manly associates. Events of this kind generally come suddenly, though, when in dangerous circumstances, are often anticipated. After such an occurrence, an air of sobriety pervades the company; jokes are dispensed with, the voice of song is hushed, and for several days the deportment of the men is characterized with a degree of cautiousness unusual, except when reminded by some such impressive example of the frailty and uncertainty of human life. But with most the impression soon wears off, and their accustomed cheerfulness is regained; their exertions marked with the same daring as before the accident, or as though a life had never been lost in the business. Lower down the river, in the vicinity of new settlements, the usual ceremonies on funeral occasions are practiced when an itinerant clergyman chances to pass that way. The following notice of such an occurrence was cut from the Bangor Courier: "Passing into the town of Passadumkeag late one evening during the past summer, a crowd had gathered in the street. It proved to be the funeral of a river-driver. His body had been taken from the water and shrouded in the open air. Many of the sympathetic villagers were there; and a pious elder, who chanced that way, breathed a prayer over his remains before they were borne to their final place of rest." BURIAL OF A RIVER-DRIVER. "They drew him from his watery bed, And shrouded him with kindly care; At ev'n his humble bier was spread, And o'er it rose the voice of pray'r; His only pall night's sable damp, The stars of heav'n his funeral lamp. They bore away that youthful form, And laid it in the humid grave, That yestermorn with life was warm, And launch'd upon the dancing wave With jocund voice, and hopes as bright As stirr'd beneath that morning's light. His oar with nervous arm he plied, Nor shrank from dangers gath'ring fast, Struggling against that treacherous tide, His stout heart braves it to the last; Till, spent his strength, and dim his eye, His oar and skiff float idly by. Far distant lies the home he left, And side by side an aged pair, Unconscious of their hopes bereft, Breathe now his cherish'd name in pray'r; Their eyes with watchfulness grow dim: Oh! vainly will they wait for him! A fair young maid, with pensive face, Looks forth upon the silent night, Her heart sweet memories doth trace, Till future years glow in their light. Alas! for life's all changeful scene, How soon must perish that fond dream For him on whom her thoughts doth pore; His hopes and schemes of earth are o'er!" Brook-drives are, as has before been remarked, usually distinct parcels of logs belonging to an individual or company. These various parcels are often thrown together in one mass on the ample current of the main river, to the number of twelve or thirteen thousand pieces; in which case the different crews unite and make common cause. As the water rises suddenly, and falls as rapidly on the river, by which, in the first instance, many logs run upon intervale and meadow land, or upon high rocks and ledges, and, in the other case, from the rapid decline of water, there is necessarily much activity called for to clear such logs from the position in which they are placed, else they must be left behind, or require great physical exertion to disengage and bring them on with the rest. A steady current or pitch of water is preferable to one either rising or diminishing, as, when rising rapidly, the water at the middle of the river is considerably higher than at the shores--so much so as to be distinctly perceived by the eye of a spectator on the banks, presenting an appearance like a turnpike road. The lumber, therefore, is always sure to incline from the center of the channel toward either shore. On the falls, and the more difficult portions of the river, sometimes immense jams form. In the commencement, some unlucky log swings across the narrow chasm, striking some protruding portions of the ledge, and stops fast; others come on, and, meeting this obstruction, stick fast also, until thousands upon thousands form one dense breast-work, against and through which a boiling, leaping river rushes with terrible force. Who that is unaccustomed to such scenes, on viewing that pile of massive logs, now densely packed, cross-piled, and interwoven in every conceivable position in a deep chasm with overhanging cliffs, with a mighty column of rushing water, which, like the heavy pressure upon an arch, confines the whole more closely, would decide otherwise than that the mass must lay in its present position, either to decay or be moved by some extraordinary convulsion. Tens of thousands of dollars' worth lay in this wild and unpromising position. The property involved, together with the exploits of daring and feats of skill to be performed in breaking that "jam," invest the whole with a degree of interest not common to the ordinary pursuits of life, and but little realized by many who are even familiar with the terms _lumber_ and _river-driving_. In some cases many obstructing logs are to be removed singly. Days and weeks sometimes are thus expended before the channel is cleared. In other cases a single point only is to be touched, and the whole jam is in motion. To hit upon the most vulnerable point is the first object; the best means of effecting it next claims attention; then the consummation brings into requisition all the physical force, activity, and courage of the men, more especially those engaged at the dangerous points. [Illustration: RIVER DRIVERS BREAKING A JAM.] From the neighboring precipice, overhanging the scene of operation, a man is suspended by a rope round his body, and lowered near to the spot where a breach is to be made, which is always selected at the lower edge of the jam. The point may be treacherous, and yield to a feeble touch, or it may require much strength to move it. In the latter case, the operator fastens a long rope to a log, the end of which is taken down stream by a portion of the crew, who are to give a long pull and strong pull when all is ready. He then commences prying while they are pulling. If the jam starts, or any part of it, or if there be even an indication of its starting, he is drawn suddenly up by those stationed above; and, in their excitement and apprehensions for his safety, this is frequently done with such haste as to subject him to bruises and scratches upon the sharp-pointed ledges or bushes in the way. It may be thought best to cut off the key-log, or that which appears to be, the principal barrier. Accordingly, he is let down on to the jam, and as the place to be operated upon may in some cases be a little removed from the shore, he either walks to the place with the rope attached to his body, or, untying it, leaves it where he can readily grasp it in time to be drawn from his perilous position. Often, where the pressure is direct, a few blows only are given with the ax, when the log snaps in an instant with a loud report, followed suddenly by the violent motion of the "jam;" and, ere our bold river-driver is jerked half way to the top of the cliff, scores of logs, in wildest confusion, rush beneath his feet while he yet dangles in air, above the rushing, tumbling mass. If that rope, on which life and hope hang thus suspended, should part, worn by the sharp point of some jutting rock, death, certain and quick, would be inevitable. The deafening noise when such a jam breaks, produced by the concussion of moving logs whirled about like mere straws, the crash and breaking of some of the largest, which part apparently as easily as a reed is severed, together with the roar of waters, may be heard for miles; and nothing can exceed the enthusiasm of the river-drivers on such occasions, jumping, hurraing, and yelling with joyous excitement. Such places and scenes as are thus sketched may be found and witnessed on most rivers where lumber is driven. Referring to an item of experience on a drive down the Mattawamkeag, says a logger, "Our drive consisted of about thirteen thousand pieces, with a crew of thirty-two men, all vigorous and in the prime of life. Out of such a number, exposed as we were to the perils attendant upon the business, it was a question which we sometimes inwardly pondered, Who of our party may conclude the scenes of mortal life on this drive? "We commenced about the 25th of March to drive, while snow, and ice, and cold weather were yet in the ascendant. The logs were cleared from the lake and stream of Baskahegan in fifty days, which brought us into the Mattawamkeag. Twelve miles down this river, below the junction of Baskahegan, we came to Slugundy Falls. There the water passes through a gorge about fifty feet wide, with a ledge on either side, making a tremendous plunge, and in immediate proximity a very large rock stands a little detached from its ledgy banks. There the whole body of our logs formed an immense jam, and such a mass of confusion as then presented itself beggars description. Logs of every size were interwoven and tangled together like heaps of straw in 'winnow,' while the water rushed through and over them with a power which seemed equal to the upturning of the very ledges which bound it. We paused to survey the work before us, calculating the chances of success, of life and death. We knew the dangers attending the operation; that life had on former occasions been sacrificed there, and that the graves of the brave men who had fallen were not far distant; and we remembered that we too might make with them our final resting-place. The work was, however, commenced; and after five days incessant application, mutually sharing the dangers incurred, we made a clean sweep of this immense jam without accident. A short distance below are Gordon Falls, at which place there is a contraction of the channel, with high ledges on either hand, a straight but rapid run, with a very rough bottom, at once difficult and dangerous to navigate or drive. Here logs to a greater or less extent always jam, the number varying according to the height of the freshet. This place we soon passed successfully. Logs, 'wangun' and all, were soon over, excepting one empty boat, which two brothers, our best men, in attempting to run, 'swamped' and capsized; in a moment they both mounted upon her bottom, and were swiftly passing along the dashing river, when the boat struck a hidden rock, and the foremost one plunged headlong into the boiling waves. Being an active man, and an expert swimmer, we expected to see him rise and struggle with the tide which bore them onward; but, to our amazement and sorrow, we saw no more of him until four days after, when his corpse was discovered some distance below the place of this sad accident. At the foot of the falls a small jam of logs made out into the channel; several of the men ran out upon this to rescue the other, who had also lost his footing on the boat. He passed close to the jam under water, when one of the crew suddenly thrust his arm down and seized him by the hair of his head, and drew him to land. On recovering from the shock which he had sustained in his perilous passage, and learning that his brother was drowned, he blamed the crew for not permitting him to share the same fate, and attempted to plunge again into the river, but was restrained by force till reason once more resumed her sway. The body of the other received the humble attentions usual upon such interments, as soon as a coffin could be procured. Not two hours previous to this accident, this individual, taking one of the crew with him, visited the grave of a fellow-laborer near by; left the spot, launched his frail boat, and lay down the next hour in a river-driver's grave." Fourteen days from this time we drove our logs to the boom, having passed a distance of only one hundred and thirty miles in ninety days. The mode of living on these driving excursions is altogether "itinerant," and really comfortless, for the most part. A temporary shelter where night overtakes them is a luxury not always enjoyed. Often nothing is above them but the forest's canopy, and beneath them the cold earth, it may be snow, with a slight bed of coarse boughs, over which a blanket is spread, and generally a large fire is kept burning through the night. Days and nights, without intermission, are often passed without a dry shred to the back. This is being "packed;" and, if not a "water cure," it is being water-soaked in earnest. It would not be surprising if rheumatism were entailed upon the river-driver as a consequence of such exposure; yet I have known men to enjoy better health under these circumstances than under almost any other. As an instance, I have seen a man passing sleepless nights with asthma at home, now on the bed, then on the floor or reclining on a chair, struggling for a free respiration until his very eyes would start from their sockets. I have known such a man exchange his position for the exposures peculiar to log-driving, and never for once suffer from this distressing complaint during the whole campaign, but, on returning to the comforts of home, experience an immediate relapse. From the foregoing account, which is really believed to come short of the reality, the reader will be enabled to form some estimate of the dangers, hardships, and deaths encountered by thousands in the lumbering operations--a business which is hardly supposed to possess any peculiarities of incident or adventure above the most common pursuits of life. How little are the generality of mankind disposed to consider as they should, that for much which contributes to their comfort and ease, many a hardship has been endured and multitudes of individuals have been sacrificed. The camping utensils for river-driving, with provisions, are moved along day by day, according to the progress made by the drive, so that for the most part each night presents a new location, with the usual preparations. The boats appropriated for the removal of the whole company, apparatus, and provisions, when loaded, are called "_wanguns_," an Indian word signifying bait, and, when thus appropriated, means bait or provision boats. Among the dangers to be incurred, where both life and property are hazarded, is that of "running the wangun"--a phrase perfectly understood on the river, but which the uninitiated will better understand when I say that it means the act of taking these loaded bateaux down river from station to station, particularly down quick water. This is a business generally committed to experienced watermen, especially when a dangerous place is to be passed, as to "swamp the wangun" is often attended with not only the loss of provisions and utensils, but also life. From this fact, the circumstance is always regarded with interest by all hands, who watch the navigators in their perilous passage with no ordinary or unnecessary solicitude. On one occasion two active young men put off from the shore with the "wangun," to make the passage of some quick water just at the head of a fearful fall, where, as was customary, the whole party were to be carried by. In passing a rock, where the water formed a large whirlpool, the boat, on striking it, instantly capsized. One of the men, being an expert swimmer, told his comrade to take hold of the back of his vest, and he could swim with him to the shore; but the current carried them so swiftly toward the falls that it became necessary for the swimmer to disengage himself from his companion, who clung to him with a death-grasp. His efforts to effect a separation were unsuccessful, and every moment they were carried nearer to the fatal falls. Suddenly sinking in the water, the swimmer contrived to turn round and face his drowning friend. Drawing up his legs, and bracing his feet against his companion, he gave a sudden and powerful kick, which disengaged him. Then rising to the surface, after this most painful act, to which he was impelled from dire necessity, he struck for the shore, and barely reached it in time to save himself from the sad fate that awaited his unfortunate associate, who, poor fellow, still clinging with a death-grasp to the shred of garment which was rent from his companion in the struggle, was carried over the falls, and then, passing under a jam of logs, floated down the river several miles, where his body was found, and interred on the banks of the Penobscot. I have often passed the spot where he sleeps. The green grass waves in silence over his grave, and now the plow of the husbandman turns the greensward at his side, where once the forest trees majestically waved over his rude bier. The following instance of the remarkable escape of a river-driver was related by one who witnessed the affair. I think it happened on the Androscoggin. Among the crew there and then engaged was a young man who prided himself upon his fearlessness of danger; and, to maintain the character he thus arrogated to himself, would unnecessarily encounter perils which the prudent would shun. His frequent boastings rendered his society not a little unpleasant, at times, to the less pretending; and although this dislike was not so great as to lead them to rejoice in seeing him suffer, yet an event which might be likely to cool his courage would not have been unwelcome to the crew. On one occasion he ventured upon a jam of logs just above a rolling dam, over which the spring freshets poured one vast sheet of water, plunging several feet perpendicularly into a boiling cauldron. The jam started so suddenly that he was precipitated with the logs over this fearful place, where not only the fall and under-tow threatened instant death, but the peril was imminent of being crushed by the tumbling logs. No one really expected to see him come out alive, but, to our surprise, he came up like a porpoise, and swam for the shore; but the swift current swept him down, and carried him under a jam of logs which formed below the dam. From previous exertion and exhaustion, we thought this must finish the poor fellow, and we really began to forget his faults, and call to remembrance whatever of virtue he had manifested. Soon a dark object was seen to rise to the surface immediately below the jam. It was our hero, who, elevating his head and striking forward with his arms, swam with a buoyant stroke to a small island just below, where he landed in safety, having sustained no injury, and without having experienced any abatement of his former daring. Seemingly there was not one chance in a thousand for the life of a man making such a fearful voyage. This circumstance brings to mind a poetical sentiment I have somewhere read on the ways of Providence in the disposal of human life: "An earthquake may be bid to spare The man that's strangled by a hair." Men often lose their lives where we have least reason to expect it, and are as often spared, perhaps, where we see no grounds of hope for them. Thus physicians may sometimes be censured as unskillful when they lose a patient, while in fact God has fixed the bounds of mortal life; or be praised for skill when their success is but apparent, while to the Creator's purposes alone are we to look and give credit for such deliverances. River-drivers usually eat four times a day--at least this practice obtains on the Penobscot--viz.: at five and ten o'clock A.M., and at two and eight P.M. After the two o'clock meal, when the drive on the main river is under successful headway, the camp-ground is forsaken, the tent struck, and the wangun is run as far down river as it is thought the drive will reach by night, where arrangements are made, as usual, for the crew, by the cook and "cookee," as his assistant is called. It may happen that the drive does not progress according to the calculations of the cook, and a short row down river is necessary to reach the wangun. Between the mouth of the Piscataquis and Oldtown, a distance of twenty or twenty-five miles, are numerous beautiful islands, some of them large, and generally covered with a heavy growth of hard-wood, among which the Elm abounds. When the logs arrive at this point, many of the encampments are fixed upon these islands. As the sun sinks behind the western hills, the lengthened shadows of the beautiful island forests shoot across the mirrored river, casting a deep shade, which soon disappears amid the denser curtain of an advanced evening, with which they blend. The roar of rushing waters is over, and the current glides smoothly on. No sound is heard but the