AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
39 
far exceed them. They must have right 
culture, to be successful, and profitable. 
An ambition for a few trees, brought to the 
greatest thrift and productiveness, is far 
more laudable than a mania to have all 
the varieties in the market. Make the most 
of the trees you already have, before you 
purchase more, if you are an amateur. Capi¬ 
tal laid out on these will save the purchase 
of many to replace those that die of neglect. 
TREES. 
BY ALFRED B. STREET. 
Whether pluming the mountain, edging 
the lake, eye-lashing the^stream, roofing the 
waterfall, sprinkling the meadow, burying 
the homestead, or darkening leagues of hill, 
plain and valley, treesmave always “ haunt¬ 
ed me like a passion.” Let me summon a 
few of them, prime, favorites and familiar 
to the American forest. 
The aspen—what soft, silver-grey tints on 
its leaves, how smooth its mottled bark, its 
whole shape how delicate and sensitive ! 
you may be sitting fin the homestead lawn 
some summer noon, the trees all motionless, 
and the hot air trembling over the surface of 
the unstirred grass. Suddenly you willhear 
a fluttering like the unloosing of a rapid 
brook, and looking whence comes the sound, 
you will see the aspen shaking as if falling 
to pieces, or the leaves were little wings 
striving to fly. All this time the broad leaf 
of the maple close by does not even lift its 
pointed edges. This soft murmur sends a 
coolness through the sultry atmosphere ; but 
while your ear is drinking the music, and 
your eye is filled with the tumultuous danc¬ 
ing, instantly both cease as if the tree were 
stricken with a palsy, and the quiet leaves 
flash back the sunshine like so many fairy 
mirrors. 
Next the elm. How noble the lift and 
drooping of its branches ! With such grace¬ 
ful downward curves on either side, it has 
the shape of the Greek vase. Such lavish 
foliage also, running down the trunk to the 
very roots, as if a rich vine were wreathed 
round it ! And what frame-works these 
branches shape, breaking the landscape be¬ 
yond into half-oval scenes which look 
through the chiaroscuro as if beheld through 
sligTitly shaded glass. And how finely the 
elm leans over the brook—its native place— 
turning the water into ebony, and forming a 
shelter for the cattle from the heat. It is 
scattered, too, over the meadow, making 
shady nooks for the mowers at their noontide 
meal, shadowing the farmer’s gate and 
mantling his homestead in an affluence of 
green. 
Then the maple. What a splendid cupola 
of leaves it builds up in the sky—an almost 
complete canopy from the summer shower. 
It reddens brilliantly when the bluebird tells 
us spring has come, and, a few days later, 
its drooped fringes gleam in the fresh grass 
like flakes of fire. And in autumn, too, its 
crimson is so rich, one might term it the 
Blush of the Wood. 
And the beech. How cheerfully its snow- 
spotted trunk looks in the deep woods, how 
fresh the green of its regularly scolloped 
leaves ! At spring-tide the tips of its sprays 
feather out in the glossiest and most delicate 
cream-satin, amid which the young leaf 
glows like a speck of emerald. And in au¬ 
tumn what rich clusters of fruit! The pat¬ 
tering of the brown, three-cornered beech¬ 
nut upon the dead leaves, is constant in the 
hazy, purple days of an Indian summer, and 
makes a sweet music, almost continuous as 
the dripping of a rill, in the mournful forest. 
The birch is a great favorite of mine. It 
reminds me of the whistles of my boyhood. 
Its fragrant bark—what delight it was to 
wrench it from the silver wood for the shrill 
music I delighted in, particularly by the 
hearthstone of my home. 
“ Conscience!” my aunt Katy used to ges- 
tulate, holding her ears ; “ is that whistling 
coming again I John, do, do stop.” 
And when came a shriller blast: 
“ John, you little torment! if you don’t 
stop I’ll box your ears 1” 
What splendid tassels the birch hangs out 
at the bidding of April—tassels that Indian 
Sachems were proud to wear at the most 
honored feasts of their nation. 
And into such a rich gold is it transformed 
by October, a light is almost shed of its own 
within the sylvan recesses. The speckled 
bark of the black birch is glossy and bright, 
but give me the beauty of the white birch’s 
coat. How like a shaft of ivory it gleams 
in the daylight woods—how the flame of 
moonlight kindles it into columned snow. 
Did you ever, while 'wandering in the for¬ 
est about the first of June, have your eyes 
dazzled at a distance with what you sup¬ 
posed to be a tree laden with snow lit was the 
dogwood. Glittering in its white blossoms, 
every one spread over a broad leaf of the 
brightest verdure, pointed gauze upon emer¬ 
ald, there stands the pretty tree like a bride. 
The shad-bush and cherry, have dropped 
their white honors a month before, but the 
dogwood keeps company with the basswood 
and locust in brightening the last days of 
spring with its floral beauty. Up into the 
soft blue it lifts its wreathed crown, for it 
gathers its richest show of bloom on its 
head, and makes the forest light as with sil¬ 
ver chandeliers. 
While admiring the dogwood, an odor of 
exquisite sweetness may salute you ; and, if 
at all conversant in tree knowledge, you will 
know the censor dispensing this fragrance. 
