68 
ARBOR DA Y MANUAL. 
TREES. 
First Pupil : for a class exercise. 
F OREST trees have always “haunted me like a passion.” Let us summon a 
few of them, prime favorites, and familiar to the American forest. 
Second Pupil : 
First the Aspen, what soft silver-gray tints on Its leaves, how smooth its mot¬ 
tled bark, its-whole shape how delicate and sensitive ! 
Third Pupil: 
Next the Elm, how noble the lift and droop of its branches; it has the shape 
of the Greek vase, such lavish foliage, running down the trunk to the very 
roots, as if a rich vine were wreathed around it! 
Fourth Pupil: 
Then the Maple , what a splendid cupola of leaves it builds up into the sky, 
and in autumn, its crimson is so rich, one might term it the blush of the woods! 
Fifth Pupil : 
And the Beech, how cheerful its snow-spotted trunk looks in the deep woods ! 
The pattering of the beechnut upon the dead leaves in the hazy days of our 
Indian summer, makes a music like the dripping of a rill, in the mournful 
forest. 
Sixth Pupil: 
The Birch is a great favorite of mine. How like a shaft of ivory it gleams in 
the daylight woods ! How the flame of moonlight kindles it into columned 
pearl! 
Seventh Pupil: 
Now the Oak, what a tree it is. First a tiny needle rising grandly toward 
the sun, a wreath of green to endure for ages. The child gathers the violet at 
its foot; as a boy he pockets its acorns; as a man he looks at its heights tower¬ 
ing up and makes it the emblem of his ambition. 
Eighth Pupil: 
We now come to the Pine , of all, my greatest favorite. The oak maybe king 
of the lowlands, but the pine is king of the hills. There he lilts his haughty 
front like the warrior he is, and when he is roused to meet the onslaught of the 
storm, the battle-cry he sends down the wind is heard above all the voices of 
the greenwood. 
Ninth Pupil : 
We will merely touch, in passing, upon the Hemlock, with its masses of ever¬ 
green needles, and the Cedar with its misty blueberries; and the Sumac with, its 
clusters of crimson, and the Witch-hazel, smiling at winter, with its curled, 
sharp cut flowers of golden velvet. 
