IN PRAISE OF TREES 281 



stone, its pools of prickly yew, its chocolate shrubby 

 cinquefoil, and standing everywhere in the midst 

 the dark little cedars, slim and watchful, is the 

 most charming spot on my farm. Nobody could 

 improve it — he could only strive to copy. 



I think we have scarcely as yet begun to realize, 

 in our landscape architecture, the part trees play in 

 accentuating or harmonizing those larger contours 

 of the land which give us pleasure and satisfaction. 

 I came upon a bold and striking effect the other day 

 in which certain trees played an all-important part. 

 Cresting a sharp, snowy ridge, I looked over a drop 

 to the valley, and saw, beyond, the peak of a moun- 

 tain, its lines almost reproducing the lines of the 

 ridge directly before me. The result would have 

 been uninteresting, if not monotonous, had it not 

 been for certain trees. But almost at the top of 

 the ridge was a sizable hemlock, the leader of others 

 the tops of which could be seen climbing up the 

 hidden slope below. They not only accentuated 

 the sense of dip, brought out, as it were, the aerial 

 perspective, but their dark spires added another 

 element to the linear composition. Still further 

 enriching the linear composition were three or four 

 little birches perched on the crest of the ridge and 

 shooting their white slenderness upward, just enough 

 off the ruled vertical to avoid primness. Not one 

 of these trees was old — they could easily have been 

 planted by a generation still hale to enjoy them. 

 And they converted a rough, uninteresting corner 

 of landscape into a bold, striking composition. 



Down along the river meadows and in the hay- 

 fields, too, I come again and again on natural tree 