But you will travel some distance, and do it 
as the hound tracks the deer, by scent, for 
the perfume fills the forest long before the 
tree catches the eye. At length you see it— 
the basswood—clustered with yellow blos¬ 
soms, golden bells, pouring out such strong, 
delicious fragrance, you realize the idea of 
Shelley : 
“And the hyacinth purple,"and white and blue,, 
Which flung from its bells a sweet peal anew 
Of music so delicate, soft and intense, 
It was felt like an odor within the sense. - ' 
And the deep hum, too, about it—an at¬ 
mosphere of sound—the festival of the bees 
surrounding the chalices so brimmed with 
honey. 
I have mentioned the flowers of the locust 
and the chestnut in connection with the bass¬ 
wood. Delicate pearl does the former hang 
out amid the vivid green of its beautiful 
leaves and sweet is that pearl as the lips of 
that maiden you love. 
And the chestnut, scattered thickly among 
its long, dark-green leaves are strings of pale 
gold blossoms, haunts also of the reveling 
bee. Does the school boy ever forget “ the 
days that he went ” truanting after the au¬ 
burn fruit embedded in velvet within, but 
without protected by porcupines of husks. 
With what delight did the young good-for- 
nothings pelt down those yellow husks to be 
crushed open by indefatigable heels ! Ah ! 
the aurora of life—how bright! how merry! 
Forever linked in the minds of those tru¬ 
ants with the chestnut is the walnut. How 
the green smooth globes that insphere the 
fruit make the eyes of the young vagabonds 
dance. And how eagerly they mount to 
shake down those globes, each fracturing at 
the fall, and unloosing the round ivories that 
in turn imprison the golden meats.— Knick¬ 
erbocker Gallery. 
(Concluded next week.) 
THE HYDRANGEA. 
Although this must be admitted to be one 
of the most showy plants we have, it has 
certainly been very much neglected of late 
years. It is, however, still prized by a few, 
who find it particularly useful for green¬ 
house and conservatory decoration, display¬ 
ing its enormous heads of pink and blue 
flowers in abundance, and remaining a lon^ 
time in perfection. The following method 
of treatment being pursued, will enable all 
who practice it to have large heads of blos¬ 
som from plants even in small pots. If cut¬ 
tings are taken off in August, and potted in a 
mixture of leaf-mold, loam, and sand, in a 
well-drained pot, and be placed in an old cu¬ 
cumber or melon frame, they will root freely, 
and should be potted into four-inch pots as 
soon as they have become sufficiently root¬ 
ed. The plants should be kept to one leader, 
the top bud of which should not be pinched 
out, but all lateral or side shoots be removed 
as soon as they appear. When sufficiently 
established in their pots, move them to the 
greenhouse, where they should be wintered. 
Early in spring shift them into five or six- 
inch pots, as may best suit your convenience, 
and as soon as they have commenced growth 
liberally supply them with water, using the 
syringe freely at all times. Perhaps the 
most convenient place for them at this season 
is a vinery, which I find suits them well, 
and brings them on gently until the blossoms 
make their appearance. Water at this 
stage must on no account be neglected. If 
large specimen plants are required, they 
should be grown another season, when they 
will form a fine bush and produce many 
heads of blossoms, although inferior in size 
to those on plants kept to one leader. I 
have grown the same plants for years ; in 
this way they have made huge specimens, 
and amply repaid me for my trouble ; but if 
small plants with large heads are preferred, 
they should be grown from cuttings every 
season. 1 have also struck cuttings in Feb¬ 
ruary, and grown them on until the follow¬ 
ing season, using a slight bottom-heat, and 
disbudding the useless eyes ; such plants 
have produced enormous heads, superior in 
size to those struck in August, but then the 
plants are longer in hand, which, in many 
cases, is a consideration. The soil best 
suited for their culture is equal portions of 
cow-dung, leaf-mold, fibrous loam, peat, and 
sand, well mixed in a rough state. The 
pots should be thoroughly drained, and, dur¬ 
ing the blooming season, the plants will be 
benefitted by being placed in a pan of water. 
Manure-water may be used freely while the 
plants are in bloom. In order to change 
them from pink to blues of different 
shades, put them in Norwood loam, or com¬ 
mon red sand ; potting in peat andwattering 
with alum-water will also produce the same 
effect; but the two former kinds of material 
are the best. If planted on well-drained 
ground, aud slightly protected in winter, the 
Hydrangea will form an ornament in the 
flower garden such as few can equal; but it 
must be liberally supplied with water during 
the blooming season.— Floricultural Cabinet. 
A Short Sermon on Manliness. —Learn 
from the earliest days to inure your princi¬ 
ples against the peril of ridicule. You can 
no more exercise your reason if you live in 
the constant dread of laughter, than you can 
enjoy your life if you are in constant fear of 
death. If you think it right to differ from 
the times, and to make a point of morals, do 
it. however antiquated, however pedantic, i 
may appear; do it not for insolence, but se¬ 
riously—as a man who wore a soul of his 
own in his bosom, and did not wait till it 
was breathed into him by the breath of fash¬ 
ion .—Sydney Smith. 