echo of the merry boatmen's laugh, and of voices here and there on the river, with now and then the shred of a song, and the creaking and plashing of oars. While thus passing down, as the boats turn a sudden bend in the river, a dozen lights gleam from the islands, throwing their lengthened scintillations over the water. Now the question goes round, "Which is our light?" "There's one on the east side!" "Yes, and there's another on Sugar Island!" "And there's one on Hemlock!" says a third. "Why the d--l hadn't they gone to Bangor, and done with it?" "Wangun No. 1, ahoy!" shouts the helmsman, a little exasperated with fatigue and hunger. Now, while all the rest of the cooks remain silent, No. 1 cook responds in turn. Another calls out the name of their particular log-mark: "Blaze Belt, ahoy!" "Where in thunder are you?" "Blaze Belt, this way, this way!" comes echoing from Hemlock Island, and away the Blaze Belt bateau rows with its merry-making crew. Thus each crew, in turn, is finally conducted to its respective camp-fire. The prospect of a release from the arduous labors on the drive at this point of progress raises the thermometer of feeling, which imparts a right merry interest to every thing. Like sailors "homeward bound," after a three or nine months' cruise, and within one day's sail of port, relaxation and pastimes only are thought and talked of. The mine of song and story is opened, and the rarest specimens of match songs and "stretched" stories are coined and made current by the members of the different crews. The "smartest team," "chopper," "barker," "the largest tree," "the biggest log," "the greatest day's work," bear or moose story, the _merits_ of crews, teamsters, "bosses," cooks, and swampers, falls and rapids, streams and rivers, all, all come up as themes of converse, song, and story. There is less hurrying in the morning now than in the former part of the driving; let the water rise or fall, it is all the same thing at this point, for the driver has reached the ample channel of the river, where neither falls or rapids occur. A day, and the work is consummated--'tis done! The crews are disbanded: they disperse, some to their homes and farms; some to idleness and recreation; some to hire in the mills to saw the logs thus run; others to take rafts of boards to the head of tide navigation, where hundreds of vessels are in waiting to distribute the precious results of the lumberman's toil to the thousand ports of the Atlantic and Pacific coasts, where the sound of saws, planes, and hammers of a million house-wrights, cabinet-makers, carpenters, coopers, and jobbers make the air vocal with the music of cheerful labor, giving bread to the millions, wealth to thousands, and comfort and convenience to all. For this branch of human industry we set up a claim, in point of _rank_, not yet awarded to it by the world. We claim for it greater prominence as a source of wealth--greater respect on the ground of the talent and skill concentrated by the prime operators--greater deference for it as a business--for the endurance, energy, and courage of the thousands of hardy freemen who engage in it, and greater interest from the amount of substantial romance and adventure in the "Life among the Loggers." While it is the professed object of this volume faithfully to portray all the points alluded to, I am nevertheless impressed with the idea that no point which I have treated comes so far short of the reality as the attempt to picture the romance of the business. The boom, which constitutes the general receptacle of all logs, is worthy a few lines of observation. On the Penobscot it stretches up the side of the river in the vicinity of numerous islands, whose location is peculiarly favorable; the boom-sticks run from one island to another, and, where the distance is too great, a pier is sunk--a square frame of stout timber filled with stones. These piers sometimes span the whole river, united by the boom-sticks. This is true of the main boom on the St. Croix. On the Penobscot it stretches up the river about two miles; at the upper end there being a shear boom, which swings out to intercept and turn the logs floating down the river into its ample embrace. The Boom Corporation, on the Penobscot, is regulated by legislative enactments, and all logs running into it, or within the limits of its charter, are subject to its laws and regulations. Its bounds embrace a section of the river six miles in length, and to the care of all logs coming within its limits the agent is obligated to give his attention, and the company responsible. It is the duty of the boom-master, with the men under him, to raft the logs of each individual in parcels by themselves previous to their delivery for the mills, guided in his selection by the particular marks cut on the logs, for which service and safe-keeping the owner or owners of the boom receive thirty-three cents per M. feet, board measure, which makes the property of the boom very valuable. In addition to this, every log found in the boom without a mark is a "prize log." Among other duties devolving on the boom agent is to inspect, personally, every raft of logs, setting down the number and mark in a memorandum kept for the purpose. This course of management protects each log-owner's property from plunder, as, in case any and all persons were indiscriminately allowed to raft out logs, the temptation might prove too strong, in some cases, to regard with due honesty logs bearing marks of a different character. Besides these main booms, there are many lesser ones, up and down the river, subject to no special legislation or law except the will of the owner. These observations relate chiefly to the Penobscot and St. Croix Rivers. Of the rules and regulations of similar corporations on other rivers I am uninformed, but it is to be presumed that they are much the same, in general. CHAPTER III. Observations on the St. Croix River.--Boundary Line.--Pine Timber. --Agriculture in the Interior.--Youthful Associations with Grand Lake.--Traditionary Name of Grand Lake.--Lake Che-pet-na-cook.-- Rise of Eastern Branch St. Croix.--Lumbering Prospects.--Hemlock. --Reciprocal Relations of the Lumber Trade between Americans and Provincials.--The Machias Rivers.--Origin of Name.--Character of Soil.--Lumber Resources and Statistics.--West Machias.--Narraguagues River, curious Definition of.--Capacity of Stream.--Statistics.-- Union River.--Observations on its Lumbering Interests.--Mills in Franklin. Having in the foregoing pages given brief sketches of some of the most interesting _trees_ known to us, devoting considerable attention to the White Pine, and the life and adventures of lumbermen, the concluding pages of this book will consist of brief sketches of the rivers of Maine and New Brunswick, and such statistics as to the extent of the lumbering operations on each river as may interest the curious in such matters. The Mschoodiac, more generally known as the St. Croix, constitutes the first link in the boundary between Maine and the province of New Brunswick. The name by which this river is more generally known is St. Croix, which is probably of French origin. The original and Indian name is Mschoodiac. An intelligent Indian, belonging to the Penobscot tribe, to whom I am indebted for the signification of the original names which our rivers bear, informed me that the signification of Mschoodiac was, "Burned land river," "Open space," or "Wide prospect river," thus deriving its name from some peculiarity in the country along its borders. Probably, at some period anterior to the white man's knowledge of our Western World, a section of forest adjacent to some part of the river was destroyed by fire, originating perhaps in the torch of some invading tribe as they laid waste the wigwams of their discomfited enemies, or from the embers of the little fire kindled by the hungry hunter to cook his hurried meal. In process of time, the principal part of a forest, withered and destroyed by such a devastating scourge, would fall to the ground, opening wide prospects where densely-compacted forest trees once completely circumscribed the view. But the river may have derived its name from a circumstance of still earlier date, viz., the existence of immense fields of _meadow_ land, which abound more or less in the whole region lying about the St. Croix, often affording the voyager an unobstructed view for miles up and down the stream. In former years vast quantities of this wild grass were cut by lumbermen for the subsistence of oxen and horses during their winter operations. The St. Croix has two branches, the east and west; the latter, at its source, is contiguous to the head waters of the Machias River in the west, while the former, being of more importance and greater magnitude, stretches far to the north to the lakes, whence is its source. Of these bodies of water mention may be made of Grand Lake in particular, which is about twenty-five miles long by eight wide at its greatest extent, romantically diversified in the northern part with beautiful islands, deep coves, and far-reaching points of land, covered with dense and rather undersized trees. The shores, east and west, are composed for the most part of immense granite rocks, rising very abruptly on the southwest to a considerable elevation, covered with a heavy growth of majestic Pine, Hemlock, and Spruce-trees. Beautiful white sand beaches, which run outward with a very gradual descent for many rods into the lake, afford a most luxurious bathing-ground, where probably the young savages of former generations gamboled and indulged in aquatic sports. Not many years since, an unbroken forest stretched abroad over a vast area of country, of which this lake formed a central point. The pervading silence, which rested like night over this vast wilderness, was only broken by the voice of the savage, and the discordant howlings of wild beasts. But within a few years the ax of the pioneer has leveled large tracts of forest, and thus opened the virgin soil to the sun's germinating rays, so that now may be seen skirting the shores of the lake, north and northwest, cultivated fields, relieving the solitude which once reigned there. The gray-haired red man of past generations knew this lake by the name Madongamook, which signified "Great grandsires," and owes its origin to the following circumstance: From time immemorial it is said that some of the aborigines made the immediate vicinity of this lake's outlet a permanent annual "setting-down place," or head-quarters. Here their ancestors gathered around the council-fire for uncounted generations. Hence this sheet of water was called Great-great-grandsire's Lake, of which Grand Lake is an abridgment. The author entertains many pleasant reminiscences of former visits to this lake. To use the language of the red man, he has spent many pleasant "moons" on the shores of Madongamook, paddled with the Indian hunter in his tiny birch over its silver waters, chased wild game through its forest confines, and flung from its transparent depths the delicious trout. Indians affirm that there is in these waters a great fish, "all one big as canoe," a sort of fresh-water whale. But it is time to proceed on our down-river trip. So, leaving the outlet of Grand Lake, and passing south about two miles across a "carrying-place," we strike the head of another lake, called _Che-pet-na-cook_, into which the surplus waters of the former lake pass. The name by which this lake is designated is said to signify _hilly pond_ or _lake_. In form it is long and narrow, resembling a deep, massive river. That peculiarity from which its name is derived is strikingly prominent. A range of abrupt and elevated ridges rises suddenly from its western shore, covered with a close, heavy growth of trees, principally Spruce. One peak of the ridge rises several hundred feet from the surface of the lake, which is called "_Spruce Mountain_." After mid-day, a section of this mountain ridge, so dense and frowning as to resemble a thunder-cloud, casts a cavernous shade, like a misty pall, over the surface of its waters, which seem to lay with prostrate fear at its base, imparting an oppressive solemnity over the scenery. At the foot of this lake, which is between twenty and thirty miles long, the east branch of the St. Croix takes its rise. From this point it passes through a rocky channel for the most part, occasionally flowing through a section of meadow or intervale land until it reaches Baring, a distance of some fifty miles, where for the first time it meets with a formidable barrier to its hitherto wild and unrestrained progress in the character of a "_dam_." Passing this through its various avenues, it flows on to Milltown, which occupies both sides of the river, and includes both the English and American villages. Between this place and the head of ship navigation, some two miles distant, the channel is _dammed_ several times on a succession of falls, where are numerous saw-mills; and, finally, after having leaped a thousand rocky precipices above, and struggled through as many gates and sluice-ways below, it quietly flows on to the Passamaquoddy Bay, where its restless waters find repose in the bosom of the Atlantic Ocean. In regard to the lumbering resources on this river, I believe it is generally admitted that the supply of Pine is comparatively small, the principal part having already been brought to market; and although the territory belonging to this river is large, still its resources are curtailed by the proximity of the head waters of the St. John, Penobscot, and Machias Rivers. The comparative scarcity of Pine timber has induced the manufacture of a much larger proportion of Spruce than formerly; still it is presumed that the same amount of Pine lumber now annually cut may continue to be for years to come. Should Hemlock come into more general use, the resources of the lumbermen will be greatly augmented, as timber of this kind abounds on the St. Croix. And why may not this be the case? For many purposes Hemlock lumber is preferred to Pine. A gentleman in Bangor informed the writer that he had, from choice, made use of Hemlock boards for nice floors to a residence recently built for himself, esteeming it richer in color, less liable to indentation, and of greater durability. With the exception of _Pine_, the resources for lumber on this river are still very considerable, and must continue to be for many years, unless sweeping fires shall blacken and wither the beautiful forests which now adorn the interior. Vast tracts of timber land have already been destroyed by fire on the territory belonging to this river, as the blanched trunks of standing trees, and barren hill country surrounding Baileyville, Baring, Calais, and St. Stephen's, most painfully indicate, greatly marring the beautiful scenery which once adorned the valley through which the river flows. Lumber manufactured on this river may be considered as both English and American products; still, by common concurrence, and not strictly in accordance with revenue regulations, it is shipped indiscriminately. The manufacture of the English side of the river is received on board American vessels and shipped to the States, and the lumber manufactured on the American side shipped on board English vessels and taken to the English markets duty free. For the most part, the firms who conduct the lumbering business on the St. Croix are of great respectability; several of them are very wealthy. The following table[12] of estimates has been gathered from the most reliable sources; and, although mathematical exactness is not pretended, still it is believed that the calculations here presented approach the truth sufficiently near to give the reader a very satisfactory view of the _extent_ of the lumbering operations on the boundary river: +------------------------------+------------------+-------------+ | |English.|American.| Average | |No. of Saw-mills | 42 | 33=75 | price | |No. of Lath Machines | 60. | per M. | |------------------------------|------------------|-------------| |Amount of Long Lumber | 65,000,000.| $ 7.50. | |Amount of Laths | 90,000,000.| 1.00. | |Amount of Shingles | 21,000,000.| 2.50. | |Amount of Pickets | 2,165,000.| 3.50. | |Amount of Clap-boards | 200,000.| 18.00. | |No. of Juniper Knees | 8,300.| 1.40 each.| |No. of Men employed, directly | | | | and indirectly | 1,200 to 1,500.| | |No. of Oxen and Horses, do | 1,000.| | +------------------------------+------------------+-------------+ [12] To the following gentlemen, viz., Messrs. Todd & Darling, J. M'Alister, Esq., of St. Stephen's, and to W. Pike, Esq., port surveyor; L. L. Lowell, Esq., and other gentlemen of Calais, I am under lasting obligations for the courteous and intelligent manner in which they responded to the various questions proposed in preparing the statistics for the above table. Leaving the St. Croix, and traveling westward about forty miles, we come to East Machias River, to the west of which, six miles distant, is another river called West Machias. The name Machias originated in some obstruction in the way of the Indian traveler, either in the river itself or upon its banks, whether natural or accidental I am not aware. The eastern stream is about fifty miles long, including the small lake, which constitutes its chief source, and is navigable only about six miles for large vessels, at which point the village, bearing the same name as the river, is located, and also the mills. As the lake which feeds the river is fed principally by springs, it affords a good supply of water the year round. The land in the immediate vicinity of the stream is quite good for agricultural purposes; but, as we recede from the river, the soil appears poor, presenting a desolate and forbidding aspect. Once a flourishing forest covered it, but now blackened, decayed, and decaying trunks of trees, scorched by fire, some prostrate, others still standing, limbless, naked, and desolate, intermingle with a small, dwarfish, and sparse second growth, and mantel the sterile plain and rocky hill side. Indeed, this is but too true a portrait of immense tracts of land all along the coast of Maine, from the St. Croix to the Penobscot, and still further westward. It is wonderful that these desert regions, whose sterility scarcely gives existence to the wild grass and stinted shrubs which grow there, once supported a dense and majestic forest. At East Machias village there are seventeen saws in operation, and eleven lath machines; the latter, for the most part, are situated in the base of the saw-mills, and manufacture laths from the slabs made in the mill. At this place the saws cut, on an average, about six hundred thousand feet, board measure, to a saw, one half of this lumber being sawed from Pine, and the other from Spruce logs. The same quality of lumber brings fifty cents more per thousand here than on the St. Croix. In answer to the question, _Why is this so?_ the reply was, "We saw nearly all our lumber to _order_, and of prescribed dimensions." The resources for lumber are still quite abundant. The West Machias stream is about the same size as the East, both being quite small; it has more numerous water privileges, and is more liable to be affected by droughts. Here the lumbering operations are carried on more vigorously than on the other river, cutting some two hundred thousand more to a saw. The greatest distance that lumber has been cut from the village is about sixty miles. Opinions the most reliable encourage the belief of the existence of sufficient timber to meet the demands of this market for years to come. This stream is also navigable for vessels up to the mills, being carried at flood-tide quite near the mill slips, where they receive their cargoes. Both rivers empty into Machias Bay at points quite approximate, through which float the cargoes of industrial wealth to the broad Atlantic and to the various ports of destination. Annexed is a table showing at a glance the state of the lumber trade per annum on each river:[13] +-----------------------------------------------------------------+ | EAST MACHIAS | +---------------------------+--------------+-----------+----------+ | | | Average | Total. | | | | price | | | per M. |----------| |-----------|----------| |No. of Saw-mills | 17. | | | |No. of Lath Machines | 11. | | | |Amount of Long Lumber | 10,200,000. | $8.00. | $81,600.