210 



THE ART OF TRANSPLANTING TREES. 



Now a tree, to be perfectly transplanted, 

 ought to be taken up with its whole system 

 of roots entire. Thus removed and care- 

 fully replanted, at the proper dormant sea- 

 son, it need not suffer a loss of the smallest 

 bough, and it would scarcely feel its re- 

 moval. Such things are done every year, 

 with this result, by really clever and experi- 

 enced gardeners. We have seen apple trees, 

 large enough to bear a couple of bushels of 

 fruit, which were removed a dozen miles, in 

 the autumn, and made a luxuriant growth, 

 and bore a fine crop the next season. But 

 the workman who handled them had gone 

 to the root of the business he undertook. 



The fact, however, cannot be denied, 

 that in common practice there are very few 

 such perfect workmen. Trees (especially 

 in the nurseries,) are often taken up in 

 haste, at a loss of a third, or even some- 

 times half of their roots, and when received 

 by the transplanter, there is nothing to be 

 done but to make the best of it. 



In order to do this, we must look a little 

 in advance, in order to understand the 

 philosophy of growth. In a few words, 

 then, it may be assumed that in a healthy 

 tree, there is an exact " balance of power" 

 between the roots and the branches. The 

 first may be said to represent the stomach, 

 and the second the lungs and perspiratory 

 system. The first collects food for the tree ; 

 the other elaborates and prepares this food. 

 You can, therefore, no more make a violent 

 attack upon the roots, without the leaves 

 and branches suffering harm by it, than 

 you can greatly injure the stomach of an 

 animal without disturbing the vital action 

 of all the rest of its system. 



In trees and plants, perhaps, this propor- 

 tional dependance is still greater. For in- 

 stance, the leaves, and even the bark of a 

 tree, continually act as the perspiratory sys- 

 tem of that tree. Every clear day, in a 



good sized tree, they give off many pounds 

 weight of fluid matter, — being the more 

 watery portion of the element absorbed by 

 the roots. Now it is plain, that if you de- 

 stroy, in transplanting, one-third of the 

 roots of a tree, you have, as soon as the 

 leaves expand, a third more lungs than 

 you keep in action. The perspiration is 

 vastly beyond what the roots can make 

 good; and unless the subject is one of 

 unusual vitality, or the weather is such as 

 to keep down perspiration by constant damp- 

 ness, the leaves must flag, and the tree 

 partly or wholly perish. 



The remedy, in cases where you must 

 plant a tree whose roots have been muti- 

 lated, is (after carefully paring off the ends 

 of the wounded roots, to enable them to 

 heal more speedily,) to restore the "bal- 

 ance of power" by bringing down the 

 perspiratory system — in other words, the 

 branches, to a corresponding state ; that is 

 to say, in theory, if your tree has lost a 

 fourth of its roots, take off an equal amount 

 of its branches. 



This is the correct theory. The practice, 

 however, differs with the climate where the 

 transplanting takes place. This is evi- 

 dent, if we remember that the perspiration 

 is governed by the amount of sunshine and 

 dry air. The more of these, the greater the 

 demand made for moisture, on the roots. 

 Hence, the reason why delicate cuttings 

 strike root readily under a bell glass, and 

 why transplanting is as easy as sleeping in 

 rainy weather. In England, therefore, it 

 is much easier to transplant large trees 

 than on the continent, or in this country; 

 so easy, that Sir Henry Stewart made 

 parks of fifty feet trees with his transplant- 

 ing machine, almost as easily and as 

 quickly as Capt. Bragg makes a park of 

 artillery. But he who tries this sort of 

 fancy work in the bright sunshine of the 



