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On the right of the Walk again, we come to two 

 Mugho pines which you will have no trouble in know- 

 ing from their dwarf prostrate forms of growth. Some 

 adverse fate seems to have befallen the Mugho pine, 

 for it looks as if it had been beaten down upon the 

 head so continuously that it abandoned long ago any 

 idea it may have had of being a tree and decided to 

 stay a humble, rambling bush. I like its tough form 

 and its close tenacious grip, for somehow, as I pass it, 

 I seem to see the Alp winds beating and buffeting its 

 close dense head, whistling through its needles, but 

 never rooting it from its eagle-like claw upon the 

 soil. Each shrub and tree brings with it its heredity 

 even in the Park, and he who carries an imagination 

 with him in his Park walks, will travel through many 

 countries, passing from clime to clime. This is one 

 of the things which makes a Park stroll so interesting. 

 The Bhotan pines whisper of the Himalayas, the Cau- 

 casian walnut of Russia and the trans-Ural district, 

 the Austrian pines of the Alps and the Tyrol, hosts 

 of things of China and Japan. Many lands are 

 compressed into the few hundred acres which make 

 the city park, and they are there for whomsoever will 

 come to see them. Just consider for a moment what 

 this means, what you have within reach of a trolley 

 car. Truly a park is a wonderful place and if you 

 love to know the garnitures of God's earth in their 

 myriad forms walk here and see some of the beautiful 

 growths of lands so distant as to seem almost dream- 

 like. 



Beyond the Mugho pines is a goodly English yew 