| |No. of Laths | 13,200,000. | 1.00. | 13,200.| | | | | ------ | | | | | $94,800.| |No. of Men Employed | 450. | | | |No. of Oxen and Horses, do.| 380. | | | +---------------------------+--------------+-----------+----------+ | WEST MACHIAS | +-----------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | Average | Total. | | | | price | | | per M. |----------| |-----------|----------| |No. of Saw-mills | 20. | | | |No. of Lath Machines | 14. | | | |Amount of Long Lumber | 18,000,000. | $8.00. | $144,000.| |No. of Laths | 16,800,000. | 1.00. | 16,800.| | | | | ------- | | | | | $160,800.| |No. of Men Employed | 475. | | | |No. of Oxen and Horses, do.| 400. | | | +---------------------------+--------------+-----------+----------+ [13] For the most important facts involved in the annexed statement I am chiefly indebted to the kindness of Deacon Talbot, of East Machias, and to other gentlemen engaged in the business residing at West Machias. The next river worthy of note, for the lumber it produces, is the Narraguagues, whose waters disembogue into a small bay bearing the same name, thirty miles beyond the West Machias, its course being nearly parallel with the latter. The true Indian orthography is said to be Na-la-gua-gwees, and signifies palate, stream, or river. To use the precise language of my Indian interpreter, opening his mouth wide and thrusting his finger down his throat, "It means all one, jes if I open my mouth and river run down my throat into mine belly." Whether there is any peculiarity about the river, or the form of the bay into which it falls, to originate such a name, I am unaware. This stream, for water power, is about equal in its capacity to either of the Machias rivers. The mills are principally located at Cherryfield, where are fifteen saw and eight lath mills, three shingle and one clap-board machine. The saw-mills are said to produce about nine millions of long lumber per annum, worth eight dollars per _M._ on an average. The lath mills produce six million four hundred thousand pieces, worth one dollar per _M._ Nine hundred thousand shingles are annually turned out, at two dollars and fifty cents per _M._ The clap-board machine may be credited with one hundred thousand pieces during the sawing season; of their quality I am not informed. In general they range from fifteen to thirty dollars per _M._ Computing the value of the foregoing products, we have presented the annual product: Long Lumber $72,000 Laths 6,400 Shingles 2,250 Clap-boards 2,000 ------ Total $82,650 Sixty teams are said to be employed on this river during the hauling season, and about three hundred men. The resources for lumber were reported by the most intelligent operators as equal to those of any lumber district in the state of equal size. In the adjoining town of Franklin five saw-mills were reported, situated on small streams, doing a large business. These mills are said to manufacture about three million feet, worth eight dollars per _M._, giving twenty-four thousand dollars. About half way between the Narraguagues and the Penobscot Rivers, and upon an almost exact parallel with the latter, runs Union River, which disembogues into an arm of Frenchman's Bay. On the banks of this river, near its mouth, stands the village of Ellsworth, which is decidedly one of the most beautiful places in Maine, and in the immediate vicinity of which the mills are principally located; in all, about twenty-five. The annual amount of long lumber manufactured here is about sixteen million feet, worth some hundred and twelve thousand dollars; the aggregate amount of the various kinds of short lumber annually produced is worth some sixteen thousand dollars more. From four to five hundred men, and about the same number of oxen and horses, are employed in the lumbering business. Logs are driven from two to forty miles. The territory through which this stream flows is well timbered, and affords an abundant supply of logs. CHAPTER IV. Penobscot River.--Its various Names.--Character of the Country through which it flows.--Its Length.--The vast Extent of Territory which it drains.--Its Multitude of Lakes.--Mount Ktaadn.--Indian Legend.--Elevation of the Mountain.--Overwhelming Prospect.--A Sabbath in the Wilderness.--Moose in the Lake.--An uncomfortable Night.--Dr. Jackson's Narrative.--New Lumber Resources.--The interesting Origin of this new Resource.--John Bull outwitted.--Freshets on the Penobscot. --Freshet of 1846, cause of it.--Sudden Rise of Water.--Bangor submerged.--Bowlders of Ice.--Destruction of Property.--Narrow Escape of Ferry-boat.--Peril of Boys.--Editorial Observations. --Lumber Statistics.--Where the Lumber finds a Market.-- Speculations on future Prospects of Lumbering Interests.-- Anticipations of the Future.--Bangor. Passing westward in a direct line about twenty miles, we come to the noble and interesting Penobscot. Although Penobscot is now the name of the entire river, it was originally the name of only a section of the main channel, from the head of tide-water to a short distance above Oldtown. Penobscot is the Indian name, and signifies stony or rocky river, as it certainly is within the above limits, being nothing less than a continuous fall before the dams were built. From the head of tide-water, at the city of Bangor, to the mouth of the river, a distance of about thirty miles, it was known to the Indians by the name of Baam-tu-guai-took, which means broad river, sheet of water, or, more literally, all waters united. Another section of the river is called Gim-sit-i-cook, signifying smooth or dead water. Unlike the Kennebeck, and similar to the St. Croix, the Penobscot flows chiefly through a wilderness country. The time is yet distant when its banks shall exhibit the same advances in agricultural industry and wealth which now beautify, enrich, and enliven the banks of the Kennebeck. [Illustration: A COASTER ASCENDING THE PENOBSCOT FOR LUMBER.] This river, on many accounts, is the most important in Maine, and at present, from its vast lumbering resources and operations, the most noted. It is three hundred and fifty miles long, with numerous, and, in some instances, copious branches, which drain an immense uncultivated territory, embracing a region of country from east to west about one hundred and fifty miles in breadth, spanning the whole of the northern portion of the state, running round and cutting off the head waters of the St. Croix on the east, and of the Kennebeck on the west, interlacing its numerous branches with those of the St. John's River in the north, which brings within its embrace about one third the entire wilderness territory of Maine. The scenery in some sections of this territory, about the head waters, is grand and picturesque. Its numerous water-falls, some of which are fearful to contemplate, much more for the _river-driver_ to work upon; its swelling hills, and, in some instances, towering mountains, from whose tops may be counted an almost endless number of lakes, and the vast groves of towering pines here and there scattered over millions of acres of forest land, make it altogether one of the wildest and most romantic portions of country. One of the most attractive features in the interior is Mount "Ktaadn," which, from its isolated position, height, and sublime grandeur as the "birth-place of storms," surrounded with a beautiful, rich, and luxuriant forest, with streams and lakes, is worthy of special attention. The following sketch of a visit to this mountain by a party of gentlemen may be esteemed worthy of a perusal: Our travelers, after having made the ascent of the river to the proper point, and made the necessary arrangements for their journey up the mountain, "entered the slide at eight o'clock" A.M., in the early part of September, and found its ascent quite steep, "though not difficult or dangerous at all, when one takes time." On almost all sides of the mountain there is a short, tangled growth of alders and white birch coming up between the rocks. These, being kept down by the winds, grow into an almost impassable bramble. At a distance it has a beautiful, smooth appearance, like a green, grassy hill, or what one of the company called a 'piece of oats.' The slide serves as a path up through all this tangle, reaching to the top of the southeastern ridge of the mountain, which is above all timber growth, making about one third of the whole perpendicular height of Ktaadn, to which the ascent of the brook below would add another third. [Illustration: VIEW OF THE PENOBSCOT--FORESTS AND LAKES N.E. FROM KTAADN.] "Although it was hard climbing, we ascended pretty fast, and the clear morning air gave an indescribable beauty to the prospect below. The most pleasing was the constant change and variety caused by our rapid ascent. It was known that the mountain, at this season of the year, is frequented by bears in pursuit of cranberries, but we did not see any, though our gunner had enjoined silence in hopes of obtaining a shot. I remained with the rear, to see all up safe. The most zealous 'went ahead,' and were soon out of sight, until, near the head of the slide, we heard them from the distant topmost peaks calling out, 'Come on, ye brave!' At this distance they looked very small in stature. From the head of the slide we turned to the left, and ascended northwest to the first and most eastern peak; by this time our comrades had reached the most western. We here paused to view our position. It is perhaps the most favorable spot for surveying the whole structure. From thence the principal peaks are in a curved line, going southwest, then west and northwest. The second peak, called by us the 'Chimney,' is near the first, but separated by a sharp cut one hundred and fifty or two hundred feet deep, and nearly square in its form. We had seen one of our comrades upon its summit, else we might not have attempted the ascent. His zeal seemed to blind him to danger, for, when questioned on our return, he could neither tell _when_ or _how_ he ascended. Our first plan was to pass around the base without going over the top; but this we found impossible, and were about to give up, when one pointed out a diagonal course, where, by taking a few pretty long steps, he thought we could ascend. I tried first, and succeeded, and all followed but two. From the 'Chimney' we went from one hammock to another, making, on the whole, a gradual ascent, till we reached the middle of the principal peaks, a distance of nearly half a mile. There we met our comrades on their return from the western peak, and all sat down to rest. Here we found a monument that had been erected by some former visitor, but was overgrown with moss, appearing lonely, as if it had seen no relations for years. On the first and most eastern peak, all the monuments which I had made the year previous looked new and fresh. It is not easy to decide which of the two (the western and middle peaks) is highest. Judgment was given in favor of the middle one. "While sitting on the south side of the monument at twelve o'clock, we put the thermometer in a favorable place, and it went up to 84°. At the same time, on the north side, and six feet from us, water was freezing, and the snow dry and crusty. Near by the monument a rock stood in its natural position, having a sharp peak in the top. This was the highest one of the kind. Of this about four inches were broken off, and one of the company carried it home with the conviction that we had lowered the height of Ktaadn to that amount. About two P.M. we returned to the eastern peak. It may be well to pause here and take a re-survey of the scene thus far presented, and as much more as can be viewed from this point. "From this eastern peak a spur makes out eastward one mile. Half a mile down, however, it divides, and a branch runs to the northeast the same distance. On the southwest, across the cut, is the 'Chimney.' From this the line of peaks and hammocks curves to the west till it reaches the middle and highest peak. From one hammock to the other there are, in all, thirty rods of narrow passes. Some of them are so narrow that a man could drop a stone from either hand, and it would go to unknown depths below. In some places the only possible way is over the top, and only one foot wide. For a great part of the time the wind blows across these passes so violently that the stones themselves have to be firmly fixed to keep their places. It seemed remarkable, as if for our convenience, that the day of our visit was still and quiet. From the middle peak the line curves to the northwest, to the further monument. From this point a branch makes down to the southwest, having on it some extensive table-lands, while the top ridge or curve turns directly north with the '_sag_.' At the bottom of the '_sag_' we come upon a wide flat, which runs north half a mile, and stretches out to a considerable width. At the northern extremity of the flat the ridge curves to the east, and rises to a peak about equal in height to the eastern peak of the northern wing. This is probably the highest of the northern peaks, from which a spur makes down, a little south of east, to within one quarter of a mile from the one that comes from the southern wing. All this nearly includes a deep basin, with walls almost perpendicular, and in some places apparently two thousand feet high. "To survey the bottom of this basin I have since made a separate journey. It contains perhaps two hundred acres, covered with large square blocks of granite that seem to have come from the surrounding walls. There are in all six lakes and ponds, varying in size from two to ten acres. One of them I crossed on ice the 15th of October. "From its outlet inward to the southwest is about a mile, where there is a small lake of clear water which has no visible outlet. So far as I can learn, I was the first human visitor to this fabled residence of the Indians' Pamolah. It is not strange that a superstitious people should have many traditions of his wonderful pranks, and be kept away from close engagement with such a foe. When we reach the lake on our way to Ktaadn, it is easy to see the origin of those fears which the Indians are said to have respecting the mountain as the residence of Pamolah or Big Devil. Clouds form in the basin, and are seen whirling out in all directions. Tradition tells a 'long yarn' about a 'handsome squaw' among the Penobscots, who once did a great business in _slaying_ her thousands among the young chiefs of her nation, but was finally taken by Pamolah to Ktaadn, where he now protects himself and his prize from approaching Indians with all his artillery of thunder and hail. "The Indian says that it is 'sartin true, 'cause handsome squaw always ketch em deble;' whether this be true or not, the basin is the birth-place of storms, and I have myself heard the roar of its winds for several miles. But on the 15th of October, when I entered it and went to the upper lake, all was still as the house of nymphs, except when we ourselves spoke, and then the thousand echoes were like the response of fairies bidding us welcome. In this way the music of our voices would find itself in the midst of a numerous choir singing a '_round_.' "The upper lake, which I visited and went around, has an inlet, a white pearly brook, coming out nearly under the chimney, and running a short distance through alders and meadow grass. It has no visible outlet; but on the north side it seems to ooze out among the rocks. We can trace this water-course curving to the east of north till it reaches the lower and largest lake, from which flows a brook sufficiently large for trout to run up. This brook curves to the south, running into West Branch, and is called Roaring Brook. The mountain around this basin is in the form of a horse-shoe, opening to the northeast. From the peak on the northern wing there is another deep gorge, partly encircled with a curving ridge, which some would call another basin. On the north side of this gorge there is a peak nearly equal in height to the one on the south of it, but considerably further east, making this northern basin or gorge open to the southeast. These two basins, from some points of view, seem to be one. From the last-mentioned peak the mountain slopes off from one peak or shoulder to another, perhaps three miles, before it reaches the timber growth. Some of the branches of the Wassataquoik come from this northern part, but some of them from the basin or southern part of Ktaadn. "Rough granite, moss-covered rocks are spread over its whole surface from the short growth upward. Blueberries and cranberries grow far up the sides. At the time of our visit considerable snow lay on its summits and lined the walls of the great basin. The party, of course, found plenty of drink. The Avalanche Brook, having its source about the middle of the slide, furnished water pure as crystal. The ascent was attended with some danger and fatigue. But what a view when the utmost heights are gained! What a magnificent panorama of forests, lakes, and distant mountains! The surface of the earth, with its many-tinted verdure, resembled, in form and smoothness, the swelling sea. In the course of the forenoon, light fogs from all the lakes ascended, and, coming to Ktaadn, intertwined themselves most fantastically above our heads, then settled down and dispersed. But what can be fitly said about the vast expanse of the heavens, to be seen from such an elevation, especially when the sun goes down, and the glowing stars appear in silent majesty? All the gorgeous, artificial brilliancy of man's invention is more than lost in the comparison. Language has no power to describe a scene of this nature. The height of Ktaadn above the level of the sea is five thousand three hundred feet. Its position is isolated, and its structure an immense curiosity. From its summit very few populous places are visible, so extensive is the intervening wilderness. On its sides the growth of wood is beautiful, presenting a regular variation in altitude and size all the way up to the point where it ceases. "The great basin described by Mr. Keep was to none of us an inferior object of interest. Want of time and strength prevented our descent into it. It is open to general inspection from all the heights around it. The day being quiet, the view was divested of much of its terror; but we could readily believe it the abode of all the furies in a storm, and where the polar monarch has his chief residence in Maine. We called to each other across the basin, and echo answered 'Where!' in earnest. The air was exhilarating, as may be supposed, but the effect not as sensible as we anticipated. "The whole party returned to the head of the slide at three P.M., and engaged in picking cranberries. These grow on all parts of the mountain above the timber region, and no doubt annually yield many thousand bushels. 