A LITTLE ABOUT ENGLAND'S TREES 



By ANNE WARNER 



Paper Four 



WE LEFT Germany a month 

 ago and have been railroading, 

 motoring, pony-carting, and 

 walking about some few bits of Eng- 

 land. It's a beautiful country with a 

 rare gift for looking warm on cold days 

 and getting comfort out of fires to 

 which the notion of giving forth heat 

 has never occurred in their wildest 

 dreams. We are always very happy 

 here, even though I cannot see what 

 form of scourge could have brought on 

 the first emigration across the Channel 

 1 know what brings me, but the same 

 cause could never have operated B. C. 

 (And I doubt if I come again in De- 

 cember.) 



The prettiest things in England at all 

 times of the year are the trees and the 

 hedgerows. The trees are bare now 

 and their curious old trunks and 

 branches and uncut sprouts are all as 

 picturesque as Rockham's fantastic 

 drawings. If one stops short at the 

 surface of the subject nothing could be 

 more ideal than the tree-life of Eng- 

 land. 



We passed along Addison's Walk at 

 Oxford and through "Broad Walk" be- 

 hind Christ Church College. Three 

 years ago the walk was magnificent but 

 they have had to take out so many of 

 the fine old trees that the picture is go- 

 ing all to pieces. It's the same tale in 

 Hyde Park. This is the hard side of 

 protection for sentiment alone. Like 

 every other phase of human action that 

 doesn't ring absolutely true, it defeats 

 its own end. The master of landscape 

 gardening must arrange his pictures so 

 that as the centuries turn the pages 

 each page will be a picture in itself. 



We were in Chepstowe Castle and 

 saw huge trees growing out of ruins 



wrought by Cromwell. In some places 

 the trees absolutely bound the stone 

 into place while in others they sprung 

 thick masonry apart. In the first of 

 Chepstowe's four courts stands the 

 largest walnut tree in England, its long 

 branches supported by props. 



At Monmouth we had a pony for 

 eight hours for $2.50 and drove to Rag- 

 lan Castle, the last castle but one to 

 "hold out for the king." The drive 

 coming and going was almost the pret- 

 tiest I ever took, and I saw a bit of 

 "planted wood" — the only bit I've ever 

 seen in England. I must c'onfess that 

 what impressed me most was getting a 

 pony and trap for eight hours for $2.50, 

 but when I had to pay a dollar for a 

 whip that I didn't lose and which 

 didn't have a lash even if I had lost 

 it — I felt less under obligations to the 

 stable. 



We motored to Dorchester, where 

 the Prince of Wales objects to having 

 the Roman amphitheater excavated be- 

 cause he rents the present surface for 

 a sheep pasture, and I learned nothing 

 new about trees ; but coming home I 

 had it vividly borne in upon me that on 

 the stoniest road imaginable you can't 

 find a stone big enough to keep a motor 

 from rolling backward — not after dark. 



At Zeals' in Wiltshire, I saw the oak 

 under which Judge Wyndham sat to 

 judge, and to the branches of which he 

 had those he judged hung forthwith. 



From the foregoing it will easily be 

 seen that I am well fitted to sum up 

 England's position as far as her woods 

 are concerned, and for the benefit of 

 those no wiser than myself, I will try 

 to be fair. 



England is practically the property 

 of a class who are not forced to concern 



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