308 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS. 



and to abate inflammation ; and the shepherd well knows my 

 value, he drives his sheep to pasture on my twigs and 

 leaves when afflicted with the disorder to which they 

 become subjected when remaining too long in watery pas- 

 tures, and they soon recover. 



My wood is hard and yellow, and is valuable for skewers, 

 and the tops of angling rods, and needles for making large 

 nets. Children delight in my pith, and form balls for 

 playing with ; and if one of my twigs is partially cut, then 

 cautiously broken, and the divided parts carefully drawn 

 asunder, corkscrew-looking vessels become apparent, by 

 means of which my life is sustained. I, too, have my 

 numerous dependants, who exclusively look to me for 

 support. The orange-striped butterfly flies in and out 

 among my branches; and those who pass in a summer 

 evening may often hear the shrill cry of that gigantic 

 moth, the Sphinx atropos. 



Such are my homely uses ; and although neither sung 

 by poets nor eulogized by painters, I find a dwelling-place 



