214 WITH THE FLOWERS AND TREES 



apostrophe, the madrono is known, only to be loved, 

 and named but to be praised. We often speak care- 

 lessly of this or that as an aristocrat among trees, 

 but when we see the madrono, our voices are hushed 

 involuntarily and we find our hats in our hands; 

 for this is the obvious aristocrat of them all, the 

 bluest blood of the forest; there is no other like it. 

 Maybe you know Bret Harte's spirited poem about 

 it? He calls it several pretty names " captain of 

 the Western wood," "gallant of the glade," and so 

 on. Besides a certain patrician grace of manner 

 that distinguishes it, it has a charm of color that is 

 remarkable. The bark, more particularly of the 

 limb, is thin and smooth and of a striking shade of 

 red. About July it begins to peel off in flakes and 

 quills, and falls to the ground, revealing the under 

 bark which is first of a satiny green but gradually 

 deepens to red. Simultaneously with this change of 

 bark, new leaves put out and the old leathery leaf- 

 age is discarded, strewing the woodland floor be- 

 neath them with autumnal tints in midsummer. 

 Meantime the waxen-white urns of flowers that 

 adorned the trees in February and March like sprays 

 of aerial lilies of the valley, have given place to 

 clusters of rough- jacketed little berries, which in au- 

 tumn turn orange scarlet, and make flush times for 

 the doves and deer far into the winter. It is a tree 