'They grow on vines among the rocks, and are commonly called the mountain or highland cranberry. They are smaller than the meadow cranberry, but of a better flavor.' "At four o'clock six of the party went down to the camp to prepare fuel for the Sabbath. Our guide and the gunner remained at the head of the slide all night, and kept a fire with old roots; yet it was presumed that they had now and then a _little cold_ comfort. The result of their stay is thus set forth by Mr. Keep: "'On Sabbath morning the eastern horizon was clear of clouds, and we looked anxiously for the sun. Just before it came up, a bright streak appeared of silver whiteness, like the reflected light of the moon. We could see the further outline of land quite plain, and for a short distance beyond was this silvery streak. Soon a small arc of the sun appeared above this bright line. I was hardly able to control my emotions while the whole came in sight. On Saturday night, about sundown, our view of the country around was more distinct and enchanting--a boundless wilderness in all directions, much of the view being south of the lakes. Of the latter, not far from two hundred are to be seen dotting the landscape. In one of them we can count one hundred islands. Soon after sunrise on Sabbath morning we went down to the camp to spend the day with the company.' "That holy morning found us refreshed, and somewhat prepared to appreciate our peculiar circumstances. The weather was charming. The air resounded with the pleasing murmur of the Avalanche Brook, as it flowed down over its bed of rocks; nor was the song of birds denied us. Gentle breezes stirred the beautiful foliage of the circling woods. Impressive stillness reigned, and the whole scene was adapted to awaken happy and exuberant emotions. "Early we mounted some rocks on the bank of the stream toward the rising sun, and overlooking a vast region of country, and there poured forth sacred melody to our heart's content. The echo was glorious. Verily we thought our 'feet were set in a large place;' and we could readily imagine that the wide creation had found a tongue with which our own exulted in unison. "At the hour appointed we assembled in the camp, and engaged in the exercises of a religious conference. It was good to be there. The scene finds its portraiture in the words of Cowper: "'The calm retreat, the silent shade, With pray'r and praise agree, And seem by thy sweet bounty made For those who follow thee. Then, if thy spirit touch the soul, And grace her mean abode, O! with what peace, and joy, and love She there communes with God.' "It is not too much to say that we enjoyed a measure of such experience. The day--the place--the topics of remarks--the songs of Zion--all encircled by a kind Providence, and made effective by the presence of God, will ever be worthy of a grateful remembrance. "In the afternoon, by request, Rev. Mr. Munsell addressed us from the 11th verse of the 145th Psalm, 'They shall speak of the glory of thy kingdom, and talk of thy power.' Our position added deep interest to the theme of discourse, and naturally furnished much ground for illustration. Indeed, the entire services of the day were attended with peculiar influences, being had under circumstances so widely different from the ordinary life of the company. "That Sabbath was our delight, even in the face of a possible deficiency in food. But the course adopted imparted bodily rest and a peaceful mind. "We had traveled with burdens on our backs twenty-five miles--crossed several streams--climbed rough hills--walked on rocky places--tumbled over huge trunks of fallen trees--crowded through plenty of jungle--waded the Avalanche Brook--and all this in forbidding weather; but, aside from the glorious view on the summit of Ktaadn, our toil found its recompense in the novelty and influence of a Sabbath observance on such an elevation, and amid the wild scenes and solitudes of a mountain forest. "Scarcity of food, and the engagements of some of the party, made it necessary on Monday morning to start for home. We left the camp about half past nine, following down the brook to the point from whence we ascended, and then direct to the lake. "'At this time,' says our guide, 'we fell into much confusion on account of two of the company who were missing, the gunner and Mr. Meservey, for whom we made search, but in vain. Few can imagine our feelings save those who have heard the cry of _lost_ coming up from the deep gloom of the wilderness in the native tone of some wanderer calling for help. After consultation, it was resolved that we must leave the ground for home, hoping for the best. We left at one, and came to the lake at four P.M., and here, to our great joy, we saw a smoke on the opposite side, near the outlet, and at five rejoined our missing companions. They had caught trout enough for us all, weighing from one to three pounds. With these, and cranberry-sauce in plenty, also bread, pork, and tea, we made merry around a cheerful fire. That night, however, a storm of rain coming up, found us poorly prepared.' "In this connection an incident may be related. Just before our arrival, while the gunner was fishing, suddenly two moose bounded furiously into the lake, and appeared to be swimming toward him. Though all along desirous of an interview, their visit was rather too startling. He scampered with all haste to the shore, seized his gun and fired, but the balls would not go through the '_law_,' which at that season afforded protection, and so the moose escaped. [Illustration: NORTHEAST VIEW OF MOUNT KTAADN, FROM THE WEST BRANCH OF THE PENOBSCOT.] "The night just referred to was a time of _realities_. Truth proved 'stranger than fiction.' Amid anxiety for the lost, the ax had been left on the mountain. A pile of logs lay near the outlet of the lake. With some of these our missing companions had made a fire; some formed the floor of the camp, and others, used as rafters, were covered with boughs for protection, but not from rain. On the above floor (the spot allowing no other), no boughs at hand could make a downy bed. Every one found out that he was composed of flesh and bones. It also became difficult to regulate the fire, so that the heat was often intense. Contrary winds would ever and anon drive the smoke into the camp, and thus cause great involuntary weeping. The scene was _felt_, and few could find sleep without stealing it. It was visible darkness all around. Toward midnight the rain commenced. One of the party, writing to another from Lincoln in December, says, 'Old Mount Ktaadn from this place looks dreary enough. Its snow-capped top often reminds me of our amusing adventures; but nothing in all our travels affords more amusement in moments of meditation than the night on the Pond Dam. That old plaid cloak, dripping in the rain; its occupant upon a log without the camp, singing "The morning light is breaking," when it was only one o'clock; and then again, "He shall come down like rain," &c.--all together have left an impression on my mind not soon to be effaced.' "The occupant of that 'cloak,' unable to sleep, conversed with the 'daughters of music,' and was prompted to sing the night out and the morning in; and as the rain increased, the whole crew joined heartily in the chorus. Our departure from such lodgings was very early. Beneath continual droppings from the trees and bushes, we pressed through an obstinate path-way, and arrived at the Wassataquoik camp at half past nine. This march was really toilsome, but brought us out at the desired point. After a long rest, we followed the old supply road most of the way, forded the Wassataquoik, and came out opposite Mr. Hunt's, whence the bateaux took us across the East Branch. This was a little past four o'clock P.M. Our appearance was far from beardless, our 'externals' somewhat ragged and torn, and our appetites keen as a 'Damascus razor.' 'Mine host' and family received us most cordially, having felt some anxiety in our absence. They made us joyful around a full table of good things. On the day following, Wednesday, we passed to Mr. Cushman's, and on Thursday took conveyances for home." Another visitor[14] to this point of attraction observes: "While I was engaged in noting the bearings of this mountain, the clouds suddenly darted down upon its summit and concealed it from view, while we could observe that a violent snow-squall was paying homage to Pomola, the demon of the mountain, Presently the storm ceased, and the clouds, having thus paid their tribute, passed on, and left the mountain white with snow. This took place on the 20th of September. [14] Dr. Jackson. "Crossing the lake--'Millnoket, a most beautiful sheet of water, containing a great number of small islands, from which circumstance it takes its name'--we reached the carrying-place at the head of a long creek, where we pitched our camp amid a few poplar-trees, which were of second growth, or have sprung up since the forests were burned. The want of good fuel and of boughs for a bed was severely felt, since we were obliged to repose on naked rocks, and the green poplar-trees appeared to give more smoke than fire. The night was cold and the wind violent, so that sleep was out of the question. Early in the morning we prepared to carry our boats over to Ambijejis Lake, and the labor was found very difficult, since the water was low, and we had to traverse a long tract of boggy land before reaching the other lake. "Tracks of moose and cariboo abound in the mud, since they frequent the shallow parts of the lake, to feed upon the lilypads or the leaves of the Nuphan lutea, which here abound. A noble-looking cariboo suddenly started from the woods, and trotted quietly along the shores of the lake quite near us, but we were not prepared to take him, and he presently darted into the forest and disappeared. "Our provisions having been reduced, owing to the circumstance that our journey proved much longer than we had anticipated, I thought it necessary to put the whole party on a regular allowance, which was mutually agreed to. Our Indian, Neptune, succeeded in catching half a dozen musquash, which we were glad to share with him, and a few trout which were also taken, and served to save a portion of our more substantial food. At Pock-wock-amus Falls, where the river rushes over a ledge of granite, large trout are caught abundantly, and we stopped a short time to obtain a supply. They are readily taken with a common fishing-hook and line, baited with a piece of pork, or even with a slip of paper, which is to be trailed over the surface of the water. Some of the trout thus caught would weigh from three and a half to four pounds. "On the 22d of September we prepared ourselves for ascending the mountain, taking with us our tent, a few cooking utensils, and all the food remaining, except a small quantity of Indian corn meal, which we concealed on the island for use on our return. "Our party, all clothed in red flannel shirts, and loaded with our various equipments, made a singular appearance as we landed on the opposite shore and filed into the woods. "Having reached a height where the forest trees were so diminutive that we could not camp any higher up for want of fuel, we pitched our tent. This place is about half way up the mountain. From it we have an extensive view of the surrounding country. "Leaving our camp on the mountain side, at seven A.M. we set out for the summit of Ktaadn, traveling steadily up the slide, clambering over loose bowlders of granite, trap, and graywacke, which are heaped up in confusion along its course. We at length reached a place where it was dangerous longer to walk on the loose rocks, and passing over to the right-hand side, clambered up among the dwarfish bushes that cling to the side of the mountain. "Two of our party became discouraged on reaching this point, and there being no necessity of their accompanying us, they were allowed to return to camp. The remainder of our ascent was extremely difficult, and required no small perseverance. Our Indian guide, Louis, placed stones along the path, in order that we might more readily find the way down the mountain, and the wisdom of this precaution was fully manifested in the sequel. At ten A.M. we reached the table-land which forms the mountain's top, and ascends gradually to the central peak. Here the wind, and driving snow and hail, rendered it almost impossible to proceed, but we at length reached the central peak. The true altitude of Mount Ktaadn above the level of the sea is a little more than one mile perpendicular elevation. It is, then, evidently the highest point in the State of Maine, and is the most abrupt granite mountain in New England. "Amid a furious snow-storm, we set out on our return from this region of clouds and snow. Louis declared that Pomola was angry with us for presuming to measure the height of the mountain, and thus revenged himself. 'Descending, we had nearly gone astray, and might have descended on the wrong side, had it not been for the precautions of Louis before named. Clouds and darkness hung upon the mountain's brow, and the cold blasts almost deprived us of breath. Incrusted with snow, we carefully slid upon the surface of the rocks.' 'We tumbled down some large blocks of granite, that descended with a terrible fracas, dashing the rocks into fragments as they bounded along.' 'Our party encamped upon the mountain side, and passed a sleepless night, without food, and amid a driving snow-storm.' "Early next morning we struck our tent and descended the mountain, but so enfeebled had we become by hunger, privations, and fatigue, that it was with difficulty we could carry ourselves and burdens. Every now and then our knees would give way beneath us, and cause us to fall upon the ground. When we reached the base of the mountain, we discovered some wild choke-cherries hanging in bunches from the trees, which the bears had often climbed and broken for the fruit. Felling one of these cherry-trees, we ate the astringent fruit, and were in some measure resuscitated in strength, so as to march with renewed vigor. A bed of blueberries also presented itself, and we stopped to dine upon them. 'Proceeding on, we met two of our company, who had passed down the night before, who had cooked all the Indian meal that we left at our old camp on the island, and brought the cakes for our relief. On our way down the river we fortunately met two young men ascending the stream in a canoe on an exploring expedition, we induced them to sell us twenty biscuits, which, being two to a man, on short allowance, we hoped to be able to reach Nickatow. On our way down we met another crew, who supplied us with the necessary rations to reach Nickatow, where, on our arrival, we obtained all that was necessary for the comfortable prosecution of our down-river journey.'" In addition to the natural resources of the Penobscot for lumber, several townships of good timber land, formerly claimed by the crown, but by treaty ceded to the United States, have become available by diverting a portion of the head waters of the St. John's River into the channel of the former, on the west branch. This was effected by cutting a canal from a lake on the St. John's, called Zelos, to Webster Lake, on the Penobscot. Originally the canal was three hundred rods long by four wide, and four feet deep; but the strong current of water flowing through, at the rate of one mile in twenty minutes, has changed the regularity of the channel to a more natural and stream-like appearance. By this bit of Yankee enterprise, the timber of eight townships, otherwise and necessarily destined for the provincial market, may be brought down the Penobscot, the aggregate amount of which is estimated, by the best judges, at five hundred millions of feet. This has succeeded so well, that further surveys have been made with a view to open other communications between the waters in the same region, and, if the expectations of those interested in this matter should be realized, it is said that the timber of some thirty townships more will come down the Penobscot River.[15] [15] Since the above was written, fourteen townships more have become available. The project of excavating the canal alluded to was suggested by the proximity of the above-named lakes, and the remarkably favorable position of the strip of land lying between them. The direct cause of its being carried into effect is said to have originated in consequence of the levying of a provincial tax on lumber cut and run down the St. John's by Americans, in violation of an article in the treaty adopted by the two governments in the recent settlement of the boundary between Maine and New Brunswick. The specific condition in the treaty thought to have been violated is this, in substance: All timber situated on land ceded to the United States, which, from its position, must pass down the St. John's, "_shall be dealt with as if it were the produce of the said province_;"[16] which condition on the part of Maine was thought to imply freedom from duty or taxation. [16] _Sec. III. Of the Treaty between the States and Great Britain, 1842._--In order to promote the interests and encourage the industry of all the inhabitants of the countries watered by the River St. John's and its tributaries, whether living within the State of Maine or the province of New Brunswick, it is agreed that where, by the provisions of the present treaty, the River St. John's is declared to be the line of boundary, the navigation of the said river shall be free and open to both parties, and shall in no way be obstructed by either; that all the produce of the forest in logs, lumber, timber, boards, staves, or shingles, or of agriculture, not being manufactured, grown on any of those parts of the State of Maine watered by the River St. John's or by its tributaries, of which fact reasonable evidence shall, if required, be produced, shall have free access into and through the said river and its said tributaries, having their source within the State of Maine, to and from the seaport at the mouth of the River St. John's, and to and around the falls of the said river, either by boats, rafts, or other conveyance; that, when within the province of New Brunswick, the said produce shall be dealt with as if it were the produce of the said province; that, in like manner, the inhabitants of the territory of the Upper St. John's, determined by this treaty to belong to her Britannic majesty, shall have free access to and through the river for their produce, in those parts where the said river runs wholly through the State of Maine: _Provided, always_, That this agreement shall give no right to either party to interfere with any regulations not inconsistent with the terms of the treaty, which the governments, respectively, of Maine or of New Brunswick may make respecting the navigation of the said river, where both banks thereof shall belong to the same party. Therefore, in order to obtain some tribute (for it is, indeed, a trait quite prominent in the character of John Bull to expect and demand tribute), a duty was levied upon _all_ timber running down the St. John's, whether from the crown lands or the territory ceded to Maine. And the crown, in order to satisfy its loyal subjects for this new requisition, made a corresponding discount on the stumpage charged those hauling timber from the crown lands, while the Yankees were left without indemnification. But Brother Jonathan was not to be outgeneraled by this maneuver, but characteristically "_guessed_" out a way of escape; and not only thwarted the cunning of his crafty neighbor in this matter, but actually laid his dominions under tribute, _nolens volens_, by diverting a portion of the waters of St. John's River, bringing it into the channel of the Penobscot, where it probably runs "_duty free._" While, therefore, the Yankees thus resisted the attempted encroachment, we doubt not but they secretly render a "_tribute_" of _thanks_ for the provocation. The Penobscot is not so likely to be affected by destructive freshets as are most large rivers; for instance, the Kennebeck, whose accumulating waters rush through its deeply-cut channel with tremendous power, carrying all before it; and for this reason the former runs through immense tracts of low intervale lands, which, in time of abundant rains, act as vast reservoirs, receiving and scattering the surplus water over thousands of acres. Nothing is likely to produce disastrous freshets, except such as arise from unusual causes; and as such a combination is not likely to occur once in a century, an event of this nature is not often expected nor dreaded. [Illustration: GODFREY'S FALLS ON THE SEBOOIS RIVER. BANKS 200 FEET HIGH.] The Penobscot has two principal and many minor branches; among the latter, mention may be made of "_Mattawamkeag_," which "means a stream running over a gravelly bed;" and the "_Piscataquis_," which is about one hundred miles in length, and forms a junction with the main river some thirty or forty miles above Bangor; its waters are clear as crystal, and the current rapid. Also the "_Seboois_," several days' journey from the mouth of the Matawamkeag. Some of the wildest and most interesting scenery in the state occurs on this river and on the lofty mountains in its vicinity. Godfrey's Falls, as seen in the opposite cut, plunge around the base of high mountainous banks hundreds of feet above the wild torrent which rushes between them. These falls are impassable, and when boatmen arrive here they are compelled to carry their effects and boats up a ledge on the left side of the falls, at an angle of 45°, and then through the burned forest for the distance of four miles before again attempting to navigate the river. Not less than fifty mountains and seventeen lakes may be seen from the summit of Sugar-loaf Mountain, which stands a little removed from the shores of the Seboois, as represented in the cut