HOW THE AVERAGE MAN PLANTS TREES. 



A WOMAN S CRITICISM. 



INETEEN - Twentieths of the tree- 

 planting of our home premises is done 

 by the authority of the " gude men " 

 of the household, while the wife con- 

 trols the flower-garden, and to my 

 mind the average flower-garden is a 

 quarter of century in advance of its 

 arboreous surroundings. The littery locusts and sprout- 

 ing poplars so commonly set as shade-trees harmonized 

 well enough with the single hollyhocks and ragged bach- 

 elor's-buttons of 25 years ago, but seem incongruous with 

 the tea-roses, gladiolus and geraniums of modern borders. 



The flower-growing woman of to-day reads floral mag- 

 azines, plans her beds and their contents carefully, dis- 

 cards all but the choicest and best in planting, and gives 

 her plants steady care and culture. How is it with her 

 husband? Does he ever "read up" on the subject of 

 his trees, their likings as to soil, climate, etc.? Does he 

 ever plan out his groups, rows, and single specimens, so 

 as to attain naturalness and avoid stiffness and formality? 

 Does he take catalogues in hand, carefully note each 

 particularly fine tree, and from these make his selections ? 

 Does he ever cut down a poor specimen or thin out those 

 too thickly planted ? 



As an instance of the average man, let me cite Mr, 

 Conifer, who complacently owns to a weakness for fine 

 evergreens. When the family moved to its present home 

 25 years ago, he planted his place with a great variety of 

 spruces, pines, cedars, firs, junipers and hemlocks. He 

 planted them thick, that they might the sooner make a 

 good show. He could " thin them out, if necessary," he 

 said, but the trouble was, he never saw the necessity ; 

 and even now, when thick masses of hemlock and spruce 

 hide all but the roof of his house, and far-reaching arms 

 of cedar and birch brush passers-by on the main front 

 walk, he sees no need of cutting down any of his trees. 

 He calls his home " The Evergreens," and imagines that 

 every stranger envies him his beautiful yard and cool, 

 shady rooms. To me, nothing could look more sombre. 

 Mrs. Conifer tells me with sorrow that she has had to 

 give up all her flowers, for nothing except myrtle will 

 grow in the deep shade of the grounds. Some of the 

 family are always sick, and the doctor's gig stands often 

 at the front gate — small wonder, for the air of the house 

 is musty and close, as it must be when not a sunbeam or 

 breath of fresh air can reach it. Even grass refuses to 

 grow under the trees, and in midsummer the ground is 

 as bare and brown as in autumn. 



Mr. Conifer's nearest neighbor is Mr. Prim, who lives 

 in a big square house that stands in the exact center of 

 an ample yard. The straight walks from the gates to the 

 house cross each other at right angles, and on the north- 



west and south sides of his house are parallel rows of 

 sugar-maples, the rows exactly 12 feet apart, and each 

 tree in the row exactly 12 feet from its nearest neighbor. 

 Anything more angular or precise could not be imagined, 

 and the older the trees the more monotonous their effect, 

 for as maples grow they become as much alike in form, 

 shade and size as peas in a pod. 



Quite in contrast with this prim home are the grounds 

 of my friend, Mr. Golucky. He planted his place a 

 dozen years ago, and went in for diversity. He planted 

 a couple of cedars on his side lawn and forgot to trim 

 them afterwards ; to-day the sprawling branches touch 

 the sitting-room bay-window, and quite shut out the view 

 of the street. He planted a silver-leaf poplar in one cor- 

 ner of the front yard, with an ailantus as a companion- 

 Boon companions they proved to be, indeed ; and as Mr. 

 Golucky was more expert in planting than in cutting 

 down, a perfect wilderness of young poplar and ailantus 

 trees are growing up in that corner, and the "perfume"' 

 of the ailantus scents the whole yard. "Smells bad, 

 but drives the flies away," says Mr. Golucky, senten- 

 tiously. I should think it would ! He planted a row of 

 locusts along the lower half of his front fence for their 

 fragrance and flowers. His wife insists that they are 

 ugly, with their coarse bark and rough branches, and a 

 nuisance from their endless sprouting and leaf littering. 

 Mr. Golucky says it is all a notion ; that his wife likes 

 the blossoms as well as anyone ; and as to the sprouts, he 

 always cuts them down by the time they are as high as 

 his head, for they are so thorny he has to ! Tucked here 

 and there, on the lawn or in the back yard, as he can find 

 room for them, he has a catalpa, box-elder, a lop-sided 

 Austrian pine, a weeping-willow that has ceased to weep, 

 a solitary chestnut that never bears, a broken-down ma- 

 ple and a half-dead Lombardy poplar. Surely he has 

 the diversity he longs for ! 



My neighbor Mr. Highart built a pretty Queen Anne 

 cottage in a beautiful natural grove. He "improved" 

 his premises by sawing out the tops and cutting off the 

 branches of his trees, leaving only the tall mutilated 

 stumps. In time, ugly tufts of whip-like branches grew 

 out above each scarred stump of a limb, spreading them- 

 selves like a grotesque umbrella ; and Mr. Highart was 

 so delighted with their ugliness that he condescendingly- 

 told us that our own grove ' ' would be a fine one if the 

 trees were only pollarded." 



Then, there is Mr. Utility, who is always .saying that 

 he would rather have a plum tree in his yard than a ma- 

 ple, and plants according to his theory. As he really has 

 but little room, one could excuse him for his choice, did 

 he but combine beauty with usefulness. But instead of 

 choosing for the front yard the bigarreau and heart cher- 



