Acacia. 
(FRIENDSHIP.) 
T HE tree generally called the Acacia in this country is the 
Robinia, or pseudo-acacia; but the veritable symbol of 
friendship is the honey-locust-tree, or three-thorned acacia. A 
native of North America, remarkable for its brilliant green 
foliage, it has been consecrated by the Indians, who dwell in 
the still unsurveyed forests, and ramble over the yet boundless 
prairies, to the deity of chaste love, and as the emblem of that 
delicate passion it is sometimes even used by our own flori- 
graphists. The blossoms are small, and too nearly the colour 
of the leaves to produce any striking effect; but the pod which 
succeeds them, being upwards of a foot in length and of a dark 
brown colour, contrasts curiously with the vivid hue of the 
foliage. The trunk and branches are armed with large red 
thorns, which present a very singular appearance. The Indians 
point their arrows with these thorns, and make their bows of 
this tree’s incorruptible wood, whilst they use its blossoms as 
“ token flowers, to tell what words can ne’er express so well.” 
There is a tree growing in Oriental climes called the Egyp¬ 
tian acacia, but it is really a mimosa; a valuable and fragrant 
gum, much used as incense in religious ceremonials, is obtained 
from it. This tree is supposed to be the shittah-tree of the Old 
Testament. Its timber is styled shittim, which some translate 
as “ incorruptible wood.” In the fifteenth chapter of Exodus it 
is recorded that the Ark of the Lord was made of shittim 
wood, overlaid, within and without, with pure gold, and having 
a crown of gold round about it; and in the following chapter, 
we read that the staves were made of this same tree, as were 
also the boards of the tabernacle, and the woodwork of the 
altar on which the offerings were presented. 
This latter was the tree which Nourmahal alluded to in the 
lay with which she charmed her beloved Selim’s ear: 
“Fly to the desert, fly with me, “ Our rocks are rough, but smiling there 
Our Arab tents are too rude for thee; Th’ acacia waves her yellow hair, 
But, oh! the choice what heart can doubt, Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less 
Of tents with love or thrones without. For flowering in a wilderness. 
