December 10, 1916 



^i OT*«ai m;>iOTM:^>tm 3imaiigi Wi^iWiTO!i^^ 



This is the story of a man and a tree — a man -who walked by 

 himself, a tree that grew alone; tlie tale of a soldier, of the battles 

 he fought and won, of the obstacles he overcame, of the strength 

 he developed because of those obstacles; likewise the tale of a 

 tree and of how it, too, grew strong through overcoming. This is 

 the story of a Walnut and of the man who watched it grow — 

 of the development of character through resistance — a story of 

 individuality. 



How is it that I am different from you? — j'ou different from your 

 brother? What is this personality we speak of, that marks one 

 from the other? One amoeba differs in no particular from another. 

 As we go up the scale individuals begin to manifest themselves; 

 one tree shoves above its brothers, dominates them, crowds them 

 out; one man, arising from mediocrity, becomes a leader. 



Taken as a whole, the ordinary run of humanity is very much 

 alike. We look 

 alike, dress alike; 

 actuated by the 

 same impulses — 

 fear, hate, avarice, 

 love — we can be 

 counted on to react 

 to them in much 

 the same way. We 

 resemble each 

 other, even as do 

 the trees of the 

 forest. Yet stand- 

 ing out in this 

 desert of sameness 

 are the individuals, 

 who, nurtured from 

 the same breast, 

 grounded on the 

 same rudiments, 

 leave their brothers 

 and take their place 

 at the head of the 

 procession. 



The history of 

 the world is the 

 history of its lead- 

 ers. Without ex- 

 ception these men 

 and women who 

 bulk big are they 



who have striven, and in the striving have builded character that 

 enabled them ever to conquer greater odds. Flesh of our flesh, 

 bone of our bone, with the same thoughts, actuated by the same 

 motives, they have made of obstacles stepping-tones, whereon they 

 might rise above us. 



The same general tendencies manifested in man are reflected in 

 nature. The same drab likeness is seen in each class. Tet here 

 and there are the individuals in which that spark of something has 

 been planted that enables them, not only to grow and wax strong, 

 but to stand out above their fellows. As in man, so in nature — 

 outward likeness is not indicative altogether of likeness within. 

 One oak may be finely and softly grained, while its apparent twin 

 has a texture that is hard and brashy. One hundred maples may 

 be alike in every outward respect, yet only the hundredth shows 

 the beautiful birds' eyes. 



Beauty of grain and figure in trees may well be likened to beauty 

 of character in man. Both seem to reach their highest development 

 through adversity. Given that inherent spark to start with both 

 seem to grow the stronger and more beautiful through conquering 

 those things that would hold them back. The prized Circassian 

 walnut owes its wonderful grain to twisted fibers, the result of 



—22— 



TAYLOR HOMESTEAD AT "SPRINGFIELD" AS IT LOOKS TODAY— ROOMS ON THE RIGHT 



WERE BUILT IN 1T85 



fighting the gales that sweep its hillside. The men who have 

 risen above their fellows, who have conquered, who have led, have 

 almost invariably been soft of voice and kind of heart. To rise 

 above the commonplace, to be strong, does not coarsen — it refines. 

 Zachary Taylor could not have remembered when he first saw 

 the Walnut. He could not have remembered when his father first 

 brought him to "Springfield," for he was very young when the 

 elder Taj'lor, with a love for pioneering, left the old home in 

 Virginia and established the new one on the old Brownsboro Pike,, 

 a few miles from Louisville, Ky. The Walnut was little more than 

 a sapling then, perhaps not much older than Zachary himself. 

 It stood but a short distance from the house, overlooking the spring 

 from which the new home took its name. 



The Taylor home soon became a center of southern hospitality. 

 Travelers made of it a stopping place and many were the gay 



parties held be- 

 neath its roof. The 

 path to the spring 

 became well worn, 

 and the spring it- 

 self, watched over 

 by the Walnut, a 

 trysting place for 

 lovers. Here it was 

 that Zachary 

 played as a boy, 

 and here, as he 

 grew older, he 

 dreamed his 

 dreams. 



These dreams, 

 these hopes of 

 Zachary Taylor's 

 were ever the same, 

 for always he was 

 imbued with the 

 idea of being a 

 soldier, and un- 

 doubtedly many 

 were the times that 

 he confided those 

 dreams to the Wal- 

 nut. It was but 

 natural that he 

 should have this 

 ambition, for be- 

 fore the fire at night were still recounted tales of Bunker Hill, of 

 Valley Forge, of Torktown. The newness of liberty had not as 

 yet worn off, and those who had helped to purchase it never tired 

 of the telling. 



These early years were fitting Taylor for the work fate had cut 

 out for him. The outdoor life, the tales of his elders, his dreams, 

 hardened his muscles, steeled his nerves, developed in him the spirit, 

 the heart, the courage that were to see him through many a long 

 campaign. 



And as he grew, so grew and waxed strong the Walnut. It, too, 

 developed a heart. A sapling, Uke a youth whose mind is plastic, 

 whose bones are pliant, is at first all sapwood. As it meets and 

 weathers the storms of winter the inner wood gradually hardens, 

 the fibers toughen and sapwood becomes heart. Here lies its 

 strength. Here in the tightly compressed, gale-twisted fibers is 

 registered the story of its attainment. If it has had to withstand 

 much, if the gales have been long and hard; if in spite of the 

 blasts it has thrown its roots the deeper, meeting each onslaught 

 with new stengtli^ then will that story be the more beautiful — a 

 diary of obstacles overcome. 

 Zachary Taylor had scarce reached his majority before his am- 