at the end of this chapter; and among the interesting objects viewed from this point is _Chase's_ Mountain, on the west side of the Seboois, very peaked, which rises like a vast pyramid from the dense forest country around it, a representation of which may be seen on page 211. There are many important islands in the Penobscot; several of them contain many hundred acres of land. Among them mention may be made of "_Olemon_," which contains some three hundred acres; likewise "Sugar Island," of corresponding magnitude; "Orson Island," twelve hundred acres; "Marsh Island," five thousand acres; "Oldtown," the present site of an Indian village, three hundred acres; Orono, one hundred and fifty acres. On these islands are several flourishing villages, Oldtown, Orono, and Stillwater, in the vicinity of which are the principal mill sites, which are from seven to fourteen miles above Bangor. The overwhelming catastrophe which occurred on this river in the spring of 1846 will long be remembered by those who witnessed it. The following graphic account of this occurrence, from the pen of Dr. West, was published in the Bangor Courier, and will be read with deep interest: "TO THE REV. DR. TYNG, New York. "Reverend and dear Brother--We have passed through a scene within the last two or three days which will deeply interest and impress you. Our city has met with a calamity unparalleled in its annals, and perhaps unequaled, in proportion to its population and means, by any in our country. We have been inundated by the river in consequence of what is called here an ice-jam. The history of the matter is briefly as follows: "It sometimes happens that the ice in the river breaks up above, while it remains too strong at the outlet to admit of its passing down. The consequence is the accumulation of a dam of ice which completely fills the river from bank to bank, and heaps up sometimes to the height of from fifteen to thirty feet, and thus forming a reservoir of water above it, which overflows the banks and inundates the country around. "The present winter has been a remarkable one in the mode of the formation of the ice. After the river was first frozen over, the ice continued to form in cakes or sheets, and to flow down the rapids to the still and frozen portions, and these were drawn under. This continued until the submerged sheets were stopped by rocks or shoals; then the accumulation went on until the bed of the river became consolidated to an astonishing thickness. Around the piers of our great bridge it was cut through to the depth of about fourteen feet. Thus the entire bed of the river seemed to have become, at least except the channel, an almost solid body of ice. [Illustration: CHASE'S MOUNTAIN, AS IT APPEARS FROM SUGAR-LOAF MOUNTAIN.] "The greatest fears were entertained throughout the winter for the consequences during the spring freshet, and yet no effectual precautions could be taken to guard against impending calamity. The very worst of these fears have now been more than realized. "A few days ago the river began to break up for about thirty miles above the city, while it continued firmly bound for about twelve miles below. There were several different spots where the jams, or ice-dams were formed; and when they broke away, they came rushing down with the force of a mountain torrent, until the strong ice below resisted their progress. These jams came down one at a time, and, lodging against another below, kept increasing their magnitude. The two most formidable jams were within seven miles of the city, in the vicinity of the two largest and most important ranges of saw-mills. Those which formed above, when they broke away, passed through at Oldtown and Stillwater with little comparative damage other than carrying away the bridges, and adding to the size of the jams below. "The first movement was the raising the two principal ranges of mills from their foundations by the rise of the water. After this the first jam that passed down swept away the Basin mills, which belong to a New York company, and which rented for above ten thousand dollars per annum. They next carried away a large range of mills belonging to some of our most enterprising citizens, and which rented for fifteen thousand dollars per annum. One of the proprietors thus lost about fifty thousand dollars. The mills in these two ranges contained about fifty saws, were possessed of the most unfailing water power, were recently fitted up with the best improved machinery, and performed last year about one third of all the business on the river. "The jams thus worked their way down gradually, carrying destruction to bridges and small houses, and other buildings on the banks, until they were all concentrated in one immense mass of four miles in length, of great height and depth, and filling the river, which varies in width from one thousand to fifteen thousand feet from bank to bank. Of the magnitude and power of such a mass, no just conception can be formed by persons unused to similar scenes. Above the jam the water was twenty or thirty feet above its usual height, filling up the rapids, and making a dead level of the falls. "The first injury to the city was from the breaking away of a small section of the jam, which came down and pressed against the ice on our banks. By this, twenty houses in one immediate neighborhood, on the west bank of the river alone, were at once inundated, but without loss of life. This occurred in the daytime, and presented a scene of magnificent interest. The effect of this small concussion upon the ice near the city was terrific. The water rose instantly to such a height as to sweep the buildings and lumber from the ends of the wharves, and to throw up the ice in huge sheets and pyramids. This shock was resisted by the great covered bridge on the Penobscot, which is about one thousand feet in length, and this gave time to save much property from impending destruction. But, meanwhile, another auxiliary to the fearful work had been preparing by the breaking up of the ice in the Kenduskeag River. This river flows through the heart of the city, dividing it into two equal portions. The whole flat on the margin of the river is covered with stores and public buildings, and is the place of merchandise for the city. The Kenduskeag runs nearly at right angles with the Penobscot at the point where they unite. The Penobscot skirts the city on the eastern side, and on the banks of this river are the principal wharves for the deposit of lumber. "I must mention another circumstance to give you a just idea of our situation. There is a narrow spot in the river, about a mile below the city, at High Head, in which is a shoal, and from which the greatest danger of a jam always arises, and it was this that caused the principal inundation. "The next incident occurred at midnight, when the bells were rung to announce the giving way of the ice. It was a fearful sound and scene. The streets were thronged with men, women, and children, who rushed abroad to witness the approach of the icy avalanche. At length it came rushing on with a power that a thousand locomotives in a body could not vie with; but it was veiled from the eye by the darkness of a hazy night, and the ear only could trace its progress by the sounds of crashing buildings, lumber, and whatever it encountered in its path-way, except the glimpses that could be caught of it by the light of hundreds of torches and lanterns that threw their glare upon the misty atmosphere. The jam passed on, and a portion of it pressed through the weakest portion of the great bridge, and thus, joining the ice below the bridge, pressed it down to the narrows at High Head. Meanwhile the destruction was in progress on the Kenduskeag, which poured down its tributary ice, sweeping mills, bridges, shops, and other buildings, with masses of logs and lumber, to add to the common wreck. "At that moment, the anxiety and suspense were fearful whether the jam would force its way through the narrows, or there stop and pour back a flood of waters upon the city; for it was from the rise of the water consequent upon such a jam that the great destruction was to be apprehended. But the suspense was soon over. A cry was heard from the dense mass of citizens who crowded the streets on the flat, 'The river is flowing back!' and so sudden was the revulsion, that it required the utmost speed to escape the rising waters. It seemed but a moment before the entire flat was deluged; and many men did not escape from their stores before the water was up to their waists. Had you witnessed the scene, occurring as it did in the midst of a dark and hazy night, and had you heard the rushing of the waters and the crash of the ruins, and seen the multitudes retreating in a mass from the returning flood, illumined only by the glare of torches and lanterns, and listened to the shouts and cries that escaped from them to give the alarm to those beyond, you would not be surprised at my being reminded of the host of Pharaoh as they fled and sent up their cry from the Red Sea, as it returned upon them in its strength. "But the ruinous consequences were, providentially, the loss of property rather than life. The whole business portion of the city was inundated; and so entirely beyond all reasonable estimate was the rise of the waters, that a very large proportion of all the stocks of goods in the stores were flooded. Precautions had been taken, in the lower part of the city, to remove goods from the first to the second story, and yet many who did so had the floors of the second story burst up, and their goods let down into the waters below; while in the higher portions, where the goods were piled up on and about the counters, the waters rose above them, and involved them in a common destruction. Others, who did not remove their goods, suffered a total loss of them. "Thus far, however, the devastation was confined to the least valuable part of the wealth of the city. The lumber on the wharves constitutes the larger portion of the available property of the city; and here a kind Providence has spared the devoted city, and by one of those singular methods by which a present evil, which seems to be the greatest that could be inflicted, is the means of averting a greater one; for it was the occurrence of the jam which, while it inundated the stores, appeared to be the means of saving the lumber. The pressure of the ice against the wharves and lumber was so great as to wedge it in with immense strength, and formed a sort of wall outside the wharves, from which the jam, when it started, separated and passed out, leaving the lumber safe, though injured. "After the ice stopped, things remained in this situation during the next day, which was Sunday--the saddest and most serious Sunday, probably, ever passed in Bangor. Few, however, could spend the day in worship. All that could labor were employed, while the flood kept rising, in rescuing what property could be saved from the waters, and in taking poor families from their windows in boats. "The closing scene of this dreadful disaster occurred on Sunday evening, beginning at about seven o'clock. The alarm was again rung through the streets that the jam had given way. The citizens again rushed abroad to witness what they knew must be one of the most sublime and awful scenes of nature, and also to learn the full extent of their calamity. Few, however, were able to catch a sight of the breaking up of the jam, which, for magnitude, it is certain, has not occurred on this river for more than one hundred years. The whole river was like a boiling cauldron, with masses of ice upheaved as by a volcano. But soon the darkness shrouded the scene in part. The ear, however, could hear the roaring of the waters and the crash of buildings, bridges, and lumber, and the eye could trace the mammoth ice-jam of four miles long, which passed on majestically, but with lightning rapidity, bearing the contents of both rivers on its bosom. The noble covered bridge of the Penobscot, two bridges of the Kenduskeag, and the two long ranges of saw-mills, besides other mills, houses, shops, logs, and lumber enough to build up a considerable village. The new market floated over the lower bridge across the Kenduskeag, a part of which remains, and, most happily, landed at a point of the wharves, where it sunk, and formed the nucleus of a sort of boom, which stopped the masses of floating lumber in the Kenduskeag, and protected thousands of dollars' worth of lumber on the wharves below. "So suddenly and so rapidly was all this enacted, that it seems impossible to believe it to have occurred without loss of life. Yet such appears to be the happy result. Rumor, indeed, consigned many to a watery grave, who were most unexpectedly preserved. There were, for instance, twenty or thirty men on one of the bridges when it gave way, some of whom jumped into the water to save themselves, but none were lost. A raft passed down the Kenduskeag with three or four boys upon it, and they were seen floating into the vortex of the jam, but the raft passed near enough to a store for them to leap from it to a platform, and thus they saved their lives. A boat also was crossing the river when the jam started, and the river was rushing in a torrent, but they also got safe to land. Many such hazards occurred, but without the loss of a single life. "I have thus given you a very hasty and unstudied narrative of this severe calamity, as I have gathered it before any account has been published. I have no time or space for reflections. There are, no doubt, many wise and good designs to be accomplished by such an event, which will readily suggest themselves to every Christian mind. The present state of our churches before this, I think, was highly promising, and the presence of God's Holy Spirit manifest. I most earnestly pray that a serious, practical, and real reformation may ensue. "The individual losses are very great. Some have lost their all, and many from five to fifty thousand dollars each; yet the aggregate will be swelled, by a first estimate, far beyond its real amount. From what I have already seen, I think there is no reason whatever for the friends of Bangor abroad to entertain any distrust respecting its recovery and progressive prosperity. Such a buoyant and elastic spirit I never saw in man, as is apparent to-day, at the very moment when men usually most despond. There is no such thing as depression. Despair is a word which the active and laborious merchants of this city do not know the definition of; and as soon as time can enable man to restore the city to its former prosperity, it will be done. My prayer is that its future prosperity may be tempered by a more sanctified spirit--that the hand of God may be more recognized--the institutions of religion more generally sustained--the uncertainty and vanity of worldly possessions more deeply realized, and that this singularly appropriate antidote to a bold and Heaven-daring intemperance may dilute, if not wash it entirely away. "Very truly, your friend and brother, "JOHN WEST. "Bangor, Maine, March 30, 1849." The editor of the Bangor Courier, in some cheerful remarks upon the incidents of the event, observes: "We could not bring ourselves to believe that the market-house, in which we had our office, would be removed. We were induced to move our materials at the earnest solicitation of friends, and under their strong advice. We felt all the while as though the alarm would soon be over, and labor resumed in the old premises, and therefore a clumsy article here and another there were left, until the value of the aggregate was about two hundred dollars, the removal of which we thought we had wisely avoided. The market moved off majestically, but with gentle dalliance, until it plunged forward from the bridge into the fast receding current of the stream, when it righted with a ship-like propriety, bearing aloft a beautiful flag-staff--emblem of Liberty, erected in honor of Henry Clay, the beloved and whole-hearted patriot and orator, who in private station receives the highest attentions and sincerest regards of the American people--and sped its way onward to the ocean, until happily bethinking how many little articles it contained which would be so missed and mourned, that it settled down with a determination to proceed no further. We visited the wreck in the evening, and, fearing it might prove our last, we bore away several pamphlets and documents as prizes. At an early hour yesterday morning we paid it another visit, when, in company with our office hands, and the kind help and timely suggestions of personal friends and a few strangers, we succeeded in securing every article of value. There happened to be one case of type left in one of the racks which had ridden out the perils and roughness of the voyage without spilling a type. "It may be a little fanciful, perhaps, but there seems to be an increased value in these articles which have once slipped from us, made the voyage of the stream, and are, at length, so unexpectedly and singularly recovered. One of our citizens--a Kennebecker, by-the-way--was particularly zealous in saving the Whig flag-staff, declaring it should long remain to bear aloft the flag of freemen. "The whole river seems to have been an entire mass of ice, partly solid and partly porous. The sudden rise of the river excited alarm, and its sudden subsidence, at the rate of about two feet a minute, caused astonishment. "There is in the upper side, and near the middle of Exchange street, a large cake of ice more than five feet thick. On Broad street there are ice-balls twenty-five feet in diameter, and scattered about in every direction are thousands of smaller masses. "It will be difficult for people who did not witness it to realize that all the business part of the city was a pool in which large vessels might sail--that Exchange street, and Main street, and others lower down, were deep canals for half their length, and that Central street was a running river. But such things were, and hundreds of stores were under water! Boats were in requisition, and various contrivances were resorted to in the effort to turn an honest penny. Among them we noticed one fellow had taken the Wall street sign, and fastened it upon the stern of his boat, in order to popularize his boat and route. The scene in the vicinity of the steam-boat wharf or at the Rose Place is truly astonishing--such heaps of ice thrown in wild confusion, furnishing a capital idea of icebergs from the Northern Ocean. We advise our friends to visit these places, and to gather in some idea of the mighty power of the flood and of the process of making ice mountains. "It is quite wonderful, considering the suddenness and extent of the rise of the water, that no more lives were lost in this vicinity. There were some families in great peril. A family living at the Point, between Brewer village and the river, were alarmed by the approach of the flood, and started, several women in the number, for higher land in the vicinity, but, before reaching it, the water was up to their armpits. They reached what was then an island, and were compelled to remain during the night. A family living near Crosby's ship-yard could not escape, and were taken off in a boat by one of the neighbors. "Twenty women and children, as the water flowed over the plain at Brewer, fled to a school-house, but could not return, and were obliged to go back upon the hills and remain until the water subsided. "General Miller, at the post-office, with his clerks, had a cool time of it. They were all at work, when the flood suddenly came upon them, and filled the office to the depth of four feet. The general started, and held the door for the clerks to dodge out and escape up stairs; but Calvin lingered behind for some minutes, when the general called loudly to know what detained him. "'Oh,' said he, wading along with the water up to his armpits, 'I stopped for the purpose of stamping these paid letters,' at the same time holding up a bundle. "We are happy to add that Calvin remains perfectly cool, and that in three hours after getting into the old office yesterday morning, every thing was cleaned up and business going on as usual. "The actual amount of property lost in the city by this flood is estimated by pretty good judges at between two and three hundred thousand dollars. This falls severely upon some of our citizens, but the heaviest losses come upon those able to ride out the storm." But, notwithstanding the severity of this visitation, few traces are left to denote it, at least to impress the stranger's mind. Bridges have been re-erected, damages repaired, and the business community have risen from under it with the elasticity of a sapling oak after the tempest has overpast. Between fifty and sixty saws were swept away, which have not yet (1848) been replaced. The following table, showing the condition of the lumber manufacture and trade on the Penobscot, has been obtained from the most reliable sources of information, and is presented for the inspection of those interested in such matters. Number of saw-mills on the Penobscot and tributaries, 240. Number of clap-board machines, 20. Number of lath machines, 200. Amount of long lumber sawed annually,[17] 200,000,000 feet, at $10.00 per _M._ Amount of laths sawed annually, 400,000,000 pieces, at $1.00 per _M._ Amount of clap-boards sawed annually, 5,500,000 pieces, at $18.00 per _M._ Amount of shingles[18] sawed and split annually, 110,000,000 pieces, at $2.50 per _M._ Amount of pickets[19] sawed annually, 10,000,000 pieces, at $6.50 per _M._ The number of men, oxen, and horses employed directly and indirectly on this river alone, would not vary, probably, much from twenty thousand.