BUDS OF PROMISE. 



COLD WEATHER NOTES FROM NATURE. 



It has become a conventional habit 

 with ns to look upon the winter season 

 as tmproductive of artistic interest so 

 far as Nature's decorations are concerned. 

 And we note it as a period of rest from 

 the exhaustion of seed time and harvest. 

 But to the initiated and observant, it is 

 now ^that the change worketh fast, and 

 barely has the network of fretted 

 branches, loorning up so purple against 

 an autumnal sky, become a realization, 

 before the winter progress of the bud- 

 ding forest has'changed the dreamy vio- 

 let to a rich ruddy brown, in promise of 

 a future fulfillment of a rich verdure of 

 living greens. 



In winter, we are, as it were, behind 

 the scenes in the green-room of some 

 vast forest auditorium, and the closely 

 locked buds are become the dressing 

 rooms of thousands upon thousands of 

 gaily decked flower-folk, who are pre- 

 paring their multi-colored wardrobe of 

 gorgeous petals, with which to entrance 

 and delight our mortal eyes when the 

 golden key of the sun shall have un- 

 locked their doors, and are melted the 

 barriers of ice and snow that now reign 

 supreme in the great foyers of the forest. 

 But if at present we are barred from the 

 scene, the work of preparation is being 

 rushed forward, and on every swelling 

 twig there is evidence of a glorious 

 drama of delight which Shall be uncur- 

 tained at the clarion voice of Spring. How 

 many shades and colors are outlined 

 against the wintry sky ! The bronze 

 points of the oaks, in contrast with the 

 gray of the pale ash buds, whose color 

 indicates the advent of some demure de- 

 butant ill Quaker costume, while the 

 ruddy buds of the whitewood or tulip tree, 

 which steal their rich color from the fur- 

 rowed red of its bark, give promise of 

 some gorgeous result that is later real- 

 ized in the magnolia-like bloom of rich, 

 creamy green, girdled with a crimson 

 sash, and which within the last few 

 years has become such a fad among 

 nature's devotees. But all of our fads are 

 but a continuing in the universal circle 



from which, according to Lord Beacons- 

 field, we never evolve beyond, and it is 

 written that the tulip tree was so es- 

 teemed by the ancients that they poured 

 libations of wine about its roots. We 

 put our wine to other uses in these 

 twentieth century days, but we worship 

 at the same tree, pro tempore. 



The highly polished buds of the June 

 berry or shad bush shine forth in evi- 

 dence of a future of bewildering bloom 

 that shall envelop its now dull branches 

 in a robe of fairy whiteness when "the 

 shad come down." Break open the 

 tightly sealed, varnished bud of the lilac 

 tree, and out pours that incomparable 

 fragrance of Spring, an odor that chal- 

 lenges all of the arts and sciences or al- 

 chemy to produce. One of the most no- 

 table trees in winter is the plane-tree or 

 buttonwood, wrongly called sycamore, a 

 term which can only be applied correctly 

 to the Ficus sycamorus, or true sycamore, 

 a tree closely allied to the fig, and a na- 

 tive of the far East. It is the ragged ap- 

 pearance of the buttonwood that makes 

 it so conspicuous a tree in winter, the 

 white trunk gleaming so distinctly 

 through its shattered habiliments of bark. 

 It is said that this disastrous state of 

 its covering is due to the inelasticity of 

 the bark, which does not expand to meet 

 the requirements of the tree's growth, 

 as does the bark of other trees, hence 

 the impoverished condition of its outer 

 garment. But when we see this sad 

 state of conditions repeated on its human 

 prototype, we feel that we have more 

 cause for sympathy than ridicule, so why 

 not accord the tree the same commisera- 

 tion ? But I am sure there is some legend- 

 ary tale extant to the effect that in 

 mythological days the tree was a dere- 

 lict from duty in some line or another, 

 and for this was condemned to pass the 

 rest of its days in a tattered coat, for so 

 was sentenced the white Birch, who ar- 

 rived late at an important wedding of 

 the gods, hence doomed to wear her wed- 

 ding garment of snowy bark through- 

 out all ages in penance for her dilatori- 



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