12 THE AMERICAN BOTANIST 



ened limbs in many a gleeful frolic with the winds. In sum- 

 mer the burdened branches sway slowly and reluctantly in the 

 light breeze and thrash heavily in stronger winds, but in winter 

 every twig and branch responds lightly and lithely to the 

 sweeping gales. 



Never is the beautiful structure, of trees so noticeable as 

 when the softly blending leaves have fallen, leaving each curve 

 and angle to stand out sharply against the wintry sky. And 

 how varied these curves and angles are! Not only has each 

 tree its own characteristic way of reaching out to the light 

 but each twig solves its own problem to suit itself and the 

 eye finds an unfamiliar source of interest in following these 

 solutions as revealed by the nudity of winter. 



The sycamore flings its gaunt and ghastly branches wide 

 open to the sun but it is hard to believe that life remains in 

 its body, so ghostly is its appearance. It is one of the most 

 striking landmarks of the wintry landscape and even a care- 

 less eye can hardly miss it. At the other extreme are the pot- 

 hooks of the horse-chestnut which looks like sooty iron and 

 by rights should be hanging in a roomy fireplace rather than 

 from the limbs of a tree. Between these two extremes there 

 are many variations from the wand-like branches of the wil- 

 low to the stouter twigs of the beech and maple. 



Not less interesting than the many variations of angle and 

 curve is the bark which is largely hidden by the leaves in the 

 summer. The sycamore owes its ghostly appearance mainly 

 to the color of its bark, but for sheer beauty I think the beech 

 surpasses all others though the "tatterdemalion birch" with its 

 rags and tags of silken tissue in silver or golden-brown is a 

 close second. The golden bark of the willow, the shining red- 

 brow-n of the wild cherry and the deep red twigs of some of 

 the dogwoods are some of the most striking examples of varia- 



