184 A PITCH-PINE MEDITATION. 



big elm before the door. I have no han- 

 kerings to live in it; as a dwelling-place, I 

 should no doubt prefer one of the more 

 modern establishments ; but for an object 

 to look at, give me the shanty. 



Human nature is nothing if not paradox- 

 ical. In its eyes everything is both good 

 and bad; and for my own part, I some- 

 times wonder whether this may not be the 

 sum of all wisdom, to find everything 

 good in its place, and everything bad out 

 of its place. 



Thoughts like these suggest themselves 

 as I look at the pitch-pine, which, to speak 

 only of such trees as grow within the range 

 of my own observation, is the one irregular 

 member of the family of cone-bearers. The 

 white or Weymouth pine, the hemlock, the 

 cedars, the spruces, the fir, and the larch, 

 these are all, in different ways, of a de- 

 cidedly symmetrical turn. Each of them 

 has its own definite plan, and builds itself 

 up in fastidious conformity therewith, ex- 

 cept as untoward outward conditions may 

 now and then force an individual into some 

 abnormal peculiarity. And all of them, it 

 need not be said, have the defect of this 