[20] [17] The amount varies from year to year, sometimes exceeding, and then again falling short of the amount above stated. [18] Sawed on the river and from the country. [19] There are various other kinds of short lumber, such as staves, sash and window-blind stuff, not enumerated. [20] The author, in preparing the above statement, has availed himself of the most reliable sources of information, and would particularly mention the following gentlemen, to whose intelligence and kindness he is particularly obligated Mr. S. Harris, of the surveyor general's office; Rufus Dwinel, Esq., and Mr. Taylor, of Bangor; also A. W. Babcock, Esq., and several other gentlemen of Orono. The reader may inquire with some curiosity, "Where does all this lumber find a market?" We may remind such that Maine has furnished, in times past, the principal part of the lumber consumed in the United States and the West India Islands, though other states in the Union possess immense tracts of fine timber land, which, as the lumbering interests of Maine diminish, will be cut and brought into market. Indeed, such movements have already become quite common in the western part of the State of New York, and also in Pennsylvania and Georgia, as well as in other portions of the country where there are large tracts of timber land, much of which has already been bought up by Eastern lumbermen. In regard to the consumption of lumber, we may observe that the island of Cuba alone consumes forty millions of feet per annum for the one article of sugar-boxes. The city of Boston is supposed to make use of the same amount per annum for building and cabinet purposes. Persons unacquainted with the resources of the Penobscot are continually anticipating a decrease in the amount of lumber from the great tribute under which our forests have been already laid; but those who are best qualified to judge estimate that there is now timber enough standing in the forests, on territories through which the waters of the Penobscot pass, to maintain the present annual operations, vast as they are, for fifty successive years, after which it is thought the amount will diminish about _one tenth_ per annum until its final consumption, when, doubtless, the pursuits of the lumbermen will give place to the labors and rewards of husbandry, and to the working of the various veins of mineral deposits already known and yet to be discovered. A period not as long, probably, as from the landing of the Pilgrims at Plymouth to the present time, will transpire, ere the loggers' camp will give place to the farm-house, and golden fields of waving grain relieve the sun-hid earth of the gigantic forests so long cherished upon its laboring bosom. We can seem to look through the following prophetic verse as a magic spy-glass, which dispels _time_ as well as space, and see the reality it points out pass vividly before the imagination. "Loud behind us grow the murmurs Of the age to come, Clang of smiths and tread of farmers, Bearing harvests home! Here her virgin lap with treasures Shall the green earth fill, Waving wheat and golden maize-ears Crown each beechen hill." The reader may be asked, in conclusion, to estimate the results of fifty years' lumbering on the Penobscot. What a vast revenue, in addition to the agricultural interests of the contiguous country! When we look to Bangor, so favorably located at the head of navigation, the grand center of all these great interests, it would seem not irrational to predict for it a glorious career in growth, wealth, and importance, nor improbable that the same may be fully realized. She is surrounded by resources of wealth altogether beyond any other town or city in the state, of which neither her citizens, with all their foresight, nor capitalists, seem to be fully aware. Of one great disadvantage, which must retard her progress, mention may be made, viz., capitalists _abroad_ own too much of the territory on her river. A judicious policy in business must be steadily pursued, else she may only prove the mere _outlet_ through which the wealth of her territory shall pass to other hands, leaving her with the bitter inheritance of one day becoming possessed of the knowledge, when too late, of what she _might have been_. [Illustration: SEBOOIS RIVER--SUGAR-LOAF MOUNTAIN, 1900 FEET HIGH.] CHAPTER V. Length of Kennebeck.--Moose-head Lake.--Its peculiar Shape.--Its Islands.--Burned Jacket.--Interesting Deposit.--Mount Kineo.--The Prospect from its Summit.--Moose River.--Old Indian.--The Banks of the Kennebeck.--Beauties of the Country, &c.--Lumber on Dead River. --Falls at Waterville.--Skowhegan Falls.--Arnold's Encampment.-- Nau-lau-chu-wak.--Caritunk Falls.--Lumber.--Statistics.--Author's Acknowledgments.--Androscoggin.--Course and other Peculiarities.--A question of Rivalry.--Water Power.--Original Indications.--Interesting Sketch of Rumford Falls.--Estimated Water Power.--Lumber Statistics. --Droughts and Freshets.--Umbagog Lake.--The serpentine Megalloway. --Granite Mountains.--Beautiful Foliage.--Romantic Falls.--Character of Country.--Manner of Life in Log-cutting, &c.--Statistics, &c.-- Presumpscot River, great Water-powers of.--Warmth of Water.-- Statistical Remarks.--Saco River. The beautiful Kennebeck lies about sixty miles west of the Penobscot River, running from north to south, nearly parallel with the latter, constituting one of those great marks of designation which divide the state longitudinally into three sections south of the 46th degree of north latitude to the sea-coast inclusive. [Illustration: VIEW OF LILY BAY, ON MOOSE-HEAD LAKE.] The Kennebeck takes its rise in the southwest section of Moose-head Lake (according to Mitchel's Atlas), so called, probably, from the near resemblance it has, with its numerous coves, arms, and bays, to the branchy horns of the moose. As laid down on some maps, particularly on the map of the Eastern States in Smith's Atlas, published by J. Paine, of Hartford, it requires but a small exercise of the imagination to see in its outlines the form of an immense animal, making the portage from the mouth of the St. Lawrence to the Atlantic Ocean with fearful strides of fifteen miles each. The figure of the lake, as laid down on Mitchel's maps, corresponds more exactly with the branching appearance of a moose horn. "Its whole extent, from north to south, is about forty miles, and varies in width from one to eight miles, and very irregular in shape, owing to its deep coves, bays, and islands, which in some parts almost fill the lake. Many of these islands are mere ledges of slate, covered with a scanty growth of cedar and fir, rising perpendicularly from the surface of the water, which fall suddenly to a great depth by their sides. Others are large islands of many acres, well wooded, and bordered by beaches of sand, as well as by ledges of rock. On the eastern side, a few miles from the foot of the lake, rises a high rocky point, called Burned Jacket. It is composed of gneiss, curiously crossed in every direction by veins of quartz. Its sides are covered with huge blocks of gneiss which have fallen from the top, forming long dens and passages between them. On a small, low island, northwest from Moose Island, I found the beach almost covered with fine black ferruginous sand. It is the common black sand used in writing. It lies upon and in a strata with the yellow beach sand, and may be collected in great abundance. Such sand is commonly sold, when put up in pound papers, at six cents each. To obtain large quantities, it might be scooped up with shovels, and afterward separated from the yellow sand by powerful magnets." Take your knife-blade, when charged with the magnet, and immerse it in your sand-box, and quantities will adhere to it, leaving whatever is foreign to itself. "Mount Kineo, to which allusion has already been made, has the appearance of a huge artificial wall of stone rising directly out of the water on the eastern side of the lake, opposite the mouth of Moose River." "We paddled under its cliffs, which jutted out over our heads at a height of five or six hundred feet. Below, they descend perpendicularly ninety feet. The northern and western sides are covered with trees, and slope so that one can reach the top by a path along the edge of the precipice. From its summit is enjoyed a beautiful prospect of the lake, with its islands, and of the adjoining country, forming a most picturesque landscape. The country, to the northward and westward, is generally low. Moose River is seen making its way through it, and finally emptying into the lake on the opposite side. To the eastward the country is more hilly, until the view is lost among the mountains of the Ktaadn group. On looking down from the edge of the precipice, we see the water directly beneath; and so steep and overhanging is the rock, that by a single leap one might throw himself from almost the highest point, and strike the water six hundred feet below, and many feet distant from the base of the mountain. Mount Kineo receives its name from that of an old Indian who formerly lived and hunted in its vicinity." The most striking feature of the Kennebeck is derived from the well-cultivated and beautiful country through which its waters flow. "From Anson to Bath," a distance of about eighty miles, it passes through a particularly well-cultivated section, presenting an extent of territory probably under a higher state of cultivation than any other division of the state. To use the complimentary and probably truthful remarks of a gentleman long a resident at the capital, Augusta, "No river in the United States, within the same distance, can be found with more pleasant and delightful scenery, more beautiful villages, or a more thriving population." "The principal business places on its banks are, beginning at its mouth, Bath, Richmond, Gardiner, Pittston, Hallowell, Augusta, Waterville, Fairfield, Bloomfield, Millburn, Norridgewock, and Anson. Bath has long been known for its ship-building, having furnished many of the finest ships engaged in our European trade. Richmond, Gardiner, Pittston, and some other towns on the river, have also built many fine vessels. From Merry-meeting Bay (the confluence of the Kennebeck and Androscoggin from the west) to the Dead River is a fine farming country, while the lumbering region on the Kennebeck, for the most part, extends northward to the lake, around it and its tributaries, and at the Dead River. Formerly a considerable quantity of lumber was cut on the Sebasticook; but now the quantity is very much diminished, owing to the scarcity of logs on that river." There are several noted falls on the river; the first is at Waterville. "The Kennebeck River is there observed rushing through a breach which has been formed by the disruption of stratified argillaceous slate." "The fall of water is from a ledge of these rocks, and varies from eighteen to twenty feet, according to the state of the river." The next considerable fall on the river is at Skowhegan, "produced by the falling of the Kennebeck over a rocky ledge to the distance of from ten to twelve feet. During the fatal campaign of Arnold, his army encamped upon an island near the falls, and occasionally relics of the encampment are now found, such as pipes, coins, &c." [Illustration: SKOWHEGAN FALLS, ON THE KENNEBECK.] At Norridgewock the Kennebeck plunges about ten feet over ledges of hard argillaceous slate, which constitute another step in the series of pitches over which the river passes, seeking its home and level in the bosom of the Atlantic Ocean. Nau-lau-chu-wak is said to be the original and true Indian orthography, the sense of which is this: these falls, or this place, is the only obstruction to navigation. At Caritunk Falls, still further up river, and half a mile from Solon village, "the Kennebeck dashes over hard quartz rock and mica slate ledges, which run northeast, southwest, and dip northwest 60°. Measured barometrically, the fall is sixteen feet perpendicular, but is said sometimes to be upward of twenty feet. The gorge through which the water passes is fifty feet."[21] [21] Geological Reports of Maine. The lumbering interests on the Kennebeck still hold a marked prominence. There is reported on this river and its tributaries, from Bath northward, including all its tributaries (not including the Androscoggin as one), one hundred and fifty saw-mills, several of which, from Augusta down, are driven by steam. Averaging the various amounts of long lumber, as reported from sources the most reliable, we report 66,900,000 feet as the amount of long lumber sawed in one year, though not the invariable amount, as this differs on all rivers more or less, as the various influences to which this business is subjected operate. The average price of long lumber has been variously estimated by different gentlemen who have given an opinion, but, from the best evidences before me, I venture to put it down at $12 per _M._ But the question here occurs, and to my own mind with distinct impressiveness, Why is there so great a disparity in the prices of long lumber on the Kennebeck and the Penobscot? This question I can not satisfactorily answer to myself, and to it I venture but one suggestion in reply. The probability is, that, in the wholesale slaughter (so to speak) of lumber on the Penobscot, there may be a larger proportion of the fourth, fifth, and sixth qualities of lumber--as it is there distinguished--than on the Kennebeck. Having made application to some of the most intelligent lumbermen on the Penobscot for a solution of this question, I may yet be able to append such facts as the inquiry may elicit. From the best sources of information to which I have had access, the following is furnished as a tolerable approximation to the truth in relation to the amount and value of short lumber: Laths, 17 millions, at $100.00 per _M._=$17,000. Clap-boards, 4 millions, at 15.00 per _M._= 60,000. Shingles, 26-1/2 millions, at 2.50 per _M._= 66,250. The "Gardiner Fountain" for January 28, 1848, reports the following as the amount of the various denominations of lumber manufactured at Gardiner and Pittston: "Long lumber, 20,824 _M._; Shingles, 16,302 _M._; Clap-boards, 1905 _M._; and of pickets, 50 _M._" The editor remarks that "the amount of money received for sales on the above lumber is $445,000." In addition to other kinds of lumber, there are large quantities of door and blind stuff not enumerated. There remains but one observation to be made touching the lumber business on the Kennebeck. It is estimated by good judges that the present annual amount of lumber on this river may be hauled for ten successive years, after which it will depreciate one fourth every ten years, and thus, in forty years, exhaust the resources of the river. For the principal facts involved in the above statements, not duly credited already, I am indebted to Mr. A. W. Babcock, an intelligent gentleman and extensive operator on the Penobscot; also to Mr. E. Bartlett, of Augusta, whose zeal in furnishing answers to the various questions proposed for consideration has only been equaled by the degree of readiness which he has manifested to assist me; and to M. Springer, Esq., deputy collector of the customs for the port of Gardiner, Maine. STATISTICS OF LUMBER ON THE KENNEBECK. +-----------------------+---------------+-------------+---------+ | | |Average price| Total. | | | | per M. | | | | +-------------+---------| |No. of Saw-mills | 150. | | | |Amount of Long Lumber | 66,000,900. | $12.00. |$802,000.| |Amount of Laths | 17,000,000. | 1.00. | 17,000.| |Amount of Clap-boards | 4,000,000. | 15.00. | 60,000.| |Amount of Shingles | 26,000,500. | 2.50. | 66,250.| | | | |---------| | | | |$946,500.| |Probable number of men | | | | | employed |1,200 to 1,500.| | | |Probable number of Oxen| | | | | and Horses employed | 1,000. | | | +-----------------------+---------------+-------------+---------+ Taking leave of the beautiful Kennebeck, the flourishing villages which skirt its borders, and its rich, productive farms, spreading east and west, our attention is next arrested by the serpentine Androscoggin, with its vast water power. "From Merry-meeting Bay, into which it empties, to Lewiston Falls, it formerly went by the name of Peyepscook or Pyepscook, which means crooked, like a diving snake," strikingly expressive of the zigzag course of the stream, and the numerous pitches in its channel, giving it the appearance, or at least suggesting the idea, of the movements of a diving eel. The length of this river is set down at two hundred and fifty miles, though the distance, in a direct line from the point where it takes its rise to its mouth, does not probably exceed one hundred miles. It is this circumstance which gives it an opportunity to drain a large territory, and, though less numerously attended with tributary streams than either the Kennebeck or Penobscot, it is said to discharge more water during the year than either of the latter rivers. To glance at the map and institute a comparison between the Penobscot and Androscoggin, the former sixty miles longer, with its hundreds of lakes, numerous branches and tributaries, ramifying nearly one third the area of the entire state, in the regions of ice and snow, mountains and wildernesses, then survey the Androscoggin, with comparatively few tributaries or lakes, and the thing seems incredible that the latter annually pours into the Atlantic more water than the former; yet actual surveys, made by the late Colonel Baldwin, J. A. Beard, Esq., and others, have demonstrated this result with mathematical certainty. In time of freshets, in the spring and fall, doubtless the Penobscot disgorges more water; but during the summer and winter months the waters of the Androscoggin exceed in quantity. The country through which this river flows, "from Brunswick," a few miles from its junction with the Kennebeck, "to Dixfield, sixty miles distant, is not remarkable in its features; but from the latter place to Umbagog Lake," the grand reservoir of the Androscoggin, "and from Phillips, in Franklin county, westward, up the Megalloway River," the extreme north tributary of the Androscoggin, "some thirty or forty miles, the country is said to be wonderful for its mountains." Respecting the water power and privileges on this river, Colonel A. J. Stone, to whom I am chiefly under obligations for the facts involved in this part of my work, says, "I doubt whether there is a state in the Union that can show so many as we can on the Androscoggin and its tributaries." [Illustration: RUMFORD FALLS, ANDROSCOGGIN RIVER.] "There are now three or four water-falls at Rumford, on this river, while anciently there must have been others of greater magnitude, for deep holes are seen worn high up on the rocky banks, where the waters never ran in modern times. Now the whole descent is divided into two principal and two minor falls, the first two being from six to ten feet, the middle seventy feet perpendicular, and the fourth twenty feet, while the whole pitch is estimated at one hundred and eighty feet. It is the middle fall, however, that will attract the attention of the traveler, for there the torrent of water pouring down with the noise of thunder, and dashing itself into foam as it chafes the rocky walls, produces an effect full of grandeur."