208 ARBOR DAY MANUAL. 



Just then, a squirrel, who had been peeping at them from her nest in the 

 hollow of a tree, jumped down and seized the chestnut in her little gray paws. 



"Good-by," sneered the acorn, as she carried it away. "That's the last of 

 you. But, then, there is no great loss. You would have been only a chestnut 

 tree, at the best. Chestnuts are good enough for squirrels." 



But, when the squirrel had put the chestnut away in her nice little house, she 

 sprang down again, seized the acorn, and carried it up too. 



" Hello," said the chestnut, " here we are together again. There is little hope 

 now that either of us will ever become a tree. And, as matters stand, I cannot 

 see that an acorn is very much better than a chestnut after all." 



But the acorn said nothing. 



THE ELM. 



T)EAUTIFUL in her majestic grandeur, as she sends out her branches to the 

 13 heavens, stands the American elm, a tough, hardy giant of field and for- 

 est, its massive trunks and wide-spreading roots bidding defiance to the strong- 

 est winds which nature can send to beat against its broad symmetrical top. 

 While Englishmen eulogize the oak, and poets sing of the linden and sycamore, 

 the hearts of the children of, at least, the Empire State, cling with devotion to 

 that tree, which marks so many important events in the history of the land they 

 love. Who has not heard of the Elm at Shakamaxon, under the spreading 

 branches of which William Penn made his famous treaty with the Indians, 

 which was never sworn to and which stands alone as the only treaty made by 

 the whites with the Indians which was never broken. For more than a century 

 and a quarter, this tree stood a grand monument of this most sincere treaty 

 ever made, but in 1810 it was blown down, and a monument of marble now but 

 poorly marks the spot where it stood. 



It was the elm that was first consecrated to American independence, and that 

 tree planted by the Boston school-master, so long before separation from Great 

 Britain was scarcely dreamed of in the colonies, and dedicated to their future 

 independence, was long looked upon with love and pride, and when at last it was 

 blown down, tolling bells related the story of its fall. 



It was also the elm that shaded Washington on that July 3d, 1775, when he 

 took command of the American army at Cambridge, and began that long pub- 

 lic life in which he exhibited such brilliant talents, and won for himself the de- 

 serving title of " Father of his Country." 



We have been an independent nation for more than a century, but this tree 

 still stands, and its massive trunk and wide-spreading branches form a fitting 

 emblem of the prosperous nation that started out, as it were, from beneath its 

 shade, and in it are centered fond remembrances of our Revolutionary fathers. 



Years will pass away, and " Providence permitting, " these trees which we plant 

 to-day will have become sturdy elms. Those who are now school children will act 

 their part in the theatre of life and become old men and women ; but wherever they 

 are, whether they are in honor or disgrace, in prosperity or adversity, their hap- 

 piest recollections will be centered in these childhood days, and these elms mark- 

 ing this Arbor Day will long remain as monuments of former happy times. 



" The Student" Richfield Springs, 1889. H. H. B. 



