

HORTICULTURAL JOURNAL. 235 



ground, the most enchanting and romantic spot I ever beheld; it seemed as 

 though nature in a frolic had vied with the art of man — the rapid water of 

 a stream which comes winding down the hill sides, has worn its way for ages 

 through the solid rock, seeking a humble bed hundreds of feet below. On 

 either side the high towering rocks aae clothed with velvety moss, mingled 

 with Ferns and Rose Bay Laurel which have found a home on some broken, 

 ledge. Indeed I may be allowed to say that Elfin Wild although in mina- 

 ture has no equal. I could say much more about the beauties of the place, 

 but I have already trespassed too much upon your limits. T. C. 



PLANT A TREE. 



Plant ! plant ! ! plant ! ! ! Three times have we written down the word, 

 in order to impress it upon the mind of the reader. God plants over the 

 fair face of the world. The sprouting acorn, the winged seeds of the pine, 

 and the maple, and the ash, the bright red berries of the dogwood, the 

 holly and the hawthorn, the blue clusters from the evergreen cedar, and the 

 pearly fruit of the mistletoe, high up in the old oak-top, all find a spot as a 

 birth-bed in which to take root and flourish. — Some grow in the mellow 

 mould where shade and moisture protect and invigorate their tenderness — 

 some, with the pitying spirit of an angel's guardianship, seek their resting 

 places where man has wrought all his ruin, on the bare bosom of the earth, 

 and strive to hide her naked deformity by outspreading their evergreen arms 

 — some cling with their viscid coverings to the rough bark of ancient trees, 

 as if they wished to add newer and greener chaplets to their decaying 

 crowns — some seek the crevices of the barren rocks and creeping up ruined 

 walls bind together, the fisures gnawed by the cankered tooth of time, in 

 their tender embraces — all obey those laws of vegetable creation, which are 

 ever active in renewing what waste, and heedless considerateness, and pro- 

 digal destruction, have so ruthlessly ravaged. Go then, lover of nature, to 

 the scathed hill-top, once crowned with the brawn of a mighty forest king- 

 dom ,and plant a clustering knot of oaks and cedars. Go to the sun scorched 

 brook, as it glides noiselessly like molten lead through your field, and pro- 

 tect its bright waters by the friendly shade of graceful maples and wide, 

 spreading beeches. Go to the roadside and people these monotonous plan- 

 tation lines with the walnut, the red fruited mulberry and the maronia — 

 their shade will gladden the heart of the traveller — their fruit will cause un- 

 born children to bless , 



" The hand that planted these old trees." 



