A Window in Arcady 
November i. —One must be hardened, indeed, not to 
lose his heart to that neatest of wild shrubs, the sassafras— 
true lover of the fence row and abandoned field. Some¬ 
times we find it in its proportions a small tree; indeed, in 
our Southern States it often attains the height of a large 
tree, and in colony days the exportation of the logs was 
something of a trade item. There is no season when the 
landscape is not the better for its presence. In spring, 
when covered with its lemon-yellow blossoms, appearing 
before the leaves, it looks from afar like an exaggerated 
golden rod; in summer its dense, flat-topped crown of 
verdure is coolness personified; in the fall, when leaves are 
turning, it is brilliant in tones of yellow and red. It is 
pleasantly aromatic in all its parts, but particularly in 
the root, which is dear to most Americans that have 
ever lived in the country, as the essence of that delectable 
beverage of childhood, root beer. 
In olden times great was sassafras in the family pharma¬ 
copoeia. A specific for ague, as well as for sundry other 
ills, it used to command extravagant prices not only in the 
colonies, but in the mother country, which, mother-like, 
took considerable pride in our products, even if she did 
tax us pretty roundly. The leaves are sometimes cleft at 
one side into the shape of a thumb, so that in your country 
walks when you come upon a little tree that astonishes 
you by appearing to wear mittens you may be sure you 
have met the sassafras. There is a curious story that it 
was the fragrance of this tree wafted out upon the waters 
that encouraged Columbus to persist in his westward voy¬ 
age in the face of the protests of his mutinous crew. 
[112] 
