THE WOODS. 



157 



only repair to it we would always find them on "the 

 old home tree." It apparently led a charmed life, 

 however, like General Washington, for I never could 

 get a squirrel from it, though I have shot them in all 

 the other trees around it. The older trees will not 

 last more than a hundred years longer, at the utmost; 

 but the woods will renew itself, for the undergrowth 

 of saplings is enough for a forest. Innumerable tiny 

 seedlings — of maple, beech, oak, ash, and all the other 

 trees in the woods — dot the ground everywhither be- 

 neath their elder brothers, themselves also in time to 

 grow into magnificent tossing veterans, and finally to 

 lie a-moldering in the sod. But a part of the virgin 

 woods remains, at any rate, and the beauty and lurking 

 wonder of its paths are even more precious in these 

 days of ruthless destruction. There are still sufficient 

 sugar-trees left to make maple syrup for this genera- 

 tion. 



The old woods, in its way, helps along the rainfall 

 by its constant diffusion of moisture; instead of letting 

 it run off immediately into the brooks and thus swell 

 and flood the rivers, it retains the wet in the soil, as it 

 percolates through the fallen leaves and among the 

 roots; it acts as a splendid wind-break for the home- 

 stead; in spring it shields innumerable wild flowers; in 

 the summer bees drone away about the trunks; in au- 

 tumn it sheds abroad the yellow and scarlet of its 

 frosted leaves, and squirrels frisk among the hickories; 

 and in winter its carpet of snow is dotted with the 

 tracks of rabbits that have nestled in its logs, while 

 the farmer drives his sled up the pathway piled high 

 with seasoned wood for the great fireplace. New sap- 



