AMONG THE TREES. 



THE PINE TREE. 



Oh ye who love to overhang the springs, 



And stand by running waters ; ye whose boughs 



Make beautiful the rocks over which they play, 



Who pile with foliage the great hills, and rear 



A paradise upon the lonely plain. 



Trees of the forest, and the open field ! 



Have ye no sense of being? Does the air, 



The pure air, which I breathe with gladness, pass 



In gushes o'er your delicate lungs, your leaves. 



All unenjoyed? When on your winter's sleep 



The sun shines warm, have ye no dreams of Spring? 



— William Cullen Bryant. 



Mabel was seated beneath the low- 

 growing branches of a pine tree, on the 

 bank of a river. Numerous other trees 

 were growing at some little distance. The 

 birds were flitting about and filling the 

 air with their music, and she could hear 

 the liquid notes of the oriole and catch 

 glimpses of his brilliant plumage. She 

 could hear the gentle murmur of the 

 water at her feet, and fancied it was 

 whispering sweet words of praise to the 

 tall grasses on its banks, or telling the 

 flowers ho'W pretty the)^ looked as it re- 

 flected their sweet faces in its clear 

 waters. 



Mabel, leaning her head against the 

 tree, inhaled its piny odors, and listened 

 to the singing of the birds as she watched 

 the fleecy clouds floating lazily across the 

 sky. Then patting the gray, mossy trunk 

 of the tree lovingly, she said : 



"What tales, dear old tree, you might 

 tell if you could only talk." 



"I can talk," she thought she heard 

 the Pine Tree say, "but you must have 

 ears or you cannot hear." 



She smiled incredulously. How long 

 she had known and loved that tree ! How 

 often, when a little child, she had gather- 

 ed its needles to make beds and pillows 

 for her dolls ! She knew of a certain pil- 

 low on her window-seat against which 

 she had often pressed her cheek on cold, 

 stormy winter days, and closing her eyes, 

 fancied as she inhaled its piny odor that 

 it was summer and she was in her favor- 

 ite nook. 



"I have ears, Pine Tree," she said. 



"Yes, but the right kind ! If you have 

 the 'ears of imagination' you can hear 

 wondrous things as you sit here or wan- 

 der through the cool depths of the 

 woods." 



"I think I understand," replied Mabel. 

 "Speak, and I will listen." 



"I shall first tell you some of the 

 legends in connection with our great 

 family, for you must know that we are 

 a great and a num'erous family. We are 

 the oldest living representatives of the 

 forests of the ancient world, and retain 

 the simplicity of floral structure which 

 marked the vegetation of those early 

 times. Ages before man inhabited the 

 earth; before insects were here to fertil- 

 ize our flowers — in the paleozoic period 

 — we were here," and he shook all his 

 branches proudly, and tossed his great 

 plumes. 



"Our family name is Conifer, and con- 

 sists of thirty-nine branches. All cone- 

 bearing trees are members of our family. 

 We are sometimes called Evergreen, but 

 that is a misnoimer, for two branches of 

 our family, the Larch and the Bald Cy- 

 press, lose their leaves every autumn, 

 and although I do not shed my needles, 

 I fold them together in preparation for 

 my long winter's sleep. 



"You 'have heard of the Cedars of Leb- 

 anon, which Solomon used in the building 

 of the Temple; they were relatives of 

 mine." He paused, as if to fully impress 

 her with the sacredness and grandeur of 

 the office which they were called upon 

 to fill. ''There is still a little grove of 



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