16C 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST 
these emblems of progression, and these sig¬ 
nals of the reviving year, to the more poetic 
sentiment of melancholy, inspired by the 
scenes of autumn. 
Among the different species of trees and 
shrubs, there is a notable difference in their 
habits of leafing and flowering; some wreath¬ 
ing their flowers upon the naked branches, 
before the expansion of the leaves, like the 
peach tree, the elm and the maple ; others 
putting forth their leaves and flowers simul¬ 
taneously, like the apple tree and the cher¬ 
ry ; others acquiring their full green vesture, 
before the appearance of their flowers, as the 
lilac, the elder, the rose and the viburnum. 
When we observe these multiplied and beau¬ 
tiful arrangements, we can not avoid associ¬ 
ating them with the benevolence of nature ; 
and we are prone to regard her as an affec¬ 
tionate parent who has instituted these phe¬ 
nomena, in order to present at all times the 
greatest amount of beauty to the eye, and to 
guard us from all that weariness that is sure 
to follow the long continuance of one un¬ 
changeable source of pleasure. 
There is manifestly some connection be¬ 
tween the tints of the half developed spring 
foliage, and those we observe in the decline 
of the year. The leaves of nearly all the 
trees and shrubs that are brightly colored in 
autumn, present a similar variety of tints in 
their tender plaited foliage in May. This is 
very remarkable in the different species of 
the oak, whose half-developed leaves are 
deeply marked with purple, violet and yellow 
stains, that fade entirely out as the leaf ri¬ 
pens and expands. Similar hues may be 
observed in the tender branches of many 
shrubs, as in those of the sumach, before 
they are hardened into wood. The young 
leaves of the whortleberry bushes, of the 
cornels, the sumachs, and viburnums, all 
brightly tinted in autumn, with purple, crim¬ 
son and orange, exhibit lighter shades of the 
same colors in their half-expanded foliage. 
The locust, on the contrary, unmarked by 
a single tint in the autumn, is seen arrayed 
in a light verditure at this season, unmixed 
with any other hues. The poplars and wil¬ 
lows that incline to yellow after the harvest, 
show the same yellow in the tinges of their 
vernal leaf, that gives them a remarkably 
lively hue. Their golden and purple aments 
add to this brilliancy, which is also in har¬ 
mony with their light green and silvery 
spray. The birches have the same brilliant 
verdure, contrasted with the dark purple of 
their small branches, that renders their hues 
the more distinct and beautiful. It is all 
these different tendencies in the hues of the 
expanding foliage, that afford the woods such 
a charming variety of shades during the 
present month; and it seems to be the de¬ 
sign of nature to foretoken, in the infancy of 
the plants, some of those habits that mark 
both their maturity and their decline, by giv¬ 
ing them a faint shade of those colors that 
distinguish them in autumn. 
If we take our stand on an elevation that 
overlooks an extensively wooded country, 
which is diversified with wayside trees and 
orchards, we may witness the full charm of 
this variety. The elms, which in this part 
of the country are chiefly found by our road¬ 
sides, and in the inclosures of our dwellings, 
have shed their brown and purple blossoms ; 
and their light green foliage, varying greatly 
in individuals, is mostly observed in solitary 
masses, or in occasional rows along the 
streets. The elm is in the perfection of its 
beauty at this time, when its verdure is 
marked by a brilliancy that fades before mid¬ 
summer. After June, the foliage of the elm 
is full and lifeless in its hues ; and the tree 
is beautiful only on account of the flowing 
outline and graceful sweep of its branches. 
If we next turn our eyes upon the woods, 
we may behold a spectacle of infinitely va¬ 
ried splendor. Masses of purple and cinere¬ 
ous foliage are presented by the oaks, en¬ 
livened by the bright green aments, that 
hang luxuriantly from their branches. 
Among them are interspersed the purer and 
more lively green of the beech trees, ren¬ 
dered still more light and airy by their pale 
ashen stems; also the slender spiry forms of 
the birch, whose purple sprays afford by 
contrast, a peculiar luster to their shining 
verdure, from the lofty black birch that over¬ 
tops the other forest groups, to the graceful 
coppices of white birch, whose leaves al¬ 
ready exhibit their tremulous habit, when 
fanned by the passing winds. 
Though we cannot find in May those bril¬ 
liant colors among the leaves of the forest 
trees, which are the crowning glory of au¬ 
tumn, yet the present month is more abun¬ 
dant in contrasts than any other period. 
These contrasts increase in beauty and va¬ 
riety until about the first of June. In early 
May, set apart from the general nakedness 
of the woods, may be seen, here and there, 
a clump of willows full of bright golden 
aments, maples with buds, blossoms and 
foliage of crimson, and interspersed among 
them, junipers, hemlocks and other ever¬ 
greens, that stand out from their assemblages, 
like the natives of another clime. As the 
month advances, while these contrasts re¬ 
main, new ones are continually appearing, 
as one tree after another assumes its vernal 
drapery, each exhibiting a tint peculiar not 
only to the species, but often to the individu¬ 
al and the situation, until hardly two trees in 
the whole wood are alike in color. As the 
foliage ripens, the different shades of green 
become more thoroughly blended into a 
single uniform tint. But ere the process is 
completed, the fruit trees have expanded 
their blossoms, and have brought a new spec¬ 
tacle of contrasts into view. First of all, the 
peach trees with their bright pink flowers, 
that appear before the leaves, and cause the 
tree to resemble a single and uniform bou¬ 
quet; then the pear trees, with corols of 
perfect whiteness, internally fringed with 
brown anthers, like long dark eyelashes, 
that give them almost the countenance of 
life ; then the cherry trees, with their pure 
white blossoms, thickly enveloped in green 
foliage ; and last of all, the apple trees, with 
blossoms of every variety of shade, between 
a bright crimson or purple and a pure white, 
all come forth, one after another, until the 
whole landscape seems to be wreathed in 
bloom. 
