16 



ing" Red Indian who was always a peril in the shadows 

 of the forest. 



So far as we may properly go without being charged 

 with the sin of idolatry, we Americans are tree worship- 

 pers. It is perfectly natural for us to be so. It is bred in 

 our bone. It is an inheritance from our English ances- 

 tors. The Romans, who made a strong impression on the 

 native tribes of England, venerated trees, erected tem- 

 ples in their groves and ordained sacrifices in their honor. 

 The Druids lived in them, as it was thought more sacred 

 to dwell under trees and about their rock altars than in 

 thei open plains. 



Trees are oiir most striking evidence in material 

 things of our immortal life. We plant them and they 

 live on far beyond our lives. In planting them we think 

 not so much of ourselves as of the future generations. 

 The myriad voices of the trees speak to us in the same 

 tones that they did to onr fathers in the past and as they 

 will to our chiklren in future ages. 



The magnificent Waverly oaks were mature trees 

 when the keel of the Mayflower touched the gleaming' 

 sands of Plymouth harbor. The south wind played the 

 same soothing melodies through their branches then as 

 now, though the Indian, whose moccasins noiselessly trod 

 the sward at their feet, has vanished from the face of the 

 earth and the humble Pilgrim from Leyden has inspired 

 and created the greatest nation of the civilized world. 

 Tlie old trees saw the Red man and the Englishman play 

 their parts and are still sturdy — as well they need be — 

 while they listen to the polyglot tongues that now bab- 

 ble around them. 



