1 62 AROUND AN OLD HOMESTEAD. 



A tree ! — its mossy roots and taproots buttressing 

 that part of it above the ground; its tiny rootlets and 

 root hairs penetrating into the interstices of the soil and 

 there finding life, almost feeling their way, one might 

 think, with a sense of touch, and pushing aside the 

 diminutive clods to make a place for it to absorb and 

 assimilate moisture for its growth; the great tough 

 woody stem, or trunk, acting as a support for the 

 whole and spreading aloft into God's sunlight and air, 

 covered with rough bark, the home of myriads of in- 

 sects and of other animal and plant life, and finally 

 expanding into a multitude of strong arms and an in- 

 finite, fern-like, fingery penciling of branches and twigs; 

 these clothed in a beautiful canopy of green leaves, with 

 the most delicate and exquisite venation, toying with 

 the air, breathing in life for the tree and exhaling life 

 for us — ah ! surely Ruskin was right when he said, 

 "What a wonderful thought of God was that when 

 He thought a tree!" 



How much there is in a tree that is of interest and 

 perennial delight! What caused those little scratches 

 on the bark? Birds, or squirrels? Or perhaps 'coons? 

 And where have they gone, or do they still live in the 

 old tree? Where are the innumerable ants going, and 

 is the old tree a regular honeycomb of their tunnels 

 and trails? How furrowed the bark is, and how aged 

 it looks ! Its branches, too, doubtless have a few birds 

 in them now, that we can not see because of the leaves, 

 and perhaps more than one nest is concealed amid its 

 great growth of twigs. A large tree, in its time, may 

 have been the home of two or three kinds of squirrels, 

 say of a dozen families of birds, of 'possums and 'coons, 



