162 ARBOR DAY 



THE AGE OF TREES 



ANONYMOUS 



MAN counts his life by years ; the oak, by centuries. 

 At one hundred years of age the tree is but a sap- 

 ling; at five hundred it is mature and strong; at six 

 hundred the giant king of the greenwood begins to 

 feel the touch of time; but the decline is as slow as 

 the growth was, and the sturdy old tree rears its 

 proud head and reckons centuries of old age just 

 as it reckoned centuries of youth. 



It has been said that the patriarchs of the forest 

 laugh at history. Is it not true ? Perhaps, when the 

 balmy zephyrs stir the trees, the leaves whisper 

 strange stories to one another. The oaks and the 

 pines, and their brethren of the wood, have seen so 

 many suns rise and set, so many seasons come and 

 go, and so many generations pass into silence, that 

 we may well wonder what "the story of the trees" 

 would be to us if they had tongues to tell it, or we 

 ears fine enough to understand. 



THE PINE TREE 



BY JOHN RUSKIN 



From Modern Painters 



THE tremendous unity of the pine absorbs and 

 moulds the life of a race. The pine shadows rest 



