IN PRAISE OF TREES 279 



It is a curious fact that the tree which, with us, in 

 a wild state is the least formal of all, is most for- 

 mally treated when used in gardening — the cedar. 

 Largely, no doubt, because of Italian influence, we 

 employ cedars in formal groupings, as fountain 

 backs, to half-ring a bench at the end of a vista, and 

 the like. The slender, compact, tufty, architectural 

 pyramid of the cedar is, of course, extremely effec- 

 tive for such work. But still I think its best employ- 

 ment in landscape gardening has been so far neglect- 

 ed, and consists merely in reproducing its natural 

 habits. What those habits are I can show you by a 

 walk down many a happily neglected back road, or 

 even from my windows, where we look out at the 

 rocky slopes of the old sheep-pasture. Along the 

 back road, oftentimes, the birds which perched upon 

 some now vanished fence planted, it may be, a 

 double row of cedars, at pleasantly irregular inter- 

 vals, which march along beside you as you tramp. 

 But, between them, looking over the ledges, or 

 through the vista, looking into the field that fronts 

 the next bend, you will see their happiest effects, 

 for here they stand, in casual array, like slim, dark 

 sentinels, their feet fixed firmly where other trees 

 would get no nourishment, perhaps, their slender 

 spires rising above the snow or the shrubbery like 

 village steeples above the town, their rich, deep 

 color note, alike in summer and winter, picking out 

 and accentuating the values of the landscape. Their 

 effectiveness begins, too, when they are very small — 

 you do not have to wait. If any one wants to bring 

 them into a formal scheme, well and good, for they 

 fit it. But when they grow as nature planted them, 



