GETTING ACQUAINTED WITH THE TREES 



tant feet were turning homeward, after the cam- 

 era had seen the windings of the creek against 

 the softening light, when the beeches over- 

 arching the little stream showed us this spring 

 marvel. The little but perfectly formed leaves 

 had just opened, in pairs, with a wonderful 

 covering of silvery green, as they hung down- 

 ward toward the water, yet too weak to stand 

 out and up to the passing breeze. The exqui- 

 site delicacy of these trembling little leaves, the 

 arching elegance of the branches that had just 

 opened them to the light, made it seem almost 

 sacrilegious to turn the lens upon them. 



Often since have I visited the same spot, in 

 hope to see again this awakening, but without 

 avail. The leaves show me their silky com- 

 pleteness, rustling above the stream in softest 

 tree talk; the curious staminate fiower- clusters 

 hang like bunches of inverted commas; the 

 neat little burs, with their inoffensive prickles, 

 mature and discharge the angular nuts — but I 

 am not again, I fear, to be present at the 

 hour of the leaf -birth of the beech's year. 



The beech, by the way, is tenacious of its 

 handsome foliage. Long after most trees have 



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