--_Geological Reports._ "In the distance of half a mile on the river, at this place (Brunswick), we have forty-one feet fall (three dams across the river), consequently the water may be used in this distance three times." "By a survey made by the late Colonel Baldwin, the capacity of the Androscoggin is sufficient for carrying two hundred thousand spindles." Numerous privileges of the same capacity are of frequent occurrence. All that is requisite to make this river the seat of the most extensive factory operations in the world is capital, and from the superior water power here presented, it is fair to presume that the attention of capitalists may ultimately lead to investments in manufacturing on a magnificent scale. At Livermore some incipient movements are making for the erection of factories by a company. At Brunswick, a cotton factory, with four thousand six hundred spindles, is already in operation. In relation to the lumbering business on this river, the chief object of attention in noticing this and the rivers already alluded to, there are "from two to three million feet of lumber run down, and about the same amount is purchased (in the log) on the Kennebeck, and taken up through Merry-meeting Bay, and manufactured at Brunswick yearly." "Five millions are manufactured into boards, and about one million into clap-boards and shingles, &c. About one half of the five millions manufactured into boards are shipped to Boston, Mass., Providence and Fall River, R.I., and to the West Indies. The remaining half are manufactured here into sugar-box shooks for the Havana market." The mean or average price which lumber bears per _M._ here is $14.30. The "resources for lumber on this river are very limited. The principal dealers are about leaving the business, though lumber, in small quantities, will probably be run for twenty or thirty years." Logs are driven about one hundred and fifty miles, this being the longest drive. Others are hauled on to the river within forty miles of Brunswick. From the causes alluded to, the Androscoggin is not much affected with drought, nor so seriously by freshets as most rivers, the mills being protected by ledges. "The river is very crooked, and when we have an _ice_ freshet, it is piled up in large quantities in the bends of the river, in some instances for five or six miles. Such was the case nine years since--also last spring; but the damage to our mills in these two ice freshets was but trifling." [Illustration: VIEW OF UMBAGOG LAKE--SOURCE OF THE ANDROSCOGGIN.] Umbagog Lake, from which the Androscoggin takes its rise, from the construction of its shores, acts as a regulator upon the height of the water. When the Megalloway rises, it flows into the Androscoggin, and raises its waters, so that they run back into the lake for the distance of two miles, having the appearance of a river running back to its source. The Androscoggin rises from the western side of the lake, and here is a sluggish stream, with low, grassy banks five feet high, covered with scattering swamp Maple-trees. "The Megalloway River is extremely serpentine and wild in its course, winding its way amid high mountains, while its banks are composed of sandy loam, covered thickly with Maple-trees." [Illustration: FRYE'S FALLS, ON A TRIBUTARY OF ELLIS RIVER.] "The Umbagog Lake is an irregular, shallow sheet of water, with grassy and boggy shores, and is surrounded by lofty mountains of granite, which in September are clothed with the red and yellow foliage of Maple and Birch trees, the former greatly predominating, and covering the mountains to their very summits." Among other objects of romantic interest are "Frye's Falls, in Andover Surplus," upon Frye's Stream, so called. "This stream rushes over a precipitous mass of granite, gneiss, and mica slate rocks, precipitating itself by a fall of twenty-five feet into a rocky basin below. The chasm is fifteen feet wide, and the basin fifty-five feet broad. Here the waters form a beautiful pool, and then leap again, by a second fall of twenty feet, into another larger and shallower reservoir, from which they descend gradually to Sawyer's Brook, running into Ellis River." [Illustration: RUMFORD BRIDGE, ANDROSCOGGIN RIVER.] There are about sixty saw-mills on this river and its tributaries, thirty-two of which are at Brunswick and Topsham; about two hundred shingle machines, most of which manufacture for home consumption; ten only, or thereabouts, manufacture for markets abroad, which cut about three hundred thousand to a machine. Average price per _M._, $2.75. Though there are said to be fifty clap-board machines of some sort on the river, yet only "nine can be reckoned as manufacturing for market," "which, owing to the scanty supply of timber, cut only about fifty _M._" to a machine. Average price of clap-boards per _M._, $22.50. There are only nine lath machines, which, as is reported, for want of material, cut only about two hundred and fifty thousand to a machine. Average price per _M._, $1.18. Throwing the whole, then, into a tabular form, we have presented for our inspection the results of the lumbering operations on the Androscoggin, for the market, as follows: ANDROSCOGGIN. +---------------------------+----------+------------+--------+ | | | Average | | | | | price | Total. | | | | per M. | | | | +------------+--------+ |No. of Saw-mills | 60. | | | |No. of Shingle Machines | 10. | | | |No. of Clap-board Machines | 9. | | | |No. of Lath Machines | 9. | | | |No. of Long Lumber |5,000,000.| $14.30. | 71,500.| |No. of Shingles |3,000,000.| 2.75. | 8,250.| |No. of Clap-boards | 450,000.| 22.50. | 12,375.| |No. of Laths |2,250,000.| 1.18. | 2,773.| | | | |------- | | | | |$94,898.| +---------------------------+----------+------------+--------+ There is also a small amount of lumber manufactured on the Presumpscot, a small river about fifty miles long, if we include Sebago Pond as a connecting link between Presumpscot Proper and the continuation of the inlet stream, which takes its rise about twenty miles east of the White Mountains in New Hampshire, running southwest, and finally emptying into Casco Bay, a few miles north of Portland. "There are said to be seventeen falls of water on this river within twenty miles of Portland, each affording a good site for mills, and a sufficient volume of water on each pitch to carry eight hundred looms, together with all other needed machinery for such purposes." "Sebago Lake is a thoroughfare and feeder of the Cumberland and Oxford Canal, and there are between the lake and the sea twenty-six locks of nearly ten feet each, making the fall equal to two hundred and fifty-five feet." The fountains of this river are so springy that "the water never freezes so as to prevent or impede operations," nor are they troubled with droughts; the current is ever-living. At Sacarappa, on the Presumpscot, there are six saws for long lumber, two shingle and two lath machines. At Great Falls there are four saws, also four more a few miles up the river, and four shingle and four lath machines. Above Sebago Pond there are also four more saw-mills, the produce of which finds a domestic market in the neighboring towns. The resources for lumber on this river are nearly exhausted, as must be evident from the settled condition of the country through which it runs its short career. Having no means by which to ascertain the various amounts of lumber manufactured on this river, I will venture upon a calculation, with a view to make results more tangible, keeping in view the scanty resources lumbermen must have in such a country for logs. There are fourteen saws reported which manufacture for exportation. With a proper head of water and a sufficient number of logs, one saw is capable of cutting a million feet per annum. But, in the absence of the necessary supply of logs, we should feel inclined to limit the amount manufactured per saw to one hundred and fifty thousand feet, board measure, the average price of which is said to be $12 per _M._ Of lath machines there are six reported, capable, under favorable circumstances, of cutting one million pieces per annum to a machine. But in this instance, from the scanty supply of material, we should not feel warranted in an estimate exceeding two hundred thousand to each machine as the average product, worth probably about the same as similar kinds of lumber on the Androscoggin. Six shingle machines may be supposed to produce a limited amount of this kind of lumber, for the same general reason assigned for the scanty supply of other kinds. Two hundred and fifty thousand to each machine, worth two dollars and fifty cents per _M._, may therefore be considered not extravagant. Some attention has been given to factory operations on this river at Sacarappa, where there is one mill with three hundred and sixty looms, whether for cotton or wool I am uninformed. TABLE. Number of saws manufacturing for market, 14. Number of lath and shingle machines, do., 12. Amount of long lumber 2,100,000, at $12.00 = $25,200. Number of thousand shingles 1,500,000, at 2.50 = 3,750. Number of thousand laths 1,200,000, at 1.12 = 1,344. ------ Total $30,294. Though this is comparatively a small lumber operation, still, provided the truth has been approximated in the estimates made, this done annually amounts to no mean revenue, and affords employment to not a few persons, supplying bread for many mouths, and enriching those who conduct the business. While such operations build up many beautiful villages along the romantic banks of those fine streams and rivers where falls occur, they also give an impulse to the farming interests of the country contiguous, and serve as so many little hearts in the great system, whose pulsations vibrate with general intelligence, education, and improved manners throughout the interior. For the principal _facts_ involved in the view given of the Presumpscot and its lumbering interests, I am mainly indebted to the kindness of E. Clarke, M.D., of Portland, Maine. The next considerable river is Saco, which rises among the White Mountains of New Hampshire, at the _notch_ near where the Ammonoosuc River takes its rise. The Saco, from its source to the Atlantic Ocean, into which it empties, is about one hundred and forty miles in length, its current rapid, and waters clear. In common with many other rivers, some portion of it is exceedingly crooked. Within the single town of Fryeburg its serpentine windings are said to be thirty-six miles, making in this meandering only four miles on a direct line. Fine intervale lands abound in this vicinity, and also in Brownfield. There are four noted falls on this river. The first is called _Great Falls_, at Hiram, where the water plunges down a ledge of rugged rocks seventy-two feet. At Lemington are the _Steep Falls_, of twenty feet. At Buxton are _Salmon Falls_, of thirty feet; and ten miles below we come to _Saco Falls_, where the river is divided by _Indian Island_, containing thirty acres, and on each side the river tumbles over a precipice of rocks forty-two feet high, and disappears amid the waves of the Atlantic. From the east side of the above-named island, which is fertile and pleasant, the appearance of these falls is majestic. This river is easily affected by freshets. At such times the water rises ten feet, and sometimes it has risen twenty-five feet; when in many places it overflows its banks, and makes great havoc with property. This was particularly the case in the great flood of October, 1775, when a large stream, called _New River_, broke out of the _White Mountains_, and bore down every thing in its way, till it found a channel in Ellis River. The Saco, being swelled enormously by this accession to its waters, swept away mills, bridges, domestic animals, and great quantities of lumber. The burst of New River from the mountains was a great phenomenon; and as its waters were of a reddish brown or blood color, the people considered it an ill omen in those times of revolution.[22] [22] Williamson's History of Maine. In regard to the lumbering interests on this river we know but little, save that in years gone by it has constituted a large share of the business done on the river, and that at the present time it has so much diminished as to be comparatively unimportant.[23] [23] Several letters were written to different gentlemen at Saco, such as were named to me by their friends abroad, for information on this subject; but from some cause, they have remained silent, having taken no notice of my letters, which, I am happy to say, forms but _one_, and the only exception to the prompt and intelligent responses the author has received from gentlemen wherever his inquiries have been directed, whether to the province of New Brunswick, or to gentlemen in Calais, Bangor, Augusta, Brunswick, and Portland, Maine. CHAPTER VI. NEW BRUNSWICK. Object of the Chapter.--Description of St. John's River.--First Falls.--Contiguous Country.--"Mars Hill."--Prospect.--Grand Falls. --The Acadians, curious Facts respecting them.--The Mirimachi River.--Immense amount of Timber shipped.--Riots.--State of Morals.--The great Mirimachi Fire.--Hurricane.--Destruction of Human Life.--Area of the Fire.--Vessels in Harbor.--Painfully disgusting Sights.--Destruction among Fish.--Fire, rapidity of Progress.--Curious instance of Escape.--Ristigouche River, its Length.--Capacious Harbor.--Appearance of the Country.--High Banks.--Groves of Pine.--A Statistical Table. With a view to give a general outline of the immense capacities of the strip of country lying east of the St. Lawrence, between the latitudes of 42° and 44° north, I shall include (as the terminus of Maine, not regarding geographical lines) that part of the country known as the province of New Brunswick, whose lumber in quality has, in years past, quite outrivaled that of Maine. The River St. John's, the Mississippi of the East, "has a course of nearly six hundred miles from its source, near the Chaudière, in Lower Canada, to where it falls into the Bay of Fundy. At its entrance into the harbor the river passes through a fissure of solid and overhanging rock, exhibiting every appearance of having been formed by some convulsion of nature. The volume of water collected in a course of so many hundred miles, being here compelled to pass through so narrow a passage as thirteen hundred feet, occasions what are called the Falls of St. John's, which are merely a sluice on a grand scale. At times of great floods, the appearance from the overhanging precipices is truly wonderful, and the noise tremendous, particularly on the ebb of tide. The ordinary rise of the tide above the falls is only six feet, and then only when the river is not swollen. The tide must flow twelve feet below before the river becomes passable for vessels; the time for such passage lasts about twenty minutes after the rise of tide creates a fall from below; on the returning tide the water becomes level for the same space of time, and thus only at four times in the twenty-four hours can vessels enter St. John's harbor, in which the rise of tide is from twenty-five to thirty feet. Above the falls the river widens, and forms a bay of some magnitude, surrounded by high and rugged woodland. Passing up the bay, huge calcareous rocks, and vast, dark pine forests stretch up the sides of lofty hills and promontories." From the city of St. John's, which is contiguous to the falls, up to Fredericton (the seat of government), ninety miles distant, there is much to admire in the bays and beautiful islands which dot its limpid waters. A great portion of the land skirting its banks is alluvial, running back to beautiful ridges which swell up in the distance, and "the result is a luxuriant landscape." "For one hundred and thirty miles further the river flows through a fertile wooded country." "Sixty-three miles above Fredericton are the towns of Northampton and Woodstock. The next conspicuous place we reach is Mars Hill, about five miles and a half west of the River St. John's, and one hundred from Fredericton. This town has considerable interest attached to it from the circumstance of its being the point fixed on by the British commissioners as the commencement of the range of highlands forming the boundary of the United States. The mountain is about three miles in length, with a base upward of four miles, an elevation of two thousand feet above the sea, and twelve hundred above the source of the St. Croix. Near the summit it is almost perpendicular. As it is the highest point in its vicinity, the prospect commands a great extent of territory. Immediately beneath stretch the vast forests of which the adjacent country is composed, whose undulatory swells, 'clothed with the somber evergreen of the Fir, Spruce, Hemlock, and Pine, and the lighter green of the Beech, the Birch, and Maple, resembling, while they exceed, the stupendous waves of the ocean.' About twenty-five miles north, on the St. John's, we come to the Grand Falls, where the river passes, greatly contracted, between rugged cliffs, overhung with trees, sweeping along a descent of several feet with fearful impetuosity, until the interruption of a ridge of rocks changes the hitherto unbroken volume into one vast body of turbulent foam, which thunders over a perpendicular precipice, about fifty feet in height, into a deep vortex among huge black rocks, when the St. John's rolls out impetuously through a channel still more confined in width over a succession of falls for about a mile, the cliffs here overhanging the river so much as to conceal it." "When the sun's rays fall upon the mists and spray perpetually rising from the cataract, a gorgeous _iris_ is seen floating in the air, waving its rich colors over the white foam, and forming a beautiful contrast with the somber rocks, covered with dark cedars and pines, which overhang the abyss." "The St. John's is much broader above the falls than it is below; and there are but few rapids, and none of them dangerous to navigate." About thirty miles above the falls we come to the 'Madawaska settlement, the population of which is estimated at three thousand souls.' "Most of the settlers are French neutrals or Acadians, who were driven by British violence from their homes in Nova Scotia (called by the French Acadia) on the 17th of July, 1775. These people at first established themselves above Fredericton, and subsequently removed above the Grand Falls, and effected this settlement. The Acadians are a very peculiar people, remarkable for the simplicity of their manners and their fidelity to their employers. Although they are said to be 'sharp at a bargain,' they are remarkably honest, industrious, and respectful, and are polite and hospitable to each other and to strangers. It is curious to observe how perfectly they have retained all their French peculiarities. The forms of their houses, the decorations of their apartments, dress, mode of cookery, &c., are exactly such as they originally were in the land of their ancestors. They speak a kind of _patois_, or corrupted French, but perfectly understand the modern language as spoken in Paris. But few persons can be found who can understand or speak English, and these are such as, from the necessities of trade, have learned a few words of the language. None of the women or children either understand or speak English. "The Acadians are a cheerful, contented, and happy people, social in their intercourse, and never pass each other without a kind salutation. While they thus retain all the marked characteristics of the French peasantry, it is a curious fact that they appear to know but little respecting the country from which they originated, and but few of them have the least idea of its geographical situation. Thus we were asked, when we spoke of France, if it were not separated from England by a river, or if it were near the coast of Nova Scotia; and one inquired if Bethlehem, where Christ was born, were not a town in France!! Since they have no schools, and their knowledge is but traditional, it is not surprising that they should remain thus ignorant of geography and history. I can account for their understanding the pure French language from the circumstance that they are supplied with Catholic priests from the mother country, who of course speak to them in that tongue. Those who visit Madawaska must remember that no money passes current there but silver, for the people do not know how to read, and will not take bank-notes, as they have often been imposed upon, since they are unable to distinguish a £5 from a $5 or five shilling note. As there are no regular taverns in this settlement, every family the traveler calls upon will furnish accommodations, for which they expect a reasonable compensation, and he will be always sure of kind treatment, which is beyond price. I have been thus particular to speak of the Acadian settlers of Madawaska, because little is generally known of their manners and customs, many people having the idea that they are demi-savages, because, like the aboriginal inhabitants, they live principally by hunting."