OCTOBER. 255 



Happy is he who can lead his friend to a dozen in a 

 day's walk. Let me not be misunderstood. I do not re- 

 fer to oak trees merely, but to matured oaks — trees from 

 one to four or five centuries old. At present I know of 

 but one, to which I hare already referred, and it is per- 

 fect. 



Two hundred years ago it was vigorous and large, 

 and was spared for the goodly shade it gave, when, in 

 1690, the Crosswicks meeting-house was built. Five 

 generations of my kin have gathered beneath its wide- 

 spreading branches, and whenever I chance to pass that 

 way I long to know the wealth of secrets locked in its 

 speechless heart. In the traditions of half a score of 

 families that I could name this old oak prominently 

 figures. It has been the silent witness of mild tragedy 

 and harmless comedy from generation to generation. 

 Eye has met eye, and hand clasped hand beneath this 

 tree, that so doing sealed the happiness of many an anx- 

 ious heart. Under the Crosswicks oak to-day the past 

 and present mingle. Time hath wrought few changes 

 save in those who come and go. Were the Friends who 

 worshiped here two centuries ago to return to earth, 

 they would know the meeting-house they built, and this 

 noble oak beside it. 



There are several pin-oaks in the home meadows of 

 which I never tire. Three that shade a dozen rods of a 

 pretty brook are giants of their race, and gathered near 

 are all the glories of October. To explore these trees is to 

 learn much of the wild life of the neighborhood, for 

 squirrels, oppossums, and occasionally a coon, harbor in the 

 hollows of their trunks or find security in the wilderness 

 of their close-set limbs; mice safely tunnel among the 

 tangled roots ; birds nest in the tree in summer, as well 

 as rest in it throughout the year. From its topmost 

 twig the sentinel crow announces the danger, if any, to 



