ARBOR DA Y MANUAL. 
343 
THE OAKS OF MONTE LUCA. 
MICHAEL ANGELO, ALONE IN THE WOODS. 
H OW still it is among tfyese ancient oaks ! 
Surges and undulations of the air 
Uplift the leafy boughs, and let them fall 
With scarce a sound. Such sylvan quietudes 
Become old age. These huge centennial oaks 
That may have heard in infancy the trumpets 
Of Barbarossa’s cavalry, deride 
Man’s brief existence, that with all his strength 
He cannot stretch beyond the hundredth year. 
This little acorn, turbaned like the Turk, 
Which with my foot I spurn, may be an oak 
Hereafter, * * .* . * 
The cradled nests of birds, when all the men 
That now inhabit this vast universe. 
They and their children and their children’s children 
Shall be but dust and mould and nothing more. 
Longfellow. 
MORNING-GLORY. 
'ONDROUS interlacement ! 
vv Holding fast to threads by green and silky’- rings, 
With the dawn it spreads its white and purple wings; 
Generous in its bloom, and sheltering while it clings, 
Sturdy morning-glory. 
Helen Hunt. 
Both ranges of the Lebanon mountains were once covered with dense 
forests. Then Palestine was a land flowing with milk and honey. The people- 
enjoyed comfort and abundance during centuries. Now the forests are de¬ 
stroyed, the Jordan is an insignificant stream, the hills of Galilee are sterile- 
knobs, and the few remaining cedar trees look lonely and mournfully upon an 
arid and desolate country. 
The amount of moisture given out by trees is immense. It has been calcu¬ 
lated that the leaves of the “ Washington Elm,” Cambridge, Mass., would cover 
over two hundred thousand square feet of surface, and would give out every 
fair day fifteen thousand pounds, or seven and one-half tons of moisture. 
Trees also imbibe carbonic acid and other gases thrown off by animals and 
exhale pure oxygen. 
