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right, tall and majestic, with the poise of a sachem, 

 and a bark whose rugged strength fills your eye with 

 joy, a noble old cottonwood shakes its thousand glis- 

 tening spear-heads of leaves, challenging the flashing 

 sun. A little further along, on your left, is Catalpa 

 bignonioides again, with its rambling sprawl of 

 branches and large heart-shaped leaves. 



Near the Bridge, which you meet just ahead, and 

 which spans the Bridle Path, you will see on your 

 left, as you continue northward, a good-sized tree, sadly 

 shattered in limb by a long battle with the elements. 

 It has lost many a branch, but it has a stout old heart, 

 and stands there still fighting on. You can know it 

 easily by its leaves, thick glossy dark green on the 

 upper sides, but on the under so white that when the 

 breeze touches them, drifts of snow show swiftly here 

 and there through the lustrous foliage, like a sudden 

 smile lighting up an aged face. This stanch old tree 

 is a white poplar or abele tree, Populus alba, and has 

 very wavy toothed thick leaves of a roundish, rather 

 heart-shaped form. Their undersides are cottony 

 white, in strong contrast with the glossy dark green 

 of their upper sides. The trunk of the tree has a 

 blackish-looking heavily-fissured bark, to about the 

 first branching, then it shows the greenish gray hue 

 so characteristic of the poplars generally. Sometimes 

 the greenish gray hue of the upper branches of this 

 tree is so light as to appear almost white, a distance 

 away. In the corner (northwest) of the Walk by the 

 Bridge is California privet. 



On your right you passed about opposite the Ca- 



