s have
been lopped down to within three feet of the ground.

Another singular object, or series of objects, will long ere this have
attracted your attention. You will see standing, at certain intervals
apart, and about thirty yards in front of the trees, a row of tall
tapering sticks--so tall that their tops are fifty yards from the
ground! They might remind you of the masts of a ship; but that there
are in each case two of them together,--the one standing vertically, and
the other bending over to it, with a slight curve. On this account you
may be more struck with their resemblance to the "shears" seen in
shipyards, by which the masts are "stepped" into their places. These
masts, as we may call them, are not all of one stick of wood, but of
several pieces spliced together; and notwithstanding their prodigious
length--fifty yards, you will remember--they are of no great thickness.
In fact, although the two are joined together at the top--as we shall
presently have occasion to show--when a strong wind blows, both bend,
and vibrate back and forward like an elastic trout rod. At their bases
they are only five feet apart; and the curving one is intended to act as
a stay to the other. Both, as already stated, meet at the top, and
looking up you will see--while the sight makes you dizzy--a little
roundish object at the point of the junction. It is a basket set there
firmly, and just big enough to hold the body of a man. If you look
carefully you will see a man actually within it; but, to quote
Shakespeare's quaint simile, he will appear to your eyes not half as
gross as a beetle! In all likelihood he is not a man, but only a boy;
for it is boys who are selected to perform this elevated and apparently
dangerous service.

How did the boy get there? will probably be your next question. By
running your eye along the curved pole, you will perceive a row of
projecting pegs extending from bottom to top. They are quite two feet
apart; but had you been present while that youth was making the ascent--
which he did by the help of these pegs--you would have seen him scramble
up as rapidly, and with as little concern, as a sailor would ascend the
ratlines of a ship! It is his trade to do so, and practice has made him
as nimble as he is intrepid; but you, who are unaccustomed to witness
such tall gymnastics, cannot help again recalling Shakespeare, and
exclaiming, with the great dramatic poet, "Fearful trade!" Quite as
fearf