November 
ness. The massive, belligerent character of this 
tree makes it a favorite theme of many a poet. 
Who does not recall some counterpart of one 
described in Spenser’s lines : 
“* There grew an aged tree on the green, 
A goodly Oak sometime had it been, 
With arms full strong and largely displayed, 
But of their leaves they were disarray’d : 
The body big and mightily plight, 
Thoroughly rooted and of wondrous height ; 
Whilom had been the king of the field, 
And mochel mast to the husband did yield, 
And with his nuts larded many a swine ; 
But now the gray moss marred his rine, 
His bared boughs were beaten with storms, 
His top was bald and wasted with worms, 
His honour decay’d, his branches sere.” 
In this storm-beaten oak one sees a type of 
old King Lear, iron-hearted to challenge all the 
furious blasts of ill-fortune, until at last rent by 
the lightnings, and swept away in the bitter 
floods of filial ingratitude. 
The same poet also makes the oak the mon- 
arch of its kind in that quaint and descriptive 
catalogue of trees : 
‘* The sailing Pine ; the Cedar, proud and tall ; 
The vine-prop Elm ; the Poplar never dry ; 
2gI 
