246 The Journal of Forestry, 



much like it, though it most of all resembles a flea, and like that lively 

 insect will spring away from your touch. This insect I have seen in 

 hundreds upon a newly withered Scotch fir when felled. Has any 

 one actually observed the H. iyini])&rda upon dead wood ? I fancy it 

 is only an old story handed down from one generation to the other» 

 such as those of fairies, ghosts, and witches. I have seen the Hylur- 

 gus pini^perda on all classes of soils and situations. 



Forest Songs and Poetry. 



THE WALNUT TEEE. 



By ALFRED B. STREET. 

 It rears its rough, seamed column at cue side 

 Of the wood-vista. On the other, shrinks 

 A tremulous white-birch the frost has made 

 Transparent. Golden touches through the leaves 

 Of the tall walnut, likewise show the breath 

 Of winter's messenger. The fruit has fallen, 

 And an embroidery of squirrel-tracks 

 Upon the soft black mould, the sacking tell 

 Of the red raiders. In warm April days 

 The buds perk up their leaf-ears to the songs 

 Of bluebirds, and then grow to velvet globes, 

 Making the amber meat. All summer through, 

 Networks of sun and shade have danced beneath 

 The boughs, and streaks of delicate rain have shone, 

 And twilight has tinged brown the trees' thick heart 

 Until the leaves, ripening in Autumn's glance, 

 Have changed to gold. From the dense, oval boughs 

 Have dropped the silken spheres vpon the earth, 

 Crackling with withered leaves, and pitted late 

 With nest of the dun ground bird. In the depth 

 The robin's strain has swelled in rivalry 

 To the tree's hum, as sang the merry shower 

 Upon the patted boughs, while on her nest 

 His dusky mate sat brooding hour by hour, 

 Eoofed by the leaves and circled by the moss, 

 AU flashed the green in sunshine, either side 

 His little head, with its black dots of eyes, 

 Has swung in pretty wonder to see eyes 

 Brighter than his sparkling all around, as if 

 A flock of his own tribe was crowding round 

 To visit them in their home. Slim golden wands 

 Speckled with black and fragrant, tell the sprouts 

 That yet will rise to the tall parent tree, 

 And bear in turn their fruit. 



Country Gentleman, 



