Trees, Shrubs and Vines 



sort of brutal grandeur that is without competitor in all 

 our sylva. It is one of the few lordly trees ; heroic, a 

 sort of epic poem. Examined in detail there may be 

 much to criticise, but it is cast on broad lines and 

 refuses to be judged piecemeal ; in its entirety it is irre- 

 sistible. What a tremendous girth of trunk, what huge 

 branches flung on every side, each fit to be a sizable 

 bole ; how it scorns the thought of being graceful ; 

 every leaf wears a repellent air in its long rows of sharp 

 teeth ; its burs are untouchable ; it is a ponderous mass 

 of grim unsociability ; you may admire supremely, but 

 you could hardly love a rugged old chestnut. 



But in June it takes a different fancy, and a cloud of 

 misty white envelops it — it is majestically in bloom, and 

 for miles around it is the towering centre of attraction ; 

 its millions of tiny blossoms conspire to produce one of 

 the most stupendous floral displays of nature. How 

 gracefully those slender, cream -white catkins hang by 

 thousands from every point of attachment — it is the 

 feat of forestry ! The man who is not impressed in an 

 unusual way by a magnificent chestnut in its June glory 

 — the grand finale of our amentaceous bloom — must be 

 almost incapable of being touched by any of the beau- 

 ties of nature. 



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