10 
THE AMERICAN BOTANIST. 
our native trees. But to the lover of nature, every tree 
possesses a soul or individuality of its own. The ''whisper- 
ing pine." — how we should miss it were it absent from our 
woods ! The eternal freshness of its green, its balmy odor, 
the crisp crunch of its dead needles under our feet, the 
solemn music of its threnody, as the breeze plays through 
its branches; all these were they gone from our forest 
rambles would leave a blank that no other tree could fill. 
Then there are the oaks of which we possess such a 
variety. Lacking the grace of the elm and the symmetry 
of the pine, but having an indefinable something about 
them that one can only characterize by the w^ord strength. 
What more fitting emblem of enduring power than one of 
our giant white oaks with its spread of mighty branches, 
some of them as large as an ordinary tree! When I read 
Mrs. Heman's lines: — 
''The woods against a stormy sky, 
Their giant branches tossed." 
I can always see, against a background of lowering cloud, 
a forest of oaks and pines, their branches whipped by a 
wintry gale. 
Then there are the common plebeian maples — so com- 
mon that we almost forget their beauty. Usually six spec- 
ies can be found native with us and the streets of our cities 
and larger towns are adorned with two or three more — 
strangers from over the sea, seeking a permanent home in 
America. The first bright dash of color in the spring 
woods, particularly if it be a low, swampy wood, is made by 
the opening buds of the red or swamp maple, and again 
when the summer is over and a hint of frost is in the air, 
they are wrapped for a second time in a mantle of red. 
What painter can ever do justice to the glory of an Ameri- 
can forest in autumn! Its fame is justly world-wide. And 
we must remember that the maple is largely responsible for 