[24] [24] Dr. Jackson's Geological Reports. There are several important tributaries to the St. John's, and among them mention may be made of the Aroostook, which, from its historical associations with the boundary question between the States and Great Britain, has become familiar to all. "This river is a broad and beautiful stream, having a gradual descent, free from obstructions, so that a raft may run to the falls at its confluence with the St. John's," a distance of over one hundred miles. "Its bottom is composed of pebbles for the principal part of its course, and there are a few low islands in its midst." The soil varies on different sections of the river as you pass down, sometimes being of a "chocolate brown" or "yellow loam," the latter being in some places covered with "a black vegetable mold several inches deep." The country around is covered with a majestic grove, composed of towering Pines, Rock-maple, and the various Birches, Spruce, Fir, &c. Where the attempt has been made, the soil is found to be exceedingly productive. Its principal products are square timber, hewn from the giant Pines found upon its borders, and sugar, produced from the sap of the Rock-maple, magnificent groves of which grow upon its banks. Beds of iron ore are found in its vicinity, and in some places limestone abounds; 'and, from indications, it is highly probable that beds of anthracite coal will, when necessity shall prompt investigation, be found in its vicinity.' In an agricultural point of view, it has been remarked, by competent judges, that "there were never greater natural advantages offered to the farmer than are to be found upon this river," and that it "will" in time "become, as it is destined by nature to be, the granary of the North." [Illustration: AROOSTOOK FALLS, ON AROOSTOOK RIVER.] Among the most interesting objects to be met are the Ox-bow and Aroostook Falls. The former consists of a crook in the river, which "forms a curvature of one mile, while the neck of land included between the two portions of the curve is but twenty rods across, so that it is customary for the Indians to carry their canoes over this portage." The falls occur near its junction with the St. John's. "The water is very rapid, and rushes over ledges of slate and limestone rocks for three fourths of a mile." "Then the river precipitates itself over a steep and broken ledge fifteen feet into a wide basin below." In the rocks there are "pot-holes," "five feet in diameter and four feet deep," "worn in the limestone by the grinding motion of rounded stones moved by the impetuous current." The reader will see in the cut a picturesque view of a section of this beautiful water-fall, with its high ledges, overhung with a heavy growth of cedar-trees. The country in the vicinity of the falls "becomes more elevated, and lofty precipices of limestone and calciferous slate rise on each bank of the river, while the country in the rear is broken, hilly, and covered with an abundant mixed growth of forest trees." We next turn our attention to the "Mirimachi," one of the principal rivers of the province, "which falls into the Gulf of St. Lawrence in 47° 10' north latitude, 64° 40' west longitude, forming at its estuary a capacious bay, with several islands, and a ship channel for vessels of seven hundred tons burden, and navigable upward of thirty miles from the sea. Chatham, Douglass, and Newcastle are the principal towns, situated on the banks of the river, about twenty-five miles from its mouth. At these settlements upward of two hundred vessels annually load with timber for Great Britain, &c. Seven miles above Chatham the Mirimachi divides into two branches, one running southwest and the other northwest. The southwest branch of the river contains more water than the River Thames from London upward. The sea-coast of Mirimachi is low, but inland the country rises in some places, consisting of extensive and rich intervales, in others of a rugged, rocky territory." This river is particularly prominent, in the history of New Brunswick, for the astonishing amount of ton timber which was formerly procured from the territory bordering it, and as the scene of a bloody and protracted riot on the part of the Irish population, chiefly emigrants, who rose _en masse_, and attempted to drive the Americans, who had flocked there in large numbers, from the country. Desperate encounters took place from time to time between small parties, but the Americans maintained their ground against fearful odds, and after the lapse of a few months quiet and order again prevailed. But in a more particular and impressive sense will the Mirimachi be remembered as the scene of one of the "most terrible natural conflagrations of which we have any record in the history of the world." The annexed account[25] will be found deeply interesting. [25] History of Nova Scotia and New Brunswick. "The person who has never been out of Europe," and, we may add, out of _our_ cities and older portions of country in the States, "can have little conception of the fury and rapidity with which fires rage after a continuation of hot seasons in North America and New Holland, when the dry underwood and fallen leaves, in addition to the resinous quality of the timber, afford combustible materials in the greatest abundance. I have seen the side of a mountain thirty miles long burning in New Holland, and illumining the sky for many miles; but the following description by an eye-witness (Mr. Coony), of the great Mirimachi fire, exceeds any thing of the kind that ever occurred." "The summer of 1825 was unusually warm in both hemispheres, particularly in America, where its effects were fatally visible in the prevalence of epidemical disorders. During July and August, extensive fires raged in different parts of Nova Scotia, especially in the eastern division of the peninsula. The protracted drought of the summer, acting upon the aridity of the forests, had rendered them more than naturally combustible; and this, facilitating both the dispersion and the progress of the fires that appeared in the early part of the season, produced an unusual warmth. On the 6th of October, the fire was evidently approaching New Castle; at different intervals fitful blazes and flashes were observed to issue from different parts of the woods, particularly up the northwest, at the rear of New Castle, in the vicinity of Douglasstown and Moorfields, and along the banks of the Bartibog. Many persons heard the crackling of falling trees and shriveled branches, while a hoarse, rumbling noise, not dissimilar to the roaring of distant thunder, and divided by pauses, like the intermittent discharges of artillery, was distinct and audible. On the 7th of October the heat increased to such a degree, and became so very oppressive, that many complained of its enervating effects. About twelve o'clock, a pale, sickly mist, lightly tinged with purple, emerged from the forest and settled over it. "This cloud soon retreated before a large dark one, which, occupying its place, wrapped the firmament in a pall of vapor. This encumbrance retaining its position till about three o'clock, the heat became tormentingly sultry. There was not a breath of air; the atmosphere was overloaded; and irresistible lassitude seized the people. A stupefying dullness seemed to pervade every place but the woods, which now trembled, and rustled, and shook with an incessant and thrilling noise of explosions, rapidly following each other, and mingling their reports with a discordant variety of loud and boisterous sounds. At this time the whole country appeared to be encircled by a _fiery zone_, which, gradually contracting its circle by the devastation it had made, seemed as if it would not converge into a point while any thing remained to be destroyed. A little after four o'clock, an immense pillar of smoke rose, in a vertical direction, at some distance northwest of New Castle for a while, and the sky was absolutely blackened by this huge cloud; but a light northerly breeze springing up, it gradually distended, and then dissipated into a variety of shapeless mists. About an hour after, or probably at half past five, innumerable large spires of smoke, issuing from different parts of the woods, and illuminated by flames that seemed to pierce them, mounted the sky. A heavy and suffocating canopy, extending to the utmost verge of observation, and appearing more terrific by the vivid flashes and blazes that darted irregularly through it, now hung over New Castle and Douglass in threatening suspension, while showers of flaming brands, calcined leaves, ashes, and cinders seemed to scream through the growling noise that prevailed in the woods. About nine o'clock (P.M.), or shortly after, a succession of loud and appalling roars thundered through the forests. Peal after peal, crash after crash, announced the sentence of destruction. Every succeeding shock created fresh alarm; every clap came loaded with its own destructive energy. With greedy rapidity did the flames advance to the devoted scene of their ministry; nothing could impede their progress. They removed every obstacle by the desolation they occasioned, and _several hundred miles of prostrate forests_ and smitten woods marked their devastating way. "The river, tortured into violence by the hurricane, foamed with rage, and flung its boiling spray upon the land. The thunder pealed along the vault of heaven--the lightning appeared to rend the firmament. For a moment all was still, and a deep and awful silence reigned over every thing. All nature appeared to be hushed, when suddenly a lengthened and sullen roar came booming through the forests, driving a thousand massive and devouring flames before it. Then New Castle and Douglasstown, and the whole northern side of the river, extending from Bartibog to the Naashwaak, a distance of more than one hundred miles in length, became enveloped in an immense sheet of flame, that spread over nearly _six thousand square miles_! That the stranger may form a faint idea of the desolation and misery which no pen can describe, he must picture to himself a large and rapid river, thickly settled for one hundred miles or more on both sides of it. He must also fancy four thriving towns, two on each side of this river, and then reflect that these towns and settlements were all composed of wooden houses, stores, stables, and barns; that these barns and stables were filled with crops, and that the arrival of the fall importations had stocked the warehouses and stores with spirits, powder, and a variety of combustible articles, as well as with the necessary supplies for the approaching winter. He must then remember that the cultivated or settled part of the river is but a long, narrow strip, about a quarter of a mile wide, lying between the river and almost interminable forests, stretching along the very edge of its precincts and all around it. Extending his conception, he will see the forests thickly expanding over more than six thousand square miles, and absolutely parched into tinder by the protracted heat of a long summer. "Let him then animate the picture by scattering countless tribes of wild animals, and hundreds of domestic ones, and even thousands of men in the interior. Having done all this, he will have before him a feeble outline of the extent, features, and general circumstances of the country which, in the course of a few hours, was suddenly enveloped in fire. A more ghastly or a more revolting picture of human misery can not well be imagined. "The whole district of cultivated land was shrouded in the agonizing memorials of some dreadful deforming havoc. The songs of gladness that formerly resounded through it were no longer heard, for the voice of misery had hushed them. Nothing broke upon the ear but the accents of distress; the eye saw nothing but ruin, and desolation, and death. New Castle, yesterday a flourishing town, full of trade and spirit, and containing nearly one thousand inhabitants, was now a heap of smoking ruins; and Douglasstown, nearly one third of its size, was reduced to the same miserable condition. Of the two hundred and sixty houses and store-houses that composed the former, but twelve remained; and of the seventy that comprised the latter, but six were left. The confusion on board of one hundred and fifty large vessels, then lying in the Mirimachi, and exposed to imminent danger, was terrible--some burned to the water's edge, others burning, and the remainder occasionally on fire. "Dispersed groups of half-famished, half-naked, and houseless creatures, all more or less injured in their persons, many lamenting the loss of some property, or children, or relations and friends, were wandering through the country. Of the human bodies, some were seen with their bowels protruding, others with the flesh all consumed, and the blackened skeletons smoking; some with headless trunks and severed extremities; some bodies burned to cinders, others reduced to ashes; many bloated and swollen by suffocation, and several lying in the last distorted position of convulsing torture; brief and violent was their passage from life to death, and rude and melancholy was their sepulcher--'unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.' The immediate loss of life was upward of five hundred beings! Thousands of wild beasts, too, had perished in the woods, and from their putrescent carcasses issued streams of effluvium and stench that formed contagious domes over the dismantled settlements. Domestic animals of all kinds lay dead and dying in different parts of the country. Myriads of salmon, trout, bass, and other fish, which, poisoned by the alkali formed by the ashes precipitated into the river, now lay dead or floundering and gasping on the scorched shores and beaches, and the countless variety of wild fowl and reptiles shared a similar fate." Such was the violence of the hurricane, that large bodies of ignited timber, and portions of the trunks of trees, and severed limbs, and also parts of flaming buildings, shingles, boards, &c., were hurried along through the frowning heavens with terrible velocity, outstripping the fleetest horses, spreading destruction far in the advance, thus cutting off retreat. The shrieks of the affrighted inhabitants mingling with the discordant bellowing of cattle, the neighing of horses, the howling of dogs, and the strange notes of distress and fright from other domestic animals, strangely blending with the roar of the flames and the thunder of the tornado, beggars description. Their only means of safety was the river, to which there was a simultaneous rush, seizing whatever was buoyant, however inadequate; many attempted to effect a crossing; some succeeded; others failed, and were drowned. One woman actually seized an ox by the tail just as he plunged into the river, and was safely towed to the opposite shore. Those who were unable to make their escape across plunged into the water to their necks, and, by a constant application of water to the head while in this submerged condition, escaped the dreadful burning. In some portions of the country the cattle were nearly all destroyed. Whole crews of men, camping in the interior, and engaged in timber-making, were consumed. Such was the awful conflagration of 1825 on the Mirimachi. This event, of course, put a great check upon the lumbering operations of that section; but since that period, the places named, "phoenix-like, have risen from their ashes finer towns than they were before the period of that terrific conflagration." Hundreds of shipping annually load with lumber, which is exported to the mother country. The next considerable river in this region is the Ristigouche, larger than the Mirimachi, "two hundred and twenty miles long." "The entrance to this river is about three miles wide, formed by two high promontories of red sandstone." "For eighteen miles up this river, one continuous, safe, and commodious harbor for the largest class of ships is found." "Two hundred miles from its embouchure, whither the tide flows, it is upward of a mile wide; and from thence to within forty miles of its source it is navigable for barges and canoes." "The appearance of the country" on this river "is exceedingly grand and impressive; wherever the eye wanders, nothing is to be seen but an immeasurable dispersion of gigantic hills, with an infinite number of lakes and streams, glens and valleys. Some of the mountains are clothed with the tall and beautiful Pine; others sustain a fine growth of hard-wood; many have swampy summits, and several terminate in rich meadows and plains; in form some are conical, others exhibit considerable rotundity, many lank and attenuated, and not a few of most grotesque shapes. Sometimes the precipitous banks of the river are three hundred feet above its bed. Seventy miles from the sea the country becomes comparatively level, and all the way to the head of the Ristigouche is a fine, bold, open territory, consisting of a rich upland, skirted with large tracks of intervale, and covered with a dense and unviolated growth of mixed wood, in which large groves of Pine are very conspicuous." On this river the Pine is said to be of a very superior quality. Other rivers might be named of no ordinary interest and capacity. The following table gives an account of the lumbering installments and products of New Brunswick, as taken from the "History of Nova Scotia, Cape Breton," &c., &c.: Column A = Establishments for sawing, &c. +--------------+----+-------------+-----------+----------+---------+ | | |Estimated | | |Number of| | | |value of | | |men | | | |all mills, |Estimated |Estimated |employed | | | |including all|quantity of|value of |in | | | |improvements:|lumber |lumber |logging, | | COUNTIES | A |viz., |sawed at |sawed and |sawing, | | | |privilege, |the mills |carried to|and | | | |site, |during the |places of |bringing | | | |sluices, |year. |shipment. |to | | | |land, dams | | |places of| | | |and piers. | | |shipment.| +--------------+----+-------------+-----------+----------+---------+ | | | £. | Feet. | £. | | |St. John's | 29 | 31,700 | 11,305,000| 28,262 | 320 | |King's | 30 | 14,800 | 3,905,000| 9,785 | 287 | |Gloucester | 7 | 15,500 | 2,920,000| 6,050 | 105 | |Westmoreland. | 53 | 18,530 | 8,805,000| 22,012 | 324 | |Kent | 10 | 6,950 | 2,650,000| 6,575 | 84 | |Northumberland| 15 | 44,350 | 15,600,000| 39,800 | 800 | |Sudbury | 7 | 8,500 | 4,500,000| 11,250 | 103 | |Queen's | 6 | 9,200 | 6,200,000| 15,500 | 118 | |Charlotte | 42 | 64,500 | 38,955,000| 99,475 | 1,357 | |York | 29 | 18,000 | 9,000,000| 22,500 | 300 | | +----+-------------+-----------+----------+---------+ | Grand Total |228 | 232,030 |103,840,000| 261,210 | 3,792 | +--------------+----+-------------+-----------+----------+---------+ To this amount of manufactured lumber may be added about two hundred and fifty thousand tons of square timber; this is not far from the annual amount manufactured in this province. Four dollars per ton is about a medium price; this gives a product of $1,000,000. To this we may add, as the product of masts, staves, shingles, per annum, $20,000.[26] [26] Having no data upon which to form an estimate of the amount of these products, we simply give this result as problematical. It probably falls short very far of the true annual value. Grand total of the lumbering produce in dollars, reckoning four dollars to the pound: Long lumber $1,041,840 Square timber 1,000,000 Other lumber as above 20,000 --------- $2,061,840. THE END.