December G. 
THE COTTAGE GARDENER. 
eoal-aslies out of doors. A bushel or- two of Jerusa¬ 
lem artichokes and parsnips might he treated the 
same, just to have a few in hand in case of very se¬ 
vere weather setting in. Those who have not proper 
store sheds for keeping these things in, might stack 
up a quantity against any wall, or in any corner, 
and cover the whole with coal-ashes, and, over these, 
with either stavv, leaves, or fern. In case of very 
severe weather, a month’s supply of full-grown celery 
and endive might be treated in just the same way. 
James Barnes & W 
MISCELLANEOUS 1NEORMATION. 
OUR VILLAGE WALKS. 
(No. 9.) 
How rapidly time Hies! We have entered upon 
the last month of the year—we are hurrying towards 
the shortest day, after which we look out for the 
pleasant harbingers of spring; and yet it seems but 
as yesterday that we were sitting under shady trees, 
and walking only in the cool of evening. Bright and 
mild has been the last month—sunny and cheerful. 
It has shortened the winter by leading us so pleasantly 
almost up to the close of the year; and although, 
after Christmas, we usually have the severest weather, 
yet the days are perceptibly lengthening, and a new 
flower, and a new note, continually remind 11 s that 
we are turning again to the cheerful sun. When far 
distant from his rays, nature droops. How lifeless is 
the soul when clouds of unbelief and sin shroud us 
from the glorious beams of the Eternal Sun! 
But, the oak ! there is still a remnant of dusky 
green upon its noble brow, in some sheltered situa¬ 
tions, though all other trees are bare. It is the laziest 
in rousing from its winter sleep, and the last to throw 
off its rich apparel. A few brown leaves will even 
remain till the early spring gales whirl them away, 
but it does not retain them so generally as does the 
beech. It stands in its rugged simplicity, sternly 
and fearlessly among the rough blasts of winter, 
anchored and steadied by its own peculiar tap-root, 
and a striking sign of the promise made by the Lord 
to the forsaken land: “ as a teil tree, and as an oak, 
whose substance is in them, when they cast their 
leaves: so the holy seed shall be the substance there¬ 
of.” We still find an occasional acorn lying among 
the thick carpet of dead leaves beneath the boughs; 
it is full of language, and will give us abundance of 
food for a morning walk. The acorn is quite as much 
the emblem of old England as the rose,—nay, more 
so. It has for ages furnished her noble wooden walls 
that have so gallantly breasted her own element, 
braved “the battle and the breeze,” and carried bless¬ 
ings temporal and eternal to many distant lands. If 
we reflect that every acorn our footsteps crush is the 
germ of a British oak, the parent of those unconquered 
decks and taper spars that guard our British hearths, 
whose unstained flag has never yet been lowered to 
any other ensign than that of the King of kings; if 
we reflect on this, we shall still more admire the 
smoothly rounded kernel, seated so snugly in its 
beautiful cup, and almost shrink from stepping on it 
as we pass. The oak must ever be dearer to the 
Briton’s heart than any other tree; for, though it is a 
citizen of the world, yet it has been so long esteemed 
and used by us, above all other nations, that it is 
more peculiarly associated with the name and fame 
of Britain. But let us ever remember, that so long 
100 
only as the standard of the cross floats from our masts 
and battlements—so long as we “ set up our banners 
in the name of our God”'—so long as the “ Lion of 
the tribe of Judah” goes forth with our hosts—-just 
so long, and no longer, will the British Lion triumph. 
“ When the enemy shall come in like a flood,” that 
standard only leads us to victory. 
The oak is connected with the very earliest annals 
of our country. It was held in high veneration by 
the priests of her dark idolatrous days—the Druids, 
whose name is supposed to spring from “ Deru,” the 
name of the oak in the Celtic language. They held 
the mistletoe that grew on that tree as peculiarly 
sacred, and only cut it with a golden hook. How 
grateful ought our hearts to be that our lot is cast 
in happier days—in brighter light—in greener pas¬ 
tures—beside purer streams ! The ancients gene¬ 
rally revered the oak; and the mention made of it 
in prophetical scripture leads us to suppose it was 
then a valued tree. In the historical books it is 
particularly mentioned also. Beneath an oak Joshua 
“ took a great stone and set it up,” as a witness “ of 
all the words of the Lord which he sjiake” to the 
people, lest they should deny their God. Beneath 
an oak sat the angel of the Lord in Optna, when he 
called Gideon, and sent him to be the deliverer of 
his nation. “ Under every thick oak” did guilty, for¬ 
getful Israel in after times worship idols “ upon 
every high hill,” thus making this majestic tree a 
perpetual memorial of God’s tender love, and of His 
people’s deep and black ingratitude. When we rest 
beneath its summer shade, 011 the dry crisp grass 
among which its gnarled roots wander fantastically 
—when we mark the picturesque'outline of its gigan¬ 
tic limbs, in our winter’s rambles, as it towers above 
the quiet silent woods, let us hear what the oak can 
say to the heedless children of men, for it lifts up a 
warning voice: it tells us that our foundation, too, 
“ is in the dust,”—that our age is nothing, even in 
respect of the trees of the field ; and that except our 
covenant with the Lord is faithfully kept—if we, like 
Ephraim, are “joined to idols”—the Lord will “ let 
us alone,” in like manner, to perish in our sins. 
The oak grows to an immense size in England, 
and there are many celebrated trees in different parts 
of this island, but the great nursery of British oak is 
the wealds of Sussex, the largest valley in Europe. 
Here this noble timber flourishes, and is the best 
and most highly esteemed for ship building. From 
the earliest period on record, this beautiful county 
has been celebrated for its oaks, and not less than 
170,000 acres are covered with them. What a beau¬ 
tiful scene, both for eye and mind, must the wealds 
of Sussex present! The only remarkable tree I will 
name, among the many that England possesses, 
is Queen Elizabeth’s oak at Heveningliam, in Suf¬ 
folk, because, whatever is connected with her name 
must be interesting to a Protestant people. It was 
hollow when she was young; and tradition says, she 
was wont to take her stand in it, and aim at the deer 
as they flitted hy. The remains of this venerable 
tree are all that time has spared us, but it is very 
striking and affecting to the mind to look upon even 
a fragment of that which the eyes of so many gene¬ 
rations have gazed on, and which has stood calmly 
among such scenes of bloodsbsd and strife as deso¬ 
lated England in those eventful days. 
The wood of the oak is more beautiful for furniture 
even than mahogany, when highly polished. I have 
seen slabs of the root, sawn out for small tables, of 
exquisite vein and beauty. Every portion of the oak 
seems of use. The bark, and leaves too, are valuable 
