THE LOMBAKDY POPLAR. 331 



foliage ; but nearly all these old trees are gone, and 

 few of the same species are coming up to supply their 

 places. While I am writing, I see from my window 

 the graceful spire of one solitary tree, towering above 

 the surrounding objects of the landscape. It stands 

 there, the symbol of decayed reputation ; in its old 

 age still retaining the primness of its youth, neither 

 drooping under its infirmities nor losing in its decrepi- 

 tude the fine lustre of its foliage. In its disgrace, it still 

 bears itself proudly, as if conscious that its former hon- 

 ors were deserved, and not forgetting the dignity that 

 becomes one who has fallen without dishonor. 



There is no other tree that so pleasantly adorns the 

 sides of narrow lanes and avenues, or so neatly accom- 

 modates itself to limited enclosures. Its foliage is dense 

 and of the liveliest verdure, making delicate music to the 

 soft touch of every breeze. Its terebinthine odors scent 

 the vernal gales that enter our open windows with the 

 morning sun. Its branches, always turning upwards 

 and closely gathered together, afford a harbor to the 

 singing-birds, that make them a favorite resort; and 

 its long, tapering spire, that points to heaven, gives an 

 air of cheerfulness and religious tranquillity to village 

 scenery. 



