226 THE JONATHAN PAPERS 



must remember where the tree stood before it 

 was cut white birch in the dry, worn-out 

 slopes, black birches from the edges of the 

 pasture lots, chestnut from the ledges, maple 

 from the swamps, apple from the old orchard, 

 oak cut in sorrow when the fullness of time 

 has come, and burned with the honor due to 

 royalty. 



But though this may be a refinement of 

 fancy, it is no fancy that one kind of wood dif 

 fers from another in glory. There is the white 

 birch, gay, light-hearted, volatile, putting all 

 its pretty self into a few flaring moments 

 a butterfly existence. There is black birch, 

 reluctant but steady; there is chestnut, viva 

 cious, full of sudden enthusiasms; the apple, 

 cheerful and willing; the maple and oak, sober 

 and stanch, good for the long pull. Every 

 locality has its own sorts of wood, as its own 

 sorts of people. Mine is a New England wood 

 basket, and as I look at it I recognize all niy 

 old friends. Of them all I love the apple best, 

 yet each is in its own way good. For a quick 

 blaze, throw on the white birch; for a long 

 evening of reading, when one does not want 

 distraction, pile on the oak and maple. They 



