100 LIFE OF A TREE. 
tage of being all true, and to imagine that ten 
or twelve years have elapsed in the life of a 
tree since we last took it up. 
In the place then where, twelve years ago, 
a pippin or an acorn fell, we now behold a 
strong and vigorous tree. What a change is 
this! The little seed, buried in insignificance 
and weakness, has been raised in power: the 
dangers which threatened its infant life,—the 
sharp tooth of frost, and the rough wind of 
heaven,—are now all at an end. No longer a 
tender, fragile, delicate being, at the mercy of 
the storm, or exposed to the peril of destruction 
by the careless tread of the roaming beast, it 
waves its comely branches on the summit of a 
tall and stout, but pliant stem. Gliding time 
has scarcely yet effaced the charm and grace 
of youth from the tree. Its bark still retains 
the smooth unwrinkled look of early years, and 
rich in juices, bleeds forth a stream of green 
sap if touched by the pruning knife. As years 
roll on, all these, the distinctive features of the 
tree just arrived at its perfect condition, will be 
removed; and, wrinkled with many a deep furrow, 
and made to look venerable with a coating of grey 
