PARK AND CEMETERY 
Tree Planting^. 
391 
The accompanying photograph of the roots of an 
elm tree was recently taken after one year’s growth 
from time of transplanting. The broken, bruised tree 
roots, so often twisted into holes, far too small for 
them, seldom put forth new growth, but more often rot 
back to the point where the root branches. 
If the roots of the tree to be transplanted are cut 
off smoothly with a sharp knife a new growth of root- 
lets start at once and form a continuous band of root- 
lets around the end of each root so prepared. If these 
rootlets are well surrounded with good soil and sup- 
plied with moisture they are soon at work supplying 
food and moisture to trunk, branch, twig and leaf. 
Sid J. Hare. 
ELM ROOTS, ONE YEAR AFTER TRANSPLANTING. END OF 
ROOT WAS CUT OFF SMOOTHLY WHEN TRANSPLANTED. 
The Cemeteries of Boston. 
The enjoyment of living is increased by the knowl- 
edge that after life’s fitfull decay we are sure of a 
final resting place, remote from the haunts of men, 
mid scenes of beauty. Even if we believe that death 
ends all, there is a peculiar satisfaction in knowing 
that when our beloved ones come to do homage to our 
mortal remains their grief will be modified by that 
which is most comforting and beautiful in nature and 
art in the environments of our final home. 
As a rule the cemeteries about Boston are arranged 
with an agreeable unity of design, the parts, even in- 
dividual lots, being subordinate to an agreeable whole. 
In some of the older burying grounds the folly of 
the old idea that every one has the right to express 
his sense of loss and his recognition of the merits of 
the departed in such fashion as may seem to him ap- 
propriate is shown, but in the newer cemeteries the 
work of the stone cutter is subordinate to that of 
nature. No individual desire to mark a grave with 
eccentric memorials or flowers and shrubs are allowed 
to interfere with a design that is not for the one, but 
for the many, an effort to create one large and lovely 
dwelling for the dead rather than a series of unlovely 
patches unrelated in design and ruinous to the gen- 
eral beauty of the scene by their lack of harmony. 
They come near to the ideals of Garden and Forest, 
written ten years ago, “Restfulness and peace, what 
else do we need in our last home? Shall not the fresh 
flowers strewn by some loving hand upon our lowly 
couch be the best token we are unforgotten? Why, 
then, should our final sleeping place be pranked out 
with marble and gaudy show of blossom? Rather 
let some quiet gray stone indicate our resting place 
and evergreen ivy drape it with its somber leaflets, 
while over all may arch the boughs of ancient trees 
that shall bestrew it in spring with blossoms, and in 
autumn with the soft covering of its falling leaves. 
The reason for simplicity in burial places is obvious. 
It is not here that the memory of the wise and good 
is to be preserved, that lives in the minds of men. 
Here lies the common dust of which we are all made 
and to which we are to return. 
There is something peculiarly restful in the natural- 
ness of the cemeteries of which Newton and Walnut 
Hills are notable examples. Such stretches of wood 
and meadows are in pleasing contrast to the stiff beds 
of foliage plants, gaudy blossoms and ghostly statues 
and inartistic headstones of the older cemeteries. In 
these beautiful cities of the dead the visitor is de- 
lighted with the grand groups of trees, the well con- 
sidered arrangements of shrubs and flowers appropri- 
ate to the scenes which give to the whole ground a 
dignity and impressiveness forever to be associated 
in men’s minds with those they have loved and lost. 
The drives and walks wind about under the oaks and 
walnuts in soft and pleasing curves, while the shrub- 
bery and undergrowth stimulate the natural product 
of such sequested woody places. There are no divi- 
sions between the lots, no raised mounds to indicate 
graves. “The turf is closely clipped and green, the 
wild shrubbery clusters round it, the birds sing over- 
head and the effect is sweet and solemnizing, as it 
should be in man’s last resting place.” * * * ^ 
Here the mind naurally turns to reflection and noth- 
ing detracts it from those sweet and serious thoughts 
which best befit the last home of those we love. There 
is no consciousness of display, no showy cenotaph to 
inspire curiosity. All is dignified, unpretending and 
appropriate. In this, as in the Quaker graveyards, one 
feels satisfied that nothing is done for show, but rever- 
ently, and with a desire that, in the last home, no man 
shall overtop his fellow with show of monument or 
brilliant floral adornment of his grave, but that all 
shall be equal in the simplicity and dignity of death.” 
