THE EFFECT OF TREES 



with elm planks. As I passed by the son was making a 

 coffin out in the middle of the road on trestles. Look- 

 ing back one could see the young man bending earnestly 

 over his work, the sound of his saw ripping the air. 

 Behind him was the grey stone of the church and the 

 forest of little shivering trees over the graves. A little 

 below, just across the river over a covered bridge, was a 

 beer-garden where a family was sitting drinking beer 

 out of tall mugs. They sat, father, mother, sons and 

 daughters, all dressed in black, under Chestnut trees 

 cut down very close and clipped to make alleys of shade. 

 And a little behind them was a forest rising on a hill 

 with great masses of trees all shades of green, and glowing 

 in the light of an afternoon sun. But of all this I carry 

 mostly the memory of those little trees, quiet weeping 

 sentinels, very pathetic. 



Trees, especially isolated groups of trees, in towns 

 and cities have a wonderful fascination. The very 

 idea that they burst into bud and leaf in the midst of 

 all the smoke and grime, and the noise and hurry, is 

 health-giving. It brings repose, it brings hope. I 

 believe the trees in town squares get more love than 

 any country trees. They mean so much. It seems so 

 good of them to fight, and to come out year by year 

 clean and fresh and green, and in Winter when they are 

 bare they make a delicate webwork of twigs against 

 the background of soot-covered houses. Then in the 

 Spring when they turn faintly purple there is a haze 

 across the square, and it seems that even the pigeons 

 and the horses on the cab rank feel it, but cannot 

 scarcely believe it. Then, perhaps there is an Almond 

 tree in the square and it will suddenly break out into 

 the most exquisite finery, like the daintiest of women, 

 making the square gay and full of joy. The Spring 



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