ultiplied families. Hence the entire fitness of the word
for our present purposes; as signifying, "a spiral shoot extending itself
by branches." But since, unless it is spiral, it is not a stem, and unless
it has branches, it is not a stem, we shall still want another word for the
sustaining 'sceptre' of a foxglove, or cowslip. Before determining that,
however, we must see what need there may be of one familiar to our ears
until lately, although now, I understand, falling into disuse.

15. By our definition, a stem is a spirally bent, essentially living and
growing, shoot of vegetation. But the branch of a tree, in which many such
stems have their origin, is not, except in a very subtle and partial way,
spiral; nor, except in the shoots that spring from it, progressive
forwards; it only receives increase of thickness at its sides. Much more,
what used to be called the _trunk_ of a tree, in which many branches are
united, has ceased to be, except in mere tendency and temper, spiral; and
has so far ceased from growing as to be often in a state of decay in its
interior, while the external layers are still in serviceable strength.

16. If, however, a trunk were only to be defined as an arrested stem, or a
cluster of arrested stems, we might perhaps refuse, in scientific use, the
popular word. But such a definition does not touch the main idea. Branches
usually begin to assert themselves at a height above the {140} ground
approximately fixed for each species of tree,--low in an oak, high in a
stone pine; but, in both, marked as a point of _structural change in the
direction of growing force_, like the spring of a vault from a pillar; and
as the tree grows old, some of its branches getting torn away by winds or
falling under the weight of their own fruit, or load of snow, or by natural
decay, there remains literally a 'truncated' mass of timber, still bearing
irregular branches here and there, but inevitably suggestive of resemblance
to a human body, after the loss of some of its limbs.

And to prepare trees for their practical service, what age and storm only
do partially, the first rough process of human art does completely. The
branches are lopped away, leaving literally the 'truncus' as the part of
the tree out of which log and rafter can be cut. And in many trees, it
would appear to be the chief end of their being to produce this part of
their body on a grand scale, and of noble substance; so that, while in
thinking of v