During the last week in May, were you to 
stand on an eminence that commands an ex¬ 
tensive view of the country, you would be 
persuaded that the prospect is far more 
magnificent than at midsummer. At this 
time you look not upon individuals, but 
groups. Before you lies an ample meadow, 
nearly destitute of trees except a few noble 
elms, standing in their blended majesty and 
beauty, combining in their forms the grace¬ 
fulness of the palm with the grandeur of the 
oak; here and there a clump of pines, and 
long rows of birches, willows and alders 
bordering the streams that glide along the 
valley, and exhibiting every shade of green¬ 
ness in their foliage. In all parts of the 
prospect, separated by square fields of tillage 
of lighter or darker verdure, according to the 
nature of their crops, you behold numerous 
orchards, some on the hillside receiving the 
direct beams of the sun, and others on level 
ground, exhibiting their shady rows with 
their flowers just in that state of advance¬ 
ment that serves to show the budding trees, 
which are red and purple, in beautiful opposi¬ 
tion to the fully blown trees, which are white. 
Such spectacles of flowering orchards are 
seen in all parts of the country, as far as the 
eye can reach, along the thinly inhabited 
roadsides and farms. 
The effect produced by the flowering of 
trees is less conspicuous in our forests than 
in our orchards and gardens ; but the daz¬ 
zling whiteness of the Florida cornel, rising 
up amid the variegated masses of forest 
verdure, attracts the attention of every trav¬ 
eler. The flowering trees of our forests are 
chiefly of the amentaceous tribes, whose 
flowers serve rather to add gaiety and varie¬ 
ty to their tints, than any positive beauty of 
colors. Among the shrubbery, however, 
there are many species that are made at¬ 
tractive by their blossoms, and yield to the 
pastures and coppices a more beautiful ap¬ 
pearance than anything we have observed in 
the woods. While the woods are still gleam¬ 
ing with the variegated tints of the sprouting 
foliage, you may behold, rising up in solitary 
brightness, arrayed with a profusion of white 
flowers and silvery green leaves, the tall 
branches of the swamp pyrus, a shrub that 
bears the earliest flowers and fruits of the 
forest. The pyrus is the forerunner of many 
beautiful flowering shrubs. After this ap¬ 
pear in succession the common thorn, with 
its white rosaceous flowers in lovely circu¬ 
lar clusters ; the barberry, with its golden 
racemes fringing the branches from their ex¬ 
tremities, almost to their roots ; the wild 
dwarf cherry, with its spikes of gaudy but 
delicate blossoms arranged fantastically at 
right angels with the twigs that support 
them ; all these appear one after another, 
until at length, as if nature was desirous of 
concentrating all our admiration upon a sin¬ 
gle plant, appears the beautiful Canadian 
rhodora, which marks the era of the depar¬ 
ture of spring, and the commencement of the 
reign of summer. 
In striking opposition to the scenes I have 
described, we may observe in different parts 
of the country a densely wooded swamp, 
with the tops of the trees hardly towering 
above the level of the surrounding landscape, 
covered with the dark green somber foliage 
of junipers and cypresses. Even this ren¬ 
ders the remaining prospect more cheerful, 
by acting as a foil to the pleasant scenes that 
everywhere surround us. The very notes 
of the birds seem to harmonize with the 
character of the wood, and serve to enliven 
the contrasts that are presented to the eye. 
In the open flowery plain we hear thousands 
of chattering and musical birds—the wren in 
the gardens, the merry bobolink in the gras¬ 
sy meadows, and the oriole among the blos¬ 
soms of the fruit trees, while from the dark 
cypress groves we hear the scream of the 
jay, the cawing of the raven, blended occa¬ 
sionally with the liquid notes of the sylvias 
and solitary thrushes. 
By making such observations, one may be 
satisfied that upon our barren hills nothing 
could be substituted, that would equal in 
any respect of beauty and ornament, the 
trees and shrubs which are indigenous to the 
situation. The practice of Great Britain, 
operating as an example to American im¬ 
provers, has been fatal to the beauty of many 
a delightful spot in our own country. The 
native garniture of our own fields, modified 
by the hand of man, as exemplified in cer¬ 
tain tracts to be seen in every old settle¬ 
ment, exceeds all which the combined 
wealth and taste of Great Britain could read 
in the place of it. Vain are all attempts to 
improve the face of nature by dressing her 
in ornaments borrowed from a foreign clime. 
That taste which recommend a system of 
improvements based upon any principle, 
save that of preserving the whole indigenous 
growth of our fields and woods, is barbarous, 
and will ultimately be spurned with indigna¬ 
tion, by every true lover of beauty and of 
nature.— Hovey's Magazine. 
It is said that pioneers go before an army, 
to ax the way. 
