394 



TREES, IN TOWNS AND VILLAGES. 



that their descendants should plant trees. 

 We shall do our part, thereff)re, towards 

 awakening again, that natural love of trees, 

 which this long warfare against them — this 

 continual laying the axe at their roots — so 

 common in a new country, has, in so many 

 places, well nigh extinguished. We ought 

 not to cease, till every man feels it to be 

 one of his moral duties to become a planter 

 of trees ; until every one feels, indeed, 

 that, if it is the mcst patriotic thing that 

 can be done to make the earth yield two 

 blades of grass instead of one, it is far 

 more so to cause trees to grow where no 

 foliage has waved and fluttered before — 

 trees, which are not only full of usefulness 

 and beauty always, but to which old Time 

 himself grants longer leases than he does 

 to ourselves, so that he who plants them 

 wisely, is more certain of receiving the 

 thanks of posterity, than the most persuasive 

 orator, or the most prolific writer of his day 

 and generation. 



The especial theme of our lamentation 

 touching trees, at the present moment, is 

 the general neglect and inattention to their 

 many charms, in country towns and villages. 

 We say general, for our mind dwells with 

 unfeigned delight upon exceptions — many 

 beautiful towns and villages in NewEngland, 

 where the verdure of the loveliest elms waves 

 like grand lines of giant and graceful plumes 

 above the house tops, giving an air of rural 

 beauty, that speaks louder for the good ha- 

 bits of inhabitants, than the pleasant sound 

 of an hundred church bells. We remember 

 Northampton, Springfield, New Haven, 

 Stockbridge, and others, whose long and 

 pleasant avenues are refreshing and beauti- 

 ful to look upon. We do not forget that 

 large and sylvan park, with undulating sur- 

 face, the Boston Common, or that really ad- 

 mirable city arboretum of rare trees, Wash- 



mgton Square of Philad«'lphia.* Their 

 groves are as beloved and sacred in our 

 eyes, as those of the Deo-dar arc to the de- 

 vout Brahmins. 



But these are, we are sorry to be obliged 

 to say, only the exceptions to the average 

 condition of our country towns. As an ofT- 

 set to them, how many towns, how many 

 villages, could we name, where rude and 

 uncouth streets bask in the summer heat, 

 and revel in the noontide glare, with scarce- 

 ly a leaf to shelter or break the painful mo- 

 notony ? Towns and villages, where there 

 is no lack of trade, no apparent want of 

 means, where houses are yearly built, and 

 children weekly born, but where you might 

 imagine from their barrenness, that the soil 

 had been cursed, and it refused to support 

 the life of a single tree. 



What must be done in such cases ? There 

 must be at least one right-feeling man in 

 every such Sodom. Let him set vigorously 

 at work, and if he cannot induce his neigh- 

 bors to join him, he must not be disheart- 

 ened — let him him plant and cherish care- 

 fully a few trees, if only half a dozen. They 

 must be such as will grow vigorously, and 

 like the native elm, soon make themselves 

 felt and seen wherever they maybe placed. 

 In a very few years they will preach more 

 eloquent orations than " gray goose quills" 

 can write. Their luxuriant leafy arms, 

 swaying and waving to and fro, will make 

 more convincing gestures than any member 

 of congress or stump speaker, and if there 

 is any love of nature dormant in the dusty 

 hearts of the villagers, we prophecy that in 

 a very short time there will be such a gen- 

 eral yearning after green trees, that the 

 whole place will become a bower of fresh- 

 ness and verdure. 



* Which probably contains more well grown specimens of 

 different species of forest trees, than any similar space of 

 ground in America. 



